#can you do your photoshoot somewhere else in the tower
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I'd like to make more of these. Trying to make weird exotics high fashion is a challenge in and of itself.
#warlock#destiny#destiny fanart#chromatic fire#eververse#excuse me ma'am we're trying to work here#can you do your photoshoot somewhere else in the tower#hoe but then make it fashion
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TXT YEONJUN & SOOBIN FIC: LOVE UNDER THE LIGHTS
Like you? I love you! (fluff, crush)(2000+ words)
summary: I came upon this old vlive moment a while back and before I knew it I’d written an entire fic around it. Delulu’s be warned lol. (also on AO3)
or
Yeonjun has a realization and handles it in all the wrong ways.
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“Is it buffering? It says that the connection’s a bit unstable.”
Yeonjun had done live streams with Soobin before, tons of them in fact. Today was no different, it was just another live stream with one of his members.
At least that’s how he wanted to treat it, but the events of yesterday made it difficult for Yeonjun to act like he was fine. And the worst part? Soobin seemingly had no idea that he was the cause for all of his inner turmoil…
-One week earlier-
Soobin lets out a loud laugh as Yeonjun launches himself on top of him and attacks his sides. Beomgyu is talking to one of the staff members and Hueningkai is having a conversation with Taehyun, none of them are even the slightest bit fazed at the two oldest members laying on top of each other in a tickle fight. Hueningkai simply smiles at the sight, Taehyun rolls his eyes and Beomgyu is so enthralled in his own story that he doesn’t even notice the two wrestling members behind him on the couch.
That is until his story gets interrupted by Yeonjun accidently pushing Soobin into him. Beomgyu lets out a yelp before getting up from the couch he was almost pushed off and crossing his arms.
“Can the two of you go be in love somewhere else I’m trying to have an adult conversation here.”
Yeonjun finally stops his tickling attack on Soobin’s waist and looks up at Beomgyu smiling. Soobin takes a moment to catch his breath before he too, looks up at Beomgyu towering over them on the couch, and scoffs.
“An adult conversation? Weren’t you just talking about video games?”
Yeonjun and the staff laugh as Beomgyu pouts in response to Soobin’s comment: “Video games are an adult topic. Now please move your cuddling to the floor if you really can’t help yourselves and stop disturbing me.”
Soobin rolls his eyes once more before getting up and announcing that he’s going to the bathroom. Yeonjun doesn’t get a chance to think about how he’s going to keep himself entertained now Soobin’s gone because he’s immediately called into makeup for the photoshoot. It seems the photographer they were waiting for has finally arrived.
As soon as he sits down in the makeup chair, Soobin returns and seats himself with the maknaes on the floor. When Yeonjun closes his eyes for his eyeshadow he can hear Soobin’s distinct laugh echoing through the room. He quickly opens his eyes to see what the commotion’s about. It seems Hueningkai made some kind of joke because Taehyun’s also laughing. As they work on his lip makeup his eyes stay on Soobin and his conversation with the maknaes. He’s so focused he doesn’t even notice Beomgyu sneaking up behind him with a mischievous grin on his face.
“Are you jealous?”, Beomgyu says right in Yeonjun’s ear, his voice laced in jest. Yeonjun lets out a yelp in response, startling not only the makeup artist working on his face but even Soobin at the other side of the room.
“Ah, you scared me.” Yeonjun says exasperated as both the stylist and Beomgyu laugh at him. It takes him holding his chest for a moment, waiting for his heart to calm down, to even realize what Beomgyu said.
“Did you just say jealous?” he inquires and Beomgyu laughs as he takes place in the makeup chair next to Yeonjun.
“Yeah, because you were looking at Soobin with those eyes again.” Beomgyu is still laughing to himself, but Yeonjun is confused more than anything.
“What eyes? And what do you mean ‘again’?”
Beomgyu finally ceases his laughing and looks towards his hyung.
“You know, the love eyes.”
“Love eyes?”
“It’s just a joke hyung, don’t think too much about it.” Beomgyu finally says as he turns towards the mirror and allows the makeup artist to start working.
Yeonjun scoffs and leans back with his hands behind his head: “Pft jealous, as if any of you can compare to me.”
Beomgyu chuckles and shakes his head: “This hyung’s really confident about everything.”
Their conversation falls silent after that, but Yeonjun doesn’t forget it. It’s a joke, he knows that too, they joke like this all the time. But for some reason today it bothers him. He tries to focus his thoughts on the upcoming photoshoot, but the feeling of Soobin’s touch lingers on his skin and breaks his concentration.
Love eyes huh…
Distracted or not, Yeonjun is a professional. So, when he gets called in for his solo portion of the shoot he poses with ease. He spends time eating lunch while the others are shooting and it’s not until they’re waiting for their group shoot that the strange thoughts return.
Yeonjun is telling a story about how he managed to get a really expensive shirt for a really cheap price in Itaewon. His eyes are on Hueningkai as he explains the excitement he felt when he saw the shirt he liked in the small vintage shop.
“I remembered that I’d seen it online and I immediately checked the price, you’ll never guess how much it was!”
Hueningkai seems slightly distracted by his food but tries his best to seem interested in his hyung’s story. Yeonjun’s eyes trail away from Hueningkai and land on the boy sitting on his right and he immediately regrets looking over. His eyes meet Soobin’s, and his head goes blank.
You see, Soobin isn’t the most intimidating person on the planet, anyone can see that, but he has this stare. A stare that’s silenced Yeonjun before, a stare that manages to jumble his thoughts every time. He’s tried to talk to other members about this, but they don’t seem to relate to the way Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat when he’s looked at like that. They admit that Soobin’s stare can be intense but none of them knew what he was talking about when he mentioned the sparkles in the boy’s eyes. The soft love that pours out of them every time he looks towards you like that. Looks at you like you’re the most important person in the world to him. For a moment Yeonjun considered that Soobin only looks at him like that but he didn’t enjoy the way that made his heart skip a beat, so he stopped that thought process immediately.
But even now when he’s doing something a simple as telling a story about a piece of clothing, Soobin’s looking at him with those eyes. It’s unfair really. Even with Yeonjun jumbling his words, Soobin doesn’t do anything but nod and encourage him to keep speaking. Yeonjun eventually looks back towards Hueningkai and finishes his riveting story.
But as they load into the car for their next schedule, Beomgyu’s words ring in his head.
Love huh…
Later that night they’re eating backstage at a radio station when Soobin sits next to Yeonjun to eat and the older man is overly aware of how close the boy is. He finds himself hyper fixated on Soobin and what he’s doing.
His heart didn’t skip a beat when Soobin casually wiped some food of his lip, and his gaze didn’t momentarily drop to Soobin’s lips when he did so. Because that would have implications that Yeonjun isn’t ready for in the slightest.
None the less, when they get back to the dorm, he decides that the man responsible for him overthinking his own feelings like this should be the one to help him.
“Beomgyu-ya.”
“Mhm?” Beomgyu is already seated behind his pc and Yeonjun knows he has max three minutes before Beomgyu starts a new game and he’s fully lost his attention.
“I need to ask you something.”
As distracted as he is, Beomgyu seems to notice his slightly serous tone because he even takes his headphones off and turns his chair to face Yeonjun.
“Ok, if I hypothetically wanted to make a joke about me and Soobin dating, how do you hypothetically think people would react to it?”
Maybe he empathizes the hypothetically a little too much but better safe than sorry.
Beomgyu quirks up and eyebrow, sending anxiety through Yeonjun’s system.
“You know, just in case. I remember I was going to make a joke like that during a past live stream, but I didn’t because I didn’t know if people would say it’s too far or something. Would they care? Probably not, right? Because you know… people of the same group actually dating is impossible, right?”
Yeonjun can almost physically see the cogs in Beomgyu’s brain turning. His question doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but he just needs a different perspective on things. Whether it’s the exhaustion or his desire to just get the conversation over with and return to his game, Beomgyu answers the question without asking a single one in return.
“I don’t think they’ll care. I mean I talk to Hueningkai and Taehyun all the time about how you two would be a ‘cute couple’, I’m sure if you were to make jokes like that on broadcast no one would take it seriously.”
When Yeonjun doesn’t immediately offer a reply Beomgyu decides that’s the end of their conversation and he turns his chair back around, puts his headphones on and starts on a new game.
Right, who’d believe that? Two idols from the same group dating, what an idea.
Yeonjun trudges back to his room and ignores the pit that’s forming in his stomach.
Luckily that doesn’t matter to me because my members are like my brothers.
Right?
Ugh, if it was about anything else he’d just call his mother for advice or something, but he isn’t sure how she’d respond to this.
Well, he got away with giving vague questions once today, maybe it’s his lucky day!
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“Does my little healing have a crush?”
Well, that didn’t take very long for her to figure out. He shouldn’t be surprised that there was no way to ask her for love advice without her realising what’s really going on. Maybe he should just tell her?
Tell her what? I don’t even really know if I like him.
“No, I don’t. Well, maybe I do. I don’t really know.”
“Well, where did you meet this person? How long have you known them?”
Yeonjun silently thanks his mother for not assuming he’s talking about a girl, that immediately makes this conversation a whole lot less uncomfortable.
Maybe he doesn’t need to say he’s talking about Soobin? He has a lot of friends; she won’t know who he’s referring to.
“I actually met them…him… quite a long time ago but today was the first time that the possibility of me liking him crossed my mind.”
His mother ponders in silence for a moment before responding.
“Mm, what started these thoughts?”
Yeonjun lays back on his bed and sighs as he thinks back to their photoshoot from earlier.
“We were just kind of messing around and then someone pointed out that I’m always looking at him and touching him.”
“Well, you are a very affectionate person sweetheart.”
“That’s true…” Yeonjun sighs as he turns around on his bed and clutches his pillow in his arms while he talks.
“But I then started thinking about how he looks at me, he has this really intense gaze and whenever he looks at me like that my mind goes blank and my heart just kind of freaks out.”
His mother giggles slightly at the other end of the line making Yeonjun groan:” Mom, don’t laugh!”
“Sorry, sorry. Well let me ask you this, if this boy told you tomorrow that he has a girlfriend how would you feel?”
Yeonjun has to think about that one for a second. If Soobin got a girlfriend? He shouldn’t care, a lot of his friends are dating, and he never cared when they told him. He’d probably have a lot less time to spend with him if that was the case, maybe Soobin would even stop being as close to Yeonjun if he did. The thought of Soobin kissing someone kind of makes his heart ache though…
Oh my God
I like Soobin
“Mom… I…”
His mother lets out a breath followed by a slight chuckle: “Oh, it seems my healing really does have a crush.”
Yeonjun buries his head in his pillow, when did this happen? He’s an idol, being in love is challenging enough but that person being in the same group? Oh, he’s so screwed.
“I-I can’t tell him. Fans w-will…”
“When that day comes your fans will understand.” His mother replies and he latches onto her voice, his face still buried in his pillow. If only he could hug her, receive her comfort in real life and not just through a phone.
His mother continues:
“You worked very hard to get where you are, remember all those tough days when you were a trainee, remember how difficult that was for you. You and all your members worked very hard to get where you are today. It was tough but you paved a way to happiness then and you can do it again now with this.”
Happiness…
Yeah, he did work hard. And so did Soobin. He is happy. Soobin doesn’t have a girlfriend and as much as the thought stings, when Soobin gets a partner Yeonjun will just have to suck it up. They worked too hard for him to ruin it now. Dating Soobin is never going to happen, he might as well give up now. He’s been happily on Soobin’s side for years now, nothing’s changed. He can just do as he did before, he’ll be the same teasing but supportive hyung and band member that he’s always been. Soobin is a fellow member, a brother, nothing more.
“Healing-ah?”
Yeonjun belatedly realises that his mother is still on the line, he quickly wipes away the tear he didn’t realise rolled down his cheek and sits up to answer her.
“Yeah, sorry mom I’m fine. Thanks for the advice, I think I know what to do now.”
They hang up soon after. When Yeonjun wakes up with red rimmed eyes the next day, the members very easily accept his excuse that he watched a sad movie.
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“Is it buffering? It says that the connection’s a bit unstable.”
It’s been about a week since Yeonjun’s revelation about his feelings for Soobin and he can happily announce that nothings changed. He and Soobin are still friends, and the latter doesn’t seem to have noticed anything about Yeonjun’s crush.
Although that’s not for a lack of mistakes on Yeonjun’s part.
“What flavour Pepero do you like?”
Yeonjun saw the comment flying by so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Soobin turned to him and asked it. He’s had Pepero before, he knows he prefers the nude chocolate snack over the regular one. But his nervousness under Soobin’s gaze hasn’t changed and it takes Soobin prompting the answer out of him before he’s able to form an answer. Relief fills his system when Soobin breaks eye contact to complain to the camera about not really liking the nude flavour. Yeonjun’s able to give him basic replies as his brain tries to reboot and his heart tries to recover. Thank God the connection’s terrible at the moment, he didn’t need moa’s to capture this embarrassing moment of gay panic in 4k.
Maybe hiding this crush won’t be as easy as initially expected…
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to be continued... (part 2)
#txt#tomorrow x together#yeonjun#soobin#choi yeonjun#choi soobin#yeonbin#txt yeonbin#txt ships#txt fanfic#soobin canonically making people nervous by staring at them
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The Cracks in Our Reality (2)
Summary: Loki hates the Executive Manager of the Avengers Tower because she’s too loud and too sarcastic and too kind and too soft, especially to him, who really doesn’t deserve it.
Characters: Loki/Plus-sized (f)Reader
Warnings: 18+ (no smut), language, mentions of sex
A/N: Thanks for reading! You guys have been so incredible with your support on JUST the first chapter! I won't leave you hanging. Updates weekly on Saturday.
Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist | AO3 | Playlist
“You’re incredible. A life saver. A genuine Mother Teresa. God is a woman.”
You wave him off, draining the last of the tea from your to-go cup.
“You know, if you keep talking like that, you’re just going to fuel my god complex.”
Mike from Accounting grins at this, shuffling the paperwork you handed off to him only moments before. It was sloppily done, the forms filled out in a hurry as soon as the accounting department called you. They were always having problems with the books—half of that was Tony’s outrageous spending, the other half was the neverending damages the Avengers kept ringing up on the metaphorical receipt.
You didn’t even work in finance, but someone had to get the job done, and who better to do it than the Executive Manager of the Tower?
“Well, I don’t know about this god complex, but can I buy you another coffee for your trouble?”
Mike’s cute. He’s slim, brunet, has glasses that sit a little crooked on his nose. You bet he’s just a little kinky in the bedroom. Like, doggy style is his flavor, and maybe a slap or two on the ass in the throes of passion. He’s cute, but he’s not that cute, and it’s not like he’s asking you on a date or anything.
You flash him your Signature Smile. “I really shouldn’t have any more caffeine, but thanks for the offer. You don’t owe me anything.”
Then, you slide off his desk, heels clacking on the ugly tiling that covers the accounting department’s floor. With a shimmy, you adjust your pencil skirt from where it’s ridden up your thighs, hands fluttering down your silk dress shirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. Then, you twirl around to look back at him.
He leans his elbow on his desk, chin in his palm, as he looks over you. “Next time then.”
You give him a mock salute. “Have a good rest of your day!” Then you’re strutting off toward the elevator, content to head back up to your office and get the rest of your work down.
From behind you, Mike from Accounting shouts, “Thanks again!”
The elevator shuts, already on its way back up.
It’s nothing new, really. The bouncing around, the extra work, the pulling overtime to get someone else’s work done for them when they’re overwhelmed. The hurried finance forms aren’t anything new—and in a month or two, Mike from Accounting will be calling you again, asking for you to redo the forms that someone else fucked up.
It’s what you’re paid to do. Kinda.
By the time the elevator doors are opening to the main floor, you’re already swiping through the schedules for the week on your tablet. A thread of annoyance is tugging at the back of your neck, a twinge of pain in your muscles from being too tense, too stressed. Your feet are already killing you, toes squished in the stylish heels you decided to wear last minute because you swore you’d be cooped up in your office all day reorganizing the schedules and making room for the press conference.
