#the eyes?? the colours?? the expressions?? oh its peak

[hwashua-luv]

A Surprise at Sunset

The sun was setting below the horizon as it painted a warm, golden glow across the cityscape. From the balcony of your apartment, you could view the whole city bathed in an astounding combination of colours. It was that kind of evening which made one appreciate the simple beauty of life, and you were about to enjoy it even more.

Choi San, your husband of nearly three years, had promised to surprise you tonight. You didn't have a single idea what he had in store, but you knew you could rely on his sense of romance and ingenuity. He was full of surprises, each one more thoughtful than the previous. You set the table for two and started blending the scent of the candles you'd lit with the meal's aroma you'd prepared.

"Do you think he'll like this?" you mused aloud, adjusting a small vase with one rose in it.Just then, the sound of the unlocking front door framed your thoughts. You turned to see San walk in, and when his eyes met yours, they immediately lit up. Casually attired in a simple shirt and jeans, he had that inborn feel of charm.

"You're home early!" you exclaimed, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Your skin tingled at the light touch of his lips.

"Got off work early," San replied, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I thought I'd come and give you a little sneak peek of the surprise."

You cocked an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "A sneak peek? What do you have in mind?"San smiled wryly and gently guided you to the living room, wherein he presented to you a box wrapped in fine paper sealed by a red ribbon. "This is only a part of it," he told you as he handed the box over to you.

You untied the ribbon and opened the box gingerly. Inside the box was a dainty silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. You were pleased, wide-eyed.

"Oh, darling, it's beautiful!" you exclaimed, lifting the necklace to the light.

"I'm glad you like it," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But that's not all. I wanted to celebrate this evening in a special way."

He took you back out onto the balcony, where he had set up a little table with candles, a blanket, and a bottle of wine. Everything was just right, with twinkling city lights below them like a thousand little stars.

"This is amazing," you said, awing at the view around you. "How did you manage all this?"San shrugged a casual shoulder, but a pleased smile tugged his lips higher. "I've had some practice. But there's something else I wanted to do."

He took your hand and led you to the table, pulling out a chair for you. As you sat, he poured the wine, and the two of you toasted with clinking glasses.

"For us," San said, his eyes met with yours with a comforting light that sent your heartbeat racing.

"For us," you echoed and weighed the wine in your mouth while you looked out into the city. The conversation came easy, the laughter you shared, as easy as ever. It is times like this that remind you why you fell in love with San in the first place.

As the evening started to wear on and the stars began to twinkle brightly above them, San rose and extended his hand. "May I have this dance?"

You looked at him with a look of surprise, but delighted. "Of course."

He led you into the middle of the balcony, and the smooth playing of music from the nearby speaker sounded softly. San pulled you close, his hands light on your back, and you placed your hands on his shoulders as you swayed to the rhythm of the music.

Time froze as the rest of the world melted away, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble of romance. San touches gently, his movements sure and not spooking. You could feel the love and care in every step that he made, every tender glance he gave to you.

As the song reached its peak, San's eyes softened. He looked down into your eyes with an expression that could twist your heart into knots. "You know, I never thought I could be this happy," he whispered, in a tone barely audible to you. "But with you, everything feels just right."

You smiled up at him, a lump beginning to form in your throat. "I feel the very same way. You make each and every day special."

His thumb traced circles softly on your cheek as San leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. It was a promise of kisses, affection, and all the love he held for you. You dissolved into the kiss as you savoured the moment, letting the warmth emanate from his touch.

When you finally pulled away, both were breathless, smiling. San cupped your face with his hands while his eyes searched yours with that look of pure adoration.

"The other thing I wanted to say," he started with his voice as full of heartfelt sincerity as it could get, "is that, though I am really not up to standard when it comes to the expression of my feelings, you mean so much to me; you are my everything, and I want to make you as happy as you make me."

You felt the welling up in your eyes of joyful tears. "And I promise to always stand by your side, no matter what."

San's eyes sparkled with emotion as he leaned in for another kiss, this time deeper and more passionate. The world outside seemed to disappear as you lost yourself in the moment, feeling the depth of his love and the strength of your bond.

As you finally parted, arms still entwined with each other's, city lights shone in the distance. San leaned his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

"I guess I should let you in on the last part of the surprise," he said in a sudden fervour, where even his eye seemed to sparkle within.

"Oh?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

He nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small envelope which he handed to you. You opened it to find inside a handwritten letter; it was filled with all the reasons he loved you and the things he had planned for your future together.

"This is so sweet," you said, feeling a lump in my throat. "I don't know what to say."

"Just know, I love you more than words can say," San said softly. "And I always will."

You both stood on the balcony in each other's arms, gazing starward, across the night sky, while the city below was like a painting of light, and in your chests, filled with heartbeats, at once knowing you had all you needed across each other's embrace.

But as night wore on, the warmth of the evening and the love you shared just made it clearly evident that whatever surprises were in store, the most important thing was the way you cherished each other day in and day out.

And so you both knew this was just another beautiful chapter in your love story-a story that, every day, would grow just a little bit more.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Word count: 1196

Author's note: The same one-shot has been posted on Wattpad (hwashua-luv). Requests are also open <3

All rights reserved. © 2024 hwashua-luv

All works written by me do not copy, translate or repost my works without my given consent.

[wrestletotheground]

gingerbread house - matty healy x reader

christmas prompt courtesy of @abiiors ♡

festive dad!matty

cw: fluff, f!reader, slight nsfw at the start, pregnancy announcement, just wholesome dad matty <3

wc: 1.6k

- december 12th 2021 -

matty dips his finger in the bowl of icing, smearing a dot of it on your nose with a giggle before you can protest. 'fuck off,' you laugh, pulling away and grabbing ahold of his wrists before he can do it again. 'oh, sorry, you have someth-' he reaches towards your face again playfully, before giving up and throwing his hands up in surrender as you duck away from him, wiping the white blob off your nose. both of you are in fits of giggles again, buzzing with pure love for each other.

'don't let me distract you darling, this gingerbread house isn't gonna make itself,' he adds, turning his attention back towards the slabs of biscuit on the counter.

he then realises his finger is still coated in icing. he stands there looking down at his hand, contemplating his next move for barely a second before you reach over and take it in yours, wrapping your lips around his index finger and swirling your tongue around the sugar coated tip. his jaw hangs open as you stare at him with siren eyes the whole time, sucking on the digit that's pressing down on your tongue. he lets out a low groan, biting his lip when you release it with a pop and go back to work as if nothing happened. 'fucking christ,' he mutters to himself, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief as he tries to focus on the biscuits again. 

you can see him out of the corner of your eye busying himself with something else aside from the house; alternating between different coloured icing tubes and guarding his mini creation away from your view. he looks focused, the same concentrated expression he has when he's writing down lyrics or guitar melodies in his studio. 'what are you doing? looks like there's more dilly dallying and less construction work going on over there, healy,' you grin, never taking your eyes off the little sugary jellies that you're placing ever so carefully along the top of the slanted roof.

'oneee second.... bam'. the colourful tubes clatter onto the table and he spins around to face you holding two little decorated gingerbread men. one of them has peaks of black icing on its head for hair, along with thick stripes of white and black vaguely representing a shirt and trousers. the other is in a messy black dress, three curved stripes on either side for your hair and bright dots that match your eye colour surprisingly well.

'us!!' you exclaim, instantly forgetting the task at hand and clapping your hands together in excitement. 'us!!' he repeats, his face breaking out into a grin at your reaction. 'i'll put them right here outside the door, look! it's like they're holding hands,' he says, gesturing excitedly towards his creations.

an idea springs to mind and you put it to action before you have time to think. it's daunting, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little terrified of his potential reaction, but it has to be done. you pick up a red jelly tot and place it on the plate between the two figures. your heart races as you do it, knowing what's about to come of the seemingly insignificant act. you'd only been keeping this secret from him for a few days, but waiting for the perfect moment to tell him felt excruciating.

'that's our little baby,' you say in a half-joking tone, looking up at him tentatively. 'pff, yeah, some day,' he replies obliviously, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin in the crook of your neck. 'matty...' your voice comes out as little more than a whisper, trailing off into nothing. he pulls away and you turn to look at him. he looks confused but grips onto your arms reassuringly nonetheless. 'what's wrong darling?' he asks, voice laced with concern. 'what if i said... that some day is coming soon...' you can nearly see the cogs turning in his head as he stares at you blankly, trying to figure out what you mean. his eyes widen as you take his hands and cautiously place them on either side of your belly. 'really!?' he whisper-shouts, leaning down to you. you shakily nod your head, biting your lip and smiling nervously.

'i'm pregnant, matty' you reply. 

- december 12th 2023 -

bing crosby's white christmas floats through the air from the radio as you sit at the kitchen table with matty and your 18 month old daughter, harper. you'd been having a bad day earlier until matty went out with harper, returning an hour later with a gingerbread house kit and a bottle of wine to cheer you up.

your heart melted at the gesture, especially at the fact he remembered and pointed out that it was two years to the day since you were sat in the same place and you'd told him the most important thing you'd ever had to tell him. from that day onwards he'd been nothing but supportive and loving, always there to help in any way he could and you were so eternally grateful.

'last time we made one of these i was only finding out harper was in mummy's belly wasn't i?' he says, bouncing her up and down on his leg. 'you were, and mummy was bricking it over what daddy was gonna say!' you reply, both of you laughing. casual conversations usually turn out like this nowadays, with you and matty talking to each other but directing every sentence at your daughter, as if she'll suddenly be able to answer. 

she reaches up and makes grabby hands at the gingerbread biscuits spread out on the table. 'you wanna get up and help?' she lets out a little happy scream and starts wiggling as you pick her up from matty's lap and put her sitting on the table in front of you, moving up against her back so she doesn't fall. she's instantly drawn to the bright colours of the sweets and icing, smacking her tiny hands on whatever she can reach.

she's fascinated, scooching around on the table and bouncing excitedly when you reach around her to open the bag of powdered icing. you pour it into the bowl of water that matty had set down earlier and she immediately grabs at the powder, making it erupt in a white cloud that covers herself and the table. 'woah, easy on the icing there baby,' you say. her big brown eyes sparkle in the reflection of the christmas lights as she falls down with laughter, making the two of you melt.

~

the festive playlist drones on in the background mainly unnoticed, but as soon as jingle bell rock plays you and matty's eyes light up. it's your favourite song this time of year, especially now you get to share it with harper. you take hold of her arms and dance with her, making her giggle as you move them around to the beat. matty laughs, taking his phone out to take pictures of the two of you, covered in icing sugar and having the time of your lives.

~

the decorated gingerbread house sits in the middle of the table like a trophy, but the three of you are exhausted after spending all evening on it. 'would you mind putting her to bed while i clean up?' you ask, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 'course, love' he replies, placing a chaste kiss to your lips before making his way over to where she's now sitting in her high chair.

he unclips the chair and picks her up, cooing at her softly. 'time for bed munchkin,' he says, kissing her head and getting her settled in his arms, her sleepy head lulling over his shoulder. you smile to yourself as he disappears upstairs, footsteps barely audible as he does his best not to disturb her. 

after what feels like ages, you finish up the dishes, throw the towel back over the cupboard handle and make your way upstairs to the bathroom. as you reach the top of the stairs, you hear a gentle voice coming from harper's bedroom. the door is wide open, the only light being the warm yellow of the lamp on the landing flooding through the doorway and the soft pink glow of her flower shaped night light. you peek your head into the room to see matty perched on the little stool by the open side of her cot, book in hand. '..and then, a magical cloud appeared over the snowman..'

harper is lying tucked in under her favourite blanky and surrounded by plushies as he reads to her. her eyes are gently fluttering shut, although she's clearly trying to stay awake, gazing up at her dad in awe through yawns. you tiptoe over as quietly as possible. matty's eyes flick up towards you and he smiles before returning to the story. you stand listening to him, wondering how you got so lucky.

after a few moments you lean down over her and gently place a kiss on the top of her head. 'goodnight angel' you whisper, rubbing her soft cheek with the back of your hand before stepping back and letting matty finish the book. she's fully asleep by now, so he mutters a little 'blablabla, the end. goodnight munchkin'. he leans down and places a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose, making sure she's fully tucked in and covered before making his way back to you. 'fancy a bit of that wine?' he asks, closing the door over and stepping into the landing. 'ugh, you know me too well', you reply, kissing him before moving towards the stairs.

if you could have it your way you'd exist forever in that room, where you finally feel safe and truly comfortable. you and matty's little safe haven, forever <3

~

[missterwild]

Light and darkness (w/c: 442)

The sun rose high above the meadows, making the flowers and trees shine with colours. Laying in the tall grass and basking in the warm light, a young woman in jeans and a light blouse enjoyed the weather, her fiery red hair floating around her head. Hunter breathed in the summer air, taking in the sweet smells of the flowers around her.

The days had become longer and longer, building up to today: the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. The sunlight was quite invigorating, recharging her energy and good mood. An easy smile was drawn on her face, eyes closed and resting.

A moment passed before she heard the soft folding of grass under light footsteps that seemed to appear from nowhere. She opened one eye, her gaze falling over an older woman, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Melora sat down next to her, folding her legs criss crossed. A faint hum emanated from her as her eyes fell closed, stretching her neck as she rested her hands on her bare knees.

Hunter propped herself on her elbows, looking at her friend inquisitively, an eyebrow raised and her emerald gaze piercing.

“Enjoying the vacation?” she asked, running a hand through her hair.

“Yes, of course. The countryside is refreshing and the summer is thoroughly inspiriting,” she answered, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her dark locks flowed in the wind, a serene expression painted on her face.

Hunter turned back to the sun, a chuckle escaping from her lips. She crossed her arms behind her head, lying back and sighing contentedly. There was a sparkle in her emerald eyes and a grin on her lips. “Yeah. Plants bloom, the cold goes away and the light reaches its apex. Summer’s great.”

Melora opened her eyes, her gaze drifting up to the sky. A crease formed between her brows, deep in thought. A sigh escaped from her lips as she tilted her head to one side. “Yes, but after the light reaches its peak, it wanes once more, leaving place to the darkness.”

Still smiling, she rolled her eyes and gently kicked her sister’s leg. “Oh don’t be such a gloomy gus, Tir’,” she told her with a snort.

“I’m just being honest,” she shrugged calmly, the corners of her lips faintly twitching into a smile. “I’m not trying to be pessimistic or anything of the sort.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said and rolled her eyes before closing them with a chuckle. A smile pulled at the brunette’s lips and her gaze roamed over the treeline, noticing a shadow that scurried into the darkness of the forest.

[consciousexe]

out of order chapter that I wrote because I was bored and then it took ages because I forgot about it: Entwined AU

WORD COUNT: 1158

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since moving in.

Rigel rather liked the apartment, it was spacious but not a looming echo of a room, meanwhile Sirius tolerated it, and that was at best, he very much disliked it at worst- which was almost always- but those views changed the minute their surprise roommate moved in as well.

The morning was rather calm, Sirius was in his room as usual, the smell of warm oil, heat and uncooked bacon filled the air. She was cooking breakfast, the oil bubbling angrily at her as she disturbed it by placing down the strips of bacon, causing the meat to jitter on top of the hot liquid. The technology of the humans had severely changed since she last visited, evident with the stove she was using, a flat surface of glass covering the electric elements, a far cry from the firelit stoves she once knew, which were nowhere to be found.

She grabbed a few eggs from the container of... cardboard- she really needed to remember that the material was called cardboard, it was everywhere- and tapped one vigorously on the edge of the pan. The smooth surface quickly became cracked with a quiet protest against the iron, turning to a very audible cry as Rigel pulled it apart, letting the contents freefall into the sizzling pan.

The screech of raw egg meeting oil was satisfying, but it failed to mask the undeniable sound of the door being unlocked.

She paused, thought springing into awareness, she wasn't aware of anybody else with a key to their room, other than the building owner, but why didn't she get an email about a visit? There wasn't much time to ponder, however, as the door opened, footsteps sounded out from the entrance.

Rigel turned, her curiosity peaking as she stared out into the living room and to the door that separated the vestibule from the living room, the footsteps paused for a few seconds, she could hear something being set down, presumably shoes, since it sounded light, before the footsteps continued, now with a slight... metallic hint to them, odd.

Her wonder about it was quickly shut down, as the culprit finally walked in- a being made of interlocking metal pieces, floating horns... err, ears? Whatever those were, along with a very obviously mechanical eye, only one eye, in the centre of its face. It was very scuffed up, grime covered its artificial face, and on top of all that, scratches littered its noodle arms and limbs.

Rigel didn't exactly know what she was looking at, until she noticed some of those wire-thingies poking out of some tears and joints of its body, similar to the ones that provide electricity to the appliances in the apartment, but much smaller and brightly coloured.

This thing was made of HUMAN TECHNOLOGY, IT COULD WALK.

The figure would start looking around, its blue gaze falling on her very quickly, where it just stared, and then it looked CONFUSED, IT COULD CHANGE EXPRESSIONS-

"What the hell are you? My database can't determine your biology." It- or he asked, it was mumbling, or speaking fast, it sounded very much like a human male, she couldn't determine the accent though, it was all over the place, australian, maybe, it's qualities didn't quick match at it almost skipped over the vowels completely, but still sounding human to some degree. IT COULD TALK- oh, it was starting to look frustrated- FRUSTRATED! Rigel calm down- 

"..are you a MACHINE?" She moved without thinking, crossing the room quickly to examine this new presence up close. It stepped back, raising up its hands instinctively.

"No, actually I am a sparrow- of COURSE I am. What are YOU?" It'd huff, frowning slightly at her, its horns- ears, whatever those floaty pointy things were, moved downwards, as it started tapping its foot on the floor, making a metallic knocking sound, its irritation showing clearly. She thought she would faint, she thought she had seen the furthest extent of human technology so far, but nope, here was this machine, getting ANNOYED at her.

"An earth machine that talks and moves on its own?? Human technology has gotten really advanced since I've last been here... Stars, I'm old...." She'd grab their arms that it was holding up, pulling it closer so she could inspect every segment that overlapped each other, along with its hands, she curiously touched a seam in it's hand that allowed it's thumb to move about, only for it to shudder violently-

A second pair of hands popped out of the machine's torso, pushing you away as it-

"DON'T TOUCH ME, THAT HURT!" It roared, the effect similar to Sirius yelling directly in her ears. It sounded like something grinding away on concrete, she could hear the strain in the technology that it caused to make such a horrid sound. She immediately let go and backed off, holding her hands up in surrender position. 

"Y-You felt that-?"

"OF COURSE I DID! I'M NOT JUST A THING, I HAVE MY OWN FEELINGS TOO!" It- he yelled, rubbing his thumb against the part of his hand that she touched, his expression souring as he pulled his second pair of arms back into the confines of his torso-

"What is going on here?" The machine immediately went quiet as his head snapped to face the Commander, who had left his room to investigate the noise, his stature rather threatening, towering over the both of you.

The machine couldn't give two fucks as he looked directly into the eyes of the Commander, mouth contorted into a snarl, white teeth glimmering like thorns of a rose-- with harmful intent.

"Oh GOOD, more questions! Want to fuck up my sensors too?" He'd snap at the Star Commander, teeth clinking together ominously, getting more irritated as this interaction went on. The Commander just stared at him for a long few minutes, the room feeling a little colder now, a smoky aura accompanying the tension.

"...language-"

"OH KISS MY ASS, I'M 24, NOT A MIDDLE SCHOOLER, WHY DON-." He'd cut the commander off, before ending his own sentence abruptly, his jaw snapping shut audibly as his floating horns moved about, twitching in the air, disturbed. His mechanisms grumbled as he became animated again, striding off to the kitchen without a word, disappearing behind the walls, where she finally noticed the burning smell in the air. Oh, right, the pan.

"-And to whoever was cooking this, number one rule in a kitchen, DON'T FUCKING LEAVE ELEMENTS ON WHEN YOU ARE PRONE TO GETTING DISTRACTED WHEN YOU LEAVE A ROOM." The machine shrieked distantly from the other room, followed by the noise of crusted and presumably black food being scraped off of metal-- then crunching and inaudible mutterings from who she now knew was her new roomate.

This wasn't going to go well if this was the first impression she had on it- him.

[istherewifiinhell]

in which the elephant in the room is not the dinosaurs but Renet and her... design

[Mirage, tales of ...7 Story and Layouts: Laird, Pencils: Jim Lawson, Inks: Ryan Brown, Letters: Steve Lavigne, Toning assistance: Steve Bissette and Eric Talbot]

[ID: Cropped panel of Don kneeling down on small cliffs edge to look at a triceratops. He waves and says "Hi, big fella!" END ID]

But first. In all its -why isnt there higher defs scans of this- Glory. Fashion turtles + April, Museum outfits fits!!!

