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mirandasidefics · 4 months

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But Home is Nowhere

Lucien X Plus Size F! Reader, Azriel X Plus Size F! Reader

Part 1 Summary: Reader is pulled into Prythian by an unknown force and comes face to face with members of the Night Court. However, the welcome is less than warm.

A/N: This is my first ACOTAR fic and first story I've even considered posting since 2013, so please be gentle. The story is fully outlined, but due to the fact that I work full time and really weird hours updates will be once a month. Use of cisfemale descriptors used. Key: (Y/N)-Your Name, (e/c)-eye color, (h/c)-hair color.

Content Warnings: Minor violence, minor self-harm, mentions of body issues/past self-harm.

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You gathered your belongings as you did everyday before heading into work. ‘Phone, wallet, keys, charger, make-up…’ the list in your head prattled on as you secured each item in the black backpack. Once satisfied that you had everything you needed you swung the leaden object over your left shoulder. Pausing before the near full-length mirror at your door you tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind you ear. Your (e/c) orbs roamed over for anything that could be out of place. It took a considerable amount of effort not to let your gaze pause on the parts of yourself that you hated. You pulled the dark red sweater down, covering your large and sagging lower belly and too wide hips. You debated on going back to put shapewear on so your muffin top didn’t hang over your dark black skinny jeans too much, but you were already running late. You quickly slipped your dress flats on to your feet as you whispered a small affirmation to yourself. ‘Everything happens for a reason.’

You were not looking forward to today. The laundry list of to-do tasks was miles long. Hours of work meetings, followed by even more hours of research and writing for your thesis. You were always writing. You paused again to double check that you had the required USB drive that held your many months’ worth of research. A quick glance reassured it was safely tucked away on the hook in your pack, and you stiffly grasped the handle of the front door. No sooner than pulling the door open, your feet tripped over the lip of the frame, and you plummeted down through the threshold.

Bracing for a faceplant against concrete, you were surprised to find soft grass under your fingertips. The grass was a deep rich shade of green and still held the wetness of early morning-dew. Slowly lifting your head, you glanced around the spot where you fell. You immediately noticed that you were no longer at the threshold of your duplex if the wide expanse of grass was to be trusted. Slower still, you raised yourself up on your knees. The sky you looked at was now clear of the pale grey clouds you spied out of your bedroom window only minutes before. The bright yellow-white sun was high enough above to indicate that it was midday. A chilled and briny breeze floated across your shoulders and caused strands of your hair to blow away from your face. You pushed your glasses a little further up the bridge of your nose as you took in the distant buildings to your left. Not a single one of the simple brick and mortar buildings appeared to be more than 3 to 4 floors in height. Further down you could make out some shops and an open square. It reminded you more of a smaller European town than of a bustling city suburb. Yet the buzz in the air told you that there was much more than what met your eyes. You could only make out a few figures as they darted through a bustling crowd. Despite the feeling that there were a large number of inhabitants in the city beyond, there wasn’t a single sound of a motorized vehicle. Your head tilted up to examine the vast blueness above you, looking for any sign of the planes that constantly passed over your home, but the sky was also empty. You held your breath, willing for the sound of a jet engine to be heard in the distance. All was silent, except for the brush of the wind and bubbling of water. You turned toward your right an observed a large house that sat just along the river’s edge. Your eyes followed the winding path of the turquoise water as it stretched into a decent sized bay, complete with docks and what appeared to be old wooden sailing ships. You felt like you had stepped back in time.

Panic began to seep into your bones. You could clearly tell that you were no longer in your own city, but where you were…that was wholly unknown to you. Was this even real? Maybe you hit your head when you tripped and this is all just some dream. Yeah, that had to be it. You reached for the backpack that had landed at your side when a shadow flew over you. A heavy thud was heard to your right and your head whipped up to look at the dark silhouette that now towered over head. You initially thought there had been the shape of wings along the figure’s outline, but after blinking away the shards of sunlight that your hand didn’t block, you determined that it must have been your imagination.

“Well hello there,” a velvety smooth tenor reached your ears, “You’re not an associate of Ms. Quinlan’s, are you?”

“W-What?” Your voice trembled, a strong metallic scent radiated from the man as he knelt down. Your breath caught in your throat. He was absolutely stunning. You mentally slapped yourself after feeling your jaw literally drop. You could have sworn his eyes held flecks of starlight in them. However, his humorless chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Do you know Bryce?” He surveyed you this time.

“I don’t…I don’t know any Bryce,” You couldn’t help the rise of your flight response start to kick in, “Where am I?” A part of you didn’t dare look away, but you had to gage your possible exits out of the periphery of your vision. The man continued to stare and evaluate you. You swallowed thickly in an attempt to clear the non-existent obstruction that was your unease and opened your mouth to ask another question. Before you could speak the man cut you off, placing his hands in his pockets.

“If you’re not here for or because of Bryce,” Something about his darkened expression filled your bones with fear, “then, unfortunately, I’m not in a position to readily trust you. I must protect my people. I hope you understand that my actions are nothing personal.” Confusion laced your features at his words and you clutched your bag tightly against your chest.

Without warning your entire body froze as what felt like ice cold claws scratched against the surface of your skull. Fear gripped you tightly, the need to run or fight back utterly demolished as you locked eyes with the man. He truly didn’t appear to be bothered in the slightest over how terrified you were.

‘Mother above…he’s going to kill me.’ Your mind reeled and you were certain that you would have emptied your bladder had you not done so before exiting your home. You couldn’t get your voice to cooperate, to beg for mercy as the claws gripped your skull harder. You couldn’t even scream as you felt the flesh tear near your right temple. Your heart beat erratically, hoping it would give out before you could feel any of the pain that was sure to accompany your death. It took all of your mental strength to dampen the fear down and whisper the prayer you incorporated into your own practice so long ago.

“Mother hold me, let me pass through the gates into that immortal land of milk and honey. Let me fear no evil, feel no pain, and let me enter eternity.” Eyes still locked with the man you saw a glimmer of…you honestly had no clue what emotion it was that passed over his expression. But as soon as it passed the feeling of the claws were gone and air rushed back into your lungs. The man stood to his full height and continue to stare at your gasping form. A rush of nausea swept over you and you heaved. The stomach acid burned your throat more than normal after not eating anything for well over 24 hours.

You spit the remaining mucus onto the grass and you were suddenly hauled up to your feet. His grip on your forearm was so tight you could already feel the bruises forming. While the man’s features appeared calm and unbothered, his eyes simmered with caution. However, he remained silent as darkness converged on you both. Your stomach rolled and plummeted with the sensation of your body in free fall, but the man’s grip never lessened. Suddenly your feet impacted against solid stone. Your vision blurred and your other arm reached out towards anything to purchase itself to keep you up right. Your throat burned again but the stomach acid never reached your mouth. Your outstretched hand finally found a wall and you clung onto it for dear life.

The surface was cool and rough to the touch. You chanced a glance around and found yourself in a small dimly lit room. The walls and floor appeared to have been carved directly out of the stone. The dampness to the air clued you in that you were not inside a building, but some structure more akin to a cave. The room held no furniture, unless you counted the metal sconce that held the only source of light. You did a double take as the light itself was strange, appearing to be condensed to the size of a lightbulb, but it was quickly obvious that there was no material encasing its source. Was there even a- your thoughts were interrupted by the screeching of metal hinges as a single wooden door swung open.

A second man appeared in the entry way and ducked down to avoid hitting his head on the top of the frame. Once he was fully inside the room you couldn’t believe your eyes. You blinked several times yet the insanely large bat like wings never disappeared. You attempted to take in his dark appearance, but shadows seemed to swirl around him. He wore a scaly leather outfit that appeared to be some type of armor. You couldn’t tell if it was multiple pieces or a single body suit in the dim silver light, but that didn’t matter as soon as you saw the first of the seven blue stones intermingled into his outfit. Your eyes widened. The first man handed the newcomer your bag, allowing you to get a good look at his winged back. You immediately noticed there were no straps that held the wings in place. Nor were they attached to the clothing he wore, but rather connected to and protruding from the skin underneath. With this realization the room spun as their soft voices drifted over towards you, but you couldn’t make out what was said as your knees gave out and everything went dark.

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When you finally awoke the room was cold, dark, and damp; which sadly reminded you that recent events weren’t just a dream. You found that you were now alone, but weren’t sure if that was a good sign. There was no telling if either of the men-no males- would come back. A part of you hoped that someone would at least give you answers, even if just to tell you that you would rot away in this cell. If that was the case, why didn’t the first male just follow through with killing you? What caused him to stop and bring you to this place you now found yourself? Unsure of what to expect you backed yourself up into a corner on the opposite side from the door. A dim light filtered through the wood panels and space between the door and ground. You could hardly call what you sat upon a floor given all the dirt and rocks. Unfortunately, it did little to comfort you while the room was largely in shadow. Despite your best efforts and desire to make yourself as small as possible, your round and plump frame wouldn’t allow you to curl your knees towards your chest. So, you opted instead to sit with your legs stretched out in front of you, ankles crossed. A false picture of being unperturbed with your current circumstances. The longer you sat there in the silence, the more your anxiety seeped into your muscles. You shook your foot trying to expel the nervous energy. Your ears strained for any semblance for sounds of life beyond the door. Surely there had to be other prisoners or guards. Unless you really were just left for dead. You fought back the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“This is fucked,” You mumbled, “I’m fucked. What the hell is happening?” You could feel the panic rise up your throat. Your heartbeat increased and your breath became shallow. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots. Tiny pin pricks of pain blossomed as the (h/c) strands became taut. You felt pain, or rather discomfort. You’ve felt that in your extremely vivid dreams before, but it gave you an idea. Moving on to your hands and knees you began to feel around for any rocks or other items you could use. If you could find something and make it sharp enough, maybe you could wake yourself. The door looked the same, but maybe it was different. Maybe you werein a different REM cycle, meaning a different dream that just piggy backed off the first. Afterall, there was no way to determine if the male that took you was going to come back. ‘This has to be a nightmare.’

“Please, please let there be something,” You crawled through the darkness, eyes straining to make out any shapes. Your hands finally found a smooth stone about the size of your palm. In the darkness you couldn’t tell if it was granite or something else, so you went ahead and bashed the side against the stone of your cell wall. The side of the object splintered off as if the stone was made of glass.

“Obsidian…” You smiled to yourself. The obsidian shard would be sharp enough to draw blood wherever you managed to drag it along your skin.

“Where to cut, where to cut…” You felt along your body, the scars on your covered legs sang with expectation. Were you willing to risk taking off your pants in this place though? Were you willing to take off any of your clothing? Finally deciding against the removal of your clothes you crawled over to the door and lowered your hands to the soft light that filtered through. Pressing the shard against the palm of your left hand you hoped that there would be no feeling as you dragged it against the skin. Oh, how wrong you were.

“Fuck!” A searing pain erupted over your hand as the makeshift blade tore at the skin. You sucked in a breath through your teeth as blood pooled at the seams of the cut. The obsidian hit the ground.

“Why did you do that?” A deep tenor filled the space near the back of your cell and you screamed. The sconce on the wall lit up. Your head whipped around to the opposite corner from where you had been sitting. Your eyes took in the retreating shadows as they revealed the male that you really didn’t want to see. The cobalt stones again caught your eye as your gazed wondered over his form. The wings were still there. You cradled your bleeding hand and you backed away from the known male that stared you down. You figured that you were about to pass out again as the shadows behind him seemed to writhe and undulate around his frame.

“Don’t come any closer,” You tried to keep your voice steady, but you wanted to kick yourself for how pathetic you sounded. The male rolled his eyes and walked towards you before crouching down. His wings stretched out and angled themselves so as to not drag along the stone beneath. The sight of their movement took your breath away. They were real. All of this was real. He grabbed your hand and began to exam it. Your attempts to pull it back failed as his grip was tight. Clicking his tongue against his teeth he locked eyes with you, hazel orbs boring into your own. Despite yourself you noted just how attractive he was as he continued to scrutinize you. He continued to look at you expectantly and you realized that he must have asked you a second question. He sighed and gave you back your hand.

“I’ll be right back,” He stood and left. As soon as the door shut you scrambled to your feet and retreated back to your corner. Had he been in the room with you the entire time? If so, why was the light off? And…you felt pain in your hand. You glanced down at the jagged cut, the blood had yet to start to congeal and clot, but it was superficial at best. Honestly nothing to worry about. You’ve done worse to yourself before. But…you felt pain. Real pain, not just a semblance of a memory of pain as you’ve dreamt of before. This was no dream. Everything pointed to this being a very real place. And you were in very real trouble. Especially if you ended up in-

A soft knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. Whomever was there didn’t wait for you to respond as they entered. A man-no again male- with long red hair and almost equally red-brown eyes walked into the room. He wore a simple off-white billowy linen shirt that appeared as if it was from the Renaissance or possibly the Victorian era. Honestly, you were really sure. The history of the fashion industry wasn’t your area of expertise. He also wore a simple pair of dark brown pants. He was definitely different compared to your captor and the winged male. He appeared…warmer. Maybe it was the soft smile that graced his lips. However, his eyes-which you now saw that the left had a long scar that ran down towards his jaw- held a certain sense of sadness to them. Pity.

“Hello,” He held out his hand towards you as he cautiously approached, “Can I take a look at your hand?” He seemed friendly enough, but you still pulled your hand closer toward your chest. You shook your head and backed away, not trusting your voice. The red head looked back at the door, where you saw the winged male patiently waiting.

“She does understand our language correct?” He turned back towards you after receiving an affirming nod from his companion. He took a tentative step closer. You felt like you were being treated like a wild animal.

“Stop!” You hissed, “I’m perfectly fine. You can leave.” The male just stood, his gaze trailing to the blood that dripped down your forearm.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” He stated, “I need to heal your hand. Will you let me do that?” You paused.

“What do you care if it heals?” You squeezed your hand into a protective fist causing blood to gush out faster, “Isn’t it easier to just let me be?”

“Honestly I don’t care,” His demeanor changed like the flick of a switch, “If you don’t want help then that is your choice. My question then is why cut yourself in the first place?” You held his stare. You didn’t want to answer, knowing that it wouldn’t make any sense to the stranger.

“This is going no where Lucien,” the winged male finally re-entered the room, “Just heal her hand so I can begin my questioning.” Lucien scoffed, but did as requested. Grabbing your wrist, he tugged you away from the corner you backed yourself into. You held your breath as he pried your fingers open so he could get a look at the cut. You honestly tried to pull your hand free, but he was clearly much stronger than you. Almost unnaturally so. You were left with nothing to do but to watch. You heard a faint whirring sound, before he hovered his free hand over the injury. A warmth enveloped your open palm and was accompanied by a slight metallic scent to the air. Within seconds your skin had stitched itself back together. All that remained was the trail of drying blood. You stared at the healed skin, mind racing with jumbled thoughts. It didn’t make sense. Nothing in the world could do that. It was like…magic. Your breath caught in your throat. Just where the hell were you. You flicked your gaze back to Lucien standing before you, only this time you noted the golden mechanical eye and the arch of his ears. The pointed arch of his ears. The jumbled thoughts became cloudy and you felt darkness start to descend.

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“There,” Lucien let go of her hand, which was something that he would immediately regret. It took less than 30 seconds for her wide (e/c) eyes to flutter shut. He watched as her knees gave out as she crashed towards the ground. His reflexes were fast enough to allow him to catch her before her head hit the hard stone. Azriel was immediately crouching next to him.

“That’s the second time she’s fainted,” He whispered, cursing under his breath. He removed her outer sweater and placed it under her head before standing up to speak to the male beside him.

“How long has she been down here?” Lucien questioned also rising to his feet. This didn’t sit well with him. The woman was clearly frightened, and there was no absolutely no trace of any lingering magic emanating from her. So why was she being kept beneath the throne room in the Hewn City?

“A few hours,” Azriel explained, “Rhys found her this morning. According to him, she literally just appeared. Much in the same way Bryce did. Fell flat on her face outside their home on the Sidra’s edge.” Her face was pale, honestly, too pale for Lucien’s liking. He knelt down beside her, straightening out her legs so they weren’t tucked under at an odd angle.

“Does Feyre know?” The Shadowsinger remained quiet. Lucien looked up at the male. Azriel couldn’t meet his eyes. That wasn’t a good sign. There was no way that Feyre would be comfortable with having a defenseless and harmless human female locked away. It was unusual for Rhysand to keep things from his mate, not without there being a definitive threat.

