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2cool4ghoul · 8 months ago

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Dream a Little Dream of Me

Part 1 <3 Part 2 of I Can Dream, Can't I?

AO3 link <3

Word count: 4,454

Summary: You get dragged along to one of your husbands business dinners with his insufferable obnoxious colleagues. But when one of the attendees can't take his eyes of you, you begin to question his intentions...

Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, fingering, swearing, AFFAIRS I guess, an adulterer, smoking?, unprotected sex, p in v, age gap

Hiiiiiiiiiii

cannot believe that part 1 did so well, that's big fun vibes thank u for reading it and enjoying that with me ! I apologise for how long this took me however life got ahead of me.

we have a flashback episode today to provide some lore and content for you and coopers past. I had intended to include some present ghoul content in this however it got so long that I have to split it up. sorry bout that.

<3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3<3

It had started just like any other dinner. Your husband, parading you like a trophy, in a ridiculously tight dress, for all his likeminded businessmen colleges to congratulate him on. The line rehearsed and repeated every single time. “This, gentlemen, is my gorgeous wife, you can look, but keep your hands to yourselves.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to fake the smile that had made you famous, ignoring the jeers and laughs, which had been meant as compliments.

This particular dinner, was with executives and stars from the studio he’d recently snatched up with the promise of making you a star. And whilst every night was the same, the same men, the same stares, the same pressed suits and watches, cigar smoke, martini’s…. There was one particular entity who seemed to catch your gaze from the other side of the table. He’d been watching your every move it felt like, his following your silk gloved fingers as you lit your cigarette.

You took note of his features and of his silence amongst the loud overbearing men. His eyes seemingly closed in the dimly lit restaurant, his lips wet with whiskey, no doubt as he sat back relaxed in his chair. His staring was uncomfortable, like he was trying to figure you out, looking deep behind the facade you’d been forced into, hiding any remnants of your past life on the farm. You blew smoke from your lips, the conversations around you had faded, letting your eyes gaze away from his for a moment, only to look back to confirm if he was still looking, which he was. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d of thought this was a proposition. This caused you to tense, finally addressing his forwardness.

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it was rude to stare?” You finally broke your silence, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. With your back straight, a scowl had painted your face as he released a scoff, adjusting himself in his seat. Robert, looked between the two of you as a silence had fell upon the table.

“Please, Mr Howard, excuse my wife’s forwardness, she gets a bit overexcited at times!” He apologised, waving a hand in the air before turning towards you, who’s eyes were still locked with the mans. Who you now knew to be ‘Mr Howard.’ “Hon, Thats Cooper Howard, he’s a pretty big name at the studio, don’t go causing a scene.” He warned, his voice low, spoken into your neck with a kiss. It was a threat, one that you knew would be further implemented the moment you arrived home. You pouted like a scolded child, turning your attention to your martini in front of you, taking a large sip. You glanced from behind the glass rim, Coopers attention no longer on you, but with a man beside him. You had won a small victory, your point had been made and he was no longer staring you down.

The rest of the meal seemed to carry on as usual. The waitress had come round to get the tables order, a side salad ordered for you, more martinis. Conversations of business, of the war, ill-timed political jokes and opinions. Over the past year or so, you’d managed to master the art of disassociation, your body being present at the table yet your mind was back in the fields, tending to the animals, hanging your clothes on the washing lines to dry… You could rehearse an entire daily routine so well that you could’ve sworn you could smell the morning dew on the grass, the breeze causing goosebumps to peak on your skin. Yet every now and then, a drunken obnoxious laugh would tear you from the safeness of your mind, reminding you that you were still there amongst these men. Where had it all gone wrong?

You needed air.

“Excuse me, boys,” You spoke lowly, “I’m going to go powder my nose.” The men nodded towards you, Robert lifting his head to get a better look at you. Pushing your bleached blonde curls over your shoulder, you placed a red lipped kiss on his cheek, leaving an imprint you knew would anger him. Smirking on your heel, you walked as he hastily scrambled to remove any trace of the make up left on his skin.

On your travels to the ladies room, the effect of the, god knows how many, drinks had taken their toll on you, causing a slight stumble in your step. You ended up finding a secluded garden area, lights hanging from branches of trees, twinkling. There was a chill in the nights air, but you preferred the silence, listening to the crunch and rustle of the leaves in the wind. Leaning against a brick wall, you lit a cigarette, staring up into the stars, creating your own constellations. A lonesome smile ghosted your lips, finding peace in this moment to yourself, watching the smoke dissipate into the blue darkness. You could run. Leave and never look back. But where you would go? You were sure the farm had been sold months ago, despite how much Robert denied it. The very thought of it bought a lump to your throat, your jaw clenching, biting the side of your cheek.

The door to your hiding place opened, your head rolled to the side to examine who opened it. Your admirer from the opposite end of the table. A soft hum of acknowledgement left you, rolling you head back to the stars, flicking ashes from the end of the cigarette. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Closing the door behind him, he stepped closer.

“No, not at all.” Kissing your teeth and keeping your eyes forward, you felt his presence close next to you. “You not enjoying yourself, Mr Howard?”

“No, no, its not that,” Chuckling coolly, the click and snap of a metal lighter illuminating your peripheral, “Politic’s is not really my area of expertise.”

“Right.” You nodded a sigh, finally allowing yourself to turn and meet his eye-line.

Upon closer exception you realised he was really rather handsome. A classic look to him, dark hair pushed back with noticeable grey hairs peaking through. His bone structure was distinct, chiselling and framing his face. Those eyes which had been looked on you, twinkling in the sparse lighting. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip, the taste of nicotine filling your mouth. You didn’t know his age, but he was definitely significantly older than you. “I don’t believe I got your name?” His voice was smooth, making your stomach do flips.

“I don’t believe that I said it.” You smirked, staring up at him through your lashes due to him standing much taller than you, even when he was leaning on his shoulder against the wall. He let out a laugh, raising his eyebrows, waiting for a response to his answer. “Lana.” Lying, you held out your hand for him to shake, keeping your real name close to your chest.

“Lana,” Testing the name on his lips, he blew smoke in your direction which you inhaled through your nose discreetly, “what a pretty name, for such a pretty young girl, like yourself.” The smile that he was flashing you caused you to roll your eyes, releasing a sarcastic giggle.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the pretty ones,” He teased you, winking at you. You pretended not to notice his eyes trailing down to your chest, stealing a glance at your exposed cleavage from his height advantage.

“What about the married ones?” Raising a brow, you bit back at him, the smirk on your lips letting him know that was a sadistic joke at your own expense.

“Where you from, Lana?” His question was heavier than he knew. Something about him made you want to tell him the truth. But you couldn’t just reveal yourself to any man who made you smile.

“Why’d you wanna know?” Suppressing your southern accent had never been more important, the recognition of his own caused you to work extra hard to hide yours.

“It’s called small talk, somethin’ tells me you’re not too good at it.” He wrapped his lips around his cigarette again, your breathing heavy as you kept your gaze focussed on his mouth, inhaling the smoke.

“I grew up in New York, moved here after I met Robert 2 years ago.” The story and all of its details had been a fabricated story made up by Robert so that you could prove yourself more marketable. A socialite from New York, from a rich distinguished family.

“Is that so?” He seemed intrigued, letting his lips turn downward. “And now, your gonna be filming at the studio, huh?”

“Are you interrogating me, Mr Howard?” It came out more seductive than stern, a way of avoiding anymore questions by distracting him. “I hear you play a big time sheriff in your movies,” You stepped closer to him, the amusement evident on his face as he sized you up, “you gonna cuff me up?” You could tell he was thinking about it, his answer hesitating on his lips. You wished he would, there was something so enticing about him, his whole demeanour and charisma causing you to ache between your legs, feeling the dampness against the lace covering your heat.

“Now, what would your husband think about that?” This was a fun game for him, the way you were looking up at him, so willing and eager sending shivers down his spine.

“What he don’t know wont hurt him.” Shrugging playfully, you fluttered your lashes, watching as he licked his lips, a taunted groan leaving from his chest.

“You’re real trouble, you know that?” He waved a finger at you, you tempted wrapping your mouth around it, sucking down to the knuckle, your spit dripping around him as he filled your mouth. Instead you smacked it away lightly, remembering your place. You turned away from him in a way to release some of the attention, your mind roaming to unholy places.

“I’m a good girl, Mr Howard.” Scoffing, your cheeks ached as they tried to conceal the wild grin he was pulling from you. Maybe it was the confidence from the drinks swirling around your system, but this was the most exciting and arousing interaction you’d had. Everything with Robert felt so transactional, ticking boxes out of necessity. But this was different.

“I bet you are.” He praised and you pretended shock at his forwardness.

“I’m not that kind of girl.”

“And I’m not that kind of man.” He raised his hands in defence, yet when they lowered, one brushed against the bare skin of your arm, a quiet gasp leaving your lips, turning back round to face him, becoming aware of how alarmingly close he now was to you. His breathe was fanning over your wet lips, your cheeks flushing to an embarrassingly shade of red. You were locked in eye contact, for what felt like the millionth time that night, watching as he undressed you with his eyes.

There was silence between the two of you, all except for the heavy breathing leaving both of you, wondering who would make the next move, wondering what the next move even was. This was wrong. It was wrong because you were married, it was wrong because two hours previous to this you didn’t even know he existed, it was wrong because you were pretty sure he could’ve been the same age as your father, maybe even older. But you felt electric, like you skin was on fire and only he could put it out. You wanted him to put it out, you would’ve dropped to your knees and pleaded with him for anything. Maybe it was the adrenaline of getting caught. Maybe it was the way he was eliciting such innate desire from you, from just the tiniest of interactions. You were aching for him, and judging by the tightness and the way he was adjusting himself in his trousers, he was aching for you too.

“You love your husband?” His question took you off guard, yet you didn’t hesitate to answer.

“No.” Shaking your head quickly, your eyes were wide. Biting his lip, he allowed himself a moment to ponder the morals he was breaking.

“Goddamn, what am I going to do with you, huh?” His hand came up to brush your cheek, pushing away a few stray hairs, his fingers grazing your skin so gently, you were starved for more. You decided to pursue an earlier desire, his thumb carelessly brushing against your bottom lip for a second, leaving you free to take advantage.

You parted your lips, allowing the tip of your tongue to taste him first, before pushing your head forward, maintaining widened eye contact, taking his thumb into your mouth. You sucked around him, your tongue working around, tasting as much as you could, trying to savour the moment in case he, fairly, ripped his hand from you as punishment for taking it too far. You waited for this, yet he did not. He knitted his brows, mouth falling slightly slack before tutting at you. “Fuck this.” He muttered, taking his hand from your mouth and instead wrapping it around your neck, forcing you forward.

He forced his lips on you, taking the dominance, leaving you whimpering at the sudden feeling of his mouth hot against yours. Pushing against him, trying to feel as much of him as possible, hands finding themself tightly squeezing the wrist of his hand, still gripping your neck. His tongue licked against your lips before finding its way into your mouth, working alongside yours as the kiss deepened, your cunt squeezing around nothing, begging for something to soothe the throbbing ache that was pooling between your legs. When his hand finally left your neck, it was replaced by his lips, smudging red lipstick down your chin and neck. His hand travelled down your chest, taking a moment to squeezed your breast on the way down, frustrated by the layers of material that stopped him from getting a better look at you. By this point, he had you pinned against the rough exterior of the brick wall, his body pressed against yours, thigh between your legs. “Oh, Mr Howard.” You moaned between bitten lips, head falling back exposing more of your neck to him.

“Call me Cooper.” He muttered, “If we’re doing this, we’re at least gonna be on a first name basis, alright, sweetheart?” Your heart fluttered at the pet name.

“Mmhmm Cooper- Oh!” Whilst you nodded in agreement, his fingertips had found their way under your dress skirt, hoisting it up your legs. The cold air tingled against your wet cunt, legs squeezing against his thigh.

“Christ, look at you.” He mumbled to himself, bitting his lip, taking in the sight of the mess you’d made in your panties. “Need me that badly, huh, doll?” You could only make out an embarrassed hum in response, blushing at his southern drawl which made everything eel so much more erotic. He touched you through the lace, leaving the thin layer on to tease you even more. You needed as much friction as possible, grinding against his fingers, feeling a tension building within you, that you’d never felt before. His fingertips seemed to focus where it was most sensitive, having no issue finding your clit even through your panties. The sweat blanketing your body make your make up run slightly. Tipping you head forward, you looked down, watching him play with you, his fingers damp even with the barrier of lace keeping him out. You were biting your lip to stop moans from escaping you. You couldn’t explain the feeling taking over your body, every inch of you reacting, goosebumps covering every bit of skin, nipples hard.