The press conference for stupid Loki Odinson, whose doing his community service as a probationary Avenger. Stupid fucking Tony Stark, who didn’t tell you that Loki Odinson, the God who tried to take over New York, was coming to stay at the Tower. Stupid fucking Steve Rogers, who tried to tell a little white lie about “forgetting” to mention it. Hah! You’d whipped his ass for that last night, giving him The Look until he finally broke and told you the truth—that Tony made him agree to not tell you.
Oh, and you’d put Tony on blast for that, too. The conversation ended with him promising you a day trip to the spa and a shopping spree for all his bullshit, not that you’d be accepting it. You really just liked to watch him sweat.
And stupid fucking Bucky Barnes for still being away on his solo mission.
Okay, but really you’re pissed at Loki because you’d tried to be nice to him and bring him dinner after you noticed he hadn’t eaten, and you brought him some extra blankets because Thor told you about his whole heritage deal and you don’t really know anything about frost giants, but maybe Loki doesn’t like being cold like a frost giant. And the motherfucker had the audacity to pull a knife on you. You’re sure he hates you because you most certainly hate him.
You stop in the middle of the hallway, finger pressed against the screen of your tablet. Everything around you is quiet. The common room is empty and the sanctuary that is your office is only a few more steps away. The light of day spreads through the Tower, spilling out from the floor-to-ceiling windows and making everything warm. You shiver despite it.
You don’t hate Loki Odinson.
He’s an asshole, sure, but from what you’ve heard from Thor, the dude hasn’t had it easy. And you know, somewhere deep down, you should be a little more gentle with him. He’s not the first person to pull a knife on you when you’ve sneaked up on them. You’re used to that.
You should know better than to bark back at a caged animal.
As soon as you enter your office, you kick your heels off underneath your desk and slouch into the comfort of your leather chair. Despite the temperature, your fingers are cold and stiff—they ache slightly when you pick up a pen to sketch out the new schedules. You lean your head back and groan.
Every time you cross-check someone’s schedule with another, you curse Tony’s name. By the time you have three sticky notes on your free hand reminding you of appointments that need to be moved around, you’re calling him unsavory names that don’t make any sense when spoken aloud, but they sure make you feel better.
Natasha comes knocking just as you’re mumbling about Tony’s lifelike resemblance to the stale ends of sliced bread, and when you look up to greet her, your desk is covered in a sea of brightly-colored notes with varying degrees of importance, noted by the multiple—or lack thereof—exclamation points on each.
“Hey,” you greet with a sigh.
She leans over your desk and reaches for your face. You flinch until she rips something off your cheek, the barest hint of a burn as the sticky note you’d somehow lost a few minutes ago pulls your peach fuzz.
“Hey,” she mimics, reading the note. “Looks like I’m not having that photoshoot on the 8th.”
“Don’t get me started!” you whine, snatching the reminder back. Thanks to the sticky notes still attached to your fingers, you don’t get enough traction to yank it back, but Natasha takes pity on you and smacks it onto a free surface.
But it’s enough to make her laugh, and that fact puts a smile back on your face.
“You scheduled the press conference already?” she asks, grabbing one of the plastic chairs Steve made you keep in your office after he came to have lunch with you once and had to stand while chowing down on his salad.
“Of course.” You huff, peeling your fingers free. “Now I’m just dealing with the damages. Mr. I’m-So-Great-I-Can-Do-No-Wrong-Stark needed it scheduled pronto, something about Fury and a compromise and ‘the trust of the citizens.’”
Natasha nods, eyes scanning over some of the reminders. “I didn’t realize schedules were so damn complicated.”
“It’s why they pay me the big bucks,” you joke, hands threading through your hair to pull it away from your face. The gentle tug on your scalp feels soothing. “It’s overly complicated because there’s so many of you, and I have to cross-reference everything to make sure nothing clashes, plus mission scheduling, and all of you have routines that I take into account.”
She whistles, and it flips a switch in your brain.
“I’m not complaining,” you say quickly. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not even hard. I just have to spend the rest of today making some calls to move everything around and then the schedules will be right again. It’s easy.”
“ Zaika,” she calls gently. Natasha is only ever gentle when the two of you are behind closed doors. “It’s not an easy job. That’s why Tony hired you—you’re the best there is at this stuff.”
You shrug at the red-head. “I’m decent at it.”
Natasha rolls her eyes. “You’re the only one who ever goes above and beyond to take care of us, y’know.”
“Well you should be taken care of. You’re always taking care of humanity or doing whatever else you Russian spies do.”
She cracks a grin at that and you can’t help but do the same.
“Damn straight.” As you pull up a list of press contacts to start calling, Natasha looks down at her watch. “It’s past lunchtime and I bet you haven’t eaten yet,” she says with a knowing glance. You have enough decency to pretend like you don’t know what she’s talking about.
“Are you asking me on a date, Nattie?” You bat your eyes at her.
“No way, we’re going dutch.”
“Dutch is a date.”
“No, it’s not, and if you’re going dutch on your dates you need to tell me who the hell is taking you out because I want to speak to them.”
With a flick of your wrist, you toss a couple of takeout menus across the desk to her. “Chill out. It’s not like I’ve been on a real date in the past—”
The shrill bell tones of your phone interrupt you and your knees clatter painfully into your desk as you jump from the sound. You lunge for where it’s hidden under a thick binder full of finance notes you used earlier, pressing it to your ear immediately.
And once again, you’re lost in the whirlwind of your job.
As the man on the other side rants about some minuscule problem he’s having with an upcoming interview scheduled for Sam Wilson—something about a security issue, and now you’re dreading broaching the topic of changing the date—you vaguely gesture at Natasha to leave. It’s unlikely you’ll be taking a lunch break today.
She gives you the Evil Eye, the look where she purses her lips like an irritated mother and draws her eyebrows together in a way that screams about you being irresponsible. In the end, she stands and starts to head out the door, but not before turning to give you one last disappointed glare.
Natasha points two fingers to her eyes and flicks them in your direction: I’m watching you.
Then she’s gone, closing your office door behind you, leaving you to put your phone on speaker so you can massage your aching temples where a headache is beginning to bloom.
It’s one in the morning and you’re shoveling the boiling hot ramen you just microwaved down your gullet like a starved man, standing in the darkness of the kitchen to hide your shameful dinner when the lights flicker on overhead and suddenly, you’re frozen. Your eyes must be bugging out of your head when you look at whoever just caught you slurping up the remnants of the first meal you’ve had in hours.
And of course, it’s the blond-haired blue-eyed babe of a God who strides in, looking nothing but chipper until he sees you leaned against the counter, dressed only in a frumpy t-shirt and threadbare pajama shorts, feet bare and cold. To top it off, you know there is soup on your chin. You just know it.
“My lady!” he booms and you wince, hoping he doesn’t wake the whole ass tower up with his projection. “Why did you not join us all for dinner earlier? Stark provided pizza!”
You shrug, hiding your face in your bowl of noodles. “I was busy, and even if I wasn’t, you know I’m not a fan of pizza.”
He frowns and it looks so funny on his normally cheery face, almost like it pains him to say what he’s about to say. He takes a step toward you.
“My lady,” he says lowly, “I do not know anything of the sort. Anyone who claims to not love the grand Midgardian pizza is either lying, or they are my enemy.”
You snort. “I don’t like Pop-Tarts either and you know that, too.”
Thor shakes his head, slaps his big hand upon his big chest, and buckles his knees like a dramatic fool. His other hand reaches out for your forearm as if he’s begging for you to save him from whatever untimely death he’s experiencing at your pickiness.
“Treason!” he shouts. “Lying to your king!”
You pull your arm away from him to shove another forkful of ramen into your awaiting mouth.
“Not my king,” you mumble, snickering under your breath. Thor wouldn’t understand that reference even if you tried to explain American politics to him.
When Thor finally decides enough is enough and whatever brought him into the kitchen is more important than annoying you, he passes by you and heads to the pantry. You can hear the crinkling of a foil package before he turns back to face you, and low and behold, there are three packages of Pop-Tarts in his grip.
Like the true king he is, he offers you a pack, giving you the most exaggerated eye roll in history when you shake your head at him.
It’s a comfortable silence that occupies the kitchen while you both chow down. You don’t speak to each other, don’t look at one another, just enjoy the company and the orchestra of chewing and slurping and the gentle sounds of the tower at night. By the time you’ve finished off your bowl, placing it into the sink quietly, Thor’s demolished his snack and is brushing crumbs from his comfy red sweatshirt.
You waggle your fingers at him in a half-hearted wave, but Thor grabs your hand in his own. His palm engulfs yours. You swallow back whatever words seemed to think they could slither out from between your lips as you look at how gently he cradles you.
When you look up at him, his eyes are soft.
“I am sorry,” he says as if you should know what he means.
“For what?”
His gaze turns to the floor, almost ashamed. “For Loki.”
“Oh, Thor.” You don’t hesitate to pull your hand away from his in order to wrap your arms around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes. “You don’t have to be sorry for your brother. He has to apologize for himself. It’s not your fault.”
He had felt terrible when you told him what happened the other night, although you definitely left key parts out of the story you recounted to him. Thor had apologized then, too, even with the absence of the dagger in the story, but you told him you understood what Loki must be feeling right now, that you understood he needed time to warm up. Unwillingly, Thor accepted that you were letting the incident slide, but really, what were you going to do? Get Loki chained up again? Cut off his magic?
Yeah, ‘cause that would totally help him mesh with the cool kids.
After a long moment, you feel Thor’s arms tighten around your waist, hands pressing into the small of your back as he bends to accommodate your height. Or maybe it’s to get closer to you, to press further into you. Like the soft puppy he is, you stroke the back of his head, nails scratching over his scalp lightly.
“He’s better than this,” Thor whispers. “I want him to be better than this.”
You think about all the things you could say, but none of them sound right. The soft-hearted side of you says to tell him that everyone deserves second and third and fourth chances, that he and Loki both have their issues they need to work on if they ever want to work on their relationship. The jaded side of you says that no one gets second chances in this world. Second chances only open the door to a second betrayal—a second chance to be hurt. Chances never bring change.
“He needs time,” you finally say, but you don’t know if you believe your own words. “You both need time to heal.”
It’s not the first time someone’s pulled a knife on you before, and you know better, but you aren’t sure if you know for better or for worse.
Next Chapter
Taglist: @poetic-fiasco @suffocatinglypositive @melancholic-metanoia @lucywrites02 @delightfulheartdream @its-bucky-barnes-bitch @mochminnie @httpjazel @sciamachy-after-dusk @girl-obsessed-with-things
#loki x reader#loki x you#loki love#avengers loki#plus size reader#redemption loki#loki fanfic#the cracks in our reality#loki pov#loki series#thanks for supporting me!
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SteveTony - Getting Together
Here are some Getting Together fics that I adore. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!
Lovesick, by royal_chandler, 3 k >, fluff.
The depth of the flu aisle in the pharmacy is substantial, overwhelmingly so, and Steve is half-convinced he needs to return to the front and trade his basket for a full-on cart.
There's a Party Going on Right Here, by Annie D (scaramouche), Post-Endgame.
After the Battle of Earth, Tony hosts a party.
Open Tab , by machi_kun , 5k> words, Post-Avengers 2012.
Tony has a lot of money. Really. More money he could possibly ever spend by himself. So what if he spends some of it buying gifts for his friends? People like gifts! And Steve is his friend. His best friend, actually, inside the Avengers, and he’s glad it turned out this way - so it’s also a way of saying 'thanks for putting up with me', he thinks. He just wants Steve to be happy. If Tony can make him happy, then why wouldn’t he? Tony buying Steve gifts is no big deal. Shut up, Rhodey.
(Pretty) Odd, by machi_kun, 5 k> words, Developing Relationship, Fluff.
In his file, Tony Stark had been described as eccentric. He had also been described as a narcissist, as a self-destructive liability, as not-recommended, and all sort of fancy words that are used to disguise the fact that they were calling him an all-around asshole; And that’s a very long list of bad adjectives, for a guy Steve saw carry a nuke behind his back to save the city, gave them a place to stay, and is slowly showing himself to be one of the most curious people Steve has ever met. Maybe Tony Stark is eccentric – and maybe he is a bit of an asshole. But maybe he’s also more than that.
Six Times DUM-E Made It Worse (and One Time He Fixed It) by FestiveFerret, 4 k > words, Outsider POV.
DUM-E has a lot of Very Important jobs to do, and he does his best to do them right. Sometimes, though, things don't work out very well.
All he wants is for his humans to be happy.
Sweet Child O' Mine by starspangledsprocket, 9 k > words, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff.
After just their second outing as the Avengers, everyone except for Steve and Tony are turned into toddlers. Madness ensues.
'Cause Everytime We Touch by Perlmutt, 5 k > words, Touch-Starved.
Steve noticed it the first time they were officially introduced at Fury’s office after the battle of New York.
He extended his hand for a handshake, a silent peace offer after their horrible first meeting at the helicarrier almost a week ago. Stark looked at it like it would bite him any second. Steve could see how his hands twitched where he’d buried them in his pockets. But instead of taking his hand, he stared into his eyes for a moment and nodded before turning back to Fury.
Only later would Steve learn that it wasn’t hatred or aversion.
how the thought of you does things to me by Finduilas, 6 k > words, Mutual Pining, Domestic Avengers.
Steve has a thing for Tony's butt. Tony has a thing for Steve's beard. They're both very obvious about it (just ask any of their friends!), but somehow they manage to also be completely oblivious.
Right here waiting by gottalovev, 19 k > words, Cat Dads.
Steve has been missing Tony like crazy since he left the compound. One day, Steve drops in unannounced at the tower, and when on a walk for coffee they rescue newborn kittens.
Or: A yearning Steve, an oblivious Tony, and co-parenting kittens. (= fuff!)
picture perfect (picture us) by starklystar, 18 k > words, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Photo Shoots.
Tony has a habit of being handsy during photoshoots.
Steve has a habit of being flustered whenever Tony touches him.
Misunderstandings happen.
Or, five times Steve and Tony went to a photoshoot
+ the one time they had better things to do.
++ the one time they take their photoshoot online.
take me out (to the ball game) by muItifandomjess, 1 k > words, Fluff.
“Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd,” Steve sings, his shoulder bumping into Tony’s as he sways back and forth. “Come on, Tony, sing!”
“I am a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist,” Tony protests around a mouthful of hot dog. “I do not sing.”
Or, Steve and Tony go to a ball game. It all kind of snowballs from there.
Drifting Further Everyday by GotTheSilver, 8 k > words, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier.
Steve’s quiet a lot of the time, it’s almost like living with a ghost, and Tony kind of hates it; he lives with more than enough actual ghosts every day. The longer time goes on, the more Tony recognises what’s going on, sees the jumpiness, the haunted look on his face, and he gets it. Realises they’re both trying to bury things they don’t want to talk about. More often than not, Tony turns around in the workshop to see Steve sitting there, patiently working on something in his sketchbook or reading an actual book, usually something he missed during the years he was frozen.
Somehow Steve is filling all the gaps in his life Tony didn’t realise he needed filling.
Goop, Or Five Times Steve Rogers Was Covered In... Something, And One Time Tony Was by Bill_Longbow, 7 k > words, Mutual Pining.
There were a lot of things Steve had expected about the future; sleek buildings, sleeker electronics, and all the food you can eat. Being covered in alien goop wasn't one of them.
or
How Steve being covered in... stuff, brings Tony and Steve closer.
The art of longing by itsallAvengers, 63 k > words, Oblivious Tony, Not Actually Unrequited Love.
Steve's used to missing his shot. To being too late, too scared, and losing everything. But he really did think that this time, with Tony, something could work.
Then Tony meets Mark. He's cool and charming, he's a scientist and he's perfect for a man like Tony Stark.
And suddenly Steve...
Well. Steve just doesn't have a place anymore
earth laughs in flowers by starksnack, 3 k > words, Love Confessions, Secret Admirer.
