#oh well that means you can be rude and mean to the worker! its okay!

[stiffyck]

Yes you are so cool for being mean to the random workers babe, love ya!

[luishies]

sweets* ˚ ✦ part 2

Genre: fluff Warning: kissing word count: —- authors note: this is my first fanfic so theres many mistakes or awkwardness..but hope u enjoy!<3 (Woonhaks POV most of the time~)

Summary:y/n is part time worker in a small convenience store near Woonhaks house. Woohak buys sweets everyday just so he can see her.

: ̗̀➛Part 1

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚                                                                                                  ⋆ ˚⋆୨୧˚

                                            I love sweets,but I love you more.

Messenger 9:37pm

 “Hey! This is woonhaks number right?” 

Woonhak

“Hey!! Yeah this is my number”

y/n

“Okii! I was just checking if its right hehe”

“Well have a good night <3~”

Woonhak

“Oh okok yeah have a good night too :)”

I felt my face heating up and my stomach had this funny feeling.She sent me a heart. I snapped out when I remembered my ramyun cooking.

Time check: 7:50am

Omg. I'm late! I was running to school with my hair still dripping.”Kim Woon Hak?” the teacher shouted.A loud bang from the door “I'M HERE SIR!” I shouted while trying to catch my breath. “I’ll let u go this time but next time i'll consider this as late mr.woonhak..” the teacher said while gesturing me to go to my seat “Yes sir! Thank you sir!” I said loudly, making some of my classmates laugh.The day went by so quickly. While i was walking home someone i remembered about y/n. I went back to the convenience store and I saw y/n fixing something on the shelves so I decided to scare her. I crept behind her and held her waist “BOO!” I said loudly but not shouting. I swear I saw her face go so pale but it became red. I was trying to think why till i realized our faces were just inches away from each other and that i was still holding her waist. I  felt my face get red and I backed away as fast as I could. “Oh..uhm.. Sorry about that haha..I just saw you so I decided to scare you..I didn't mean to be a creep by holding your waist or being so close! I swear! I'm so sorry!!” I was basically rapping. She just looked at me and started laughing “Woonhak it's okay! It actually helped me, i've been super sleepy and when u surprised me it woke me up, very much! Haha” she said while giving me the most heartwarming smile. I swear I could feel myself melt everytime she laughs,smiles or anything… “Are you gonna buy something? Or did you just go to see me?” she asked me “Maybe i'll buy something or maybe i did go here too see you.”   where am i getting this confidence omg.. I went to the candy aisle while y/n went to the cashier to help a customer. I bought the same sweets as yesterday. While she was scanning these she asked me “are these your favorite? You bought it also yesterday” i looked up too her while she was counting my change “Ya i like these sweets, I think i might even go here everyday for it.'' I said. “Are you sure it's the sweets that make you want to go here?” she said “or u want to go here everyday for me?” she said while laughing. “Why go here to see you when we can go out.”

“Huh?” she asked while her face was red. “I mean like we can just hang out.” “outside of your work u know?”. “My grangran owns a cafe just down the street. Wanna go there? I can wait for your shift to end "I said while rubbing my neck. “Oh.. um yeah! That would be nice.” “My shift is about to end anyways, I'll just fix something then we can go,” she said smiling. She said yes…omg is this a date? Or is it just a hang out?what if she's just saying yes because she doesn't want to seem rude…  I was waiting outside the store,pacing back and forth until she left the store wearing baggy jeans and a green hoodie. How can someone look so pretty in a simple outfit??  “So lead me mr.woonhak” she said in a jokingly way “ofc my princess y/n” i said while handing my hand out for her. We were holding hands on the way to the cafe. I swear I felt like I was gonna die at that moment. When we arrived a staff member told me that grangran went home. “Woonhak you've really matured huh, You already have a girlfriend” one of the staff members teased me. Y/n and I went to the counter and ordered some food and drinks. While we were eating she kept on talking about how much she loves (your interests and hobbies). I never saw someone so cute while talking about stuff.. I really wanted to hangout more with her but when i checked the time it was already 9:00pm. Omg..it's late, why is the time so fast?? “Oh shucks.. It's 9 already.” y/n said while looking at her phone. “I'll walk you home” i told her while packing my stuff “Oh no it's okay! I just live a few minutes away from here!” she said “i'll just walk with you till your gate.Its late, i won't let a girl walk alone at night” i told her “fine.. Thank you” she said with a smile on her face. While walking, she kept talking about the things that happen in the store. “Oh! There's my house you should go to, it's late, maybe your parents are looking for you.” she said “Oh..ok.. Well uhm thank you for today.” I said while walking backwards. “Y/n..can i tell you something before i go?” I asked quickly. “Hm? Of course you can”. “Well uhm..i've really liked you since i met you and i want to ask if you want to go out with me.” I said nervously while my eyes were closed. I don't want to see her face..I bet she's judging me or laughing. Until I felt someone get closer and kiss me on the cheek. “Of course, I thought this was a date actually haha” she said with a gorgeous smile. “omg..wait..AHHA im shocked wait..” I said while covering my face because it was so red “OMG I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU UNCOMFY I'M SO SORRY!” she said “NO NO IT'S OKAY HAHA IM JUST LIKE SHOCKED..” I said while trying to assure her it was okay. I felt my body take control again. Omg what is wrong with me. I cupped her face and lifted it up so she could look at me. And i..

Kissed her. 

I felt my entire world stop again. But I felt this entire weight just disappear from my chest when she kissed me back. "I love sweets but i love you more y/n."

(sorry that this kinda sucks..im like half asleep while writing this AHAH)

[ericshoney]

“I mean....I like you a lot”~ Haechan

You had a terrible day. You was late to work because your alarm didn’t go off, you had to deal with rude customers all day, had to work late because your co worker didn’t show up and on the way home, it rained and you didn’t have a coat or umbrella. So you could say it was rubbish. The only good part, was Haechan. When you got to your apartment, shaking from the cold rain, you opened the door to the smell of your favourite food and saw Haechan sat on the sofa.

“Hey, what brings you here?” You asks, dumping your coat and bag at the door while kicking your shoes off.

“Uh, its movie night and I have a key, remember?” He sassily responds.

“Shit, Hae I totally forgot, its been a terrible day, I’m sorry.” You apologise when you suddenly remember your plans.

“No its okay, I knew you had work and saw it was raining so I cooked your favourite.” He replies with a smile.

“Now, go have a hot shower, get into some comfy pjs and tell me all about it while you eat.” He adds.

“Thank you.” You said with a smile.

He nods and you go have a nice hot shower, getting into some pjs - which was one of Haechan’s old shirts and some shorts- before sitting with your best friend and a plate of hot food.

“This tastes amazing! Did you really cook it?” You ask him.

“How dare you judge I can’t cook!” He gasps. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Fine Taeyong Hyung helped me.” He confesses, making you laugh.

You quickly finish your plate of food, making him smile.

“Now tell me about your terrible day, I’m here to listen.” He said.

And with that, you spilled everything out to him, everything that happened from the moment you got up till you came home.

“The worse part was this rude girl and her boyfriend! I mean she said that nobody likes me! She doesn’t even know me just being a judgemental bitch.” You finish your rant.

“I mean...I like you a lot.”

You look at Haechan, who’s looking at you with a soft smile.

“Well yeah we’re friends.” You reply with a short laugh.

Haechan just looks at you, making you realise.

“Oh.. Oh you like me!” You exclaim, making him chuckle.

“A lot.” He repeats.

“Really?” You ask softly, he nods with a smile.

“I’ve been trying to drop hits, hoping you would pick up on them.” He admits.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

You smile and nod. Haechan moves closer and his lips land on yours in a sweet kiss, you smile and close your eyes, your arms going around his shoulders.

“I like you a lot Y/n. Be mine?” He asks as he pulls away.

“Of course.” You said.

Haechan smiles and pulls you close, kissing your forehead, as the two of you watch a movie together, going from friends to lovers.

[direwombat]

woe, the first wip wednesday of the 2024 be upon us

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton to share some wippy goodness today. here's some more katc interlude ii from gus' pov. please enjoy this VERY ROUGH draft (with brackets and everything!)

There, sitting in the chair beside Augustine’s bed, is none other than Joseph Seed. 

Augustine nearly doesn’t recognize him at first. Not without the sunglasses. They’re a common source of ridicule among his co-workers -- “What kind of asshole wears piss-colored glasses, anyway?” is a common refrain amongst the townspeople whenever the preacher is spotted outside the island where he built his Church. 

Once, back when Augustine was naive and new to town, he’d made the mistake of coming to Joseph’s defense. “Maybe they’re prescription,” he’d posited, believing it to be harmless speculation. “For migraines or something.” 

He’d never been more quickly ostracized in his life. 

It’d taken weeks to get back into his fellow rangers’ good graces, and even then it was only because Ben had convinced them to give him a second chance. “C’mon, he’s new. Kid didn’t know any better.” 

Augustine learned to keep his mouth shut when it came to Joseph Seed and his family. If it’s taboo to say anything nice about the man, then he’d rather not say anything about him at all. 

Hastily, Augustine lifts himself into a seated position and combs his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself look more presentable. “Mister Seed,” he starts, before realizing he has no idea what the appropriate honorific is. “Uh…Pastor Seed?”

“Father is fine,” he smiles. The corners of those bright blue eyes crinkle warmly. 

“Father Seed,” Augustine corrects, but the way Joseph lips thin like he’s biting back a laugh tells him he still didn’t get it quite right. Anxiety coils tightly in his gut -- Already fucked it up -- but he swallows around the lump in his throat, pushing it down. “I ain’t mean for this to sound  rude or ungrateful, but,” he hesitates a moment, warily eying the man in the doorway. Broad shouldered and donning an army field jacket, the man has a hardened and calculating look in his eyes; one that’s very similar to the look Sybille has whenever he drags her out to meet new people. He’s being sized up. This man is judging his actions, weighing his worth, and the rhythmic beeping on the heart monitor quickens at the idea that he may find Augustine wanting. His attention returns to Joseph’s curious gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“My brother, Jacob,” he motions to the man in the doorway, “told me about what happened to you last night. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

Although Augustine’s pulse slows to its normal rhythm, blood rushes to his cheeks. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “I -- uh…” His hands clasp together and he bashfully averts his eyes to stare at his worrying fingers instead. “I’m okay. Been better, but…I’m alright.”

“That’s excellent to hear,” Joseph says gently.  

Augustine nods and a long stretch of unbearably heavy silence settles over them. He chews on the inside of his cheek until the bitter metallic tang of blood bursts on his tongue, wracking his brain for a topic of conversation, but he comes up empty. “I’m sorry,” he says after an awkward cough. “I ain’t much of a conversationalist and I’m…Well, I wasn’t…”

“You were expecting someone else,” Joseph nods. [insert something about the compassion and understanding and warmth in his voice, rather than the anger and hostility augustine anticipates]

A lame, “Yeah,” is all Augustine can muster in response. His fingers fidget nervously in his lap. “You, uh…You ain’t happen to know if my sister’s here, do you? I gave Ben my phone so he could call her, but.. Um…” he trails off again. Whatever drug they’ve been using to sedate him and numb the pain has also stolen the second half of most of his thoughts as well. 

Joseph sighs heavily and his brows knit together. He removes his glasses, neatly folding the arms and tucking them into the breast pocket of his vest. A warm hand comes to rest on top of Augustine’s clasped ones. 

Augustine knows what that gesture means. It’s what Mama did when she sat him down to tell him that she had cancer and what the kind paramedic did when she told him she was sorry for his loss after he’d found both Mama and Daddy dead in the living room. It’s the kind of comforting gesture one gives before delivering bad news or condolences. Yet as Joseph’s long, spindly fingers wrap around his own, the warmth, accompanied by a sympathetic squeeze manages to keep the knot of anxiety in his gut from growing larger. 

“The phone lines have gone down,” Joseph murmurs. “I’m afraid we haven’t been able to get through to her yet.”

Augustine’s eyes go wide. “The phone lines are down?” he repeats. The County is no stranger to strong winds ripping through the valley, but last he checked the forecast hadn’t predicted anything strong enough to knock out the phones. “What happened?”

taglist: @marivenah, @florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @poetikat, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @madparadoxum, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else wanting to share a piece of their wips!

[scaraberri]

Celestial Symphony

[03: A Reunion to come?]

[scaramouche x Fem!reader]

Word count: 1k

Note: SO IM BACK ;)

srry if this seems rushed (T.T)

Eula , Noelle , Kazuha , Aphria(?) , Scaramouche , Elliot

There were rumors since his birth, on how he was cursed. Blessed by the devil himself. That he was going to deprive the nation of all its glory if he ever took the throne, it was all…

Bullshit…

I mean to be fair, what did he ever do? He was just born and the world seemed to already hate him…

Sure he’s rude and narcissistic, but that the world fault for making him that way..

If only he were to have a beacon of light

To guide him

So he doesn’t end up as a self-fulfilling prophecy…

“your grace…”

“your grace…”

“your grace-!” Noelle yell’s, while eula stands next to her.

“Huh…what happened”

“ooh your alright!  I was so worried when you passed out, I thought I did something wrong when I couldn’t wake up up-” her word halt when she feels a hand on her shoulder

“calm down Noelle” eula speaks

“Ah! My apologies…i didn’t mean to-” she stutters as she lets go of you. “are you alright your grace”

“I'm okay…more importantly what happened..?” you ask as you rise from laying on your bed

“you tell me, not even a minute into the carriage you collapsed, do have kind of condition or…”

“I-..no I just had a weird dream that’s all… but what are you doing here I thought you left with miss kujou sara ”

“I did, and after finished my business there, I came home to a very alarmed Noelle banging on my door”

“I may have over stepped” Noelle sweats “but for good reason! It was unexpected and you didn’t seem like you simply fainted from exhaustion, so I got worried…my apologies”

“no no…its fine...I’m glad to have friends like you…who always come to my rescue…thank you” You smile” you both are the best thing that could happen to me” the two went quiet

“Well! You should get ready now, you were out most of the day, And its almost time for your classes…so get prepared” Eula says crossing her arms and looking away so that they cant spot the evident blush on her face.

“lady Eula you cant be serious she just woke up” Noelle negotiates

“Its fine I’ll go easy”

You just stare at the two’s interaction, smiling to yourself… but what was that dream…?

○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○

Elliot was well known in the castle, holding nicknames like the princes loyal dog ever since he was little, He had originally been the princes playmate but had become the princes personal butler or adviser.

Did he like his job? Of course there couldn’t be a better one out there

Really?  Of course

Reeealllyy? …

“your highness please reconsider…” Elliot pleads

“No”

“Please your highness you cant miss this! If you do the nobles will be pointing there guns at me for not doing anything”

“well your doing plenty so no.”