[All panels of April, Don, and another turtle at a museum exhibit about dinosaurs. The turtles and April all have their skin in the mid tone. April is wearing big earrings, a chunky turtleneck cinched with a belt, tight pants and ankle boots. Don has a hat, trench coat, scarf, and dark colour pants and shoes. The other turtle also wears a chunky turtleneck, hat, waist length jacket, and light colour pants and shoes.]

[ID from alt: Full body shot of all three, Don faces away looking at a display, April and the other turtle walking past it. The turtle looks forward, hands in his pockets. April has one hand behind the turtle, and shes glancing in the direction of the display.]

[ID from alt: Head leave shots of all three. Other turtle saying "Yeah... I hate crowds, too!" and Don says "Let's just not forget to hit the gift shop on our way out!" END]

omg their just like me fr.

[ID from alt: Vertical panel, April looking concerned "Don-- Didn't you tell me this... guy was banished forever to a prehistoric era?" Don, teeth grit, hat shadowing his eyes says "That's right, April... And how he's come back, I have no idea!" END]

Okay but what about the dinosaurs. Time travel. Time Travel? yeah.

[ID: 1. Mikey arguing with Renet. Renet is a woman in a bizarre cowl headdress with digital clocks on the top and either side. Her unitard has smaller ones. She's been drawn with a very large chest. She looks confused and says "Huh?". Mikey is scowling, saying "For that matter, why should we go back? We're here now-- So obviously the crisis was averted somehow. It wouldn't matter if we went back or not!"

2. Three beat panels. Renet drawn with a simplified expression of confusion with little dot eyes. It almost looks like shes looking to the viewer, then Mikey then back to the viewer. Mikey faces her, until the last panel where he turns around, also almost addressing the audience saying "Oh, forget it..." END

Cant help but think they purposely had a voice piece for the time travel plot critics in there. ANYWAY.

ID from alt: Croped panel of the turtles in the past, Raph has hit is head, kneeling, stars over his head, saying "OW" . Mike leans down, hands reaching for Raph saying "You okay Raph?" Don is peaking out from behind the cropped figure of Renet, shocked expression on his face. END

[ID from alt: Raph dangling from a structure made of bones, hes hooked is sai on one, and hold onto the bussiness end of the weapon. Don is leaning down from the top, lowing his bo to Raph "Hold tight Raph..." Raph replies "Like chrome to a trailer hitch, pal!" END]

^The way this just feels like 87 to me.

Yeah well anyway they did get stuck in the past for 3 months.

[ID from alt: Mike, wearing some kind of animal pelt, cutting into a bone fish bigger than he is. He grimaces "Ugh... I hate this part, fish guts-- Yecchh! Another turtle off to the side watching this and smiling. "But you do it so well, Mike!" END]

^def had this kinda exchange with a sib

[ID from alt: Two panels. Wide of all turtles plus Renet, all wearing animal pelts clothes. Renet's is of course drawn hugging her curves. One turtle, shocked "The spectre!!!" Mike holding the sceptre, which is dripping something fluids, "This fish must have swallowed it." Another turtle smiling, "What a coinkidink!" Renet waves both hands in excitement "Ohh awesome now we can go home." The last turtles says "Yeah but not right away..."

Everyone drawn small reacting in confusion. Mike "Huh?" Other turtle explains himself "Well we can't let all this fish go to waste, can we?" END]

^hey anyway in the 03 version mikey was given that line and they all go Oh you. but in this they really do have one last meal about it. tho also the emphasise less the um. waiting for the metor to hit dread. oh 03 angst <3.

[mywitheredloveslastforever]

Rosemary and Laura were enjoying themselves on a late afternoon out in Camden. They'd just come back from an MP, former Eton choir boy, who'd wanted his garden to be filled with statues of the David of Michelangelo. His wife looked on awkwardly. We didn't want to break the news to her, and we don't believe we needed to. He'd asked poor Rosemary about whether his purse fit with the leather on his outdoor chairs, and how it would coordinate with the roses. We told him that with the right soil, any colour will spark against these healthy additions to his admittedly very well kept garden. We'd advised him on the purple roses and rhododendron he wanted in his garden, and had spent the entire day digging around, investigating the ground, and Rosemary had gone to the garden centre, during peak hours. At the end of the day they sat down a terrace, and sighed in relief. Rosemary looked at Laura, and for a moment she smiled, then shook her head. The terrace seemed a bit empty, but there was another woman sitting there, with her back towards us, and a huge sleeping poodle besides her. She was wearing this enormous white straw hat, with a black ribbon. She wore a pantsuit with refined striped, and judging from her hands, she seemed about our age. What a character, Laura thought. They ordered a coffee and a wine and enjoyed the Sun, as they threw glances at the plans for their garden, but had to stop each other from looking. "Rosemary, stop it. We've been working on it since 7 o'clock this morning, you deserve a break. It is on me, you've done absolutely terrific. You'll get to pay petrol though, getting through traffic was awful, and I think I had two hippie climate activists look at your car in disgust." The waiter came with the drinks they'd ordered, and the women thanked him.

"Children, how can they not appreciate such beauty?"

"Tasteless, of course, but I need some emotional compensation now. It almost felt personal."

"They must not have seen the driver, then they would've known there was an expert working."

"Well, I've gotten better at driving your car. I suppose that was a gift on its own, getting to drive your baby through London. After all of these years, you're really starting to trust me." Laura winked at Rosemary.

"Oh come on!" Rosemary laughed. "I trusted you since day one." She laughed so hard she spilled a bit on her blouse. "Bloody- Well, first time in a while we've seen a red spattered blouse and it being wine instead of blood. I'm going to fetch a tissue."

Rosemary stood up and the dog reacted, she waved at the dog as its owner looked up to look her straight in the eyes. "Well, Bernie, look at that friendly wo- Rosemary?"

Rosemary turned pale. The woman's expression turned from a friendly expression to what Laura could only describe as a haughty one. "Clare!" She said. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in ages! You look great. Love the hat, very stylish. And what a lovely dog you've got there." She seemed to want to approach it friendly, an emotion Laura not seen combined with such a nervousness in her before. She was usually so confident when meeting old friends, and Rosemary seemed to have many of those.

"Rosemary, Rosemary. That out of all people you must be the one I encounter on my holiday with my husband."

"What a coincidence." Rosemary said, awkwardly looking at the stain on her blouse.

"Well, look who's only gotten poutier and less subtle over the years! You've finally got the looks to match your attitude." The mystery woman called Clare said as she lowered her sunglasses. Laura felt that his was not going to be a very joyful rendezvous. Rosemary sat back down, trying to hide the stain, as Laura shoved her tissue underneath the table, feeling Rosemary grip over it, briefly touching her hand. Like there wasn't enough tension in the air already, Laura thought. "I hear you scissor bushes now. Not a far stretch from whatever you used to get up to down in Bristol. Trying to seem more understated and common with your car choice, I see." She snickered as she sipped her wine and gestured at the car that she'd probably seen Laura get out of. "See this ring? My husband, Paul, got it for me on our twentieth wedding anniversary. My lovely son Marcus even got my old ring all polished up for me, so now I wear two. Did you have any children, Rose?"

Rosemary turned red, her eyes narrowed as she pointed at the lady. "You... You..." Laura noticed that the hand she'd had on her mouth was now resting on Rosemary's lap, which she quickly retracted when Rosemary turned around. After all, that would've been awkward, had her hand been on her- Well, not as awkward as this whole ordeal. Who is this woman? Rosemary looked at Laura briefly, and there seemed to be an air of relief, but also a sense of inhibition. She breathed in hastily, and tried to put on her lecturer voice, putting her glasses on top of her head as she put on a fake smile. The fact that she was trying to look composed but was still shaking, didn't really help her case, Laura thought, but in that moment she really admired Rosemary's strength more. "It surprises me, Clare, that you've been able to apply your bush skills on trees so well that your man still spoils you after twenty years. Hopefully this has been a more successful experiment, and you've not just turned into the box filled with decorations he can use to make himself look brighter every appearance. I heard he's done well for himself, sometimes I can almost see him wanting to thank you. But usually he looks like he just needs to." Oof. Okay, so Laura thought, these women definitely don't like each other. At all. Stark observation, Laura, she thought to herself. But what is all this talk about bushes and trees? And what on Earth could it have been that has made a woman like Rosemary, who can be very fiery, very feisty, but doesn't appear resentful at all, still so angry at this woman I have never seen before, in all those years we've spent practically attached to the hip? Briefly she started reminiscing about the joy that has brought her, but then she composed herself, she had to stay locked in. Maybe interfere. But first, and it happened before she really grasped it, the following words came out of her mouth: "Well then, tea's done. What is going on here?"

Clare looked her up and down. "I could ask you the same, Rosemary. You're not still in that phase of your life are you? Your taste is like a supermarket wine, Rosemary, and you always drink it alone."

Rosemary stood up, still pointing her finger: "Don't you dare talk about Laura like that! She is more sophisticated, lovely, beautiful, and sensual than you ever were or even I ever will be. And bitch, don't even try to compare her to any less than the finest champagne. And at least I like to only drink from one glass at a time, those rumours existed far beyond me, out of those five years we were only together for one. Yes, I don't like going back to Bristol, yes, I should've locked the doors, yes, I should have probably told you it was irresponsible to want to get it down the shed of a church. Yes, I am sorry that twenty years down the line it is still awkward for us to go back. But the reason they heard us is because you were enjoying yourself and you look like you've not had any other positive emotion other than smugness on your face since the day I last saw you." Clare gasped.

Apparently, Clare had the most elaborately toilet visiting husband ever, because when he finally came back from inside, he asked "Babybell blue Clary of mine, what is the matter? Who are these people?"

Laura leaned in, starting to get it: "Seems like you are not too fast for the first time in your life, Mr. Clare!" Laura put the money on the table as she waved to the waiter. "The view was absolutely lovely, sir, but I am afraid we must go. Thank you, great coffee, by the way. Lovely spot. Would absolutely come back. Chairs were great." She walked up to Rosemary, grabbed her by the arm, and in her angry state, made sure she did not forget her purse and her coat. "Here."

"Lesbians!" Clare yelled in a last attempt of hurt.

"AND HOW WOULD YOU KNOW, MEAN COW?" Laura yelled back. "Bugger off!"

They got in the car, Laura was allowed to drive again, because no way was she going to let Rosemary drive in this state. They were two blocks away from the incident, when she noticed that Rosemary was crying. She shook her head. "Laura, you know. That time was awful for the both of us. I know what just went down was horrid, but it really was bad back then. You could feel it in the air, that people just knew. Oh I was so stubborn, there was a guy that liked her and I thought, if I loved her enough, made love to her enough, we could see it through. I went to Oxford eventually, she went to Brighton University, ironically, and we never saw each other again. It was, Laura, it was really bad. It surprised me myself that I went there to teach, and it surprised me even more that I went to teach her son for a bit. He's not a bad kid, Laura. We were teens, Laura, just teens. It is- But I know she hated me for going back there. She must've. There was no love behind her eyes just then. Those streets, Laura, we felt eyes on our backs wherever we went. It traumatized us both. I'm sorry you had to see me this way."

"Rosemary, what I saw were two hurt women. Back when I was in the force, I'd seen women who'd done much worse to each other over love. This was pretty brutal already, I must admit, and I'd never been that close up with the action, usually dealt with the filing of complaints afterwards, but you defended yourself. You are so strong, Rosemary, and I could tell you didn't want this to happen. Here." She pulled a licorice package out of her purse. "Different flavours. Go on."

"Too soon!" Rosemary laughed as she cried.

"What? The different flavours bit?" Laura laughed along with her.

"Maybe." Rosemary grabbed the bag from Laura's hand and put one in her mouth. She started laughing again. "But I really could not insult her dog. That dog looked adorable."

Laura teased her: "You like posh dogs?"

Rosemary teased herself back, it seemed. "Can't change your colours. I feel so... Awkward, Laura. I don't usually feel this way. I've not felt this way in a long time, not since I met you."

"What you have to feel awkward about? Except for maybe that wine stain, but I'm sure we'll find a solution for that."

"I feel awkward about... Well, you must've noticed that Clare was a woman."

"I only saw a bitch most of the time." Laura said louder than she intended, but probably the right amount of loud.

"Laura!" She bumped into Laura's shoulder. "Shush it. No. I mean it, seriously."

"Yeah, Clare's a woman."

"I don't feel bad about having felt that way for a woman, Laura." Rosemary looked straight at her and Laura felt butterflies, she even caught herself having tingling fingers from the nerves she suddenly felt.

"And I hope you never will again." Laura said as she put her hand on hers. "You are my best friend, and I will never forgive myself if I am something that makes you less likely to accept yourself. But then what does make you feel bad, or awkward?"

"I never told you before. It wasn't anything deliberate, I think. Oh Laura, I don't even know for sure. I don't know why I've kept it a secret, I don't know why I didn't just tell you when I kept telling myself that this part of me doesn't matter, when we know so much about each another."

"It matters to me as a part of you, Rosemary, and I- Well, you know I think you are fabulous indeed. Why would this change anything?" Laura sighed and thought to herself, maybe this does change things. Not in the way she views Rosemary, but maybe in the way she dares to view herself with Rosemary.

Rosemary said: "So that officer was sort of right."

"About us?" Laura said.

"No silly, about me." Rosemary put her hand on Laura's shoulder.

Laura breathed in. "Why not about us?"

Some Rosemary and Thyme fic ideas I won't use, for public use:

(fair warning my ideas can be wildly disjointed)

Rosemary leaves Laura a note that says "Be back soon, love Rosemary." What if Laura keeps it? she doesn't fully know why, it just gives her a happy sort of thrill, so tucks it a way in her sock drawer at home. Then one day, Rosemary is out of socks and decides to borrow a pair of Laura's and finds the note. And she wonders why Laura would still have that? why would she keep a meaningless note? be back soon doesn't mean much, but "Love Rosemary" could mean a good deal more to her, couldn't it? and she wonders about that, and wonders and wonders and wonders until she's distracted by it nearly every minute and now she can't get a moment's peace. I don't know where this one goes.

2. that bit where laura thinks rosemary is dead and goes to tell her mum and Rosemary shows up in a bathrobe and Laura goes "Rosemary!" and we don't get much of a reaction. They probably hug, and Laura cries, and probably keeps touching her to remind herself rosemary is there. And then… what if she wakes up in the middle of the night and goes to check if Rosemary is still there and it turns into an only one bed fic because of course, Rosemary is like "why don't you just stay"

3. Your standard, we got drunk, woke up, and oh damn, are those rings on our fingers? fic

4. drunk flirting

5. drunk sleeping together?

6. one of them arrives first to a job. The client has gotten confused and called them by the other's last name. He's such a poor old thing that they don't want to correct him. Little do they know, he thinks they're married. "Mrs" Thyme, etc. And when they try and protest, the client doesn't take no for an answer and now everyone thinks they're together. and maybe whichever one it is kind of likes the assumption. likes people assuming they belong together. Likes as the suitor's backing off the other one when she arrives, because they think she's taken. and then you know, feelings realization.

7. Season 2 the Gongoozlers

Rosemary breaks her leg and Laura goes to the hospital to see her. the nurse (?) asks if she's a relative. And Laura, fearing she won't be let in if she isn't a relative, tells them she's her wife. She still can't go in because they're busy operating but the son of the family at the place they're working overhears (he's a porter at the hospital) and mentions it to the fam and pretty soon the entire film set thinks they're married or the equivalent since it's not legal yet and Rosemary doesn't know and Laura is just wondering around like oops. Because she is getting to see Rosemary now and she's scared if she denied it, that it'll get back to the hospital and she won't be allowed to see her at odd hours anymore. She's having to adlib answers to how did you two get together? Etc.

A lot of these are excess ideas i trimmed off of a potential "5 times everyone thought they were gay and 1 time they were" fic, if one couldn't tell

8. They run into Rosemary's ex. A female ex, and not a very nice one. Laura gets defensive, even though up till now, she had absolutely no idea Rosemary liked girls.

alright random dialogue prompts time:

"we are going to have to talk about this at some point."

"I know. But please not right now, I've got to have a sexuality crisis first."

"Oh right. Me too I suppose, but it's not so much of a crisis for me. To hell with men, remember?"

"Yes, but I think you took that to heart more than I did."

"Well you started it."

"I started it?!" Laura said indignantly. "I seem to recall you kissing me!"

"You might want to get over there. Your partner is verbally assaulting a police officer." And Laura gets there, sees it's Nick Rosemary is yelling at, and dives behind a bush.

3×2 seeds of time: "Even Caroline Pargiter! I was only introduced to her a couple of hours ago. What do I get but "oh this is er, er." I'm going to start calling myself er. Save people the trouble."

"Well you do have that effect on people. Sometimes I look at you and you're so beautiful I even forget my own name, let alone yours, and I've known you for years. You can't expect them to remember a thing after meeting you again. Poor things were so flustered they could hardly look at you."

Laura gave her a look. "I'm going to choose to believe that's it."

They were silent as they got into the car. Then Laura said "You know, it's been a long time since anyone's called me beautiful. I'd forgotten how it feels."

"this is why people think we're lesbians." "quite right."

and these are just the ones I don't want to use. I probably could come up with fifty more. look I just remembered another one.

9. the Gongoozlers.

Laura and Quinny are driving in the rover and Quinny asks if she can ask Laura some thing very forward and every single time I think she's about to ask if Laura likes women or of Laura and Rosemary are together. It also would fit pretty well if she asked Laura out. So perhaps those are three ideas.

I'm going to stop now.

Edit: here’s another.

When gay marriage is legalized in the Uk, Rosemary goes “well, shall we give it a go then?” And laura… is confused because they’re not even together. And Rosemary gives her this whole speech about how they should take advantage of this for the people that came before them etc.” And laura is like but we’re not gay.and Rosemary says it wasn’t legalized because of love, but so that the gays could visit each other in the hospital and inherit each other’s property, and doesn’t she want that? And laura finds she does want that, and that the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks she’d live Rosemary as Swidden

[eleyowza]

old comic from last year that i never got around to finishing bc it was finals, plushyuta and plushrayfa were distracting me from studying and now they are taking over my brain once again <3

[id: A four-page comic featuring Nahyuta Sahdmadhi, Rayfa Padma Khura’in and Apollo Justice. All pages follow the pattern of having a white border and a yellow background for each panel, the first page is in full-colour and the remaining pages have the characters in grayscale.

Nahyuta is wearing a yellow sweatshirt with a collared shirt, green pants, and black slippers. Their hair is tied back in a low ponytail. Rayfa is shown wearing a white shirt with green sleeves. Her hair is untied. Apollo is wearing a hoodie and sweatpants with a visible patch on the shoulder.]

Transcript under cut:

Page 1:

1st panel - Nahyuta appears to be preoccupied with work. Rayfa is talking, and her words are indecipherable at first until she calls for Nahyuta.

Rayfa: Oh, yeah, Horn Head would like to talk to you. Go see him. Nahyuta: I’ll be there, give me a moment.

2nd panel - Nahyuta is tapping a pen on their chin, and their eyes are furrowed. “Hmm…” they mumble. On the bottom corner of the panel are exclamation marks, a noise trying to catch Nahyuta’s attention.

3rd panel - Nahyuta looks behind, towards the source of the noise. “Wawa. Wa,” the ‘source’ cries out.

4th panel - A small plush toy version of Nahyuta has appeared, tugging on Nahyuta’s pant leg. The plushie, despite having a permanent smile, is upset and in tears. It sobs, “Ueue. Ueueue.”

Page 2:

1 panel - A shocked Nahyuta jumps back from the plushie, an arm shielding them. Behind them is an equally surprised Rayfa, with a plushie version of her on her head. The Rayfa plushie has a commanding expression. Rayfa’s hand is raised up to cover her mouth.

Nahyuta: W-woah.

Page 3:

1st panel - A distraught Nahyuta appears from a wall on the left side of the panel while Apollo peaks his head from the bottom right.

Nahyuta: A-Apollo, I must ask you something.

“Oh, hey,” Apollo responds.

2nd panel - The Nahyuta plushie is hanging onto Nahyuta’s left shoulder. Nahyuta is poking the plush’s hand as they speak.

Nahyuta: This little one has decided to imprint on me and… Nahyuta: I don’t know what to do about it… Nahyuta: It’s so small but terrifying.

The plushie looks blankly at Nahyuta with its permanent smile and 'mumbles', “I hold the key to the secrets of the universe in my hands, mere mortal. Gaze into my eyes and you shall see that the wisdom burns within m-“ The text cuts off from this point.

Page 4:

1st panel - Apollo looks back at Nahyuta. Compared to Nahyuta’s stressed state, Apollo is unfazed and enthusiastic.