A secret admirer has been sending Tony flowers and confessions of love.
Crash Into You by FestiveFerret, 15 K > words, Post-Avengers (2012), Stranded.
Tony was pretty used to crashing.
It seemed like these days more often than not his return to earth in the Iron Man suit was at least somewhat out of control. He couldn't count the number of times he'd used a helpfully situated building, a local landmark, or, hey, even a teammate to slow a wild descent. And he'd be damned if he'd admit it to Pepper, but on more than one occasion he hadn't even been conscious when he'd hit the ground.
So crashing wasn't really a new experience. He would get banged up a bit, maybe put a scratch in the suit somewhere, but bruised ribs healed and there was no better way to work off the post-battle high than smoothing dents out of his most prized possession.
He had a feeling crashing in the Quinjet, without his armour, was going to be a bit different..
I like me better (when I'm with you) by I_write_things_sometimes, 79 k > words, Domestic Avengers, Friends to Lovers.
If you ask either of them how they got together, they'd go back to an unremarkable night filled with expensive food, rich donors, and lots of schmoozing. And, of course, the anxiety attack that started it all.
"Not recognizing someone was strange enough, but the longer the two men spoke with — or, more accurately at — Tony, the more convinced Steve was that the conversation was unwanted, at least on Tony’s part.
The first clue was that Tony was actively leaning away from the men he was talking to. Steve had learned firsthand that Tony was an incredibly tactile person. When he wanted to talk to you, Tony engaged completely; he’d sling his arm around your shoulders, squeeze your arm, or drag you around as he talked, walked and usually did at least two other things. Even when he argued, Tony was often immediate and in his opponent's space; Steve knew that from experience.
Right now? Tony was scanning the outskirts of the room rather than making eye contact with the men near him. If Steve had to guess, Tony was looking for the nearest exit."
Or, the way Steve Rogers and Tony Stark became friends and then more.
Mission SteveTony by itsallAvengers, 7 k > words, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve Rogers.
If the entire team of Avengers could please stop trying to get it on with Tony when Steve is right there, he would really appreciate that, thank you
you'll wait a long time by nanasekei, 16 k > words, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie).
Steve and Tony share a moment during a wedding. Things escalate from there.
-
Alternatively: Four weddings, a funeral, and one very emotionally stunted idiot.
The Game by FestiveFerret, 5 k > words, Gay Chicken.
The game starts when Tony walks into the garage to find Steve sitting astride the R1200RS, staring down at his phone, and he maybe, just a little bit, walks into a car.
Talking Bodies by itsallAvengers, 13 k > words, Misunderstandings, Insecure Steve Rogers.
Coincidentally, the physical effects of romantic and sexual desire match up very closely with the physical effects of fear. But it's not a problem-- it's not like anyone is going to be able to hear the way your heart speeds up, or see the minute dilation of your pupils, are they? They'd have to be some sort of Superhuman to do that.
And what's worse than a Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and concluding that you're in love with them?
A Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and thinking you're terrified of them.
more than just a dream. by frostfall, 10 k > words, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Parent Tony Stark.
Tony: Fine.
Tony: I think I might.
Tony: Just might.
Tony: Have a teensy-weensy crush.
Peter: ;)
Peter: Is it who I think it is?
Tony: Unfortunately, yes.
Tony: You happy now?
(Peter thinks he's found the perfect partner for his dad. Tony thinks his son has officially lost his mind. Steve's just oblivious to the fact that he's out of Tony's league.)
don’t want you to get it on (with nobody else but me). by frostfall, 4 k > words, Jealous Steve Rogers, The Pocky Game.
There are a lot of things that Steve doesn’t get about the future. But it’s fine. He will, eventually. He has time.
But one thing he knows is that he’ll never, ever be able to wrap his head around is the fanfare surrounding Pocky.
(Or Steve’s jealous of biscuit sticks.)
check yes (if the feeling isn't new) by cvptains, 12 k > words, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Meddling.
After the battle with Thanos, both Tony and Steve struggle with reconnecting in certain aspects of their lives. Sam Wilson and Peter Parker are totally over it.
Where both Steve and Tony's respective friends make accounts for them on the renowned dating app, FlickLove, and the results come out a bit... surprising. Cue unadvisable meddling that really — honestly — comes from good intentions.
take my heart clean apart by mistymountainking, 13 k > words, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues.
He’s tired, so tired of waiting, tired of touches with no meaning, tired of holding his breath when Steve’s in the room, tired of keeping this love to himself.
“I can’t—I can’t, if you don’t mean it.”
***
Tony comes home exhausted after an SI event. Steve acts as welcoming committee. It's an old, careworn routine they've perfected over the years, but tonight ends up going in a very different direction.
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Almost World Animal Day, so here's a short Wolfstar dog-related fic!
Nothing but fluff and humour.
Summary:
Remus is sitting outside alone, and Lily comes to talk to him, thinking he might be upset because of his secret feelings for Sirius Black, that only Lily knows about. However, Remus is acting very weird. He really, really seems to not want to talk about it, and even seems embarrassed, while he and Lily have talked about it plenty of times. And what’s going on with that strange-acting, huge black dog, that allegedly just wandered up to Remus?
Not in front of the dog!
Remus clenches his fist around his drink, his knuckles turning white. He takes a sip from his Pumpkin Juice, but the sweet taste does nothing to counter the bitter taste in his mouth.
Gryffindor just defeated Slytherin in a trilling Quidditch match. Team captain James Potter had created a strong team, and was in great shape himself, flying perfectly in sync with his fellow Chaser Sirius Black. Really, there was something captivating about watching those two work together. The ecstatic Gryffindors had gone back to their tower singing and cheering, and were now having drinks, playing music, chatting and laughing in the common room. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, and it probably was, for everyone but Remus.
Remus glares at the other side of the room, where Sirius is standing with Benjy Fenwick, who had wanted to ‘congratulate Black on his great game’. And sure, Sirius had played a great game, and he deserves all the praise he can get, but surely, you don’t need over half an hour to say ‘Oi, Black, great game’. And also, the noise level in the room really isn’t so high that it requires Fenwick to lean in so close, with his lips almost touching Sirius’s ear, for Godric’s sake. And the hand Fenwick has placed on Sirius’s shoulder just seems unnecessary, and his other hand, resting on Sirius’s lower back, is definitely unnecessary, and has absolutely no business slowly sliding down like that!
But what’s even worse than Fenwick’s complete disregard for Sirius’s personal space, is that Sirius seems not to mind at all. And why would he? Sirius is a young, single, incredibly handsome guy, who just played the Quidditch match of his life. Why shouldn’t he be talking and laughing at a party, while boys, who are maybe kind of cute if you like the type, flirt with him?
Remus quickly adverts his eyes when Sirius’s gaze wanders over to him. What Sirius doesn’t deserve is to have this moment, his moment, spoilt by Remus acting all sulky because he was dumb enough to fall in love with a guy miles out of his league, whom he’s lucky to be even friends with. As Sirius’s trademark barking laugh echoes through the common room, because apparently Fenwick is suddenly oh so very funny, Remus has had enough. He smashes his glass down, causing Peter to look up, startled.
“I need some air,” Remus says, and before Peter can even respond, he turns around and heads towards the portrait hole. He vaguely notices Lily giving him a concerned look, before he climbs outside and is free from the crowd.
Remus ends up sitting outside on the grass underneath a tree, which is still illuminated by the last rays of sunlight, so it’s not awfully chilly yet. He tries to put all thought from his mind, but he barely has time to do that before he hears a voice.
“Oi, Moony!”
Remus looks up, although he doesn’t actually have to look to know who that voice belongs to. He sees Sirius making his way over across the field, giving Remus plenty of opportunity to stare while he approaches. Even ploughing through the grass in his dishevelled robes with his hair blowing everywhere, he still looks like a bloody model during a photoshoot.
When Sirius arrives to where Remus is sitting, he immediately flops down next to him on the grass and brushes his long, dark hair back.
“Alright, Moony? You were suddenly gone without saying anything.”
It didn’t seem like Sirius would even notice his absence, but right as Remus thinks it, he realises that it’s not true. Apparently, Sirius did immediately notice his absence, as he immediately came after him. Remus feels a surge of satisfaction as he thinks of Benjy Fenwick, who now has to find somewhere else to put his hands.
Remus manages a small smile. “You know me. I sometimes just have to get away from the crowd.”
Sirius bumps his shoulder against Remus’s. “You could’ve said something! I would’ve gone with you.”
“It’s basically your party! With you being the reason we won that match in the first place. Well, you and Prongs. You should be there enjoying the celebration, not sit out here in the damp grass with me.”
“Our party or not, Prongs and I want our best mate to enjoy himself as well!”
“I’m fine, Padfoot,” Remus reassures him. “Really, just go. You... You looked like you were really having fun.”
Sirius’s grey eyes suddenly become soft as he looks at Remus, and Remus feels like there’s a whole hoard of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach.
“But you have that look on your face,” Sirius says. “I hate seeing that look on your face and I hate leaving you alone with that look on your face.”
Remus feels conflicted. He still feels guilty making Sirius sit here outside, while he could be doing so much more fun things. On the other hand, he can’t deny he feels secretly pleased Sirius is here with him, where Fenwick can’t place his hands where they don’t belong.
Sirius must see the conflict play out on his face, as he suddenly envelops Remus in a tight hug. In Sirius’s arms, caring and protective around him, Remus’s last hope of ever getting over his feelings flies out the door. He just has to accept that he’ll forever be hopelessly pining after Sirius, because he just has to go and be so bloody great.
When Sirius lets him go he has a grin on his face. “Maybe I should cheer you up.”
“I don’t need-” But before Remus can finish his sentence, Sirius shifts smoothly into his dog form, which still leaves Remus in awe, no matter how many times he sees it.
The dog dashes away and starts jumping, running and rolling through piles of leaves, chasing the ones that scatter through the air.
“You’re being ridiculous!” Remus shouts, but he can’t help the corners of his mouth curling upwards, and when the dog starts spinning around chasing his own tail, he lets out an actual laugh.
“Is that a dog?”
The dog freezes mid-spin and Remus whirls his head around to see Lily Evans standing a few feet away.
“Eh... I... Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Remus stammers. “He just... wandered over here, probably from someone in Hogsmeade.”
“What a big boy!” Lily walks over to the dog and starts scratching him behind his ears. “And he’s so handsome! Yes you are, aren’t you? Yes you are! You’re a handsome big boy!”
The dog, however, seems to have forgotten how to dog. He just stares at Lily with a stunned expression. Remus unceremoniously shoves the dog with his foot. The dog blinks at him, and then shakes himself out of his surprised state. He starts wagging his tail, panting and jumping up and down.
Lily chuckles and sits down next to Remus. “I came to see how you’re doing.”
Remus suddenly gets a dreadful feeling in his stomach. While James is still in the hopeless pining-phase (but really, who’s Remus to judge on that?), Remus is actually good friends with Lily. Which means Lily knows things about Remus. Many things. Too many things. Things his other friends don’t know, and aren’t suppose to ever know. Remus honestly trusts Lily with his life, but right now, he really wishes he never told her anything at all.
“I’m fine,” Remus says. “Absolutely fine. Just getting some fresh air. Lovely day today, is it not?”
“Come on, Remus,” Lily says. “You know you can be honest with me. I saw Black with Fenwick.”
The dog stops panting, and tilts his head to the side.
“Yes, they looked like they were having fun.” Remus’s voice sounds almost manic. “Good for them, right? I mean, why shouldn’t they have fun? I want them to have fun. I want them to have so much fun. Not that I care, of course. Why should I care if they’re having fun? It has absolutely nothing to do with me, and it’s absolutely completely unrelated to me sitting outside.”
In his panicked state, Remus picks up a stick and throws it away. “Fetch!” He shouts desperately at the dog.
If the dog had been physically capable of raising one eyebrow, that’s what he would’ve been doing right now. He gives Remus a look that clearly says ‘if you think I’m going to miss the rest of this conversation to retrieve a dirty piece of wood, you’re sorely mistaken’.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Rem,” Lily says. “It’s completely understandable to be upset when you see the guy you’re mad about flirt with someone else.”
Remus groans. “Lily, can we please not talk about this now?”
“Alright, alright.” Lily throws up her hands in defeat. “Just so you know, I heard there’s nothing going on between them. And Fenwick was flirting with him more than he was flirting with Fenwick, if that makes you feel any better.”
Normally it would, but staring at his knees while feeling the dog’s eyes burning on him, Remus just wants the earth to swallow him up whole.
“Even if Sirius was flirting with him, he has every right to do so!” Remus exclaims. “It’s none of my business. He doesn’t owe me anything.” Remus looks up at the dog. “I’d never want to jeopardize our friendship.”
The dog looks back at him with an unreadable expression. Or maybe that’s just Remus’s lack of experience in reading complex emotions on dogs’ faces.
Lily lets out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s a whole different outlook than last time we talked, when you were practically doodling Mr. Remus Black on your parchment! You wouldn’t stop talking about how clever and caring he is, honestly making me wonder if we were talking about the same person. And you were telling me you almost fainted when he came out of the bathroom wearing just a towel, and how you couldn’t focus on anything during Herbology, because you were standing behind Black and couldn’t stop staring at his-”
“Lily!” Remus shouts, hiding his face in his hands.
Lily sighs. “Look Remus, if he’s really so caring, he’s not going to let this ruin your friendship. I admit that I have no idea how he’ll react, but maybe you should just tell him. Then at least the cat is out of the bag!”
Remus huffs a laugh, as that really won’t be necessary anymore. This just proves that, when in the presence of a dog, all cats should be kept securely in their respective bags at all times.
“I’m sorry, Remus,” Lily says as Remus stays quiet. “You’re obviously not in the mood to talk. I didn’t mean to push you.”
“It’s okay,” Remus manages to say, as it really isn’t her fault.
Lily presses a kiss against his cheek. “And let me tell you, you’re smart, witty and kind, and a much better catch than Benjy Fenwick, no offense to him.”
“Thanks, Lils.” Remus gives her a weak smile.
Lily gets up on her feet, and makes her way back to the castle.
Remus peaks through his finger, to see the dog still sitting there. He’s relieved, really. He’d rather look at the dog with some indescribable expression than see the clear emotion of... what? Pity? Fear? Shock? Amusement? On Sirius’s actual face. Right now, Remus wishes he were the Animagus, so he could turn into an animal and never turn human again. Just start a life as an animal. Preferably a bird. Yes, Remus muses. He could live a happy life as a bird.
He’s rudely interrupted in making future plans about building nests and eating worms when the dog suddenly leaps up against him.
“Oef!” Remus falls back on the grass, his hands automatically grabbing the fur. The dog has his paws on Remus’s shoulders and while lying on top of Remus with his huge body.
Before Remus has a chance to process anything, there’s a shift, and suddenly a very human Sirius is lying on top of him with his very, very human body. Sirius is practically beaming at him. He may not be a dog anymore, but Remus can practically see him wagging his tail.
Remus can’t comprehend why, after hearing about his utterly embarrassing infatuation, Sirius would respond by lying on top of him. But Remus’s fingers, that were just moments ago pressing in soft, black fur, are suddenly resting low on Sirius’s hips, and Sirius’s hands have slid into his neck and his face is really, really close, so Remus’s brain capacity is rendered to zero and he’s in no state comprehend anything. He just lies there and blinks up at Sirius.
“So,” Sirius says. “I heard a rumour.”
“Did you now?” Remus mumbles weakly.
Sirius hums. “I did. I heard that this smart, witty and kind boy is really into me. Do you reckon that could be true?”
Remus swallow, his throat suddenly dry. “What if it was?”
“Well,” Sirius says. “Then I think I’d just have to kiss him.”
“Wha-” Remus eyes grow wide and he stares at Sirius in shock. “Why... why would you do that?”
“Because I suppose I have this kind of crush on him.”
“Are you serious?” Remus regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth, and waits for the inevitable pun.