“Please.” You couldn’t stand much longer, meeting his gaze again. You didn’t even know what you were begging him for or what he was willing to give you. You just knew that every part of you needed it, heart racing like it was going to jump out your chest. “Please Cooper, give it to me, I need you.” You planted kisses over his face, moving to just behind his ear, sucking and eliciting a growl from him, his hand pushing aside the soaking lace.

“Dripping for me, aren’t ya, angel, making a mess?” He use his other hand to push hair out of your face to view the pathetic ruin he’d caused. You’d open your mouth to agree with him, telling him anything you’d believe he wanted to hear, but you words were stopped and choked in your throat due to his finger fucking its way into you. He was wasting no time, the slap of his skin and the wetness of your cunt erupting into the quiet night. Your eyes squeezed shut and he released a smug chuckle, proud of himself for the reaction he was causing.

Upon adding another finger, he had to force his other hand over your mouth as you frantically tried to keep in your moans, his fingers curling inside you finding the sweet spot that was sending you over the edge. “It’s gon’ be a tight fit, princess, you best kept that pretty little mouth shut,” He pressed his lips to your ear, “can you do that for me, you gon’ be a good girl for me?” You could only silently nod and hum in response, his hand firm over your mouth. “Good girl.” He pressed a kiss to your ear.

You felt empty when he removed his fingers to unbuckle his belt, the jangle of the metal stirring excitement within you. With one finger, he tugged your panties down your thighs and you stepped out of them, shocked when he shoved them into his back pocket. “I’ll look after those.” He smirked, winking at you at your flushed cheeks, hand finally leaving your mouth. He pulled his cock free, your eyes went big seeing the size of it, hard, his fist pumping around it as he scoffed at your reaction. “Told ya, sweetheart, tight fit.” He let go of himself, hand reaching round to slap your ass, gesturing for you to jump up, your dress bunching round your waist. You did so, wrapping your legs around his waist. His forehead rested against yours as you both watched him line himself up with your throbbing entrance. “You sure you want this, sweetheart?” He kissed you lightly on the lips, his tip pressing against you, hot.

“I need you, Cooper Howard.” You pleaded against his lips, begging for the tension within you to be relieved somehow. Groaning at your response, he nodded.

His cock stretched you, squeezing around him, eyes rolling back into your head. Unable to make noise as you winced, mouth wide open. He also, silently, bit his lip, breathing through his nose through a frown. Your slick cunt pulled him in, he seemed to not end, leaving you panting by the time he’d bottomed out. You were gasping for air, going slightly lightheaded as he filled you, giving you a moment to adjust. Your hands were splayed out against his chest, his own heart beating against your palm. “Can I?” His voice almost desperate.

“Please, fuck me.” Nodding, you buckled your hips forward, forcing friction and movement from him.

When he finally moved, he tediously pulled out all the way, making sure you felt every inch of you, watching as you dripped a white sheen cast on his cock, before snapping brutally into you. You gripped at the suit jacket, knuckles turning white at this harsh movement. This was the start of a cruelly quick pace, slapping into you whilst his balls fell against your bare ass. “Oh fucking christ,” He cursed his head falling into the curve of your neck, gasps leaving your open mouth, “You’re taking me so fuckin’ well, darlin’” Cooper gripped on your hips, holding you in place whilst he relentlessly fucked into you, his cock forcing you open.

You had been trying your hardest to hold in your moans, but to no avail, so his hand had returned to your mouth. Your eyes had rolled back into your head, the white showing. Pleasure was rampaging through your body, your back arching into him, gripping onto him. Watching him disappear into you made you turn dizzy, feeling him deep inside you, brushing and pressing against your cervix. Your hands tugged at the buttons on his shirt, pushing your hands under to touch as much of him as possible, leaving one against his skin, the other lacing through his hair, pulling him closer.

Tears were running down you face, your make up well and truly ruined, smeared everywhere, read covering his face too. “Look at me, Angel” He commanded, “Feel good? Yeah?” His lips were brushing against your forehead before meeting your covered face, your curls coming loose. “My cock feel good?” He whispered against your neck, earning another delighted hum from you. “I can feel how much you love it.” He thrusted into you, pushing deep as you walls clenched around his heavy girth.

The build up had grown too much for you, you were begging to let go, to let your body rest and release. And he was coaxing it out of you too quick and too sweet, you didn’t know what was coming. The heat pooling in your lower stomach like nothing you’d felt before. You couldn’t explain it but when your body became so hot, heart beat so fast, your whole stomach clenched. “You coming for me, princess, go on, good girl, come around this cock.” He furrowed his brows at your feeling your body tremble and go rigid, your grip becoming deadly around him, eyes squeezed shut. His pace slowed slightly, so he could feel every squeeze every contraction. You had never felt this sensation before, like your whole body had just been ignited. His hand did little to cover the moans, only muffled them as you cursed vision blurry, stars filling your vision.

After giving you little time to recover, your body slightly limp, he proceeded in using your cunt to fuck himself to his climax. You’d made a creamy mess, forming at the bottom of his cock. He didn’t care, he seemed to enjoy it more, unable to keep a steady pace, growing needy of his own release. He dropped his hand, gripped at your waist again as you pulled him closer for a kiss, using that a buffer for the whines and whimpers. His lips were frantic against you, biting your lip. “I’m close.” He growled and you locked your legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside you.

“Please, give it to me, please.” You whined, his hand returning to lock around your neck, forcing you to look at him in the eyes whilst he filled you up.

Grunting, he buried himself deep into you, feeling as he emptied everything he had in you. You were warm inside, content and stuffed. He was blinking, regaining his steadiness, littering kisses over your face, sweat beading over his forehead. He gradually let your legs drop down, fulling your dress back down to somewhat of its original state. You were wobbly, clarity finally coming over your lust clouded mind. He’d rubbed his face and then stuffed himself back into his trousers, looking you up and down as you timidly stood against the wall, expecting him to tell you what a bad thing you’d done, about how you should tell no one about this ever.

“I guess you are that kind of man, Mr Howard.” You joked, breaking the silence whilst wiping your dried tears with the back of your hand. He did a double take at your before chuckling and shaking his head.

“I guess I am.” He buckled up his belt, readjusting the crumpled suit jacket. “People will be wondering where we are.” He tipped his head towards the door and you suddenly remembered where you were.

“Right, yes, of course.” You brushed your hair with your fingers, trying to create some semblance of dignity whilst his cum dripped down your inner thigh.

“I’ll see you back at the table.” He smirked, looking you up and down, turning towards the door, leaving you standing meekly. You watched him leave, the bunched up bulge of your white lace panties peeking over the top of his trouser pocket.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to wet your face and try to remove any traces of what just happened. That was dirty, you’d been a dirty, low down girl. Here you were, wiping another mans semen from your thighs whilst your husband waited for you in the other room. It made you feel slightly sick, now that you were alone and had time to think about it. But the way he’d made you feel was like any other. You still didn’t understand what had happened to your body, but you were sure he caused it. And that was something you wanted to feel over and over again. Readying yourself to face not only your husband, but also Cooper, you believed you were finally presentable to return to the table and although you’d sobered up, you still walked with a stumble due to the lack of Coopers body between your legs.

When you had returned, you were disappointed to see no Cooper at the table, his seat empty, his coat missing from the back of it. You did little to hide this disappointment, Robert turning to face your flush body. “Here she is, I was beginning to believe you’d gotten lost!” He scoffed loudly and you remained standing.

“I don’t feel very well, I would like to go home.” You spoke dead pan.

“God! There must be something in the water, Howard said the same damn thing!” He slapped his thighs, standing up and planting a wet scratchy kiss on your cheek, making you quiver.

You’d made a swift exit, waiting in the car with your legs squeezed shut, keeping quiet. Cooper’s own quick exit had made you feel like a whore. Which you supposed thats all you were. You shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as you did. And having Robert in the car beside you, a chauffeur driving you two to your shared home, made you feel 10 times worse. He wasn’t a good husband, or a loving one or an intimate one. But you were making a fool of him. And that scared you. “I was hoping you’d get to talk to Cooper Howard, but you being sick and all…” He trailed off.

“Why?” You turned to him.

“Because I got you a role in a movie with him.”

Fuck.

#cooper howard #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #walton goggins #walton goggins smut #I love Cooper howard #pre war cooper howard #flashback

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writershapeholeonthedoor · 1 year ago

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Marry you (part 3)

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's time for the world to know about your relationship.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. This was requested by one of you, but I could not find the comment anymore. I'm sorry!

READ PART ONE HERE | READ PART TWO HERE | MASTERLIST

“You guys won’t believe who’s about to join us!” From where you were hiding behind the curtain, you heard the interviewer talk with the audience, already causing thunderous yelling from the fans watching the panel. “Y/N Y/L/N!”

You walked on the stage with a smile as you waved to the fans cheering for you. Sitting in high chairs right in the middle were the main cast of the Multiverse of Madness and, sitting a few feet from them, was the woman leading the interview. It was the last day of the event and the last panel your fiancée, Elizabeth, would have to attend. You had just left your last panel with some other castmates and you intended to wait for Elizabeth so you could walk to the last moment of the convention - the line for the autographs. After that, you were both free to go and you honestly couldn’t wait to get home and rest. You were sure your girlfriend felt the same way, although you both endured those three days with smiles and no complaints.

It has been an eventful convention, after all.

The ring on your finger was proof enough.

“Hi,” you greeted people when you were handed a microphone by someone who rushed behind the curtains and returned just as fast once their job was done. “I was just walking back from my panel and someone grabbed me, and now here I am,” you explained with a laugh while you shook the woman’s hand before turning around to wave at your colleagues.

“That’s because the fans can’t get enough of you!” The interviewer joked. “You should join us!”

“Oh, no!” You really didn’t want to spend more time answering questions and having to smile at the cameras. You were ready to be out of there. As much as you loved the fans' passion and their devotion, you needed a break from it so you wouldn’t lose your mind when it was time to sign some shirts and comic books. “I will just say ‘hi’ and I will be gone. You already have some amazing actors and actresses to ask some questions,” you added with a chuckle while pointing at your friends, who seemed to be just as happy as the fans were.

“You can answer some questions for me, I don’t mind,” Benedict spoke up into his microphone, drawing out some laughs and agreements while you rolled your eyes at him playfully. “I think you will love to answer the question someone just made,” he teased happily and a chorus of fans yelling and asking for you to do it was heard.

“Okay, fine,” you ended up saying with a sigh. “But only one question!” You warned while walking to stand behind your friends’ chairs. You didn’t want to risk sitting down and being there for the entire panel, so you leaned over with your forearm behind Benedict’s chair and smiled. “Hit me with the question, old man.”

“Fans want to know what are our plans for the summer,” he said.

“What are you doing this summer?” You decided to ask, actually interested in his answer. You guys didn’t usually get those mundane questions at the events and you were kind of tired of answering how hard the stunts you had to do were or what was your favorite scene to shoot.

“Nothing special,” Benedict replied with a shrug. “Just work and help my son with his homework.”

“That’s cute,” you told him.

“And you?”

“Uh, well,” you considered his question for a second. “You know what I think would be nice?”

“What?”

You raised your hand, showing off your engagement ring with a huge smile that took over your face. “I think a wedding in summer is a good idea, don’t you think?”

While the entire room erupted in screams, claps and whistles, you laughed and high-fived Benedict, who still didn’t have the time to congratulate you and Elizabeth on the engagement. You were interrupted, though, by a voice that you would recognize anywhere.

“Really?” You turned around in time to see Elizabeth looking at you with a quirked eyebrow and a tiny smirk that you almost missed. “A summer wedding?”

You nodded and crossed your arms to get in a more upright position since your back was already screaming in pain because of the uncomfortable position you were in. You held the microphone with one hand so you would be heard, but it was easy to forget everything else while you engaged in Elizabeth’s little teasing. “You don’t think that would be great? A nice beach, the sunset, bare feet on the sand… I think it sounds nice.”

You could see how her green eyes sparkled while you talked - just like you, she could see the humor of discussing your wedding plans as if they weren’t plans you were both making for yourselves. Neither of you knew how no one else had crept into your private life to find out about the secret relationship you held with Elizabeth for the past years, but you couldn’t be more grateful. It gave you both the time to get to know each other without pressure or without other people trying to poke your business. It also allowed your relationship to grow without being torn apart by people who didn’t even know you and, in the end, it allowed both you and Elizabeth to love each other fully.

And now you were discussing your wedding plans after Elizabeth proposed to you.

You had no idea what you did in your life to get so lucky, but you weren’t about to start asking questions either.

“I’m more of a spring wedding kind of girl,” Elizabeth ended up replying with a larger smile now.

“Why am I not surprised, garden girl?” You teased her lightly. “But you can’t be barefoot then.”

“Why do you want to be barefoot?” Your fiancée wondered with a shake of her head.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Sounds comfortable.”