“what do I have to do? Should I beg? I’ll beg! Just please please please please please please pleaseeeeee” he kneels onto the floor

Scaramouche sighs “get up, im not changing my mind…”

“your highness” Elliot sobs “the prince leave the future of the kingdom to his butler in exchange for some tea time with his friends…I can already see the newspaper circling through the commoners like wild fire”

“Your overthinking it, think of it this way. The prince ignores the nobles cries for help in exploiting their workers for their greedy plans. Come on what’s the big deal you’ve done this before” he looks down at his butler who holds back tears

“I’ve done it before and ALMOST DIED!”

“they didn’t try to kill you”

“those glares said otherwise”

“pretty please Elliot just this once~” Scaramouche asks sweetly….for once…

“oh well how am I to refuse” Elliot blushes smiling to himself

“oh thanks you’re an angel Elli~” He walks out and into the carriage at lighting speed

“oh its nothing have a safe trip-…” …

…

“Curse your naive little heart Elliot even the rats can tell that you’ve been fooled again”

○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○

“Sooooo…why?”

“Don’t ask he hasn’t answered since he got here”

The two stare at the prince, The future glory of the empire sitting in front of then crushing every biscuit he could get his hands on…

…

…

…

“I feel bad for Elliot”

“God pray for his soul”

…

..

.

“I need help”

“like mentally, yeah I can get you a place in the asylum”

“No- like you know…with her, I…I had a great idea on how I can make the perfect scenario for us to meet again but when I asked that damn woman for help, she refused! Kitsune are just so annoying and … and cunning”

“oh I got a great idea” the other two look at him “how about you..”

…

..

.

“-talk to her”

SMACK

“Eh-..SCARA!”

“I’m serious, I really need help…please…” his voice quiets down

.

.

.

“UGH- FINE, we’ll help” Aphria answer’s crossing her arms

“really” he looks up

They nod in unison

“but you need to put in the effort and NOT run away”

“thanks i guess”

She only hums sinking back into her seat “actually I have a question”

“about what”

“About this uh…whats his face- oh Shin”

…

“what about him?”

“He passed recently didn’t he?”

…Both Kazuha and Scara remain quiet

“what are you going on about”

“Nothing I just none of it makes sense…I saw my father stressing over his case a few weeks ago, I got curious so I decided to have a little read my self and well…none of it makes sense.”

She sigh’s as she begins to list her reasons

“They said he died in a carriage accident but there was no sign of a crashed carriage and I doubt there even was a body because from the reports his accident wasn’t so severe that they had to have a closed casket funeral”

“maybe the Dutchess just wanted that, you know its hard to come to piece with the fact that her only son died”

“wait does Lady (y/n) know?”

“I doubt it” Scara finally speaks after awhile

“They wouldn’t bother with it, since she’s considered illegitimate”

“it pisses me off”

…

…

..

“lets stop there for now, I’m sure Elliot’s waiting for you to be back”

○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○

“sir Elliot respectfully, These matters are something that we need to personally speak to the crown prince about”

“I’m truly sorry but the only form admiration you’ll be meeting is me” Elliot feines a smile

“Understand that our stock have been receding we must speak with the crown prince-”

“The only thing receding is your hairline”

“uh- What…”

“You heard me get out”

○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○•♡•○

Authors note:

so hiii... how have yall been doing???

okay so a little update on where I've been so her goes

so graduated recently :3

well not recently about last year and i started college...

yipee...

its been weird since I'm far away from family and it feels awkward being a whole country away from my parents

i am currently surviving off of coffee and cupped noodles

I have been thinking of posting for a while and this was rotting in my drafts

IM going to try and post 3 chapters by next week so stay tuned

anyways i love you all bye

have a good night or morning where ever you live &lt;3

PS: remember to come back and fix any spelling errors

Taglist:

@kunikuzushis-darling

Masterlist:

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #123

What do you like about the house you live in? I mean, the house itself is nice. But I absolutely despise its location, and the fact our landlord is a very long-time family friend (she was actually mine and my older sister's science teacher in high school, and our families really connected when she met me and I shut the disrespectful-ass class the fuck up for not listening to her)... and it just complicates things. Primarily because Tobey is 500% the person who will NEVER let you forget the great kindnesses she does for you; she wants endless recognition for doing good things. She's can also be REMARKABLY rude, just shoving her nose into business that is never hers, fully intent on giving her uneducated opinion (this woman, who has zero kids, literally asked my mom's former co-worker "shouldn't [your LITERAL INFANT son] not be nursing anymore?", and oh my god Ariel almost fucking decked her). Tobey is just A LOT. My whole family - Mom especially - can barely stand her anymore, but it's not like we can do much when she literally owns the house she doesn't charge full rent for, but only because otherwise we'd still be homeless.

Have you ever played paintball? Did you get hit? No, and it absolutely does not look fun.

How do you feel today? Tell me about it. I'm okay now, but it's been a tired day. I was physically unable to sleep 'til past 3 AM this morning because I was experiencing a fully active anxiety attack for over an hour, but it'd been building up for more. I had to miss PT today because it was scheduled early and I texted my mom at like, 2 AM telling her to not wake me up because I needed sleep so fucking badly.

Do you ever use a laptop in bed? Not anymore, because I quite literally lived in bed with laptops for many years approaching my trauma, and it was this behavior that caused my leg muscles to eventually atrophy. Nowadays, the mere idea of chilling in bed for just a little while with it makes me freak out, I just can't let myself.

Are you wearing socks right now? What color are they? No; I actually really, really dislike socks. I will only ever wear them if I put on normal shoes, but I almost solely wear flipflops. It's a sensory thing, I just REALLY hate the feeling of them.

Are your parents still together? If not, do you know why? No. Financial shit, supposedly Dad cheating on Mom with his now-wife and Dad also being suspicious that SHE was cheating (I'm fully aware she didn't), and Mom has said that he was also making certain sexual demands that led to more fighting. Eventually one day while only Dad and I were home (Mom and Nicole were out of town at a dance competition), he packed a suitcase and just left. I still distinctly remember him peeking into my room and asking if I'd be fine alone, and I said yes because I thought he was just going out to do something and be back. For some dumb fucking reason I didn't immediately figure it out when I saw the suitcase.

Have you ever been evicted? Why? Yes, because Mom couldn't keep up with rent.

Would you say you’re an organized person? For the most part, I think. I've absolutely noticed I've been becoming more organized lately, as well as more attentive to tidying stuff up. Which I'm fucking ecstatic about, because I struggle with that stuff.

Have you ever worked as a manager or supervisor? Ha, no.

Do you eat at a table or on the couch? Usually the couch, and depending on what we're having we might take out small foldable tables to sit in front of us. We usually only eat at the table for more formal occasions like Christmas, or if we have certain company.

What was the last thing you voted for? Probably a Tumblr poll, haha.

Do you remember much from high school? My memories of high school are, for the most part, almost scarily vivid. I remember the smallest details. My memories of the years with Jason are specifically so aggressively trained into my brain, and we started dating when I was a sophomore. And guess what, I DON'T remember my freshman year all that well.

What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed awake? Why did you do it? Around three days, because I was manic.

Have you ever been wrongfully accused of something? Yeah, I think most people have at some point. Nothing like, criminal, but other things.

What are the five apps on your phone that you use most often? Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, Pinterest, and Discord.

Would you change your name if you got married? I do plan on taking Girt's surname if we get married, even though I hate his more than I do mine, haha. I just want to. I feel like I would with any other partner too, of any gender.

Were you in any clubs in high school? Yes: Honors and Art Honors. Uh, maybe one more? I can't remember.

Do you share a bathroom with anyone? Yeah. Mom will usually use the one in her room, but sometimes she'll just use the hall one. The hall one is what everyone else uses that comes here, too.

Have you ever had a panic attack? Ohhhh yes. They are honestly one of THE scariest things you can experience. I'm more prone to anxiety attacks, though.

What’s your favourite kind of frosting? It's hard to go wrong with chocolate.

Have you ever taken a painting class? Yes, during my last college attempt. My instructor told me I was really good at it (she said I was one of the class' best, but I think she mighta just been saying that when she learned I might be dropping out), but I definitely begged to differ. I wasn't bad at it, but more than anything I just found painting extremely stressful with how damaging mistakes can be. Yeah, you can wait for something to dry and paint over it, but that doesn't always work and sometimes it's also just very noticeable that you covered something. I felt too much pressure to get everything right. I also HATED that we couldn't like, sketch with a pencil or something first.

Is there a store or restaurant where you’re considered a regular? No.

How old were you when you started wearing a bra, if ever? Oh I don't remember.

What was the last video game you played? Some of the Spyro: Ripto's Rage! remake, quite a while ago. Girt and I have been going back and forth between that and Silent Hill 2, but we haven't played for a lil while. OH, I played World of Warcraft for maybe not even 15 minutes earlier, but that's a computer game. Still a game though, so w/e.

Are there any recipes you really want to try? BROSEPH my sister Misty recently shared a picture + recipe of an alcoholic beverage named after the Aurora Borealis because of the colors and holy FUCKING shit I want to try it. Girt's sister also shares recipes on FB a lot and basically every single one I see I want to try, girl let me move in 😭

Has anyone asked how you feel today? No. Girt pretty much always does at some point, but today's a work day for him so he's busy. He'll be over tonight though.

What’s your favourite cookie? Uh, probably just a soft chocolate chip one.

Do you have a doorbell at your house? Yes.

Have you ever visited someone in a psychiatric home or ward? No, I was always the one being visited. My older sister was in one following an abusive relationship, but I know I never visited. I don't know why... The hospital was far away though, so maybe that. Or I was just scared of mental hospitals because I hadn't been in one yet, but was definitely dealing with mental illness. I would absolutely believe that perhaps I was afraid of it upsetting me too much.

What was the last podcast you listened to? Do you listen to it regularly? I can't remember what it was called, but it was with Girt and basically told true murder mystery stories. The guy was a great storyteller, I was really into it.

When was the last time you threw up? Why were you sick? It's been years since I actually did, back when I was on a medicine my body really didn't agree with, but not even a week ago I think, I woke up feeling sick as hell and when I actually got up, ended up sitting on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, actively fighting vomiting. Like it was THERE, I just didn't let myself; if I'd accepted "I need to puke" and actually looked at the toilet, I absolutely would've hurled. This happened while I was on my period, and it was THE most aggressively symptomatic period I've had in my *ENTIRE* life, so I blame it entirely on that.

What was the last thing you wrote in a word document? This survey, haha. Because I combine so many, they take a while and I use it to save progress.

Do you know anybody who is gay and married? I'm pretty sure I do? I know he's gay, but I can't remember if he's married... but I think so.

What did you last take painkillers for? A monstrous headache that resulted from extreme stress and anxiety, and then crying too.

Are there any hobbies you want to get back into? ugh I need to start DRAWING again

Have you ever shared a home with a friend? Not legally, but basically, with both Jason (and our two friends that were also a couple) as well as Colleen, each for a few months. I... think, in the apartment w/ Jason case. I really can't remember clearly how long I was there.

Have you ever been on a date with someone you met online? How was it? Well, technically. Sara was an online friend first for a very long time, then we dated long-distance, but we did go on a breakfast date once while I was there.

Do you call it a couch, sofa, lounge or something else entirely? Couch.

When was the last time you used a pair of headphones and what for? Right now; I'm listening to the German version of "Monsoon" by Tokio Hotel. I love the original, but this one is even more beautiful.

What sort of games do you like to play? My absolute favorite is horror games, especially those that are psychological horror, and NEVER shit that is just solely a jumpscare fest. Put some SUBSTANCE into your horror games, man, versus just triggering a natural body reaction to surprise. I also adore games set in a completely fantasy universe; the bigger and more complete the world, + the more unique it is, the better (I think Elden Ring is the best example of this that I've EVER encountered, FromSoft knows how to fuckin do it). I love nostalgia games too, specifically Spyro (honestly, almost ANY game with a big dragon focus are automatic wins for me, haha), and I've invested an insane amount of time (literally over a full year of collective playtime, seeing it makes me want to unalive lmfao) into World of Warcraft, which is an MMORPG. It's the only MMO I've played though BECAUSE of how severely I was once addicted to it; I'm afraid to try any other ones because I never want to relive how dependent I once was on a game. I only got better when I had no choice but to stop for over a year, maybe even near two; even when I first started playing it again, I had anxiety attacks every night for a good few days because I was so scared it was going to happen again, but thank GOD it didn't. I still play it a lot, just because I have such an empty schedule and it's a strong way to kill time, but I'm able to have days where I'm like "eh I don't wanna log on" so don't, and I'm also keen to do other things if something more exciting is presented to me, especially if it involves family or friends. That once wasn't the case.

Have you ever been to a baby shower? What was the baby’s name? Yeah; my sister had one for all of her kids (which she didn't want, but was encouraged by others for various reasons): Aubree, Ryder, and Emerson. I know I also attended my former dance teacher's for her second child, Caydance (yes she literally spelled it that way because of "dance" lmfao), and MAYBE her first, Colton, but I don't remember it. Then there was Jenn's, Jason's brother's wife, for their first son I'm still fucking devastated I never got to meet and love, Dominic. I was lucky I even got to go to it, because Jason and I had already broken up very recently. That day was honestly awful because I learned he was already talking to another girl <333333 I think that's everyone's I've been to.

What mode of transport did you take to high school? Mom drove us.

Name a personality trait of yours that you like. I cherish and am very thankful that I'm deeply empathetic.

Name something about your physical attraction that you dislike. More than anything else, my weight. I don't inherently think fat people are ugly, at all, but of COURSE I think so for myself.

What gifts do you usually receive at Easter? Just some candies from Mom. I'm sure she'll get a Voltage for me too, because of how I've been avoiding soda but always miss it.

Who was the last person you sent an email to? It was just a link for my mom to look at.

Are there any posters in your bedroom? Yes, but I'm probably taking them all down (maybe I'll keep the meerkat one up) when I FINALLY redecorate my room to a more minimal, nature theme. Before that happens though, I honestly need more decor to prevent my room from being depressingly blank.

Do you know anyone who is an actor? Pretty sure no? I feel like I know at LEAST one person who's been in a small project or something, but definitely no bigger actors.

How many weddings have you been to? Bobby (brother) and his ex-wife Scarlet's, Randi (another - and my favorite - dance teacher) & Shane's, Jonathan & Jenn's, and uh... I feel like that's it? At least, as far as attending on a personal level. I did take pictures of my sister's friend Meg's wedding, as well as this random bitch named Shonda's who never paid me more than the $15 sitting fee (and I shot the whole-ass wedding process from preparation to finish while dying of dehydration in the summer hell-heat and did entirely thorough postproduction, YES I'm still fucking salty), as well as Bethany & Spencer's, a brilliant couple who's had me take a lot of pictures. Besides Ashley, they were THE most supportive people of getting my name out there as a photographer, and they actually learned about me through Ash.