“I’m always-” Sirius stops himself and frowns. “No, actually I’m not,” he says and Remus’s stomach drops. “If I’m really being serious, I can’t call it a kind of crush. Truth is, I’m head over heels in love with him.” He leans in even closer. Remus can see a slight flush on his cheeks, and can feel his breath against his lips. “So, these rumours,” Sirius whispers. “Any truth to them?”
“Yes,” Remus says. “Yes, it’s all-”
He’s cut off by Sirius firmly pressing his lips against his. He wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist and pulls him even closer. Sirius’s hands are now cupping his face, and it’s everything.
When they stop for air, Sirius is smiling against his lips. “One more thing. You don’t get to stand behind me during Herbology anymore. I can’t risk you failing class because of me.”
Remus flushes bright red. “Shut up!”
Sirius grins. “Don’t worry, Moony mine. I’ll make sure you’ll have plenty of other opportunities to stare at my-”
Remus cuts him off with a kiss. “I hate you,” he mumbles against Sirius’s lips.
“Oh?” Sirius quirks one eyebrow. “I’ve heard rumours that say otherwise.”
#wolfstar#wolfstar fanfiction#wolfstar fic#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fic#marauders era#sirius black#remus lupin#remus x sirius#padfoot#lily evans#padfoony
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The Wavering Peahen: Chapter 2
When Nathalie started feeling oddly ill again, both she and Gabriel were worried that the Peacock Miraculous might somehow (impossibly) be to blame again.
So naturally, they pick someone else to be the Peacock for a bit. You know, as a test subject. Except the new Peacock… doesn’t exactly know that.
links in the reblog
Knocks at her window well after dark and after her mom had gone to bed were rarely a good thing, particularly in a city with that had akumas popping up every other day whenever someone got upset.
Lila knew that she was sitting perched on top of a mountain of lies. If someone somehow found out and got mad, that could more than explain a knock at her window at night. Except...
Well, an akuma wouldn't knock, would they? Smashing through walls was much more their style.
A second knock sounded, clearly much more impatient. Ever-so-cautiously, Lila finally pushed herself off of her bed and approached her window, squinting into the dark outside. A large shape came into focus, and then Lila caught sight of a purple suit and a full-head silver mask.
Hawkmoth.
Grinning, Lila scrambled to open her window and let Hawkmoth in. Maybe most people in Paris would be screaming and running in the opposite direction, but they were weak. Hawkmoth offered power and opportunities, kinds that she would never get otherwise. Whatever he had come for- whatever new opportunity he was offering- she was going to grab onto it with both hands and not let go.
"Ms. Rossi," Hawkmoth greeted her coolly, slipping through the opening. He straightened, and- okay, he was tall. Lila straightened reflexively, hoping not to feel so small next to him, but it didn't do much to close the height gap. "I hope this evening finds you well?"
Lila nodded, trying to keep herself from looking too eager. "I'm doing all right. And you?"
"Well enough." Hawkmoth glanced around, his steely eyes catching on the door. Lila followed his gaze, then immediately picked up on his concern.
"My mom is asleep already," she assured him hastily, not wanting him to decide to leave and not tell her about whatever opportunity he had clearly decided to offer. "And she's the only other one who lives in this apartment. And she's a heavy sleeper, so she shouldn't wake up randomly."
Hawkmoth nodded sharply. "Good."
"So, uh, how can I help you?" Lila asked, wondering if it would be proper etiquette to offer a supervillain a chair. It would make him not tower so much, but she also suspected that he wasn't planning on lingering. It would be better to get straight to the point. It would show respect for his time, and that would help make a good impression. "Do you need an akuma with specific powers or something? I can do that!"
"Not at the moment, but I will keep that in mind for the future. No, what I have in mind is a little more responsibility than that." Hawkmoth reached into a pocket, pulling out a small drawstring bag. "Mayura is unable to come out and join me on the battlefield for a undetermined period of time. Normally, I would simply go back to just sending out akumas. But I don't want to give Ladybug and Chat Noir time to re-build their superhero team more than they already have."
Lila's eyes went wide and she started nodding at once, already putting together what Hawkmoth had come to her for. "Right. And you don't want to give their backup team more time to practice and get better."
"Precisely. So I need a temporary holder until Mayura can return." Hawkmoth stared at her, steely-eyed and intimidating. Lila gulped and straightened up again, trying her best to look reliable. This was an incredible opportunity, and she was not going to let it simply slip by. "So what I want to know is... can I trust you?"
Lila had to stop herself from nodding like a frantic bobblehead doll. She didn't want to come off as an overly-excitable teenager. It was just- well, this was the opportunity to help get back at Ladybug that she hadn't ever expected. She had thought that her only chances were going to be to occasional (or not-so-occasional) akumatizations, where she would maybe be allowed to have some influence in what powers she got. But now, to get a Miraculous- even if it was only for a short while, until whenever Mayura returned- that was amazing.
She would get to go after Ladybug during every fight. And she could dream up the perfect sentimonster to go against the annoying superhero, one that could maybe be the one to take Ladybug down once and for all. If she got to coordinate with Hawkmoth, then they could maybe do a sentimonster-akuma pairing that would be incredibly strong-
-she was getting ahead of herself. Lila had to be calm, and work on gaining Hawkmoth's trust before she started making suggestions. She would have to be more cautious than she was with her classmates, since Hawkmoth was an adult, and probably a proud and paranoid one at that. That meant that he wouldn't be so quick to completely trust her. Trying to maneuver to be a more important part of his team right away would probably just result in her opportunity being ripped away from her.
Besides, he could sense emotions, right? So that meant that she had to be way more careful than usual.
"Of course you can trust me," Lila assured him, refraining from pressing a sincere hand to her heart. It worked at school, but with the supervillain it would probably appear dramatic and over-the-top. And maybe he was probably a bit dramatic and over-the-top (definitely so, if the fact that he had akumas providing a soundtrack for him on Heroes Day was any indication), but something told her that he wouldn't appreciate that in a potential ally.
Besides, he knew that she liked lying and manipulating, and so steering away from those mannerisms during her interactions with him would probably go over better.
"Good." Hawkmoth nodded once, sharply, then passed the drawstring over to her. Lila's fingers trembled as she practically tore the strings open to pull out the pin inside. A blue bubble burst into being as soon as her fingers touched the pin, and then it popped and revealed a blue floating...thing. "This is Duusu. Take good care of him. Now... let's discuss specifics."
The next morning, Lila added a simple scarf to her outfit to cover the Peacock pin and give Duusu somewhere to hide. It felt a little odd to have a constant companion, but that was the price she had to pay for power.
She could not possibly look forward to the next akuma attack more. She just wanted to get out on the battlefield and kick Ladybug's butt. Lila had even found a generic keychain that she could put the amok in and tucked it in her pocket, so it would stay with her and Ladybug and Chat Noir would have to work harder to defeat the sentimonster.
"Ah, that's a nice scarf, Lila," Mrs. Rossi commented, setting Lila's breakfast down in front of her. "I don't recognize it- is it from one of your friends at school?"
"Oh, it's from Adrien," Lila claimed at once, running one hand down the scarf. It wasn't, of course- it was just something that she had stolen from one of her photoshoots- but since it was Gabriel brand, it was believable enough. "He said it went well with my hair."
"It really does. That's very sweet of him." Mrs. Rossi grabbed her own half-eaten plate from the counter, sitting down across the table to finish her breakfast. "Will you be out with your friends again today after school?"
"Yes, I've been invited to come along to a couple clubs this week and check them out," Lila lied. Or- well, it was a partial lie, at least. Several of her classmates had extended invitations for her to come check out the clubs at the school, but that had happened ages ago and besides, Lila just wasn't interested. It would be more adults that she had to interact with and make excuses to when she was 'on a trip', and while she had been on a roll with the number of adults who were just believing her without any questions it just wasn't worth the risk. "So I'll be busy."
Not that it made any difference to her mom, really. She would be at work regardless. It was just- well, it was good to keep up the illusion that she was always with her friends and 'boyfriend'. And if an akuma attacked and her mom tried to get in contact with her, then she would have an excuse for not picking up, since her mom would expect that she would be busy.
"Fantastic!" Mrs. Rossi smiled, then scraped up the last couple bites of bites on her plate and shoved them in her mouth, rising from the table and carrying her plate to the sink. "I have to get going to the embassy, since the ambassador has a whole pile of paperwork that he needs pulled together for his meeting this morning, but I made lunch for you. It's in the fridge. And if you have any menu requests, just text me during the day. I'm going to make a grocery run after work."
"Okay." Lila smiled at her mom, waiting for her to leave before rolling her eyes. She knew exactly what was in her packed lunch, and she would much rather go out to eat or have whatever was in the cafeteria. But she and her mom had argued about Lila getting lunch money instead of bringing a lunch only a few days ago and she hadn't won the argument- apparently it was cheaper to just bring a sandwich every day, as if that was important. If her mom was actually an ambassador and not just a secretary for the ambassador, then Lila would be able to afford to buy lunch every day.
She would use her earnings from the photoshoots, but she needed that money to buy new outfits. If she didn't stay in fashion and wear nice clothes, then her credibility would start slipping.
Daughters of the ambassadors and friends of celebrities simply didn't wear off-brand clothing after all. And while that maybe forced Lila into the same handful of outfits over and over, she had managed to explain that away by claiming it was for environmental awareness reasons.
Maybe she could claim that about her lunches, too. Except- well, it probably wasn't a good idea to use the same excuses too often. Maybe she could claim that she had decided to divert her lunch money to a charity for child hunger, since there were starving children across the world who could use it more than her. Yes, that sounded like a good excuse.
...it still wouldn't make her sandwich taste any better. Maybe she could at least persuade her mom to pack something better for her lunch if Lila stopped arguing about eating out every day.
With a couple more quick bites, Lila finished up her breakfast and stuck her plate in the sink. It didn't take her long to collect her school things- including her lunch, which was definitely a boring old sandwich- and then head down to the bus stop to ride over to school.
As she waited for the bus, Lila's mind went back to the night before. She was still super excited about the opportunity, even though- well, it came with some risks, Hawkmoth had made that clear. Risks, and also an ally that had made it very clear that he Did Not fully trust her, at least not yet.
There had definitely been some not-so-veiled threats against her mom for if Lila decided to 'take liberties' while she had the Peacock Miraculous. And while Lila was really more or less indifferent about her mom, if anything happened to her and Lila had to be placed with a foster family or something...
Well, that wouldn't be a good thing. But that was fine, because she wasn't planning on pulling anything stupid while she had the Miraculous, like trying to keep it after Mayura became available again or trying to manipulate him to do what she wanted, even if it conflicted with his goals. After all, their goals already lined up- she just wanted to take down Ladybug and get her revenge, even if Ladybug (unfortunately) now wouldn't know who was behind her defeat.
Lila supposed that it didn't really matter if Ladybug knew or not in the end. All that was important was taking her down.
Hopefully the superheroes' defeat would happen while Lila was still involved, before Mayura came back. Maybe the supervillain team's shake-up would be just what they needed to finally make the jump from always narrowly losing to actually winning. Lila could bring in new ideas, new plots, and a new pair of eyes. She didn't even necessarily have to convince Hawkmoth of all of them- some, she could just carry out on her own.
And no, he hadn't forbidden that. If he wanted her to follow his lead, she would. But she also had to be independent, able to fight on her own and act independently when Hawkmoth's focus had to be elsewhere in the battle. She could carry out her ideas then, and maybe they would turn out to be just what Hawkmoth needed. He would get the Miraculous for whatever he needed them for, and- well, he would reward her for her help, right? Maybe she would get another Miraculous to use, one she would get to keep permanently.
Which one would she want? Lila tilted her head, considering. Maybe the Ladybug Miraculous, to really rub it into Ladybug's face. It would be a trophy. And she would go out often, just to rub it in her nemesis' face. But maybe Hawkmoth would need to keep that one and she would have to choose another. Presumably he would be able to retrieve the box of Miraculous from Ladybug after she was defeated, so Lila would be able to take her pick. There would be a lot of choices, a lot of tempting offers.
Her first choice- after the Ladybug Miraculous, for gloating reasons- would be the Fox. Those powers were what she had used most often when she was akumatized, and they were familiar and useful. She could make illusions of herself with all sorts of famous people and take pictures and show them off to further discredit annoying little dissenters. She could make illusions of the aforementioned dissenters doing bad things, just to get them in trouble. It would be super useful, even if the actual Fox Miraculous was apparently a tad more limited in the amount of power it had compared to her akuma self.
Another choice would be the Horse, maybe. She could hop over to other countries and actually call in to her classes from there for added realism when she was off 'traveling'! She might even be able to meet some of the people she was always claiming connections to and actually start forming those connections- though that might be a bit of a stretch. She was smart enough to know that a few chance encounters would not automatically lead to songs written about her and promises to always drop everything to do things on her request. So maybe the Horse wouldn't be quite as useful.
Maybe there was a kwami of manipulation among the ones Ladybug held on to. That would be really useful, something she could use to force the famous people connections and make all of her dreams reality. It would make manipulating her peers easier, too- or at least more foolproof- and that would be really, really helpful. That would be the ideal Miraculous for her, if it even existed.
All she had to do was be the best sidekick Hawkmoth had ever had and defeat Ladybug. And once that was done, and she had her own source of power- an unconditional source, no threats to her (or, she supposed, to her mom's) general well-being- then, well, then would come rewards to her civilian self. And after that?
Well, the world would be open to her, and the possibilities were endless.
The bus pulled up and for once, Lila had a real smile on her face as she got on. Maybe for everyone else on the bus, it was just a normal day. But for her?
It was the start of a new era.
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Joyeux Noelle
Happy Holidays! Please enjoy this fic that I wrote last year for the holidays, a Miraculous holiday-themed reveal fic I wrote right after I got totally sucked into this show and fandom.
“Bye bye, little butterfly.”
Chat Noir tilted his head back, watching the purified akuma flit away from the Eiffel tower into the snowy night. As he did, he caught sight of a glittering bush speckled with red berries hanging overhead. Fairy lights had been strung through it and they twinkled warmly against the velvet sky.
“Mistletoe,” he heard Ladybug murmur. He turned to see her gazing up at the same thing he had noticed, wistfulness clouding those blue eyes.
“You know, mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it,” Chat Noir said, stepping closer. He took one of her hands in his own, wishing more than anything the miraculous wasn’t between them right now, that he really could feel the warmth of her hand in his own. A little christmas miracle.
“A kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it.” Ladybug’s eyes flashed a warning, but she didn’t pull away or take off like she normally did. Hope flashed through him, stronger and more dangerous than he realized. Something in her eyes softened, and he froze as she leaned in. Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her waist, enjoying the warmth of her body even in this freezing cold. Electricity seemed to sizzle across his skin as she pressed her lips against his cheek. Joy and disappointment crashed through him in equal parts.
She pulled back again as her earrings began to blink their final warning, and reluctantly he let her go. That age-old request was once again on the tip of his tongue, to beg her to stay, to break down this last wall between them, but for once, he stayed quiet. Maybe it was how sad she looked. Maybe it was because of the holidays. Maybe it was because he’d already received so much more than he could have hoped for tonight.
“Merry Christmas, m’lady,” he said instead, banishing the disappointment. She was more generous with him than he had any right to expect anyway.
“Merry Christmas, kitty,” she said. And then she was gone, swinging away into the night. Adrien watched her leave for a moment, wavering as he usually did, trying to imagine where she was going, picking out clues to who she was. He knew he shouldn’t, but he’d been doing it for so long now it was practically habit. Not that it mattered too much. There never seemed to be much of a pattern to where she went.
And tonight, not much of a point. Tonight, he had somewhere else to be.
* * * * *
Marinette dropped into her bedroom, breathless. She was short on time - again. And it was all the cats’ fault.
“Tikki, spots off.”
Marinette was already pulling out her stash of macaroons from where she hid them in her room as her kwami reappeared, dazed. She always felt a little like she was over-using Tikki, but her kwami had always assured her it was part of the process. So Marinette made sure she was always stocked up with Tikki’s favourites, determined to make it as easy as possible.