Elizabeth laughed freely at that and leaned over to place her hand on your arm without thinking about it. You knew people couldn’t exactly overthink the gesture as anything other than friendship, but you still threw her a discreet look as if asking Elizabeth if she remembered you weren’t alone. Her answer was to just squeeze your arm reassuring before letting go to turn back in her chair.

“The flowers look better during spring,” she added.

“What do you say, Benedict?” You turned to look at the man, who had been watching you both with a small content smile. “Spring or summer?”

“Oh, don’t put me in the fire like this,” he jokingly waved you off. “Winter, I don’t know.”

Everyone laughed at the man’s reply and you were already preparing yourself to say goodbye to the fans and walk out of the stage again when the interviewer decided to intervene to take control of the conversation again - even if she seemed happy to have the actors taking over for a while. “What about you, Elizabeth? What are your plans for the summer?”

“Well…” Elizabeth started but, before she said anything, you noticed that she turned her head back and your eyes met.

A quiet conversation took place and you were suddenly reminded about the conversation you both had at the hotel room the night before. You had just returned from a busy day with more panels and interviews, which only got a bit more chaotic after you announced you were engaged. Every fan, every reporter, every person wanted to ask you questions and find out more details about the woman that proposed to you. Elizabeth was feeling bad for letting you handle all of it on your own, even if you told her it was fine and you didn’t mind. You were great at using humor to avoid answering the questions you didn’t actually want to answer.

However, that made Elizabeth confess that she felt comfortable enough sharing your relationship with the rest of the world. You both agreed to let it happen. There wouldn’t be an Instagram post, or an official announcement made by your PR team, or a staged interview with practiced questions. It would just happen. You wouldn’t try to hide it and, eventually, people would put two and two together, and you just wouldn’t deny it.

So, after you nodded at her, Elizabeth finally answered the question with just a hint of humor: “Oh, I don’t know, yet. I will have to let you know if the wedding is happening in summer or spring now.”

Later, while you waited for the autograph line to be officially open, you saw that fans online were divided between thinking Elizabeth meant she was going to attend your wedding or wondering if Elizabeth was your mysterious fiancée. You had fun seeing the theories popping up and you even shared the best ones with Elizabeth, though you both kept the agreement to just don’t deny things if people asked. And fans had asked while you signed things, sure, but you just laughed and asked for their names to write it down, and that has been it.

Of course that, not denying it, started to inflame the rumors to the point where you couldn’t keep it under the rugs any longer. So, when your wedding finally took place - spring, because you wanted to see Elizabeth’s smile when she saw the flowers - you allowed all of your friends and family to post the pictures they took of the ceremony and the party afterward. Elizabeth didn’t use social media anymore, but you also didn’t post anything on your own Instagram other than the picture of your suitcases when you were taking a plane to your honeymoon. You lived the best month of your life with Elizabeth, so much so that you both decided to just extend your honeymoon for a while longer - and that’s how you ended up spending three months away from everything.

Once you came back, though, you had to face work again. There were a hundred requests for interviews with both of you and, after debating about it for a while, you decided the best course of action would be to give one single interview to finally get people out of your back. However, since Elizabeth suffered from severe anxiety, you offered to do it alone and get it done.

“I don’t think it’s fair,” Elizabeth had said when you suggested it.

“Babe, you know I’m way more comfortable doing those things than you are. Besides, I don’t mind doing it. I mean, the worst that can happen is someone asks a stupid question and I have to use humor to tell them to fuck off.” After saying that, you wiggled your eyebrows at her, raising your hand to show her your wedding band. “It worked pretty well for me last time.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, although the smile on her lips made it clear she found it as funny as you did. Even so, she leaned closer to you and sat on your lap, taking advantage of the fact that you were sitting with your back against the headboard. You let your hands rest on her naked thighs, your short nails running up and down her skin, going just under her sleeping shorts before going back to her knees. “Well, if you do that, I’m going to cook you anything you want to eat.”

You raised your eyebrows and smirked. “What if you’re all I want to eat?” You joked and, before Elizabeth could reply, you flipped you both over on the bed to pin her down. She yelped in surprise at first but she soon let out one of her loud laughs that always made you feel like the sun itself was smiling down at you.

That’s how you ended up, a week later, walking over the studio while waving at people until you reached Jimmy Fallon, who was waiting for you standing in front of his table with a huge grin. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, waved at people again, and you sat down at the chair he pointed. The conversation started lightly as usual. You had been interviewed by him before and it was usually a fun experience, so you weren’t nervous about it. Jimmy asked about your work, about upcoming projects, about the premier of your new Marvel movie, and he slowly found a way to approach the subject that everyone was dying to know about. He started by showing some pictures that were posted of your wedding, then he asked about how it started and you tried to keep your answers short and simple.

Once you got back home, Elizabeth had kept her promise of cooking you the best dinner ever and, even if all you wanted was to drag her to the bedroom, you thanked her with a kiss on her cheek and you sat down to eat.

You were lucky enough to have all your life to spend with her, after all.

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #celebrity x reader #marvel #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #fanfic #creative writing #my writing #drabble #fluff

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yaekiss · 2 years ago

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#mailroom open! i hope the event is still open —if not, feel free to disregard !! i’m looking to send a letter to cyno confessing my love, and looking for a letter w/ yan + nsfw themes back! i love the petname bunny, but any are fine with me!

letter and gift below the hearts. congratulations on 400 !!!

the letter is scrawled on parchment paper, the handwriting a bit messy and hurried. the craftsmanship looks like it was a draft of many — is it possible the sender sent the wrong version of the letter?

“to cyno,

to think it has been merely two weeks since my departure from under your watch. i understand i’m supposed to be focusing on my work, completing my assignment and coming back, but i keep getting distracted.

i wouldn’t say it’s my fault in my entirety, because frankly, it’s you who is distracting me from the duties you sent me on. my mind keeps racing back to thoughts of you, you, you, and it’s impossible to look forward when all i want to do is have you order me around again in the desert.

leaving you was a pain. i didn’t want to go. i crave to be curled against your side and to really, truly love you, but it’s so inappropriate of me. insubordinate.

i’m writing this because i know i can never send it. my thoughts, my emotions — i would be jeopardizing my station. i need to focus, but it’s hard when i know you’re so far.

how embarrassing of me to write this to you. it’s childish of me to think you would really ever take notice.

i should throw this letter away before i fall asleep at my desk and mess it up with the one i really want to send you.

signed, your wannabe beloved.”

the letter makes no mention of the gift that came wrapped with it. it seems that the author really did send the wrong version. the gift enclosed was a bottle of wine, some photos to be included with a report, and some paperwork regarding the assignment they were on in liyue. when opened, it smelled faintly of perfume. “for filing, so they don’t get lost.” read a note attached to the papers and photos.

꩜ Letter Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Yan! Sub! Cyno, no gendered terms for reader, Cyno calls you "bunny", implied abuse of authority, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Cyno, lmk if I missed anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: You wouldn't believe the number of puns I had to listen to... they were all rabbit related too... ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

There’s a cardboard box dropped off at your hotel doorstep when you return from your day’s duties.

It reminds you of the kind you see hugged in your colleagues’ arms when they transfer out of your office and to a different jurisdiction or during the bittersweet retirement of a senior staff member. For a moment, the thought of Cyno, the General Mahamatra, taking offence to your confession letter cruelly crosses your mind and you dejectedly bounce the notion of getting fired from your job around in your head as you move to go pick up the box.

However, you soon discover that it is anything but a termination, evident from a heart-shaped envelope that rests shyly on the top of the box. A sense of hope bubbles up in you and you quickly move everything inside, eagerly opening up his letter. Inside the romantic envelope is his response, folded flawlessly into a heart as well. After unfolding it and doing your best to smooth out all the creases in the paper, you rake your eyes over the parchment, noting how his handwriting is identical to the one you always see in official reports. But to see such a font spelling out his love for you has you in disbelief. His letter reads:

“A reply to my dearest bunny. Can I call you bunny? Or should I call you mine?

Starting off, I need to reciprocate your confession, it won’t be ice of me to leave you in the cold. Haha, I wish I could’ve seen your reaction at that joke. On a more serious note, I would be lying to say that I don’t have any feelings for you. You caught my eye when I first saw how admirable you truly are, bunny. Now, you might not think so yet yourself but I’ve personally witnessed it in the little things you do, in your passions, in your dreams. Truly inspiring, bunny.

Thank you for the timely submission of your report again, bunny. Impeccable work as usual, I can always count on you for a job well done. The wine was a thoughtful gift too, if only I were able to share it with you in person. Perhaps I should reward you for being such a hard worker, I could be all yours to use, if you’d want me. Gods, I might be the General Mahamatra but the power you have over me is unfathomable. Would you allow me to lay my head in your lap, to let my hands trail up your calves and thighs, to bury my head between your legs? Maybe you’ll even have me call you General for the night instead, perhaps I’ll scream your title until daylight. I can satiate you in any way you’d like, I’m giddy with desire for you, bunny.

You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to get closer to you, it was simply fated that you were transferred under me a while back, bunny. That previous superior of yours wasn’t the best either, always so harsh on you, aren’t you glad you’re under my watch now? If I can be frank (even though my name is Cyno), I never wanted you to take up the Liyue assignment, it wasn’t my idea in the first place. I loathe that I had to send you for it. What if you got hurt? What if you went missing? What if you fell for someone else? It simply won’t do, bunny.

Thankfully, I’ve managed to find someone to relieve you of your post in Liyue. Let’s just say that they needed this “learning opportunity” more than someone as experienced as you. In the box are all the required paperwork for you to hand over your duties and return to Sumeru. I expect to have you back by my side within a week. Don’t keep me waiting too long, I want to finally show you how much I’ve yearned for you all this time. I just hope you’re a hands-on learner, my bunny.

Fated to be yours,

- Cyno -

P.S.: Would you ever show me the version of the letter you originally meant to send?”

Lifting the cover off the cardboard box, you see an assortment of gifts he prepared for you. Bundles of your favourite snacks, little trinkets, and a small journal tucked to a corner. Opening it up, you glance over the different lines scribbled on it and realise that they’re all cheesy pickup lines and puns from Cyno. There’s one that says, “Nobunny (nobody) compares to you” and another that reads, “You got my heart jackrabbiting for you”. A lewder one says, “Let’s fuck like rabbits” At the bottom of the first page, he wrote, “I save my best jokes for you, bunny ♡”.

Additionally, what also catches your eye is a holographic copy of a TCG card of you in a durable clear casing, it produces a brilliant iridescent sheen when you slowly turn the card side to side in the light. Did he specially commission one of you? Setting the card on your bedside table, you continue going through the box.

True to his words in the letter, there’s a neat stack of paperwork stowed carefully in it. Flipping through the pages, you discover that it comes along with paid for travel arrangements from Cyno. A closer look reveals that all of them are scheduled to get you back to Sumeru as fast as possible. Just as you want to place the stack back into the box, a loose scrap of torn paper slips from it and flutters onto the floor.

The only few words on it you can unfortunately make out are “pulled strings”, “transfer”, and the crossed out name of your previous superior.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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simslegacy5083 · 9 months ago

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NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 68: Pre-Game Defense

The Story of a Family

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Attending Bonnie’s graduation made Luigi a little bit late to Professor Silva’s pregame mixer.

He arrived at the professor’s Brindleton home to find the strategy session underway, but a strange tension in the air between the team captain and Beau, who seemed to have suddenly gained a lot of weight. Luigi did his best not to stare as he took his seat, but Aubrey seemed quite focused on it.

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He quickly learned the happy news behind Beau’s change in appearance: he and Breanne were expecting a child.

Luigi couldn’t help but wonder why Beau was the one carrying the couple’s baby, but with the success of Peppino’s Sixam impregnation clinic male pregnancy had become common enough that it didn’t really give him much pause. Apparently, it seemed not all his teammates felt the same.

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As soon as Beau caught Luigi up to speed on his happy news Aubrey wrinkled his nose in distaste, loudly issuing a “joking” put down.

Breanne must really wear the pants in their relationship if she had pushed Beau to do the job her own womb should be doing! This “unnatural” science was a weird invasion of their Simish culture by those shady aliens, and folks who picked it over all the numerous other options out there were accomplices in that.

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As Beau’s arms wrapped protectively around his abdomen, his happy smile dropping away, Luigi’s anger flared, as much for himself as his colleague.

Born with the help of the same science Aubrey was mocking and having read his grandfather’s “Paternity Tale” detailing how Steven had saved Luigi’s grandmother from an unwanted pregnancy before such a thing was common practice, he simply couldn’t let Aubrey’s comments go.

He leaped to Beau’s defense, firing back that Aubrey had no idea what he was talking about. That “unnatural alien science” let him be the biological child of both his fathers, which wasn’t otherwise possible. He had no right to belittle anyone else’s life choices with his small-minded opinions!