Apollo: Ah!! Yeah, a Marketable Plushie!! Nahyuta: Marketa- what? Apollo: You are now cursed. Nahyuta: WHAT???

2nd panel - As Apollo explains the situation, five plushie versions of him suddenly appear, crawling up his arms, head, and one wearing a magician's hat sprouting from his hoodie pocket.

Apollo: Oh, they’re a pesky bunch but you’ll get used to ‘em, they are cute. Apollo: Mr. Wright and Trucy have a lot of them. Trucy keeps them all in her hat I think? A screaming Nahyuta: WHERE DID THEY EVEN COME FROM, WHAT???!

end id.]

[bowiebond]

Munver body swap AU, they each wake up in the other's body and bed, Eddie proceeds to snoop the hell out of Jason's stuff and may or may not ruin his reputation in the process of what he finds, but I can't decide what Jason would do 🤔

Eddie waking up in a room with a giant king size bed and dark blue sheets and covers; Jason’s room is decorated in basketball posters and trophies, his school books from the previous years on a shelf by his desk that’s kept neat and orderly. But he’s got a poster of JAWS and pictures of him at aquariums, one even with Chrissy, polaroids on his mirror of his teammates and Chrissy. His letterman is tucked in his closet, and his shelves are filled with books on aquatic animals, but mostly sharks.

Eddie is starting to think Jason is a nerd too, honestly. Just in a different way. Probably wants to be a marine biologist if he can’t make a career out of laundry baskets.

His wardrobe is filled with polos and khakis, jeans and jackets that could be confused for a letterman with their shape, but there’s only one with Hawkins Tigers printed on it.

Eddie knows immediately when he looks in the mirror and sees Jason that he’s been hexed or cursed or something. He should be freaking out but his first thought is how good this is gonna be. Rubbing his hands together like the little devil he is and his expressions look weird on Carvers face, but whatever.

He gets dressed (and peaks at what he’s equiped with - he’s kind of mad that Jason’s thicker but he’s longer so he could suck shit) and practically bolts down the stairs, half dressed like he usually is when he rushes out of his own trailer.

“Jason, what’re you causing a racket for—? Do you plan on leaving the house like that?” Mr Carver’s face is twisted in disgust at Eddie’s choices; tightest jeans he could find that he just ripped up messily with a pair of scissors, dirty sneakers that look old and well worn - did Jason fucking hike? - and a black polo with the collar undone. His letterman was tied around his waist and the colourful shark watch Jason already had on matched with an ugly souvenir bracelet that looks like a shark eating a surfer. Fucking gold. He couldn’t believe Jason owned something so dumb.

Eddie grinned with Jason’s lips.

“Sure do, Paparino.” Eddie winked with a click of his tongue and before the older man could recover he grabbed his face and licked the left side of his face and smacked a loud kiss there. “Bye bye!”

He only hears the explosion after he’s closed the door, cackling as he ran towards Jason’s car. Oh this was going to be fucking amazing.

Jason on the other hand wakes up with a crick in his neck. He’s groggier than he’s ever been and it takes everything in him to raise his head from his pillow, groaning with closed eyes. Did he drink the night before? He knew he had to get up, but it felt like fighting a battle just to leave his sheets.

He yawns as he stumbled out of his bed, the floor freezing. He hisses and finally pries his eyes open only to scream. Those were not his feet, or his boxers, or his fucking floor.

He whipped his head around at the room. It was tiny compared his one, posters almost entirely covering the wallpaper, water stains on the roof, a vanity in the corner. Jason almost tripped over what looked like a cushion chair as he made his way towards it, grabbing the red guitar and placing it aside so he could see himself.

Munson. He was looking at Munson’s mug.

He screamed again and a thunder of footsteps followed.

“What’re you screaming about boy? You alright?” Jason whipped around and almost lost balance, crashing against a black acoustic guitar with white painted words on it. He didn’t break it, but it did fall to the floor loudly and he rushed on instinct to grab it, to secure it back into its place.

“You’re not the quietest kid, but you aren’t usually this worked up? Was it the nightmares again?”

“Nightmares? What? No, I—“ Jason pointed at his reflection dumbly. It occurred to him that he must look insane. This was Munson’s uncle, he worked the auto shop his dad took his car to for tune ups. And right now, he was wearing his nephews face. What was he supposed to tell him? ‘Sorry, I’m actually Jason Carver, I’m inhabiting your freaky nephews body right now and am currently freaking the fuck out over it?’

“…are you high? This early? We have rules here, respect for each other, Eddie, and you know I don’t like you doing that stuff before school. After school and in your room with the window open is all yours, but—“

“I’m not high!” Jason’s voice cracked around the high pitch of his denial. He wasn’t high, Jason refused to touch that stuff, even if Munson did.

“Alright, alright.” Wayne put his hands up in surrender. “But if you’re having nightmares again, you know you can talk to—“

“I’m living a nightmare right now, I’m gonna get dressed and leave.” Jason cut him off with a finger and a disingenuous smile. He looked at the closet and ruffled through it wildly, grabbing the first jacket he could find and cracked open the dresser to wrangle on a pair of jeans.

“Why are these so tight?!” Jason cried and Wayne watched with wide eyes.

“…Are you sure you’re not still high?”

“Please leave me alone!” Jason begged in defeat and Wayne tutted but closed the door. Jason banged his head into the dressed with a groan.

“I’m going to kill Munson.”

He got the stupid jeans on (not before taking a peak because okay, he was curious, school boy shit you could call it, but he was a little jealous Munson was fucking hung. At least Jason has girth, skinny asshole) and rifled around for a set of keys.

He had never felt so discombobulated. Munson’s room was cluttered unlike Jason’s, and it made his anxiety spike the longer he couldn’t just find something because Jason put everything in specific spots, never moved them so they didn’t get lost, always put them back when done with them.

When he finally found the keys, he almost cried in relief before tearing out of the room.

“I made you tea if you’re ready to ta—“

“Bye!” The trailer door slammed shut and Wayne blinked in surprise.

“…If I didn’t love that boy, I’d smack him.” He poured the tea down the drain and huffed.

————

Jason and Eddie would see each other at school and Jason would drag him away; which is a hilarious sight because the basketball team is up in arms at the freak stealing their captain but the captain is insisting it’s fine. After acting all weird all morning.

When they realise neither know what caused this or how to fix it, they’re stumped. Cue Jason begging Eddie not to fuck over his entire reputation and life, and Eddie decides he’ll only do it if Jason pretends to be him, like actually tries.

Jason hates pretending to be Eddie because he’s not but somehow he’s able to manage it. Eddie is going a little insane because he’s used to his brain being very loud but Jason’s is pretty quiet outside when things around him get too much and he feels like screaming at anything and everything. Eddie has had to hold back from full blown meltdowns that he never even knew Jason had. He wasn’t very good at social cues anyway but Jesus, his brain felt like slush after a day at school and he found himself flipping through his dumb shark books.

Jason on the other hand has to manage Eddie’s mood swings, the spikes of anxiety at nothing, the sluggishness of depressing thoughts swarming him, the constant clutter in his brain that seems to work for him sometimes and then other times not. He has to refrain from saying the first thing in his brain, to implant a filter that’s barely working. He can’t focus on anything in class and it brings him to near tears because how does Eddie even deal with this? All the time? Is this why he does drugs? Was it because of drugs? Is this why he never graduated? Jason wouldn’t be able to either honestly. Somehow, he ends up playing with Eddie’s guitar in turn, not very good, but his hands have somethings memorised at least. The metal music is starting to make sense to his brain, so loud it drowns out his own constant monologue.

There’s also there families and friends. Chrissy who pin points that Jason’s different recently but that she’s pretty sure it’s because he seems happier and she’s glad for it. Eddie is starting to get Jason’s attitude with his parents; they’re both right assholes in that snide, rich people way. In the ‘reputation is everything to us’ way because their egos are so fragile that they have to pick at others. No wonder Jason was such a perfect golden child; he doesn’t have room to be anything else.

Jason feels weirdly at ease with Wayne, even if the older man looks at him suspiciously like he’s not sure if his sons been replaced by a clone. He’s away at work most of the time but he’s supportive, a bit gruff but always smiles at Eddie - at Jason in turn. He watches JAWS with him when Jason asks awkwardly because it’s been weeks since he watched it and he’s itching too.

DND is where a problem occurs; Eddie can feign being decent at Basketball, or faking a minor injury he should stay off for a couple weeks, but Jason can’t feign his knowledge of DND or LOTR.

They don’t know how long this will last so Eddie says he’ll teach him everything and write the campaign he’s halfway done drafting with him.

Cue the romance. It’s awkward, being each other’s bodies. It’s been weeks and they already know all the moles, freckles, birthmarks and scars on each other.

And maybe Jason’s body has a reaction to Eddie’s body even if Eddie, the one inhabiting Jason’s body, isn’t trying to go there, you know? But it’s a strange thought; how much of their brain chemistry remained in each other’s bodies and influenced each other.

Eddie kisses his own face to find out. Because he knows his own body is wired to want to fuck just about anyone if he gives it more than a second thought, but Jason’s? Perhaps it’s a fluke.

It’s not. Jason himself, his soul or whatever, seems wired enough to want him back just as badly.

I like to think, funnily enough, it’s after they’ve fucked that they switch back. Like they orgasm and then suddenly BOOM, Jason’s got his dick inside Eddie instead of inside him, and it’s a little disappointing honestly sksksk

Cue them switching because if things are back to normal, they’re fucking each other without having to stare at their own face okay?

[fieldofdaisiies]

Elucien | I Can Feel Your Heartbeat

All honour for this idea goes to: @ruhncervos and this post

I hope it is alright that I worked with your idea

*mature content*

--------

Lucien’s damp, warm lips slowly trailed up Elain’s thighs. Nipping on her soft skin, he hummed and took in his mate’s scent. Infatuating and so damn sweet — that’s what his mate tasted like.

Heat erupted and pooled in a place of Elain’s body that she found slightly indecent. Drawing in a deep breath, she tried hard to stop herself of giggling. So indecent.

"I…I-" Elain started, words dying on her tongue. A loud gasp left her mouth instead, before she bit down on her lip.

"Ssh…relax, petal. Let me make you feel good." Lucien drawled, lifting his head only momentarily, his gaze lingering on the pink, silken undergarments of his mate.

"You put them on, knowing how this night will end," —Lucien moved his hand up, brushing his thumb over the female's very centre— "am I right, my lovely fawn?"

Heat and colour dashed into the Archeron sister’s cheeks, a squeaky sound leaving her lips. Yes, she had put them on just for Lucien.

Squeezing her eyes shut and grinning to herself, she felt Lucien once again attach his lips to her thighs.

"I did," she breathed out. "Knowing my mate loves pink lingerie on me the most, I put it on. Just for you, Lucien. For my mate!"

Mate. The word coming from Elain’s lips was still new and a welcome surprise for Lucien. A surprise he loved — loved nearly as much as said mate of his. He grinned against her warm, sensitive skin, turning his head slightly and placing a kiss to her inner thigh.

"Nude is what I love on you the most, but," —Lucien moved into a kneeling position between her thighs, grinning at his mate‘s flushed, crimson red face and curling his warm fingers around the hem of her panties— "pink lingerie comes in second place. Definitely."

He swallowed hard, slowly dipping his chin and signaling his mate to lift her hips which she of course complied to it.

"So indecent, Lord Lucien." Elain grinned, mirroring her mates expression while his fingers danced down the whole length of her slim, long legs until he pulled her undergarments over her feet and tossed them over his shoulder.

"Oh, I love to be absolutely indecent with you, Lady Elain." And then he leaned down again and kissed her. Not on her mouth and not on her thighs— no, right where she needed him.

He did not only kiss, he teased and licked. He swirled his tongue around the bundle of nerves, making Elain go crazy. Her back arching off the bed, she squeezed her eyes shut and threw her head back into the pillows.

A lewd noise left her throat, a strangled cry which also carried Lucien’s name with it.

Lucien’s arms snuck around her thighs, moving his mate’s body closer to him and then he was feasting, savouring every bit, every drop, of his mate. Elain fisted the sheets in one hand, the other hand moving into the silken, red strands of her mate’s head. And she moaned, screamed his name as one wave after the other of pure satisfaction and pleasure washed over, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

The middle Archeron sister only opened her eyes when she felt something warm and soft on her left breast.

Lucien’s hand coasted her skin, palm smoothing over the pebbled skin before curling his fingers around her delicate breast. He did not tease her, did not play with the peaked hardness — his hand just smoothed over her skin.

Momentarily the fiery male stopped devouring her. Placing his chin on her thigh, he looked up at his mate, gazes locking, he smiled.

"I can feel your heartbeat. I can hear it, too, Elain." Elain smiled, one single, burning tear making its way down her cheek when she moved her small, delicate hand over the large, warm hand of her mate. With the next dip of his tongue, she squeezed his hand, his name rolling over her lips as a scream of pleasure and pure love.

And then she held his hand, Lucien guiding her through her height softly and carefully, letting her enjoy every moment of it.

Her mate.

[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 mouth pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, gasping out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complications left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use his assets better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut under spotlight!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[jincherie]

kiss it better | jjk

~ COMMISSION FOR @cinnaminsvga​​ ~

✩ — pairing: jungkook x reader ✩ — genre: college/uni au, smut, cheerleader!jk, pining, borderline crack ✩ — words: 11.7k ✩ — rating: 18+ ✩ — warnings: koo takes a tumble, explicit sexual content; clothed sex, unprotected sex (not recommended), creampie, handjobs,light subby!jk, hand-holding during sex (potent), whining, thigh-riding, vaginal sex, minor hair pulling, public sex (sort of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light dirty talk ✩ — notes: out later than intended and a bit longer than intended !! whoops!!! i won’t/don’t charge if i go over the commissioned amount becayse that’s my bad!! but yeah. its been a hot second since i last wrote smut!! also none of my friends were awake to proofread this so….. apologies if it’s shit and has typos! its 2am! pls enjoy and lmk whast u think!!

When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

masterlist | — posted; 01.03.2020

TUESDAY, SEMESTER 2 WEEK FOUR

It’s a beautiful day, the sun has just come to peak out from behind the clouds that had earlier obscured its climb from the horizon, and the grass of the Biological Sciences Library courtyard glistens with raindrops left over from the brief shower that prefaced the sun’s belated appearance. Students are finally beginning to emerge from the safety of the undercover walkways and overhangs, venturing boldly to shortcut over the grass. University life resumes, and everything falls back into its place, all as usual.

“Yah, is that Jungkook? Wait what is he—”

Well, everything except for one thing.

A red and black-clad figure slams to a stop right where two students are sitting and minding their own business outside the café attached to the back of the library—there’s no time to say hello. The table rocks dangerously on its beaten, metal leg, the impact of Jungkook’s beeline almost sending it straight to the ground if the two others weren’t already seated there to catch it.

“OW!” Jimin is never one to be quiet in his complaints, all too happy to holler his outrage at the top of his lungs. As his oldest hyung would say, no attention is bad attention. “Hey you almost jammed my fingers!”

Startled as Taehyung might have been, his focus is quickly shifted to other things. His wide eyes scan Jungkook’s panting form, taking in the clothes clinging to him like a second skin and the beet red colour of his face and ears. It’s not hard to put two and two together, but what comes out of his mouth isn’t exactly the most pressing thing he wants to ask, “Jungkook, why are you wearing the female cheer leading uniform I gave you?”

There’s a somewhat crazed look that makes itself known in the youngest’s eyes. “AHA!” he throws a finger in Taehyungs face, accusing. “So you ADMIT it’s a female uniform! Taehyung, you ass, how could you!”

Taehyung’s face is a question mark and Jimin squints, confused and still huffy about nearly losing his fingers and his triple-shot iced caramel latte that he may or may not have charmed the barista into gifting him for free. He wants to know what is going on and he wants to know NOW, damn it!

“What are you on about?” he asks, wrinkling his nose as he takes his drink into hand to prevent any future risk of spillage. “Why do you look like that time you ran the half-marathon on a dare?”

Jungkook glares at him, but it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a puppy. “Be quiet and sip your drink,” he says boldly, still attempting to get his breathing under control. Jimin considers throwing a retort back but ultimately decides against, it, shrugging and doing just that. He doesn’t want it getting warm, after all.  

“Uh, yeah,” Taehyung says, sounding like he is a split second away from tacking on ‘duh’ at the end. “You asked me for a cheerleading uniform? I thought you knew some chick that needed a spare, I didn’t know you wanted one to wear.”

At Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression, Taehyung takes the liberty of continuing. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it? You look surprisingly hot in a skirt, your ass looks fine as hell. But you seem kind of angry so IN MY DEFENSE, how was I supposed to know? That you wanted a male uniform? You never specified so—”

While each word that came out of Taehyung’s mouth just seemed to rile him up more, a different look passes over Jungkook’s features at that comment. “Wait, my ass looks good?” He straightens, attempting to peer over his own shoulder to catch a glimpse. “I wonder if she… No!”

He shakes his head suddenly to clear those thoughts and get back on track, whipping that same accusing finger in Taehyung’s face once more and levelling him with a renewed glare. 

“Because of you, I just had the most humiliating experience of my life, and it was all in front of you-know-who!” His voice starts strong, but as he continues it shrinks to more of an angry whisper, his brows scrunched in a clear display of his displeasure. “I literally am about to commit seppuku.”

“Weeb,” Jimin utters at the same time as Taehyung asks, “y/n?” Jimin’s head whips up at the keyword. 

Jungkook’s fight has all but left him at this point, and he pulls out one of the metal chairs to slump in it, defeatedly. His ears are turning crimson again as he recalls the events that had traumatised him so, and he slams his head to the table with a groan, muttering to himself in a voice that sounds dangerously like a sob.

“—stupid, was so stupid of me. I never should have asked Seokjin-hyung for advice. For actually listening I deserve nothing short of death. I’m so embarrassed I’m gonna throw myself into the lake.”

“Don’t throw yourself in there, think of the fishes—” Taehyung says at the same time as Jimin squawks, “WHAT?! You got advice from Seokjin?! He knows who your crush is? Oh my god, you’re more stupid than I thought…”

It’s all Jungkook can do to simply rest his head on the grubby-feeling table, eyes unfocused as he stares into the distance and regrets almost every single decision he has made in his waking life. 

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“My roommate,” Seokjin says, in between gratuitous sips of his monstrously sugary drink. “I think I’m almost about to get him to crack.”

“I feel bad for him,” you say, not looking up from your laptop despite the urge to gorge on your own drink. You made a goal not to look like a goblin when you woke up this morning and sipping your drink at a reasonable pace is a good start. “Being stuck in close quarters with you all the time. No doubt he needs therapy by now.”

As expected, Seokjin ignores you. You wonder if this is how he has managed not to get usurped as leader of the Contemporary Poetry Performance Club.

(To condense a very long story— he didn’t take being kicked out of the Drama Club very well. That’s on him though, he probably shouldn’t have called the Club Leader a tasteless fool for ordering a salad with his Happy Meal instead of nuggets. But, you digress.)

“I think I’m getting close these days,” the male muses, not-so-subtly making a reach for the McDonalds apple pie you have resting on the table next to your laptop. You smack his hand away without so much as a blink, more than used to having to defend any and all food from his wandering hands by this point. He continues, unaffected by the rebuttal, “Like, really close. It’s not long before my unrelenting bastardous antics wear him down and he finally breaks, spilling all his deepest secrets and confessing his long-time crush on me, thus allowing me to bring this act of friends-to-lovers pining to a close and get to the steamy stuff. “

At his spiel, you finally look at him, sporting a concerned and confused expression, if not somewhat intrigued. “… Are you talking about Jungkook?”

Seokjin chokes on the long sip he’d begun to drag up the straw, indignance making his voice rise. “NO, dumbass, I’m talking about Namjoon! Although…” He pauses only to bring a finger to stroke his chin, like a villain straight from an episode of Lazy Town, “You know, I never thought I’d be one for that harem shit, but now I think about it…”

“Gross,” you groan, wrinkling your nose. Seokjin releases a villainous cackle and you have no choice but to raise your fist in promise. He gets the message and quietens down immediately.

“No, but speaking of that little twerp,” Seokjin quickly starts up again, placing his drink down on the table. You feel an ounce of regret, knowing that means he’s about to talk for a longer time than you’re ready for. “I’m close to breaking him too.”

“He told you who his crush is?” you ask, brows raising in shock. Seokjin lets out a great sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, making you snort.

“No,” he grumbles, before brightening straight after. “But! I’m getting close. He came to me for advice this morning.”

At his words, you’ve now completely abandoned whatever you were doing on your laptop and are looking at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Am not!” Seokjin denies, huffy. “He did! He wanted help making his crush fall in love with him, and so of course he came to me, Kim Seokjin, master of the heart and modern-day cupid.”