“I wish getting ready for the dance could be as easy as becoming Ladybug,” Marinette joked as she dropped down from the loft to her room.
“If there was no challenge it wouldn’t be any fun,” Tikki teased around a bite of macaroon. “Besides, there’s something satisfying in seeing your own hard work pay off.”
“Tell me about it,” Marinette agreed as she eyed her mannequin in the corner. She’d been waiting for this night for months. The school held a winter wonderland formal every year right before holiday break, and every year, Marinette had designed a new dress to wear. This year had been a close call; between her duties as class representative and Ladybug, she’d been left with little time to design and even less time to create. The fact was she’d spent most nights the past week finishing up her dress instead of sleeping, a fact that was becoming increasingly obvious as she made more and more mistakes. Thankfully none of them had revealed anything too…cataclysmic.
But it was all worth it, because it meant that tonight she got to wear her finest creation yet. Featuring a full skirt created out of what felt like miles or glittering black tulle, it was almost too formal for the dance. The bodice was corseted with a sweetheart neckline, and a light pink sash at her waist broke up the otherwise dark gown. She’d decided to forgo a bow in the back; the disney vibes in her initial sketches had been just too strong. She’d thought about a colour palette more suited to the season, but these were her colours, and there had always been something enchanting about the contrast between black and pink.
“Better hurry, Marinette,” Tikki urged, derailing her train of thought. “Not much time left before the dance starts.”
Marinette didn’t bother checking the time before hurrying to her mirror to start on her make up. Not only was Tikki right, Marinette was usually late. Might as well get to it. “Let me know if my phone chimes!”
And in the end, she ended up being right on time. She’d decided to go simple with her look, leaving her hair down and styling it in easy curls, touching up the make up she was already wearing. She preferred to let her dress do the talking.
She was ready within half an hour.
“Ready, Tikki?”
The kwami smiled and sailed happily into a little pocket Marinette had designed for her, hidden in the folds of the tulle. Really, more dresses should come with pockets.
Marinette’s phone chimed just as she finished descending the stairs. This was it. All those sleepless nights had been leading up to this.
Marinette stopped to kiss her parents good bye and assure them she would be home by ten thirty before she slipped out of the bakery.
There, waiting at the curb, was Alya’s dad’s car. Nino and Alya were going to the dance together, but rather than leave her, her friend had suggested the three of them go together. Nino had tried to loop Adrien into their group, but Mr. Agreste had struck again: Adrien had a photoshoot for his dads’ new line and was expected to come straight home for a Chinese lesson directly after.
“Hey girl,” Alya exclaimed, fingering the tulle as Marinette slid into the car. “This dress is amazing! Your best one yet!”
“Off the hook, Marinette,” Nino agreed, giving her a thumbs up. Marinette couldn’t help a smile; she doubted Nino knew much about her design, but she really appreciated the support.
“Thank you,” Marinette giggled, but she couldn’t help the slight twinge of disappointment. If it really was her best work, the most important person was going to miss it.
She looked up just in time to see Alya elbow Nino in the ribs, knocking the air out of him with a whoosh. Marinette quirked an eyebrow, her Ladybug senses tingling.
“We have a surprise for you,” Alya admitted, her eyes darting between her and Nino. “But it’s a surprise, so you’ll have to wait til we get to the dance.”
Marinette’s palms instantly felt clammy. “Surprise? You know I don’t handle surprises well. What if I trip and fall? What if I trip and fall onto the buffet table? What if I trip and rip down the decorations?”
“Not even you’re that clumsy, Marinette,” Nino interjected. “You’ll like it, trust me.”
“He’s right,” Alya said as they pulled up to the hall. “Trust me.”
“Of course I am,” Nino said, stepping out of the car. “I’m always right.”
“I think always is a bit of a stretch,” Alya said as Nino helped her out of the car. “Remember when you thought Sabrina could be Ladybug?”
Marinette tripped over the hem of her dress as she stepped out of the car at the mention of her alter-ego. She may be getting her stammering under control around Adrien, but her secret coming up in conversation never failed to turn her into a gibbering puddle of pathetic excuses. Marinette felt a hand go under her arm, steadying her just as her lack of balance threatened to send her careening into the pavement.
“Careful, girl,” Alya said, helping her friend straighten up. She was beginning to look like maybe Marinette’s fears about her clumsiness hadn’t been totally unfounded.
“Thanks,” Marinette said as the three headed toward the hall. She didn’t miss the conspiratorial grin her friend and Nino shared and she felt her stomach clench. Whatever this surprise was, she hoped it didn’t include a spotlight. Or a speech. Or - god forbid - dancing.
“Amazing!” Alya exclaimed as the threesome stepped into the hall. Whoever had decorated had outdone themselves: soft white fairy lights were wound around the pillars in the room, giving the room a gentle low. Green boughs were draped off everything, and at the far end of the room stood a giant twinkling christmas tree.
“It’s beautiful,” Marinette said as she looked around the room, drinking in the warmth. She just wished it didn’t remind her of where she’d been an hour ago, and who she’d been with. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if her kitty had someone to spend tonight with. A bigger part of her she didn’t care to listen to wondered which answer she would prefer.
“It is,” she heard Nino murmur beside her. She glanced over to see him gazing at Alya with a goofy smile. Marinette’s heart squeezed and she couldn’t help a smile at the warm moment. Setting them up had been an accident, but she was happy she’d found someone who adored her.
Come on, Marinette!” Alya squealed, breaking the moment. “It’s time for that surprise.”
Marinette giggled nervously as she and Nino followed Alya deeper into the room. Their classmates swirled around them, throwing out greetings and compliments as they passed.
Marinette let it wash over her, her earlier disappointment fading, enjoying the company of her friends, even paying Chloe a compliment on her dress until the crowd in front of them parted and suddenly she was standing in front of -
“Adrien?”
Marinette was so shocked her mind simply went blank at the sight of him not four feet away from her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t coming tonight.
“Marinette?” The sound of her name dispelled a bit of her surprise. That was definitely his voice.
“I thought…you had a shootphoto? I mean a picture shoot? I mean - ” So much for having her stammering under control. Maybe it was the suit; it was Gabriel’s brand, black with sharp lines that had been tailored to fit him perfectly. It was too much. She needed the messy hair and casual clothes to just look him in the eye. This was overwhelming.
“I did.” Marinette reached for that confidence she’d been beginning to feel around him as he stared at her. He was looking as stunned as she felt. “Father relented at the last minute. I, uh, think Nathalie spoke to him for me.”
“Oh, well, that was lucky,” Marinette said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I would’ve really missed you. I mean ‘we’! ‘We all would have missed you. Because the formal is always, aha, so much fun…”
“I would have hated to miss it,” Adrien said, but something about the way he said it made Marinette think that maybe he wasn’t really talking about the dance. “Dance with me?”
She’d been so shocked by his sudden appearance she hadn’t realized Alya had had her directly to the edge of the dance floor. A slow song had started and their classmates had all taken to the floor, spinning as gently as the snowflakes outside.
“Uh, Adrien - ”
“I remember,” Adrien said, holding out his hand to her. “I promise to keep you steady.”
She should say no. Between the heels and not being able to even see her feet beyond her skirt, it was bound to be a disaster. She knew she could and Adrien wouldn’t be hurt or take the rejection personally. And yet -
She trusted him to lead her through it. And more than that, she was tired of saying no, of missing out on opportunities to be with him when she had to be Ladybug, of choking on her little crush, of watching him slip through her fingers time and time again.
“Ok,” she said, placing her hand in his own. She let him lead her to the dance floor and take the lead, his arms warm around her waist. She hoped he couldn’t feel her heart pounding, close as they were.
“You look really beautiful tonight, Marinette,” Adrien said as they slowly spun. “Not that you don’t always look beautiful, you do, I just mean - wow.” Marinette glanced up, surprised. Was he stammering?
“Thank you, Adrien,” Marinette said, “I…” She trailed off as she caught the glittering mistletoe directly over their heads. Noticing her gaze, Adrien looked up and saw the decoration as well. Marinette felt him stiffen in surprise before he looked back down at her. Oh god, now he was going to think she was some crazy stalked who’d lured him out here to steal a kiss! She had to diffuse the situation, now.
“You know,” Marinette said, reaching for the first thing that came to mind, “Mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it.”
“A kiss can be even deadlier if you…mean it.” Adrien’s smile dropped as he looked down at her, the colour draining from his face.
Marinette froze. It was like being struck by lightning. Adrien. Adrien. Was. Chat Noir? Before she could even begin processing it, hundreds of images burst through her memory, every little coincidence she had somehow missed. His feather allergy. How he was always late, like her. How she never saw both of them at the same time, not really.
“…m’lady?”
Adrien’s voice broke the spell. She looked up, searching his face - those eyes! - suddenly afraid of the disappointment she was sure she’d find there. That his lady, his miraculous Ladybug, was just Marinette.
But…it was just the opposite. Marinette felt ever fibre of her being tingle in response to the way he was looking at her then. Like she put the stars in the sky every night and called for the sun every morning. Like every dream he’d ever had was coming true. Slowly, she nodded.
He abruptly pulled her back to him and continued their slow dance as though nothing had happened. To anyone watching, it may have appeared to be a small blip in their conversation instead of the life-altering revelation it had been.
“Marinette.” The way Adrien breathed her name made her shiver.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she whispered. A thousand memories were crashing through her, lighting up as they fell into place.
She felt Adrien hesitate as they completed another rotation. “Are you disappointed?”
Marinette jerked back, and they stopped again as she peered up into his face. Worry and doubt coalesced there, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Disappointed?” Marinette shook her head in stunned disbelief. “How could I possibly be disappointed? Adrien, you’re…you’re everything to me. You’re my best friend, and the person I trust the most. You make being Ladybug so much easier than it is. Adrien, I love you.”
Marinette didn’t think he could be more surprised if Hawkmoth himself dropped in on them right then. “The other boy you like…is me? You love me?”
Marinette blushed but nodded, lacing her fingers through his. Those words she’d tried to say a dozen times and couldn’t seemed to come so easily to her now. Despite the secret she’d tried so hard to keep being from revealed, everything felt like it was finally falling into place. The warning bells she normally heard pealing had finally quieted.
Adrien reached up to cup her face face, so gently, as though he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast. He started to lean toward her, but as much as she didn’t want to, Marinette placed a hand on his chest to stop him. He stopped, his face open and wondering.
“You’ve been…clear about how you feel about Ladybug, but I’m - I’m just Marinette, and…I need to know how you feel about me before anything else happens. Because I don’t know if…” Marinette trailed off, the words getting stuck in her throat. To her eternal embarrassment, she felt tears stinging her eyes. She had wanted this for so long she was terrified to have it slip through her fingers again.
“Just Marinette?” Adrien shook his head, running a thumb along her cheekbone. “You’ve never been just Marinette to me. You’ve always been amazing as Ladybug, brave and smart, but knowing that it’s you… it just makes me love you more.”
Marinette couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out of her. “I..I love you, Adrien.”
He smiled down at her, wiping away the lone tear that slid down her cheek. “I love you, too, Marinette.”
This time she didn’t stop him as he kissed her.
She’d been expecting an explosion; wasn’t that how it was always described? Fireworks…
It wasn’t. It was…stillness. Like the world was holding its breath, afraid to disrupt the moment. Like they were the only two people in the room, like they’d never come up for air. It was as though everything else had ceased to exist, except for her, and Adrien, and the beating of his heart beneath her palm. Time itself had stopped.
Finally, Adrien, pulled back, but only far enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breathing as ragged as she imagined her own was.
“That was…” He seemed at a loss for words as he trailed off, gazing into her eyes. For once, Marinette didn’t have that problem, and readily finished his sentence, the one word she could think to sum it all up.
“Miraculous."
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Bloggin’ thru new Homestuck^2 bonus, The Influencers part 2. Kinda got my gears ground during part 1, but that largely wasn’t this sideplot’s fault, so I should still be able to enjoy it.
Reminder, bonus update blogging is always light on detail because I don’t wanna spoil all the paid content, but I’ll give the gist of my reactions and go into anything plot or character related that helps understand the main story, as well as giving you a real top-down view of “what happens” so you know what it’s about and whether or not to invest in looking yourself. (And I don’t necessarily have to give you anything that isn’t main-plot-relevant.)
So where are they going to follow the main party? They shouldn’t need to record the funeral I’d assume, because that already would have been televised (and awful for Jane’s PR)... *click*
9/28/2020 - The Influencers, Part 2
TEACHER: Time’s a-ticking.
TEACHER: The next plot point is yours to change, if you want it. Don’t you feel it calling to you?
Yeah, just hanging a lampshade on this whole parallel sideplot I guess.
> (==>)
Whatever it is, Imode feels it. A tiny string of relevance spooling out from their belly. They want to follow it.
That’s pretty Lighty and/or Seery. I’ve used that terminology to describe the pull of Light and its “relevance” connotations even since the only fanfic I’ve ever written, back in 2011 during Homestuck’s run, and it’s obvious enough terminology that I think Rose later mentioned it somewhere like in the Epilogues. Are these three kids perhaps going to get a fourth, and become their own session by the end of this like Harry, Vrissy, Tavros and Yiffy might?
They can’t stop picturing their friend, Harry Anderson, arrested or tortured or worse. They’re not sure what there is to be done to stop this chain of events, but they’re sure as shit gonna find out.
(”They” is almost certainly referring to Imode here, not all three, since Imode uses they/them.)
Alright, self-aggrandizing used for good. Show off the sort of thing that Vriska could have accomplished if she actually used her talents for her team for once. (Besides, like, the similar thing she did just recently by making a scene.)
> (==>)
Imode is the first to choose pursuing this path over bootlicking, and the others are sure to follow.
> (==>)
Yup, Avril and Silas follow. (Had to be reminded of ALL of their names, it’s been months since their single named appearance.)
> (==>)
Crockercopters overhead but none taking note yet, just ominous setdressing
> (==>)
IMODE: lemme take a ⏱️ to 😮💨 before we figure out where to go next.
AVRIL: wait don't you know?
IMODE: Huh?
AVRIL: we were following YOU this whole time.
Oh, that answers the first question I asked. They have NO clue where they’re going. Let’s see if they luck out and find the clock tower.
IMODE: You 👂 what he said about the next step 📞 to us, same as i did. Don't you feel it pulling at you?
Literal pull? Powers? Future player? --All baseless speculation of course.
SILAS: Woah are you seein’ this.
Vriska’s probably putting on her very public display now. (This is a bonus so I’m skipping lots of banter and arguing.)
> (==>)
Oh, they just saw John flying up to the clock tower in his outfit. And catching sight of him fly is rare celebrity gossip stuff so of course it’d stand out to them, apparently. (Only one of them is athletic apparently, the other two are groaning at the prospect of more running.)
> (==>)
Avril always enjoys running, but there’s something else thumping along to the rhythm of the thuds of his feet and beat of his heart. He’d thought Imode was nuts for feeling it just a minute prior, but now he’s realized he isn’t deadweight, that he hasn’t fucked up someone’s life irrevocably, and it pushes him faster and faster as he tears ass toward the belltower.
(Did we know Avril was he/him before this? Probably but if so I forgot.)
Okay, since we’re getting glimpses into each of their headspaces narratively that BOTH have had some oblique aspect references, I have to at least OPERATE on a guessy assumption that there’s a sort of classpect-for-each-of-them thing going here.
I’ve quoted both those whole paragraphs here... so what do I see? This is going to be a bit tougher because I don’t care as much to remember these characters...
Imode had some Lighty-or-Seery language, and then could not stop picturing bad things happening to Harry, wanting to avert that chain of events. So something of a Seer or Mage would make sense. But given how easily Lighty stuff and the Understanding classes (or at least what we think those are) can be conflated, Mage of Light seems a bit of a premature jump. Heck, I’m only saying Mage because a Seer of Light already occupies a starring role, and because her first act on that feeling was to jump after it herself and tell the others:
IMODE: Stay here and 👢👅 your way into fame if that's what you really want.