Do you watch YouTube? What channels do you like? LITERALLY constantly, haha. I'm either watching something on the side or have music on. These days I've been most into watching Game Grumps, John Wolfe, WoolieVS, jacksepticeye, and Gab Smolders, but I enjoy SO many more.

What’s your alcohol of choice? Fruity, sweet stuff, like sangrias. There can't be a strong alcohol concentration, because that taste is total shit.

Have you ever used a public pay phone? No.

Do you have a Twitter account? It EXISTS, but is only ever used for like, giveaway stuff if there's one shown on a different social platform that I'm VERY into. That kinda stuff doesn't even happen once a year, probably.

What’s the longest you’ve been without showering? As someone who struggles with this, especially before I had a shower chair, I'm not comfortable sharing this.

Name one of your guilty pleasure songs. Y'all I fuckin love "Flesh" by Simon Curtis 😭😭😭 and honestly a lot of Hot songs slowed down w/ reverb help me PLEASE

Have you ever made an item of clothing? No.

What was the last topic you read about? Various social justice statistics.

Name some of your favourite sitcoms. That '70s Show is #1, but other notable ones I enjoy are The Nanny, The Golden Girls, The Munsters, The Addams Family, The Beverly Hillbillies, and I Love Lucy. Most of those I was kinda raised with by watching with my mom. <3

Who is the 7th contact in your phone and how did you meet them? [TW: RAPE] Katie. She's my mom's oldest child. I can't remember how old I was when I actually met her though; Mom had to pretty much give Katie up for adoption because she was alone and couldn't care for her (after being kicked out of her home because she was literally drugged and date-raped out of wedlock, her mom was fuckin' peachy), and it was only later in life when Katie was an adult that I met her. I don't remember it at all, though.

What shirt do you wear the most? If they're clean, my go-to tank tops are generally either of my candy skull ones; I'm almost always in tank tops because that's what I sleep in. If we're talking NORMAL shirts, definitely my "equal in our bones" Cloak one.

Has anyone ever come out to you? Yes, an old school friend. I don't remember her name anymore.

Have you ever been part of a bridal or groom’s party? My sister's, yes. Idk if this counts as being in their party, but at Jonathan & Jenn's wedding, I was seated at the main table with Jonathan's family, beside Jason. Actually this reminded me, the picture that was used for their mother's obituary was a shot from the wedding, of her smiling and dancing, and you can see me seated there in the background. Seeing that picture on Facebook basically stabbed me in the fucking heart, like it physically hurt, because it reminded me that I was once there in her life, but wasn't any longer. I think I'm going to die grieving the fact I never got to tell her goodbye.

Are there any rooms in your house that don’t have windows? Yes, both bathrooms.

What’s your go-to order from KFC? I don't go there.

What was the last album you listened to in full? Uh I'm not sure, but probably one of Rammstein's when I decided to go through their entire discography lmfao

[hmnbd]

Hihi i absolutely ADORE your prompts. If its not too much to ask, may i request some coworkers to lovers prompts?👀

hi dearest anon, I'm so happy that you like them! I had actually never thought much about the dynamics of co-working, so this was a really nice challenge. below is a list of co-workers to lovers inspired dialogue prompts, and I also threw in a few regular prompts/scenarios as well. feel free to tweak with them to fit in with what you're working with. happy writing, and I hope these satisfy your request! ♡

— co-workers to lovers

always hanging out and gossiping together so the other coworkers think they’re secretly plotting against them

looking out for each other on really busy days

one of them getting sad on their day off cause they might not be at work, but that means they're not with them

chatting and splitting their meal at lunch/break time like two little kids on the playground

planning their days off together so they can hang out outside of work

waving and smiling at each other from across the office/store/working space all the time

excitedly waiting to get paid so they can do something fun together

getting scolded by their boss/manager because they spend all day playing around

"you're gonna get us fired!"

"I know you've explained this to me on my first day, yesterday, and this morning again, but could you do it just one more time? you're amazing at this so I wanna make sure I get the technique just right"

"oh awesome, we both got the late night shift. at least I'm with my favorite person on this entire goddamn place"

"would you like to grab coffee with me after we clock out? I would really love to know you better!"

"if any of these people are ever rude to you, just let me know and I'll handle it. would hate it if they made you dread the job you fought so hard for"

"don't you two work on separate departments? why do I see you together all the time"

"how did this awful place hire someone like you, seriously? it's like the universe heard my prayers"

"my to-do list keeps piling up, but you know I just couldn't do anything before bringing you coffee! have a nice day!"

"if you get fired, I resign, seriously. there's no point in staying if you're not here with me"

"I'm sorry for asking so many questions, but you're so nice and patient, and you're the only one whose explanations make sense"

"I love these motivational quotes in your office. wouldn't a picture of us look really cute on the wall too?"

"I'd really like to work on this project with you if that's okay! your ideas are always the best"

"good morning to my favorite co-worker only!"

"can I have your phone number? you know, to discuss our tasks and uh... things…"

"don't worry, let me take care of that for you. go take your break, you look exhausted"

"listen, you need to wait until we get home to e-mail me cute messages. I almost opened something titled 'hello, dearest ray of sunshine' in front of my colleague"

"no flirting at the workplace, we need to look professional, silly"

"I’m glad at least one of us looks extra cute in this hideous uniform"

"honestly, I never thought I would actually like the buddy system outside of preschool. guess I owe it to my partner!"

"can I have a hug before my meeting?"

"good job, I'm so proud of you!"

got any more requests? feel free to send them in

[wincore]

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 tongue 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, almost moaning 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 complicacies 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 that tongue of his, 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.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. 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’s!”

“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.

[parkers-gal]

simple acts of intimacy that actually mean a lot T.H.

wc: 3.1k (fluff)

taking something out of your pocket

"Tom!" you called for him.

"Hey, babe," he greeted you. You had just gotten back from a shopping spree, and you were holding about seven heavy bags, two drinks in your hand. Harrison and Harry were seated on the couch in front of the two of you, Tuwaine in the kitchen getting more snacks. 

"I didn't bring my purse," you huffed, out of breath from the walk. "Can you check for my phone? My wallet?" 

Tom smiled softly in response, sending you an easy nod. "Of course," he said, moving to the pockets of your jeans. 

He searched the front right pocket first, his fingers strong and warm and lean, and the touch made you giggle. He found your keys in the front right pocket, momentarily holding them up for you to see before moving to the next pocket. He found your phone and wallet pocketed in the back pockets, and then he was by your front again, searching your left pocket. 

"Your chapstick," he held it up, and you giggled again as he opened it and applied it to his own lips and then your own. "They say you get more alike to your significant other, y'know," he smirked, and you laughed again with a nod. 

knowing just how to calm you down

It was a dangerous scenario to be in in the first place, though it wasn't your's nor Tom's fault. After dealing with a rather rude man from the front desk, you were rushing out of the building, Tom barely trailing after you. Just as you were making it to the car, he rushed ahead of you, halting you.

"Hey- hey, hey, hey," he said, hands gesturing for you to slow. There were frustrated tears in your eyes, threatening to spill if any one move prompted them. You'd hope Tom could be the dam to keep them up. "It's alright," he assured you. 

"No, its-! It's not!" You exclaimed, breaking your silence. "N-now I have find another way to do it and I can't t-" 

"Love," he cut you off, hand caressing your arm, moving you into his embrace slightly. "He's an asshole- he had no right to tell you those things, okay? We're gonna find another way, but later, okay? Listen to me, listen to my voice," he whispered. "And look at my eyes," he moved your chin, engaging eye contact. "We're going to be alright." 

A smile broke out onto your face for the first time, and you nodded, fully accepting his hug and hiding in his chest. 

calling to make sure you've eaten

Calling in between takes and scenes wasn't uncommon, and especially calling during lunch. Tom had a tendency to forget to eat or take breaks; wearing the Spider-man suit was a big contributor to his re-prioritization, his reason for the distractions. Unfortunately, he tended to bring this habit onto the sets of different films. Luckily, you had paid mind to the habit, and made sure to check in on him everyday, especially if you weren't on set all the time. 

"Hi, angel," Tom spoke into the phone after picking it up. 

"Hi, Tommy!" You exclaimed excitedly. "How's filming?"

"Good, tiring. Miss you," he huffed out, still with a smile. 

"Miss you too bubs, tell everyone I say ''hey.'" you replied. "Have you eaten today?"

Tom was nodding off silently to a crew worker who had asked him a quick question. "Hm?" he laughed a light one. "Oh, yes I have. Have you, darling?"

"I have, I have, no worries," you assured him. "Drinking water?"

"Just got a new bottle," Tom smiled. "Alright well," he trailed off disappointingly, "I hate this part but, they're calling me now. I call you when the shoots over. Love you, baby." 

You hummed, "'kay, love you Tommy. And good luck!" You giggled before hanging up.

"Y/N?' Harry asked Tom, looking to the phone. 

"Mhm," Tom smiled. "She says 'hi'." 

wearing/borrowing clothes

"Hey, Y/N, have you seen my-?" Tom stopped short in his tracks, barely through the doorway. He smiled at the sight of you, a pint of ice cream sitting on the table in front of you, an open book in your lap and a spoon in your mouth.

You hummed, "What was that, hun?"

He eyed your figure, clad in his pink sweatshirt, before shaking his head. Upon realizing you weren't looking at him, he breathed out a laugh. "Never mind."

You hummed again, glancing up to him before smiling softly at him. 

**

"Hey, love?" Tom hollered from within the depths of the closet. 

"Yeah?" you shouted back, applying some lip gloss as you looked into the bathroom mirror. 

"Does this work with my outfit?" 

You laughed before walking over to him. You smiled at him: he was holding a baseball cap in one hand, your beanie fitted on his head. Though he loved his buzzcut, he also loved to wear matching hats, though this time you were wearing the sweatshirt. 

"I like the beanie," you agreed. 

He glanced up with a smile, setting the baseball cap down. "Me too." 

zipping up/ unzipping

Tom was waiting in the living room for you. It was almost routine, that whenever the two of you were attending a gala or a premiere together, he'd wait to see your final look, and god he loved the reveal every time. This time, however, was one of the first times you were doing everything on your own, no makeup artists or stylists there to assist you. 

"Tommy?" you yelled softly. 

Tom's head perked up, and he slipped his phone into the pockets of his dress pants before making his way to the closed bedroom door.

"Yes, love?"

You opened the door, stepping towards him slowly. Tom was awestruck, mouth agape and eyes wide. You were absolutely stunning, from every and all angles, and Tom swore his heart leapt into his throat.

"Tom?" you repeated, waving a hand in front of his face. 

It had just occurred to him that you had been talking and he had completely tuned your voice out, too taken up by the sight in front of him. 

"Sorry- what?" he asked, finally looking at you. 

"Can you zip me up?" you asked again, softly. You turned around, gesturing to your zipper. Tom smiled, fingertips softly grazing the lower portion of your back, before softly gripping the zipper. The fingertips of his left hand ran up your spine, his right hand with the zipper following along. He left a small kiss on your shoulder and you went straight back into the bedroom to get the remaining accessories for your outfit. 

putting jewelry on for each other

After you chose a few rings, you walked back over to Tom with a necklace in hand. You placed both ends in his hands with a hopeful smile before spinning around, making sure your hair was not in the way. Tom clipped both ends and let the jewelry dangle off your neck. He left another kiss on your shoulder before you intertwined your hands.

remembering coffee/tea orders verbatim

"Go find us a booth," Tom whispered in your ear, hand on the small of your back as he gave you a nudge, and the two of you separated into two different directions, you towards the seats and him towards the line to the barista. 

"Hi, how're you?" The barista greeted.

Tom returned a smile," I'm good, how're you?" 

"I'm good, what can I get you today?"

"Can I get a hot chamomile tea with some lemon...?"

"Size?"

"Uhm, medium please." 

The barista, Sophia, nodded. "Anything else?" 

"Yeah uhm, a medium honey cream latte? Not too heavy on the creamer?"

"Got it. Will that be all for you today?" 

"Yes I think so," Tom replied, handing her his credit card before moving to the counter to pick up the drinks. 

When he had both, he made his way over to you, who found a booth by a window. 

"Hey, love," Tom trailed excitedly, placing the mugs down softly. "I got your favorite." 

"Light on the cream?" 

Tom sat down across from you. "Light on the cream," he repeated with a smile.

dancing in the kitchen

A quick trip to the kitchen for some toast had started a mini concert by the sink and in front of the dishes. Tom was clad in a pair of sweats, white socks helping him slide on the cool tiled floor, his pink hoodie fresh on his torso. 

The speakers were playing a playlist of his favorites, which also consisted of your favorites, because you had introduced him to several new artists and genres. Song after song came on, distracting him from the opening and closing of the front door. 

Hearing the commotion from the cooking room, you left your bags by the door, going upstairs to change into some comfy clothes and finding your boyfriend rocking out to some of Taylor Swift's Lover. 

You giggled from the doorway, and he spun around to look at you, lowering the large metal spoon away from his mouth. 

"Hi," you laughed again. 

"Hi," he panted. 

"What," you took a sip of water. "are you doing?" 

"Dancing in the kitchen, obviously."

You nodded, drinking your water again with a smile. 

"Care to join me?"

You set the cup down with raised eyebrows. "Thomas..." 

Mariah Carey started ringing through the speakers, and the spoon went back up to his mouth as he started singing his heart out. 

"C'mon, Y/N...." he smirked. "You know you want to," he held his hand out. 

You rolled your eyes playfully before extending your arm, accepting his hand. "Fine.."

Tom grinned in victory, singing louder again, and you joined him, twirling him around as he did the same for you, toast long forgotten in the toaster oven. 

knowing what food you're craving based on your attitude

"I'm bored," you whined to Tom, who was sitting next to you on the couch, looking at his phone. 

He chuckled quietly as he clicked the device off. "Yeah, whaddya want to do?"

"Cuddle. I'm cold." 

He grinned again, turning to you, caressing the skin of your ankle, which was splayed across his lap. 

"Are you hungry, my cuddle bug?" he asked after pulling you into his chest, arms circling around you. 

"Mhm," you nodded, fiddling with his fingers. "How'd you know?" 

He grinned again, his face out of sight for you. "What if we eat... pho?"

You gasped, louder for dramatics, hand slamming down on his, halting your movements. "Thomas Stanley Holland how did you fucking know?" you whined, feet kicking lightly. 

He chuckled again, kissing the back of your ear before opening the Ubereats app on his phone. 

offering to drive instead

The gala was coming to a close, and you and Tom had both taken the clue to get ready to leave, heading out to the parking lot after saying your goodbyes to the present participants. 

Rounding the car, you pulled the key out of your hand-purse, unlocking the car. Your hand was still intertwined with Tom's, about to separate to get into your respective seats, when he spoke. 