You pin him with a deadpan look. “Namjoon was out, wasn’t he.”

Seokjin’s glare is all the answer you need. He continues like you hadn’t even spoken in the first place.

“And since he so wisely came to me, of all people, and put his love life in my wise, gentle hands, I gave him the best advice anyone could possibly get.” The way his chest has swelled with pride and he’s looking all-too-pleased with himself doesn’t fill you with a good feeling. “I told him to play it smart, and use his assets.”

At first, you’re confused. “What, like… his cuteness? His endearing personality?”

“NO, dumbass, his assets! His ass! His thighs! His itty-bitty waist!” You think you hear him muttering something like ‘that lucky bitch’ under his breath, but can’t be sure. “Also, don’t think I missed you calling him cute, y/n. I’m filing that shit away for later.”

“I’ll kill you,” you inform him, but the threat has long since lost its impact. He rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, we both already know exactly how 'peggable’ you think he is.” He takes a haughty sip of his drink like he knows he’s right, and you hate that he is. “It’s not the most incriminating thing I have on you.”

You make the strategic decision not to say anything and dig your hole deeper, and Seokjin seems pleased at your silent admit of defeat.

“Anyway,” he says again, smacking the cream on top of his drink down into the liquid with a spoon. There is some fallout, but that’s never stopped him before. “Kid’s dumb as shit but pure of heart. I’m interested to see whether he will actually take my advice.”

“He won’t for sure,” you scoff, returning to your laptop at last. “Anyone who takes your advice is guaranteed to have an empty head and quarter of a brain cell to their name. Jungkook is smarter than that.”

As expected, Seokjin squawks in outrage, and it harmonises with the ambience of dead silence in your corner of the library. He doesn’t let the topic rest for the remainder of the day.    

WEDNESDAY, WEEK FIVE

You think that the day Jungkook first rocked up to cheer practice at the gym a week ago at the same time you were coaching the women’s basketball team, is one firmly burned into your memory for the rest of your life. And, honest to god, you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Because the boy, in all his slim-waisted, sculpted-ass-and-thighs glory, had rocked up in a cheerleading crop top and skirt.

You have absolutely no idea why he decided to wear that to his first session after joining, but you do know that while the sight of him usually makes you drool, the sight of him in that made your brain cease all higher functioning and you, in essence, became a dog. You almost barked when you saw him, for real.

Even from across the room though, you’d quickly been able to gather that he hadn’t worn it on purpose (somehow), as his face flushed bright crimson and he quickly began to look like he wanted to neck himself in the middle of the gym. Yoongi, another bastard friend of yours who through a series of unfortunate events and regrettable decisions (for him) had become the cheer captain, had been insulted that Jungkook had shown up like that and “hadn’t taken cheer seriously”, and so had given him a punishment. Yoongi said that if he wanted to rock up in a skirt so badly, then for every coming practice he had to wear a skirt again.

Had you not been busy drooling you probably would have felt bad for Jungkook, as you did later when Yoongi filled you in. As it were, in the moment you’d nearly copped a basketball to the face for being so distracted. Regrettably, you’d had to turn away from Jungkook and back to your actual duties: coaching. 

Although with Yoongi being out for your blood, you have had plenty of opportunities in the past week to ogle to your heart’s desire. A real shameful amount, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Bora!” you call, watching the girl in question halt across the gym. “Fix your footwork or I’m gonna smack you!”

The girl rolls her eyes and turns away, flicking a ponytail of dark hair over her shoulder as she does so, but listens to what you say. The familiar squeak of rubber on gym flooring fills the air as she starts the drill anew. She has a tendency to get lazy and sloppy in her movements if you don’t ride her ass, and she knows it as much as you do.

“How did you even managed to get the coaching position?” Seulgi asks from next to you, her response almost cut off by a loud racket from the cheer side of the gym. It takes all of your willpower not to fall into the trap and look over. “I feel like people like you shouldn’t be in positions of power.”

You don’t even bother arguing with her since she’s technically right and you agree. “Sheer dumb luck,” you tell her, risking a glance to the side if only to give Yoongi the stink eye. “Actually, if you really wanna know, I only went for it because Yoongi wanted it and he did something that really soured my yoghurt and pissed me off. So I applied out of spite. I probably shouldn’t have gotten the job though.”

“Huh,” Seulgi voices, eyes unfocused. “Well you’re not too bad for a fake. The team has actually been improving since you took over.”

“That’s probably because you guys went through coaches so fast for a while that for like, six months you didn’t really have one.”

“Touché.”

The only reason the girl is on the sidelines in the first place is because she’d looked over at the wrong time and caught it just as Jungkook started one of the tumbling routines, getting it almost perfect on the first go and in the process flashing his pert ass to the air and any sorry beholders. He might have been wearing bike shorts under the punishment skirt he was modelling, and he might have traded the crop top for a singlet of reasonable length, but it was still a dangerous, nay lethal sight. You’d looked over at the same time so you knew why and how Seulgi managed to tumble and trip so terribly mid-drill. She rolled her ankle so bad that as she sits next to you right now with ice on it, it looks like there’s an entire boiled egg beneath the surface of her skin. It’s kind of gross but also kind of hard to look away from. 

Back to the topic at hand, there is just something about the sheer athleticism and heaven-blessed ease with which Jungkook backflips and cartwheels across the mat that turns you into a brainless slab of goo. You’re unsurprised that Seulgi got distracted and ended up hurting herself as a result of it.

The afternoon flies by and before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’ve finished riding the collective women’s basketball team’s ass for the day. As they disperse and leave the gym at a leisurely pace, you collect Seulgi and help her towards the gym locker room to get some fresh ice for her ankle before she journeys to visit the university nurse. 

The cheer squad has just about finished up their own practice, and one by one they begin to filter out of the gym. Yoongi waddles over to where you stand by the door, eyeing Seulgi with a knowing look.

“Got distracted at the wrong time, huh?” He asks, very much already knowing the answer. You give him a dirty look while Seulgi goes bright pink.

Yoongi adjusts the collar of his university sports jacket, puffing his chest out. “That’s our golden boy for ya,” he brags, sounding very much like one of the aunties and old women you find gossiping on the street near the markets. “He was born for cheer. It’s like he’s been tumbling since the day he was born. Probably even came out doing a backflip.”

You want to tell him to stop pulling shit out of his ass, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything when you agree so wholeheartedly. You’re saved from having to summon a response when in the next second, Yoongi gets the urge to turn and catches Jungkook red-handed on his way out of the gym. He seems in a hurry, moving almost like he’s trying to sneak out unnoticed, but halts at the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s holler when it breaches the air.

“Ah there he is— Jungkook-ah!” Even while calling out, Yoongi somehow still has an indolent, lazy drawl. “Good job today! Also, proud of you for committing to your punishment. Keep it up!”

The poor raven-haired boy had already looked somewhat mortified at being singled out amongst the students exiting the gym, but now as Yoongi finishes speaking and his big doe eyes flick to the side and take in you and Seulgi listening in, his face very suddenly and violently erupts into a blush.

“Th-thanks,” he squeaks, nodding, the tips of his ears darkening to match his face. His eyes are flicking from you to Yoongi in such a way he almost reminds you of a scared rodent. When it becomes clear he has nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and flees in the direction of the locker room. For his sake, you don’t ogle him as he goes. There’s a time and a place, and he seems so embarrassed that you’d feel bad for checking him out right now. 

“… He’s so cute,” Yoongi remarks a few seconds after Jungkook disappears out the door, gaze still trained in the direction he’d left. “No wonder I always look over and see you drooling, y/n.”

You agree with the first part, but honestly… you could have done without that second comment. You give him the stink eye to let him know just that, before tapping Seulgi and readjusting your grip in preparation to walk once more.

“If you’re immune, Min, you’re not human,” Seulgi says, cheeky glint in her eye. Your heart warms—you can always count on her to defend you in the face of life’s meanies.

SATURDAY, WEEK 5

It’s not often you find yourself making the long, arduous trek down the street to the apartment building where Seokjin et al. live, but it does happen on the occasion. If possible, you like to make the journey in the morning or the afternoon, because there is little to no cover on the path that takes you there and the only thing you like less than being in the sun when you don’t have to is sweating.

Still, you make the trek today, even though it’s technically past the point in the morning where you would refuse. The heat starts to come anywhere from 8 to 9 o’clock, even earlier on the stinkier days. Call you lazy, but you stick by your own rules because they work and reduce your suffering considerably. 

Namjoon is one of your project partners in a random elective the two of you chose, and he was meant to give you a part of the assignment he’d been working on yesterday but, of course, forgot it. And then again today, when he was meant to drop it off on his way to work, he forgot it once more. So here you are, walking to his stupid apartment and preparing to break in because it’s due next week and you need his part to finish yours, damn it. 

Thankfully, air conditioning greets you the second you step inside the building and cools down whatever heat has managed to cling to your form from outside. Luck is on your side—no sweat today, babey! In a slightly better mood now that you’re out of the sun, you follow the path your legs have committed to memory to Namjoon’s apartment. 

Normally you’d rely on someone being home to let you in so you can ransack Namjoon’s room, but in his apologetic text he’d informed you that everyone is out and so with a great, big sigh you’d resigned yourself and dug the lockpicking set you received one Christmas out from under your bed. It’s heavy in your back pocket now as you walk down the hallway of the floor their apartment is on, already feeling like you’ve committed a crime. Before you can even throw yourself into thoughts of which tool would work best on their front door, you catch sight of something you most definitely weren’t expecting. 

There’s someone else in front of the apartment door, jiggling the doorknob and attempting to work it. You don’t know if they realise its locked and are trying their luck anyway, or whether they’ve yet to figure it out, but while their back is turned to you they have provided you with an excellent view.

Broad shoulders with tan skin peaking out from below a muscle singlet and glistening with sweat where their body catches the light. Dark curls are plastered to the back of their neck, arms out and a tattoo sleeve on one leading your gaze down its length. He’s very athletic, you gather of the stranger immediately, and you’re almost drooling at the way his bicep shifts and tenses as he tries the doorknob once more. Your gaze finally frees itself and scans over the rest of him; defined back, tiny waist, nice butt, thick thighs—

Wait. You know that waist. The sight of it bared by a skimpy cheerleading outfit is one you’ve committed to memory.

“Jungkook?” you say, feeling your stomach dip in excitement. Does it always do that when you see him? You can’t remember.

At the sound of your voice and how close it is, the male jumps in fright and lets out a noise eerily close to a squeak. He spins, slamming his back against the door and smacking a hand over his heart.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes closing and head falling back against the door with a thud. The sight is borderline sinful when combined with his damp hair and sweaty form, and your thoughts threaten to take a dangerous route before you reign them in. You smack your libido back in place— down, girl! “y/n, you scared the living shit out of me.”

A moment passes before his eyes snap open and the breath leaves him in a whoosh, and he’s looking at you like a cornered rabbit, cheeks already warming in his fluster. “W-wait, y/n? What… What are you doing here?”

Cute. If you could, you think you’d pack him up and put him in your pocket.  

You ignore his question only for the sake of asking him your own—much less incriminating as a choice. “Are you trying to break into your own apartment, Mister Jungkook?”

Instantly, as you’d almost come to expect at this point, his cheeks flush cutely. 

“Wh- I, uh…” he swallows and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “No! Kind of? I went for a jog earlier and Namjoon-hyung kind of… uh… he locked me out.”

As he speaks, you’re reminded of how much you actually like his voice. It’s smooth, melodious; even when its shaking slightly from nerves. Why is he nervous? The longer you stand in his presence the more curious you become. You kind of want to tease him a little.

You hum, a smile curling the corners of your lips and one of your brows raising.  “Ah, so he’s scorned both of us, I see. But fear not, little gumdrop!”

He’s staring at you in something akin to flustered bewilderment as you reach behind you and pull out your lockpicking kit, brandishing it like a trophy. “I have the solution!”

“…” He’s stunned into silence, it seems, but you don’t mind. The look on his face right now is super cute—you kind of want to pinch his cheeks. Okay, damn it, you can’t help it—you pinch his cheek and make a short cooing noise as you step past, preparing to help him break into his apartment. At least this way it feels less like a crime and more like a service.

(You sneak a sly look back at Jungkook as you pass him, and your heart squeezes at the sight of his cheeks flushing pink from your teasing action, eyes wide as they follow your form. This boy is gonna kill you one day.)

Usually you have a bit of trouble picking locks (you don’t do it often) but you crack this one surprisingly fast, and before you know it the door is swinging open and you’re letting out a noise of glee.

“Excellent!” you announce, before darting right in to search for what you came for. Namjoon left it conveniently on the dining table, so you dash over and grab the folder and USB before turning around to be on your merry way. 

When you return to the door, Jungkook is still standing there, tattooed hand pressed to the cheek you’d pinched – which are bright red, by the way— and his eyes somewhat dazed.

“See you at practice later, Jungkook!” you say, waving the folder to accentuate the farewell. “Don’t forget the punishment skirt! You look too good in it, it would be a crime to forget it.”

Once you’re done speaking, you turn back the way you’re walking, missing the facial expression that accompanies his flustered sputtering of a goodbye. Your stomach still flips in excitement as you retreat, a skip in your step, and you can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you ended up seeing more of Jungkook outside of practice.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK 6

You’re sitting in the campus sushi place, escaping the midday heat and grabbing something to eat, minding your own business. It is, though, a nice day and you don’t mind sitting back and just admiring it. This changes when a figure suddenly comes bolting towards you from a distance and nearly bowls you and the contents of your sushi container over.

“SEOKJIN!” you exclaim, barely having saved your food from a sudden and unfortunate meet & greet with the floor. You give him a glare strong enough to kill. “What the hell! My karaage chicken!!! Dude you KNOW they only make a certain amount of these per day, you almost made me drop it and I hadn’t even taken a bit yet! Honestly! You—”

“Shut! Shut up!” Seokjin grips you by the shoulders, giving you a shake; it makes your eyes lock-on to his flushed face, his breath coming in pants from his exertion. “Shut up I have something to say and it’s important!”

“Stop shaking me!” you cry, wriggling out of his grip and leaning as far back into your chair as you can to get away from this nutcase. “And what?! You finally slipped up and Namjoon found all the secret letters you write for him when you’re horny?!”

“No, better!” Seokjin makes like he’s going to grab your shoulders again and you smack his hands away. He continues, eyes alight with something akin to glee that makes him look just a little bit crazy. “I finally did it! I found out who that twerp’s crush is! You won’t beli—”

“What?!” you sputter, your gut churning for some reason. Is the sushi you ate off? “He told you? No way he would be stupid enough to tell you—”

“Hey!” the male cries, indignant. “I resent that! Also no, he didn’t technically tell me, but I have people on the inside…”

It takes a moment for you to scan through people in your head before it clicks. You gasp. “You bullied it out of his friends?! Seokjin! Taehyung and Jimin don’t deserve that!”

“I didn’t bully them! They told me of their own accord!” He points a finger at you in retribution. “Albeit, it was by accident, but I digress.”

You’re shaking your head, returning to your sushi and ignoring the odd sensations in your gut. “This is blood information, man. I don’t know if I can sit and be accomplice to—”

“It’s you!” Seokjin blurts, sticking his pink-haired head right in your face. “The twerp has a crush on you! Finally, at least one of my shipping dreams is coming true!”

You’re so shocked by the information literally thrown in your face that you honest to god almost drop your sushi, again. You stare at the male, mouth open, as you flounder to get some order back in your thoughts.

The first thing you think to say is—“What? No way. Your info is dodgy, man.”

“Look, I know you’re sensitive so I try not to say this often, but are you dumb, y/n?” Seokjin stands back now, hand on his hip.  The look he’s giving you isn’t impressed. “It makes so much sense! Why else would he sign up to cheerleading in a skirt to use his assets if it wasn’t on at the same time as whatever his crush does? Honestly, I should have seen it sooner—the way he goes bright pink every time he sees you and his eyes sparkle like an anime girl every time we mention you. I just thought he was scared of girls or had pinkeye or somethin’.”

You kind of want to smack him, but the rest of you is busy attempting to process all the information unloaded on you. Your stomach gives a giddy flip, and you decide it can only mean one thing in the wake of finding out that Jungkook’s mysterious crush is you.

Maybe, just maybe, you like him too.

…

You’re gonna pursue him. 

THURSDAY, WEEK 7

It seems that Jungkook has heard that his crush on you has been leaked, because you’ve been trying to track him down and confirm it ever since last week and he’s been avoiding you like the plague. You think you see him kicking up dust as he retreats as fast as his legs will take him around hallway corners when he sees you at the other end, you catch glimpses of him across courtyards as he spins and flees in the opposite directions. A part of you wonders whether its because he does indeed have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you know, of whether it’s because he doesn’t have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you might think he does. 

Well, you can’t know until you talk to him and it seems like you won’t be able to talk to him unless you ambush him in the men’s toilets or something. Which, by the way, isn’t something you’re going to do because even though your friends might be crazy, you’re most definitely not. 

It was even to the point that Jungkook missed the first two practices after you found out, and you have no doubt that he would have avoided you by missing even more had Yoongi not threatened him with adding a crop top to his punishment attire should he miss another practice. He’d showed up for the next one but every time he came within five metres of you he blushed and kept his eyes to the ground, fleeing as soon as he can. 

It’s a little bit frustrating, and he’s still cute when he acts all shy, but you really wish you could track him down just so you know whether its true or not.

Perhaps, with time, he’ll grow a little less skittish and let you get close enough to start a conversation. You just have to hold out hope that a moment will come that will allow you to start bridging things back together with the two of you.

FRIDAY, WEEK 7

That moment comes sooner than you expect when, just the next day, you round a corner alongside Seulgi, having just come from the women’s locker rooms, and walk straight into someone. It’s like walking into a brick wall and kind of hurts. You stumble and let out a sound in pained surprise, but manage to stay on your feet for the most part— the joy at that moment of success passes quickly when you become aware of the cool feeling seeping down your thigh and stomach.

Before even looking to see who you walked into, your gaze is directed down to see what was spilt on you— it’s light pink, and the sugary sweet scent that brushes your nose and sticky sensation that begins to make itself known on your skin are something you recognise instantly.

Strawberry milk.

You look up in something akin to horror, but the expression all but falls from your face when you see who the culprit is.

Jungkook stands there looking very much like a deer caught in headlights, drink carton crumpled and empty in his hand now that its contents are all over your front. As you gaze at him you watch the tip of his ears turn bright red, eyes wide and so unguarded you swear you can see the thoughts whipping through his mind beyond them. You also see the instant regret and mortification that washes over his boyish features as he realises what has just happened and who he has spilt his drink on.

“y-y/n—” he stutters, voice caught in his throat. Whatever he was planning on saying is quickly overpowered by an obnoxious voice from his side.

You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi was walking alongside Jungkook until you hear him speak, “Wow, you know what you were coming around that corner so hard and fast that this is on you, y/n.”

When Yoongi first started talking, Jungkook had seemed relieved, but now a sense of panic has taken over his features. 

“N-no! I am so sorry! This was my fault, I shouldn’t have had it open when I couldn’t even drink it yet. I just really like strawberry milk, and…” He’s so endearingly remorseful as he speaks, big puppy eyes looking apologetically into your own like he’s searching for any hint of forgiveness there to spare.

For a moment you’re absolutely blindsided by the way he just made your heart squeeze in your chest with how damn cute he is, but you recover just in time to catch it as the shocked expression on Yoongi’s face melds into something devious and fitting for his bastardly title.

“Right, he’s right, totally our bad,” Yoongi says, doing a complete 180 and bewildering both you and Seulgi beside you. “Wow, look at your pants, totally soaked through man. Here, come with me— it’s only fair we help grab you something to change into.”

“What—” you don’t get to finish before the cat-faced bastard grabs you by the arm and begins dragging you down the hall in the direction you came from. Seulgi and Jungkook remain in place, stunned by the turn in events. 

“Jungkook, head to practice and get them started! I want some pyramid practice, and then some tumbling from you and the others. Chop chop!” — is all Yoongi throws over his shoulder in dismissal, dragging you where you now realise is one of the other locker rooms. You gape at him as he walks straight up to the one that has been locked for months and opens it with a key.

Catching your expression, he shrugs. “Sometimes you just need a place of your own to hoard things.”

You don’t understand what he’s talking about until you step in and see a table in the corner near the doorway piled high with first aid supplies, twiggy sticks and energy drinks. Your bewildered subsequent scan of the room for more treasured objects is cut short when a lump of clothing smacks you in the face.

You just barely manage to fumble it into your grasp, unable to swallow your groan when you see what it is from the pattern alone.

“It’s the only thing spare,” Yoongi says, radiating true goblin energy. You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him right now but you don’t know where to look to disprove him. “Try not to get my cheerleaders too worked up.”