“This human has no magic. Absolutely none. She’s completely powerless,” He spat out, “There are no traces of any spells surrounding her either. Whatever brought her here, she had no control over. Its likely she had no knowledge of what was happening either.”

“That’s what I need to find out,” Azriel stated simply. If he was irritated with Lucien’s outburst he didn’t let on. “So now that she’s healed and you’ve completed your assessment, you can leave.” This really didn’t sit well with him. Bryce had been brought right into their family home when she arrived. So, what was it about this human that set the High Lord on such edge that she’d been banished from what would probably be the safest place for a human in Prythian? Lucien really didn’t like what was happening, but knew better than to argue with the Spymaster. If anyone did get answers out of the woman it was going to be him. However, he wouldn’t let this injustice go to the way side. So, without so much as a word to the Shadowsinger, Lucien left the cell. He was determined to have a very stern word with the High Lord.

Part 2

#acotar x reader #lucien x reader #azriel x reader #plus size reader #BHINfic #lucien vanserra x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #lucien acotar #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra x plus size reader #azriel x plus size reader

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themanifestingbrat · 1 year

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I FINALLY ENTERED THE VOID STATE!! + TIPS

I learned about the void state in April 2022. I’ve done many methods and techniques and gotten close many times but never persisted long enough. I knew that I would get into the void eventually but I would get disappointed if I didn’t get in when I wanted to but I persisted anyways. The first couple months my void concept wasn’t that good, I definitely over complicated it and would never let myself relax enough which is literally all you have to do. I didn’t want to become obsessed so I let it go for a month or two. After manifesting various things and working on my self concept, I decided to manifest tapping into the void again. By this time, I knew my vc still wasn’t the best so I knew I had to saturate my subconscious with a new story.

That’s when I did a challenge after just one day, it worked.

So, here is how it happened:

I listened to @fleurlx ’s void state subliminal in the day time, pretty much all day and when I wasn’t listening to it, I would just affirm in my head. I did my best to not waver or think about the past “attempts.” Then at night I listened to @madebyeden ’s & @lotusmi serendipity subliminal. The first night, i woke up in the middle of the night, my entire body was vibrating heavy and I kind of had a headache. I changed my position in bed and once I was comfortable, I immediately felt super heavy and I went with it. I felt myself going deeper, everything was so dark, I was deep breathing and couldn’t hear my heartbeat or the subliminals so I started to get really freaked out because I thought I was dying lmfaoo. I moved before I could affirm anything so I didn’t manifest just yet. But ofc, I know I can get back in it so I will update with another success story.

Here’s what I was doing that obviously was stopping me from entering (I realized I was doing this in hindsight.) If this sounds like you, STOP IT IMMEDIATELY:

☁ Because of my first few attempts at entering the void weren’t successful, I developed a mindset that it was hard or I was doing something wrong which led to me doing random methods hoping it would just work or thinking maybe it could work for me. Key word: hoping/maybe …yeah that’s not gonna get you anywhere.

☁ I would affirm from lack. I told myself maybe if I affirm more than the amount of times I had doubts, my subconscious will be saturated with my favored story and I’ll just get in. But that just created more doubts, because everytime I would “decide” that I will get in the same night, immediately my thoughts were “but what if I don’t get in? What will I do then? Can I really enter it just because I said so? Noo, too good to be true!” This shows that I was in a STATE of not being a void master or a person who wakes up in the void or a person who easily taps into it.

☁ Another example of coming from lack, everytime something went wrong in my 3D, I would think “Omgggg i just wannt to get into the void to change this, or man i really need to get into the void before this happens…” For obvious reasons, do not think like this!! The void is not the only way and I’ve should’ve known better because I’ve manifested so many things this far without it!!!

☁ I don’t know if anyone else thought of this but there were times where I questioned if the void state was even supposed be part of my journey, my guides/angels don’t want me to access it just yet, or it would just happen in divine timing. Umm yeah, I easily debunked it with all the success stories I’ve read and also the fact that because I knowabout the void is proof that I’m supposed to tap into it.

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salvatwh0re · 9 months

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hello! first of all congratulations on mastering the void :D!!

i have a question if thats alright.

right now, i just got out of my void attempt which i unfortunately didn't succeed in but after reading your post I noticed that i relate to what you've said a lot.

My brain was on overdrive, i was focusing too much on focusing on my affirmations (yknow?) and i for some reason kept suddenly become aware of my 3d and my body after feeling myself slip away. Another thing was my breathing for some reason was very shallow, so i had difficulty breathing.

how should i deal with that? is my first question

my second question is, When it comes to focusing on the darkness behind your eyes, how do you do it?

again major congratulations! i hope you're having a wonderful day!

I had a lot of these issues you’re describing on my first attempt but on the second successful attempt I was really tired so I really didn’t notice or care about any of the symptoms I was feeling. It was pretty easy to disassociate because of how tired I was but I was also awake enough to stay aware of the void if that makes sense.

When I suddenly become aware of my 3D again I try focusing on my breathing again or really anything else to distract my brain, like counting, affirming, visualizing, etc.

Focusing on the darkness behind your eyelids is not as complex as it sounds. Really you’re just allowing thoughts to pass. It’s hard to explain but if you close your eyes now you’ll probably see little floaty things, i just focus on those and it keeps me distracted and makes me forget about my 3D.

I honestly think the key to my success was the 61 point meditation, you can find it on YouTube but I just did it on my own. It really helped me relax my body. At first I was itchy and I kept getting those weird twitches but when I finished the meditation my body was completely numb and a little floaty. After my body fell asleep it was just a matter of getting my mind off the 3D and into the void. I think that all depends on the person and what it takes for you to focus but I finally figured out what works for me. I suggest you find that too! I hope this was helpful :)

#void state #the void state #loassumption

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foreverinadais · 2 years

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three’s a crowd: m.k

summary: your in a loving relationship with Marc and Layla. But after a bad day, you come home to see them infatuated with each other, and begin to doubt the security in your relationship with the married pair.

warnings: angst, insecurity, language, fluff, worry between both marc and layla, Fem! reader

pairings: marc spector x fem! reader, layla el faouly x fem! reader, marc spector x layla el faouly

word count: 2054 words :)

It had been quite possibly the worst day of your working life. How it was possible for people to be so unbelievably frustrating was beyond you. It was as if every customer had an unspoken vendetta against you, a line of people asking for ‘the manager’ or throwing snide comments your way. It didn’t help that you had a paper due in yesterday that was still sat, unfinished, on your desk.

You made the usual route back to Marc’s apartment, knowing Layla would also be there, and you felt a sense of excitement at the thought of just curling up between them and falling asleep. You loved your relationship with them all. Even though you slotted in later, it all fell into place pretty quickly, and Layla and Marc couldn’t believe you hadn’t always been with them.

You all but dragged yourself up the stairs, cursing the lift for being out of order, especially when you tripped on the last step and only caught yourself last minute. The door was in sight, and you breathed a sigh of relief, ready to throw your bag down and collapse on the bed.

But as you opened the door, the action surprisingly quiet, you heard a small laugh. Your eyes followed the melodic and familiar sound to where Marc and Layla were cuddled on the sofa, looking through a photo album of their marriage. You had no problem that they were labelled as ‘husband and wife’, although sometimes you felt a strange feeling in your stomach, not jealously, but something deeper.

Perhaps it was the sight of them there, so happy, so in love with each other, that an overwhelming sense of sadness washed over you, bringing with it an odd insecurity. It was Layla’s smile, so bright and wide as she looked at the pictures of them, not you. It was the twinkle in Marc’s eyes, maybe a longing for the past.

Soon enough, you were in a hole, dirt falling down onto you, corrupting your ability to think logically, reasonably. And then you were leaving, as silently as you came, your presence unnoticed by the pair. Your feet paced down the stairs, getting the bus back to your own flat, a place which felt less and less like home everyday thanks to the comfort your lovers’ flat brought.

You fumbled with the keys, pushed over the edge when they fell from your grasp with a harsh ‘clink!’. Tears began to well in your eyes as you finally pushed through the door, throwing your bag to the side, not even changing from your work clothes before crumbling into bed.

Perhaps it was the horrid day you’d had, or maybe the fact you were questioning your place in your relationship, or maybe it was everything else that made sobs rack your body. You buried your face in the pillow, legs wrapped in the duvet, trying to grasp for any comfort you could find. It wasn’t long before you fell asleep, cheeks tear stained and eyes no doubt puffy.

Layla glanced at the small clock on the wall, sigh leaving her lips as she turned to her husband. “It’s been an hour. Maybe she got held up at work?” They had noticed your lack of presence as soon as the time you were usually home struck. Automatically, they were leaving messages, worry settling in as the hour changed.

“She would text. Somethin’ has happened.”

“Don’t do that, Marc. I’m sure its all fine. Don’t go there in that brain of yours.” But she wasn’t trusting her own words, nervously nibbling the skin of her thumb.

“Well, tough, I’m already there. She always texts back.” This was true. You normally left messages all throughout the day, small affirmations to say that you were okay, or if you weren’t, you wouldn’t shy away from explaining why. Neither of the pair could find any reason you wouldn’t message them back. It filled them with an overwhelming sense of worry, a million uncertainties corrupting their brains.

“Why don’t we go to her apartment? Maybe she’s popped back to get something, or maybe we’ll see her walking here.” Layla assured, forever the voice of reason. Marc nodded, exhaling slightly as he tried to fall in her words.

“Your right. Let’s go.” The pair exited the flat, not before leaving a small note explaining where they were, in case you happened to wander in whilst they were gone. It didn’t take long for them to get to your abode. Marc offered his wife a look as they got to your door, making Layla instantly run a hand down his back in an attempt to comfort his nerves. Layla was the first one to knock, confident taps against the door which would get your attention without waking up the whole complex. After a minute, however, there was no answer. Layla sighed deeply to calm her accelerating heartbeat, trying again, offering words as well this time;

“Y/N? Are you in here, baby?” After this attempt was left to no avail, Marc took over, banging the door harder this time.

“Marc, hey, she might not be home, we don’t need to wake up the entire building!” Marc groaned, checking his phone once, before getting on his knees. “What are you-”

“She’s home.”

“How-”“Lights are on.” He was back on his feet, knocking again, “C’mon, we know your in. Open the door.” Normally, Layla would scold him for being so stern, but now, she was feeling uncharacteristically anxious too. If you were home, why were you so blatantly ignoring them? What had they done wrong?

“We just want to know what’s wrong, Y/N/N! We’re worried about you.” Layla chimed in, her caring voice a soft contrast to Marc’s, which was bordering on anger brought on by desperation. Perhaps it was this which elected a small shuffle from behind the door. The pair looked at each other, relieved that there was sign of life, but confused as to why you were hiding away. “We know your in there, now open the door.” Marc’s sternness pushed you over the edge, and the lock was finally given life as it clicked open. Layla was the first to push open the door, instantly searching for you in the room. Marc was awfully close behind.

She spotted you sat on the sofa, hands in your lap as you fiddled with your fingers, something you only did when nervous. “Hi, darling.” She whispered, going to sit by you, taking your hands in her own to stop you from your anxious fiddling. “Why didn’t you answer, hey? We were worried about you.” You looked down, almost guilty, still feeling the insecurity from earlier corrupting your insides. Marc was in less of a comforting mood, mostly feeling pissed that you had let them worry for so long.

“Why didn’t you answer you phone, huh? Hell, we thought you could’ve been taken o-or killed, for fuck sake!” Layla shot him a look to which he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“ ‘m sorry.” You whispered, voice coming out smaller than you intended. Layla was about to respond when you spoke again, “I understand if you want to leave me.” Both parties froze, Layla’s touch leaving yours. “What do you mean?” She said, suddenly noticing your tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes in the dim lights of the room.

“Why would we want to leave you?” You sniffled, trying to find the words through your insecurities and emotions. It was the sound of your name from Marc that made them spill out, all at once.

“Because you have each other! Your married and I-I just intruded on your relationship and that’s unfair of me, and I know your better off with just each other cause ‘three’s a crowd’ an’ all that, and I just… I understand why you would want to leave me.” Layla could hardly find the words to respond to your words, a sour feeling in her mouth, her stomach, rising like bile or acid. Marc, however, was overcome with guilt, detest that they could ever make you feel like this.

“Why…” Layla started, trying to calm her shaky tone, “What made you feel like this?” Your heart cracked at her voice, furthering the newfound hatred for yourself, that you had made her feel like this.

“Earlier. I, urh, I came by and saw you together, and you looked… looked so in love and it made me feel…” You cut yourself off with a cough, trying to contain the sobs rising in your throat. Marc’s expression was almost unreadable as he looked from you to Layla, who had tears brimming her eyes. He wanted to shout, not at you, but at himself for ever making you feel anything other than unconditionally loved.

Before he knew it, he was kneeling in front of where you were sat. His fingers were almost scared to touch you, as if you were an ethereal, delicate being. Then, reason took over, and one of your hands was in his. Layla followed suite, taking your other in hers, so you were encased by their concern, but more, their love.

“Hey, look here.” His tone forced you to look into his eyes, clouded with emotion, complex as they always were, “It was stupid of you to run away.”

“Marc-” Layla warned at her husband’s method of comfort, but he wasn’t finished.

“Because if you stayed, you would’ve seen how much we fucking missed you. How much we need you. You’re the missing piece, yeah? What we’ve always needed.” You felt a tear run down your cheek, but Marc’s thumb was faster, swiping it off your cheek and leaving his touch there in a comforting motion. “Your our world, honey. And if we ever made you feel less than that- the fact we made you feel less than that-” Layla, too, let a tear fall and you felt unbelievably guilty that your let your insecurity overcome you. You grabbed her hand in your own, bringing it up to your lips to kiss the skin. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise.” Marc stopped you, and Layla agreed, “Never say sorry for having emotions, okay? You taught me that.” He smiled comfortingly, lovingly, and it made you nod, his words finally meeting your ears. “We both love you, baby, and we will spend the rest of our lives proving that to you, okay?” When you didn’t respond, he tried again, lifting your face up with his fingers lightly, “Okay?”

You finally nod, sniffling, whispering an ‘okay’ and ‘love you both back’. Layla kissed your cheek, right next to where Marc’s thumb was, and your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in their touch.

“Let’s go to bed, shall we, my darling?” Layla asked, and you nodded, not finding it in you to talk. Both of them guided you to your bed, offering a smile to each other as they did so. You were already drifting off when your head hit the pillow, Marc’s hands manoeuvring you under the duvet, making sure you were comfortable. The two followed suite, Layla’s head resting on your shoulder, placing soft, small kisses to your neck as Marc rested his head on your own, the tips of his fingers tracing down the flesh of your arm. Both of them were whispering affirmations of their love for you as you fell into sleep, feeling comforted, secure, for the first time all day.

It was all you need, their touch, their words, their love; and it was all they wanted to give you. When they saw you were asleep, Layla sighed, hand reaching out to grab her husband’s over your sleeping frame. “We can never make her feel like that again, okay?” Marc softly agreed, trying to push away the feelings of guilt eating away at the both of them. The two stayed with you all night, didn’t want to let you leave the bed, even when you were back to your usual self.

Of course, you assured them you felt better, which was the truth. You eased both their guilt, confirmed your love for the both, and in return, they did the same.

Because they loved you; You were the light to both of their darkness, the person who made them feel complete- the missing piece to the puzzle of their lives.

#moon knight imagine #moon knight angst #Moon Knight #moon knight ff #marc spector angst #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfic #marc spector #layla el faouly #layla el faouly fanfiction #layla el faouly angst #layla el faouly x marc spector #layla el faouly x reader

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averagedeadinsomniac · 2 years

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We Got To Get ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ-|Marty McFly x Reader|pt.1

pt-1|pt-2|pt-3

Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick

That was the sound of the clock ticking away time that could never be returned

Tick Tick Tick Tick

Time was the most Valuable thing on this earth

Tick Tick Tick

With enough of it. You could do anything. Solve a puzzle. Think. Create a time machine. Most people squander it away and some seemed like they couldn't get enough of it

TICK

The Brown family was struggling at the moment. Together they once lived in a beautiful mansion but after an incident Doc had to sell 435 acres so the could afford a small space to live. That never stopped them from inventing. This time they were creating something big. Something that required 6 barrels of plutonium.