"Do you want me to drive instead, love?" 

You glanced to his eyes with a thankful nod. "Will you?" you asked, reaching to give him the key. 

"Of course," he smiled, moving to the other side of the car, giving your temple a kiss as he rubbed your arm, taking the key from you and closing your car door after you had been seated.

remembering confessions from late nights or simple words that are forgotten by most

"Hey did you book the flights for next month?" You asked Tom, sitting across from him at the dining table, planner in front of you, a pen and your phone in each of your hands. 

"Just up till the nineteenth," he replied, thumbs moving across the keyboard of his cell phone. 

"Got it." 

"Oh also," Tom looked up from his phone, forearms leaning on the edge of the table as he looked at you, focused on writing more details into that little book you loved so much. "I booked us a round trip to Mae Raem. I talked to Harry and I managed to get a week off from work, in between films I think."

Your eyes were fixed on the boy sitting across from you, hands frozen in their places. 

"You what? "

"I booked us a flight To Mae-" 

"I heard that part!" You exclaimed with a laugh. "Why the fuck are we going to Thailand?!"

"Well I just-" he looked off to different parts of the room, the tips of his ears turning scarlet as his cheeks heated up. "I remember you saying you wanted to go to this little place in Thailand and I just- I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget. I was just waiting until I had free time in my schedule." 

"Tom you moved film times for this trip!" You laughed. "Why- how did you even remember that? It was like three A.M. when we were talking about those crazy dreams and shit," you laughed. 

"I don't know," he put his phone down, fiddling with his fingers and knuckles. "You just sounded so passionate about it- I just remembered the sound of your voice, I guess. It seems like fun." 

You clicked your pen, putting it down, and closing the planner. "Yeah, yeah it does."

remembering to buy something you'd forgotten to (grocery shopping) 

"Oh fuck, I'm out of jaffa cakes," you huffed, closing a cupboard door. 

"Let's go to the market then," Tom said, finishing his cup of tea.

**

A shower and a car drive later, the two of you were walking into the supermarket, Tom leaning on the cart as he followed you. You spotted the chip aisle, and headed straight for it. Tom chuckled at your behavior, suspecting that perhaps you were stocking up on your cravings-foods, knowing your period was coming too. 

Aisle after aisle the two of you went before grabbing a few boxes of brownie mix. You saw the aisle with cereal, and left Tom on his own. He chuckled, moving over the next aisle. 

"I think I'm done," you huffed, placing your last items in the cart. Tom nodded, putting a bag of apples into the cart before moving into a line for the cash register. 

"Wait lets do the self checkout thing." 

"Really?" Tom laughed at your suggestion before reluctantly agreeing, heading into the direction. He was scanning while you were bagging, the two of you moving like clockwork. 

Tom paid the receipt before stopping abruptly. "Wait fuck, I forgot something." 

"What?" you asked. 

"Nothing, I'll meet you at the car." 

"'Kay," you replied, rolling the cart out of the shop. Tom went off to find your favorite jaffa cakes, buying some extra danishes as well. When he paid, he added the items to the bags in the trunk before joining you in the front seat. 

"Ready?" He asked, turning the engine on. You hummed a confirmation, and Tom changed the car's shift, driving home. 

After the two of you brought the bags into the kitchen (in one trip, because two trips are for loser), you began unloading the items into their spots in the kitchen. 

"Wait," you groaned after opening the cupboard. "I forgot the fucking jaffa cakes!" 

"Ah ah," Tom spoke, pulling the sweet out of a bag he'd just unloaded. 

You gasped, jaw slightly ajar as you reached for the food. "Oh. My. God," you looked at the wrapping. "I fucking love you." 

Tom laughed, "Well," he was moving forward, his face two inches from yours, "it's a good thing I fucking love you too." 

and finally, showering together

"Tommy! I missed you," You greeted him, rushing to your boyfriend, jumping into his embrace just as he closed the front door. 

He groaned with a laugh, arms on your waist. "I missed you too, angel."

"Are you sore? Tired?" 

He chuckled again, "mhm." 

"Let's go get you cleaned up and we can go to bed then," you smiled at him, fingers running over the hair of his brows, trying to smooth out the stray one. 

"Sounds like a plan, darling." 

Making your way up the stairs, you ridded Tom of his coat. You went into the bathroom to turn on the shower, hoping to get the water warm, before pulling him into the bathroom with you. 

"We can do face masks or we can fall asleep watching movies." 

He booped your nose before answering. "Let's do the face masks tomorrow."

"'kay, arms up now, mister," you ordered him playfully, and he rolled his eyes before complying. 

"My limbs still work, yanno-" 

"Sure mister I-love-being-babied." 

"I do not!" he denied, cheeks reddening. 

"You secretly love it," you kissed his nose after removing his shirt, hands splaying across his bare chest and abs. He visibly shivered at your touch, and you smirked. 

"Now get in the shower, you big doof," you playfully pushed him in the direction of the shower before stepping out of the bathroom. 

Tom, unknowing of your full plans, hopped into the shower, letting the heated water cascade down his skin and drench his hair. As he was about to reach for the bottle of shampoo, you opened the shower door, your bare skin coming into view as you joined Tom in the shower. 

His eyebrows shot up, movements stopped. 

"Uh-" 

"Hi," you said with a giggle. "Let me," you took the shampoo from his hand, squirting some into your hand before rubbing it onto the top of his head, fingers running through his unruly curls as he hummed contently at the feeling, always loving when you did anything to his hair. 

"Rinse now," you said, moving to clean the strands out, ridding them of the suds. You repeated the process with conditioner (your conditioner, because though Tom would deny it, he secretly loved it, and cheered internally when you picked it up instead of his own) before reaching for the body-wash. 

"Uh-uh, let me do this one," he took the bottle from your hands, starting to clean himself. 

You laughed at his attempts before snatching the bottle from him. "You can't even reach this part of your back!" 

"I'm a gymnast! I'm flexible enough to reach that!" he breathed out a laugh. 

You giggled, shaking your head and letting your fingers caress his shoulder blades, his lower back as well as his ribs. You spun him around so you could continue on his chest as well, and his eyes were closed in bliss. When you finished, you walked him backwards under the streaming water of the shower head, arms wrapping around his lower stomach, hugging him, chin resting on his chest as he looked down at you. 

"Thank you for this, love." 

"Anything for you Tommy." 

He kissed the tip of your nose and smiled. 

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 3

A certain redheaded tabloid journalist tracks y/n down at work. Y/n finds out how persistent she is when she makes her an offer she just can’t refuse. 

Trigger warnings: Christianity, stalking, survivor’s guilt

You made it out alive, and that was more than could be said for some. 

Your consolation prize was a ghastly scar on your hand that you kept bandaged up as to not scare small children. You did get some worker’s comp after all; enough to pay for your medical bills and a little extra to make up for the lost workdays. All things considered, you were the lucky one. Four people lost their lives that day and three more were injured far worse than you. You should have felt grateful to be alive.

But somehow that was even worse. You got a couple stitches and some time off. It wasn’t worth four people’s lives. 

Your therapist explained it to you very gently. You were experiencing a phenomenon known as "survivor's guilt". She encouraged you to join a support group, get outside and familiarize yourself with your new experiences. 

This was good advice and all, but yours was the newest, hottest crime. You couldn't go anywhere without being hounded by reporters looking for whatever details you had somehow left out. Dr. Bloom encouraged you to take some time off work until the media circus died down, but you had bills to pay.

"I feel like there should be some rule about re-opening a restaurant within a week of it being an active crime scene." Charissa observed as she wiped down a table. "If anything, it's a health hazard."

"Are you serious?" You scoffed. You'd been tasked with refilling the salt shakers. Appropriate, because there was plenty of salt to go around. "Demand for this place has never been higher. Everyone wants to see if the blood is still on the carpet."

"Hooray for capitalism." She rolled her eyes. "Are you gonna be okay, [F/N]?"

"'Okay' is a very relative term." You forced a laugh. "I think I can make it through the shift if that's what you're asking."

"Aren't you behind the bar all evening?" She asked.

"Yeah, but that means I'm trapped." You folded your arms. "First thing you see when you walk in is the waitress who survived the- what are they calling him?"

"The Baltimore Butcher." She answered with a voice full of vitriol. "Do you think they ever consider the ramifications of giving literal murderers these weird superhero names? Like, no wonder we get copycats, they treat these guys like celebrities."

"Holy shit, right?!" You slammed the salt shaker down on the table. "Y'know, last night on the news, they used the creep's graduation photo and kept saying that he was a good Christian young man with a lot of prospects."

Charissa stuck out her tongue in disgust. "I saw that. And how he was 'corrupted' by crack cocaine. Once again, blaming a drug that was used to villainize poor Black neighborhoods in the 80's as some kind of corrupting agent."

You nodded furiously. "Instead of understanding that Christianity is a violent imperialist religion that lets violent white men absolve themselves of any guilt."

"And they knew it wasn't crack." Charissa added. "I heard that shit was completely uncut. You know he spent a lot on it."

"And I will say this until the day I am put in the goddamn ground," you tensed up. "The only reason the fucker escaped is because he is white."

"Hey y'all." Another waitress walked in for her shift. "What are we talking about?"

"Cocaine." Charissa answered. “Also white privilege.” 

"Great." She said dismissively. "Hey [F/N], can I scoop up that bar shift? I could really use the tips."

"Madison!" Charissa scolded. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?" Madison shrugged and glanced at you. "I didn't get any paid time off. I need the money."

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Charissa scowled. "Are you seriously joking about her trauma?!"

"It's fine, she can have it." You rolled your eyes, then turned them to Madison. "Just know you're the reason I have survivor's guilt."

"Well now I feel bad." Madison frowned.

"Good." You and Charissa said in unison.

It was sort of comforting to get back to the script. Almost nostalgic. It provided the illusion of normalcy in an incredibly abnormal new reality. 

You approached the first table in Madison’s block, hoping for a new beginning. A young woman with fiery red hair sat alone by the window. 

“Hi!” You greeted, with a smile as genuine as you could muster. “My name is [F/N], I’ll be your waiter tonight.” 

The woman smiled back. “Evening.” 

You couldn’t tell what, but something was off. Perhaps you were trying too hard to force normalcy. Or maybe it was the borderline predatory way the woman was looking at you; like a shark following a trail of blood. Either way, the vibes were rancid. 

“Can I start you off with a drink or is water okay?” You ask. 

“Could I possibly trouble you for a glass of chardonnay?” She asked, lowering her eyebrows. 

“Of course.” You nodded and reached for your pen. 

“Actually,” She corrected herself. ��If you could bring a bottle and two glasses, I’m expecting company.” 

“Absolutely.” You scribble the order down on your notepad. “Do you have a preference?” 

She thought for a moment. “Oh, dealer’s choice. Whatever you prefer.” 

You soon returned to her booth with a bottle of your favorite chardonnay and two stemmed glasses. You poured a small bit in one glass to let her taste. 

“You have wonderful tastes.” She complimented, filling her glass. “It’s very delicious.” 

You rocked on your heels. “Would you like to place your order now, or do you want to wait until after your guest arrives?” 

“Actually,” she repeated, filling the other glass. “My guest is already here.” 

She slid the glass across the table and gestured to the other seat. 

You felt stupid, but there was no way to avoid this. You couldn't just not do your job. She cornered you by the confinements of your profession.

"I really can't, I'm on the clock." You said, apologetically. The wine beckoned you. "I'm sorry, maybe another time."

"Oh, bummer." The woman placed her chin in her hand and pouted. "Well, I'm sure there's something that would make your boss look the other way."

She glanced down at your bandaged hand, then met your eyes. "The bandages are a dead giveaway, [F/N] [L/N]."

You then noticed a wire sticking from her pocket. Undoubtedly some kind of recording device. You looked at the ground. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."

"But who will drink all this wine?" She asked, raising her glass.

"Ma'am." Your voice hardened as you tried to bite back an overwhelming rage. "Please leave the restaurant. I'm not going to ask you again."

Your manager, Matthew, passed by. "What's going on here?"

"This waitress is being very rude." The woman complained. "I ordered chardonnay, and she brought me chablis."

"Chablis is a type of chardonnay." You corrected. Even you found it strange that this was the hill you were willing to die on. "She asked for my preference, and I prefer the unoaked varieties."

Matthew looked confused. "Well, she's right."

You gestured to her pocket and he caught on immediately. He narrowed his eyes. "Ma'am, please leave the premises or I'll be forced to call the police."

The woman stood up, rummaged through her pockets and slapped a handful of bills down on the table. She then proceeded to drink both glasses of wine and walk away.

Matthew looked at you apologetically as he collected the bills. "Are you sure you want to be here tonight? I can call in someone to cover for you."

You shook your head and grabbed the bottle by its neck. "No, it's okay. I appreciate the concern but I really just want things to go back to normal."

"Hey!" A woman from the adjacent table called out. You prepared to immediately recant your statement about not going home.

"We like chablis." The woman said, gesturing to herself and her friend.

Her friend joined in. "And if that nosy reporter lady isn't gonna drink it..."

You glanced at Matthew, who shrugged. "Sure. It's yours."

The women exchanged delighted looks as you placed the bottle on their table. Matthew handed you a couple of clean glasses and you began to pour.

"For this wine, I suggest any of our wonderful seafood dishes." You explained, your cheeks stinging with a smile. "It also pairs quite nicely with chicken and game bird."

"Thank you." One of the women said. "If you don't mind, we'd like to take a look at the menu, please."

"Of course." You nodded. "Just flag me down whenever you're ready."

"This is why I put you behind the bar, by the way." Matthew gently scolded you as you collected the soiled glasses.

"Didn't you hear?" You said. "Madison needs the money because we can't all have paid time off."

"You should have come to me first." He sighed. "She has no right to say those things to you."

"Never stopped her before." You shrugged.

"I'll talk with her after the dinner rush." He said. "Just... try not to get cornered tonight, okay?"

"I'll do my best." You answered, flatly. “Because that’s definitely something I can control.” 

The rest of your shift went smoothly, or, as smoothly as could be expected given the circumstances. The nosy reporter was right, your bandage was a dead giveaway. You had to dodge a couple of questions, but most people had enough decorum to know the wound--metaphorical and literal--was still fresh. 

You said goodbye to Matthew and Charissa, collected your things and walked out to your car. You put the key in the ignition, only to find your gas tank was completely empty. You had just filled it that morning. 

You bit back a scream and fought the urge to slam your head against the steering wheel. Throwing the door open, you mentally prepared yourself to either make a long trek to the nearest gas station, or beat someone up.

“Looking for this?” A smug voice said over the cicadas. 

You turned around and saw the nosy reporter from before holding up a canister. A deep, blistering fury overtook your face as you slammed the car door. “You siphoned my fucking gas?” 