You have an inkling as to why he’s done this from his words, but can’t confirm it right now. You huff, moving off to one of the stalls. 

“If people get flashed, that’s on you.”

Ten minutes later sees you back in the open gymnasium with cool air brushing your legs that usually only get to see the light of day through rips in your jeans. You set your team to their tasks and drills already, so now you’re left alone with your thoughts. You know for sure now why Yoongi made you change into the cheerleading skirt.

Because ever since you walked out in it and nearly made him fall flat on his face in shock, Jungkook hasn’t been able to keep the blush off his cheeks or his eyes away from you for more than a few minutes at a time. You feel slightly empowered, contrary to how you thought the dangerously short piece of clothing was going to make you feel. 

You have a nice body, you’re comfortable admitting it, and the way that your unplanned flaunting of it seems to be affecting Jungkook… well it’s a nice stroke of the ego, you won’t lie, but it also makes your stomach flip giddily. God, you want him. You’ve always thought he was cute but ever since he joined cheer and rocked up in that skirt like a sweet, hot fool, it was over for you. He’s so… ugh.

Trucking through the practice of your team is, for once, a struggle. It’s so hard not to look over every few seconds to catch Jungkook when you can feel his gaze on you, and you know that once you give in you won’t be able to help being distracted afterwards. It’s a miracle you get through to the end of it while remaining sane. 

As your practice wraps up for the day, you allow yourself a glimpse to the side at last. What you see is a sweaty, panting Jungkook, the muscles of his arms straining as he holds up a brunette you vaguely recall as Tzuyu above his head. Wow, you’re actually a little startled at how much arousal just washed through you— is this normal? Maybe you’re more whipped than you thought. You don’t know.

What you do know, however, is that you want that boy, and right now especially you want to mess with him. Call it a con of being around such bastardous friends all the time, but you’re really feeling the urge. You barely manage to hold yourself back, marvelling at the animal he seems to reduce you to with just a flex of his bicep.

The practice for your basketball team finishes before cheerleading; Yoongi is a ruthless coach and relentless when it comes to formations and perfecting routines. More often than not their practices end long after yours. As your girls begin to filter out of the gymnasium, the cheer squad are still going. You make to follow after, but your name is called from the other side of the gym by a voice you recognise but know instantly shouldn’t be here. 

“y/n! Come here! Don’t ignore me!” Seokjin is the fiend in question, hollering at such an unmistakable frequency that you couldn’t ignore it if you tried. It’s like he’s followed in the footsteps of cats and has pinpointed the exact frequency that a baby’s cry is at, and is now using it to his advantage. You turn, wary, and see him waving like a dumbass. “Come here! Don’t make me pspspsps!���

Now annoyed, you stomp over if only so you can get within beating range. As soon as you reach a few feet away he ducks behind Yoongi though, so you don’t get to follow through on your caveman instincts to beat him over the head with a rock.

“What?” you ask, giving him a stinky look. “Are you like, stalking me or something? Why are you so obsessed with me?”

You can tell he wants to laugh, but his instinct to rile you up overpowers the humour of what you said. “You think you’re worth stalking? I don’t need to stalk you to know that your day consists almost entirely of eating, shitting, and staring at a certain ass.”

Well, he has you there. You shrug, “I’m a simple girl.”

Seokjin is momentarily bewildered that you didn’t rise to his bait and Yoongi chokes on his laughter beside you, the sound coming out squeaky. You’re glad someone is laughing, it makes your dick hard when people find you funny. Again, you’re a simple girl.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Seokjin says. Apparently it doesn’t take him long to recover, and he’s already shifted topics. 

Yoongi, who had broken away to guide his team for a moment, chimes back in at the taller male’s comment. “It’s all apart of the keikaku, man. Everything is going perfectly. My golden boy is almost too fun to torment. I’ve tasted power and now I don’t know how to stop.”

“Who?” Seokjin asks, more out of habit than anything, before looking over to Yoongi’s minions and letting out a sound of realisation. “Ahh… Mister Jungkook.”

You swear you see the male in question, who is waiting his turn to begin the tumbling routine Yoongi has changed them onto, stiffen. You’re not sure whether it is a trick of the light or not, though, because in the next second he’s shuffling forward to second in line, juggling his weight from foot to foot with restless energy. His eyes are trained on his teammates flipping across the matts. 

“So you know too? y/n, you big-mouthed whore!” Seokjin exclaims, pinning you with an exaggerated look of scandal. Jungkook trips slightly in his step as he moves to the front of the line, barely a few metres away.

You don’t bother defending yourself, since Yoongi speaks before you can anyway. “That y/n likes Jungkook and has wanted to peg his cute ass since forever? Yeah, I know.”

The timing of Yoongi’s response is truly unfortunate. As he started speaking, Jungkook began his run up— and it seems that whatever snippet he heard as he started were enough to throw him off completely. He goes into the front flip kind of wonky, and you have a feeling of dread creep up as you watch him.

He doesn’t do the mid-air turns he is meant to, and instead goes to land after just one flip— the timing is off, though, and your breath hisses through your teeth and you physically cringe as you watch his ankle roll upon landing. 

“Ah SHIT!” he yelps, quickly dropping to the mat and removing pressure from his foot. You feel frozen as you watch, a large number of his teammates running over and asking him if he’s okay.

“Oh feck,” Yoongi says, checking his watch as he mutters to himself. “Shit. Okay we need to practice and only have the gym for another forty-five minutes, but he needs that looked at asap. Who…”

Barely a split-second passes before he’s looking right at you imploringly, with an inappropriately devious glint in the back of his eyes. 

“y/n, you’re free and you have first aid training right? Can you take him to get that wrapped and iced up?” He’s not even done asking you before he’s pushing you in the direction of the male currently curled on the floor. “That room should still be open— I forgot to lock it earlier.”

“Wait, I actually have—” you’re about to let him know about the mountain of schoolwork you have to catch up on, but of course he’s not having any of it. He’s already barking at his squad.

“Okay, everyone, back off and back to tumbling! y/n here will take care of our golden boy, we have the gym for the next forty-five minutes and we’re gonna make the most of it, damn it!”

Yoongi abandons you at Jungkook’s side, and at his command the rest of the cheerleader begrudgingly disperse— you think you catch a few of the female ones giving you the stink eye at their lost opportunity, and you know it shouldn’t stroke your ego but still it does. 

“I guess this is how the Kookie crumbled, huh,” you say, embarrassed that he could have heard all of what Yoongi said and attempting to cope using the classic— humour. 

Jungkook, who had turned his wide eyes and red face to you the second you started talking, now seems to be blushing harder. Evidently, for a number of reasons, he is mortified. It’s like he’s trying to hide behind the long curls that have fallen into his face. Needless to say, it’s not successful, and now both of you are embarrassed. One of you needs to take the lead.

But right now neither of you are wearing the pants.

“Alright, let’s get that looked at,” you say, wincing as you look at his ankle already beginning to swell. “Arms up.”

He obeys instantly and without question, and you’re torn between the primal powers within you wanting to both cuddle him and to drop your panties then and there. 

Getting Jungkook to a standing position while he can only use one leg is harder than you could have imagined, but you know that there’s no way you would have been able to lift him had he not helped you carry his weight. Once he’s upright and his arm is around your shoulder (still panting slightly and glistening with sweat, as you’re trying not to think about) you begin the arduous journey to the locker room Yoongi showed you earlier. 

Jungkook doesn’t really say anything during the trip there, and neither do you— except he has an excuse, considering he’s probably in a fair bit of pain right now. You don’t have an excuse, except that you’re trying desperately not to think about how you can feel each hard line of his body against you right now. It’s a whole-brain engaging kind of activity.

Thankfully, the room is unlocked as Yoongi said, and you grab a towel to lay across one of the cleaner looking benches on the far side of the room— just because its cleaner than the others doesn’t mean it’s clean, per se. You smile when you see Jungkook’s thankful expression.

“Right,” you say, staying in front of where he’s sitting for a moment as you shake your arms out; the boy really is just all muscle, honestly. “Pop your ankle up on the bench, and I’ll grab some ice and stuff to wrap it.”

Jungkook nods, obeying wordlessly. His cheeks still are tainted the slightest pink, and he’s making a point to avoid meeting your gaze. Fighting a smile, you move to Yoongi’s stash and grab what you need, spotting some high-end painkillers and immediately adding them to the pile in your arms.

When you return to his side, you seat yourself on the bench beside his leg— thankfully, they’re wide enough that neither your butt nor Jungkook’s leg has to be sacrificed for the fit. You go through the motions with him, poking and prodding and bending to assess the damage; it’s just a bad sprain, but damn if each watery look he gets at the pain doesn’t make you want to coddle him to death. 

Surprisingly, he’s still silent as you go about icing and wrapping his ankle. You contemplated filling the silence but you’re not good at chit chat or small talk, so refrain and settle for humming softly instead. Considering the rollercoaster of feelings he’s spun you through today, you’re almost disappointed that a wrap on his ankle is all that’s going to come of this. 

Which is stupid, of course. You know. You digress.

You’re still somewhat disappointed as you finish up, popping the excess bandage back in its container. “Okay! You’ll need to…”

You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and for once he doesn’t shy away from it— there’s something about them, the endless chocolate depths and the doe-eyed look, that completely disarms you for a moment. Blinking, it takes all your might to stop yourself from studying as you continue. “Ahem, uh… you’ll need to keep it elevated, when possible. Compressing it is ideal. Also, for swelling, ice it for 20-30 minutes every 2-3 hours for the first day or so…”

He blinks up at you, and you smile. “Any questions?”

Something intriguing crosses his gaze and he bites his lip, flushing slightly. Oh, he is doing a number on your willpower. You need to get out of here.

“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat, continuing straight away. You watch even more colour rush to his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “About earlier… when I stacked it… Was what Yoongi said true?”

Well. You were not… expecting that. For a moment you’re stunned into silence, self control hanging by a thread. “What… Yoongi said?”

Jungkook gives you a look like he can’t believe you’re making him say it. “That you, um…”

Humiliated but deciding to face it head on, you ask him with your own cheeks heating, “Are you asking about the pegging or the, uh… the liking you part?”

To your surprise, Jungkook chokes and stiffens in place, eyes shooting wide and face and ears going beet red. “I, um… I only heard the liking part…”

OH. Well. You kind of want to die, but… at least now he knows?

 …You’re gonna throw yourself off a bridge.

He must mistake the cause of your silence for something else, because he seems to panic. “B-because, um, I know you know how I feel, and it’s okay if you don’t um— I was just wondering—”

In the midst of his spiel, you take a seat on the bench, closer to him than you were last time. It only makes him grow more flustered before you press a finger to his lips to shush him. He gets the message and falls silent instantly, making your heart skip a beat at his ready obedience. God, are you an animal?! Really?!

“I was trying to track you down to confirm it, you know,” you say, shoving your embarrassment into a box in the far reaches of your mind. Time to swallow your pride.  “But you kept avoiding me.”

Jungkook’s eyes are still wide. “Oh… sorry.”

You smile at his soft, uttered apology. Testingly, tentatively, you shift your hand and rest it on his hip. His whole body stiffens once more, but its more in surprise than discomfort. “What would you do if it was true, hm?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s momentarily speechless. When your thumb rubs against the hard line of his hip bone, drawing a shudder, he jerks back into motion.

“Oh my god, you—” he’s dazed before he narrows his eyes at you, voice dropping to a whisper that’s somewhat tinged with hurt. “Are you teasing me?”

You manage to hold back the laugh but can’t help the smile that rises at his words. “I always get the urge to tease you, Jungkook, but it’s not to be cruel.” You lean forward, holding his gaze. “I probably never grew out of that kindergarten stage.”

It takes a second for what you said to sink in. The way that hope enters his eyes is so cute that you’re humiliated at the urge to squeal that rises. “So, you…”

It’s embarrassing to say the words out loud, especially considering the filth running through your mind right now, and you can’t quite bring yourself to. Teasingly, you bring your other hand to his thigh, brushing the edge of the skirt with your thumb and enjoying the way he shivers. “It’s embarrassing to say out loud, so if you want to hear it, you’re gonna have to work for it.” 

The soft, excited gasp he lets out emboldens you to carry out your next action— you move the hand on his hip, brushing your fingertips up the side of his slim waist before bringing them back down to rest over his crotch. 

To your complete and utter surprise, there is already some firmness there that greets you. At your curious gaze, he flushes pink.

“It’s the skirt,” he confesses, averting his gaze to your lap for the briefest second. “You look really good in it…”

Not that your ego needs more stroking, but you’re happy to let it happen anyway. You hum, beginning to move your hand— he stifles a gasp.

“I know,” you say, grinning. It’s ridiculous how your stomach flips, arousal beginning to trickle into your abdomen and ache in the apex of your thighs. “I could feel you looking at me. I caught you a few times, too.”

He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but the current situation doesn’t leave much room for dignity as it is anyway. Still, you can’t help but tease him some more, voice soft as you rub over his growing bulge and lean closer. “Do you always look at me, Jungkook?”

He squirms, a gasp slipping out before he attempts to send you a glare. “This is embarrassing,” he whines. You raise a brow, increasing the pressure of your hand, and he is quick to amend his response in a whisper, “…Yes.”

“And what do you imagine, when you look at me?” you ask, unable to deny the thrill running through your veins and lighting heat in your abdomen. You pause your ministrations only to move your hand to the top of his skirt and slip beneath the material. This time a moan slips out before he can stop it. “Is it things like this?”

He lets his head fall back against the wall, looking at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “Yes,” he admits, and for how readily he supplied the answer you reward him by slipping your hand beneath the rest of the layers over his hips and wrapping your fingers around his hardening length.

He whines— actually whines— and rolls his hips into your hand, thick thigh tensing beneath the grip of your other hand. The resulting wash of arousal that floods over you is so sudden it almost makes you dizzy.

“Oh, you’re a good boy,” you mutter it without much thought, but surprise filters through you when you feel his length twitch and flush with heat in your hold at the words. Ah— he likes a bit of praise, does he? You slide your free hand up his thigh, working the waistband of his skirt and bike shorts down until they rest just past the beginning of his thighs. It’s like you’re looking at a work of art, you marvel slightly— the curls that begin to trail down a little below his belly button, the sculpted line of his hip bones and the hints of his abs that show as his body tenses. You’re just one woman.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined, Jungkook?” you aimed to speak louder but it comes out sort of breathy. You trail your fingers down the tan skin of his abdomen before gripping the material of his bottoms and using the moment to free his length.

If you didn’t have such a firm grip on it, you know it would have sprung back against his stomach— you try not to let your surprise show, either, because you could feel that he was packing, but seeing it is another thing and your stomach flips in giddy anticipation. Jungkook’s chest heaves as his breath quickens, eyes boring into you and hands bunching in the material of the punishment skirt. You stroke your hand along his length, pressing your thumb along the underside and relishing in the shudder it elicits.

“y/n,” he whines softly, face flushing as his cock twitches in your hold. Whether he’s forgotten you even asked a question or simply is too overwhelmed to answer right now, you don’t know. 

As for how you’re doing— you’re so turned on right now that in all honesty you don’t know what to do with yourself. A solution comes to mind quickly and you don’t have the usual self control you do to stop yourself. 

Mindful of his injured leg, you rise, keeping your grip on him as you do so. His lidded gaze follows you, soft gasps escaping him all the while.

“Give me your leg,” you instruct, relishing how quickly he listens. Presented with his thigh, you swing one of your legs over the other side of the bench and rest on it so that as little weight as possible is on his bad leg, your knees brushing his hips. As soon as you’re lowered, you can’t help but gasp and roll your hips— the only thing separating you and the smooth skin and hard muscle of his thigh is the thin layer of your damp panties, and the stimulation on your clit makes your entire core throb in arousal.

Apparently this is also one of the things he’s imagined, because Jungkook lets out a low, gasping moan and rolls his hips up into your hand— which, of course, makes his thigh muscles tense and shift, rubbing oh so nicely against your clit. You almost fall off from the jolt of pleasure that shoots up your spine, free hand shooting to grab his bicep, “Ah, Jungkook!”

He apparently has the sense of mind to support you by using the arm in your hold to reach and grip your hip. Generous amounts of precum have started to bead at his tip, and you drag your hand up his girth, collecting it on your thumb and smearing it down his length for lubrication. It elicits a whine, another roll of his hips, and like that you settle into a rhythm of sorts.

“y/n.” Each gasp and moan he lets out have to be specially designed to ruin you, you decide. He seeks your gaze with hazy, lust-ridden eyes. “Please kiss me.”

It’s a brazen request coming from him of all people, and you’re all too happy to oblige. You lean forward, the rock of your hips making you shudder, and connect his lips with your own— he’d sought your kiss as you did so, craning his neck forward and awaiting your lips. It’s a heated kiss from the beginning, given the situation— you don’t fight for dominance so much as assume it from the start. Each press of your tongue, graze of your teeth, has a new sound tumbling from his throat and into your mouth. It makes your heart race even harder than it already was.

It doesn’t take long for tension to begin to build in your abdomen, and you know if you’re already feeling it then he must be even closer. Not wanting this to end just yet, you force yourself to slow your hand down, breaking the kiss and shifting to press your mouth to his neck.

“Wh-what—” he gasps, shuddering as your thumb plays with his slit, rhythm slowed to a stop. Both of you are panting, almost, and you suckle a mark into the junction of his neck before pulling back with a grin.

“Surely that isn’t all you’ve imagined, Jungkook.” You lean forward, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth before pulling back— the way he chases your lips makes your heart squeeze. “What now? Be a good boy, tell me.”

Far from being embarrassed at this point and all but a slave to the haze of lust in the air, Jungkook’s breath hitches and he responds, somewhat tentative if anything, “… ride me.”

“Good boy,” you breathe, offering him a proud smile. He preens beneath your fond look.

You shift, and you think that he must have expected you to stand up fully and remove your clothes, or at least your bottoms, but to his surprise you simply shuffle up and reach beneath your skirt, slipping your panties aside and aligning his member with your entrance. You’re so turned on that you’ve soaked through your underwear, and you know you’ve smeared enough precum along his length that lubrication will be no problem. So you simply lower yourself down until his head parts your lips and begins to sink into you.

At the sheer size of him even as just the tip enters your cunt, you have to halt, gasping, “Fuck!”

If he wanted to respond, you don’t really give him time to; as soon as you get your bearings you continue sinking down onto him. There is a slight burn, of course, but you’re so turned on that it fades quicker than you can register. The sensation of him, the throb, his girth and the way he splits your walls, stretching you more and more as you seat yourself on him— it’s indescribable, and all you can offer is that it feels so good you swear tears are gonna prick at your eyes. From the look on his face, brows scrunched and mouth parted as a long, low groan slips out, you know it must feel just as good for him.

When the back of your thighs press against the top of his his and he’s fully sheathed in you, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind— this position has him so deep in your pussy that with each miniscule shift the tip of his cock presses against a spot that sends delicious jolts of pleasure up your spine. Honestly, if you weren’t so intent on seeing this through, you think you could cum from that sensation alone. 

Even as you’re in a mess of pleasure and a haze of desire, you can’t help but tease him some more. You clench your insides, rolling your hips— the sharp, lilting moan he lets out makes your stomach flip. “What now, baby boy?”

You hold his hips down with your hand, feeling them twitch with the urge to rock up into you. A long, drawn groan escapes him. “Do you want to see me? More of me? Or do you want to feel me?”

You take his hand into your hold and guide it up to your chest, slipping it beneath your shirt and bra to cup your breast. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinks and attempts to clear the haze from his vision. You relish in the control you have over him until his thumb brushes your nipple and he pinches it, tweaking it instinctively. A moan tears from you, the shock of pleasure that results making you clench around him again; his free hand scrambles for purchase against your thigh, fingers digging in as pleasure washes over him in turn.

Your breath is coming a little faster now. Leaving his hand at your chest, you move it to drag up his neck before threading your fingers in the damp curls at the back of his neck. Finding a firm grip, you tug his head back ever so lightly— it elicits a new moan that you haven’t heard yet, and you really begin to think this boy will be your undoing. 

“What do you want?” you ask again, rolling your hips once more. It isn’t fair of you, you know, since you can hardly think yourself from the sensations. “You want me to move, baby boy?”

He nods, attempting to speak through the moan caught in his throat. “Please… fuck me, y/n.”

Well, who are you to say no to that?

Happy to oblige, you engage your thighs and begin to rise— the sensation of him dragging against your walls makes both of you gasp, and you almost falter in your movements from the feeling alone. Gathering your wits as best as you can, you continue your movements, successfully rising and then seating yourself once more. Unable to withhold much longer, you roll your hips and begin to set the two of you into a rhythm.