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

It was a mess. The boy walked inside the home. The kid? Marty McFly childhood friend and crush of Cypher Brown. He has assisted them many times before and frequently visited them. He loved going there and helping and was just another reason to hang out with Cypher so it was really just a win-win. "Doc? Cypher?" He called as he tucked away the spare key under the place mat. "Hello? Anybody home? Einstein, come here boy" he whistled. When he walked in, the house was in dismay, it reeked of burned toast and rotten dog food. Cypher usually cleaned up the place because god knows the Doc wouldn't. "Gross, god. This is disgusting" Maybe they gone somewhere? He scrounged about the place looking for them when he saw it.

The mega bass. Wanting to test it out he turned up the volume to the max for each setting and with one riff of his pick a sonic blast sent him flying into the couch knocking everything in the way and knocking the wind out of him. "Whoa, rock'n'roll" Tats when a ball suddenly rung. It was a phone on a side table. Marty got up and rushed to the phone and picking it up "Yo." "Marty is that you?" A man on the other line asked. It was Doc! "Hey, Doc. Where are you?" he replied. "I've found you. Can you meet me at the Twin Pines Mall tonight at 1:15? We made a major breakthrough, and we'll need you assistance." He rushed "Wait a minute. 1:15 in the morning? Doc, what's goin on? Where you've been all week?" "Workin" "Where's Einstein? Is he with youWhat about Cypher? Is she okay?" He worried. "Yes, they're both right here. Say hi Einstein, say hi Cypher." He was glad when he heard a yip and a "Hiya Marty!" on the other line.

Ahh Cypher. He had the fattest crush on her since he met her in the second grade in Hill Vally elementary. He loved her cheeky smile, those mischievous green eyes and her uniquely colored messy white hair. The children use to make fun of her forcing her to be antisocial but he had to go ruin that. And he loved it. Sending her notes in class, twirling her hair around his finger and of course follow her around like a love sick puppy that only she was oblivious too. She struggled to connect with other people or down right refused to talk to them so he was always her go to.

"You know Doc, you left your equipment on all week and Cypher hasn't attended school at all. You could get in big trouble for that" Marty stated. "My equipment? That reminds me, Marty. You better not hook up to the amplifier. Theres a slight possibility it might over load, besides don't worry. I send her to school today." He warned. "I'll keep that in mind." Marty affirming already knowing because of the mistake that just took place. "Good. I'll see you tonight. Don't forget now. 1:15 am Twin Pine Mall " "Right." Just the he was startled by the chiming, chirping, ringings and whistles of the various clocks that surrounded the room.

"Are those my clocks I hear?" "Umm, yeah. It's 8 O'clock." "Perfect! My experiment worked"! They're all exactly 25 minutes slow! Hey dolly! The experiment worked!" He could hear excited murmurings in the back ground between Cypher and her father. "Wait, wait, wait! Doc? Are you telling me its 8:25?" "Precisely!" Then he panicked. "Damn! I'm late for school. I got to go! Tell Cypher I'll See her!" And as of that he slammed the phone on the receiver and rushed off. He could not afford to be late again. He ran to the front room, grabbed his skate board and backpack. He ran out the door and shuffled on his headphone connected to his walkman and rode off.

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

He arrived at his school and kicked up his skateboard when he saw Cypher leaving the building. "Yo, Cypher! You're early!" He called her attention. "Marty, you're late!" She called back with the signature grin. "Marty, don't go this way. Strickland's got a bouty on your head and looking for you. If you get caught it'll be four tardies in a row." she warned "Aw really~? Didn't know he cared so much about me" He said sarcastically. They snuck into the building and Cypher peeked around the corner making sure the coast was clear. "All right, come on. I think we're safe now."

Marty hooked an arm around her shoulder and they started walking "Hey, Why'd you and Doc set all the clocks 25 minuets late?" "I would like to tell you but-" Before she could explain she was interrupted by a voice and Marty was grabbed by the back of his jacket. "Doc? Am I to understand that you're still hanging around Dr. Emmett Brown, McFly?" Of course it had to be the rotting principle."Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk. Tarty slip for you, Miss Brown. I don't know why you bother coming to school anymore when you barely come at all." He said holding up a note in front of her while Cypher shot a pissed off smile. "And one for you McFly. I believe that makes four in a row. Let me give you a pickles worth of advice, young man. This so called Dr. Brown is dangerous. He's a real nutcase-" "Don't you dare call my father that! Hes smarter than you will ever be." Cypher interrupted angrily.

You could see the pure anger in her eyes when she stopped dead. She really was strong. She couldn't stand when others made fun of the doc. No matter how many times he said there will always be people that will poke and and try to rub you the wrongs ways so you shouldn't bother getting worked up over simple people she couldn't help it.

"As I was saying, If you change around him and this excitable daughter of his, you're gonna end up in big trouble"

"Oh yes sir"

The principle stopped him straight angrily "You got a real attitude problem, McFly. You're a slacker. You remind me of your father when he went here. He was a slacker too." "Wow, you're really that old? I guess I should tell by your thumb like appearance." Cypher snarked and Marty let out a quick snort but covered it up quickly. "You got a attitude problem real problem to missy. Young ladies late you shouldn't have one" "If that's how you identify me I might as well classify myself as a boy. Now that we're late to class can we go now Mr. Strickland?" Cypher asked and Marty smirked along.

Before he could leave he stopped them one more time "I noticed Marty's band is on the roster for the dance auditions after school today and I would hate for someone to give a little word with the judges. I don't know why you would even bother, McFly? You don't have a chance. You're to much like you're old man. No McFly or Brown ever amounted to anything in the history of Vally Hill." He raised his voice and got into their faces.

"Yeah, well history is gonna change."

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

#back to the future #back to the future x reader #marty mcfly headcanons #marty mcfly x reader #marty mcfly #x reader #doc #back to the future 1 #back to the future 2 #back to the future 3

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krispyweiss · 11 months

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Movie Review: “Long Story Short: Willie Nelson 90”

“Long Story Short: Willie Nelson 90” is so long …

HOW LONG IS IT, MR. SOUND BITES?

“Long Story Short: Willie Nelson 90” is so long, the producers built in an intermission - a “4:20 break,” they called it - about halfway through the film’s three-hour run time. Oddly enough, the manager of the theater where the film debuted June 11 - encore showings are slated for June 13 and 14 - frowned upon those of us who took the reason for the pause literally, meaning we’ll have to wait for the home-video release for a real 4:20 break.

But it was needed, as the movie - edited down from Nelson’s April 29-30 all-star concerts/90th-birthday celebrations at the Hollywood Bowl - is far too long. For all the highlights, there are less-than-thrilling appearances from Beck, Nathaniel Rateliff, the Lumineers (singing “Pretty Paper” in April), Miranda Lambert, Sheryl Crow, George Strait, et. al that do little more than make the movie house chairs feel even more uncomfortable.

Built around some 40 performers, occasionally solo or with their own groups, but mostly backed by a house band that included music director Don Was on bass, Greg Leisz on pedal steel, former Black Crowes guitarist Audley Freed, soon-to-be-former Punch Brother Gabe Witcher on fiddle, Belmont Tench and Booker T. Jones on keys, Mickey Raphael on harmonica and the McCrary Sisters on background vocals, “Long Story Short” works despite its flaws.

And how could it not? With a band like that, a guest list that would render even the most famous person starstruck (Dave Matthews, who turned in an appropriately weird solo version of “Funny How Time Slips Away,” sure was) and a bunch of Nelson’s greatest songs - plus Warren Haynes singing “Midnight Rider” and Jack Johnson on the hilarious “Willie Got Me Stoned and Took All My Money” - the highlights are too many to mention.

But then there are the highest of the high, which follow in order of appearance:

* Billy Strings opening the show just as Nelson would and setting the tone with “Whiskey River.” The only thing wrong with this was saving one of the best for first, which is not how these things are supposed to work.

* Particle Kid - aka Micah Nelson - performing “Die When I’m High (Halfway to Heaven),” written from his father’s perspective, with Daniel Lanois playing pedal steel without picks. The effect was both comedic and ethereal.

* Rodney Crowell, Emmylou Harris, Waylon Payne and Raphael collaborating on Crowell’s “It Ain’t Over Yet,” a spellbinding song about aging gracefully in the music business.

* Rosanne Cash singing “Loving Her was Easier (Than Everything I’ll Ever Do Again)” to - and with - Kris Kristofferson while changing the word her to you. At 86, Kristofferson seems older than the birthday boy, making this heartfelt performance the stuff of lumps in throats as the two stood with arms around each other and sharing friendly kisses before Cash melted into the arms of her father’s former Highwaymen bandmate.

* Lukas Nelson channeling his father as a young man - both on guitar and at the mic - on an eerie solo performance of “Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground.”

* Willie singing “Stardust” while trading solos with Jones.

* Norah Jones performing “Down Yonder” in memory of “little sister” Bobbie Nelson.

* The Avett Brothers - sans house band - admonishing everyone to “Pick up the Tempo.”

* Gary Clark Jr. giving a guitar clinic and sharing the spotlight with Raphael on “Texas Flood,” which he dedicated to both Willie and Stevie Ray Vaughan.

* Bob Weir singing - really singing his heart out - “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” while Strings, who looked as if he might shit himself with glee, played Willie’s parts on acoustic guitar.

* Jamey Johnson proving himself an incredible crooner on “Georgia on My Mind” while Haynes chipped in slide guitar as only he plays it.

* Neil Young, Stephen Stills and all three Nelson boys giving an emphatic affirmative to Young’s musical question: “Are there Any More Real Cowboys.”

* Snoop Dogg, with a gold mic and an unlit blunt in his hands, joining Willie for “Roll Me up and Smoke Me When I Die.”

* Willie’s strongest vocal performance, alongside Keith Richards - who sang better than he has in ages - on “We Had it All.” Bonus: Richards’ eye makeup was a gas, gas, gas.

The thing ended with every performer on stage for “On the Road Again” followed by everyone singing “Happy Birthday to You” with Willie singing along and emphasizing the word, ME.

There’s such a thing as too much and “Long Story Short” - a misnomer of the highest degree - has it. But with such a diverse guest list that spans generations and genres, it’s unlikely anyone other than the number-loving Willie Nelson himself would enjoy every number. And if Willie had a happy 90th, then it’s OK to spend an hour more than necessary in a theater to celebrate in his honor.

But it’ll be even better at home, with a real 4:20 break and a remote control equipped with a fast-forward button.

Grade card: “Long Story Short: Willie Nelson 90” - B

6/11/23

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dzpenumbra · 11 months

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5/23/23

Today wasn't half bad. Low key, as usual. Got sucked into RP streams again.

I did a short but very intense yoga routine today... that I actually had to tap out of and take a breather. My shoulder kinda collapsed on me. I was supposed to do a side plank after a bunch of other plank-related stuff and it just... wouldn't hold. And that hasn't happened in a while. I'm not surprised, and I didn't really kick myself over it. It was just a bump in the road.

I've been getting more and more out of shape, and I don't feel like I can keep up with it. I'm frustrated about it because of how foreign it is to me. I've never had to deal with this, and... honestly, it's the fatigue that gets me. I have a lot of active exercise things I love to do. But I can't get myself to do them when I'm sleep deprived or depressed. And... that's a very chronic issue. So yeah, that's just something that haunts me and gets under my skin.

I'm gonna get to bed early tonight. Like... really soon. Just reminding myself to keep this short. I am tired, so I need to take advantage of that and use that momentum to inch my bedtime back. This 7AM shit just doesn't work. For some reason... 5AM and 7AM look the same for me as bedtimes. Like... both are way too late. By that, I mean the difference between 3AM and 5AM seems much bigger than 5AM and 7AM. Because once the sun comes up... it's just like... whatever. So... my goal is to be in bed and ready to sleep before 5. So... I'll keep this brief.

I added thin layers of Mod Podge to the yellow beads today. They look really good, actually. I think if I do thin layers, I don't have to sand them, really. Though... I'm not sure if it really evens out with how long I spend working on them. I'll see. But yeah, progress there. And I got myself to go out for a walk. I went out at like 8PM. It was well into sunset, I skipped the shower and everything. My primary goal was to get gravel for my mini garden thing I wanted to make in the terracotta pot I got. I got anxious about it again. Twice.

I got to the gravel road and there was a dude walking his dog and on his phone. So I went the other way and looped around, hoping to give him enough time to pass in a different location. But he did the most half-assed walk I've ever seen, it was like 50 feet down the road and back, on his phone the whole time. That poor dog. :( I actually ended up passing him, he started walking really slowly. And I felt really self-conscious with the idea of passing him, then taking off my backpack, pulling out a ziplock bag and shoveling gravel into it with my hands. Call me crazy, that made me a bit insecure. So I went to the parking lot at the top of the path and pulled my phone out and watched the stream I was listening to... and pretended I was scrolling something. And when he passed by, I went back to the path and filled the bag.

In the end, I wasn't really that anxious about it, and I got it done. What did make me anxious was later when I was walking back to my building... there was a person standing in a corner next to where the path goes under the bridge... and it was like... a cliche scene from a movie where someone would mug you. And I was wearing my glasses, so I couldn't see any fucking details of this person at all. So I speed-walked under that damn bridge. But besides that, I wasn't really anxious at all.

In fact, I was pretty damn confident today. I woke up to a message from my therapist who apologized profusely for the late message that he promised me. He was going to send me some custom crafted affirmations - mantras, if you prefer that terminology - to help combat my reflexive anxiety. Because it seems like a lot of it surrounds... a lack of confidence, an inferiority complex trained into me by people around me most of my life. I read a post from someone on here recently, a heavy confessional one, that sounded a lot like that too. So... if you're out there... and you get the whole... feeling like a fraud and you'll never be a "real adult" and all that nonsense... you're not alone. In fact, anyone that grew up being taught these things... you're not alone. There is not one definition of success. And I promise you... I am telling myself this as much as I'm telling this to you... if you follow someone else's definition of success, you will with almost absolute certainty end up miserable and disappointed. I'm really sorry, it's dark, it's heavy, it's disorienting, I know... but it's true. If I - as an artist, musician and poet - took self-help advice from a Navy SEAL? I mean... I'm not saying there aren't things that I could retrofit to be useful in my life, I'm not saying there's nothing to learn; only a Sith deals in absolutes. I'm saying... if I... as an artist/musician/poet... follow the step-by-step plan on how to be a happy, successful, "productive" adult crafted by a Navy SEAL... I would be miserable. Even if I succeeded. Because I would be building a life I don't even want. I would be laboring and slaving away to build someone else's life, crafted around someone else's goals, interests and desires.

What's my point with this? Get to know yourself. And learn to love yourself. Get past the "that's lame" reflexes there and try to understand that you get one fucking ride on this chunk of rock hurtling through space, and do everything you can to pursue the life that you desire. However you can. I wish society was crafted with more focus on that rather than... basically industrialized farming people and turning them into laborers... Ugh, politics aside... Step 1 - get to know yourself, what you love, what you want to do, what makes you happy. Step 2 - work towards being that person as much as possible. That's what I'm advocating.

My day started with engaging my brain in a form of focused meditation through a mantra. "It is safe for me to be my authentic self." And yeah, after years... a lifetime, really... of having my authentic self either hidden, emotionally beaten or shamed... It often does not feel safe being my authentic self. And that is the world's biggest understatement - I have had panic attacks that felt like I would be burned at the stake at a witch trial for being myself. But what I haven't really been able to convince my subconscious of lately... is that... the primary person in my life that is currently holding me back from being my authentic self... is me. Out of fear. Out of anxiety. Out of insecurity. Out of self-protection.

But today... I did much better with it. I still don't feel safe... in general. Which is a thing. But I felt a lot better just being... myself. My authentic self. My true self. The Me that I am behind closed doors, the Me that is... here. I felt more okay laughing at jokes in the stream in my earbuds as I walked in public, and not being worried about judgmental people I may pass by. And it felt... much more like home. It reminded me of times in the past when I was much more shameless (in a good way).