 “It’s not like you left me with much choice, [F/N].” She crossed her arms. “You’ll get it back once you answer my questions.” 

You threw your head back in disbelief. “You’re Freddie Lounds, aren’t you?” 

“I see I’m not the only one who does my research.” She said, looking a bit impressed. “How’d you know?” 

“It’s the first thing that comes up when you search ‘unethical crime journalists Baltimore’.” You answered. “There’s a whole flair dedicated to you on the subreddit for murder survivors.” 

Freddie seemed proud of herself. “Need a ride?” 

“I’d rather drive off a cliff.” You said, honestly, before turning around to leave. 

“Where are you going?” She walked after you. 

“To get more fucking gas, you evil bitch.” You shouted back. “Are you gonna follow me to the BP too?” 

“Look, I heard what you were saying to your friend.” She called out. “About white privilege.”

“Yeah,” You rolled your eyes. “It’s the same privilege that allows you to siphon a stranger’s gas and sit in a parking lot all night without getting arrested.”

“And I agree with you.” She hurried to your side, her chunky platform boots clacking against the asphalt. “They did you dirty and they’re shooting themselves in the foot by not listening to you.” 

You turned around and threw up your arms. “Why didn’t you just lead with that?”

“I invited you to sit down over a bottle of wine, did I not?” Freddie chuckled. 

“Cornering me at work is not a gesture of goodwill.” You huffed. “And I actually do want to put my story out there, but all you’re accomplishing by stalking me is guaranteeing you won’t be the one to do it.” 

“Are you really in a position to be that selective?” Freddie smirked and placed all her weight on one hip. 

You groaned. “What?” 

“The Baltimore Butcher is still out there, and you won’t be the hot new victim forever.” She grinned sadistically. “Soon enough, him or some other psycho is going to strike, and your fifteen minutes of fame are up.” 

“Good. Then I can go back to living my life.” You said. 

“But what if his next victim is a Christian?” Freddie grabbed your shoulder. “What if the next person who narrowly avoids getting their throat slashed decides to go on record and say that he doesn’t represent ‘real Christianity’?” 

You went quiet. You hadn’t considered it, but the thought of anyone downplaying his faith as a motivation made your blood boil. You looked into the man’s eyes and saw a person driven to kill for his god. A god he shared with the crusaders, conquistadors and slavers. 

“...but it does. Christians colonized half the planet for--” 

You stopped yourself when you saw Freddie’s smile. 

“You want to get on your soapbox, now’s your chance.” She bit her lip. “Take control of the conversation while you still can.” 

“Fine.” You spat. “I get off work tomorrow at four.” 

Freddie shoved the gas can into your hands. “I’ll see you then.” 

[nekojuro]

Hello there :) I really LOVED your asl brothers headcanons + the fluffy sabo one

So we know the majority of the fandom headcanons Sabo as a not really jealous type of bf, but what if when he DOES get jealous, its quite a mess ? May I please request an angsty headcanon of this with a fluffy ending ? Female!S/O please,

Thank u ❤

hello, thank you for the request! y'all really love sabo and im in for it, as you should! im not really fond of making angst because i can't take myself seriously but i tried my best with my own version and I'm sorry if it's nothing like you requested. also, I can't imagine sabo in an angsty headcanon but feedbacks are highly appreciated! hope you enjoy it! genre: sfw | v light angst - fluff warning(s): f!reader, modern-day timeline note: not proofread and a really long one so I'm gonna call it a one-shot with headcanon format

JEALOUS SABO ONESHOT

as we all know, sabo is caring and patient. that being said, he doesn't really care about other people and respects those people around you. he's v rational and doesn't mind much those guys who have hots for you.

unless the same guy kept on hitting on you and gets under his skin while he's in a not-so-nice mood, all hell breaks loose.

okay, it's so rare for him to get jealous but when he does, you get lowkey intimidated and scared.

he's the silent treatment type of jealousy, he won't even look at you and let you touch him. he'll be so distant but will expect you to cling unto him and if you don't? he'll get sulky and impatient, he won't be able to stay still istg

he calms down with your scent tho

you know that well and the last time you had this issue was around half a year ago

because you're a dumb bitch who's too oblivious for your own good, it happened again.

sabo is waiting for you at his apartment and since you decided to go on a date tomorrow, you'll be spending a night there since sabo had been whining for the lack of time you've been together for this whole month. unfortunately, you're late because there was a company dinner and you forgot to text him that you'll be late since you thought it won't take an hour but here we are.

god, I'm so stupid! you thought

a co-worker offered to give you a ride home which you didn't refuse because of course, you want to be home as soon as possible. you thanked your office mate and when you were about to unlock the door, it opened and there you saw sabo in his pajamas-- a white shirt and gray sweatpants. he looks concerned and immediately grabs your bag and coat so you could remove your heels.

"I'm so sorry, love. there was a sudden company dinner but it only went for an hour because there's only 4 of us there anyways. have you eaten?" you explained while you walk towards the kitchen to get water.

"yes, did you eat well? there's a leftover if you're still hungry. who was with you anyways?" he curiously asked

"oh, the team manager and his wife then my desk mate. do you remember him? the one who gave me a bento cake last time?"

his forehead creased and you look at him for a second when you heard him clear his throat which you didn't pay much attention to.

"ah, okay. let's go to bed right after you wash up, we're leaving early tomorrow." he smiled at you but it didn't reach his eyes

still, you chose to shrug it off because he's been always like that whenever he's tired and sleepy.

you skipped lightly towards him to give him a hug and kiss which made him chuckle

he hugged you tightly and places his face to the crook of your neck when he stiffened under your touch.

nonetheless, you paid no mind and go on with the night since as he said, you'll be leaving early tomorrow and you just want to dive in the bed--wrapped in his arms.

when the morning comes, you woke up when you felt the other side of the bed--cold and empty. you immediately got up to get a cup of water while thinking that he might be watering the little plants he has.

you tied your hair before going out but instantly stopped in your tracks when you found him leaning at the main door, talking with your office mate.

"uhm? what's up?" you were so confused about what's happening but you can clearly see that sabo is not having fun while your office mate was smiling sheepishly.

you walked towards them that made sabo click his tongue which made you uneasy

"oh, I'm just passing by. i think you dropped this hairpin on my car last night." you mirrored his smile and lightly tuck in the little strands that fell on your face

you were about to reach for it when sabo grabbed it-- a little too hard-- that made you tense as you can feel his intense gaze even though he's not looking at you.

"yeah, thanks. you can go now." sabo blandly shooed him which made your eyes widen as you rush to pull him back and stand in front of him to face your co-worker.

"h-hey! yeah, thank you so much! i didn't notice it but I appreciate it. well, see you at the office...i g-guess?" it was so hard for you to maintain a smile on your face when you can literally feel the heavy pressure of sabo's presence.

"oh, actually the manager announced that we're gonna have a one-day trip to osaka for screening of the new products at the group chat. she was looking for a volunteer and the team manager wanted you to c--"

"she's not available, can't you fucking see?" you almost yelped at the impact when sabo pulled you unto him that made you bump on his chest.

they were exchanging glares so you had to cut it off and apologize because you're not gonna volunteer for that, not when sabo is like this, you're better off dead than go with your team.

when you bid farewells to your co-worker and close the door, you can feel your stomach-churning. the moment he lightly pushes you to go back to his room, you knew this is gonna be a long day.

it's early in the morning and today is date day, what a bad timing to show up in front of sabo.

"love? hey..." you called out when you saw him in front of his study desk and laptop with glasses on. a sign that the date will get canceled.

you immediately go behind him and tried to touch his cheeks but he evaded it smoothly with attitude. you almost laughed but you know it's not the right time and you're not that stupid.

you tried different things but he just wouldn't accept anything right now so you decided to give up pestering him and took a shower instead. you can't allow this day to be a waste, if you have to drag him just to make the date happen--you will.

even after dressing up, he's still ignoring you but you know he's also aware of what're you doing because you can see his hands stop from typing whenever you make a move.

"love, I'm going out. you comin'?" trying a new approach, you asked but no reply.

you sigh heavily and head to the kitchen, you saw him shift around at the corner of your eyes when you opened the door.

pouring an orange juice into the mug and going back to his room, you placed it beside his laptop. your hands place on his shoulders for support, you take off one of his earpods.

"sabo, I'm going out for a while 'kay?" you stand straight after giving him a kiss on his cheeks.

but before you can even take a step, you're immediately pulled by him. standing between his parted legs as buries his face in your stomach. he's a little bit calmed down so it'll be easier to talk to him.

"you come back home late with another man's scent on you then the next day, they come knocking on my door. that fucking assho--"

you cut him off with a light slap on his head, "sabo, that's mean! don't act like i forgot your rudeness earlier." you warned

he looked up to you with a glare, "yeah, he earned it. are you siding with him?"

"no, love. you know you've been rude!" you raised a brow which he mirrored

"baby, I'm your boyfriend." he stated with his cheeks slightly puffed like that sentence will do its magic

you sighed, giving it up. i mean, it's partly your fault! you're just lucky this time because he's attention and touch starved-- that's why he's easy to submit.

"okay, okay. I'm sorry, I'll be careful from no--"

"as you should." he cuts you off with a sass

you squeezed his cheeks and kiss him on his nose and forehead, "c'mon, stop being a baby and get up. we're going to movies instead, my treat." you winked at him.

he instantly stands up and hugged you tightly while peppering you with kisses.

before closing the bathroom door, he looked back at you and flashes his infamous charming smile that made you chuckle.

"you look so good, love."

[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Gender Fluid!Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 3165 words

Summary: You spend a day with your new companion

Chapter 1

“How about this one? It looks rather ripe.”

No, Mistress. The air of decay lingers around it, I fear it will begin showing signs of mold within a day.

“Oh, good eye.” You set the orange down, making sure to hide it away so no other unlucky customer may buy it, wiping your hands on your skirt. “What about this one?”

That one’s fine.

“Sweet.” You say, adding it to the pile of fruit accumulating in your arm. You double check the list. “Alright, I think that’s about everything.” You come up to the stand-worker and set down your fruits on their scale, finagling for the wallet in your pocket.

So many different types of produce. Is this merchant’s estate really so large that they can grow all these things?

“Uh, not exactly.” You mutter, before reminding yourself to speak inwards, as only you can hear the demon lingering nearby. “They actually represent several farms, giving them a cut of the money so the workers can focus on cultivation. Some farms have their own stalls for specialized goods, but these bigger ones are typically conglomerates.” After successfully grabbing your coin purse, you hand the worker some coins and begin loading your bag.

Ah, how convenient.

“Yes, I’d say so.” You once again check your list, mentally checking off the needed groceries. “Okay, I believe that is all the essential stuff. How about we check out some novelty stalls? I hear there’s a fine jewelry maker near the center of town.”

The only jewelry in the Nine Hells is that forged by the damned. Carved out of the husk of dead dimensions.

“So, is that a yes?”

Yes please.

“Cool.”

As you walk along the thinning market crowd, dodging between bakers and families, your shadow twists and turns. Occasionally and discreetly, it will fall behind you and stare at a particularly interesting stall, before leaping back into the darkness and reattaching to your feet. The crowd is so focused on their eye-level, what to be bought, who to sell to, no one really notices the abnormality.

After that night, that horrible night, you woke up in your bed; Sweaty and exhausted, but nonetheless harmed. Your mother had rushed to your side with a pitcher of water, relieved that your fever had finally broken. You had been asleep for a whole 24 hours, your parents finding you in your bed after you didn’t come down to breakfast. Your temperature ran high and you had tossed and turned with some kind of night terror, but recovered rather quickly.

After you had shoo’d your mother away, accepting the large breakfast and assuring her you were fine, the demon had appeared from behind the door frame. You nearly threw a fork right at its face.

-----------

“So that was….It wasn’t just a nightmare?” You muttered, eyes lost in your bowl of cheese grits.

“Yes, my mistress, it was real.” The demon steps out from the shadow of the door, causing you to flinch as their long horns scrape against the low ceiling of your room. They take another step back. “Your body gave out after you spoke your demand. I do apologize for the intrusion, but I searched your mind to find your home and brought you back to your own bed. Was that a correct assumption?”

You nod, shakily stirring your spoon, absentminded. You force your eyes to meet the demon’s, trying to contain your quivers.

“And now-” You gulp, keeping what little composure you have left, “-are you here to collect?”

The demon quirks their head, horns audibly scratching the hardwood. Their brow furrows as they contemplate, before their eyes widen with understanding. They shake their head and take another step forward. You clench your fingers around the blanket, but hold your flinch.

“No, mistress. You are not in debt to me, not in any way. That is not the ritual which was performed.”

You quirk your eyebrows, befuddled. “But, I thought that-”

“The wish you made was not so heavy to require the payment of a soul. Nor would you have been able to make such a wish in the first place.” Without you realizing it, the demon had walked over to your bed. Their staggering height should be intimidating, but the intonation of their words and the look in their eye is calming. Almost reassuring. “The payment was made when you gave me this permanent physical form.” The demon explains, flexing their fingers and faintly tracing the lines of your bedpost. “By pushing your body to the brink of death, you were able to reach across the veil and pull me through . Usually, a soul-paying ritual brings a demon temporarily to the mortal realm, to enact the wish and then take their payment. The summoning spell you performed takes a much stronger mind and body; Not only to bounce back from death, but to carry a new weight with you.”

The demon slowly sets to its knees, laying it’s head down on your blanket. “In that way, I am indebted to you, my mistress, for taking such risks to bring me here.”

You blanch, words escaping you as this massive creature pledges fealty to you. When your vocabulary finally returns to your brain, you shake your hands furiously.

“T-thank you, for your kind words and your help. But you don't need to. I mean, I-I have no want to force you to stay with me. I didn’t even fully understand what I was doing-”

“That is not a requirement, mistress. And you are not forcing me to stay, I want to stay.”

The demon urges, picking its head back up from the quilt. “If it is your wish, however, I can stay in the shadows and not bother you, protect you from afar. I wouldn’t wish to interfere.”

You shake your head once more. “No! No, that won’t be necessary. That sounds even worse, to be honest.” You mutter, picking at the quilt squares with your fingers.

The silence lingers. The Demon, still looking at you in admiration. It’s irises glow even in the soft-morning light, their pupils a deep void amidst the unnatural yellow.

“Well, I am going to eat. Feel free to….look around.” You say, gesturing to your tiny bedroom. The demon nods, slowly retreating from your bedside to the corner, eyes darting around the wallpaper until eventually settling on your dresser and small vanity.

You eat, taking hesitant bites as you watch them wander towards your things, taking the time to observe your minimal decorations. You had a tiny book collection, some knick knacks you had gotten from town or your parent’s travels, and a myriad of plants on your window sill.

The demon hadn’t shown any ill intent, not in their actions nor in their tone, but you still weren’t sure. You had heard stories of tricksters, who lure you in with false promises and sweet lies.