You stopped paying heed to the noises escaping you a while ago, but you don’t doubt that the sinful sounds tumbling from Jungkook’s mouth as you ride him are a large contributor to the way the tension in your abdomen quickly begins to knot and bundle once more.

Even with as heavenly as it feels, it’s hard to keep up momentum when your thighs begin to burn. Thankfully, Jungkook has more than enough stamina in his thigh muscles for the both of you, and when he senses your fatigue, he brings his grip to your hips to hold them in place before rocking his own up and beginning to fuck up into you.

Needless to say, the pace he sets is much faster and much harder than the one you had. Swears tumble softly from your mouth at the change in intensity of pleasure as it shoots through you, orgasm already approaching much faster than anticipated. Your hands come to grip his on your hips with a cry of his name, knees turning to jelly. 

Movement against your hand surprises you, but not as much as the sensation of Jungkook’s hand shifting to thread his fingers with yours. You honestly feel your heart burst, and as he fucks up into you that bit harder you can’t help the way you clutch his hand like a lifeline, the sweet moment quick to pass but most definitely not forgotten. 

“G-gonna cum,” you gasp, eyes closing and allowing the slap of skin and Jungkook’s gasping moans to overtake your senses. You don’t forget to indulge him in some praise. “Such a g-good boy, making me feel so g-good.”

He whines at your words, and right as your pleasure approaches its peak you feel his hips stutter and slam up into yours harder than all the times before. The stimulation of that spot deep inside of you is all that’s needed to push you into the throes of your orgasm, and it washes over you more intensely than you’ve ever felt before as you clench and tense with a cry of his name.

Distantly, you feel his own grip on you tighten, and his hips still as they’re pressed against yours. Warmth floods your core, cock throbbing as he empties inside you, and you swear you hear the softest of confessions uttered to the air as he joins you in your high.

He comes down before you do, although you’re not far behind him, and for a moment you sit in place, panting and attempting to come back to your senses. He’s softened inside you slightly, but when you shift and clench on instinct as you do so, feeling cum slide down your thighs, he twitches  and throbs inside you.

Taken aback, your gaze whips to him and now that his shame has returned to him, he has the decency to blush. Well, apparently Jeon Jungkook’s stamina really is no joke. Maybe he really was born to be an athlete.

“Greedy. You want more?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and a thrilling mix of fear and excitement dances in his eyes.

“y/n—” he rasps, desperate. You slide off of him, making both of you groan, but return to your previous position on his thigh. He moans as he feels his own cum leak out of you and onto his skin. When your hand comes to wrap around his slick member, he jolts and whines.

“You wanna tell me what you said just before?” you ask, beginning to twist your wrist and stroke his cock ever so slowly. He shakes his head, whether at your question or the overstimulation, you’re not sure— you know it’s probably a bit of both though, considering he twitches in your hold.

“‘S embarrassing,” he murmurs, back arching as you increase your pace just a little. “Ah, y/n!”

“I see. You know, I think I can get you to cum again,” you say, changing tactics. 

Jungkook shakes his head, strands of his raven hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. “I can’t—”

“You should tell me,” you say, teasing lilt to your tone. He whines, rocking his hips into and then away from the sensations. 

When he shakes his head again, letting it fall back against the wall and baring the column of his throat to you, you jump on his acceptance of the situation. You pick up speed, rolling your wrist and moving in tune with the shifting of his body. It doesn’t take very long before his oversensitivity throws him into another orgasm, stronger than the last but dryer. The few beads of cum that escape seem ever so tantalising as they roll down his length, drawing your gaze.

“You gonna tell me now?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Jungkook slumps against the wall, breathing heavy and sweat glistening on his golden skin. He looks at you through heavily lidded eyes.

“It’s still embarrassing,” he whines, breathy in his exertion.

Right, well. You know what he said, but you want to hear him say it with his own mouth once more and you’ll stay here all night to make that happen if you need to.

Of course, it’s not until a while and another heated moment or two later that Jungkook realises this and gives in.

His confession is so much sweeter on your ears the second time, and of course, as promised, you reward him with your own. It’s worth it for the way it makes his eyes shine, you think. 

Jeon Jungkook really has you well and truly whipped. 

a/n: thank u for reading and i hope u liked it! im super excited to have completed my first commission and would really appreciate it if u let me know what u think by sending me an ask and liking & rbing this with ur thoughts!! i read & appreciate everything!! thank u !! love u !! peace out !! :D

[pffbts]

↬genre: slice of life; fluff ; crack; hint of a love triangle ; loads of tension.

↬characters: jealous!wen junhui x reader | support: kim mingyu (plays a big role)

↬w.c: 4K

↬author`s note: sorry for the delay but this is basically junhui making your knees weak or you just want to beat his ass. this fic can go two ways―it`s yours to decide. also this is a re-write because the last attempt wasn`t reaching my heart. so i`m writing this again :) hope you enjoy this read! (btw i would strongly suggest you to read mingyu`s version before you jump onto this)

↬synopsis: there are 13 boys who lives in your town where each of them have each of their own colours. some you know in person & some from afar so one day you sat down deciding to describe each of their colours absorbing all of their goodness and all of their flaws. you wondered what if someone in some other town ever thought of questioning when they looked at these boys, that―what if we lived in the same town?

☍ seungcheol | jeonghan | joshua | junhui | soonyoung | wonwoo | jihoon | seokmin | mingyu | minghao | seungkwan | vernon | chan

[03:37 PM] [meet him at the dawn & he`ll take you to places you`ve never seen]

―standing opposite of the road, that day you saw him getting out of the newly opened chinese restaurant of the town. he was wearing a white shirt with two of the top buttons undone, the edges carelessly tucked in a freshly washed denim jeans to wind up with it. dashing as always, junhui had spared a listless glance at you and with his shoulders wide, he tucked his palms into both of his jean`s pockets.

you, on the other hand, didn`t smile at him but rather let your eyes widen a bit unconsciously. in split second, when you realized what had happened, you retreated back from keeping any kind of eye contact with him.

from the corner of your eyes, you could somehow make out that he was clearly smirking on his own. his little smirk was so palpable that it traverse through the air stirring up something in you along with the sudden heat splashing across your cheeks & neck. that feeling didn`t leave your body and waited a long time to fade until you finally reached back home.

you didn`t know much about junhui, as a matter of fact. surely you`ve seen him once in a while but that was it. you didn`t know what kind of person he was exactly apart from the fact that he was extremely beautiful. he was, if you weren`t mistaken, quite a silent heartthrob of the town.

he also, isn`t the type to talk much. that is to say, you have never seen him talk whenever you`ve spotted him on the street or anywhere in the local market. he didn`t study at your school and his place too, was far from your own so spotting him at your street wasn`t a regular thing until one fine day it happened out of nowhere.

you were out to go rent some dvd because the dvd player had been sitting under dust for a long time at your place. it was one of those day when iconic black and white movies which both you and your mother were equally fond of clenches you two in its tight hold so she gave you a little push to go grab some mutual favourites from the dvd rent shop down the street.

wearing a soft pink shorts and a white shirt typically bigger for your built, you walked out of your place to the dvd rent shop. swinging both of your arms on your side, you did a few little skips while walking. it was quite evident that you were in good spirit and why shouldn`t you be? a movie night and your mother was making your favourite dish tonight being the combo treat is not something of a regular thing in this household.

long after walking, you stood in front of the shop. keeping your eyes on the open sign, you push the door inside and soon you heard a peal of laughter already filling up the shop to the brim of it.

the laughter was as if it welcomed you to the shop but for some reason, you could recognize a single voice among the two.

you stop for a second, slowing down the motion of you closing the door and kept on listening to the laughters. in the slip of a quick second, you recognized it to be mingyu`s but you couldn`t see him right away.

whipping your head around, you tried detecting the direction from which it came until you heard a cough from the part-timer and the growing string of your attention rips right then.

bowing a bit to the part-timer who worked at the cash counter, you slowly walked through the shelves filled with all kind of dvds. your ears were perked up at the sound of giggles and laughter now a little bit on a lower note.

the part-timer probably sent the owner of those laughters a warning glance to maintain the silence.

you, on the other hand, still couldn`t find the movie you were looking for. walking listlessly, your eyes staring up and down the rows of shelves soon your back makes a sudden contact with something hard and warm.

for a moment you thought it would be mingyu and a lift at the corner of your mouth surfaces.

turning your neck around, you had to crane it up a bit to look at whom you stumbled upon considering in your head you thought it would be mingyu probably playing around with you and with his gigantic height your actions were sort of a reflex.

but as soon as you realized whom you stumbled onto, you quickly turned around and jumped three feet away from him.

“oh?”, with wide eyes junhui watches you jump back and then as he leans a bit by putting up one of his palm, he finally greets you, “hi.” the wide of his eyes cease within seconds replacing them into soft creases around the corners.

his voice carried an essence of mirth and from the looks of it, he clearly recognized you considering he has seen you quite a few times ― sometimes even when you`re not aware of his presence.

you bow a bit and give him a crooked smile although your eyes were so nervous, it couldn`t keep a single second of contact with his own until your eyes fixated on something familiar―it was the head peaking from behind junhui―of mingyu`s.

a wave of relief ran through your system as you, instead of returning junhui`s wave, put up your own palm and greeted mingyu. your friend`s eyes turn into crescents as he comes from behind the boy you just met and places his own palm against yours. you smiled up at him and he returns it as always.

seeing how junhui was left behind, mingyu turned around and stood next to you while placing his arm around your shoulder. a very familiar act. nothing you should be surprised of at this point.

“jun, meet_____, she lives across my street.”

you bow at junhui again. but in your head, you were wondering how did mingyu know him. at school, you`ve not really seen him around your friend and you, yourself haven`t really seen him that much. but without any further wait, mingyu answers the said question in your head.

“_____ meet wen junhui. he got transferred to our school few weeks ago and has newly joined the basketball team last week! have you seen him?”

“ah no―i think?” you answer back very unsure of your fading memory.

“mingyu said that you are quite a regular at the bleachers cheering for this buddy right here,” junhui speaks up for a first time after all this while. he pointed at mingyu while he utters those last words.

you flushed a bit at the mention of you being at the bleachers while you watch mingyu play. but it`s just, you are always there to support your friend. you don`t really make any sound while you`re at it though. most days, you just sit back and watch mingyu play. it`s not a secret that you very much adore his basketball skills.

“it`s nothing really..,” you squeeze out a carefree laughter although it ended up sounding like a nervous one, “i just…watch and,” with a shrug you continue, “maybe clap sometimes.”

junhui only chuckles as you finish. it looked like as if he caught you in your act. it really wasn`t looking nice for you now but at least you had mingyu`s arm around you so you stopped feeling a bit out of place, plus junhui was clearly a stranger. why must you care so much for what he thought?

“but even that bit is enough. after all, ______ & me, we`ve been friends since childhood. our mothers are best friends too! we even get to have weekly get-togethers every sundays.”

as new information for junhui`s ear comes to surface, you quickly looked over at him who now wore an indifferent expression as if somewhat a spark of jealousy lay across his chest. but when he saw you looking at him, he caught your gaze with his warm ones with that very recognizable smirk climbing onto his mouth making you think that he is clearly skilled at hiding his sudden change of emotions.

you stare at him for a good few seconds, feeling yourself getting braver as you have already caught him slip his cool awhile ago. clearly, in junhui`s head, he really didn`t want mingyu to continue so he spoke up.

“that`s good to know. but the question is will i get an invite someday?” he was asking mingyu the question but his eyes were all on you and at the same time he was observing how mingyu`s attention never faltered from upon your face.

you finally looked up to meet with your friend`s eyes on you and with one of his brows perked up, mingyu asked you as you did so, “that sounds good, doesn`t it? we should talk to our mothers for a permission though?”

you nod and add, “sure, that doesn`t sound bad. the more the merrier.”

absolutely not, you think back in your head, you definitely don`t like lots of people around you. no offense to junhui but you`re not exactly good with strangers or people in general.

“and what about cheering for me sometimes at the bleachers sometimes?” junhui leans against the shelf lightly and breaks the on-going conversation between you and mingyu with a sudden heated question.

“ayyyy that she will do of course. every friend of mine is _____`s friend so of course she`ll cheer for you, jun. although i`m a little special so i`ll get more cheers, right?” mingyu bent down and moved his face infront of you with the silliest smile on his face.

this boy, you thought, you`re really enjoying this, aren’t you?

you wanted mingyu to read your eyes but you were unsure if he was just putting up an act or simply being oblivious.

you close your eyes a bit and put up a pressed smile on your face as you thought about how mingyu clearly didn`t understand what junhui was trying to do here and on top of all that, he didn`t even let you speak before jumping onto answering the question for you.

you thought, maybe that`s what friends do. clearly, you were wrong in this.

“hahaha, sure, i mean why not―although i don`t know how much me cheering will help. i don`t even cheer, i just, like i said,” you huffed and leaned a bit to your side after turning your attention from mingyu`s child-like expression to junhui`s attentive ones, “i only sit and watch.”

junhui mirrors your act of leaning and replies.

“that`s very much enough.”

the line that forms on his lips gives his cheeks a lift. his eyes looks pure and yet with that built, you couldn`t really pinpoint what you should be feeling.

you didn`t know if you wanted to laugh or cry right at that moment. he was clearly copying mingyu right there but he added a little bit of his own spice in it.

you only nodded and smiled through the dilemma and made sure there`s nothing on your face that would give you how hot and bothered you were with just the presence of junhui infront of you.

“anyway,” gently pushing mingyu by his shoulders who was previously bending down to look at you face to face, “i need to get some dvds. so can i….look for them now?” raising your brows, you trail off looking at both of the boys as they nod and give you the space to choose.

but mingyu`s arm remained on your shoulder as you walked towards the shelf and junhui―he only moved away from his previous spot a bit. so now that you were standing in front of the shelf of dvds, you were stuck in-between two clearly much taller for their age boys.

sighing microscopically, you reached out your arm and pulled out a dvd of a sleeper-hit movie from decades ago―one of yours and your mother`s favorite.

“_____ you like this movie too?” junhui asks suddenly. his voice sounded slightly different this time. also, the sudden slip of your name from his mouth caught you by surprise for a moment. this was actually the first time he called you by your name if you could recall every interaction with him.

eventually, this particular moment resurfaces once in a while when junhui crosses your head sometimes.

“hmm, i do! you….” you reply.

“same, i do like it too―actually, it`s my mother`s favourite and―”

“mine too! it`s my mother`s favourite too!” you cut him off, declaring right away with an excitement in your tone with a sudden sense of familiarity very loud in the air between both of you.

junhui only blinks. his eyes a little bit wide and the smile which was now less smirk-like climbs on his mouth.

“ohhh junhui, both you & _____ have some similar taste, huh?” mingyu and his annoying self chirped in, which you obviously didn`t pay any heed to. you only replied with a “is that something very interesting to you?” but only in your head.

as if mingyu was about to reply, you turned around to look up at jun and let him continue clearly ignoring mingyu and his big mouth.

seeing how now your attention is all on him, junhui skipped the previous act of smile and giggled and if you could clearly remember it`s been a long time you`ve heard such a sweet giggle in a while.

“ah well i`ve watched it once with her when it was on television one day. i love the story of the leads and how even though they had to face all those hurdles, they didn`t falter in their discipline and way of life. it was…uplifting to me, i guess? staying grounded. loved that.”

“i understand. the feelings are mutual.”

this time the smile was genuine. you were glad that this time you weren`t nervous, that you could smile without stuttering through your thoughts although everything about junhui was distracting you. from his handsome built, his face to now having been discovered his soft giggle (it kept on replaying on your head for some unknown reason) and him, being this close to you right now wasn`t helping at all.

“that sounds very deep.” mingyu states. this time both you and junhui hum at the same time at him, not ignoring him.

“so did your mother tell you to rent it or….?” junhui asks.

“no, well, actually yes―both me and my mother thought of having a movie night. the dvd player at home is gathering only dust so we thought to have some good use of it.”

“oh so auntie must be making some good foods too, right?” this time mingyu joins in.

“ah yes, she `s making my favourite dish,” you spare him a glance before replying back.

“ah then what should i pick up…now that _____ has already picked up one from my bucket list today.”

junhui gifted you a look from the corner of his eyes while the well-known smirk adorned the corner of his mouth and he strolls across the makeshift corridor in-between the two large shelves softly drumming his fingertips on each of the spines of dvds placed in order.

“ah i`m sorry if you want you can keep it,” you brush off mingyu`s arm around your shoulder and walk a little bit towards junhui, “i can take some others, it`s not like this is the only one i needed anyway.”

the boy whom you just got to know spun on his heels with his arms now behind him crossed and he leans in to come closer to your face. a little bit closer and you could feel his breathe over you.

“same goes for me but _____what if we make a deal?”

“a deal?” you question him, curiosity hitting you from behind.

junhui hums.

“tell me about it.”

“what if you give me the dvd after you & auntie,” junhui looks at mingyu for a second, his eyes mischievous as he uses your friend`s addressing term for your mother and continues after placing his gaze upon you once again, “finish watching the movie and i pay for both of our rentals.” his focus on you remained until the end, or maybe a little bit after that. his eyes burned into you and you felt like you couldn`t run away from them, yet.

you were not going to lie but this proposal came like a shock. the giving of  the said dvd in question to junhui after you`ll be done with it wasn`t the main shocker at all―it was the fact that he was offering to pay for both his and yours rental for this dvd.

suddenly, you heard mingyu`s footsteps from behind you. junhui straightens his back and watches your friend coming close to you. he only shrugs when he looks down at you. you didn`t know what kind of expression mingyu wore but you wish it was nothing major.

“oi jun―” you close your eyes right then and exhale before turning around your body to face your friend but mingyu cut you off, although you don`t know if it was intentional or just simple coincidence, “are you hitting on ______? dude you just met her.”

there you go. that`s it. just what you were fearing.

clearly, his voice had a certain strain at the back of his throat but he covered it up with his playful voice. a voice which carried a laughter which could be both mockery or sound as fake as possible. you didn`t know if junhui noticed it but being grown up with mingyu since toddler days, you could make it out very well.

you put your palms on top the denim clad chest of your friend, calming down whatever you wanted to calm down.

at the same time, you only heard junhui chuckle behind you. you couldn`t make out if it was an evil one or a natural one but the smug on his face was evident in his voice.

“hey it`s fine.” you say, your voice wasn`t reaching the octave you intended.

“looks like big boy`s a little jealous that me & ____ are hitting it off as good friends already?”

“it`s not about being good friends….hitting on someone and being good friends is different.”

“i was just trying to put on a good impression on her, gyu.” junhui, this guy , he was clearly enjoying this. but if his intentions were good then you didn`t see any problem with it.

“i don`t mind that at all but just so you know, _____ isn`t someone who`ll sway that easily. she`s a tough nut to crack.”

you almost laughed at mingyu`s words―it looked as if he was speaking from experience but you just shook your head and turned around. both of your arms now raised up in the air stopping both boys from having a fight here solely because of you for some stupid reason.

“it`s okay, it`s all fine.”

you looked up at junhui and continued in a calm voice “thank you for the offer, junhui, but i`ll pay for my own rent or else my mother will question about it and i`m really not in a mood to explain such stuff to her and about giving the dvd to you―” you give him a soft smile and said further, “i`ll send it to you through mingyu considering you hang out with him these days, okay?”

you nod up at mingyu who was previously looking at junhui. but when he saw you were looking at him, he switched from his squinting eyes combined with a sour pout to a completely different expression, the kind he gives you as if it`s only reserved for you―typically a warm one.

mingyu closes his eyes for a second and nods.

“i hope we`re clear now?”