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Professor Silva stepped in then, asking his team to “simmer down” and congratulating Beau briefly before steering the conversation back to that evening’s match-up.

Britechester had picked up some really good new recruits that semester and the team would need all the skill, and luck, they could get to win the day.

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Sadly, it turned out that both luck and skill were in short supply that evening.

Beau’s pregnancy induced upset stomach and Luigi’s distracting eczema flare-up itch had both sims struggling to keep their head in the game.

Between their health issues and some bad strategy decisions by the still salty Captain Aubrey, Britechester beat Foxbury quite handily that evening.

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As the disappointed group left the auditorium, Luigi heard Beau call out his name. He turned, giving the other sim time to catch up.

As soon as he was within earshot Beau reminded his highness that he was perfectly capable of defending himself but thanked him for putting “that idiot Aubrey” in his place. Luigi replied he should think nothing of it, sincerely joking “Better you than me man”. He then waved his hand vaguely in the direction of Beau’s baby in the making, wishing him good luck with “that little munchkin” and heading on his way back home.

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View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

#sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims4 #sims 4 nsb #sims4nsbstraud #sims 4 not so berry #sims 4 let's play #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 lets play

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sys128 · 2 years ago

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May 2023 is here!

Well, it is the start of a new month again, after having been so used to the fact that the previous one was in session. So, what is going to be in store for this month? One thing I did know for sure is that it started with rain! Cool, I like the rain. But that can happen on any old spring or summer day… The more I thought about it, the more I noticed what was going to happen this month. It is actually going to be decently eventful! It is not that surprising considering that I am going to be graduating soon.

This is the part of the year where more fun things happen, such as going on field trips and congratulating your fellow colleagues at school how well of a job they did on school work for the year, or on how much they TRIED to do work; depends. When this is mixed with graduation, then things can get VERY interesting. The first things I have to endure this month are my AP exams for Calculus and English. I could have taken the one on computer science, but by the time I found out that the computer science test was even a thing, it was already FAR too late. I have my tests on the 8th and the 9th of the month. From what I am hearing about AP exams, it sounds like it feels like purgatory in there. You are not permitted to tell the time at all, so you never truly know how much time you have left on a test before moving on to the next thing. And some of these tests can stretch on for multiple hours, so you better not be falling asleep during that period of time. Overall, I think I am gonna turn out okay by the end of exams, but not without some minor internal-clock and MAJOR boredom problems throughout.

But AP exams are likely to be the worst part about the month of May, because I am going to be rewarded with a bunch of cool stuff, just for being either a senior or smart at one point. I have an honors ceremony to attend on the 10th, where I am receiving… something related to college. I am not gonna expect it to be much, but something like a full-ride scholarship only happens with the top-dogs or whatever, and I am not THAT good. Probably like, a $2,000 scholarship tops.

There are three field trips that I am going to be attending by the end of the school year, and two of which are in May. They are both not terribly big but they are good enough to give free time away from any responsibility, and give some memories afterward. I’m all for that kind of thing. The first one is physics related, some sort of university-level physics lab not terribly far from here. This will happen on the 15th. The second field trip is a visit to a tech college, which is funny enough, one that I have already been accepted into and going to attend once I have the funds. This would mark the third time I visited that exact college too. The first was in 2019, and the second was early 2022, I think? I just know it happened twice before. This trip will occur on the 25th. The third field trip will leak into June, but I don’t care. I wanna talk about it still. This one is only occurring because I am a senior and I get to get spoiled by the school district administration… only joking. For real, though, this is a trip up north to a waterpark. These kinds of trips seem pretty common, actually. I was surprised to know that a bunch of people I know on Discord are also getting these same kinds of trips. This will occur on June 1st.

Back to the inside of school, the rest of the seems-fun stuff that will happen during this month is either not that big or expected, just some more interesting units, including a swim unit in my Phy Ed class, and a surprise in Calculus. I still am kinda peeved at my teachers for keeping it a secret. :/ Of course, there is also the graduation procedure, the rehearsal, the ceremony; seen it, done that – well, not yet, technically.

Other than that, yea, that is pretty much how my month is gonna go. The summer might either suck or be pretty chill. It depends on how I am gonna get the money I need to go to college. My mom wants me to work retail, but nah, I wanna be in a position where I can say “Screw that” and do something more enjoyable than retail. Thankfully, options are opening up, with the side effect of being done online, because my productivity is horrible online unless I have a drum and bass playlist in the background with minimal distractions. One of my friends wants to collaborate with me to make some stock videos like geometric animations and stuff like that and split the profits. It sounds like kind of a neat idea, but we would need to research good price-points and stuff, because they can’t be too cheap or too pricy. In case that doesn’t work out and I absolutely HAVE to do retail, then I want it to be something remotely tech related, even if it is still at a desk for a few hours to make sure a site doesn’t go down, because I don’t want to dabble into something that I am ultimately not interested in, such as fast food. My experience with fast food so far has been pretty rubbish. Managers can make or break the entire thing. This not only goes to fast food places, but also to retail stores. My parents also know that from experience. But I am only gonna be an 18-year-old who just got out of high school, and there isn’t gonna be anything like that. But there is one more option I could endeavor, which is just apply for more scholarships, which I was technically supposed to do this entire year, but I just didn’t for some reason, and got caught up still doing kid things.

That is for future me to get stressed out on. For now though, I should just try to enjoy the fact that I am living through what could potentially be the best month of 2023 thus far. In before this all ages horribly, things do a complete 180, and I go through some mental turmoil.

#text block #text wall #may 2023 #update

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common-man · 1 month ago

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Small Story 112.Memorable Bessings.

Small Story 112. Memorable Blessings* Goutam was driving joyfully towards Chennai after visiting his aunt, uncle, and cousins. His trip had been fulfilling, and he was now carrying those precious memories with him to his workplace in Sydney in just two days. Aarti, sitting beside him, noticed his silence and whispered, "Why are you so quiet, Goutam?" "I'm just concentrating on the road," Goutam replied, keeping his focus. Master Goutam, who was in 8th standard, nodded knowingly and added, "I think Dad is recollecting the two days spent with thatha and patti." Aarti smiled and continued, "Why did you leave so soon? Nandhini and her sons were so helpful and courteous. The restaurants they took us to were amazing, and the apartment was lovely. Your uncle, my thatha, spoke with such kindness and a soft voice." Master Vikas chimed in, "True, Aunty had a divine nature, and her attachment to the goddess was so admirable." Goutam smiled and nodded, "Yes, you're all right in your observations." Suddenly, a diversion on the road caught Goutam's attention, and he quickly adjusted his driving. "Meeting your close relatives after eight years brings a lot of happiness," he reflected aloud. His family had truly enjoyed the unexpected trip to the garden city. The hospitality provided by Nandhini and the others was unforgettable. Just then, Goutam's phone rang. It was a colleague from work. "Hey, congratulations, Goutam! You've been promoted to Programme Manager!" Goutam was taken aback, never expecting such good news. Aarti, overjoyed, whispered, "Our trip really made a great turn in our lives." Goutam smiled, still in awe. "I wouldn’t be surprised if I get bad news after this trip, but we can’t say it’s a bad sign," he joked. "My dad always tells me that whenever you’re blessed with good people from the heart, good things follow." Goutam carried that unforgettable trip in his heart, whispering to himself, "Dad, you were right, and this title proves it." K.Ragavan 1-1-25

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fleurelinathehybrid · 3 months ago

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💛[Chapter 12: When the mind becomes clouded and the heart breaks…]💛

Informing everyone in the Dreaming about his unexpected pregnancy was not something completely planned. All of his palace employees were already aware and congratulating him, and he had shared his decision to raise the baby with Death, who also congratulated Hob and inconspicuously warned him that she would end him if he abandoned him. Some inhabitants of the kingdom had already begun to notice the frequent visits of the immortal to the King's castle, generating speculation and assumptions, until Morpheus decided to announce the news to his kingdom in a large assembly.

When that happened, most of the kingdom's creatures applauded and celebrated the arrival of the future princess. Several even wanted to offer food from their own homes so that their master could take care of the pregnancy with care. Hob was amazed by the town's attention and support for the future mother of his child. He confessed to feeling a little jealous of the attention his husband received from his subjects, since when he shared the news with his colleagues at the university, they only offered condolences and wishes of good luck. I wouldn't completely judge them, as they were all parents of toddlers and pre-teens, and he fully understood what it was like to babysit on the power of a toy car battery.

When he shared the news with his employees at the New Inn, they were all excited and congratulated him. It was surprising how a young waiter encouraged him for his new adventure after he told him the story of the death of his first-born son and his first wife. The young man confided in him the numerous times he was sent to different foster homes. Likewise, his bartender offered him advice on taking care of his pregnant wife, since she was the only woman in a family of men and where all of them had died in childbirth or during pregnancy. He was certainly not alone; he had a circle of support that he could turn to.

—It is clear that our little child will be loved and cared at the Vigil. For a moment I thought the opposite. —He tells what he experienced to his eternally pregnant man, with whom he is lying in his gigantic bed worthy of a king of dreams. His belly, still flat and exposed by his lifted shirt, was massaged by his slightly calloused hand.

—My sister Death will be our main support on my part, the others don't know it yet. —Dream told him, with a touch of sadness in his voice. —Destiny must already know, I don't need to notify him. I haven't seen Delirium, she always visits me and sometimes stays here to sleep. The Prodigal is still somewhere in the Vigil, we don't know exactly where he is. And...

That voice that little by little fades away shows a genuine sign of pain and betrayal in her. It seems that this brother would be the main problem for the pregnancy. The crystalline look caused by the soon to come crying only worried Hob more.

—Despair is probably involved in the joke and must be making fun of me too. she always supports Desire's jokes and even suggests how she can hurt me. —tears fall from Dream's blue eyes. —Sometimes I think that I am guilty of their jokes, since I have always focused on my work and solely on my role. I'm not sure I was a good brother to them and I regret not being there when they needed me. I guess that's why my brother decided to leave his kingdom and our family.

Hob proceeded to change the position in which Morpheus lay. From being completely on his back observing the constellations from his bed, he became on his side, thus allowing Hob to hug him and mitigate the sadness on his beautiful face.

—Family relationships are complicated, dove. They are like the sea; Sometimes there is a storm and other times it is calm, which makes them unpredictable. —He planted a kiss on his forehead and adjusted Morpheus so that he snuggled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his touch on his face.

—Then my family would be like a gigantic underwater whirlpool. Our misfortune drags us into the abyss. —He notices that tears are running down his cheeks and hides his face so that Hob doesn't see it. —I've hurt a lot of people I've known, Hob. I don't want to do it with you or our child.

The human gives him a kiss on the lips, causing the Eternal to forget his past mistakes. Morpheus is stunned by his partner's action, and now Hob is on top of him, their eyes meeting.

—We have made mistakes, some unforgivable. —he rubs his nose against Dream's. —But we can learn from them. We should not punish ourselves for what happened, this way we will avoid repeating it.

Again Hob caresses Dream's flat belly, but this time over the fabric of his shirt. They kissed again, increasing a hint of passionate desire in it. They were having a small battle of tongues that was slowly escalating when they were interrupted by a squawk.

—Sorry for interrupting your "business"! —the raven spoke, earning a murderous look from his boss. —Sorry boss, but it seems you have a visitor now.

He's waiting for you outside. Morpheus sighed. —Can you tell us who it is?

—It's your sister Delirium, she came to visit.

He didn't hesitate at all and they both separated to go attend to little Delirium's visit.

[💛💛💛]

—Brother!

The youngest of the seven siblings was in the throne room, full of excitement to see him and congratulate him. As soon as she saw him and his partner arrive, she couldn't contain herself and gave him a hug with all the effusiveness that a little girl can show.

—I already know everything! Death told me when we met on Earth. I'm going to be an aunt again! —she exclaimed with joy, while Morpheus caressed her rebellious red hair adorned with colorful locks, from which flying butterflies emerged.

—Thank you for your support, Del. I really appreciate it.

She looks up and offers him a smile, then congratulates Hob on his upcoming fatherhood, to which he responds with a thank you. Suddenly, a roar shakes the throne room, startling the Endless siblings and the immortal human. Hob notices something and, seconds later, a portal opens to his kingdom. His time of rest was over.

—Excuse me, but I must leave. —he says, and quickly places a kiss on his partner's lips, causing him to blush and a stifled giggle from his young sister-in-law. —See you tonight, love. I love you.

—I love you too, my beloved. — he answers with a smile and rosy cheeks.

After saying goodbye to his little sister-in-law with a kiss on the forehead, Hob leaves through the portal into his world to immediately go to work.

Dream, he turns to look at his little sister and realizes that the reddish tone of her hair was darker. A clear sign that she was upset. Delirium's mood swings were a case of constantly dealing with her and she had to know how to respond to them.

—Is something wrong, Delirium? —he asks worried.