IMODE: I’m ✈️. Follow me if you’re not 🐔💩.
--leading by example rather than directing the others into battle. Only half-caring if they followed, willing to pursue it herself if necessary. So, potentially more “Active”.
As for Avril... the word “heart” is mentioned there, sure, but the full context is “there’s something else thumping along to the rhythm of the thuds of his feet and beat of his heart”. I’m inclined to think that the rhythm/beat references, especially the even footsteps and heartbeats hitting like a metronome, might be more tied to Time? But if so, I don’t see anything class-related. (Could also be Blood, and him thinking of what he owes in the last sentences could be reinforcing that? Big question marks for now.)
> (==>)
Door to the belltower’s locked. The kids figure John’s forgotten that his son can’t fly.
AVRIL: this is it, this is the thing we can help with! #feelinit #vibes
IMODE: OK I'm excited that you believe me now, but what are you gonna even do?
IMODE: use your big all-star 💪 to break down the 🚪?
--so they think they can “resolve a missing plot point” by getting the way into the clock tower open? Is this going to be a theme or running joke of the Influencers sideplot, showing plotholes resolved in bonus content like how we finally saw how Gamzee’s body was relocated last time? When I was explicitly mad about that? (This seems like a much smaller one though.)
Apparently in HS^2 proper they remarked that the door SHOULD be locked, but Vriska just opened it anyway and wasn’t surprised it was unlocked, which she would’ve ascribed to her luck -- how the universe just makes way for her. (And we’re literally seeing HOW the “universe” “made way” for her this way, through these Influencer kids. Even though Vriska could have broken down the door in a second and it’s practically meaningless.)
> (==>)
Avril just has the key!
AVRIL: so like my photoshoots are like, #modernfashion #myworkout #urbexp
IMODE: Yea, your 📸 are why we’re all in this mess. We know. Get to it.
AVRIL: fair. ok well this is the urban exploration part.
AVRIL: a lot of the public infrastructure buildings in the kingdom have the same weird, shitty deadbolts on them.
AVRIL: its like they were mass-produced for ease of access or something.
AVRIL: none of the deep crockergov stuff, but a lot of the kingdom maintenance buildings.
AVRIL: so once you swipe one key, you got access to it all.
AVRIL: that’s how i get a lot of my hard-to-get shots #tradesecrets #tellnoone
Hhhmmmmm. So what does this tell us about his potential role? Getting places you’re not supposed to is associated with the Thief, Rogue, Bard, and sometimes Knight classes... as well as the Time/Space aspects, or the Void and Breath aspects. A Thief or Rogue of Time could do the trick, and fit with the rhythm paragraph earlier... whereas Space doesn’t have the same rhythm associations even if it is “places” he’s getting into for these shots. And photography, snapshots still in time, is something Dave was also explicitly into. Plus, this exploit he’s showcasing is specifically for older buildings, playing into history/archaeology from an urban perspective.
So, Time is looking like a safer and safer bet for him.
> (==>)
lock click
> (==>)
long-hair swoop, cheer
SILAS: Yeah, I’m tickled a near-disproportionate amount by the unlockin’ of a door, so I’m inclined to believe you were onto somethin’.
Still no real hints about Silas, yet.
AVRIL: ok so. we did it, right? #missioncomplete
AVRIL: feels a little anticlimactic #tbh
IMODE: idk, I think so? whatever I was feeling doesn't seem so immediate anymore.
IMODE: I wonder if-
Okay, that’s some near-confirmation that Imode was LITERALLY FEELING the plot or some such. We’ll probably end the Influencers sidestory eventually with at least solid GUESSES blatantly obvious for their potential Hero Roles or the like.
> (==>)
Ah, Vriska and the kids are coming-- and we get the Silas paragraph(s)! Silas is green-themed with green text, and a session with a Time player has a good chance of having a Space player too, so let’s see if...
Silas doesn’t know what being spotted by the other kids might mean, metaphysically or logistically or legally. She’s not particularly pressed by that sort of thing. But this is a day that’s come with more introspecting than she’s used to having to endure in a year, so she's ready to get moving before it becomes an issue.
As Harry Anderson, Vrissy, Vriska, and Tavros proceed to have this conversation, Silas pushes to catch up with Avril’s pace. She’s not sure where they’re headed, and has no clue what all this means for her. She knows the step she’s taken isn’t one she’ll be able to backtrack from, but she’ll figure that out tomorrow. For now, one foot in front of the other.
That...
I mean there’s a lot of talk of time-FRAMES, from a lazy perspective, but just-pushing-forward-in-the-here-and-now is reasonably Spacey? ...hm. I was excited for the Silas paragraph(s) but I don’t see any immediately-apparent pattern meant for us to discern classpect info here. Maybe a female Page example (since we could use one), propelled along by events without knowing what’s going on at first, too early in her journey to have taken more than her first step up the gradual incline of her long-term potential?
I really don’t know I guess.
Anyway, that’s the end of the bonus upd8! See ya in a while.
#Homestuck#hs2#Homestuck Liveblog#upd8#Homestuck^2#Avril Thorpe#Imode Kurita#silas p beauregard iii#spoiler#spoilers
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Divergent Points - Reflekdoll
AO3/FFN
Thanks to @galahadwilder for idea bouncing!
Oh yeah, this is a bit late, but I figure @alya-appreciation-week might appreciate this with the Kwami Swap. Because Ladybug!Alya and Black Cat!Nino are awesome.
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Alya grinned. Marinette may no longer need help finding opportunities to hang out with Adrien (as Chat Noir at least), nor to push her to get closer to him, but still, any opportunity that Marinette and Adrien had to really spend time with each other as civilians was something to treasure. And getting to participate in a group activity? Even better.
Adrien and Marinette talking with each other about fashion, giving tips, making jokes, really just having a conversation without any stress or anxiety? Not something she’d have thought was possible even a month ago. Finding out that Adrien was Chat Noir really let her relax around him.
Of course the rest of the class had noticed, and many of them were suspicious, but they’d deflected it as best they could. They’d considered telling the rest of the class about Marinette and Adrien dating, but had eventually decided against it. Most of them would be thrilled, but between Chloe potentially lashing out at Marinette if she discovered that Adrien had fallen for her and the ambiguous threat that Lila represented? It wasn’t worth it.
Time to film the main model!
She turned her phone from Adrien and Marinette towards Juleka. She wasn’t filming yet, but if there was one thing she’d learned from running the Ladyblog, it was to always be ready to press that record button.
“How about a little smile for the camera, Juleka?”
Juleka looked up, mumbling something quietly, barely coherently. It sounded like “I don’t think this is such a good idea guys?” With the way her words were blending together, it was hard to tell.
Juleka had been the one to put herself forward as a model earlier, but now she seemed weirdly freaked out. But this wasn’t like Marinette’s freak outs. Those tended to be a lot louder and more obvious, and a lot easier to pinpoint the cause of (Adrien. Almost always Adrien).
By contrast, Juleka seemed a lot more restrained, but in a way that was even more worrying. With Marinette she knew what was going on. With Juleka, she just kinda appeared freaked out and barely responsive, looking down at the ground, eyes darting around, mumbling, and with not being able to hear her really well, she wasn’t even sure what the issue was, much less how to fix it.
Marinette walked over to Juleka, holding onto her shoulders and talking to her comfortingly. Alya relaxed slightly. She wasn’t sure what to do, but Marinette was pretty talented. Maybe she’d be able to help Juleka through… whatever was going on?
She frowned. Juleka was hyperventilating now, even with Marinette there with her.
Hm. 11:30. They didn’t have long before Adrien would have to leave to go have lunch with his father. Whatever they did, they’d have to do soon.
Marinette spoke soothingly to Juleka. “It was great of you to volunteer to model for me, but I can tell you’re not feeling that comfortable about it. Would you prefer if someone stood in for you? These are my designs, I really should model them myself…”
If someone stood in for-
Oh.
OH.
This was perfect!
Adrien was already a model, and Marinette’s designs were unisex, fitting both men and women and looking good on them too. And, naturally, she already had versions on hand that were the right size for both herself and Adrien. (Come on, like she WOULDN’T design clothes in her kitty’s size).
It would be perfect for showing off Marinette’s range for her website!
…Okay so the main reason was because she’d get some matching clothing couple pics out of it. So sue her, they were cute together.
She was still waiting for the day they would get their first hamster together. She wasn’t sure who would be most likely to die of cuteness overload first, Marinette when cooing over the hamster, Adrien for cooing over the hamster AND how cute Marinette was, or herself for cooing over the cuteness of all of them.
Oh who was she kidding, it would be Adrien. The boy was such a smitten kitten.
Wait, what was she thinking about?
Oh yeah. New models for the photoshoot!
“Of course! Awesome idea Marinette!”
Alya grabbed Marinette and yanked her over next to Adrien, positioning them close enough to both be in frame of a potential camera. “If we want to show off how truly awesome this design is for both boys and girls, it’d be best to have the photoshoot with both a girl and a guy! You in Adrien?”
He shrugged. “If it helps. Could be fun! A lot more interesting than my regular photoshoots at least.”
“Perfect! Give Marinette your suit Juleka.”
She didn’t wait for a response, already grabbing the hat off of Juleka’s head and pushing Marinette and Adrien towards two shades they’d set up for any outfit changes.
This was going to be SO. COOL. Even better than the original plan!
The two of them emerged minutes later. She wasn’t surprised that Adrien was so fast at changing, he certainly had enough experience. Marinette was a bit more of a surprise, but she was used to acting fast, so maybe it wasn’t TOO surprising. Plus she was intimately familiar with the outfit and the accessories, which probably helped with the changing speed.
They looked so awesome! With the simple dark blue shirt with black stripes, the outfits were well-suited for casual wear, but the pop of color from the red berets and the addition of the rings and clip-on earrings added some extra interest that took the outfits to the next level!
Wait… rings and earrings…
She glanced at Adrien’s hand and at Marinette’s ears. Both of them were wearing the accessories for the outfit rather than their Miraculous.
She pulled them aside quickly.
“Adrien? Marinette? Where are your Miraculous?”
They both looked slightly uncomfortable, patting their bags.
Ok. So they weren’t wearing them right now, but they were close by. This would be fine. It was only going to be for a little bit, less than an hour. Surely Hawkmoth wouldn’t attack during this tiny little window of time.
Right?
…Maybe she should call for back-up. You know, just in case.
She sent off a quick text to Nino, asking him to meet up with her and the others at Marinette’s house. If there was an emergency, she knew she could count on him.
“Ok, let’s do this quickly before Adrien has to go back.”
They tried a few different positions in the room, but unfortunately-
Alya frowned. “Marinette, I don’t think your room has the best lighting for this. It’s a little too dim.”
Hm. It would mean more of a delay, but- “Maybe we should go outside? It’ll be brighter out there, and the background will be more appealing. Plus there’ll be more room for different shots.”
Alya following Marinette’s gaze as she glanced over at Juleka. She looked better now – well at least she wasn’t hyperventilating or mumbling. Slightly downcast maybe? But at least she didn’t seem ready to collapse to the ground.
The group started heading downstairs. Well, all except for one.
Juleka shook her head. “I’d rather not come.”
Rose looked put-out. “What? Why not?”
Juleka turned away from everyone. “It’s nothing, I just…”
Alya frowned as she checked the time, missing the rest of what Juleka mumbled. “We’ve got to head out now if we’re gonna do this, we only have thirty minutes left!”
Marinette called up to Juleka, looking uncertain. “Well, if you’re sure. Feel free to make yourself at home, we’ll be back soon.”
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Nino met up with them on the ground floor. Marinette living so close to Francois-Dupont definitely came in handy sometimes.
“What’s going on dudes?”
Alya smiled. Seeing Nino never failed to lift her spirits. “There’s been a change of plans, we’re heading outside for the photoshoot. You up for it?”
He blinked. “Sure. Where to?”
He looked around. “And where’s Juleka?”
“She said she wanted to stay behind.”
Nino frowned. “Is she okay?”
“She said it was nothing.”
Nino glanced up at the top floor, where Marinette’s bedroom – and Juleka – were, but didn’t say anything.
“We can talk to her later if you want,” Alya suggested, “but we’re on a time crunch here.”
Nino hesitated, seeming conflicted. Finally he gave in. “Ok, where’re we going? And how’re we getting there?”
Adrien perked up. “I can take care of that!”
A few moments later, they were all squeezed into the backseat of the Agreste family car. Or, well, one of them. Alya hadn’t exactly kept track. Surely they had a second one in case Gabriel needed to go somewhere?
…Then again, Gabriel almost never left the house.
Alya had… OPINIONS on Gabriel. Between what Adrien had told her and the others a few weeks ago during the Chameleon incident, and what she knew from personal experience… well, most of what she had to say about him couldn’t be spoken of in polite company.
At least Marinette’s family had practically adopted Chat Noir. Adrien had seemed a lot happier and well-assured these past three weeks. She wished that Adrien could just move in with them already, but Nathalie would probably notice that.
She bet that if it was just Gabriel they could manage it though. For a guy who never left home, he sure didn’t spend much time with his son. Though that might be a blessing in disguise.
At least Adrien had Gorilla when he was at the manor. The man wasn’t exactly talkative, but he clearly cared for Adrien and gave him more slack than anyone else did.
Speaking of which…
The car halted. It was fortunate the school, Marinette’s house, and the Eiffel Tower were so close together, or they wouldn’t have had a prayer of finishing this within the time frame.
It wasn’t long before they had everything set up for the shoot. Marinette and Adrien had a few nice poses – nothing too coupley sadly, they had to keep that on the down-low for now. But still really nice pics that showed off the clothes well.
Then the giant Reflekta doll robot stomped into view.
Well, crap.
“Hello, my friends,” she heard Juleka’s voice call out bitterly. “I’ve got something special for your video.”
…And there were the giant laser beams. Welp, typical Tuesday she guessed.
She was more concerned with what was going on with Juleka. She’d seemed a little off when they left, but badly enough to get akumatized?
A small nagging feeling built in her stomach. Juleka’d been freaking out and hyperventilating, she KNEW that, she’d just… well she didn’t know why or how to help, so she’d just… brushed it off. And Juleka had seemed a little downcast when they left, but she’d been so focused on her whole “get Adrien and Marinette in cute matching outfits” crusade, she’d just… brushed right past any niggling feeling she had that something was wrong.
“I’m sorry Juleka, I should’ve stayed with you!” Rose cried, looking distraught.
“I am not Juleka, I’m Reflekta.” The giant Reflekta-bot fired a laser at Rose, which she barely managed to dodge in time. “Everyone always forgot about Juleka anyway.”
The nagging feeling deepened into guilt. Because yes, Alya HAD forgotten about Juleka. She hadn’t meant to hurt her, hadn’t been malicious at all! She just… just hadn’t given her much thought.
Marinette, Adrien, and Nino may be her closest friends, but that didn’t mean that she should forget about her other friends when they needed help.
Glancing quickly around, she saw Marinette and Adrien quickly dash towards some concealed spots.
Perfect! They’d transform soon and-
OH DOUBLE CRAP.
SHE KNEW THEM TAKING OFF THEIR MIRACULOUS WAS A BAD IDEA.
Okay, okay, so Juleka had been transformed into Reflekta again, this time with a giant mech to help her, and Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn’t transform.
Well today was just peachy, wasn’t it?
Ok good. They were heading towards the car now.
Aaaaand the Reflekmech was turning around to face them.
Maybe she should just stop thinking optimistic thoughts. The universe wasn’t looking kindly on tempting fate today.
They dove behind the car.
“You stole my limelight, Marinette,” Reflekta snarled. “I was supposed to be the star of the photoshoot!”
No. Marinette didn’t do that.
She had.
She’d gotten an idea in her head about what she wanted to happen, and she’d brushed aside any obstacle to getting it done.
Obstacles including Juleka.
Heck, she’d taken the hat right off of Juleka’s head, barely even looking at her as she did it!
Alya’d always known she had a bit of a one-track mind, but seeing the negative results of that so clearly displayed…
How many other people had she accidentally hurt in her overeagerness?