“i was just playing around, _____, don`t worry,” junhui raised both of his arms up as if surrendering and continued “there`s no bad intentions here.”

in junhui`s head he was obviously being a good person and so was mingyu. junhui walked over to mingyu and playfully circled his arms around your friend and puts his other hand on top of his chest rubbing it playfully.

you let out a small laugh and saw mingyu lowering his eyes to stare up at junhui through his lashes and rolled his eyes before elbowing his new buddy in his sternum. junhui only yelps letting out a wheeze.

and, with that the dvd rental shop got filled up to laughters yet again until the sudden intentional cough from the part-timer made both of these playful boys shush down with each of their forefingers on top of their individual lips.

rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you walked across the shelves and picked another two old classics and went to the counter to pay for the rents.

mingyu picked up a newly released movie he was looking forward to last spring and junhui picked out two recent but a little older movies.

after you were done with the payment and all, you were about to walk out of the shop and waved a goodbye to the boys who were still paying. mingyu ran a bit to the door to hold it for you.

but before the door would completely close on you, your eyes moved over at junhui who was still standing at the counter―he was waiting for the changes but his face was turned towards you and he was looking at you with a now unknown gaze. you couldn`t really make out what it was but for some reason it made you a little bit sad.

but before he could witness the curve of your mouth for him, he closed his eyes for a second and smiled at you. your eyes widen at this and instantly without knowing you smiled back at him fully.

and that was it.

that was the last time you met junhui at that close proximity. you had seen him at the basketball court, you had seen him at random street. some day or night your eyes have met with each other and sometimes they didn`t, but his smile had burned through the surface of mind. some time, at some random time, you`ll suddenly get a flash back of his smirk or that fleeting smile he gave you before you closed the door on both of your first meet.

also you knew that mingyu probably made sure junhui never gets to have any closure with you. there`s been couple of times when you`ve found jun across the corridors of the school, simply hanging around and before anything can happen mingyu had circled his arm around junhui dragging his focus away from you who`d just be passing by to deliver some copies of homework to the teacher`s rooms.

you didn`t question this.

afterall, mingyu himself was in a dilemma of sorting out his feelings for you. he would probably do anything until you accept him in your life as something more than just childhood friends but even junhui never made sure to take any attempt, other than casual glances.

well, that`s what you know. it not like you know everything that the future holds. maybe one day you`ll meet him again when mingyu`s not around and you both will have conversations that never happened or waited for the right moment to have anything grow out of the seeds sown in this new friendship.

but for now, it`s okay. maybe someone from another town will catch feelings for him better, it`s not like you`ve him bounded by some string of fate.

it`s okay wherever you stand now when it comes to your relationship with junhui.

fin. 

[kireiwoo]

[7:15am] # park seonghwa.

“oh! seonghwa, look at this one!” you exuberantly exclaim, holding up a shiny, serrated shell. it’s creamy white in complexion and holds little flecks of blue and orange gradience, and you hold it towards your boyfriend’s direction with a petulantly prideful beam. he darts a lazy thumb up from his position laid on your striped towel in response to your hard-worked finding. you’d practically begged him yesterday to start the day fresh and early; the forecast had wonderfully called for some morning sunshine, to which you couldn’t resist the temptation of.

soft and calm waves grazed the shore as you hopped around ecstatically. you aren’t quite sure where the random burst of energy crawled from but you weren’t exactly opposed to it; the haze of the morning wake helped clear your mind up, gaze growing sharper and a youthful glow appearing on your countenance. the rusted street lamps were still dimly lit and the world was asleep, but you frolicked joyfully upon the blocky sand, periodically shouting to your lazing boyfriend who insisted on catching up on sleep while you worked.

another seashell popped colourfully in your peripheral, making you skip over as seonghwa opened his bleary eyes, counting the dawn-set clouds. grasping a purple and red infused shell, you squealed at the combination of colours conjoining in the middle. seonghwa peered over in worry before adjusting his position to observe you. he enjoyed how you conducted your nuanced lifestyle; finding joy in the mundane normalcies that, to others, would seem like laborious tediousness. shell collecting is one of the oldest activities in the book, especially when you live by a beachside town, but the task seemed more and more interesting every time you did it.

“another one! seonghwa do you see this? they’re so pretty!” he can barely hear you over the gentle breeze and the ocean laps, but the foggy octave of your voice makes him conjure a smile. he clicks his tongue and sits up, dusting the towel before zipping up your bags and necessities. he deduced that he might as well join you on your little escapade—you’d already been chatting with him as if he was awake and kicking, so why not humour your inquisitiveness?

after leisurely padding his way over to you, he analytically scans the net-knitted bag that holds your innumerable amounts of seashells. each pattern is unique and individual to its own design, and seonghwa recalls fondly that you didn’t like repetitiveness—another quirk to your characterized habits. he finds it cute that you’d go to such lengths in order to collect something as basic as seashells. you could go online and buy a bag of genuine, polished and laminated seashells—maybe even some extra dried nautical cosmetic appliances for decorative needs, but for some reason you persisted with the concept of finding your own. something about ‘the experience having more meaning’, as you wisely phrased it.

“and what, pray tell, are you gonna do with all of these shells?” seonghwa chides, placing his large hands in the pocketed confines of his light brown khakis. the action is almost arrogant but you dismiss it with a blissed out sigh. you hadn’t thought about the aftermath of your crazed search, but so many possibilities filtered through your mind with reckless abandon all at once. you could make beaded necklaces, place the shells on your mantle, make a tacky but effort-filled picture frame of your sweet boyfriend—heck, there were so many ideas that you couldn’t even begin process it properly. seonghwa stood, waiting for a response as you paused mid collection.

there was an ear-to-ear grin on your face, possibly concerning if not for seonghwa’s prior experience with the expression. and this usually meant that you were satisfied with yourself or what you were thinking about. “seonghwa, there are so many possibilities,” you screech randomly, running a hand through your hair. seonghwa gulps as he see’s the strands frame your face in a way that makes his heart palpitate unfairly in his chest. the fact that you aren’t even aware of what you’re doing is the hammer on the stake for him.

“we could make vase fillers, give them to little kids, and oh! we could give them to our neighbour...” you trail off excitedly, bouncing forward while explaining your train of thought, a hand wildly flailing in the air. seonghwa can only respond with a simple and silent affectionate glisten in his eyes. the sun peaks from the horizon as seonghwa stands by the shore, damp sand tickling his toes and his mind wandering to how much he adores you.

seonghwa isn’t particularly used to inconsistency. and truthfully; he’d say that he loathes it. he loves continuous regularity and the comfort that it brings, as well as the affirmation of routine it promises—but somewhere along the line, he fell in love with your spontaneous and absurd quotes, your mismatched clothing and your need for solidarity in difference.

every moment is a new valuable memory and every day is another wanderlust-filled adventure. he quite adores it—but park seonghwa knows that he wouldn’t be able to tolerate it with anyone but you, his beautiful angel who loves collecting seashells at the crack of dawn.

[littleredwing89]

HOUSE ALWAYS WINS – CHAPTER 2

HOUSE ALWAYS WINS – CHAPTER 2

Hades!Jason Todd X Persephone!Reader Series

Summary: “You made this for me?”, she looked around in wonder, seeing the gorgeous greenhouse he had made. Just for her. Plants of various species hung down from the ceiling baskets, flowers flooded one of the walls to the left. There was a small wooden bench in the corner for her to work at with numerous pieces of botanical equipment covering it. The only problem? The plants were beginning to die. This kind of work was beyond Jason’s merit, but she could fix that.

Warnings – Language. Some fluff. Angst. Mentions of terminal illness. Gambling.

Word Count: 4,126

***

Special Thanks:  @offendedfishnoises​​ @batarella​​ - thanks for all your help with this! 🖤🖤 @batarella​ thank you so much for the beautiful banner.

Tag List:  @offendedfishnoises @batarella @internalsealpanic @jadedhillon @vvipgot7be @illzarr @lucy-roo @psych0crybaby @pricetagofficial @clementinesandstars @pianowing29 @idkmanicantenglish @dragonchildyuki  @kiwihoee @starshineandbooks @illzarr @insane-without-delirium @mariechen1397 @ninergirl1d @hyp-oh-critical @perilous-pasta @imjeralee @xakilicious @kawaiiqueenbee @power-of-words23 @maplumebleue-blog-blog​ - please let me know if you want to be added to this. xoxo

***

The Underworld.

The resting place for souls.

Jason had designed every inch of the place he called home. He’d had all of eternity to tweak it to his perfection. The only thing missing, something he craved, was colour. Something, despite all his magic, he could not muster. The fields surrounding his castle were covered in tall, grey grass which swayed in the breeze of the wind. Further into the distance, the grass was swallowed by thick blankets of mist. Bare trees bent and twisted in all directions, their branches fragile and thin. Thick, blackened vines grew into the murky waters of the River Styx. The rickety boardwalk built onto the river was damp and mouldy, lit only by a single lamp. Fog covered the riverbanks, stretching onto the waters, hiding its true depth and evil. No flowers bloomed. No leaves. No life. There was no sun. Only darkness. A permanent darkness. The sky below was full of bright, twinkling stars. A vision Jason had created himself. Wisps of other universes swirled around them. Constellations of his ancestors sat there triumphantly. Jason only wondered what Y/N would think of his home. Her new home. Their home.

***

Striding through the corridors of the castle, Jason stopped outside of a large, black ornate door. Leaves and vines had been carved into the panels of the wood with such intricacy. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door, taking a step back. 

The door opened slowly as Y/N peaked her head around the pane, settling her eyes on Jason. He stood perfectly straight, in a sharp white, dress shirt and suit trousers. The shirt was unbuttoned at the top, giving him a more, casual appearance.

“Yes?”, she gave him a clipped reply. Y/N had been living in the castle for just over a week now. Hiding away in the confines of her room. Jason had felt guilty. He had tried to draw her out but with no luck.

He cleared his throat and offered her a friendly smile, “I err…I was hoping I could…maybe show you around today? I haven’t seen you leave your room and I want you to see all of your home. I do not want you to feel trapped here”.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, “You mean you don’t want to reinforce the idea that I’m your prisoner?”.

Jason felt the bite of the remark sink into him deeper than he’d imagined possible, “You are not a prisoner Y/N”.

She smiled sarcastically at him, “Sure”.

He expected her to slam the door and retreat inside. Ignore him. Refuse any interaction. It would be expected. But she surprised him when she opened the door completely, stepping to his side. An unreadable expression on her face.

“Show me”, Y/N simply stated. Her red dress floated down her legs, shimmering with her soft movements.

***

Winding through the dark stone corridors, illuminated by candles, Jason lead Y/N out into the castle grounds. Walking further down the gravel paths, Y/N turned her head back briefly to see the famed ‘Palace of the Dead Lord’. The towering gothic castle was striking against the dark sky, outlined by the glow of the stars. It was breathtaking. Hauntingly beautiful. Had Jason made all of this himself?

“Your castle…”, Y/N started, biting her bottom lip, “It is spoken of highly in the gardens of Olympus, they say it is truly magnificent”.

Jason turned to look at her for the first time since leaving her room, “And what do you think?”.

“Did you-did you create this yourself?”, she caught his eye and blushed dipping her head down, unable to hold his intense stare.

He nodded, placing his hands behind his back, a shy smile crept onto his face, “I did”.

“It’s remarkable”, her voice was full of awe.

The pride swelled within him, hearing her compliment his work, “I…I created everything here”.

Y/N was shocked. The place was unbelievable. Near on perfect. It was just missing something. Something she craved. Colour. Did Jason have no colour in his life? Was this a curse of the underworld?

***

The wooden boardwalk came into view and Y/N turned to Jason; her eyes wide with curiosity. The wood was dark and damp, a heavy stench of decay clung to the air. The fog was much thicker here than near the castle, giving it a ghostly vibe.

“This is the port in which souls reach the underworld”, Jason pointed towards a boat gliding across the calm water of the river. There was a hooded figure at the end of the boat, using a steering oar to guide it to the edge of the harbour carefully.

Jason’s footsteps were loud against the creaking timber material under his feet, he had a wide grin on his face, “Charon, my friend, welcome back”.

The spectral black figure floated onto the pier, stopping in front of Jason, bowing gracefully, “My Lord, it is a pleasure as always to see you, what brings upon such a visit?”.

Y/N looked towards Charon, trying to see his face under the large, heavy black hood. Nothing but darkness. She felt the atmosphere thin around him. His presence was icy. Peering around him, she saw hundreds of gold coins littering the floor of the boat. The cost to travel into the underworld. Everything had a price. Even the afterlife.

Jason turned his body, showing Y/N to Charon, “I am showing our new guest around, this is Y/N…Y/N this is Charon, the ferryman of souls”.

Charon turned his ethereal stare to Y/N, “It is a pleasure to meet you, My Qu-”, he stopped himself from going further, seeing the burning glare Jason had given him, “Are you enjoying your tour?”.

She nodded, not picking up on the slip, “Yes, Jason has built such an amazing place”.

Jason laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. Although he couldn’t see Charon’s face, he could only imagine the smug smirk hiding under the blackness.

“My Lord, the waters are becoming...unsteady”, Charon’s calm, lofty voice advised.

Jason frowned, his voice went lower so only Charon could hear him, “For how long?”.

Y/N left Jason and Charon to discuss something. Jason was speaking so quietly she couldn’t hear him. As she rocked on her heels, she heard voices calling to her, low whispering near the edge of the waters. Following it mindlessly, she looked over the edge, in a trance-like state, her pupils dilating, “The waters are so-”.

“You must never go into the waters Y/N. Ever”, Jason’s voice cut over her, his warning stark as he stood in front of her sharply, breaking her connection with the water. The spell dropped instantly. Her eyes returned to their normal E/C colour.

Y/N looked into Jason’s black eyes, sensing an overwhelming feeling of protection emitting from them. His tone wasn’t commanding or authoritative. No. He wasn’t angry either. He was concerned. She glanced towards the water’s edge, the fog spreading across the top of the still water. Creeping into the middle, wrapping around the posts of the pier. What was in those waters he wanted to shield her from? What was calling to her?

“What’s in the wa-”, she started.

“Things that would give your nightmares, nightmares. Please, stay away from the river. Only Charon can navigate these waters safely”, Jason rested his hand on her lower back, steering her off the wooden port hastily. He wanted her away from the murky depths. Safe.

“Thank you for visiting My Lord”, Charon bowed slowly to Jason and then to Y/N. His black robes billowed around him, though there was no breeze. Y/N felt a chill go down her spine.

Jason made sure Y/N was safely on the ground before facing Charon, bowing his head in return, “A pleasure as always”.

Charon watched Jason guide Y/N back up the black sandy path before, relighting the lamp on the edge of the port. He stepped into his wooden boat, gripping the oar next to him, preparing to push out into the dangerous waters and collect the next souls. 

***

As Y/N walked through the tall blades of grey grass back in the castle grounds, she let her fingers graze through them, humming a soft melody to herself. The grass slipped between her slender fingers. Jason lingered behind her momentarily, watching her with a deep admiration. Her deep, wine-red dress made her a beacon in the field. Drawing so much attention. Pulling him towards her. She was incredibly beautiful. Magnetic. Purity radiated from her. His face pulled into a shocked expression however, as the blades of grass turned a vibrant green with her delicate touch. Jason felt his heart warm at the sight, beating rapidly against his rib cage.

This was something he had never managed to do in all the years he’d ruled his Kingdom. She’d been here mere moments and shaken everything. As her hand left the grass to fix some of her fallen hair, the grass turned back to the dull, lifeless grey instantly. Jason felt the excitement in his gut dampen. Why had it not turned permanently? Was it because she was unhappy? Did she feel trapped? Isolated? Darker thoughts swirled in his mind as he stood beside her silently, his hands resting deep into his suit trouser pockets. He didn’t want his Queen to feel like a prisoner. The woman of his vision. The same woman who he had dreamt of every night since.

***

The tranquillity surrounding them both was shattered by loud barking. Y/N looked around confused before turning to Jason, “What’s that?”.

“I’ll show you”, he winked before wolf whistling. The barking stopped for a second, before becoming louder and more excitable. Jason chuckled to himself, kneeling onto the grey, feathery grass, preparing himself for the inevitable. He knew his suit trousers would be scuffed with mud from the ground, but he didn’t care.

“What are you doing?”, Y/N questioned again, before gasping in shock. Three handsome black Dobermans charged straight into Jason’s chest, sending him backwards into the grass and dirt. He laughed deeply as the dogs showered him with love, before sitting obediently in front of him. Perfectly straight, barring their wagging tails. Kitted with black and silver studded collars. Jason pushed himself back up and brushed down some of the mud off him. His shirt dishevelled.

“These are my dogs, the errr…guardians of the underworld”, he mocked in a deep, powerful voice. The dogs barked in response, before tilting their heads towards the reader. Curiosity filling their jet-black eyes. They didn’t move any further, awaiting instruction from Jason. But they made soft whining noises, desperate to fuss her and introduce themselves to the guest.

He noticed her face softening at the animals, her hand wavering next to her. Almost unsure if she could or should pet them. She was clearly an animal lover.

“Why don’t you give them a stroke, princess? They’re not going to bite, they’re probably the worst guardians I could have got”, he chuckled as he rolled up the sleeves on his crisp white shirt, reaching down to fuss over the three dogs. Their tongues lolling out happily.

Moving towards them, her fingers stroked over the tops of their heads, scratching behind their ears. The three dogs made happy grumbles and nuzzled further into her hand, each pushing against the other, fighting for the most attention. A bright smile broke out across her face.

“They’re so cute!!”, she gushed, petting them more, whispering sweet nothings to them, “What are they called?”.

Jason was biting the inside of his cheek to prevent the goofy smile at watching her with his dogs, “Aegues, Archelaus and Argus”.

Y/N looked at the three beautiful dogs racing around both of their feet when a realisation suddenly hit her, “Wait, hold on a second…this, well, these are the Cerberus?”. 

Jason laughed whilst sharing his attention amongst the three boisterous dogs who were all clambering near him for attention, “Yeah...Just rumours…in the upper world, you get a couple of heroes coming down here trying to make it big and then they’re off telling make believe stories about a dog with three heads when they go back home”, he looked up at her from his spot in the long grass, “Next you’ll be telling me you believe a woman with snakes for hair, can turn men into stone with a single glance”.

Y/N flushed a little embarrassed. Medusa wasn’t real?

“Don’t worry princess, I won’t tell anyone you really believe in myths and monsters”, he winked, teasing her playfully.

She huffed, folding her arms. A cute pout on her lips. Jason mused and bumped his shoulder into hers.

“Come on, I need to show you something”, he held out his arm for her to take.

“What’s that?”, she placed her delicate hand into the crease of his arm, feeling more comfortable in his presence.

“Just…something I’ve made for you, I want you to feel at home here”, Jason said no more and led her towards a path leading back towards the other side of the castle.

***

Reaching the end of the path, a small, light grey cobbled house came into view. The windows were tall, and Y/N could see Ivy falling against the panes. A small gasp left her mouth in surprise. Jason pushed her towards the door gently, “This is for you – I created it this week…I had a feeling you were missing something from the Upper World…”, his voice trailed off. He seemed anxious; Y/N noted.

“For-for me?!”, disbelief thick in her voice. Would Jason really be this – sentimental?

“You made this for me?”, she looked around in wonder, seeing the gorgeous greenhouse he had made. Just for her. Plants of various species hung down from the ceiling baskets, flowers flooded one of the walls to the left. There was a small wooden bench in the corner for her to work at with numerous pieces of botanical equipment covering it. The only problem? The plants were beginning to die. This kind of work was beyond Jason’s merit, but she could fix that.

Y/N turned to him and surprised him by pulling him into a hug, “This is perfect…thank you”, she whispered the words into his chest before leaving his embrace to look around more, unaware of the effect her hug had on him.

“I-I…ermm…you’re welcome”, he stuttered out, as he watched her wander around the greenhouse, her touch bringing the plants back to life. Vibrancy flowing through her fingers into the greenery.

“I’ll leave you to work in here today princess…but, I’d like you to accompany me to the casino tonight as my guest”, Jason’s voice was unsure as he asked her. His confidence, long gone.

She turned her bright eyes towards him, the smile on her face infectious, “I’d love to”.

“Thank you, that’s wonderful…”, he cringed at himself and coughed to try and cover his nervousness, “I will have a dress and some jewellery left in your room for tonight”.

“Thank you, My Lord”, she didn’t turn round to face him, but he heard the tease in her tone. Playful but, there was something hidden beneath it. Something that set his pulse racing.

***

As Jason stepped outside of the greenhouse, he saw his three dogs rolling around in the mud. He laughed to himself and stepped over to them, ruffling the tops of their heads playfully. They grumbled in happiness, settling around his feet.

“You know boys, she’s going to be around here a lot now…so I need you to take special care of her, do you understand?”, Jason spoke to them, rubbing one of their stomachs.

The dogs looked at him with their big, doe-like eyes, seemingly understanding him. Their tails wagged excitedly.

“Good boys”, he muttered happily.

He saw Y/N watching him through one of the windows and waved to her. She giggled and turned away working on another one of her plants. Jason groaned internally, wishing to face palm himself. She was turning him into a love-struck idiot.

***

Jason was struggling not to stare at her as they both made their way to his table. She looked incredible. A floor length, green dress with a thigh high split on the side. Golden strappy heels that wrapped up around her calves making her legs look never-ending. But the thing that really topped it off, was the exquisite golden necklace that hung low on her chest. The black diamond refracted the lighting in the casino. His Queen. Words couldn’t describe how perfect she looked to him. He’d attempted of course but that had only caused her to giggle at him and brush off the compliments. 

As they sat at the table, two glasses were placed in front of them from a waitress in a sparkly golden dress, “My Lord”, she bowed and scuttled off.

Y/N took a sip of the champagne from her chute as a frail looking woman was ushered into the room by Thanatos.