This is going on longer than planned, but I wanted to mention one more thing that was directly related. I watched a streamer that I really respect... that has been RPing for like... a decade? Who has streamed a ridiculous amount in her life... I watched her have an anxiety attack. A real anxiety attack. Live, on stream, in front of thousands of viewers. Because her character, who is a Captain in the PD, was going in for a final interview for Chief of Police. And she was legit having very real anxiety about it, audibly, and narrating it. And the support and empathy coming from chat (myself included) was so unbelievably heartwarming! And she nailed it! I didn't see the other interviews so I have no idea if she got the job, but she... she really deserves it. I am so fucking emotionally invested in this server, good lord! XD

So yeah, big theme of like... combatting and overcoming anxiety today. At very least, confronting. And what I gave to her as advice? Because she was talking about physical symptoms. I said "your body is just sensing something potentially unsafe, it's a biophysical reaction, you're gonna be okay." Something like that, I don't have the direct quote. I found it interesting that... that is what I decided to say. I don't know. I've been so deeply convinced in the power of narrative and will and choice, trying to dismantle and navigate the conscious thoughts, which is a crucial part of all of it... but like... this part of the nervous system is super reflexive. And it takes time and deliberate work to train your subconscious mind that things like this are safe. That you can handle it. And confidence helps a ton with that.

Alright, enough therapy talk. My plan is pretty much out the window, but I can still get to bed earlier than usual. Good day today, we'll see what tomorrow has in store. Have a good night!

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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gravityknife · 1 year

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Adventures of The 144p Progenitor

Story #4

youtube

The Communications room was cold, like almost every other room in the station. Peter and Stavros stepped into the room, cautiously, feeling their anxiety levels fluctuating.

Peter's heart jumped when he received an incoming transmission signal on his radio-receiver—a device everyone in the crew had at their disposal. Peter pressed the communicator button on his earpiece to respond. He let the button go to gather his words, then quickly pressed it again to respond.

"Yeah?" Peter responded.

"Peter, it's Ka'eo," Ka'eo said. Peter's brain played a trick on him, causing him to think it was Mana speaking. The idea coursed in his brain that The Thing, Event Horizon, Alien, and other horror movies could potentially be real. He ignored his mind-stutter and recognized Ka'eo.

Ka'eo commanded, "You have to be more assertive. If I'm going to trust you with anything and the crew, you have to assert more, and maintain control like how you used to back in the day."

The reminder felt like a dim insult to Peter. "I thought I did," Peter said in the defensive, still under the stress of their mission.

"No, yeah, you did! Good job, in a way," Ka'eo stated in quick reflection.

"Okay, so?" Peter edged on.

Ka'eo swallowed then continued, "So, what I'm saying is that you aren't being assertive enough, because you're actually being more suggestive."

"I am? How am I being suggestive?" Peter soured.

"I need you to trust me. Give orders more firmly. The reason why I'm telling you this, if you're wondering, is because Mana and your brother are both going to lose their sh$t if I'm the only one who is confident on our missions," Ka'eo informed. "You get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Peter said, watching Stavros cross-check between a password notebook and the Communications mainframe.

"Is this going to lock me out in three attempts? Or— do I have an infinite amount of guesses?" Stavros droned toward Peter.

"Ka'eo, Stavro just asked if the computers here are going to lock up after three password attempts," Peter derailed on his comms.

"Affirmative," Ka'eo said. Then the sound of static and silence.

Peter passed the message on. "Ka'eo said 'yes.'"

Stavros double-checked, "After three attempts or I have infinity guesses?"

"You have three attempts," Peter confirmed. "Isn't it in the notebook?"

"I'm looking and there are like a million different f$cking passwords in here!" Stavros complained loudly.

"Use the one for the Communications computer," Peter suggested. Stavros felt he was speaking needlessly, not truly knowing what to do.

Stavros laughed. "What do you think I'm doing, Peter? I'm reading the passwords, all of the passwords in here, and they all correspond to the Communications mainframe," he stated in irritation.

"Isn't there just one password for this computer?" Asked Peter.

Stavros got annoyed with Peter's naivete. "Peter, look. Here, look at this!" He held up the notebook, dangling it in one hand by the corner.

The notebook showed Communications Array Mainframe at the top of the left page, and on both the left and right pages was a list of passwords, all the same length in characters. The passwords looked like randomly generated encryption keys.

Peter thought to himself f$ck we're going to have a problem here, and this is something Ka'eo would hate to hear about. He didn't want to radio in to Ka'eo, yet, hoping that he could fix the problem without complicating it. "Uhhh, Stavro. Sooo— what I want you to do is— check in all the drawers here for anything that we could use to get into these computers," he instructed.

Stavros cackled, mocking, "Yeah! I'll just start stealing from all the people that got eaten by that thing in the biology lab! That'll work! Millions of passwords for the same computer! Yeah!"

Peter refocused Stavros, instructing, "Stavro, then, if you can't find anything— I'll contact Ka'eo, and— we'll have to see, because if we get locked out of these computers, we're not going to find out anything." Peter chuckled with reluctance.

"Anything! Yeah!— I know!" Stavro yelled. He continued to mock the station's management team saying, "Who in the f$ck wrote the passwords like this? Do I enter the whole f$cking password, line for line, into the password box? Is that what they want me to do?!"

"Can it all fit into the password box? That might be what you have to do, Stavro," Peter wondered.

"I'll try," whined Stavros. "But look at all these f$cking random symbols! Whoever did this needs to have a lobotomy performed on them so they only remember their ABC's and 123's. I don't even know if some of these symbols actually exist, they look f$cking made up!" He sighed, looking dispassionately at the computer monitor, thinking to himself this is so f$cking dumb, I want to go home, I want to go back to the ship.

"Stavro, I know, just take your time and type it all in. See if it works," said Peter, hawking Stavros and the monitor. Peter was getting antsy, as well, feeling like time was running out while simultaneously feeling like time had already run out somehow. His morale was taking some hits from the cold, mildly discomforting, isolated room.

Peter was reminiscing on the times in academy when the classes were filled with forty to fifty students. He was remembering all the gorgeous women, blondes, brunettes, and their smiles. His memories were warm, though offset him into the depression of his current reality. He thought to himself I can get through this, I know I can, and I don't want to let my brother down, nor let down everyone else who helped me get to this position.

Stavros mumbled, "Peter, it only fits the first three passwords, what do I do?"

Peter exclaimed in bewilderment, "Sh$t, man! Are you kidding me?!"

"No," Stavros answered. "And why does Ka'eo even want us to gather this data if we aren't even going to come back to this station? Imagine we gain access and then all we find out is that nobody is here anymore because an alien forced everyone to leave!"

Peter nodded quickly and agreed, sighing in exhaustion. "Yeah. I know."

"No! This is stupid! All of us are going to die here because we wanted to extract data from a dead space colony! And all this computer is going to tell us is that everyone died or left!" Stavros rehashed, sounding more serious as he ranted on. "F$ck!"

Peter's radio squelched.

"Peter... Mana is gone," Ka'eo transmitted.

Peter's eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? Ka'eo, what do you mean Mana is gone?"

Stavros zoned in on the password request, but he couldn't help but hear Peter. "What?" Stavros asked weakly, turning from the computer monitor.

"I'm kidding, man," Ka'eo said. "I'm just kidding! I'm joking, he's alive, he's right here next to me," he soothed.

Mana could be heard laughing in the background of the transmission. Then he could faintly be heard saying: don't do that, Ka'el, you're going to make them have a panic attack. Following that was his kiddish laughter.

"He's doing— fine, he's doing okay. He's fine," Ka'eo said, holding in his laugh.

Mana yelled AAAUuuugghhlll and laughed again. In honesty, Mana was already beginning to feel the consequences of being so far away from civilization in space. He was feeling stir crazy. Ka'eo felt the same way, slightly.

Ka'eo transmitted, "Mana, turn on your music playlist. Peter, did you get what we want from this station, yet?"

Mana could be heard in the background saying no, Ka'el, I don't want that thing to hear anything loud.

"Did Mana die?" Asked Stavros to Peter, white in face. Peter tightened his lips so as not to smile, feeling slightly nauseous though somehow relieved.

"No, this— this f$cking bastard had the f$cking nerve to tell me that Mana was gone. He made it sound like he was dead. F$cking bastard," Peter chortled in a pout.

"Ohh," Stavros murmured, gulping. He paused, staring at Peter, then turned back to the computer monitor. He felt a mix of frustration, grief, relief, and confusion. "What the f$ck!"

"Did you hear that, Mana?" Ka'eo resumed.

Yeah, Mana could be heard saying. His snickering transmitted loud and clear. F$cking Ka'el Mana rhetorically jabbed, mockingly adding jeopardizing the f$cking mission to make jokes that nobody asked for!

"Nooo," Ka'eo pushed back.

#Youtube

0 notes

v-hope · 4 years

Text

With You

Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk x Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, College!AU, established relationship

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Although trying to fight it, Jeongguk can’t help but become insecure about your relationship after your ex best friend starts filling his head with lies about you and Taehyung, his best friend who you just so happened to be out with that day. Good thing is, you’re right there with him to reassure him you want him and only him.

—Alternatively, the one in which during a heated make out session you find out your boyfriend is a virgin, and decide to help him get himself off.

Warnings: Heavy making out, light body touching (?), dry humping, confident Guk and shy/awkward Guk keep switching places, handjob, blowjob. And yup, Guk’s (still) a virgin.

A/N: Helloo, this from part 28 of my Social Media AU ‘Tiger Flower’, but I guess you can still read it if you haven’t read the full story lol. So this was supposed to be a 2k drabble like the ones I always write but I got a bit carried away 🤡 I hope you enjoy! 💕 ALSO, someone asked me to bold the beginning and ending of the smut part(s), so if you don’t wanna read the smut just look for the bolded words and skip what’s in between lol.

Running his hands through his face as the elevator’s doors opened, Jeongguk started walking through the hallway to his place, head lowered as he absently looked in his pocket for the keys to the apartment.

The conversation he had with Sooyeon was still going through his mind over and over. Although he had managed to sound confident enough through the texts they had exchanged and he had put her in her place —along with blocking her ass just like he had wanted to ever since the first time she brought you up into the conversation—, he could not deny her words did hit home.

Taehyung was definition of your type. Outgoing, talkative, funny, handsome. The life of the party, in other words. Something he was not, and something he would never be, considering he did not show up to parties at all if it wasn’t because he was either forced to by his friends or because you would be there.

Taehyung could most definitely show you a good time, whereas he, on the other hand…

No, fuck that. You were dating him. He was your boyfriend. He, Jeon Jeongguk. That was all he could find comfort in.

Then again, you were not with him right then. You were somewhere else with Taehyung. As friends, but still. And then again, just like he had a high school crush on you and found himself falling all over again three years into college, so had you with Taehyung right before dating him. Would it really be that hard for you to fall for him a third time when the two of you were still so close?

He shook his head, as if trying to shake his thoughts away. Don’t let Sooyeon get to you, Y/N’s with you for a reason. Don’t let Sooyeon get t—

“Hey…”

Before his head could keep on torturing him, your voice brought him back out of his small trance, fixing his wide doe eyes on you for two seconds before he took in his surroundings, only then realising he had already reached his apartment’s door.

Staring back at you, his eyes lit up.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What… What are you doing here?”

You shifted nervously in your place. “You sounded kinda off through texts, so I just wanted to check up on you”.

He nodded quietly, fighting the huge smile that was threatening with forming on his lips.

Because you were there. With him.

“You didn’t, um…” his eyes travelled to the door for a second before they were back on you. “Joon-ie hyung didn’t open the door for you?”

A small laugh escaped your lips at the way his eyebrows had furrowed, ready to fight his roommate for leaving you waiting out there for God knows how long. “I didn’t call on the door” you explained, causing his eyebrows to knit further together in utter confusion. “I didn’t know if you wanted me here at all, so I thought I’d just wait outside in case you wanted to be alone and asked me to g—”

Your words were cut off by a sweet kiss being pressed to your lips. Although taken aback the first second, you smiled when he cupped your face to press his mouth deeper against yours.

“What was that for?” you smiled once he pulled away, eyes still closed as you felt his nose gently bumping yours.

“I’m just happy you’re here” he breathed contently.

“That’s good to hear” you sheepishly admitted, resting your hands on his chest. “I honestly thought you would ask me to leave”.

He shook his head no, pecking your lips before he pulled you into his arms. “Don’t be silly, you know I always want to be with you”.

You took in a shaky breath, feeling all the tension you had been building up until then leave your body for good, and then wrapping your arms tightly around him as well. “Yeah, but you sounde—”

“Shh,” he hushed you, pressing a brief kiss to your neck. “I want you here”.

You let out another laugh, not only because of how happy his words made you, but because of the way he later grabbed your face once again to start peppering kisses all over it.

“Yah, Jeon Jeongguk!” you called him out in between giggles. “We’re in the middle of the hallway”.

He laughed, pecking your lips one last time before he pulled away. You just didn’t know how much it meant to him having you there with him right then when he needed you the most.

Without another word, he took his keys out of his pocket, like he had intended to minutes ago, and finally opened the door.

Stopping in his tracks, he turned around to look at you with a raised brow. “You’re coming in, right?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, since you ask so nicely…”

Rolling his eyes at your overdramatic ways, he grabbed your hand, pulling you inside his place with him, not giving you time to even take a look around as he dragged you into his room.

“I don’t even get to say hi to Joon?” you teased as you closed the door behind you and he went to lie down on his bed.

“You can go say hi if you want” he replied simply, resting his weight on his elbows so he could properly look at you.

“Nah,” you shrugged, watching his nose scrunch up as his lips parted into a big smile when you started walking towards him. “I came to see you after all”.

“That you did” he contently affirmed, that being all he needed to let go of his intrusive thoughts.

Letting his back fall on the bed once again, he stretched his arm out on the mattress for you to go over there. Without another word, you crawled in bed with him, resting your head on his arm just like he wanted you to, scooting closer to him when his hand rested on your shoulder, and then resting yours on his chest.

“So how was work?” you tried to initiate small talk, tenderly running your fingers in circular motions from his chest to his abdomen.

The sigh that had escaped his mouth let you know not so well.

Work itself had been alright . What happened afterwards when he was heading home and Sooyeon texted him? Yeah, that had been shitty as hell.

“I blocked Sooyeon” he let you know.

Your head snapped up. “Hadn’t you already done that?”

“From Instagram, yeah” he nodded. “I blocked her phone number now. It can be a little awkward tomorrow when I see her but it’s the last day of filming, so I couldn’t care less”.

Although wanting to laugh —because, let’s be honest, that new piece of information could only bring you joy—, you ended up pouting in confusion.

“Something happened?”

“The usual,” he took in a deep breath. “She was talking shit”.

You nodded understandingly. Although wanting to know the details, you understood he didn’t really want to talk about it, for otherwise he would’ve told you by then. So, you said nothing, settling for pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder instead.

“Is that why you were upset?” you wondered.

Jeongguk stayed quiet, both in awe at how you could tell he wasn’t feeling his best just by a couple of texts, and once again upset at the conversation he had held with Sooyeon earlier that evening.

“Kinda” he tried to shrug it off.

You puckered your lips, stopping your soothing motions on his torso and resting your palm on it instead so you could support your body up as you looked for his chocolate eyes.

“Was it because I went out with Tae?”

The way his body had tensed was all the answer you needed. However, he surprised you by shaking his head no.

“It wasn’t… I mean,” he sighed, pushing his hair back with his hand. “You guys are friends, it’s okay”.

You stared at him intently. Maybe he claimed it didn’t bother him, but his eyes right then, which remained fixed on the ceiling instead of your concerned ones, told you otherwise.

Placing your hand on his arm and giving it a light squeeze, you leaned in to briefly press your lips to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” your sincere words managed to catch his attention. “I should’ve asked if you were okay with it”.

He shook his head no immediately, sitting up and resting his back on the headboard. “You don’t need to ask for my permission to meet up with people, petal”.

“I know, but,” you shrugged, sitting up as well by his side and focusing your eyes somewhere other than his. “Everything is still kind of recent, I should’ve been more considerate of your feelings. I’m just so used to hanging out with mostly guys that I forget I have a boyfriend now and you—”

You caught on the way he had —teasingly— raised up a questioning eyebrow, making you mentally go over the words you had just said and panic once you realised how wrongly you had worded them.

“Wait, no!” you tried to correct yourself immediately, as he could no longer hold his serious semblance and started laughing. “I don’t forget I have a boyfriend, I meant that I forget you might not be very fond of—yah!” you called him out when his laugh did no longer allow your words to be heard.

“I know what you meant, petal” he reassured you, grabbing your hand and gently running his thumb on the back of it. “You look so cute when you panic”.

“Aish, you’re so annoying” you crossed your arms over your chest.

Chuckling at your cute annoyance, he took advantage of your folded arms to pull you towards him by them, having you instinctively straddle his lap after his lips collided with yours.