“But- you told me you didn’t want to!” Marinette shouted at Reflekta, indignant.
“You didn’t let me explain,” Reflekta told Marinette. Then she blasted her with a Reflekt laser, turning her into a Reflekta clone.
How many times could Murphy’s Law activate over the course of two minutes? Because this was getting ridiculous.
“Ha! Maybe you’ll understand me better now that you’re in MY shoes!”
Honestly, if she thought it would help, Alya would stand in the way of a beam herself. She still didn’t quite understand what was going on with Juleka, but with the hints that she HAD gotten? She wanted to learn more. To figure out just what she’d done wrong, and how to do it right next time.
Adrien tried to open the trunk, to no avail. Of course not, like Gorilla would be incompetent enough to leave it unlocked. She guessed that Adrien hadn’t had to get a lot of things out of the trunk himself though, so it was understandable that he didn’t know.
Oh. And now the Reflekmech had picked up the car with the Miraculous, thrown it, and Reflekta’d Adrien. She supposed that might as well happen at this point.
This was so much less nervewracking back in the days when she had Ladybug and Chat Noir on pedestals as invincible superheroes, and didn’t realize that they were just kids like herself.
Ok. What could she do to help?
“Alya!” Nino shouted.
She startled. With how hard she was concentrating on Adrien and Marinette, along with thinking about her own role in this akumatization, she’d completely forgotten that she’d asked him to come just in case something like this happened.
He hurried over to her. “What do you think we should-“
A beam of light interrupted his sentence. Two seconds later, both of them were a lot more pink and in far less practical shoes than they were before.
Juuuuust great.
At least they kept their own voices. It’d be a nightmare telling people apart otherwise.
“For now? Run!”
She took him by the hand as they bolted, trying to help keep him moving without stumbling. She was decent at running in heels – they weren’t exactly her favorite kind of shoes to wear, but she had some experience at least. Nino had none.
Get away from akuma now, plan later. Maybe try to find the Miraculous and Adrien and Marinette? That was less of a “plan” and more of an “aspiration” though.
“Ladybug? Ladybug?” She heard a familiar voice call out faintly.
She froze, causing Nino to bump into her. “Why did you-“
She put her fingers to her lips, silencing him. Looking up, she scanned the sky.
A small red-and-black blur darted around.
“Tikki?” she called out, wanting to attract her attention, but no one else’s.
Hordes more people ran past her screaming.
…She probably didn’t need to worry about that too much, come to think of it. There was a bit of a distraction going on already.
Tikki flew over to them. “Alya?”
She nodded.
“Nino?” she asked, looking to her side.
He nodded as well.
“Where’s Plagg?” he asked.
“Still trying to find Chat Noir. I’ve been trying to find Ladybug, but…” her antenna drooped.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Alya told her, “I’m sure you’ll find her eventually.”
The bug kwami perked up, eyes widening.
Ooh. Alya knew that face. That was the ‘I’ve got a brilliant idea’ face.
“Alya, how would you feel about being Ladybug?”
Her?
Be Ladybug?
She’d be lying if she said it’d never crossed her mind. Heck, after finding out that Marinette had wanted her to be Ladybug, that she’d even tried to give her the Miraculous because she believed she’d be a better Ladybug than her? Alya’d daydreamed about it for weeks, what might have been.
Not that Alya was unhappy with the way things had turned out – Marinette was a BRILLIANT Ladybug, she doubted that anyone else could make use of it the way she did – but it made a girl wonder.
She reached out eagerly for the Miraculous… and hesitated.
Back when she’d first transformed into Rena Rouge, she’d nearly let her ambition and desire to be a superhero override the promise she’d made to Ladybug. Her promise won out, but it’d taken a little pushing from Trixx.
Was she making the same mistake, letting her desire to be Ladybug, something she’d dreamt of since the superhero had first appeared all those months ago, override what was right?
“…Are you sure?” she asked. “This whole mess was partly my fault to begin with. Whatever was going on with Juleka, I should’ve stayed and listened, but I got so caught up in my own idea for the photoshoot I just… sorta ignored her.”
Tikki smiled at her. “You made a mistake. That’s okay, Alya. Just apologize once we fix this and be a little more careful next time.”
She bit her lip. “Are you sure I can do this though? Ladybug’s always coming up with all these crazy plans. My mind doesn’t work the way hers does.”
The little bug flew up close to Alya. “Remember what she told you before? You might not be able to do things the way she does, but you can do them the way YOU do. I’ve had lots of different Ladybug, each one different. You can do this.”
“She’s right,” Nino spoke up. “You might not come up with the super complicated plans that Ladybug does, but you can do them your own way. You’ve got this.”
She smiled at Nino and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. It was a little weird with them both still being Reflekta clones, but they made it work.
Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Tikki dropped the earrings into her hand. Automatically they turned from the spotted earrings she knew, to solid orange ones.
Ah. Camouflage mode at work. Not a huge surprise they were orange for her, since that was her favorite color.
She went to put them on… and paused.
“Uh… Tikki?” she said. “My ears aren’t pierced. Or Reflekta’s, for that matter.”
“No problem!” she said cheerfully. “Marinette’s aren’t either.”
RECORD SCREECH.
“WHAT?!”
“Shh!” Nino pushed Alya around the corner, trying to keep her out of sight.
A group of Reflekta’d people looked around, trying to find out where the shouting was coming from.
Luckily Reflekmech started stomping their way, so they booked it pretty hastily.
Yay for giant robots bearing down on them?
“The earrings magically pierce the wielder’s ears when you try to put them on, and unpierce them when you take them off,” Tikki hissed. “All the piercing Miraculous are like that.”
Seriously?
Wait…
“Other piercing Miraculous? There are MORE?!”
“Ah, well, you know…” Tikki shook herself. “Never mind that, we have other things to worry about!”
Alya gave Tikki a searching look. “You’re right. Don’t think I’ll just forget about the other Miraculous though, I AM going to ask more about them later.”
Tikki looked away.
Alya looked at the Miraculous quizzically. “So I just hold them up to my ears…?”
Tikki looked back at her, nodding happily. Alya got the distinct feeling she was thrilled with the subject change. “Just pretend you’re putting on normal earrings, the Miraculous will do the rest.”
Well she’d never done that before, but maybe intention was good enough?
She moved one to her ear lobe, squeezing her eyes shut.
Then, it was in.
Eyes widening, she felt the earring.
There it was, secured like a perfectly normal earring. At least so it seemed, until she felt around it and noticed that there was no “hole” exactly, that it was sticking out of. It was almost like it phased through her ear.
Hm. Maybe it was related to how Kwamis could phase through things? She’d seen Tikki do that back when Marinette first met her.
Focus, Alya. Investigate Miraculous later, defeat akuma now!
Putting the other earring in (and honestly it was still weird how it DIDN’T feel weird to do that) she took a deep breath, looking to Nino and Tikki for encouragement.
They both grinned and nodded, Nino giving her a thumbs up as well.
Okay. Time to do this.
“Tikki, SPOTS ON!”
She shivered for a moment as the pink light rushed over her.
Blinking, she looked at her hands.
Red and black spots.
Her heart pounded.
She was Ladybug!
Or rather…
She looked back at Nino, staring at her with awe and pride (not that unusual to see from him, but it made her heart skip every time).
She smiled back at him. “Time to introduce Paris to Marybug!”
Nino gaped. “Wait, what?!”
Alya smiled. “What, did you think I hadn’t picked out a name already? Even before I knew what – and who – Ladybug and Chat Noir actually were, I daydreamed about being in their shoes. And finding out that I was almost the Ladybug Miraculous Wielder – well, I was going to at least consider what I could’ve named myself.”
Nino shook his head. “Yes, but – Marybug? That sounds way too similar to ‘Maribug’, aren’t you worried someone might draw the connection?”
She laughed. “That’s what makes the name so perfect! See, here’s the thing – it actually makes sense when researched, and I assure you, the Ladyblog is gonna have a front page article about this in the next few days. It turns out, that the ‘Lady’ in ‘Ladybug’, is actually supposed to be the Virgin Mary. So it’s just replacing ‘Lady’ with ‘Mary’. And if it just so happens that it sounds like ‘Maribug’, and Chat ever slips up and starts to call Ladybug ‘Mari’ or ‘Maribug’ or anything like that, well… it’ll be embarrassing that he almost called his partner by the name of a different Ladybug Miraculous wielder, but that’ll be all.”
Nino chuckled. “Should’ve known you had a plan with that name.”
She smirked. “…Also, it’s just a fun little reference”.
Throwing her yo-yo, she swung away, ready to make her (second) superhero debut.
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This was a goddamn MESS.
At least most civilians had already fled. (Though it took a little longer than usual. Those heels were hard enough to WALK in, running in them when you had no prior experience with the giant hat thing unbalancing you? No thanks.)
So. Yo-yo. She’d practiced a little with a toy one she’d bought, imagining what it’d be like to swing on one, so she had a teeny bit of experience? She guessed?
Well at least she was an expert on the moves Ladybug used. Even Adrien probably hadn’t studied them in as much detail.
Hm. Competition for later maybe?
FOCUS, MARYBUG. FOCUS.
She shook her head.
Ok. What first?
Maybe try to contain it? It was bad enough running rampant over here, best to stop it from leveling more residential buildings.
She flung her yo-yo at the Eiffel Tower and some nearby lightpoles, creating a makeshift fence.
Downside: the lightpoles were too flimsy and she’d aimed too low to make an effective fence. It tore the lightpoles right out of the ground.
Upside: It tripped.
The mech crashed, Reflekta’s startled scream ringing out.
Yes! Point one for Marybug!
Leaping down, she ran at her downed foe. If Reflekta was controlling the doll, maybe removing her would stop it?
She pulled back to throw her yo-yo, and barely dodged the beam from the Reflekta robot’s eyes.
Oh, right. It could still do that. That was bad.
So just sending the robot crashing to the ground was out. That HELPED, it stopped it from moving around as much and restricted its range of attack, but she still couldn’t actually stop it from attacking, and she couldn’t get Reflekta out that way.
And if getting Reflekta out didn’t stop this robot… what then?
Lucky Charm? This was pretty early in the fight, but Ladybug DID usually call for one if she was stuck…
LIGHTPOLE
So, don’t stop and ponder, because apparently Reflekta had figured out she could get even MORE range (as if the Reflekta laser beams weren’t enough) by using a lightpole as a makeshift bat.
Dangit, WHY WERE THE VILLAINS ALLOWED TO IMPROVISE WEAPONS.
Also, a partner would be really nice right now! No wonder Ladybug and Chat Noir were sent out together; fighting an akuma by yourself without having someone to distract the supervillain was a NIGHTMARE. Maybe if she had a more purely offensive Miraculous that would make sense, but the Ladybug miraculous was built around tricks and plans. She needed time to think and plan; time she wasn’t getting right now.
A familiar staff smacked the lightpole out of the mech’s hand.
Awesome! Plagg must’ve found-
She took a closer look.
And did a double-take.
Still a black suit with cat ears, but this time the ears were attached to a black hood, and the seams of the outfit were bright green.
She grinned. “So, what’s your name, handsome?”
“Uh- what-“ he spluttered, looking taken aback.
She rolled her eyes as she tackled her boyfriend out of the way of a beam.
“Your superhero name! You’re not using the turtle anymore, ‘Carapace’ doesn’t make sense.”
He stared at her. “I give up. How can you always recognize me?!”
Her gaze softened. “You’re always there when I need you. I need a partner to take down this akuma; of COURSE it’s gonna be you.”
He blushed.
She laughed.
“ARE YOU SERIOUSLY IGNORING ME RIGHT NOW?!” Reflekta screamed, her mech barreling towards them.
She flinched. Ok, flirt later, akuma now. Bad enough she’d shoved Juleka to the side earlier, she didn’t want to repeat that mistake.
Especially since this time she might get flattened or Reflekta’d (again) if she did. That would be bad.
“Can you keep the mech busy? I need some time to think,” she said, dodging another beam.
“There’s something you need to know first,” he told her. He motioned for her to follow him to an out-of-the-way rooftop.
Marybug frowned. What info could Nino have picked up in the last two minutes? She’d JUST left him!
“So, less than a minute after you swung away, Plagg flew by calling for Chat Noir. Of course I answered him. He gave me some new info before I transformed. Apparently both that robot and the purple moth on Heroes Day were sentimonsters, creations of the Peacock Miraculous. They work a lot like the Butterfly MIraculous’s akumas, except the object that’s infected – it’s called an amok by the way – doesn’t transform the person themselves. A sentimonster just kinda… manifests. Whoever holds the amok controls the sentimonster.”
“…Well that would’ve been nice to know earlier. Why didn’t Tikki mention this?!”
Nino shrugged. “Maybe she forgot? Or she didn’t realize she was allowed to? Plagg mentioned something about having gotten permission to fill us in.”
Honestly she was surprised he’d waited for permission. He didn’t strike her as the type.
Wait… if the amok was used to control the sentimonster…
“Reflekta must have the amok!” she realized.
But… crap. How to get to her?
“Hey… uh… okay I give up, what should I call you?”
He thought for a moment. “Call me Panther.”
“Panther, can you keep the robot occupied? I want to see if I can spot something I can use to get in or get Reflekta out, or some pattern in its movements – SOMETHING we can use to take Reflekta and the sentimonster down. Hard to do that while dodging attacks.”
He nodded, pole-vaulting away.
She slapped her cheeks.
Ok. Focus, Marybug. Everyone’s counting on you and Panther. You can DO this!
Panther smacked the Senti-bot with his staff, dodging its attacks and just generally keeping it occupied, but doing no real damage.
The attack and movement seemed the same as ever, nothing special ther-
OOH
THAT SLOT ON THE BACK OF THE MECH’S HEAD LOOKED IMPORTANT.
Hm… but how to access it? She didn’t have something to open it with, and besides, it wasn’t like the sentimonster was just gonna stand still and let her and Panther get inside.
Well, if she didn’t have everything she needed right now, then…
“LUCKY CHARM!”
She’d wanted to do that for so long!
A remote fell into her hands.
…Huh.
What the heck could she use it for? Did it control something in particular? Or was it gonna be one of those weirder, utterly insane Lucky Charms that no one in their right minds would be able to decipher?
(Seriously, she wasn’t sure whether Marinette was a genius, crazy, or both. Probably both.)
She pressed a few random buttons.
Far away, she spotted a giant TV screen – one that normally displayed ads, but occasionally broadcasted news to the masses, like akuma attacks – turning on.
Right now it just showed static – nothing was being broadcasted, not on that channel.
Not yet.
A grin slowly spread over her face.
Marinette had her insane Macgyvering (some people had started calling it Ladybugging, something Alya THOROUGHLY supported) but Alya?
Alya knew how to put on a show and draw people’s attention.
Jumping out of cover, she waved frantically.
Panther dodged and weaved around the sentimonster’s attacks, extricating himself from the fight and making his way over to Marybug.
“COME BACK HERE! STOP LEAVING ME AND GIVE ME YOUR MIRACULOUS!” Reflekta roared.
Marybug winced. Well THERE was another one for the guilt trip.
“You got something?” Panther asked quietly, just in case Reflekta could hear them and zone in on their location.
(Probably unnecessary. With how loud the beam firing was and how far away the robot was, she doubted Reflekta could hear anything short of screaming at the tops of their lungs.)
“I think so.” She pointed at a nearby metal beam the Reflektmech had knocked over. “Think you can cataclysm this into a long, thin sheet of metal? About a foot wide and an inch thick, if you can manage it.”
“…Maybe? Not like I’ve ever done this before, but I can give it a shot? Why?”
She explained her plan.
He grinned. “Babe, have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“Only every day. Now c’mon, let’s show the world what Marybug and Panther can do!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Let’s see, where was she? She had about as much sense of self-preservation as Alya did, she had to be-
Ah!
Probably should’ve expected her near the TV; that area had a good view of the chaos, while being out-of-the-way of it.
“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news!”