“My Lord, this is Cassandra, she has the evening with you tonight”, his raspy voice confirmed before locking the door behind him. Looming in the shadows. Watching.

“Sit”, Jason pointed at the chair in front of him. 

Cassandra shakily sat in the chair in front of him, she was frighteningly thin, the bones prominent on her hands and arms, “Thank you My Lord”, she whispered quietly, “It is a great honour to meet you and your…guest”.

Jason let his glaze linger on Y/N, he hid the smile from his face, terrified of appearing too eager, “This is-”.

“I am Y/N – Goddess of Spring, it is lovely to meet you Cassandra”, Y/N interrupted him and smiled at Cassandra, touching her hand gently, reassuring her.

Cassandra nodded, “Call me Cassie”. Y/N gave her a worldly smile.

Jason cleared his throat and began to shuffle the cards in front of him, “You know the rules, make your bet and we will begin”.

Jason’s clipped business tone rubbed Y/N the wrong way. He was so clinical about this. Did he not care?

Cassie coughed violently, “Apologies My Lord”, she gasped a little for air, drinking some of the water provided to her, “I am…I am not betting for money or fame Sir, I am betting only for my health. The doctors have given me a terminal diagnosis, I-I don’t have long left, maybe a few months if I’m lucky but, I wish to see my children grow up”, she played with the wedding band on her finger.

“Does your husband know you are here?”, Y/N asked, hiding the tears threatening to spill from them. The emotions washing over her breaking heart.

“No, this is my last hope”, Cassie answered, her voice as fragile as she.

Jason nodded and dealt out the first card, his voice clear and cold, “You have made your stake, lets begin”.

***

The business-like approach Jason had to this was poking at Y/N’s conscience. He was treating this with an industrial mind. Nothing more than a game of souls. She could change this. Just one little game wouldn’t harm, would it? Cassandra deserved to see her children grow up.

Y/N gave Jason a sly smirk, letting her fingers trace down her collar bone, toying with the necklace which dipped into her cleavage. She knew his eyes were burnt onto her, following her every movement. The more distracted he was, the more likely this was to work.

“Deal”, Cassandra’s voice wavered a little, nerves fraying the edges. 

Jason wordlessly tossed another card across to her, his eyes never moving from Y/N.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, purposely crossing one leg over the other, the slit on her dress exposed the expanse of her thigh. Jason swallowed. His eyes travelled from the tip of her heel along the length of her leg. Breath caught in his lungs. He shuffled in his chair, her motion setting off a wave of desire - most of that travelling southwards.

Whilst his attention was on her body, Y/N clicked her fingers silently on her free hand, changing the cards on the table. A simple switch. Cassie would win. She would see to that. Having spent a lot of time with one of the most mischievous Gods of Olympus, she had a few tricks up her sleeve.

Cassandra picked up on the little cue and smiled, she was happy to have won favour with one of the Gods sitting across from her.

“I think we should show our hands”, she announced. The confidence sounding false on her tongue.

Jason turned his head to her, remembering his job suddenly, his mouth was dry, “Of course”.

With a wave of his hand, his cards turned over on their own accord revealing two completely different cards then when he had looked only a moment ago. Two…Queens?! His eyes scanned across the table and saw his two Aces in front of Cassandra instead. Her face was a picture of happiness.

“I believe that means she wins?”, Y/N’s voice was sickly sweet. Her posture had completely changed. She was sat bolt upright, and her legs were hidden under the cloth of the table.

Jason’s face turned red. He’d been double crossed. Betrayed. By his own – Queen. His fist clenched and his fiery eyes turned to Y/N.

“You have NO idea what you’ve just done”, his voice was deep and unsettling.

“I did nothing”, she scoffed and stood up, “Congratulations on your win Cassandra, I hope you live a long and happy life”.

Swiftly, he got out of his chair and moved to her side, his hand resting on her lower back. He pulled her into him and glared down at her, “You will NOT defy me - not here”.

“Get your hands off me”, Y/N spat back with venom, trying to put distance between them both.

Cassie watched the argument unfold, biting her nails nervously.

Jason’s grip only tightened on her, ignoring Cassandra, “We will talk about this in private”, he muttered quietly, followed by a loud crack in the air. They were gone.

***

They appeared in the throne room of the Underworld within seconds of Jason snapping his fingers. Y/N pulled away from him instantly, rage coursing through her veins. She felt her heart pounding at the fury. Jason stalked towards her, his eyes completely black, “Do you realise what you’ve done?!”, his hands flew into the air, “Your naivety astounds me”.

The implications of her actions set worry deep into his bones. What would The Fates do? Y/N had interfered with the fabric of existence and those who did that, never fared well. He could not lose his Queen.

Y/N flushed, she could hear the throbbing of her heart, “Naivety? Naivety?! Of course, a monster like you would consider kindness and compassion to be a flaw!”.

Jason was taken back by the word monster, his body stilled for a brief moment, his fears coming true. Recovering quickly from the insult, unwilling to show the anxiety consuming his thoughts, he felt his anger flare at the insult. ‘Monster’.

“I wouldn't expect a spoiled brat like you to possibly even understand this but, I thought I could get through that thick skull of yours. I did but, apparently, it's just full of earth and plants. Just go back to your gardening, it suits you better”.

Silence.

A deathly silence.

He swallowed briefly, letting his breathing calm down. Looking over at her, he saw her own eyes dark with fury.

Y/N ripped the necklace from around her neck and threw it at him. The metal hit him square in the chest before clattering onto the cold stone floor. The noise echoed around the empty room.

“How dare you speak to ME like that?! You think you’re so high and mighty but, you know nothing of the real world hiding away in this...this fortress!!!”.

Y/N looked down at the necklace on the floor. The clasp broken, “You can keep your blood money”, she spat and turned away from him, storming towards her room. Her heels clicking loudly against the granite flooring.

Jason watched her walk away, a hurt scowl set deep on his face. The clicking of her heels faded into the distance. He’d allowed his feelings to get the better of him, creating this mess. Controlling his emotions was something he’d found difficult over the years. Especially as most of his time was spent in solitude. His eyes cast down and caught on the broken necklace on the floor. The bright jewels tormenting him in the candlelight.

‘A monster like you’.

***

[joyfulhopelox]

Roller Cat | JHS - Teaser

Summary: Getting a job at the roller skating rink was not something you would've expected- not when you've sworn to never skate again. But it's the 50's, you're alone and you need money. With an old injury causing you trouble, things are about to get even more complicated when your new boss enters into the picture.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ex military Hoseok, ex pro skater reader)

AU: 50s, slice of life, roller skating

Genre: fluff, with a tiny bit of angst

Rating: pg

Word count: teaser 1k (whole fic approx 12k)

Warnings: probably a lot of misogyny (it's the 50s), talk of war, injuries, 50s slang (I am sorry!)

Welcome to the BTS in the 50s collab hosted by @homeofbangtan!

A/N: I want to thank @notyouroppar for reading over this and the amazing @ttaetae my lost twin, for making this amazing banner! I would also like to thank everyone in this collab for being such amazing people! (there will be more thank you's when the fic is posted!)

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

FULL FIC HERE

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. Papers in hand and heart in your throat, you watched as people lined up for the ticket box. Excited couples and children reminded you of your own elation at the prospect of putting on your skates, and for a moment you allowed yourself to reminisce. Bright eyed and rosy cheeked, your younger self couldn’t have been happier at the new entertainment that opened in town.

“Miss, you’ll have to queue to get in.” A stern voice interrupted your daydream and by God could you have kissed this person. You never wanted to go back to those memories, but by being here, a trigger was inevitable. Turning to face your saviour you offered them a tight lipped smile.

“Ah, no. I’m sorry. I’m here for the job.” You waved the papers as if to prove a point. The man, quite tall and stern judging by the permanent creases on his forehead, gave you an unconvinced look. “I uh, was told there is an opening as a part time cleaner?” You gulped not daring to utter the other side of the agreement, hoping he wouldn’t prod. Resisting the urge to shift on your feet under his gaze, you glanced around hoping he wouldn’t kick you out. The amount of time and pep talk it took you to even urge yourself here made you almost beg him to let you in to apply. Almost.

“Tran, the queue is getting bigger, we should separate the slots again.” A cheery voice called out from behind. Tran, as you assumed the man was called, turned around to face whoever had spoken and without a word to you headed for the ticket box.

Dumbfounded and confused you stood there, mouth agape wondering what just happened. “Ma’am, is there anything I can help you with? If it’s for the school admissions–“ your head snapped in the direction of the voice. Recognition dawned on you at the sight of the blonde man. “School admissions are only on– oh, it’s you!” Too surprised to respond, you simply looked at him. Today he’d chosen a cream short sleeved shirt, and cropped dress pants. His short blonde hair was once again styled to be off his face and his cheery eyes were wide in surprise.

“Uh.” What a good start. Not knowing what to say you nodded in acknowledgment. The heat of the sun beating down your back made you feel uncomfortable, or maybe it was just the man’s stare that caused the sheen of sweat to drip down your back.

“What brings you here?” Getting over his surprise at seeing a very unlikely face, he broke out into a grin. Giving you a once over he scratched his chin in contemplation. “Is it the job?” He motioned towards the papers that were hanging loosely in your grip.

You didn’t know what possessed you. Maybe it was the suddenness of seeing him again or the fact that you’ve changed your mind, the prospect of working there no longer a viable one, in a split of a second your fingers tightened on the papers and you hid them behind your back. “What makes you think that?” You narrowed your eyes at him, “I could have very well gotten another job!”

The tone of your voice surprised him and he took a step back before he started chuckling to himself. “Of course, I apologise. What brings you here then?” He motioned behind him at the colourful building. “Is it for lessons?”

“Oh no, no. I came to–“ You paused not meeting his gaze. “Skate!” You exclaimed in his face, the insincere excitement almost making you wince. “I heard it’s the bee's knees nowadays, really!”

“Stop feeding me apple butter, Hoseok.” Resisting the urge to cross your arms, the action too unladylike even for your taste you shook your head at him. “Just come out with it already. Is there anything you don’t want me to see in there?”

Hoseok huffs at you, his over dramatic expression of innocence worsening your suspicions. “What could it be, Roller Cat? There is nothing; if you don’t trust me to do my own paperwork and want to check over them later, you can do so.” He lets you go ushering you into the rink. “For now, we got curtain climbers to entertain.”

You stared at him incredulously, your mouth agape as he winked at you, and with a final energetic wave he rushed back to his office, the door slamming shut after him. It took you a moment to recollect yourself, and before you could even step foot in the rink, the guard made his way over towards you from the other side.

“Y/N, are we ready to start the day?” He smiles at you, his cheery disposition always a surprise to you. You hadn’t spoken much to him. The few times you had, weren’t outside of working hours where his merry self would be replaced by a tight lipped smile and fierce eyes scouring the rink for any misdemeanour. You offered him your own greeting, a small nod of your head as you rushed to get your skates on. The sight of the white shiny wheels made you smile, the dance you shared with Hoseok still fresh in your mind.

Your curiosity at what he could have been hiding was at its peak, when an idea popped into your mind. “Hey, Tran.” You called over your shoulder at him, your hands busy with your laces. The shout of acknowledgement he offered you spurred you on, “do you know what has gotten Hoseok so giddy?” Finishing with your laces, you turned around just in time to catch the worried glance he threw you. “Tran.” You warned him, knowing that he was also going to feed you bull.

“It’s–“ Before he could continue you interrupted him. “Out with it, and I want the truth.”

[sunjaesol]

and in the haze you see colours

juke | human soulmate au | title: 5 am // amber run

The first colour she ever saw was purple.

When someone was born, they got to see one colour. To each it was different and often a reflection of one's aura. Julie's aura was purple and, naturally, it was the colour she could see. Which was unfortunate, as there weren't many purple things in life - not naturally, at least.

And so, her entire bedroom was purple. Purple walls and purple sheets and purple stationary. The rest were varying shades of grey. Often times, she asked her parents why some were lighter than others, and they told her about green and blue and red. It sounded like a fairy tale. Red was warm, apparently, and blue was flexible and green was fresh. Despite their best attempts, she couldn't visualise it.

It didn't matter. Once she met her soulmate, she would see all the colours imaginable.

Befriending Flynn was easy. The girl had purple ribbons in her hair and that instantly attracted Julie. Vice versa, Julie's orange dress was a plus for Flynn. Through their deep bond, oranges slowly infused itself in her cornea. Orange, like a child's laughter.

With Carrie came pink. Pink, like the fiery moves of a dancer. It was close to purple, so it wasn't a huge shock to see a bouquet of roses suddenly come alive with colour.

In retrospect, gaining orange and pink wasn't that amazing. Not when she lost her mother while doing so. Placing pink dahlias on her grave was just another punch in the gut.

Years passed and people around her found their soulmates. In freshmen year, so many students gasped and fainted as they crossed eyes with their One. She went to parties and someone would start randomly kissing the other. She went to open mics and watched as her soprano voice accompanied two people finding love. It was as beautiful as it was tragic.

Julie was seventeen and she still hadn't found her soulmate. Statistically, most had by now. Had she not gone to The Orpheum that night, she might’ve waited even longer.

Flynn urged her to go to this new and upcoming band, Sunset Curve, as their sound was someone she’d vibe with. Julie wasn’t really feeling it, drowning in homework and song ideas, but her friend was persistent. They needed a breather from everything and a concert was the perfect remedy. After a quick Google search, she realised they were her age. Curiosity swelled in her chest, wondering how they moved up from open mics or school assemblies to the iconic stage of The Orpheum. The only thing she could note about the band was the drummer’s pink hoodie. That was it.

The venue was packed when they arrived. Boisterous chatter, antsy for the band to come on stage and fill the spaces between the instruments. Glasses chiming of sodas and beers being filled and passed around, the soft hum of pop music blaring from a speaker. Most of the crowd were kids from neighbouring schools and all dressed more alternatively. Though she didn’t see most colours, it was clear as day the band tees were vintage and the trousers were ripped or checkered or both.

She shot Flynn a look. “Are you sure this is our thing?”

“Yes!” Propelling them to the front of the stage and consequently shouldering kids in the ribs, she added: “Their biggest hit is, like, insane. And you’ve been in a funk all week, so you need some insanity. To like, counteract it. I don’t know.”

Julie withheld a pout. She’s been ‘in a funk’, because while she was at Eats & Beats grabbing a coffee, two strangers fawned at the sight of each other. RIght in front of her nose, another couple found. It normally didn’t affect her that much, but it did this time. The girl was sick of hearing about romantical love instead of experiencing it herself. Sure, she had Flynn and Carrie and her family, but…

But she wanted that. She wanted more. And with each ticking hour, it felt less and less viable. Where was the One for her?  

The lights dimmed and the pop music stopped, smoke drifting across the stage as the audience began hollering and whistling. Egging the band to get on and give a performance worth watching. The hyped-up teens pushed everyone to the front, now Julie and Flynn forced to crane their necks to watch.

The drummer came on first, all applauding for him as he took his seat and started a drum beat that quickly upped in tempo. It swept them up in an atmosphere, heads bobbing and feeling that rise in anticipation.

Then the bassist came. His dark jacket glittered in the overhead lights, the flannel peaking beneath almost hinting at orange but remaining grey. He added to the beat, bringing in a bassline that had feet bouncing and more people cheering. The mic at the front remained empty, teasing its explosion of lyrics and electricity.

Finally, at the crescendo of sound, the frontman stormed on. He was all charm and smirks and cut-offs and blazing purple shoes. That caught her off guard, eyes dropping to the ultraviolet sneakers. A shock of colour amidst the grey.

His raspy voice belted out lyrics, a grin pulling on Julie’s face at the musicality. Grabbing Flynn’s hand, they jumped around with the other people. Their music was insane. It was fast and clashing and aggressive and raw.

With her neck in its odd position, she observed the singer for a beat. He was… hot. That was all Julie could think. He was hot. His hair falling perfectly right, big eyes, the smile breaking all lines in his face like a beautiful mosaic. Humming like an undercurrent was a buzz right beneath her ribs. Snug and warm, which could’ve been the vibrations from the amps, but it felt different. A good different.

They were in their fourth song when it happened. The band was kicking and jumping around, singing about making it big and not looking down, skyrocketing to stardom, when it happened.

The lead singer dropped to his knees and let the guitar riff bleed to the front row. The audience hollered, Julie laughing in delight at the expert playing, when her and the guy’s gazes met.

He yelped, music stopping short as he careened over the edge and crashed to the floor. Simultaneously, Julie felt the air knocked out of her lungs, losing balance and falling into Flynn. Her eyes were shrivelling with heat, as if hit with the embers of a campfire. A hammer slammed down on the buzz in her chest, electrifying the feeling till it was nearly unbearable.

Her eyes shot open. And then there was colour.  

The crowd dispersed in fright. Gasps and gawks echoed to the back, curious murmurs carefully watching the guy and the girl come to their senses.

“Flynn,” she exclaimed, grabbing for her friend. “Flynn, I can-”

Except she wasn’t there, joining the rest of the crowd further back. The bassist and drummer were watching on, baffled.

Oh. Her stare drifted to the squirming boy on the floor. Oh.

Luke scrambled upright, instantly coming face to face with Front Row Girl and all the colours he has wished to see forever. His eyes were burning from shock and euphoria, greys and whites bleeding out of his bloodstream.

Her hands grasped for his face, worried, lips forming words he hardly registered but vaguely processed as ‘asking if he was okay.’

“Y-yeah, yeah,” he stuttered, his gaze racing across her features to wholly take her in.

Warm skin and wide, brown eyes and dark lashes and curled, pink lips and a pointed chin and glossy, long curls dancing against her cheeks and soft hands and red - she was wearing red. His colour. His soulmate.

He laughed. “Hi.”

She matched it, giggling. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he sighed, still in disbelief that she was his soulmate. His soulmate. His soulmate. The One.

Her trembling smile softened, thumbs swiping across his cheekbones. “You have really pretty eyes,” she whispered.

Her own were shining with unshed tears and he felt himself choking up too. Never in a million years did he think he’d meet his soulmate. To him, it had always been music. Sure, it sounded nice, but he knew he shouldn’t be yearning for it. He had his friends - his aura was red and he gained pink from Alex and yellow from Reggie.

But suddenly she was here. She was really here.

“You’re- pretty-” he stumbled, causing her to laugh again.

Yeah, there was no way he’d be able to continue the gig. The Orpheum was a big deal, but meeting your soulmate? Most monumental moment of anyone's life.

There was so much colour now. So much life. There was so much more than just music and red and pink and yellow to enjoy. (Songs swirled in his mind though, exciting him to the bone as his hands slid to grab her own. Winking all coy, like the best was yet to come.)

“Do you wanna talk?” he rushed out after.

She nodded. “Yeah. You- uh- your band-”

Their fingers intertwined, warmth dancing in his heart. “Doesn’t matter,” he chuckled. “Really does not matter right now.”

The light of a camera flash and exhilarated screams of ‘soulmates!’ ripped them from their bubble. The bassist jumped offstage and clapped Luke on the back, whispering at him to go to the alley. Leading her away, there was no sense of doubt in their steps. Luke didn’t know her name, she maybe didn’t know his. None of that mattered. There was colour now.

From the alleyway, they found themselves wandering around the Strip as they talked for ages. Her name was Julie, his was Luke, they were musicians, they were seventeen, their auras were purple and red, he decided he adored her smile the most and she his twinkling eyes.

“I think they’re green,” Julie said, peering into his eyes. She was impossibly close and it sort of took his breath away. “They’re fresh.”

“Fresh?” he grinned.

She didn’t lean back - she didn’t want to, his soul simply enigmatic - and asked him the same question. “What are mine?”

His expression softened, a smile twitching on his lips. They’re beautiful. “Brown, I think,” he said instead. “Not sure though. You wanna figure it out tomorrow?”

Her stride halted, their grasp on each other nearly yanked apart. His brows raised expectantly. It was there - that invisible, innate, sense of understanding. It wasn’t just colour. It was the refusal to look at colour alone, ever again. It was insane for the both of them, how their rushing thoughts slotted all puzzle pieces together without a hitch. It had that satisfying click-click-click sound, like dominoes.

Luke found himself coming back to her, the space between them disappearing till their arms pressed together and there were no forces tugging them together. It was all themselves.

“I have a book about colour,” Julie eventually said. “We can learn them all.”

He smirked. “I can tell you your lips are pink.”

“Yours are too.”

“Yeah?” he teased.  

But then she lifted a finger and pressed against the plump skin. His heart stopped short at the sensation. Before he gave into the instinct to pucker them and kiss it, her hand dropped.

Julie grinned. “And now they’re red.”

When Luke kissed her, hers were red too.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @unsaidjulie​ @willexx​ @unsaid-emily​ @ourstarscollided​ @pink-flame​ @constantly-singing​ @stydixa​