If four young men could do it so easily, imagine what a demon could accomplish.

You shake their faces out of your heads, brushing off the imaginary fingertips clutched around your arms. It’s over; You are safe, in your bed. God knows what happened to them. You fight away that thought as well.

As you slowly finish your breakfast, the Demon is looking at the cover of one of your books. Technically it’s an encyclopedia, filled with all the different types of marine flora and fauna. Your mother had gotten it for your birthday three years ago.

“Umm...demon?”

They pause, setting down the book and looking at you.

“Yes, mistress?”

“I was just wondering, since you’re going to be here for the foreseeable future, what should I call you?” They’re brow furrows, head tilting like that of a befuddled pet.

“I had not really considered that, mistress. Is it important?”

You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding their piercing gaze. “Not particularly, I guess. It just feels a bit rude to acknowledge you only as ‘The Demon’.”

The Demon’s face scrunches up, still confused. “In the Nine Hells, I was referred to by my title, I do not see anything wrong with that. It is a correct statement to call me a demon.”

“Well, maybe. I guess up here, your own name is personal. Something that defines you, a part of yourself. Kind of like the way you look, or how you present yourself.” You say, mussing up your bed sheets in an effort to calm your nerves.

The demon pinches their face once more, eyes darting to the book laying upon the desk.

“Is Captain a military rank in this plane as well?” The say, claws tracing the engraved title of the encyclopedia. Sort of confused by the change of subject, you glance towards the book cover. Captain Amelia’s Guide to the Unknown of the Ocean.

“Yes, but it also describes the heads of ships. Those who sail across the seas, discovering new things or dealing in trade. Pretty sure the only requirement is a boat, not a military career.”

The Demon hums, eyes still locked on the cover, decorated by a painting of a large ship, locked in combat with a Kraken.

“Then I think I’d like to be called Captain.”

You nod, fingers still entangled in your bed sheets. Captain looks back to you, sending a calming smile. As calming as a creature with more canines than a wolf can be. Your own smile is shaky, still wary of what is to come.

--------

That was about a week and a half ago now, Captain staying by you as you rested. Your parents only allowed you to help around the house after 3 days of solid bed rest, most of which you spent reading, crocheting, or talking with Captain. When they went off to work, you gave Captain a tour of the house, showing them all the tools of the kitchen and the apothecary.

Their presence had quickly become commonplace, your body no longer jolting when you caught a glimpse of the dark figure in the corner. You two would chit-chat and entertain each other, but knew when to give the other space.

Captain also demonstrated their shape-shifting ability, although it was not as dramatic as you had read about in grimoires. Mostly it was a day-to-day tiny change, one you had learned to acknowledge and inquire how they would like to be referred to as. Captain had been a little bemused by the limitations of your pronouns, but was rather swift in adapting to a strategy which best suited them.

It was nice, if a little bit strange. Although you weren’t sure if the two of you could be considered friends just yet, if not for the short time or them being a Demon bound to you by a blood contract, but you were definitely closer than acquaintances. Comrades, ship mates? You still didn’t know. But as the domestic days dragged on, you find you’re not afraid to find out.

---------

What animal is this, Mistress?

“I believe it’s a seal? Or a sea lion, could never tell the difference, if I’m being honest.” You say, fingers brushing over the wooden charm hanging off the market shelf. It’s small, the details defining but rudimentary.

You have lions which live in the sea? How fiersome.

“Not actual lions, but I’m sure they could put up a good fight. Are there any oceans in the Nine Hells?”

No. Not ones made out of water anyway; Usually its blood or other excrement.

“...Oh.” You mutter, shoving that image out of your mind. Captain didn’t often talk about their home plane, only offering terrifying details that made sense of why they so desperately wanted to escape. As curious as the thought of another dimension was to you, you tried to avoid the topic all together. Captain didn’t seem to mind.

Looking at the small charm, with it’s adorable, puppy like face, you gesture towards the shopkeep.

“How much for this?”

“Only two silver, miss.”

You look down at your spare grocery change, sending a tiny glance to your shadow.

“Would you like this, Captain? We’ve got the coin for it.”

There’s a brief silence, your shadow staying uncannily still.

….For what purpose, Mistress?

You shrug, tapping the dangling charm and watching how it twirls. “No purpose. It’s just rather cute, and well…” You brush a finger over the woodwork, feeling the tiny indentations carved, “If you’re going to be staying with me, you should have some stuff of your own, right? Seems only fair.”

There’s another pause, long enough that you risk another glance at the shade. Even without any definitive form, it looks pensive.

Yes, I would like it, Mistress.

You nod, quickly passing the silver. From the corner of your eye, your shadow seems to perk up. As you pull away from the stall, you slyly drop the charm down and into the darkness, the demon leaping out a hand to catch it. From inside your mind, the warm feeling of contentment and excitement resonates like an undercurrent, bringing a smile to your face. You can picture Captain fiddling with the toy in their massive paws, eyes alight. Butterflies flutter to life in your stomach.

Thank you, Mistress. I would not have thought such a tiny thing would bring me such happiness.

You shake your head.

“It’s no problem. If you see anything you like, let me know.”

You’re jolted out of your mind when by a large splash, a woman squealing as mud clings to her skirt, and a young man scrambles to his feet.

“And stay in the mud, you low-life pig!”

“B-But Jezebel, I-I can explain!”

“Explain what, exactly?” A small crowd is beginning to form around the commotion, but you find yourself frozen to your spot, thoughts thrown all over the place.

Three women, all beautiful, stand in the small entryway of a house. At the bottom, now covered in mud, is Richard.

“That you’re cheating scum? That you don’t deserve our time?” The first woman shouts, gesturing to the two others. She’s making a scene and she knows it, reveling in her screaming and his embarrassment. “And I’m not Jezebel, you idiot! I’m Viola!” She nothing short of screeches, leaning down and hurling a chunk of dirt at Richard. The other women huff in agreement, looking at him with disgust and spitting at his feet.

A low murmur has fallen over the crowd, gossip thriving as the women stamp their heels and Viola huffs back into the house. The door is slammed shut, the focus of everyone’s eyesight on Richard.

He looks haggard, dark circles and greasy hair indicating he hasn’t slept, at least slept well, in the last few days. His clothes, usually refined and tucked in, were loose and nearly tearing. Amidst the chattering group of people, remnants of conversations linger into your ears.

“They made the right decision, shipping him off.”

“Honestly, it was about time. A cocky brat like that needs some discipline beaten into him. I’ve heard Ivy’s Military School is ranked top in the country.”

“God knows he will need it. The boy hasn’t had class since he learned how to speak.”

The belittlement, the desperate look in Richards eye, looking for sympathy, should enthrall you. That knot of satisfaction should burst, reaping the reward of your suffering, revel in his despair.

But everything about this pitiful man terrifies you.

You nearly drop your groceries, pushing away bodies as you flee the scene, barely finding time to breathe. Your shadow has trouble keeping up with you, bending between foot steps and keeping track of your shape as you dart away, away, away.

You find solace in a dark alleyway, but peace still escapes you. Your heart and brain pound with pure adrenaline, finding purchase on a nearby wall as black spots dot your vision.

All you can see are Richard’s dirt filled fingernails, dragging across your throat, pushing you down. His knee digs into your back as you kneel on wet ground, the cold metal of a knife pressed against your neck, dangerously close to your racing pulse point.

Your shadow shifts and grows, Captain’s shape stepping out of your large shadow, taking tentative steps towards your quivering form. Your knees soon give out, sending you to the ground, but they catch you just in time. You barely feel the contrast of soft fur compared  to rough concrete, curling up into a fetal position as you try to force the images from your mind.

Captain sinks down, claws petting your back. With a small voice, they instruct you calmly.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like that, mistress.”

The simple instructions give you something to focus on, something other than your fractured mind. You instinctively curl into their chest, their warm fur brushing against your cheek as you shove your face against them. Your eyes are clenched tight and you cling onto their shoulders, chest wracked with your heaving sighs. But the deep baritone of their whispers and affirmations slowly seep into your haze, pushing out the memories.

You continue to breathe in and out, Captain’s warm hands caressing your waist as they hum lightly. They tuck their chin above yours, their hot breathes blowing across your skull.

“It is alright, ____. You can do this, you are safe. I am here for you.” They mutter.

In minutes that feel like hours, your heart rate slows down, your mind loses it’s buzz. Captain hums an unfamiliar tune as they continue to cradle you, claws drawing shapes into your back while rocking your back and forth.

When you finally feel aware, present in the moment, you wipe away the tear tracks running down your face.

“Captain?” You whisper.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Can we go home, please?”

They nod, standing with you still in your arms.

“Of course, my dear.”

-------------

You unload groceries automatically, muscles and spirit tired after your crying fit. Captain helps, making sure to stay in the periphery and out of sight of your parents.

You give an excuse to them, explaining that the heat got to you, and collapse onto your bed. Captain lingers in the corner, poised for a command.

“Captain?” You mutter, fingers twirling a thread tassel on one of your pillows. They look up from their position. “Thank you, for being there for me. Today and…..last time.”

They nod, taking small steps towards your bed. Once close enough, they lightly wrap one of their fingers around yours, petting your knuckles.

“Of course, ____. I will always be there for you.”

You nod, a small smile crawling its way across your lips. You slip your palm into theirs, feeling their calloused finger pads, pulling them slightly closer to your form. Your eyes dart up to theirs. With a small blush, you whisper,

“And I will always be there for you.” Captain’s eyes slightly widen, but a large grin appears, a hint of their fangs glinting from behind their black fur.

“Thank you, ____.”

[100hearteyes]

Part 2 of Clarke And Lexa Make a Porno, because why the fuck not.

Part 1.

"No. Absolutely not."

Anya's wolfish grin is no good omen. Lexa feels a sense of dread wash over her and tries in vain to assuage her nerves by holding her friend's gaze. Anya wouldn't look this sure if she didn't have some card up her sleeve.

Lexa throws a furtive glance around, checks that her co-workers are still focused on the German porn telenovela. It's only when she's sure that the action on-screen will keep them rooted for a while that she turns back to Anya, trying but failing to meet her eyes.

She overcompensates with another glance around the room and a low hiss. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but am I not too," she licks her lips, gathering the courage, "'vanilla' to do it?"

Anya shrugs like it's a no-brainer; crosses her arms and props her booted feet on Lexa's desk. "That's exactly the point. You're a lesbian Disney princess. Pretty sure if you started singing the whole fucking fauna of Capitola would follow you around."

Lexa levels Anya with a glare and tries to push her feet off the desk, to no avail.

(Seriously, what's it worth being editor if she can't even have her subjects' respect? She wishes this job was less about the headaches and more about the self-indulgent moments of microscopic tyranny.)

The feet might not budge, but Anya will. Lexa is sure of it. She draws herself taller and tucks on her most authoritative scowl. "I won't do it."

Anya plucks an imaginary cigarette from her mouth and throws it away without a care in the world. She reaches behind her and drags forth a heavy wooden box, filled to the brim with—

"My vinyls."

Lexa is in a daze.

She thought she'd lost all her vinyls to time and moving. She mourned each one of them for at least a year, cried many a night away clutching her record player to dear life, lamenting their shared loss.

They had a real connection.

But it turns out her vinyls weren't lost after all, and her tears were for naught. They were safe all along, albeit in different hands, and she'd known nothing of it, like a mother who lets her children wander about without aim nor authority.

How can she ever have kids if she can't even take care of her prized vinyls?

Lexa feels a prick of self-righteous indignation at the betrayal and puffs out her chest. "Why do you have all my vinyls?"

"I think you mean all my vinyls," Anya corrects with a lazy flurry of one hand towards the box.

"You don't even own a record player."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her friend. "I come over all the time?"

"I could hide it while you're there."

"And then you'd never find it again, because that's what happens every time you try to hide something from me."

Anya shrugs and watches as Lexa picks one of the vinyls and turns it over in her hands, reading the track list on the back with the reverence one would a millennium-old parchment. Then she looks up at Anya with a stern glare.

"Over half of these were stolen from my house."

Anya shrugs again with infuriating nonchalance and Lexa wishes she had a pencil nearby just so she could snap it in two with one hand. Or stab one of Anya's eyes with it.

"Maybe I just rescued them from the actual malefactor," drawls Anya.

"We both know the real culprit sits across from me and has been wearing the same socks for the past three weeks."

Nailed it.

When she looks at her friend, however, all she sees is that same old resting bitch face that never seems to go away.

"Wow, Lexa," Anya deadpans. "Now you've really hurt my feelings."

Sometimes, Lexa wonders if Anya really has a rock where her heart should be. A supernatural, blood-pumping rock, of course, but a rock nonetheless. Or, maybe, Anya is a psychopath. Maybe the blood money theory wasn't so far-fetched after all. That would explain the brazen lack of empathy for everyone else's feelings, most of all Lexa's. What does it say about Lexa that her one true friend is someone who sneezes literally every time Lexa says 'I love you'?

Not that Lexa says it a lot. Only once or twice every few years.

Just enough to have noticed the pattern.

"Are you really trying to blackmail me with vinyls?"

Anya fakes an affronted gasp, laying a hand on her heart. "Would I ever. Think of it as... an incentive."

Lexa really does love Anya, despite her friend's... unique demeanor. Anya helps her come out of her shell — by taking up all the space and forcing her out of her own metaphorical home — and every once in a while she likes to make sure Anya is aware of her gratitude. Sometimes, though, things get really fucking weird.

Lexa would still do anything for her best friend.

"Let's imagine, hypothetically - very hypothetically," she stresses, although Anya's burgeoning smirk tells Lexa she isn't so easily fooled, "that I agreed. What would happen next?"

Anya takes her feet off Lexa's desk and sits up straighter, perhaps aware of the importance of this moment. This, Lexa decides, will determine her answer.

"Well first, I'd have to get you a costar. Then we'd sign some legally binding shit, find a crew, and make the damn movie. Simple as that."

Anya leans forward, looking into her eyes. In Anya's, she sees honesty and a pressing need to reassure. It takes some of the pressure off her shoulders right away.

"Look, Lexa, you can say no. But your name won't be on anything related to the movie and I promise no one in this shitty town will ever find out you did this."

This is why Anya is Lexa's best friend. And it's why Lexa would do anything for her.

Even star in a porno.

"Okay."

Anya's inner smile must be really, really big, because Lexa knows how hard she tries to tamper its outward expression — and still her lips manage to lift into a grotesque grimace. Coming from Anya, it's the equivalent of a blissful grin.

"Okay?"

Lexa nods and closes her eyes, bracing herself for a bone-crushing hug. It never comes. When she opens her eyes, Anya's resting bitch face is back on.

"What, did you want a fucking hug?"

It's a blessing to have her rude friend back, Lexa guesses, because seeing Anya almost smile is fifty shades of unsettling. So she rolls her eyes and rolls with it.