She sighs, changing her serious look to a relaxed but sad one. —Death told me how it happened. The joke played by Deseo. But I need to hear it from your mouth. I understand if you don't want to tell it, I'm not going to judge you.

Morpheus can't help but get sad, he takes his little sister by the hand and guides her to one of his kingdom lands so he can tell her about the joke set by Desire. They and Delirium were extremely close, not as close as Despair; However, the little girl realized that since that day their relationship was increasingly tense. It increased even when The Prodigal left them, so she was the one who calmed down family dinners when they got out of hand.

Now they had undoubtedly gone too far and genuinely did not want any more wars in the family.

Delirium might be the smallest of the family, but it didn't mean she was the weakest of her siblings.

#death of the endless #delirium of the endless #desire of the endless #despair of the endless #destiny of the endless #dream of the endless #dreamling #the sandman #hob gadling

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masongrizchel · 11 months ago

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🔮 What's next? 🔍

Disclaimer: Originally written 10 March 2015.

Fifteen years from now. After a long, hard day of work, I like to unwind and relax by going up to my room, lying on my bed, turning the radio on 🎶, and listening to the music. While in bed, all nice and warm 😌, I start relaxing and letting go of my stressful day. I can feel myself drifting away. I fall asleep and listen to the music.

Subsequently, I can see a tall and old building 🏛️. As my car takes me there, the driver gets down and opens the door for me. When I walk up the stairs to the rooms of that old building, someone, a student, opens them for me and calls my name aloud, Dr. Masong! Everyone stops to look at me and see how important and special I feel. I am wearing a pink long sleeve and gray coat with a blue necktie. My hair pulled down with respect to the earth’s gravity. My face is fair. Everyone was dressed so elegantly in their gowns, and the gentleman was all in black tie. On the stage at the back of the room, there is a band playing lovely instrumental music from the early 2000s. Everyone was dancing 💃, talking, and having a good time.

My classmates, together with familiar faces, are coming one by one. With their elegant dresses and accessories, they are talking about the achievements and contentment that they have gained since our graduation after 15 years. We still laugh in the same manner as we did before. Joking and bullying are the old but good times. They do have their own families and properties where they’ve worked for a long period of time. And they often ask me, “How about you? When do you plan to marry? ”

From out of nowhere, a gorgeous lady appeared. I recognized her, but I’m not so sure. I approached her and asked if I could have a dance with her 💃. She agreed to dance with me, and as I took her by the hand so gently, a series of flashback memories came back, but still, I couldn’t fix the idea that it was her, and I led her to the middle of the dance floor. We start dancing, and the people around us stop what they’re doing and start watching us dance. I cannot believe this lady and I are dancing so coordinated; it is like we have known each other for years, but I do not recognize her. The crowd's eyes are in amazement. When the song ends, everyone applauds 👏. As people start to approach us and ask, "Where did you learn how to dance like that?” I answered; we just swayed with the beat of the drums and our movements interpreted the melody. As I look at her face clearly and stare into her eyes.

Finally, I surely recognized her, yes. It was hers. The person that I promised to be with me for the rest of time after getting my doctorate degree, and at that moment, I proposed 💍. My former instructors and mentors, together with the rest of my batch mates, are happy about the achievements that we had. Not only for me but for others as well. And the clock started to create some noise. Ooops! It's twelve midnight! All of us were stunned by the fireworks display that the school imposed for our alumni homecoming. The fascinating appearance of each other’s dresses and accessories started to fade; the decorations started to shrink and turn into dust. The make-up and fairness of each other’s faces are returning to their original positions. Oh, look! The eyebags are starting to appear! EYEBAGS! After a few minutes, I realized that it was a dream, and that beautiful dream was over. I woke up in front of the laptop together with my pen, scratch papers, notebooks, cellphones, and birthday card. Yes, I’m still not done with my portfolio! And this is a nightmare! Hahahaha! I displayed happiness and the possibility of completing my goals, as well as those of my classmates and the rest of my batch mates that I wrote about in this portion of my portfolio. Aim higher, and never stop dreaming! Advance congratulations to me and my colleagues.

0 notes

neonhairspray · 2 years ago

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My friend and her work colleague made one of my fav jokes on April Fools: she put a picture of her and her friend holding sonograms by the radiology clinic. Wrote something about expecting and how an embassy (they work at Lithuanian embassy in France) will have two new job offers after a couple of months. People started writing "Congratulations!" under that pic, but only me and another one of her old friends wrote that it's a good joke 😀 In the evening she redacted and wrote that her friend is expecting a new puppy and she is expecting a new store opening (she is also has a part time office job at a small L'Occitane type of store where her partner also is a manager).

It's so funny, because she was the first person from my friend circle that said that she'd chosen a cild-free life, but many people did not pay the attention and still believed her (despite the fact that it was April Fools).

A+ prank I should say

#personal #it's the same friend who is born on the same day as Joseph #and who looks like my sister or cousin

0 notes

randomshyperson · 4 years ago

Text

Love is Outside the Screen - Part III - Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

Summary: The one where Reader plays Vision in the MCU and she falls in love with her co-worker Elizabeth Olsen.

Warnings: (+18), smut, sexual themes, strap on use, teasing, fingering, sexual suggestions, explicit language, explicit, obscenity, a bit of praise kink, dom/sub dynamics, bottom reader mostly, switch dynamics, power dynamic changes, slight possessive sex, brief angst, alcohol mentions, arguing, jealously, fluffy.

Words: 7.935 K

A/N> Instead of writing my series, I'm continuing works that were finished already. This is basically porn honestly haha No, but jokes aside, we have fluffy moments with a lot of smut. Good reading everyone!

Part One | Part Two | All Works Masterlist || AO3

//-//-/////-///-//

Love is Outside the Screen - Part III

Northern Ireland, two years ago.

You slipped under the long wooden table as the script indicated.

Your character was supposed to give a slight nod, and then gasp because of the torso injury, and you followed the script perfectly.

When the director yells cut, you stand up, trying not to bump into the makeover they did on your clothes.

"That was great, guys!" Shouted Alex Graves in the direction of the cast scattered around the medieval set. "Let's call it a day."

You were exhausted.

The Game of Thrones footage was absolutely grueling, and time-consuming, although it allowed you to learn something new with almost every scene.

Walking back toward the dressing room to clean up your makeup, you smiled shyly at the girls in the salon who congratulated you on the day's performance while helping you to remove your costume.

While they were going through your hair, you decided to check your cell phone.

There were two missed calls from Lizzie, and you felt your heart swell with guilt immediately.

She had also sent you messages asking if everything was okay, or if you were busy, and saying that she missed you, and you wish you had answered them all, but your routine had been completely absurd.

You felt your chest ache with longing every time you thought of your girlfriend.

When you signed the contract, you knew the conditions, and so did Lizzie. But nothing prepared you for the real thing.

Almost three months without a decent conversation, not even video calls, and the lack of her in your life was making you frustrated and irritated all the time. You were sinking into the screenplay and the recordings, because you simply hated not having Lizzie in your day-to-day life.

"Thank you girls." You said as soon as you noticed the makeup completely removed from your abdomen.

The change in the script killed your character sooner than expected, and you should go home early, even though it was going to take two or three months, it was much less than originally planned.

Grumbling softly, you went back to the dressing room, deciding to call Lizzie now that you would have a little time alone.

She doesn't answer until the second-to-last ring.

"Yes?" Her husky voice signals that she was asleep, but all you can feel is your body shaking at the sound.

"It's me, baby." You reply tenderly as you sit back in the armchair, pressing the cell phone to your ear as if you wish you could reach into the device and touch your girl.

"Oh, hey." She comments sleepily, and you wonder if she has closed her eyes again, or even opened them. "It's late."

"I know, I'm sorry." You say leaning back in the armchair. "I wanted to check that everything was okay because I couldn't answer you earlier."

"Don't worry, darling." She says softly, almost sleepily. "I just missed you."

"Me too, my love." You assure her, feeling your chest tighten slightly. My god, you just want to see her, hold her, touch her. "Lizzie, darling, are you asleep?"

"Yes." She whispers, making you smile.

"I love you baby." You say. "Call me when you wake up, I will interrupt as many scenes as it takes to talk to you."

"Behave yourself in the studio, love." She mumbles sleepily, and you laugh lightly. It was the same warning she gave on your last day in California, on the way out of the airport. "I love you. And I miss you."

You cursed the entire movie company at once when you could perceive the upset in Lizzie's tone, even in her sleepy state. You repeated that you loved her one more time before hanging up the phone.

As you put your cell phone away to grab your keys and head back to the hotel, you wondered if a breach of contract was really so bad.

//-//

Present, California.

You felt Lizzie's arms wrap around you as soon as you made mention of getting out of bed. You smiled, turning your body to look at her.

Her sleeping figure with her eyes closed, her hair slightly tousled made your heart warm with affection.

You loved her so much.

Raising your hand to her face, you stroked her cheek gently with your thumb, and watched the woman sigh softly, and even in her sleepy state, lean into your touch.

"Lizzie." You called softly, trying to wake her up. And did so again until she mumbled softly, leaning her face against the pillow. You let your hand wander to her hair, enjoying the softness as you stroked her scalp with your fingers. "We need to wake up baby."

Lizzie just mumbled again against the pillow cotton, making you smile at the cuteness of that scene.

You moved closer only to deposit short kisses across her face, and only stopped when she let out a husky giggle.

"Good morning, love." You whispered against her ear, and were about to pull away, but she tightened her arms around your waist, keeping you almost on top of her, making you smile.

"Good morning." She sighed back against the skin of your neck, and you blushed slightly when you felt her inhale your perfume and then tighten her fingers around your waist. "Fuck, I love you."

You laughed softly at her sudden, hoarse confession, but let your arms slip around her shoulders, burying your body against Lizzie's. The tenderness was wonderful, and she moved one hand up to caress your back while the other remained on your hip, her thumb moving across the skin beneath your blouse.

You tilt your face away just to look at her, and already you find her with her eyes wide open, a shy smile on her lips.

"I love you too, babe, but we need to get up." You tell her, and you almost get the impression that she's not even listening, because all she does is look at your face with adoration.

You bite back a smile as you feel her legs move beneath you, her bare foot caressing your ankle before she spins you around quickly and stands over you, the sudden movement making you sigh and tighten your arms intertwined around her neck.

"Lizzie!" You exclaim humorously, but all you get is a low murmur as she sinks her body against yours and buries her face in your neck.

"How much time do we have?" She asks against your skin, her lips dangling on that sensitive part of your collarbone and sending a shiver up the length of your spine.

"Enough." You reply already affected by her touch, closing your eyes to enjoy the sensation.

Lizzie smiles against your neck, beginning to deposit chaste kisses against your skin, making you sigh softly.

It didn't matter how many times you had been together or for how long, your body reacted to her in the same way. You only hoped that you wouldn't be late for your appointment with the Marvel directors, but when Lizzie slipped her hand up into your pajamas, you didn't care about that anymore.

//-//-//

London, 1 year and 9 months ago.

It's your third time on "The Graham Norton Show."

You finished taping Game of Thrones the day before, and this was your last appointment before returning to California. To Lizzie.

Part of the cast is sitting next to you, and you are glad for that because you are distracted this evening and can use the time they answer questions to think about your girlfriend. And you miss her for sure.

Graham, the host, asked questions about the final season, and about day to day life on set, and after Kit Harington and Emilia Clarke commented on everything being amazing, and not telling anything about the plot since they weren't allowed to, you were slightly surprised that the subject shift went directly to the romance rumors between the cast.

"I hear that some of you have been becoming close friends outside the set." Graham begins with a chuckle, and you and the cast share a chorus of dissatisfaction that makes the audience laugh. "Which is normal in a long series of course. But we wanted to bring that in because we love gossip."

"Since I'm married, can I have a drink in the dressing room?" Kit jokes, drawing laughter from everyone.

"You're supposed to help us with the arguments". Graham replies humorously. He leans back in his chair slightly to point to the monitor behind him. "We have some behind-the-scenes photos here. And Miss Clarke looks very comfortable."

The audience laughed at the comment, and you tried to cover it up with an awkward laugh. It was a picture of Emilia Clarke, your colleague who plays Daenerys Targaryen, on your lap. But the moment was badly misinterpreted. The photo was taken right after one of the prom rehearsal scenes, and Emilia had gotten one of the coordinations wrong, and you laughed when she fell on you.

Of course, this kind of insinuation was happening because to the media, you two were two single women. And you were used to this kind of questioning, but still, it was always uncomfortable.

"We were dancing, Graham." Emilia argues humorously. "It's not what it looks like."

The audience lets out a chorus of disappointment, and you and Emilia giggle awkwardly.

"Was that the mating dance, ladies?" Graham teases and you want to dig a hole in the ground, but all you do is keep up with everyone's laughter. "Despite all the jokes, I think Marvel's couple is going to be threatened."