“You’re really okay with it then?” you asked one last time, cupping his face as he opened his eyes; watching the way they smiled right before he nodded.

He trusted you. Both you and Taehyung. He really did.

He knew the two of you were just friends. After all, he had told Taehyung it was okay for him to hang out with you from time to time back when they had The Talk. And he was truly okay with it. It was just that he couldn’t help being insecure sometimes, and Sooyeon’s words had only managed to increase that feeling.

He needed some reassurance from you, that was all.

“Just…” he licked his lips as he tried to find the right words. “You want to be with me… right?”

You answered his question with a slow, lingering kiss. One that left him aching for more, lips slightly puckered when yours left their touch. “I’m with you for a reason, bun” you cooed. “I mean, I am your girlfriend after all, am I not?”

He smiled blissfully, still feeling a wave of heat run up his body whenever that word was mentioned in reference to you, as he was not quite used to it yet. “Don’t go forgetting I’m your boyfriend then”.

Just as a light laugh escaped your mouth at his mocking remark, he entangled his fingers in the hair at the back of your head to pull you back into his lips, resting one of his hands on your lower back as you wrapped your arms around his neck the way he loved it, slightly opening your mouth to give him easier access to it.

And maybe it was the loose fabric of the oversized hoodie of his you had kept and were wearing that day, that made it so easy for his hands reach for your naked body underneath, or maybe it was just the way he had been craving you for so long, what made him dig his hands inside of it without a second thought — fingertips hesitantly tracing your skin and thumbs drawing circles on your waist for a couple of seconds before they trailed all the way up to the hem of your bra, where they stopped in their tracks and travelled to your back instead, as he didn’t want to overstep any more boundaries than he already thought he had.

Earning a small protesting whine from him when your mouth let go of his, you surprised him by digging your own hands under your hoodie and grabbing his wrists, causing a shaky break to abandon his mouth when you placed his hands on your breasts, just like that, giving him the last little push he needed to do what he was dying to.

“You can touch me all you want” you managed to say a little out of breath, not having time to feel shy at your own words under his piercing stare before his mouth was once more smashing on yours.

Enjoying the spoken consent you had just given him, he wasted no time in cupping your breasts, smiling in between your kisses at the way they felt so perfect in his hands — imagining how much softer they would feel without the lacy fabric in the way.

Letting go of one of them, he placed his hand on your bare back to pull you closer against his chest, giving the one still in his hold a firm squeeze that had you moaning against his lips.

And right then, he felt something he had not quite felt before. It was the way he felt his blood boil and the way he wanted more. He wanted to hear more of that melodic sound. He wanted more of you.

Only, the next second, it was you the one making a raspy moan come out of his mouth, when you grinded against his lap, providing him the friction he didn’t know he needed so bad.

Removing one of his hands from underneath your hoodie, he cupped one of your cheeks to keep you steady as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, tongue tracing its outline so you would open up. Doing as he wanted, you felt his tongue pleasantly massage yours, deciding right then you also wanted to feel his bare skin against your fingertips, not letting any other second go by before your hands were already making their way inside his black sweatshirt, feeling goosebumps form on his skin as your faint touch inevitably tickled his abdomen.

Letting go of his mouth, you planted a kiss to his jaw before making your way down to his neck, getting a gasp out of his mouth when you started sucking at the sensitive skin.

With the intention of keeping you still on his lap as your hungry lips worked on his neck, he placed both of his hands on your hips — momentarily forgetting about his own strength and ending up pulling you down roughly enough for you to unintentionally rub once more against his already hardening member.

“Fuck” he rasped, feeling you smile agains his neck before you rolled your hips one more time just to get another moan out of him.

Not letting go of your hips, if anything grabbing them tighter, he turned both of you around so he could be in control now. With your head hitting the soft pillow, and still taken aback by his sudden actions, you allowed his needy lips to attack yours once more for a while before they peppered small kisses all their way down to your neck.

“Jeongguk” you moaned when he thrusted his hips against your center.

He smiled, loving the tone his name had just came out with from your pretty lips. Wanting more of it, he did it again, going back to your mouth right in time to muffle the moan that had just escaped your mouth, as you could not be anything other than grateful at the fact he had decided to wear a pair of dark joggers that particular day, allowing you to feel his stiff member with little to no restraints.

With one hand holding onto your hip and his other one making its way back inside your hoodie and up to your breasts, he cupped one of them — his thumb giving attention to your nipple by making circular motions over the thin fabric of your bra and having you bite your bottom lip to hold back a moan.

Losing yourself into his pleasant touch, you rested your hands over his back, wrapping your legs tight around his waist, pulling his hips once more into your center. A satisfied smile curved up your lips at the way he had to let go of your mouth and buried his face in the crook of your neck to muffle the quite loud moan that had just escaped his lips — thrusting into you one more time just as you rolled your hips up to meet him there.

Breathing heavily at the ongoing friction, you let your hands travel down to the waistband of his joggers so you could pull them down and feel him up.

And although for just a second, you felt his lips abandon the spot they had been teasing on your neck — an almost inaudible gasp escaping his mouth as his body tensed up.

That was all you needed to stop.

“What happened?” you worried.

“Nothing” he was quick to try and brush it off, going back to pepper wet kisses to your neck.

“No, Guk” you lightly pushed him off you, cupping his face in your hands so he had no choice but to look at you. “If you don’t want t—”

“I want to” he stated before you could even finish your sentence.

Fuck, he wanted to.

“Then?”

Jeongguk sighed in defeat, managing to break free from your hold and letting his forehead fall to your shoulder. “It’s embarrassing…”

Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding where he was trying to go with this at all. “You can trust me”.

He took in a deep breath. He knew he could trust you. He knew you would never make fun of him for such a thing. However, to him, his lack of experience, especially since you did have some of it, could only be something he felt insecure about.

“Bun…” you tried to reassure him, wrapping your arms around him and planting kiss after kiss to the side of his head.

“I’ve never…” his voice came out muffled as he spoke against your shoulder, making it harder for you to hear.

“What?”

“I’ve never had...” he spoke louder this time. “You know…”

He found delusional how hard it was for him to admit it. He had never really minded, to be honest. Whenever his friends teased him because of it he would just brush it off. It wasn’t that he was not interested in having sex, he was a young man with many needs after all. And it wasn’t that he didn’t feel ready either —or well, that until that evening, because it was fair to say he was freaking out now that it was you the one he was about to be with—. It was just that no one had ever caught his attention the way you had. There was never someone he felt the need to have this kind of intimacy with, until you.

That’s why, unlike with his friends, he did mind when it came to you. It was hard for him to admit it to you because, although he knew you’d understand, you could always be disappointed at his lack of experience, and it was precisely not being good enough for you what worried him the most, what had made him hesitate before.

“You’ve never… had sex?” you softly finished for him.

He nodded shamefully, and for a good couple of seconds you couldn’t believe him. Yes, he had told you once he had never been on a date, but dates are different than sex. For starters, you didn’t need to really talk during sex, which was what you knew troubled him the most about dates and just meeting people in general. Besides, with a guy as handsome as Jeongguk, you had been positive he must’ve been with someone at least once.

However, opposite to the disappointed reaction he thought you would have, he found himself relaxing under your touch when you pressed a kiss to his head.

“Gotta say I can’t believe and am kinda disappointed that no one ever tried to jump your bones before” your bold words had him laughing in a second, pinching one of your sides to call you out on them. “Seriously, bun. I mean, look at you!”

“Shut up” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment.

You chuckled, gently shoving his face with your shoulder to let him know you wanted him to look at you, making him feel at ease just by seeing the smile on your lips once he did as told. “It’s okay”.

“It is?” his voice came out uncertain.

You nodded, cupping his face. “Of course it is. I’ll wait for as long as you want me to”.

“But I want to” he pointed out embarrassingly fast, earning a light laugh from you.

“Then I’ll just wait until the moment’s right and you feel like going through with it without hesitating” you kissed his pink lips briefly — as if on cue, your heads snapping to the next room after hearing Namjoon drop something and cursing at it. “And until we’re alone and won’t risk being heard by our roommates, maybe”.

Jeongguk laughed at your last addition, leaning in to peck your lips three times. “I like the sound of that” he smiled, only for it to be erased when his eyes instinctively went down to the problem he had just been left with inside his pants. “I should probably, um…”

Your eyes followed his as they glanced down to his still hardened length. You had been too caught up on kissing him before to pay attention to it. But now, watching the outline of his erection poking through his sweatpants, you found yourself wanting more of him all over again.

“I can help you with that if you want” you couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth, having his attentive eyes lock with yours in a second. “We don’t need to have sex for that”.

Jeongguk licked his lips, deep in thought over something he already knew the answer to. “Don’t feel like you have to...”

“I want to” you stated.

Simple as that, he found himself nodding — your determined eyes being the last push he needed to let go of the shyness he had suddenly been filled with and just give in to what he wanted, to what he needed.

With a smile curving up your lips, you gently stole a kiss from his mouth, sweetly pecking it a couple of times before you finally sucked on his bottom lip — a muffled moan coming out of his mouth when you gave it a teasing bite right as your hand palmed him over his pants.

“You have to be quiet” you reminded him with a light laugh. And for a second there you were kinda glad it wasn’t you the one on the receiving side, for you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it down either at all.

Not being able to say anything in reply, he just nodded — a pretty eager nod that seemed more like one to move on from the topic already than one of agreement. Nevertheless, you had no intentions of stopping, (un)luckily for him.

Pressing another kiss to his swollen lips, you fidgeted with the waistband of his joggers just like you had intended to before. This time, he didn’t tense up, and you took that as your green light before you dug your hand in them.

“M—Fuck” he mewled when you took a hold of his cock, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you guided it out of his clothes.

Letting go of it for a second, you helped him on his back so you could sit up into a more comfortable position before wrapping your hand around it again, and right then you could’ve sworn you would never get tired of the pretty sounds that escaped his lips every time you touched him.

Gently, as you were just then discovering what it was he enjoyed the most, you started giving him a few pumps, trying to find the right pace for him and his needs.

“Baby, fuck” he breathed out, leaning his head deeper againt the pillow as he looked for some kind of support.

And it was the way he faintly thrusted his hips up into your hand, what let you know he was craving more. Not having to think twice, you sped up the pace of the way your hand moved up and down his length, tightening your hold on it just a little bit more.

“Mm… Just like that,” he let you know softly, as if suddenly remembering about the whole being-quiet-thing. “Just like that”.

“Feels good?” you wondered, enjoying the view of his furrowed eyebrows and closed eyes as he gave in to your touch.

“So good” he agreed.

Licking your lips, you stared down at his hard cock in your hand, giving it one last pump before your thumb slowly spread his precum over its tip.

“You alright with just my hand?” you asked and he was nodding before you could finish the question, which made you wonder if he had even heard it at all or was immersed enough in his own pleasure to agree to anything. “Or would you enjoy my mouth being wrapped around you better?”

His eyes opened as soon as the word ‘mouth’ was on the table, studying your face for a couple of seconds to make sure you were not playing with him in his vulnerable state. At the sight of your lustful eyes on him, however, he knew you were indeed very serious. And he’d be damned if he ever turned down such an offer.

“I want your mouth” although determined, his voice came out shakily.

Nevertheless, you were willing to comply with his wishes.

Jeongguk was on the edge of losing it when he saw you smile and make your hair out of the way right before you leaned down, removing your thumb from the tip of his cock so you could replace it with your tongue instead — a hiss escaping his mouth when you licked the traces of the precum you had just spreaded over it.

Giving him two small pumps, you allowed yourself to take him in your mouth; far from being able to take his entire length, yet enough for his body to tremble out of utter pleasure.

“Y/N…” he whimpered, fingers entangling in your hair as he desperately tried to control the overwhelming pleasure your wet mouth and tight lips wrapped around his cock were giving him.

Not once had he ever felt this good before, both your hand and mouth taking him places his hand alone could’ve never taken him to. And he was afraid he would come in your mouth anytime by then.

Pulling it out of your mouth, you threw him a small glance before you carried on — your tongue tracing all the way from the base to the tip, hearing him moan when you took him in your mouth a second time.

“Fuck, baby, you—ah,” he moaned when you swirled your tongue over his tip. “You feel so good”.

Enjoying way too much being the reason behind how good he was feeling, you decided to do him a favour and push him closer to his release for once and for all.

Slightly tightening your hold on him, you started once again moving your hand up and down his length, switching between the ministrations both your hand and mouth were applying on it, and knowing you were driving him over the edge when his hold on your hair tightened and his body trembled ever so slightly.

“Y/N…” he panted. “F-Fuck, I’m—”

His words were cut off by the heavy breath he had to take when you gave him one last particular pump, trying his best to hold on. Noticing that, you gave one of his thighs a squeeze to let him know it was okay for him to let go. And he was so desperate to reach his high right then, that your small gesture alone was all he needed to do so.

Closing his eyes, he found himself having to cover his mouth with his arm not to be too loud when his orgasm hit, feeling his warm release spreading into your mouth. Moving his hand up to cover his eyes as he came down from his high, letting himself get lost in the aftershocks of it, he missed the way you tasted his release in your mouth.

Cleaning the small stains of it left on the tip of his member, you adjusted it back inside his pants and went to lie down next to him, smiling adoringly at the way his chest moved up and down as he tried to catch his breath and tenderly removing his arm from his face, having his eyes find yours in a second.

“Was that okay?” you asked, softly removing a few strands of hair that had gotten stuck to his slightly sweaty forehead.

Jeongguk smiled incredulously, gently running his fingers through your hair to try and fix the mess he had made on it. “You even have to ask?”

And somehow that was all you needed to hear for the heat to reach your face, suddenly feeling shy at what you had just done.

Catching up on that, he pulled you into his arms, pressing a couple of kisses to your cheek before moving them to your mouth, where they remained for a little longer.

“You’re amazing” he said truthfully — the way he had said it, letting you know he did not just mean it when it came to sucking him off.

You smiled wholeheartedly. “Yah, don’t” your eyes focused somewhere else, feeling your face burn.

Jeongguk smiled sweetly, managing to draw your attention back to him by ever so tenderly caressing your cheek. Fuck, he loved you. And right then, with your eyes looking at him in a way he thought they had never when you were just friends, although unspoken, delusional even, he really felt like maybe you felt the same, too.

Tilting your face up just enough, he connected his lips with yours for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. “I’ll be good to you, too”.

You chuckled, loving the idea of it and kissing him briefly to let him know you did. You knew he would.

“When we’re alone, though. I won’t have Joon hear from me what he probably just heard from you”.

Jeongguk laughed, deciding to say nothing and instead pull you tightly into his chest and rest his chin on your head. And although he knew he might never hear the end of it from his friends, for once, he did not care what the rest had to either think or say.

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spilledkauffie · 3 years

Text

Meet Cute

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x DogMom!Reader Word Count: 1.8k T/W: fluffyyyy A/N: I know it’s a trope, but I love it!

Can you imagine Bucky with a puppy?!?!

Managing six dogs at once wasn’t exactly easy, but you did it rather gracefully, at least most of the time. Today however, you fumbled with your keys at your apartment door when two dogs suddenly, and swiftly wrapped around you, pulling opposite directions. With a small shocked squeak at being squeezed, you accidentally dropped both your keys and a leash, one out of six wasn’t bad, but it was still a loose puppy, trotting around the apartment hall like he owned the place.

“Peanut!” You yelled out of sheer concern as the baby dachshund gallivanted towards the stairs, as if it were his prison break at last, “Peanut, sweetie, come here!” You called again, eyebrows furrowing during your attempt to untwist the other leashed from around you, as he got closer and closer to that first step which was far too steep for him to comfortably and safely make wihtout tumbling down the rest.

You watched in sheer panic as his short stout front legs took the leap of faith with ears flying freely in the air like he was Dumbo. You anticipated the little yelp that would absolutely break your heart— Thankfully there was a soft landing platform neither of you had prepared for. Underneath Peanut appeared two hands covered in black gloves. The small dog fit perfectly in the hands as he wagged his tail, beyond proud of the heart attack he nearly gave you. Sighing, you leaned into the door of your apartment for support.

“Whoa there,” the saviour said, bringing the pup up with him as he stood, having had to dip to catch the pup on the stairs, after glancing at the shining silver bone shaped name tag he met the dog’s eye line, “Peanut, was it?”