Her next question demands her full focus, lest she makes an even bigger fool of herself than usual.

Lexa breathes in, makes sure all her co-workers are still otherwise entertained, breathes out. Smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in her pants, wets her lips for courage.

"Anyway," she treads with caution, "do you have someone in mind for the other main role?"

It's fitting that Harper McIntyre's hit song One More Betyreyal (one of her less inspired titles, if Lexa may say so) starts playing in that moment, for the look in Anya's eyes speaks of nothing but danger. Lexa wonders how much planning went into this conversation, so Anya could plan all her gut punches in advance.

"Clarke Griffin."

No. No. Anyone but her.

Clarke Griffin is the new recruit, although Lexa hardly understands how there can be someone new considering the station is broke and they’re already overstaffed — and none of them make nearly enough money for how much they laze around all day.

Clarke came from out of town with a fancy degree and was directly hired as an editor. She voices the early afternoon newscasts and Lexa curses the one-hour period during which she's forced to cohabitate with Clarke every day.

Apparently, Clarke had taken a liking to unnerving her, be it by smirking at her every time she catches Lexa staring or by making all sorts of inappropriate comments — to her ear. Lexa hates how much it affects her, but how can she possibly focus on reporting about Lionel "Real Sight" Foster swallowing his own wooden eye or how Jasper Jordan rescued his own private parts from the jaws of two slats of an unassuming park bench if someone keeps doing everything in their power to distract her?

Lexa has a theory (an iron-clad theory, if she may say so herself), and it's that Clarke is trying to get her fired so she can take her shift. It's the best shift of the day. There is no other possible explanation.

"You know what, I take it back. Now you need to convince two people to star in your porno."

"Oh, there's no need." Anya waves her argument away with staggering nonchalance. "Clarke's already said yes."

Wait, what? "But you told me we'd need to get me a costar."

Anya shrugs and Lexa is now seriously considering revisiting her psychopath theory. "I lied."

"You conniving, lying b—"

"Careful," Anya cuts in with a raised eyebrow. "I am under protection of the Capitola Astrologers Union."

"Of which you are president, treasurer, and the only legal member," Lexa reminds her. "And I think any upstanding judge would love to know how exactly every other name on the list has joined said union posthumously."

"I am an astrologer, Lexa. I can communicate with the dead. It's in my job description."

"It scares me that you're not even aware you're describing an entirely different profession."

Lexa sits back, staring at the ceiling (and the chewing gum Murphy glued there a year ago — he could've been an Olympic jumper if he committed to work the way he does to being an asshole), trying to come to terms with a single, harrowing probability: she's going to star in a porno with Clarke Griffin.

"l don't understand why it has to be Clarke."

Anya leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, expression serious and ready to talk shop. The last time Lexa saw her like this was— actually, Lexa doesn't think she's ever seen Anya like this.

"Look, I've done some market analysis and most girl on girl pairings are a blonde and a brunette." Anya raises both her hands and starts counting off fingers, "Brittana, Petramos, Holstein, Wayhaught, Supercorp, Joanarty, Choni, the inaptly named Shoni, Deanoru, Dana and Alice, Bette and Tina, Catradora, Villaneve, Clexa—"

"What's Clexa?"

"I don't know, some chicks from this fucking terrible CW show."

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like what?"

"Clexa."

"Dude, I don't even know their fucking names!" Anya exclaims, exasperated. As if she's the victim here. "The only Clexa I ship is you and Blondie. Naked. On my porno. Clarke and Lexa. Clexa. Havin' very hot sexa."

"Smart," Lexa deadpans.

"I know."

"Why can't it be Niylah? She's blonde, too."

Anya's smirk is five hundred shades of gross. "I know you'd love to get up close and personal with Niylah's knick-knacks, but no."

Lexa decides to let the comment fly for the sake of her own sanity.

"Why Clarke, though?"

"Because you two have chemistry, you fucking dimwit."

Lexa snorts. Chemistry. Lexa has never heard of something so absurd. She and Clarke have as much chemistry as Harper McIntyre and any semblance of originality.

Which is to say, none at all.

"She makes very inappropriate comments," she argues instead, knowing full well that pressing on the topic of chemistry will only open way for some trademark crass joke from Anya.

"Yeah," her friend agrees, like it's obvious. "Because she knows you love them."

She most certainly does not.

"I most certainly do not."

"You do. Your freakishly tiny ears go red whenever she flirts with you. Your step falters when she makes one of those comments, for fuck's sake," Anya observes, pointing in Lexa's general direction, before leaving forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you, my friend, are a walking lesbian cliché."

Lexa takes Anya's hand off her shoulder. "Can you please stop insulting my tragically conspicuous homosexuality?"

"Oh please," Anya scoffs. "I'm bisexual, I can say whatever I want."

"If my step actually faltered - which they don't - it would be because her comments are annoying, off-putting, unprofessional, inopportune, and... and inappropriate", she finishes lamely.

"And you fucking love them."

"I don't."

Anya leans back on her chair with an evil smirk, propping her feet on the table and crossing them at the ankles. Lexa tries to push them off to no avail.

"Legalities aside, it's very simple. Clarke has already said yes. I just recorded you saying yes."

Lexa sputters, "You what--"

"You're both legally bound now." Anya shrugs. "Look at it this way: it will be very educational. You'll finally learn how to make a girl come, and get paid for it. Sort of."

A beat of silence.

"Anya, are you aware that you say something at least vaguely criminal every five sentences? Something that could actually put you in prison?"

Anya clicks her tongue, sinking farther into her chair, and lowers her sunglasses to her eyes.

"I've got friends everywhere, Lex. Let's just say I've dipped more than my fingers in my fair share of pies, if you catch my drift." A second later, she lowers her sunglasses just enough to reveal her eyes. "That means my tongue. My tongue's been in a lot of pies, too."

Lexa doesn't doubt that for a second.

"What I need to know is," Anya adds, taking off her sunglasses and throwing them across the room, "will you dip your fingers in the porn pie?"

Like this conversation hasn't caused enough trauma for thirty lifetimes.

"If I say no, will you still give me back my vinyls?"

"Absolutely fucking not."

Lexa swallows, clenches her jaw, and thinks of all those lonely nights spent in the couch clutching her record player and sharing cookie dough ice cream with it, longing for long-gone times when she'd dance to the mellow voices of the likes Billy Ocean and Ella Fitzgerald.

"My answer is yes."

[fockfjdkfncnfn]

Quite the ride | Luke Hemmings smut

summary: it’s a normal day and you didn’t have much plans except for dropping off some overdue books at the library. on the way, you decide to stop by at a cafe and you meet Luke there for the first time. you hit it off really well and on a cute date with him to a carnival and then things escalate.

warnings: unprotected sex, sex on the first date, oral uhmmm yeaaaa

requested: YES!! this is my first request from one of my friends i’ve just made here on tumblr! <3 their @ is @lukeshemmo. they write too so go check their stuff out!

word count: 3125

A/N: hiii!! thank y’all so much for 36 notes on my first smut!!!! i was really shocked to see so many people had read it and liked and tevloghed and stuff so thank you so much and i hope you enjoy this one <3 remember, requests are open to feel free to leave some!

ps. the book/cafe names i used in this are random ones that i just found in google lolol okay enjoy!

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It was a chilly winter morning and you were woken up by the sounds of your bed creaking as you were rolling over. You fluttered your eyes open and looked out the window to see the frost on the corners of your windows and the slightest bit of sunlight shining through the tree branches outside. “So cold” you whispered to yourself as you reached your arm out from under your warm blanket to grab your phone. as you took the charger out from your phone, you saw the screen light up, showing a reminder you had set for yourself the night before so that you could see it first thing in the morning. “Return books to the library,” it said. annoyed, you groaned and set your phone down beside you. You secretly wanted to stay in bed all day because of how chilly it was, but you knew that if you didn’t take the books back today you’d have to pay for it. 

With that thought in mind, you sat up and stretched your arms above your head and planted your feet on your cold hardwood floors, and made your way into the kitchen. You wanted to have a quick and simple breakfast since you weren’t feeling too hungry, so you settled on a bowl of cereal. 

you grabbed out a white bowl and poured your cereal and milk into it, thinking about what else you could do for the rest of the day after returning the books. You sat down at your kitchen island and started to eat. as you were eating, you scrolled through Instagram on your phone and an ad caught your attention. 

“Groundup cafe! grand opening happening today downtown! Come visit and enjoy some fresh, deliciously made coffee”

“That sounds interesting,” you thought to yourself as you ate another spoonful of cereal. You did some more research to see where the cafe was located and noticed that it was only a couple of minutes away from the library you were going to. “Maybe I’ll go after'' you thought to yourself as you finished the last of your cereal and put the bowl in the sink. 

You made your way into the bathroom and took a quick shower and brushed your teeth. You wrapped your hair up in a towel and one around your body then walked out to go to your closet. “Hmm what should I wear?’ You thought to yourself. Outside it was lightly snowing, so you decided that layering up would be a good idea. You decided to wear some cream white corduroy jeans, a black turtleneck and a short black puffer jacket with some high top docs. For makeup, you didn’t wanna go too heavy since it was a cold snowy day, so you just did some foundation and mascara. To finish the look off, you dipped your ring finger into a pot of tinted pink lip balm and spread it across your lips to give them some life, and used the residue left on your finger to spread on your cheeks to bring some color back into your face. You dried your hair and curled it, put on some earrings and you headed out the door with a tote bag that had the books in it. 

Since the cafe was on the way to the library, you decided to stop by there first and maybe get a drink since your hands were numb from the cold wind.

When you arrived, you put your hand out to grab the cold copper door handle and pushed it to make your way in. 

You were greeted with the smell of coffee and the sound of people talking amongst themselves, not to mention the noticeable temperature change in the atmosphere which was comforting. You went up to the counter and looked up to see what drinks they had on the menu. Your thoughts were interrupted when the barista started talking to you. 

“Hi! What can I get ya?” They said with a cheery smile on their face. 

You shifted your eyes slightly down to meet theirs and as you opened your mouth to respond, you suddenly got pushed, and then you felt hot coffee run down the arm of your jacket. “Fuck” you said with an annoyed tone. as you tried to use your other arm to wipe the coffee off of yourself,  You looked up to see who had rudely bumped into you, but your rage quickly melted away when you were met with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes. 

“I am so sorry,” he says with a sense of urgency in his voice. “I didn’t mean to, the person behind me was in a rush so I tried to move out the way and I accidentally bumped into you, let me go get some napkins for you and I'll buy you your drink,” he said as he quickly turned to get some napkins. 

as he was walking away, you couldn’t help but notice his beautiful golden curls and also how tall he was which was one of your biggest turn-ons. confused at what had just happened, you quickly turn to the barista and say “I’ll just have a peppermint mocha please” with a soft smile and you sit down at the nearest table. 

You see him walk towards you, drink and napkins in hand and a look of remorse on his face.

“I am so sorry for what happened back there,” he says as he gently places the drink in front of you and hands you the napkins. “Are you okay?” He asks 

“Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you” you say as you take the napkins from his hands and try to wipe the already dried coffee off of your sleeve. 

For a second it got a bit awkward because he was just standing there, but he gave you a little smile and glanced over to your bag which was open, putting on display the books you had in there. 

“Is that the east of Eden??” He says as his face lights up with excitement 

“Yea!!” You respond smiling and looking up at him. 

He quickly sits down at the empty chair across from you and you both start talking about the book. He asks questions like “what's your favorite chapter?”, “who’s your favorite character?”, “do you like the ending?” And before you could even catch each other's names, you both noticed that the cafe which was full when you first arrived was now empty, the only other people occupying the space being the workers cleaning up the machines and floors. 

“Woah, I didn’t even realize we had been talking for so long!” You say as you glance down at your phone to see the time. 

“Yeah me too” says with a soft laugh.

“What was your name by the way?” He says, looking at you with his bright blue eyes 

“Oh, its y/n” you say with a smile 

“Well, I'm Luke,” he says, playfully offering a hand out to you for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, beautiful”

After those words fell from his lips, you could feel butterflies swarming your stomach and blood rushing to your cheeks. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say giggling, taking his hand, and shaking it. 

His grip was strong but caring. You knew that it was crazy to feel such a strong connection to a person you had met only a couple of hours ago but when the workers informed you both that they were closing, you just didn’t want to leave. 

As you grabbed your bag and now empty coffee cup he stood up and asked,

“What are you doing tonight?’ 

It was like he read your mind and felt the connection too 

“Nothing” you quickly blurt out

“There's this carnival happening tonight just across town, would you maybe want to go?” He said hesitantly with a shaky voice 

“I'd love to!” you say, smiling up at him. 

You both walk out of the cafe and he leads you to his car. As you were approaching his it, you saw the library that you needed to go to. The whole reason why you left your house in the first place, but this was much more important, you thought to yourself. 

You hopped in his car and he drove the both of you to the carnival. It was dark now, still cold but not as windy and it wasn’t snowing anymore. You saw bright flashing neon lights, children running around with their families, and young couples going on their first dates. “what the hell am I doing,” you thought to yourself for a brief second. When he hopped out of the car, you watched as he made his way around to your side to open the door for you. As he did, you took the few seconds you had to yourself to process what was happening. You planned to go to the library today, met some random stranger who spilled coffee on you and now you’re going on a kinda date with him to this random carnival. “But how could I turn this down?” you thought to yourself “he’s my ideal type. I mean, he’s tall, handsome, has the most hair, we talked non stop for like four hours, it's hard to find a connection like that with anyo-'' your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. 

“The carnival awaits” he says holding the door for you and offering you a hand to help you get out

“Thank you,” you say giggling, taking his hand, and stepping out of the car. 

The whole night was filled with laughter and youth as you both chaotically ran around the carnival like little kids and going on ride after ride. The connection between the two of you became stronger despite how little time you really had spent with each other. Everything was starting to quiet down and you both decided to finish the night off by going on the Ferris wheel. While waiting in the line, Luke turned to you and rest his hand on your shoulder 

“I'll be back, I'm just gonna.. go to the bathroom” he said in a suspicious tone, a grin displayed on his face. 

You didn’t think much of it and just waited in line till he got back. You had your hands behind your back, rocking back and forth from heel to toe smiling out of pure joy. You hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. 

When it was finally your turn to go on this Ferris wheel, Luke just got back in time and you both hopped in and looked at the sky as it started moving, bringing you both closer to the stars.

“I had a really great night tonight,” Luke says with a soft smile. 

“Me too” you say, returning the gratitude. 

You felt the butterflies emerge again as the ride stopped. you were now both at the top of the Ferris wheel and looking into each other's eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks with a soft and gentle tone 

Without any thought, you leaned in to connect your lips to his and as they did, you felt sparks going off in your heart. your hands gently cupped his jaw as his hands gently wrapped around your waist. as you break away from the kiss, you both look at each other for a second and giggle. 