The comment makes your heart race, but the audience is very approving, applauding heartily.

At least with this you can talk about Elizabeth.

"Is tonight the night you are going to take over America's dream relationship or can we just keep saying that you and Emilia are together, since there is not the slightest chance that someone that attractive is single." Graham tells you with humor making the audience and cast laugh. You try to keep up, not wanting to seem rude. You wish you could tell him that there is nothing wrong with being single, but you don't think you want to create an awkwardness so you just settle back in your seat as you joke:

"Unfortunately I will deny it again, Graham" You reply. "And I'm not dating Emilia either, I assure you."

You spend the rest of the evening dodging the comments, and are exhausted by the time the interview is over.

"Hey, are you going back to the hotel already?" Kit asks you just as you walk back to the dressing rooms, and you deny it with your head.

"No chance, I'm leaving." You reply. "I'm going straight to the airport, I have a flight in two hours. What about you, Harington? Aren't you going home to see your wife?"

"I didn't know we were talking about wives." He jokes making you blush and look away. Kit didn't know about Lizzie, but he knew you had someone. "Of course I want to come home, but I still have some appointments here. And Rose is in Spain."

"That sucks, man." You comment and he murmurs in agreement, shrugging.

"Yeah, but longing sure makes the sex better." He retorts with amusement and you grimace before laughing.

"You're unbelievable." You joke before waving yourself off in farewell, turning in the direction of your dressing room.

As soon as you enter, you take your cell phone out of your pocket and try to call Lizzie, but it goes to voicemail. You leave a message saying that you can't wait to see her and get your things ready to leave.

After saying goodbye to the cast again, and taking a taxi to the airport, you receive a message, but it is not from Lizzie.

*Sara evil agent* sent you an attachment.

You frown at the matter. "Off-screen romance? Would GOT star Emilia Clarke be dating queer Marvel protégé?"

You call Sara the same minute.

"I literally said I wasn't dating her!" You complain as soon as she answers and hear Sara laugh on the other end.

"Oh, honey, I told you, the media loves a little gossip." She says. "And you need to stop setting up fake girlfriends so quickly, I can barely keep up."

You grumble in irritation and your agent lets out a giggle.

"Don't be so grumpy, it's just a rumor and the last time I checked you were a single woman so I don't see a problem." She says and you bite the inside of your cheek. Since your lack of excitement about GOT, Sara suspects something. Neither of you says anything, but you know she's not an idiot and figures you have a girlfriend. "Are you going back to LA already?"

"Yes, I'm catching my flight in an hour."

"I hope you're ready to record, Lady Vision." She jokes. "Your scene schedule is getting closer."

"I plan to rest this week." You warn, slightly distracted. "Game of Thrones really was something different."

"I just hope people like the ending."

You giggle and Sara wants to know why, but you don't give her any spoilers. After asking if everything was okay, and assuring her that you had eaten something before the interview, you hang up.

Lizzie didn't text you back and you fell asleep on the plane.

//-//-//-//-//

California, three years and eleven months ago.

Your heart was beating so fast that you could hear it in your ears.

But Lizzie's hand in yours was doing a good job of calming you down.

Maybe it was just because you had waited, or maybe it was because you were so much in love, but you don't remember feeling so nervous about the idea of having sex with someone. Not since your first time.

And well, now with Lizzie, it was actually only the first time you two were going to sleep together. You didn't have to be nervous, but you were.

Liz opened the bedroom door as soon as you two reached the room, and dragged you inside with her. You closed the wood as you entered.

The tension was palpable in the air, and you wondered if you stayed still long enough, she might hear your heartbeat.

You looked at her, your eyes locked on each other, and a shy smile on your lips as you approached, stopping inches from her body.

Lizzie holds her breath.

"Are you nervous?" You ask in a husky voice, raising your free hand to go around the length of her arm with your finger, admiring the way her skin shivers at your touch.

She just shakes her head and you smile, resting your hand on her cheek.

"It's just me." You comment as you lean your forehead against hers, and you both close your eyes in anticipation. "We can stop if you're not sure..."

"I'm sure." She interrupts half breathlessly, her hand tightening its grip before letting go of yours, so that she brings both hands to the sides of your neck. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You assure before breaking the distance, bringing your mouths together in a firm kiss that draws a sigh from both of you as your hands move up to Lizzie's waist.

It doesn't take long for the kiss to deepen, your tongues fighting together and the sensation making your head spin and your body heat up.

Lizzie gasped against your mouth before parting for breath, and you used the opportunity to let your fingers run down to the hem of her shirt as you pulled it up. In motion the piece was off, and she copied the same to remove your blouse.

You bit your lip as you looked at the sight of Lizzie's exposed torso in front of you, her nipples hardening in the air making you feel the tightness beneath your stomach increase.

You lunged forward, grabbing her left breast with your mouth, and Lizzie let out a loud noise in her throat, throwing her head back as your tongue skirted her left nipple.

She was so hot and smelled so good, and the sounds she was making were driving you insane.

You moved your hands up to her breasts as soon as you brought your mouths together again, your tongue circling hers as you played with her hardened nipples, and it wasn't long before Lizzie began to whimper, closing her legs and thrusting her hips towards yours for more friction.

You smiled against her lips, you would give her exactly what she needed.

//-//

California, one year and nine months ago.

Leaving your keys on the counter, you were surprised by the silence as you entered.

It wasn't that you wanted Lizzie to stay late to wait for you, except that it was exactly what you wanted.

You left your bag on the living room floor and called her name twice before assuming she was asleep.

Sighing slightly, you went up the stairs to your room, but it was empty. All the other rooms were empty, which made you frown.

Okay, you didn't expect Elizabeth not to be home just the day you were returning, after months of not seeing each other.

But you didn't have much time to think about what might have happened, because a clearly drunk Lizzie stumbled into the house, fighting against the lock and her own balance just as you were coming down the stairs.

"You're drunk?" You ask in a voice in a mixed tone of disbelief and concern upon seeing her, and Lizzie is startled for a moment before giggling.

"Look who's here, California!" She announced to the room with irony and with open arms, stumbling inside. "Hollywood's most eligible bachelorette, watch out ladies and gentlemen."

You frowned at the little scene, Lizzie walked with difficulty to the kitchen as you finished going down the steps, she murmured quietly and you with your arms crossed, trying to understand exactly what was going on.

"What happened to you?" you ask as you follow her across the room, Lizzie takes off her shoes with difficulty, almost falling to the floor at least twice. When you make mention of helping her, she holds up her hand for you not to, and you are starting to get worried.

"I went to have fun." She replies with a humorless laugh. "I can have fun."

"Of course you can." You retorted with a raised eyebrow, watching Lizzie take a deep breath and close her eyes as she leaned her back on the countertop, probably getting a headache from the way she buried her face in both hands for a moment. "Who did you go with?"

"I don't know, Mom." She sneered wryly, and you clenched your jaw. Lizzie laughed at your expression, and pouted. "Oh, did I upset you? Sorry, darling, I'll try to be a good girl for you."

You shook your head slightly.

"Babe, what is happ..."

"Don't call me that." She cuts off quickly and you look at her in surprise. Lizzie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and when she looks at you again, she has thick tears in her eyes and you feel your heart soar. "I saw the pictures on television, Y/N. I saw the pictures, I saw your interview, I saw the videos on instagram. And I guess I understand, because she's beautiful and we haven't seen each other in months but I thought you loved me..."

"wow, what are you talking about?" You interrupt, confused and frightened, and Lizzie looks like a complete mess. She is crying and you reach up to touch her face, and try to calm her down. "Babe, breathe, I don't understand."

She whimpers softly, and you wonder how much booze she really has consumed.

"You are going out with that woman and I love you and everything is horrible." She declares in a whiny voice and you look at her with a frown.

"Lizzie, what..."

But she pushes you and walks off toward the bedroom, and you try to keep her from falling over drinking at least three times until she can get up the stairs properly.

"Lizzie, wait, talk to me." You beg but she keeps walking and you enter the bedroom a moment after her, watching her walk to the closet and start throwing all her clothes out while mumbling about cheating.

You take a deep breath with your hands on your waist, letting out a humorless laugh. It was an absurd scene to say the least.

"Elizabeth Olsen, stop this immediately!" You command as soon as she steps out of the closet, and she widens her eyes slightly as she shifts the weight of her feet before veering to the floor. You sigh as you walk toward her. "Babe, look at me."

"No."

"Lizzie."

Reluctantly, she does so. You soften your expression, feeling your heart soar at the image of her face, longing invading your whole heart.

"God, I missed you." You confess half breathlessly and Lizzie looks on the verge of tears. "Darling, where did all this come from? I'm not seeing any other girl."

"I saw the pictures..."

"Lizzie." You interrupt seriously, shaking your head slightly as your hands land on her shoulders. "I have no one but you. I would never cheat on you, I don't know where that came from. I wish you hadn't drunk so much so we could have a serious talk."

Lizzie gives a mischievous little smile, her gaze half lost because of the alcohol.

"I'm not drunk." She mumbles clearly intoxicated, making you chuckle slightly.

"Of course not." You said as you pushed the loose strands of her hair behind her ears. "You made a mess in the bedroom, babe. Why don't you try to sleep while I clean up?"

Lizzie sighed, clearly tired but shaking her head in denial

"I don't want to sleep." She said as she brought her body closer to you, her hands squeezing your shirt. "I want you to fuck me."

You bit back a smile, looking at Lizzie with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah?"

She murmured in agreement, her fingers trying to open the buttons of your shirt, but she was clearly in no condition to do so.

"I'd like that too, but you're drunk." You say as you move your hands to hold hers, smiling at the grumble of frustration she lets out. "Go lie down, I'll get some water."

"But..."

"Bed, Lizzie." You ordered again as you intertwined your hands to lead her to lie down.

She was reluctant a few times but eventually agreed and lay her down on the mattress, placing the comforter on top.

When you made mention of getting up, she held your hand.

"Don't go." She asked softly with her eyes almost closed. You smiled.

"Aren't you thirsty?"

Lizzie denied and pulled your hand, you moved closer to lie beside her and she wasted no time in entwining her body in yours.

You let your fingers run through her hair and she sighed lightly, not taking long to fall asleep. You waited a few more minutes before moving, getting out of bed as gently as possible so as not to wake her.

After collecting the clothes Lizzie had thrown across the room and putting them away in the closet, as well as putting the party clothes she was wearing in the wash, you went back downstairs, looking for your bag to take to your room.

Your cell phone vibrated as you walked up the stairs.

It was a message from Scarlet, and you laughed lightly as you read its content.

“I heard you're coming home today, right? Lizzie was really upset about the rumors that you were dating, and asked me to take her out for a drink. I dropped her off at home, but she was pretty shaky. I didn't know you two had a thing, can we talk about it over coffee tomorrow?”

You were relieved that Scarlett was the person accompanying Lizzie, but now she knew you two had something. You were tired of it honestly. The secret. All you wanted was for everyone to know how much you loved Lizzie. And judging from recent events, that was a problem for her too. Or at least it was enough for her to drink more than she should.

But you would have to wait until Lizzie woke up to have this conversation, so you went back to your room, and after putting away the clothes from your bag, you took a shower and put on your pajamas, wasting no time in joining Lizzie in bed again.

//-//-//

Caribbean, one year and six months ago.

Following the music, you continued to dance slowly, your hand around Lizzie's waist while the other was entwined in the air with hers.

The luxury hotel where you were staying that week was hosting a Hawaiian themed evening, and well, after spending the day in the pool area, you decided to dance a little.

In that moment, with Lizzie in your arms, you were at peace completely. Moments like these, like waking up with her in your bed, or cooking together, or rehearsing your lines while curled up on the couch under the blanket were more than enough to make you sure that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Lizzie.

You smiled before pulling your body away slightly, just to look at her. And she looked back at you with the same adoration, her cheeks flushing slightly.

You spun her into your arms then, making her laugh as you pulled her back, your hands resting on her neck as your hips swayed to the rhythm of the ukulele of the band playing on the stage.

There were a few other couples around, but you could hardly notice anyone but Lizzie.

You continued dancing, and you rested your forehead on hers, closing your eyes and breathing in her perfume. Lizzie smiled, stealing a quick kiss before resting her chin on your shoulder, following the rhythm of the dance.

When the show ends, you follow the crowd in the clapping for a moment before Lizzie entwines your hands and pulls you toward the bar.

"That was fun." She comments with cheeks flushed from the dance, her smile soft as you stand near each other, your hands intertwined as you reach for the menu.

"Dancing with you always is." You retorted charmingly, releasing her hand only to fit it against your waist, drawing a chuckle from Lizzie.

You ended up sharing some drinks and snacks, and you were starting to feel higher with each sip.