As the stranger made his way up the last few steps, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. While you didn’t know him personally, you had seen him around the apartment complex before. Heart still pounding, you shook your head at the pup who was plenty happy in the hands of his rescuer.

“Peanut Butter Brittle Biscuit,” you full named the dog, causing him to tuck his tail, still wagging it though. Setting your hand, which was still being tugged on by the other five other dogs, on your hip, “you know better than to just run into strangers, it's rude.”

“Well, Peanut,” he looked to the pup in all seriousness, “I’m Bucky. There, we aren’t strangers anymore,” he affirmed, shaking the dogs tiny little paw gently, “and so we’re not strangers,” he looked to you, “I’m Bucky, and you are?” You smiled at his flirty tone, “unless you’d like to go by 4C? Keep it professional?”

“Four- C?” You gave a puzzled look.

Bucky pointed above and behind your head, with the hand he was not literally cradling Peanut with. Quickly glancing you realized it was your apartment number. Now feeling a flush of embarrassment, you took a moment to face him again, squeezing your eyes closed.

“Oh yeah,” you nervously laughed, before giving him your name as well, you liked the way he repeated it to himself, “and you’re 2E, right?”

“Do we know each other?” he asked, tilting his head with a smirk.

“Oh no, I just, sometimes I see Yori go down there, and- I’m not stalking you, I promise,” you frantically explained, waving your hand, wrapped in dog leashes.

“No,” Bucky smiled, letting you know that was not what he was thinking, “I think I’d hear you if you were though,” he looked down and around at the literal pack of dogs sitting and standing around you. The pack ranged from a German Shepherd to a Golden Retriever to a Dachshund to a Pomeranian to a Corgi to, lastly, a dopey Great Dane.

“Most definitely,” you laughed, trying to calm your nerves, “we’re not the most graceful bunch, you had a display of that just a moment ago, which thank you so, so much.” You placed your hand over your chest, as an expression of relief.

“No problem,” he said with a sincere nod and smile, petting back the dog’s ears, “looks like Peanut here is a real daredevil.”

“You have no idea,” you glanced at the puppy, “he’s a troublemaker and thinks he’s invincible.”

With that Peanut interjected giving the most babyish attempt at a deep roo, sassily from where Bucky held him still.

“Talker too, huh?” Bucky gave a shocked glance at the Dachshund who was still resting comfortably with his chest being cradled by Bucky's hand.

“Yeah, well we’re 40 minutes late to D I N N E R,” you spelled out the last word in a whisper, “Fridays are always long days,” you gestured around you to the bigger dogs with toys covered in drool, they just stared up at you, sighing you collected yourself, “they’re park days.”

“Ohh, I see,” Bucky nodded, “I'd hate to keep you any longer then.”

With a soft ‘okay’ and a smile, you held your hands out to take Peanut back. There was a brief moment in the exchange where your hands touched his and he gave a ‘sorry’ knowing it was probably cold against your skin. As Peanut hovered with both your hands on his chubby little sides. Your Dane tugged one way again, while the Retriever was determined to go the other, pulling you and Bucky closer together. Practically chest to chest, save Peanut being the barrier between the two of you.

“Oh my gosh,” you whispered, looking down immediately, even though there was hardly room between you two to do so, literally feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you closed your eyes, “this is not happening.”

“I’ve been in worse situations,” Bucky remarked cooly, keeping his gaze focused on you, finding it surprisingly cute at how flustered you were around him. It’d been a long time since he had felt someone had real genuine human emotions regarding him.

Neither of you took your hands away from the other’s. Standing there you bit in your lip, calming your rising pulse as you were now close enough to smell his cologne.

“I’m-” you started, finally looking up, “so sorry.”

“It’s really okay,” Bucky chuckled, not wanting you to feel as worried as you were, but you just knit your brows together and gave another apologetic look, “honestly, I could- I could do this all day.” There was a pause, then you smiled, ducking your head to hide your face against Peanut who was really becoming a star matchmaker, “I think Peanut and I are going to be very good friends by the end of this.”

Lifting your head with a nod, you sighed, stroking the pup’s ear, for a moment before you guided the other dogs around to give you some more space. Bucky respectfully took a step back, somehow still holding Peanut after all that. You opened your apartment door and the dogs rushed in, you let each leash fall off your hand as they entered. You said their name with each one to keep track of them.

“And lastly,” you exhaled, reaching your arms out again for the troublemaker of whom Bucky surrendered, though he was getting fairly fond of him, “well, at least let me invite you in? Have a drink on me? Something?”

“That’d be great,” Bucky said, gesturing for you to lead the way.

Once you were both in and Bucky shut the door behind him, you let Peanut loose and immediately he ran to his dinner bowl, waiting in anticipation. Offering Bucky to sit at the bar, you set two cold bottles on top of the counter, but before you joined him you got out six dog bowls, making him smile.

“How long have you had them?” Bucky asked, opening his bottle relaxedly with his hand.

“They vary, some for years, but the most recent,” you nodded to Peanut, “only a few months.”

“So uh, why so many?” Bucky inquired.

You squeezed your shoulders up, looking around at all of them, “they needed a home,” you said, soft smile, “each of them came from a broken place, of hurt and pain. That’s all they knew before I took them in, and,” you shook your head smiling wider, looking over to Bucky, “if I could be a part of their healing, I knew I had to be. I can’t think of leaving something to suffer if there’s something that can be done to help.”

“That’s-” Bucky looked to the floor as you rounded the counter, to sit next to him on another bar stool, having just set all the bowls down, “that’s a really great mindset.”

“What about you?” you took a sip, “any pets?”

He swallowed shaking his head, “no, I have a weird work schedule,” he squinted at his own reasoning, hoping it didn’t sound too dumb.

“Oh gotcha,” you nodded, before gesturing with the top of the bottle, “well Rodgers seems to like you.”

Your gesture drew Bucky to look down, sure enough set atop his thigh was your German Shepherd's head, looking up with big eyes and slowly wagging his tail. Bucky pet the dog’s ear, “Rodgers?”

“Yeah, you know after Captain America? He’s ex-military himself so I thought it was fitting,” you bent down to pet the dog yourself.

There was a quietness, Bucky looked away from the dogs and you for a moment. Biting the inside of his lip he felt something he hadn’t in a long time, though he tried to repress it. A part of him felt it was a sign, another part of him told himself to ignore it. Takin another swig, he made his choice

“Hey, if you ever. . . need help with them, I’m,” he hesitated, “I’m usually free Fridays, or- park days.”

“I’d love that,” you smiled leaning back up, “how bout I get your number so we can plan a da-,” you quickly changed your sentence, “a park day.”

While you got up to grab your phone, he flipped open his, seeing the very few contacts and the messages from only one person. Wincing he was a little nervous, this meant opening up. You returned, asking for his number, to which he willingly gave you. Finishing the drinks he said he really should head home, you completely understood, already surprised that he stuck around that long after the incident earlier.

With casual goodbyes, you shut your door and he headed back downstairs. Taking his gloves off, he suddenly felt his phone vibrate. Sitting on his couch he took it out of his pocket. Seeing your name pop up with a “hi 4C here, texting you like I said I would” and a smiley face with a dog emoji made him smile to himself.

He opened it-- it was time to start answering messages, it was time he found his healing.

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dancingamongstdust · 3 years

Text

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 3)

All Might

There was an ache in your shoulder despite the painkillers. It was persistent, a constant reminder that your time in U.A. was beginning to lower your reaction speed. Perhaps you should consider returning to a full-time career in the hero world instead of taking random jobs here and there.

Sighing, you finished up with your costume and opened the door to find none other than Principle Nezu waiting for you.

“Great timing!” he chirped. “I was about to come and tell you that you’ll be sharing your second-year physical training class today.”

“The class that begins in twenty minutes?”

“That very one. When I found out that you had injured yourself, I thought that it would be best for you to take on an assistant of sort.” Nezu hummed softly to himself, as if wondering if he should continue. “And perhaps it will be a good experience for Toshinori to see how one can balance their time.”

You chuckled, catching onto the principle’s plan. “I don’t think a hero of All Might’s stature would have anything to learn from somebody like me.”

“There’s no doubt that he’s the better hero –“

“You could put that more nicely.”

“But you have far more experience teaching,” Nezu finished. “You take it easy to ensure your continued health and even though you whine about your lack of excitement, you never go out and chase it.”

That was true. Every year, you told the principle that you would be quitting and each time, he would laugh and tell you that you never would. You blamed the students. They were way too easy to get attached to.

All Might was waiting at the training grounds, his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. The latter looked almost painted on. He absolutely towered over you, seemingly taller in person.

“We haven’t met properly before,” you said, giving your name. “But may I just say that I have endless respect for your heroic accomplishments.”

He laughed proudly. “Thank you. Nezu says that you got injured during a fight with a villain, is everything alright?”

There was something about his voice that you didn’t quite like. It just sounded so patently fake. Perhaps that was why you hadn’t been surprised when the news about his true form was shared amongst the faculty. It seemed to you that it should have been a given. Nobody spoke like he did in their day to day lives.

“It’s a shoulder injury,” you said. “In a similar line, you can drop the All Might moniker for a short while if you want. This class is incapable of arriving less than ten minutes late.”

“That’s alright! I’m sure this is a far more useful form.”

“Suit yourself,” you said with a nod. You rolled your shoulder and winced. “I’m going to need to have you taking over the majority of the hands-on training if that’s alright with you? If I push myself now, I’m just going to do more damage to the muscles.”

All Might gave an affirmative and then pondered your words. It was unsurprising when he seemingly vanished into a cloud of smoke, dropping the vast majority of his muscles and showing a far-more human façade.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he acknowledged. “Some rest before teaching would be easier on my injuries.”

You smiled. “The last thing you want to do is let these students think they’re strong enough to take you on just yet. Don’t need that going to their heads.”

Endeavor

It was an accident that led to your first encounter with the recently elected number one hero. And it had mostly been as a result of a very long day filled with endless bad luck.

You had been walking through the parking garage after having coffee spilled on you, losing your keys, and nearly breaking your ankle when an escalator stopped working. It was overall an awful day. And it was about to get even worse.

It must have been as a result of some kind of villain but the exact situation escaped you. All that you knew was that somebody got thrown from out of nowhere. They flew into one of the pillars and cracked it. You jumped and immediately rushed over to them. It was only once you were right beside him that you realised the fire was part of him.

“You’re Endeavor…” you breathed. “Are you alright?”

The hero stood, clearly shaken. A deep scowl covered his face. He was much, much taller than you had thought he would ever be. “Get out of here before you get hurt.”

Before either of you could do anything else though, the ground seemed to tremble, much like an earthquake. You looked up wearily. This was the ground floor so it wasn’t like you could fall through anywhere.

And then the ceiling started to crumble.

You barely had time to react, just screwing your eyes shut and hoping for the best. A wave of heat washed over you. Dust filled your lungs and you coughed as all around you, a cacophony of collapsing rubble filled the air.

An unnatural silence took over.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. It was far too dark with a flickering light illuminating a large cavern of rubble held up by a few of the pillars that were still standing. Powder swirled around you, filling your lungs and making you cough heavily. Then you noticed the reason that you hadn’t gotten so much as a scratch.

Endeavor stood over you, shielding you entirely. He showed no visible discomfort but as you stared, you realised that part of his suit had been ripped and blood trickled down his side.

A few seconds passed and he moved away. In the tight space, he was unable to even stand straight. “Damn it,” he cursed. “There’s no way that Hawks can move any of this nonsense. We’re going to be stuck here until rescue teams arrive.”

You sunk down slowly, sitting against something sharp and putting your hand over your mouth. “I’m going to die,” you whispered. “There’s no air here…”

“Don’t be dramatic,” the pro-hero snapped. “We have plenty of time before the air runs out. If it was just me, I could blast through here in no time.”

“Why can’t you?”

He stared at you as though you were stupid. “Either I would risk bringing the rest of this concrete down on your head or you would stand too close and get burnt. Somehow, I don’t think you would prefer either of those options.”

You shook your head and tried to hold back tears. This day had been worse than any other in your life. Should you call your family and friends? Was it worth worrying them just to hear their voices? Endeavor didn’t seem worried so maybe you should just trust that you would get out and everything would be fine. Or maybe you would die and –

Your thoughts were cut off by him suddenly appearing in front of you. “Relax,” he said. “If you panic, you’re just going to make the entire situation worse.”

“We’re trapped under concrete,” you said. “We could die.”

“You’re not going to die. Now stop being pathetic and find a way to occupy yourself that doesn’t cause a panic attack.”

You swallowed and took a deep breath. “Alright. Alright.”

He nodded, moving considerably further away and then his flames flickered off. And that was your first meeting with Endeavor. Surprisingly, you ended up speaking until you were rescued.

Eraserhead

It had all begun years ago.

You remembered distinctly how you had been sitting in the garden and watching the bees happily buzz past. It was a warm day with a slight saltiness to the air. A perfect time to enjoy the summer as though you had no worries in the world.

Conversation filled the air and you perked up, recognising one of the voices. You had only managed to stand up when a blur of blue hair slammed into your side, pulling you into a tight hug with a happy shout of your name. Laughter filled the air as you nearly fell, unable to even hug back.

“Oboro!” you giggled. “I thought you were only getting back next week!”

He finally let you go and shot you a smile that made the sun look dim. “I was but then my parents said my friends could stay over! Come meet them.”

Oboro had been your closest friend for years but since going to U.A., you had seen less and less of him. That wasn’t to say that you hadn’t kept in contact of course but you missed him greatly.

His friends were… not what you expected.

The exceptionally loud blond was Hizashi Yamada and his quirk was volume-based. He greeted you with a booming shout, apparently having been told about you several times before arriving.

But Shota Aizawa interested you far more. He didn’t speak much and you never did find out his quirk when you were younger. When you’d asked why he wanted to be a hero, he just told you that he liked it. The rest of the week, you developed a bit of a crush on him and spent most of your time trying to impress him.

When the week ended, you didn’t see him again for a very long time and the next time you saw him, it was under circumstances you had never even imagined.

You were wearing a veil to hide your face. There was no dramatic rain or dark thunder on the day of the funeral. Rather fittingly, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. You liked to imagine that was Oboro’s final gift. A beautiful day to celebrate him.

Yamada had put his hand on your shoulder, subdued and quiet for the first time. He was a pro-hero now and you often saw his face on magazines.

Soon, he left to speak to others and you remained by the grave with only one other.

“Being a hero is more dangerous than I ever thought,” you said, not sure why you were speaking but feeling the urge to regardless. “You and Yamada have to stay as safe as you can, alright? He would want that.”

Aizawa glared at you from the corner of his eye. “How would you know that?”

“Because you were the most important people in the world to him,” you said. “Of course that’s what he would want.”

Aizawa didn’t speak anymore but after a while, he turned to leave. Before going, he paused and looked as though he wanted to say or do something. You met his gaze. It felt as though he could see straight through your veil, revealing the tears that streaked your face. The atmosphere wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just sad.

Still, standing there and just existing helped you to remember the loss wasn’t just your own. When Aizawa left, you turned back to Oboro’s gravestone feeling less alone in the world.

You were going to miss him like hell but you wouldn’t be remembering him by yourself.

Fatgum

As a solitary and underground hero, it was quite rare that you were contacted for big jobs. Rarer still that you took them instead of passing them on.

But something was different about this time.

This time, you had a personal vendetta drawing you to one of your least-favourite jobs – working with other heroes. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them but many weren’t in it for actually helping people. That put a bad taste in your mouth.

The job wasn’t technically being led by you purely because the information had come through a larger agency. They hadn’t wanted to pass it off to you alone so now you were sitting in the briefing room, listening to them going over everything that your investigations had revealed. No credit given, of course.

You stood toward the end and offered a simple warning. The villain that you were after had little concern about causing collateral. If anything, he relished in it. Your warning was primarily targeted at some of the heroes whom you knew dealt more with casual villains.

Many of them got overwhelmed when they came up against drug dealers and sex traffickers instead of pickpockets.

And then everybody dispersed, each having their own orders about how they would contribute to a safe arrest.

Leaving you alone. At least, you thought you were alone until somebody spoke behind you.

“Do you know what always calms me down? Taiyaki.”

You startled, though you didn’t let it become noticeable. Instead you turned to find yourself absolutely dwarfed by the BMI hero, Fatgum. Somebody you had always known about but never gotten a chance to meet.

“Do I really look that stressed?” you enquired.