“This is crazy” you say giggling, still cupping his face 

“I know,” he says laughing. He looks down and away for a second and his eyes shoot back up at you.

 “Would you possibly wanna come to my place?” He asks, looking at you with the eyes of a puppy 

“Sure” you say softly, smiling.

The Ferris wheel eventually started moving again and you slowly felt the grass under your feet again. He helps you out and instead of letting your hand go, he keeps it there, and your fingers intertwine. 

“Wait, before we go,” he says. “I have a surprise for you” 

Confused, you look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “A surprise?’ You say. 

He unties his fingers from yours and reaches around his back and pulls out a rose. 

“For you” he says 

You look at him, mouth slightly open realizing that when he was going to the “bathroom” he was really going to go buy you a rose. You stood there saying nothing because of how sweet this gesture was. He playfully turns around to see the flashing colourful lights. 

“The lights are interesting than this flower?” He says jokingly 

you laugh. “No!! I just, this is so sweet” you say. “Thank you” you say quietly as you take the rose from him.

“Of course y/n'' he says. You liked the way your name rolled off his tongue. It just sounded right. 

When you finally leave the carnival and make it to his house, he opens the door and moves aside so that you can walk in first. His house felt warm and welcoming, despite the fact that you had never been there before. 

“This is my home!” He says smiling as he shuts the door behind him. 

“It's beautiful” you say in admiration, looking around. 

“Not as much as you” he says as he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips crashed onto yours and your hands wandered around his broad back. As you were making out, he picked you up so that your legs were wrapped around him and you giggled into the kiss as he carried you to his bedroom. Once he was there, he set you down gently onto his bed, using his arms to support you on the way down, and kissed your forehead once you had landed. 

“Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” He asked with a soft and loving voice 

“Of course” you say smiling, knowing what was about the unfold 

He started kissing your neck and making his way down to your breasts and you quickly unhooked your bra and tossed it to the side. He wrapped his lips around your left nipple while his hand cupped the other. You let out a small whimper at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your nipple. You felt his other hands move from your waist slowly down to your core, stopping just above your pussy as if to ask for permission. He looked down to see where his hand was and looked back up at you. you nodded, letting him know that this was something that you were okay with. 

He moved down so that his face was now in-between your legs and he unbuttoned your pants. You bucked your hips to help him pull them down along with your underwear, leaving you now completely exposed. 

“God you’re so beautiful” he whispered before diving in to eat you out

Your breath hitched as you felt his lips wrap around your clit and his tongue swirl around, making you become even wetter for him. 

“Ugh, right there” you moaned out as you tangled your fingers through his hair and moved your hips to match his movements. He moaned into you, making you feel the vibrations. 

He inserted a finger into you making you squirm in pleasure. 

“Fuck” you say as he pumps in and out of you. 

“I'm close” you say as you throw your head back onto the sheets. 

After he hears that, he stops, and before you can complain, he crashes his lips onto yours, forcing you to taste yourself. He moaned as he rubbed his bulge against your body. 

“You're such a tease,” you say with a grin as he breaks away from the kiss. 

he giggles and quickly takes off his shirt, along with his jeans and boxers exposing his length that was extremely hard. 

“Need a little help with that?” You say as you stand up and go on your tippy-toes to kiss him. You loved how tall he was compared to you. you watch as he sits down on the bed and you situate yourself between his legs and get on your knees. You lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip and he lets out a moan which makes you want him so bad. 

“Fuck it, just get on top of me” he says, lust-filled in his eyes as he looks at you with a hungry expression. 

You’re quick to follow his orders and stand up and get on the bed, your knees now on either side of his body. 

you lower yourself onto his length and you both moan out in pleasure. You start rocking back and forth feeling him inside of you. 

“Fuck y/n yes, don’t stop” Luke moans as he grabs your hips to help you move with him.

“Holy fuck” you moan out as you continue to move your hips faster. You start to lean forward, placing your hands on his chest and he bucks his hips up and down to pump into you. 

“Oh my god Luke” you moan shakily as he roughly thrusts into you, getting the perfect angle to hit your g spot. 

“Rub your clit for me baby” he moans and you do as you're told. 

The feeling starts to become overwhelming and you could feel your walls tightening around him. you felt your high coming and you knew that you were close. 

“I'm close Luke” you moan out breathlessly as you continue to rub your clit and feel Lukes long and thick length pump in and out of you. 

“Just hold on a little longer” he moaned out as he started to thrust into you even faster. 

He moved his hands from your hips to your back and flipped you over and pounded into you 

“Fuck Luke” you moaned with each thrust. He loved hearing his name fall from your lips.

“I can’t hold on much longer” you barely manage to say as you were trying not to cum before him 

“Cum with me beautiful”

That's all it took for you to let go. You moaned out his name, making it echo in the room. He came with you moaning out in pleasure and satisfaction. He sloppily thrust into you so that you could both ride out your highs and then flopped down next to you. 

Once you caught your breath, you turned to see his beautiful face and you reached your hand out to move a curl out of his face so that you could get a better view. 

“Out of all the rides we went on today, you were the best” you say giggling into his neck 

“It definitely was quite the ride” he says as he wrapped you in his arms.

[celest1all]

Hate? No.

PAIRING / spencer reid x fem!reader

SUMMARY / “do you hate me or something?”

WARNINGS / some angst, poorly written, fluff, a kiss, swearing.

AUTHOR’S NOTE / lmao hello, this is badly written but oh well. enjoy nonetheless.

There was something wrong -- there had to be. He wouldn’t act like that if there wasn’t something the matter, big or small. 

Unless he just didn't like you.

No, no that’s not it. Why would he hate you? You hadn’t done anything significant to warrant him hating you, hell, you have done everything in your power to make him like you.

You weren’t new to the team at all, but you hadn’t been there that long in the grand scheme of things. So when you joined, you made sure you befriended each and every single one of them. 

Including the resident genius. 

At first he was...friendly. Well, he would reply to you when you tried (and failed) to engage in conversation with him if that counted as being friendly.

It probably didn’t.

Recently, however, Spencer had been snappy and overall quite rude to you. He was dismissive, mean and was just being an asshole, really. And it was only to you. No one else. Just you.

The only thing you could think of was to corner him and demand him to tell him what the hell his problem was.

Should go well.

You were currently sat at your desk watching the bullpen when none other than Spencer Reid caught your eye. When you saw how fast he was walking -- his long legs no doubt increasing his speed -- you decided that this was your chance, your chance to finally get to the bottom of whatever it was.

You jumped up from your seat whilst ignoring the prying eyes of fellow co-workers and followed Reid into, what turned out to be, a file room. Thankfully, he had left the door open so you could slip in before he realised you were with him. 

Once you were safely inside, you shut the door and leant against it. Spencer looked up from one of the many files and widened his eyes when he saw you, “Why are you in here?”

You rolled your eyes and folded your arms across your chest. “I need to talk to you.”

You watched the way his jaw clench and how he shook his head, placing the files back in its box. “I’m good, thanks. Raincheck, maybe?” He snarked, moving to get through the door that you were blocking. 

You uncrossed your arms and placed them on his extremely toned chest to push him back, “No ‘rainchecks’, no ‘laters’, we’re doing this now as I’m tired of your bullshit.”

When you were satisfied that Spencer wasn’t going to try and make a break for freedom, you started talking. “Okay, look. I get that I’m the newest member of the team and that you probably don’t know me or trust me as much as the others, but that doesn't mean you’re entitled to being a dick to me.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes, “I’m not a dick to you.”

You sent him a pointed look and waved your hand up and down his form, gesturing to the way he was being now. “Do you hate me or something?”

There was a beat of silence before, “Yes.” 

It was one word. One word stupid, fucking word that made your heart drop. “I do hate you Y/N. But not in the way you think.”

You snapped your eyes to his, tears still behind your waterline. “What?”

Spencer took a step forward which made you try to take a step back, failing to remember that you were leaning against the door. “I hate you because I love you.” He explained whilst taking another step towards you. “The last time I loved someone like I love you now, she was killed right in front of me.” When he saw the sadness on your face, he waved you off. “I got through that, thought. I miss her -- obviously -- but I suffered and recovered.”

Your gaze was now firmly attached to his face, not wanting to interrupt what he was saying. “But I apparently haven’t gotten over my fear of falling in love.” He all but whispered the last part, but due to how close he was to you, you had managed to hear it. 

You gulped before mumbling something -- mainly to yourself than to anyone else. “That’s why you were being a dick. You were trying to stop yourself from loving me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, “Can I ask you a question, Y/N?” You nodded in response, not trusting your voice.

“Do you hate me?” You took a moment to think. Did you hate Spencer? No, of course not. You wouldn’t have spent most of your time trying to befriend him and corner him in a file room if you hated him. But that didn’t mean you loved him. Sure, you may have developed a bit of a crush at the start of you working at the BAU and you may have dreamt about him a couple times (it was much more than a couple) but that was just infatuation, right? Okay, yeah, you loved him.

“No.” You replied, staring into his hazel orbs whilst placing your hand on his cheek. “I love you. I don’t hate you.”

Spencer’s face broke out into a grin and leant in, silently asking for permission. To which you had granted. Your mouths melded together like they were made for one another. Even though it wasn’t the longest kiss you had ever had, it definitely was the best.

You both pulled away and smiled at each other before you broke the silence, “You were being a dick though.” 

“Point taken.”

[ak8shi]

Jobs that the HQ Boys would have in college

a/n: I’m tipsy and idk what this is.,,,,many thots head full

ATSUMU: oh my god… he would work at Lulu Lemon and also be a campus rep for the brand, he looks really good in the clothes ig,, 🙄his manager fucking hated him for the first month of working there because they put him on the floor thinking he would attract people with his athletic build and good looks but he was so judgmental towards the customers, they had to put him behind the cash register LMFAO😔😭, he’s still judgmental behind the counter about the colors people pick for things but he knows he has to stfu to keep the job.. when dudes check out and have anything longer than 5.5 inseam shorts he always mumbles under his breath about feeling bad for the dude’s girlfriend 💀

BOKUTO: ALSO a Lulu Lemon rep but more of a floor/customer service person lmfao, HE SELLS things like CRAZY, people just listen to him and his expertise when it comes to the apparel because he’s so enthusiastic about it and looks so good in it, he’s the type that has 5 million different random jobs here and there : I can see him working at the campus gym as an instructor or just someone who oversees the machine area, LMFAO he’s the one who organized recreational games and sometimes referees rec volleyball!! He loves it and people ask him for advice all the time. He also stands outside of hollister shirtless on Black Friday LAMAKISKSMS, He ALSO is sponsored by one of those companies that delivers snack packages directly to college dorms HE IS SO CUTE PLEASE

SUNA: He has a job at his college campus’ library! He literally loves it because he doesn’t really have to talk to anyone besides the elderly ladies who work with him and the occasional lost underclassman, and he can do his homework on the job. Girls go to the library that he works at specifically to stare at him, and the twins come in to annoy him often too (that’s the only way they would be in a library setting) GIRL he has to KICK them out for being so loud god. He also gets the occasional offer from the campus’ student ran fashion magazine to model but he’s too embarrassed and knows he would get absolutely CLOWNED if he accepted🥺. He also ubers on the weekends sometimes and he as a 5 rating because he’s hot and never makes weird conversation with his passengers

FUTAKUCHI: MAN he would work at the mall at one of those hair kiosks LMFAOO Listen, he’s honestly the perfect person for the job because he’s pushy, confident, and h*t… when people would usually object on getting their hair done by some random at the mall, they usually say yes to him because…. Its him ugh I hate him ALSO HE’S ONE OF THOSE SKETCHY PEOPLE ON FACEBOOK THAT SELLS SCAM BEAUTY PRODUCTS (“hey girly,” PLEASEMDMF)

OSAMU: He would work a typical bus boy job in college tbh, you usually have the start from the bottom in the restaurant business and he likes the fact that the hours are pretty flexible, and that he can show up hungover as fuck and still do an okay job. Occasionally his friends will pay him to cook a meal for them, or bake something that they can impress a girl with (sometimes he purposely burns the baked goods 😭LMFAMDM) Works late a lot of times and you can catch him downtown in the parking lot scarfing down his dinner at 2 am

SHIRABU: I have no idea why this one was so obvious to me but he 100% works at a Starbucks on campus lmao, his pre-med self is just always stressed and needs coffee to stay awake, and honestly he kind of enjoys being a cunt to all the students he encounters as an outlet for his frustration (sir…💀), He’s constantly screaming at Goshiki behind the counter, and he honestly doesn’t have the patience for any Karens or those girls who complain about their order because they ordered something they didn’t mean to. He’s genuine and friendly to his regulars though and if you tip he’ll put an extra shot of espresso in your order😙

KUROO: Also another obvious one for me, he’s giving me paid lab member by day, bar tender by night vibes from a million miles away. He honestly gets offered the job in the lab because of his grades and immense understanding of chemistry in his classes and labs, and he loves it!! God.. he’s really so nerdy and you can’t tell me this man doesn’t get published multiple times in academic papers bc he DOES! The lab is great and everything but he’s only there for a few hours per week, so he seeks out a nightlife job at a bar, let me tell you that’s where he cashes out,,, 🤑 like he gets tipped really well because he’s good at conversation while not being creepy, he’s HOT as FUCK, and he makes the drinks actually strong. Truly everyone and their mom’s favorite bartender !

ARAN: THIS MAN,,, he’s so photogenic and good looking there’s not doubt in my mind that he would be an influencer on campus (Atsumu really wishes he was him lmfao💀), he has ALL the sponsors and also a huge social media following. Fashion nova men, skincare brands, athletic programs, he has so many sponsors and basically most of his Instagram is payed placement , He also promotes a lot of campus merch and bars!! Like there are definitely pics of him popping bottles with his boys on his insta and he looks so good please😈

SEMI: he would work at a piercing or tattoo salon, and honestly it happens unintentionally ?? He went in for a tattoo and he was looking at the jewelry on display and was like??? this would be so cool to be able to pierce someone!! SO he apprenticed with a worker and had a lot of his friends who wanted piercings come in for practice, also he’s the type of dude that is great at calming/reassuring people who are nervous or anxious before getting a piercing or tat, loves to play his guitar quietly in the background when he’s not busy helping a client🥰 also volunteers at the animal shelter a few times a month bc he loves animals 🥺

SAKUSA: this one is making me laugh because he would definitely work a teleprompter job thinking it would be fine since he doesn’t have to touch or interact with anyone but he ends up hating it because of how rude the people are 💀😭 he somehow gets stuck with the most obnoxious and rude clients he really can’t take it, (the way he has to repeat himself forty times... no) he brings a huge thermos of coffee to the office when he has to work and he leaves with a huge headache every time