Lizzie was in the middle of a joke when you interrupted her.

"Marry me?"

She blinked in surprise, a confused chuckle escaping her lips.

"What?"

Maybe it was the drinking. Probably not, because with the emerald eyes looking so intently, you suddenly felt very sober. Your heart raced too, but you were never more sure of anything than you were now.

"Marry me." You repeat with a confident smile. Lizzie blushes with wide eyes.

"You... Are you serious?" She asks in surprise, and you let out a sigh, moving closer to take her hands and put them down on your racing heart.

"I love you." You tell her with nothing but sincerity. "I want to spend my life with you. I was planning something bigger, perhaps, at your parents' summer house. I would get down on one knee in front of your family and hand over the ring I've been carrying for three months." You confess and watch her look at you in shock. "I've been waiting for the right moment, Lizzie. But I've just realized that every second with you is the right moment. I want you to be my wife. Do you want me to be yours?"

It took a second for her to react, her expression changing from shock to pure happiness, the tears appearing in her eyes and the smile so big it made her eyes small.

"Yes, yes, of course." She replied between one shy laugh and another, moving forward to kiss you over and over again.

You couldn't stop smiling as you kissed her, and you giggled against each other's mouths, pulling apart to embrace each other.

It didn't take long for the people around the bar to notice and start clapping, but you didn't care.

All you were seeing was your future wife.

//-//-//-//

California, 1 year and 9 months ago.

You finished putting the coffee jug on the tray, the last missing item, before carrying it to your room, taking careful steps not to trip over anything on the way.

Lizzie was already awake, but still in bed. The glass of water in her hands and the missing pill on her bedside table indicated that she was already treating her hangover.

"Good morning, darling." You greeted as you entered, walking over to the bed to leave the platter on top of the sheet next to Lizzie.

"You're home." She commented in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, you just made a noise with your mouth as she sighed, running her hand over her face, probably because of her headache. "When did you get home?"

"Last night." You respond by watching her. "Just before you."

"Sorry." She says moving closer. You gently pull away from her attempt to kiss her lips, and Lizzie frowns. "What?"

"I was worried." You state seriously. Lizzie lets out a sigh, leaning her back against the bed completely. "I thought you were going to pick me up at the airport, but you didn't call. And then I find the house empty. Until you arrived, completely drunk at dawn."

Lizzie crossed her arms, looking away. It was your turn to sigh.

"What's happening, Elizabeth?"

"It 's nothing."

"Elizabeth."

"Stop it." She asks impatiently, turning her face to you again. "Don't call me that."

You just frown in confusion. "It's your name."

"No." She exclaims annoyedly, closing her eyes for a moment. "You only call me Elizabeth when you're angry. And you can't be angry at me because I have the right to go out!"

You watch her stand up, as if running away from the conversation, and you sigh impatiently, massaging your temple with your finger. Lizzie begins to remove her dress, clearly intent on going to take a shower.

"I never said you had no right to go out, Elizabeth." You retort ignoring the annoyed grunt she lets out at you continuing to call her by her full name. "I just think I have the right to ask why after we agreed on something, you changed plans at the last minute and decided to disappear."

"It's funny that you want to demand something from me when you've spent the last few months without giving me any satisfaction of where or who you were with!" She accuses angrily and you grimace in indignation.

"Oh, so it's about my work?" You retort angrily. "The last time I checked we had decided that I was going to record and come home. You said you were fine with that!"

Lizzie gave a humorless laugh, her dress falling to her feet as she worked to remove her bra.

"Well, you know what, I wasn't!" She shouts angrily, throwing the bra angrily into the closet. You need to remember that you are angry with her as you have the vision of her breasts exposed in front of you while she is yelling at you. "I didn't agree to the endless get-togethers with all those sluts around you! And I sure didn't agree with your flushed face on television flirting with Emilia Clarke in front of the whole country!"

You stared at Lizzie in shock, but she just grunted in irritation before turning to go to the bathroom.

"No, I think it's so funny you bring that up, you know, Elizabeth." You spoke aloud as you stood up to follow her. "Because when I said Aubrey Plaza was flirting with you, you told me it was just business. But suddenly, Emilia is something that bothers you!"

"God, this is so different from Aubrey!" she retorts in irritation, finally naked, before stepping into the shower. You were beginning to find it hard to remember why you were fighting now that you had the view of her wet silhouette in the shower stall, as she raised her voice to be heard beyond the sound of the water. "We were supposed to be flirting in the interviews, it was all for the movie. You were just falling all over Emilia for no reason. All those smiles and giggles." She declares angrily, making you bite back a smile. Lizzie naked, angry and jealous was hot as hell.

"I really can't believe we are having this conversation." You complain as you unbutton your pajama shirt. "The most absurd part of it all is you thinking I would have anything with anyone else."

"You say these things but don't live up to them with your actions." She retorts, annoyed. "I wouldn't think anything of it if you didn't flirt with other people!"

"I didn't flirt with anyone!" You return defensively, your blouse finally coming off. Lizzie's annoyed expression almost falters, but she keeps her gaze above your breasts as you take off your pants. "And honestly, none of this would be happening if everyone knew we were dating!"

Lizzie frowns, her anger finally dissipating with your sentence. You step into the shower stall with her, and she looks at you dubiously.

"You...you want to go public?" She asks, studying you as the water falls on her back. You swallow dryly, keeping yourself in front of her.

"Only if you want to."

Lizzie holds out her hand for you to take, and when you do, she pulls you gently until your breasts are almost touching.

"Do you think we're ready for that?" She whispers as your foreheads lean against each other. You sigh as you rest your hands on her waist.

"With you, I'm ready for anything, Lizzie."

She sighs against your lips, her hands moving up to your neck.

"I can't think about that with you naked in front of me." She mumbles before moving forward against his lips.

Kissing shouldn't feel this good.

You slide your tongue over hers a moment later, and you both sigh in need, feeling the effects of so much time apart. Your hands move down to her ass, squeezing the flesh and forcing her against you, and the direct contact of exposed skin makes Lizzie whimper.

You press her against the glass of the shower stall, feeling the shower water against your back as you hold your mouths together in a passionate, hungry kiss.

When air was needed, you ran your kisses down your girlfriend's exposed collarbone, enjoying the way she sighed in anticipation, her hand moving up to the back of your neck to encourage you.

"God, I missed you." You sighed before sucking on the sensitive spot on her collarbone, making Lizzie whimper as she dug her nails into your shoulder.

She pulled your face back to hers, kissing you urgently, and you pressed your body against hers, your hands moving down to her thighs and up so that she entwined her legs around your waist.

The contact of your exposed intimates together made you both gasp in the kiss, but you slid your tongue against hers again, savoring her taste as your hands moved up to her breasts, squeezing and cupping them with a full palm, your fingers playing with her hardened nipples and making Lizzie sigh wetly.

"What is it baby?" you teased when she was unable to keep up the pace of the kiss, throwing her head back as she felt your hands pressing her breasts hard, and Lizzie grunted as she bit her lips to keep from moaning, looking up at you with dark eyes, clearly struggling to keep her expression impassive. You smiled, pressing your hips forward and watching her close her eyes tightly, unable to contain a low moan that escaped her throat. "I want to hear you, baby."

"I'm still mad at you." She declares in an affected voice, and you murmur in understanding, lowering your face to her collarbone, and licking and kissing the skin, making her shiver.

"Is this angry sex, then?" You sneer as you move your hips forward again, the sensation bringing a rising wave of pleasure to both of you. "It doesn't seem like it."

Lizzie sighs impatiently, and puts her legs on the floor, pushing you away by your shoulder.

You are so stunned by the sudden break in contact that you barely have time to absorb her turning off the shower before she pulls you by the hand out of the stall.

You were about to ask what she was going to do, but she pushed you onto the bed, and disappeared into the closet.

"Lizzie?" You called out uncertainty, preparing your apology speech for what exactly you couldn't say. But she walked out next, and the sight made your mouth go dry. "Damn."

Elizabeth was wearing a strap-on, the rubber penis already fitted in the front and ready for use. And from the determined expression on her face, she was more than willing to prove to you that she was pissed.

"Fuck me." You breathed aroused by the view, and Lizzie gave a wry chuckle as she approached the bed.

"Oh, I will." It was her only warning before she broke the distance, kissing you fervently, her tongue exploring your mouth and pulling the air from your lungs, making you see stars.

You let out a low moan, moving your hands up to her waist to pull her to you, but Lizzie pushed your hands away, breaking the kiss and moving one hand up to your neck, squeezing lightly as she made you look at her.

"Knees, ass up." She commanded in a husky voice, her gaze glittering with lust, you bit your lips to keep from moaning again, feeling your pussy pulsate with desire as you obeyed, turning on the bed quickly as Lizzie positioned herself behind you. "I'll teach you not to flirt with other girls."

"I was n-fuck." Your speech turned into an horsy whimper as she suddenly penetrated you with the dildo, you were so wet that she had no problem at all, the toy slipping into your folds with ease, filling you completely. Lizzie chuckled breathlessly, her hands steadying your hips.

"God, you're so hot." She murmured, moving slowly inside you, the action making you clench your fists in the sheets and arch your back, your pussy clenching against the dildo.

"Fuck, Lizzie."

She thrust again, this time hard, her hands squeezing your hips as she went deep inside, making you moan loudly.

Before establishing a rhythm, she leaned against you, her hand coming up to your hair and pulling you back as she brought her mouth to your ear.

"You are mine." She whispered before she thrust hard inside you, making you moan. "Do you understand?"

"Not quite yet, try harder." You teased breathlessly, the pleasure at having the dildo all the way inside you making you half dizzy. Lizzie grunted angrily, this time stroking even harder, making you see stars as you whimpered, your body beginning to tremble.

"Quit being a brat or I'm going to fucking stop." She warned against your ear, thrusting more slowly this time, and you moaned breathlessly, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Lizzie set a slow pace, but thrusting hard as you moaned and whimpered, every time the dildo entered you making you even wetter and aroused, to the point that you were unable to hold back the loud moans, and she giggled.

"Look at you, a horny, begging mess." She sneered against your ear. "You are mine, and only mine."

She whispered, her strokes deep inside you. "I want you to remember that when you flirt with other girls. How good I make you feel."

You whimpered, your pussy clenching against the dildo for more, Lizzie keeping the strokes torturously slow. Seeing your state, she laughed softly, pulling out of you completely.

Before you had time to complain, she turned you over on the bed, spreading your legs as she bent down, thrusting deep inside you. Your moan died against her lips as she kissed you hard, laying against you as she buried the dildo inside you.

You could feel Lizzie everywhere. Her breasts against you, her lips on yours, and it was too much. She thrust hard again, deep and fast as you had your legs around her waist, and her tongue on yours, and you began to tremble in spasms, pleasure spreading throughout your body.

Lizzie smiled against your lips as you lost the ability to respond to the kiss, moaning and whimpering at the closeness of your climax. Her mouth moved down to your neck as she kept up the pace of the thrusts inside you, and your hands tightened around her waist, pulling on her hips for more friction.

It wasn't long before you fell over the edge, the tightness under your belly exploding, the pleasure spreading to the tips of your feet as you moaned against Lizzie's ear, crumbling under her.

As you tried to normalize your breathing after such an intense orgasm, she straightened to look at you, her eyes had adoration in them.

"You did so good." She praised against your lips. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"I did." You replied in a husky voice, taking a deep breath to control the effects of climax.

In one swift motion, you spun you two around on the bed, sighing as you felt the toy move inside you.

"Now you will learn to honor your appointments, Miss Olsen." You warned as your hands moved down to the latches of the strap, removing it as Lizzie bit her lips, looking at you with a mischievous gaze.

You shifted to remove the strap and toss the toy on the floor, returning to sit on Lizzie's lap, your mouth returning to hers immediately.

When she began to move beneath you, you smiled against her lips, pulling away as you rested your forehead against hers and let your fingers play with her wet entrance.

"Use your mouth." She asked breathlessly, her nails digging into your arm.

"My baby wants my mouth?" You teased, moving forward to lick her lips and pulling away with a short laugh when she moaned as she chased your mouth unsuccessfully. You circled her clitoris with your fingers, and Lizzie gasped. "The next time you want to get drunk, at least text me, my love." You warned as you penetrated her with two fingers at once, feeling her hot and slippery, while Lizzie moaned loudly against your mouth. "Do you understand?"

You removed your fingers, playing with her entrance until she nodded frantically, pushing her hips toward your hand. But you laughed lightly, pulling your hand away completely, and leaving her with a confused expression.

"I thought you wanted my mouth." You scoff, already ducking, as Lizzie looks at you expectantly.

"God, you always fuck me so good." Lizzie comments as you kiss her thighs, moving down. You smile against her skin, finally reaching her pussy.

You stare at her before moving forward, your tongue against her clitoris as she sighs with need.