He chuckled. “Not to be rude, but you definitely do.”

You sighed and looked at the documents in your hands. It was probably best that you didn’t have a mirror on you. “I’m worried about this case,” you said. “This guy has slipped through my hands a few too many times.”

Fatgum nodded. “I know how that feels but don’t worry too much. Everybody here is a capable hero and together, we’ll get him for sure.”

You raised an eyebrow. Perhaps a few were capable but not everybody.

“You’re too cynical,” he reprimanded though there was little malice to his words. “You should try to trust the rest of us. At least for long enough to get a little sleep.”

You reached up and touched the bags that had formed under your eyes. “Thank you for your concern but I’ll be perfectly fine.” You shoved the documents into a small bag and slung it over your shoulder. Once you dropped them off at home, you could head back out and see if anything had popped up.

“It’s still pretty early,” Fatgum mused. “What are your plans?”

“I’m going to go and see if any of my sources have found new information.”

“Uwabami was meant to be doing that tonight accourding to the schedule,” he pointed out. “But you’re probably not going to be taking the night off. Why don’t you join me for my patrol? You can keep an ear to the ground and also not continue exhausting yourself.”

Sighing, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “We hardly know each other. Why are you so worried about me?”

He shrugged. “Too many heroes drive themselves crazy with this kind of stuff. Come on. My work study students are great, you’ll love them both.”

There was a reason that you didn’t take any of those on but admittedly his two students were entertaining.

Gang Orca

It was all for the sake of the cameras.

You had to remember that when you were getting up before the sun rose. Everything had to be absolutely perfect about your appearance. If it wasn’t then your little ruse would be seen through by every reporter with half a braincell.

Then you had to get to the setup site and speak with the marketing team secretly. You stood with the team leader to one side, discussing everything like old friends over a cup of coffee.

“Essentially, what we’re looking for is a very breathless and awe-struck victim,” he explained to you. “When you speak to the media, try and make it like you never even thought of Gang Orca much before but now his rescue has made him into your favourite. We’re trying to build a greater trust with the public especially amongst children.”

You pulled a face. “I don’t much like working with kids but for a small increase, I can become quite the lover of them for a short while.”

The guy smiled. “You’re one of the best, otherwise I wouldn’t have hired you. You can get your increase.”

“Thank you. Now let’s get to work.”

You made your way to the ‘accident’ site. The costume team ripped your shirt and you had some fake blood dotted around your head. Nothing to make your injuries too severe but enough for some pity.

And then you climbed under the wreck and waited.

Approved photographers snapped their pictures as you were rescued from your metal prison by the tall Gang Orca. His strength alone was enough to pull the door free. He held his hand out to you while using his other to lift the car high enough to help you out. You made a show of crawling free and then stumbling a little.

With one hand on your head, you leaned against him and stared up with a grateful expression. Cameras flashed and he checked the wreck once more before leading you away for ‘medical treatment’.

Once out of view of the media circus, you straightened and wiped some of the fake blood away from your mouth. “Thank you for the rescue,” you said.

Gang Orca didn’t seem very happy about it at all. It was good that his hero image didn’t need too many smiles.

“I’m going to guess that this wasn’t really your idea?”

He sighed. “No. I don’t like the need to fake rescues when there are real people who should be getting help from a hero.”

“But those people aren’t getting paid to better the public’s opinion of you,” you said. “Twenty minutes here can be what knocks you off lists like ‘scariest heroes’ and similar stuff. That way, you get even more opportunities to save people.”

You couldn’t tell if he was grimacing or not but he definitely appeared to be. It made sense. While some heroes relished in the easier work, many didn’t like the media part of their jobs.

“If you’re happy with it, I’d like your autograph,” you said. “It’ll help me sell the whole situation a lot easier.”

“Alright.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t have a warm opinion of the media either,” you said. “They’re vultures who benefit from the fall of good heroes. What I, and others, do helps stop the best from being sidelined just because they’re intimidating or unmarketable. You’re in this for the right reason but the news organisations don’t care about that.”

He sighed deeply. “It’s unfortunate that you’re right. Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to be happy with these kinds of arrangements.”

“Few people are.”

Hawks

Being a photographer was competitive work, especially in a world where people could have quirks allowing them to grow cameras from their bodies.

You had to go the extra mile in order to compete with them and carve out a name for yourself. Either you had to be there first or you had to see something that nobody else did. A good intuition never led you astray.

And so, when you found yourself walking down the right street late one afternoon, you just knew that it was time to take out your camera.

The event was nothing catastrophic. Indeed, it seemed that the main danger was people’s stupidity. A fire had started on the bottom floor of an office building and instead of waiting for first responders to do their jobs, people were choosing to make things more difficult by climbing out of windows and stuff like that.

Soon enough, heroes were on the scene and you had your camera ready.

Naturally, Backdraft was the first to arrive and you got some great photos of the rescue hero doing what he did best. The light from the flames perfectly illuminated the hero and made the entire situation feel a great deal more dramatic than it was.

The second hero was a young woman whose name escaped your mind. She assisted the civilians as best she could but, no sooner did she help one down, and the person was practically taken from her arms.

Bright red feathers flew across the scene, darting into the building and pulling every person free by their clothing. They were lowered safely to the ground though many stumbled.

You didn’t lower your camera but you cursed out Hawks under your breath.

Never, in your wildest imagination, did you expect to hear him respond.

“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

You startled, just about dropping your camera on the ground in shock. He was perched above your head, atop one of the streetlights, a smirk on his face and his visor down. His wings were shorter than usual and the only way you could tell he was even helping with the incident.

“You ruined my photo,” you said. “And she had him, you know?”

“She was moving too slow. The poor guy would have been stuck in the air for several minutes longer and that’s just not good on the heart. Besides, I can make up for your lost photo if you snap a shot in the next three seconds.”

You scoffed. “A photo of you sitting on a streetlight? From this angle?”

“What? Not dramatic enough for you?”

“Not unique enough, more like. You’re the most photographed hero in the whole of Japan. The internet is teeming with images of you from every possible angle, distance, and situation. I’ve seen them all.”

For some reason, that seemed to get to the pro-hero a little and you were surprised when he landed beside you. You were very rarely this close to a pro, your bravado disappearing now that he was actually standing there.

“So you’re saying I’m not worth a photo?”

Part of you felt like saying that he was and quickly taking one but your pride didn’t allow it. “Not when there are lesser-known heroes here. They don’t have crazy stalkers willing to chase them around the city for any picture.”

“And aren’t they luckier for it,” he sighed. “Ah well, your loss. I’ll see you around.”

With a flap of his wings, he was gone and you watched him go, fighting the urge to snap a photo the entire time.

Midnight

Some would call you shallow but interviews were one of your favourite parts of being a hero. Getting to answer questions and engage with the people who admired you was an experience that you just adored. Not only that but they were often the best place to clear up rumours or speculations so long as they were edited well.

With a reliable broadcaster and positive outcomes on all of your latest jobs, you were extremely excited to be offered an interview. You knew there was an ulterior motive of some kind but you hadn’t been sure as to what.

But still, you arrived early, dressed in your hero costume, and had your makeup done up as best as it could be.

And then you watched the interview before you and you quickly realised that the broadcast was doing a segment. One focused on hero costumes.

Your own was quite unique, a step away from the usual appearance of heroes. Personally, you loved it.

The public however was divided on whether it was fashion forward or just a flop.

And clearly that was why individual heroes had been chosen.

Being interviewed at the moment and practically being drilled on the ins-and-outs of her costume was nobody other than Midnight herself. She looked absolutely amazing as ever. A natural on the stage and in the field.

You had to admit however that you didn’t feel comfortable with the questions they were asking her. She answered smoothly but mostly in deflection.

The other heroes around you agreed with your assessment. This felt like an attempt at creating a media circus. Few were interested in participating anymore.

The moment Midnight gave her leave, the producers began gesturing at you. You gave them a look and turned around with the rest of the heroes there.

Midnight was in a bad mood but she put on a smirk when you made eye contact with her.

“We’re leaving,” you told her. “None of us were told that this was going to be working off controversy.” You wanted to apologise that she had been the first to get interrogated but you didn’t know how to do that.

She laughed. “You weren’t expecting there to be a catch?”

“I mean, I was but I thought they were a little better than running a segment that’s so clearly focused on… well…”

“Sex appeal?” Midnight asked.

You awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah. It probably should have tipped us off that we were all around the same status. No real big names aside from your own have worked with this broadcast channel.”

“And nobody will again once I speak to a few contacts,” Midnight said, a hint of bitterness finally seeping into her voice. “Guess that will teach me to give new places a chance. They’re all looking for the big ratings instead of actual interest. Maybe I should just go into being a teacher full time at this rate.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?”

She shushed you. “Not if I don’t say it out loud.”

You laughed and stuck by her as your group exited the building, ignoring the clamoring from the higher-ups who were desperately trying to convince you to stay. The type of people who would take advantage of being able to pressure people into things. Lovely.

“Don’t you hate how rude they are to you?” you asked her. “I get so furious sometimes and my questions are always tame compared to yours.”

She shrugged. “At some point, you get used to it. I don’t think there’s a question out there that would shock me anymore.”

You really hoped you never reached that point.

Mirko

The villain pulled experimentally at his cuffs. He twisted around and began shuffling when he met your eyes.

“Where exactly are you trying to go?”

He grumbled something under his breath and stopped moving. You raised a hand to your head and sighed. At this rate, you were going to wind up with wrinkles. One of your favourite outfits had been destroyed by this little altercation and nobody had even bothered to show up yet. Somebody had called emergency services, right?

“Stop moving, I can hear you,” you snapped.

The villain would have been a greater threat if you hadn’t happened to be shopping in the area. Your quirk was the perfect match for his own and it allowed you to quickly take control of an otherwise dangerous situation.

Now you sat on a bench, him tied to the nearest building support bench, and you waited for somebody to arrive and take him off your hands.

There was a thump somewhere to your right and you lazily looked up from your phone. Only for your heart to kind of stutter.

“Aw, come on! I was told there was going to be some excitement over here!” Mirko complained. “What gives?!”

The rabbit hero was absolutely gorgeous with white hair and legs that went on for literal days. She was the epitome of everything you aspired to be as a hero. What she did was on her own terms and she fought for the thrill of it all.

You had just never expected to actually meet her.

“I’ve dealt with it,” you said once you had gotten over your shock. You gestured towards the villain. “No problems here.”

Mirko bounded over and stuck her face way too close to his. Her nose seemed to twitch in excitement. “You don’t seem so tough,” she scoffed. “I got the call and it said that this was setting itself up to be a good clash! Are you just that good?”

Her eyes fell on you, bright and teasing. A strand of hair fell in front of her face and she huffed it away without breaking eye contact.

“I am,” you said, mostly joking but feeling unable to deny it.

She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s a good answer. I like your confidence.” She eyed what you were wearing. “Your costume could use some work though.”

You chuckled. “It’s actually pretty similar to yours when I’m not interrupted while shopping. I’ve always loved your style.��

She nodded firmly as though that was a given. Then she looked around and raised an eyebrow. “If this moron interrupted your shopping, then what are you doing hanging around with him? You have things to get back to, don’t you?”

You gestured around. “I do but the police haven’t shown up yet.”

“Don’t worry about them,” she scoffed. “I’ll bounce this guy down to the station for you. Don’t waste time just standing around.”

She turned back to the villain just in time for you to both see him run around the corner. He nearly tripped but managed to keep his footing. You glanced at one another and Mirko laughed heartily. “You stay here,” she said. “I can deal with cowards in well under a minute. They always do the same things to ‘throw me off’ or whatever.”

“I’ll come with you,” you said. “It’s technically my fault he got away. And I could always learn a thing or two from the best, right?”

She grinned. “I knew I liked you. Let’s see if you can keep up though.”

Natsuo

On a good summer’s day, there was nothing better than the beach. The waves gently lapping at the shore, soft clouds drifting across the sky, and few children due to the earliness of the day. It was well worth getting up early to watch the sun creep its way over the ocean and begin what was scheduled to be the hottest day of the year.

Not that you would be outside when it hit noon. By that time, ice cream and a nice spot of shade became necessary.

For now though, you waltzed along the beach and enjoyed the sand beneath your feet. As you walked, you kept an eye out for shells though there were scarce. People came every day to collect this time of year.

In a way, that made you sad.

But the lack of shells did mean that you didn’t need to watch where you were walking quite as much. At least, that was your thought process. Shells cut your feet and there were none so why keep an eye on the sand.

The answer is broken bottles.

It was a sake bottle, probably stolen away by some kids to be drunk where their parents wouldn’t see. The searing pain made you think you’d stepped on a jellyfish. Cursing, you jerked your foot away, blood running down into the sand below.

A small wave washed up, taking the bloodied sand away to reveal the culprit.

Struggling to balance, you hopped away from the bottle and sat down, lifting your foot to see the damage. It was a rather deep slice that made you feel quite woozy. Sand was already sitting around the injury and your only option to wash it off was the very salty sea.

“Sorry, do you need some help?”

You glanced behind you to see a guy standing on the boardwalk. His hair was pale and his expression kind. Something about him seemed oddly familiar but you weren’t sure why.

“I stood on a bottle,” you said. “It’s alright.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you need some help getting off the sand?”

You were going to deny the offer but your entire leg felt like it was on fire. The pain was undoubtedly because of your brain flicking through reminders about the danger of stepping on glass. “If you’re alright with it.”

He made his way down to where you were sitting quite quickly and glanced at your foot. “That’s going to need stitches,” he said. He offered his water bottle to you. “You should clean it off and then put some pressure on it before we move it.”

The cut hadn’t seemed that bad to you but you hadn’t really been looking carefully. “Are you sure?” You still took the water though, hissing as you poured it over your cut.

“Very,” he said. “Do you mind your towel getting blood on it?”

“No.”

He used the towel to put pressure on the cut and then helped you stand, hobbling your way off the beach. Once there, he quickly listed off the nearest hospitals.

“Are you a medical student by any chance?” you asked, trying to keep your mind off the pain.

He blushed. “Sorry, is it obvious?”

You laughed. “Just a little but that’s okay. It was good that you happened to be nearby then. Can I get your name?”

He hesitated but then said, “Natsuo. Don’t worry about my family name.”

Curious now, especially given how familiar he looked, you were tempted to push. But you didn’t and instead thanked him again for his help. He turned out to be correct, of course. You did need stitches.

Present Mic

You stretched before going into the office. Everything was sore – an unfortunate result of your late night. It couldn’t have been helped. Train wrecks were rarely planned.

Principle Nezu greeted you warmly when you arrived and then asked you to sit down. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, there was a recent incident on the grounds. Thirteen was badly injured and we’re in need of a new teacher with expertise in natural disaster management.” He smiled at you. “I thought you would be the perfect match.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you were going to try convince me to take a work study student.”

“I’m sure you will one year,” he joked.

“Unlikely but you can always offer.” You sighed and turned your gaze out the window. “I have little care for children. This will be a temporary position, yes?”

“We’ll see how it goes.”

You gave him a look but the principle just sipped at his tea. He already knew that you were going to accept – if only because you had always been a close friend of Thirteen’s. Taking over one class wasn’t going to kill you.

“I don’t have any experience in this,” you reasoned. “Other schools must have teachers who can come and cover classes?”

“None who are as experienced in the field as you are. So I’ve organised with Hizashi Yamada to take you through his methods of teaching and you can convert them over. He’ll be here soon.”

You sunk further into your chair, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “What would you have done if I said no?”

“Been very disappointed, of course.”

Present Mic was a hero you had always admired but you hadn’t ever expected him to be as loud in person as he was in the media. You just about jumped out of your skin when he entered the room dramatically, calling out a greeting.

Nezu gave the introductions and informed you that before doing an actual class, you had a week of acting as an assistant instructor alongside Present Mic.

“Should I invest in earbuds?” you joked.

He laughed but then actually lowered his voice as though you had reminded him. “Don’t worry. If I yell too much in class, Shota tends to come and glare through the doorway until I quieten down.”

You chuckled. “Do you have similar teaching schedules?’

“No but he claims that he can hear me from anywhere in the school. It’s the best way to find him actually. You just yell until he shows up.”

“I’ll take that as lesson number one in how to teach at U.A.”

“Lesson number one is to not take Nemuri’s flirting seriously,” he corrected. “I know it’s very flattering to think that she’s interested but she’s not. If it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell her to stop but she doesn’t always listen. It’s part of her image, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow at Nezu but he just shrugged. That didn’t seem like it was too professional but alright.