"Don't torture me." She begs breathlessly, her wrists locked on the bed, you smile, lingeringly licking her, and she closes her eyes tightly.

"I won't, my love." You assure her before returning your mouth to her pussy, kissing her entrance before you begin to suck and lick, devouring her with desire.

She moans loudly, letting out affected sighs with each movement of your tongue inside her, and you hold her thighs to keep her open for you as you eat her out.

It doesn't take long for Lizzie to reach her edge, already near the limit from fucking you, but it's still delicious to have her crumbling against your mouth like a weeping mess, her orgasm on your tongue as she screams your name.

You climb your body back up onto her, and kiss her tenderly, unlike anything so far.

Lizzie is trying to control her breathing from the climax, but sighs in satisfaction as she tastes herself on your tongue.

As silence falls over you, you sigh lightly, your hands caressing her face.

"Are we okay, Lizzie?" You ask as you settle down to lie across from each other. She leans into the touch of your hands, as her hands come up to your waist.

"I don't know." She confesses. "But I want us to be."

You smile, using your finger to take a strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

"Do you think going public will make us better?"

"I don't want to love you in secret anymore." She says and you feel your heart soar. "Do you understand?"

You smile. "Yes, babe. I feel the same way."

She gives a relieved smile, her gaze passionate. You break the distance, and kiss her gently.

When you break the kiss a moment later, you look quickly at your bodies. "I think we should have this conversation with clothes on." You comment and Lizzie giggles.

"Later. Now I show how much I missed you in my bed." She says before bringing your lips together again.

You certainly wouldn't object to that.

//-//-//

Atlanta, three years ago.

You hesitated at the entrance to the restaurant.

Through the window you could see Lizzie, and all your cast mates, as it was the closing celebration of the WandaVision filming.

You swallowed hard, the object in your pocket suddenly becoming too heavy.

You startled slightly when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"I guess we're both late, huh?" Kathryn Hahn, your cast mate, remarked gently, putting her car keys away in her pocket clearly having arrived right with you.

You gave her a lopsided smile and she noticed your hesitation, assuming a worried expression.

"Everything okay?" She asked.

You shifted your gaze to the window again, watching Lizzie giggle shyly, her gaze shining slightly. She looked around too, searching, and you knew it was for you.

"Yeah, I just...I was just having a moment of doubt." You say still looking at Lizzie. Kathryn followed your gaze, and smiled, but didn't comment on it.

You sighed, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the object.

"Wow, are you going to...?" Kathryn asked in surprise but you gave a humorless laugh.

"No, I couldn't." You say swallowing dryly, and looking away from the velvet box. "I don't know if I'm ready."

"And when either of us are?" Kat returned, making you smile.

"How did you know you were going to say yes to your husband?" You asked next. Kathryn sighed thoughtfully.

"I didn't." She replied. "There's no way to know until you get asked. But what I did know was that I loved him. And that's what really matters."

You absorbed her words in silence, and then put the box back in your pocket.

"I think she loves me." You say. "That will be enough until I find the right moment."

Kat murmurs in understanding, and then pushes her shoulder against yours lightly.

"Just don't wait too long." She warns with a smile, nodding her head signaling for the two of you to enter the restaurant and join the rest of the team.

When you enter, any thoughts of Lizzie denying your marriage proposal are driven out by the image of her contented smile when she sees you arrive.

//-//-//-//

A/F/N> I'm not even gonna try to say this is the last time i'm continuing this work because at this point, I just know I don't believe my own words anymore haha. Tell me what you think people.

Tag> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x yn #Elizabeth Olsen x Reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x yn #elizabeth olsen x !bottom reader #dom lizze #dom!elizabeth olsen #avengers imagines #brat reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagines #elizabeth olsen smut

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imaginefan · 2 years ago

Text

Jealous Detective

Andy Trudeau X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 756

Requested: Anon

Request: Yes Andy from Charmed. A jealous fic between him and reader. I didn't know there was more than 1 Andy in another show.

Warning: Suggestive

This was just supposed to be a work function, he’d brought you because everyone was asking who he rushed off to see every night. You laughed every time that he came home and told you what they’re new theory was. You had met him after he made it to detective which was why people made jokes but you had yet to show your face at a work function or the office so now that there was an actual work party arranged he decided to bring you with him but he wasn’t prepared for what was to come.

“Are you ready?” He asked as he walked into the bedroom, to see you standing in front of the mirror, you looked beautiful and he suddenly didn’t care about proving everyone wrong. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother with this party.” “No.” You gave him a look through the mirror, knowing exactly what he was thinking “I took the time getting ready to go.” “Fine… Are you ready?” He asked again and you turned to him and nodded. “I think so.” You answered. “You look amazing.” He complimented pressing a kiss to your check as he took your hand leading you out of the house.

When you got to the event it was safe to say that everyone was surprised but most just congratulated him but there were still younger members of the precinct that still didn’t believe that you were together “I have to go and talk business for a moment, will you be okay over here for a little while?” He asked. “Oh yeah, I’ll be fine, just don’t keep me waiting too long.” You ordered, he pressed a kiss to your temple before walking off to where Darrel was talking to someone you didn’t know or recognise. “So you and Andy?” A new voice asked, you smiled as you looked at the man who was now standing next to you. “Mm.” You hummed “he told me that no one believed him.” “Alright but he’s not here so you can drop the act, surely you're just doing this to help him out.” He smirked, “I could get you out of here and show you a real good time.” “Andy never told me that there were people like you in the police force.” You mumbled taking a sip of your drink, he put his hand on your arm and leaned closer. “Worried that you’d be tempted away?” He asked, before you could answer there was a shadow cast over you and you looked over to see Andy had made his way back over, anger clear on his face as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you back to him. “What’s going on here?” Andy asked. “Nothing…” You answered hoping that you could avoid a scene, if only for his image. “Just keeping her company until you came back, can’t leave a woman like this on her own.” The guy who had taken up space next to you winked, you rolled your eyes and moved closer to Andy. “Well I’m back so you can leave now.” He informed him, waving him off. The guy shrugged before walking away from you. Andy ordered another drink before leaning against the bar, you stood in front of him and took one of his hands, the other occupied with his new drink. “Calm down.” You said softly as you leaned in a little. “Calm down?” He asked. “Mm.” You hummed as you leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “No need to be jealous, you know that’s really not my type.” “I’m not jealous.” He argued and you nodded. “No, no of course not.” You turned away from him “maybe I’ll go finish my conversation with him then.” “Don’t you dare.” He warned wrapping an arm around your waist to stop you from getting too far away from him. “Why?” You pouted and he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like him or trust him.” He answered. “That’s not a nice way to talk about your work colleagues.” You scolded him and he rolled his eyes and pulled you closer. “Alright, I might have been a little jealous.” He mumbled “so you're going to stay with me for the rest of the night and then we’re going to go home and make use of the rest of the night. That okay with you?” “That’s very okay with me.” You nodded as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips and glanced at the clock. “30 minutes.” He said “then we leave.”

Requests and general question!

#Charmed #charmed imagine #charmed one shot #andy trudeau #andy trudeau oneshot #andy trudeau imagine #imagine #oneshot #one shot #reader insert #x reader #female reader

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astranva · 3 years ago

Note

I know that bsgf!yn is a creative director and works on a lot of shows and movies is there ever a time after the break up where her and Harry have to work on the same movie? Maybe like a marvel movie. She probably wouldn’t want to do it but marvel is such a huge thing for her career wise that she would have to stick it out.

oooo that sounds very interesting! i was actually considering her getting a marvel deal so yeah, her working on a movie with harry would be really nice and dramatic.

he’d be a mess because he wouldn’t know about it until he first meets up with the crew on set, and there she is, in her element as she assigns tasks to those in her team, smiling and laughing as she does because he knows she’s someone who likes to work in a fun, stress-free as possible environment.

and he’d be so shocked that he’d be reluctant to approach her but then she sees him and as always, she gives him a polite smile and approaches him to greet him.

“hey,” she’d say, “guess we’re sort of colleagues for a few months.”

“i didn’t know you’re working on the film,” he’d smile, “congratulations.”

“thanks, harry,” she’d smile, “you, too! congratulations. you’re really getting into that acting world, huh?”

“trying to,” he’d shrug with a sheepish smile.

“trying to? says mr. lead actor in a shit ton of works, and now mcu actor, shut up, get out of here,” she’d joke, waving him off.

harry would be very awkward around him, and he’d be very nervous in front of the cameras when she was near, watching him, as she had to be there to make sure the execution of her creative vision was going according to plan. he’d definitely mess up a little, stumble over his words, and he’d hate himself for it.

but i imagine bsgf!yn approaching him one day. “hey,” she’d begin, “can you be honest with me?”

and he’d look surprised and nod.

“are you uncomfortable with, like, me here? you know, working on the movie?”

“no, no,” he’d answer, “not uncomfortable, no.”

“be honest.”

“not uncomfortable,” he’d repeat, “just,” a shrug, “it’s a little awkward for me?”

“yeah, i gathered,” she’d mutter, “i just-i’d hate for my presence to affect you.”

harry would chuckle, “there’s not anything you can do, y/n,” he’d reply, “i’m a big boy. i should know how to not get my feelings in the way. it’s not your problem to deal with, i promise.”

“would you feel better if i just, i don’t know, ignored you? or is there anything i can do to make this easier on you?”

and harry would hate himself more because there she is, in a relationship of her own, working on a big movie, but still caring about his damn feelings.

“just do your thing, okay? don’t worry about me. if anything, i’m grateful that we’re, like, on friendly basis.”

#backstage girlfriend #backstage gf!yn

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sun-sakura · 2 years ago

Text

Hey guys, it's been a while, like...half a year? Yeah, something like that. You probably dont even remember me, but i used to post about the fandom of security breach, sun and moon precisally. Life happend, and on the course of the year, i grow out of the fandom and dissapeard out of this blog. But now? Now i back, and if i cant promise that i will able to post a lot, im determinated to write again. Thanks to the ones that peeked into my dms and ask me how i was doing, im sorry that i never answerd them, but just know that i read them and it still mean a lot to me. Now, for celebrating my return on this amazing fandom, here the plot of a fanfiction that im working on:

The universe hates you.

Over the years, you had always suspected that there had been a grain of truth in that single sentence. However, come to this day, in an adult life that is far too tight for you, you have officially come to see that you were damn right. Constantly battling for years against undiagnosed depression and the great threat of rent threatening to kick you out of your appartment, with the help of a friend you manage to find a new job. Congratulations, you are officially one of the new illustrators and comic artists of the famous mall Fazbear Pizzaplex. Your work colleagues? Clowns, or rather jesters to be precise. They mostly don't seem happy about your arrival, determined to make your new work experience the most uncomfortable and stressful one yet. Between uncertain approaches and unpaid therapy sessions, you will try to at least get along with them, all while trying to keep surviving in this joke that is your life.

Hope i catch your interest, i will try to post the first chapter soon

#fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moondrop #fnaf security breach #moondrop #moondrop x reader #sun and moon fnaf #moon x reader #moon x y/n #sun x reader #sun x y/n #sundrop x reader #sundrop

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wincore · 5 years ago

Text

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts.

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less.

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is.

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business.

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model.

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue.

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.”

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation.

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others.

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack.

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing.

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation.

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite.

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year.

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question.

Do you love it?

Of course you fucking do.

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things.

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’.

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal.

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with.

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it.

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West.

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence. You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun.

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?”

Joohyun shakes her head. “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least.

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy.

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement.

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so.

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot.

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course.

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s.

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell.

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness.

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive.

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are.

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime.

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places.

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time.

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.”

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous.

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him.

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps.

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing.

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze.

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns.

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you.

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could.

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough.

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this.

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head.

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty.

You were not one of them.

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation.

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it.

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it.

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line.

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.)

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate.

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit.

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear.

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused.

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception.

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong.

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly.

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown.

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little.

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard.

Secrets.

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it.

And perfection is your dear old friend.

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel.

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him.

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works.

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck.

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director.

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes.

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard.

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.”

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.”

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute.

“Sour.”

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays.

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that.

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models.

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration.

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too.

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.)

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore.

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave.

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not.

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said.

Why are those the words that make you worry the most?

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again.

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you.

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that.

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head.

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint.

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?”

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist.

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here.

Or is it him?

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile.

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response.

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit.

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling.

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you?

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes.

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours.

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be.

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit.

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then.

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you.

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even.

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny.

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid.

Afterparties are still not your thing.

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief.

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…”

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you.

“(name), thank you.”

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though.

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on.

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship.

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out.

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here. He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall.

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your mouth pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, gasping out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complications left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.”

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use his assets better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high.

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut under spotlight!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches.

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.”

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?”

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

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