You took a deep breath and tried to pretend that this was just going to be temporary. It wasn’t like Nezu had been trying for years to get you involved at the school.

Temporary.

“Which subject do you teach?” you asked as you followed Present Mic from the office.

“English. No crazy action or anything which means you have to work double time to keep the students interested. You’ll have it far easier.”

Nobody really prepared you for the fact that Class 1A didn’t know how to do things the easy way.

#mha #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #all might x reader #endeavor x reader #aizawa x reader #midnight x reader #mirko x reader #natsuo todoroki x reader #present mic x reader #fatgum x reader #gang orca x reader #hawks x reader

363 notes · View notes

unsupervisedpanda · 3 years

Text

Embry Call x Reader

Be more

Huffing you yanked the tarp back over the old truck. You'd been working on it for over 4 months now with your cousin, Jacob Black. Of course that was Pre-Bella. At least that's what you called it. From before.

Now you're working on it by yourself. Or trying to. You couldn't understand it without your other half. It was like doing calculus without math. It didn't work.

Looking out to the sky you huffed again. It looked like rain. And soon. Walking back towards the house you walked into the red building, shrugging your jacket off.

"Hey Billy, you need anything while I'm up?" You called hanging the clothing up on the coat hanger.

"Nope. Jake isn't in here before you ask." He said rolling into the kitchen.

"I'd assumed that much already, Billy." You said before you heard a car door slam.

Peeking out the window you saw Bella storming towards the back. It had already begun to pour. Your eyes widened as you grabbed your jacket back up again.

"I'll be back." You promised closing the door behind you.

Running after Bella you slowed down when you saw her pleading with Jacob about something. You couldn't make out what she was saying. You could see the strain on Jacob's face and it only got stronger when he saw you jogging up behind Bella.

"Jake? Bella? Is everything okay?" You asked tucking your hands under your arms.

"Y/n go home." Jacob ordered, his voice cold.

"Yeah y/n. Go home. I need to talk to Jacob. Alone." Bella snapped never taking her eyes off of him.

"That's not an answer." You met his gaze and felt yourself falter.

"Just leave. This isn't about you." Bella muttered.

You were glad for the rain. It kept your tears from showing.

"Jake?" You asked but he just shook his head.

"Go home. Both of you." He growled walking away again.

Bella yelled after him but you just took a shaky breath in and turned around. You expected to just walk back into the house but Bella grabbed you by the shoulder whipping you to face her.

"What happened to him!" She yelled at you but you shook your head.

"I don't know Bella. I thought you happened." You snapped shrugging her off.

"I think it's best if you go home." You murmured pulling your hood up.

"Fine. Thanks for the help!" She hissed pushing you on her way to her truck.

Your lip trembled as she drove away and your eyes watered when you turned to see Jacob walking away, too.

You were alone. Your best friend had walked away from you. Screaming in frustration you stormed back to the house. To the driveway where your car sat. Billy opened the door, rolling out.

"Y/n where are you-" he stopped. "Are you okay?" His voice took a tone of concern but you just kept walking. You were pissed off and didn't want to take it out on him. You pulled your keys out unlocking the vehicle.

"Y/n! I don't think you should be driving." He called loudly but you ignored him.

Pulling open the driver's side door you slid in, slamming the door closed. Pushing the key into the ignition you started the car. Or tried to. It wouldn't turn over. Punching the steering wheel you screamed. Hitting the horn you screamed over it, again and again. You were so angry. So hurt.

You only stopped when your throat was too sore to scream anymore. Breathing heavily you heard a knock on your window.

"Go away." You sobbed, the emotions catching up.

"Sorry. Can't do that." A muffled voice said through the foggy glass.

Lifting your head up you saw Billy sitting there in his wheelchair. You felt terrible that he rolled out into the rain like this.

"Billy..." You started but just pulled the keys out of the ignition and waved at him to roll out of the way.

"You want to talk about it?" He asked after you stepped out of the car.

"I don't know. I'm sorry about," you gestured wildly, "this. I should've just come inside." You groaned.

He shook his head dismissing your apology.

"You're fine, kid. Let's just get inside." He said as he went to roll back to the porch but you smacked his hands away from the wheels.

"I got you." You scolded as you began to push him back to the house.

"Snippy." He laughed but didn't wave you off.

You nodded as you reached forward to open the door.

"You mind if I crash in Jakes room?" You asked after setting the man up on the couch and washing off the wheels of his chair.

"Not at all. You need to rest after crying like that. Take a bottle of water with you. You'll need it." He recommended nodding to the kitchen.

"Thank you, Uncle Billy." You sighed kissing his forehead.

Grabbing the water you walked into the bedroom. It was small but comfortable. Setting the bottle down you flopped into the bed after kicking your shoes off. Curling up you hugged a pillow to your chest sniffling softly. Your eyes were heavy as you breathed out softly. Closing them you fell asleep quickly.

You roused to the sound of shuffling outside the bedroom. Some things clanked around and there were soft whispers outside.

"Jacob what the hell happened?" Billy whispered harshly.

"Nothing dad butt out!" Jacob snapped back.

"I'm not going to butt out! Something happened." Billy replied his voice calm.

"Nothing happened!" Jacob exclaimed loudly.

"Guys-" a new voice began and you began to wake up more.

"Stay out of it Embry!" Jacob snarled.

"Dude he's just trying to help." Another voice.

Groaning a little you yawned as you opened your eyes. Pulling the blanket off and shoving the pillow away you slid off of the mattress. The floor was cold as you shuffled around looking for a dry, new shirt. Digging around the bedroom you found a long sleeved black shirt.

Tugging your slept-in shirt off, you threw it on the bed before pulling your cousins shirt over your head. Scouring the room you found his old hair brush. From before he cut his hair. Sighing you grabbed it tugging it through.

You could still hear the males arguing as you slid out of the room.

"It's not my fault Bella came here!" Jacob was growling.

"No but how you handled it was terrible. She did something to make y/n act like that." Billy persisted.

Walking in you knocked on the wall next to you. Four heads turned to face you and you waved shyly.

"Hey. Sorry to interrupt but I'm starving. Could we talk like civil people while I make pancakes or something?" You whispered tucking your hair behind your ear, not able to look any of them in the eye.

"You look crappy." Jacob snickered and you glared up at him.

Then you smiled, walked over to him, and punched in the chest.

Crack!

"Holy shit! Ow." You whined inspecting your red knuckles.

"I didn't even hit you that hard." You pouted, shaking your hand as if to shake the pain off.

"Jesus. You weren't supposed to hit me!" Jacob groaned walking closer to check your hand himself.

"Yeah well you deserved it. You've been a jerk." You affirmed.

"Right. Well Embry, Quil, this is my cousin, y/n. Y/n these two idiots are my friends, Embry and Quil." Jacob introduced.

Glancing up you noticed how much bigger they seemed up close.

"Hi." You greeted putting your hand out.

Quil held out a hand and shook it with yours and you were shocked by just how hot it was. When Embry didn't respond you looked up at him only for him to fall to his knee.

"Oh my god are you okay!?" You fretted getting on your knees in front of him.

He didn't answer, instead he focused on his breathing. He didn't expect this to happen. Not so soon. Not ever really.

"Embry? Right? Are you alright?" You said softer this time putting your hands on his face.

You looked his face over before moving your hands to examine the rest of him. Your fingers grazed his skin lightly as you tried to find any reason for him to fall like he did.

"Embry?" Jacob growled behind you.

Finally looking up Embry met his gaze. His eyes were wide.

"Are you okay?" You asked again turning his face to yours.

"I'm... I'm great." He laughed huskily.

"Okay...?" You sounded unsure but stood up, brushing your jeans off.

Holding your hand out you offered it to him, and raised your brows when he actually took it.

"Wow." He breathed when he was standing beside you.

"What?" You asked looking at him but then noticed Jacob and Quil and Billy.

"Guys?" You tried again and Jacob snapped.

"My cousin!? Are you serious! My sister was bad enough but my cousin!" He groaned throwing his hands up.

Quil had wide eyes and Billy looked like he was either going to shoot Embry or hug him. You couldn't tell.

"Care to elaborate?" You glanced at the boy next to you.

"Depends on if I live that long!" He yelped when Jacob jumped at him.

"OH MY GOD NOT IN THE HOUSE!" You shrieked throwing your hands up.

"Not in the house damn it!" You growled again grabbing Jacob by the ear and Embry by the hair.

"Come on!" You huffed.

"Quil! Get the damn door." You demanded. The boy did so with no complaint.

When the door was opened you threw both boys out into the yard.

"You want to rough house? Fine! Just not in the house!" You exclaimed, exasperated.

"I'm going to kill you!" Jacob hollered at Embry pushing him.

"Wait! We both know I can't -OW- control it!" Embry yelped again.

"Wait! Jacob!" You screamed and then FWOOSH! big dog. Very. Big. Dog.

"Holy shit." You whispered before jumping into the yard and running towards Embry who was still on the ground.

"Stay back!" He yelled at you his eyes wild.

"But he-" you started but stopped when Embry began to strip.

Looking away you heard bones shifting, and when you looked back, another wolf stood where Embry once did. You went to walk towards him but the reddish one, the one who you now assumed was Jacob, stood in front you.

"Jacob." You gritted out.

The wolf refused to budge.

"Damn it. Stop being such a bitch." You snapped smacking him.

"You don't get to be all cousinly now. You left." You shoved him again.

"I don't care how big your teeth are or how big you are. I will snap your legs, then your arms, then I will break every rib, and finally I will move on to your fingers and toes. Don't test me." You growled yanking on his fluffy ear.

Then you shoved him away and tried walking to the Embry wolf again. However Jacob still refused to move.

"Y'know what that's it." You snapped.

Dropping to your knees you crawled under him and sprinted to the grey wolf. You didn't expect Jacob to be snipping at your heels when you did this though. You swore you could hear him curse at you.

Another thing you didn't expect was for Embry to run past you and meet Jacob half way. They nipped and bit at each other.

"Guys stop!" You screamed trying to get in between only to be grabbed from behind.

You yelped as the warm arm grabbed you. Glancing down you noticed that whoever grabbed you was well toned and tan.

"You can't get in between them, y/n." The voice spoke and you felt tears well into your eyes.

"But they-" you cried.

You tried to push the hands off but they held fast.

"Stop them, Quil!" You yelled at the boy who still stood on the porch. He glanced behind you and shook his head.

"God damn it! Stop!" Your voice cracked as you shrieked.

Both wolves stopped mid fight scrambling to right themselves. Jacob snuffed and Embry bit him in the rear leg.

"Stop it." You sobbed as you collapsed in the arms of whoever held you. "Just stop fighting."

Both wolves glanced at each other before the grey one stepped forward. His muzzle was soft as he licked your tears away. Sniffling you wrapped your arms around his big head and sobbed into his fur.

Whoever held you let you go, stepping back. The wolf stayed waiting for you to let go of him patiently. The red one harrumphed before slinking into the woods, probably to change.

When your crying slowed you gingerly let go of Embry.

"I'm so sorry for crying on you, on your fur, oh I'm so gross. Talk about first impressions." You choked on more tears as they started again but the wolf head butted you softly.

"I know. I know. Just, go change back." You smiled softly.

The wolf didn't seem convinced but listened. Jake walked over to you to offer you a hand up, but you smacked him away.

"Leave me alone you jerk." You pouted.

He gave you a look, clearly torn.

"Y/n," he started and you glared at him.

"What? You think you have the right to be all protective? You left me in the rain with, Bella. You left me to deal with her." You spit.

He went to reply but Embry came sprinting out of the woods towards you. He slowed down when he saw Jacob though.

"Jake?" He asked, a silent question.

"No harm, no foul." Jacob smirked at him and you punched him in the leg.

"Ow!" He yelped glaring at you.

"Go away." You huffed.

"No." He glowered.

"Fine." You glanced at him before looking at Embry.

"Again so sorry for crying on you." You apologized.

The boy smiled at you before walking over to you, offering his hand. Taking it, you smiled up at him as he pulled you up.

"You know your first impression was better than mine. I fell to your feet like the dog I am." He chuckled and you snorted.

"I guess you're right." You laughed.

"So you going to tell me what that was all about?" You asked.

He suddenly got sheepish again.

"Can I talk to you alone about that? Preferably."

Glancing around you saw Billy going inside with Quil and a few other boys. Minus Jacob.

"Yeah. I'm not fond of Jake here listening in anyway." You grinned at Jacob before grabbing Embry's hand and pulling him into the woods after you.

"Okay. Go ahead." You nodded at him to explain.

"Well y'know how we just like wolfed out in front of you?" He asked and you nodded at him.

"Well uh that's part of this thing that happens to some of us. And uhm when we y'know shift we get this partner. A for life kind of thing. It's like- I guess most people would say it's like a soulmate. Of course nothing romantic has to come from it!" He panicked blushing.

"It could be friends or best friends or just basically whatever that person wants. We call it imprinting." He explained still flushing.

You nodded and then pointed at yourself.

"Are you saying I'm like your imprintee? You giggled.

He nodded shyly.

"Yeah. You are. Of course it doesn't have to be romantic or anything. Like at all. I'll be whatever you want!" He gazed into your eyes intently and you smiled.

"Okay. Whatever I want huh? So I could have a big fluffy dog then?" Your eyes glimmered and he laughed loudly.

"I mean yeah I guess so." He smiled softly.

"Alright Embry. Let's say I want you to be more than a friend. More than a best friend, too. What if I wanted you all to myself?" You tilted your head at him.

He smiled. "Then I'm all yours."

"Okay then Embry. Let's be more." You smiled pulling him to you and hugging him.

You could hear him chuckle as he held you to his chest.

"You're like really hot." You murmured as he stroked your hair.

"Thanks. I thought so too." Gasping you backed up and swatted his bare chest.

"I meant like physically? Not appearance wise! Wait no! You're really attractive. Oh my god!" You rambled tucking your heating face into your hands.

"Wow. You okay?" He asked brushing your hair back.

"Just give me a minute." You sighed before looking at him.

His eyes twinkled kindly. His hair fell into his eyes softly and his lips were pink. Flushing you lifted your hands to his face and pulled him down.

You met his lips softly at first. Barely touching. He seemed unsure and didn't want to force anything. Slowly you kissed him again this time longer. He tasted like blueberry muffins. You smiled at that.

Then you felt it. Like clay you molded to him. It felt like everything clicked into place. This whole time you'd been waiting for him. He was your other half.

Kissing him again, this time passionately, heatedly, you poured everything into it.

He stepped back in surprise before kissing you back, similarly. You could feel the feelings seep into your lips.

Smiling you backed away.

"Wow." You whispered.

He nodded slightly winded.

"You're a great kisser." You sighed looking at him through your lashes.

"I think that was all you. I'm sure my heart is trying to beat out of my chest." He laughed his hand against his left side.

"Fair enough." You smiled at him reaching for his hand.

"Okay so, are we going to do this?" You asked pulling his hand up to cup your face.

"Yeah. If you want to of course." He murmured stepping closer his other hand going to your waist.

"I do. I really do." You laughed pecking his lips again.

"Then let's be more." He murmured against your lips.

#embry call #embry call x reader #embry x reader #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight wolves #twilight wolves x reader

398 notes · View notes

wincore · 4 years

Text

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

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

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

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

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

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

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

Do you love it?

Of course you fucking do.

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

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

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

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

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

You. You’re a big deal.

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

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

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

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

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

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Afterparties are not your thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous.

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

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

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

Afterparties are not your thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were not one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name)?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name)! Come quick!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

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

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

Secrets.

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

And perfection is your dear old friend.

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

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

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

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

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

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

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

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

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

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

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sour.”

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

“Is- Is something wrong?”

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

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

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

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

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

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

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

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not.

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said.

Why are those the words that make you worry the most?

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again.

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you.

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that.

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head.

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint.

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?”

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist.

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here.

Or is it him?

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile.

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response.

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit.

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling.

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you?

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes.

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours.

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be.

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit.

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then.

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you.

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even.

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny.

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid.

Afterparties are still not your thing.

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief.

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…”

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you.

“(name), thank you.”

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though.

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on.

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship.

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out.

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here. He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall.

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hyung—”

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

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.”

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

“That—”

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

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

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

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

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And a little bit about me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I certainly hope so.”

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

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

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