Marybug landed in front of Nadja. “Could I take the microphone for a minute?”
Nadja stared for a moment, but shook it off. Handing it over, she asked, “Who are you and the new mysterious superhero? Are you two replacing Ladybug and Chat Noir? What’s happened to Paris’s favorite duo?”
Marybug gave the camera a confident smile, making sure to press her remote’s button so the TV was tuned to the channel Nadja was broadcasting to. “I’m Marybug, and my partner’s Panther! Don’t worry, we’re only replacing Ladybug and Chat Noir temporarily. They’ll be back soon; I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw them later today in fact.
But enough about us; I’d like to interview the true star of show, Reflekta!”
“WHAT?”
Reflekmech turned around, stomping towards Marybug.
Hearing low voices? Probably couldn’t do that in a mech.
Hearing a gigantic TV cranked up as loud as it would go? Now THAT she could hear.
“Reflekta – what would you like to tell the public. Everyone’s here watching and listening to you!”
For a moment Reflekta was silent, the mech completely still. Then-
“You’re really listening? You’re not gonna brush me off and ignore me?”
“No. This is YOUR show. It’s all about YOU. You’re not going to fade away into the background and be lost; not now.”
Reflekta speaking quietly from within “Yes I’ll get the Miraculous, I know we have a deal, but I need to do this first; I’ll get them afterwards, don’t worry.”
More loudly; “I want people to pay attention to me. They never paid attention to Juleka. Just because she shrunk back and mumbled didn’t mean she wanted to be ignored. She just wanted people to recognize she was there! She existed! But her ‘friends’ threw her away the moment things got hard and just… let her stew. She obviously WASN’T okay!”
Marybug’s stomach curdled. “You’re right. They should’ve tried harder, checked in on her more. Checked in on YOU more. I promise, once you’re deakumatized, I’ll talk to your friends, try to help fix this.”
“I don’t want to be deakum- AH!”
The robot lurched around, no longer being controlled. A moment later it evaporated, leaving a feather behind. Juleka, newly freed from Hawkmoth, was caught by Panther a moment later.
“Wait- what- who’re you? What happened?” she asked, confused.
Marybug smiled. “He’s Panther and I’m Marybug – we’re filling in for Chat Noir and Ladybug temporarily – and you were akumatized.”
Juleka buried her face in her hands.
Crap. What did Ladybug and Chat Noir usually do with akuma victims? She didn’t just want to leave Juleka, not again, but-
Aaaaand her earrings were beeping.
She gave a strained smile. “It can happen to anyone. It’s Hawkmoth’s fault, NOT yours. I’m sure your friends will tell you the same thing. But for now, Bug Out!”
Throwing her yo-yo, she swung away just as Rose made her way to Juleka.
Ok, good. Hopefully Rose could help comfort her until she herself could get back. She still needed to apologize.
Panther pole-vaulted over with her, both of them eventually landing in an abandoned alley.
“Not bad, kitty cat,” she smirked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. Reflekta was so distracted, she didn’t notice I’d entered the robot until I’d already hit her hand.”
She laughed. “I think you might have our own resident Black Cat beat in the stealth department. Unless he can figure out how to pull off that ‘materializing behind locker doors’ trick as Chat Noir. I swear I STILL want to know how he does that.”
“Don’t we all?”
They both chuckled and detransformed. With a small pang of regret, she handed the earrings over to Tikki, Nino handing the ring over to Plagg. “I liked being Marybug, but… well, I’m really glad Marinette kept the earrings. How she does that on a daily basis, I don’t know.”
“She’s one of the best Ladybugs I’ve ever had!”
Alya smiled. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”
As Tikki and Plagg flew away to find their holders, she turned to Nino. “Come on, let’s go! We have a photoshoot to complete – IF our model still wants to do it anyway.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marinette, Adrien, and the rest of the crew were all circled around Juleka by the time the two of them arrived. With a jolt, Alya noticed that while Marinette had her earrings back, Adrien’s ring was still missing.
She shook her head. Worry about that later. Plagg could take care of himself… probably. Maybe. She hoped.
Nothing she could do about it right now anyway. And Adrien didn’t appear too worried, and she KNEW how much he cared about Plagg, so it was probably fine.
“Juleka, I’m so, SO sorry, I should’ve listened to you more closely. You’re my friend too, and I just brushed you off when you were obviously not okay. That wasn’t cool of me. Do you still want to do the photoshoot?”
She smiled, perking up a little. “Yeah, that’d be awesome.”
Alya snapped several photos, some of Juleka and Adrien together as planned, but then their friends kept on getting in the frame and – well, most of the photos may not be suitable for Marinette’s website, but they suited her digital photo album perfectly. Adrien and Juleka both seemed especially thrilled with how things turned out. Neither of them had a ton of photos of themselves having fun with their friends.
As she looked over the photos, her eyes wandered downwards.
A very familiar red and black box sat in front of her.
Heart pounding, she opened it.
And smiled at the sight of the familiar orange fox-tail necklace.
#divergent points#ml fanfic#ml fic#miraculous ladybug#alya cesaire#reflekdoll#Kwami Swap#Ladybug!Alya#Black Cat!Nino#fix-it fic#djwifi
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thinking of your gaze
title: thinking of your gaze
pairing: park chanyeol/reader
genre: long distance relationship!au/makeup artist!au/runway model!au
summary: to see him and not to have him was her biggest sin. to love him and never tell him was her biggest regret. to feel him by her side was a dream to have late at night and to think of him was as normal as the wind passing by on its early rendezvous. she should have known that life goes along with love and love is obsessed with pain, and somehow park chanyeol is all three of those.
type: angst/fluff
word count: 20,602 words
a/n: this is part of a two-part series that includes chanyeol and yixing as the main characters. both of these stories include snippets of what the other story is about. the yixing version shall be posted next week. none of these worlds or oc’s have anything to do with one another, much less do the main characters share a common love interest.
The world teaches its population that there are time-limits for everything. It starts with due dates for homework, then it moves over to friendships that just need to blossom at certain times, first loves that people just need to happen at certain age before it becomes too late to even try. One day, marriage becomes of importance, like a golden necklace hanging from your neck, and the other kids are necessary to fill the void of silence in someone’s house. There is rarely the time to enjoy life as it is, to give the clock time to turn into its numbers. It is always about moving forward, pushing your own type of love story to be written and catch whoever is in your sight to be the main lead beside you.
Some stories are just written with hard work; to some hard work is tears and sweat, paired with working over-hours and hanging out with the right people. To her, it was served in the form of makeup palettes, from eyeshadows combinations to practicing cut-creases in as many friends as she could get ready, to looking out for the newest trends and doing something out there, that remained classy enough to capture the attention of people. What she adored the most is that art, in whatever form it was even when hers was in makeup, never had a time-limit. The worst part, however, was the huge competition and the easiness of doing makeup. Some people simply thought it was useless to have someone else doing their makeup and with the amount of self-proclaimed artists, there were less spots to fill in important charges, like the makeup artist of a performer or someone with a makeup line.
Some dreams do come true, with all the hope in the world put into it, and now she could say she finally had a chance to shine for her talent.
When she was told Paris Fashion Week as the setting that she had been hired to work in, she had practically left a squeal in the depth of her throat with the excitement that bundled up inside her. What she did not notice, however, was that there were going to be other twenty makeup artists stuck in one room with a corresponding model for each of them, and that there were a lot of preparations that came with presenting the outfits in the runway, always ready for last minute changes, as well as paying attention to the most miniscule details so none of the colors from the makeup fell on the fabric of clothing or the accessories.
If she was honest, after spending a day in Paris preparing for the first night of the big event, she had only gotten to see studio lights and a lot of models, as well as getting hissed at by designers that were not too keen of her technique. Her confidence faltered the slightest at times, when she would pull away to look at the final product and thought to herself that there was nothing memorable about it, that she would be a disgrace for those who called themselves makeup artists, but a few thanking sentences from the less well-known models had her feeling better about herself.
After all, she was there for a job opportunity and she was getting the best out of it. Perhaps, at the end of this week she would finally get a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Not now, because there was one more model that she needed to prepare for the runway.
The world of rich people was incredibly hard to keep up with. There were celebrities that were at the top of every list with each passing year, that would never fall from their number one spot, just like there were names that people knew for a few months before they were forgotten. It was the rush that surrounded her that made her so anxious, knowing that for makeup artists it was the same, even for stylists. One word that passed as disliked to a celebrity and their careers were over and done with.
She heard the sound of the door of the makeup room opening, the chatting around her barely making the sound stand out as she organized her palettes. Concealers in one place, organized by shade; bronzers and highlighters organized by tone and her brushes were displayed in front of her, cleaned after she had finished the previous model’s makeup. A good look at herself showed that she was a mess, her black turtleneck showing a few foundation stamps at the edge of it, all thanks to rubbing her fingers against the fabric when the designer that accompanied the model cursed at her for using too much product. She moved her ponytail to the side slightly, bunching the fabric of her shirt inside her high-waisted jeans before someone snickered beside her.
“That’s what we call fashion.” Her very pregnant, and still very sarcastic, friend said from the side. Doah was also a makeup artist, her roommate for a few months at her very start four years ago. She remembered the times clearly, when she had left her nine-to-five job simply to approach something bigger that she loved even more. People around her were clearly not happy, but Doah was in the same situation as her and served as support as they launched their careers. Now, after living apart for two years and having crafted their careers to reach the point of doing makeup at PFW was a big deal.
She huffed. “Hey, I am not here to get a brand deal, you know? It doesn’t matter.” She convinced herself, watching the bloated woman rub her hand over her belly before chuckling.
“You’re annoyed.”
“Well, duh.” She stated, taking one look at Doah and smiling to herself. The woman had a healing aura around her, perhaps it was the floral scent that always radiated from her or her extra rounded cheeks with a perfectly gummy smile, but even when the nights were their darkest and she felt like she was going nowhere, Doah had done her best to make her feel like there were more chapters to her story. “I don’t know what I hate more. Doing a bride’s makeup or having a designer behind me screaming at me to put less foundation on.” Doah leaned over the vanity, letting her fingers touch her fake eyelashes to see if they were still glued on properly before sighing.
“It’s what we have to go through. Come on, we can do this.” With her excitement stocked somewhere within her that never seemed to dull, Doah shined like a star in a world that was full of sorrow for her. The doubt she felt, as well as the fear, was just a tiny monster eating at the back of her head. It kept her grounded, showing her that it was definitely never going to be easy.
The person that took a seat in front of the vanity consisted of the entire model set. Long legs and particularly outstanding features, good bone structure and a well-styled hair, but what differentiated the person whose makeup she was going to do at the moment was the smile on his face. It was soft, barely even there after he put his phone down on the vanity table, the lights on the mirror casting shadows under his eyes in the shape of his eyelashes and on the curve of his lips. The man had been in the cover of Vogue around the world a thousand times, more often than not with his right-hand model co-worker—and best friend—Oh Sehun. The pair had started out as simple models in a runway with much payment at all, even working for free when needed, until they were discovered by the right manager and they blew up instantly. Everyone wanted a picture of the two, wanted to be like how they were, simply desired to wear what they had over their bodies. Men all over the world took them as inspiration; people crowded around them with paparazzi not being left behind as they wondered what those two men could be doing with their lives. Pushing dating rumors aside, both in between them and with other people, they lived their lives giving a new aspect of fashion to the world.
To them, it was about the fun part of it—individuality, art, mixing and matching old and future trends to create something special. Experts said they had brought back the early 2000’s waves of models, the ‘good, old times’ some called it, while their faces were freshly new and definitely pleasing to look at. Two years down the road of their success and Park Chanyeol and Oh Sehun were one of the highest paid duos of the entire world. Furthermore, they worked together most of the time when in runways, more often than not having solo photoshoots whenever the time came around.
As someone that had to read about the fashion world, she was awestruck the moment she looked at Chanyeol, holding her beauty blender in between her fingers and bowing at him soon after as a greeting. His hair was blond, styled up to show his perfectly put-together undercut, makeup-less and shining in an all-white outfit, one that got a little bit lost with the color of his hair. Nonetheless, she could not even utter a word about it when she heard a designer approaching her quickly.
Much younger and less scary than the last designer she had talked to, the stylish woman—whose name she thought went along the lines of Seulgi— talked to her quickly about the basics of what she wanted in Chanyeol’s makeup. “Okay,” Seulgi caught her breath, putting a hand against her chest as if that would stop her heart from racing so fast. “I want white eyeliner and a good set of brows. Please, contour his face but leave his lips fairly natural.” Before she could even question Seulgi about anything, she was met with the woman’s back before she moved to another side of the makeup room.
In between her fingers, she played with the edges of her washed beauty blender before she decided to be the bigger person and talk to Chanyeol. “I, uh, I’ll start, then?” But it was not as easy as she thought it would be. Her fingers hovered over his face after placing Chanyeol’s perfect foundation match on the back of her hand as she breathed through her nose to keep herself calm. Hesitation was defined in dictionaries by the sight of her face as that moment and with blinking, oddly calming eyes, Chanyeol smiled before nodding his head.
“Go ahead. You can touch my face. It’s nothing.”
“Alright, thank you.” Thank you?! If that was the best she could do to look casual and totally professional, then she would get an award for the worst actress that had ever stepped a foot in this graceful earth. However, she concentrated on patting the product on his skin, the nicely prepped pores absorbing the density of the foundation before she turned around once again, looking between her tubes of concealer to pick one that matched. From the reflection in the vanity, she could catch a glimpse of the outfit itself—tall white pants with a belt that looked extremely expensive, paired with a see-through flowery shirt underneath an equally as white blazer. He kept looking ahead in his reflection, or perhaps at her, and when the applier to the concealer touched his under-eye area, he spoke up.
“I don’t think I have seen you in any past fashion week…are you new to the makeup team working with m company?” The man asked, surprising her with his observational skills. His eyes still look at her while she applies his foundation, putting a little bit to hide the faint bags under his eyes. What she knows is that he has not been getting enough hours of sleep. She nods her head as an answer, however, because it is easier to show than to tell, and she can’t find it in herself to talk to him. In that place, she has met a variety of nice looking models—but never quite so much of her preferred type of man. “I knew it. I know everyone around here, but I didn’t know you.”
Maybe, it is the fact that she has had enough regrets in her life that pushes her to say her name, introduce herself as if celebrities even care in most cases, but if he is asking, she supposes he wants to know. The introduction does not last long, only ending after she patted the last bit of concealer under his eyes were reaching over for an eyebrow brush. “And yeah. I had never actually worked with your company before, but I am on trial for now. If I do great, they might hire me full time or something—they said that, but I am not lifting my hopes up or anything.”
Chanyeol blinks softly, looking at her motions as if he is relaxed by getting his makeup done. She would understand that point of view, if that was the case, having gotten her makeup done by her friends a few times. “If they hired you, you must be really good. Besides, they are short on staff.” The man adds, a smirk appearing over his face as he teases her and for a moment, she finds herself smiling, too.
“This room does not specifically scream short on staff.”
“You think this is too packed?” He points with his index finger around the room before shaking his head. The soft brushing of her eyebrow pencil against his eyebrows lets her create the shape, sharp and straight, probably going to be perfected by more concealer. “It is even worse when you’re waiting to go up stage. Everyone is screaming at you and stylists start putting hairspray on you and it smells a bit like too much perfume, but also sweat and you can only hear—” The way his lips make out the sound that is supposed to be the spraying had her laughing, her nerves becoming less and less prominent the more he talks to her. By her side, she can see that her ex-roommate is working on Sehun’s makeup, much more quiet and concentrated on taking mirror selfies, rather than anything else.
She laughs, taking a flat brush and coating it slightly in concealer to perfect his eyebrow shape. “Did you get used to it?”
“Oh no. The smell is terrible.” Chanyeol announces and she bites down on her bottom lip to fight back a smile, but it is almost impossible. There are people that truly remain humble, even when she knows his bank account is probably surrounded by zeroes and zeroes one after another, and Chanyeol seems to be one of them. “But I do love runways, it feels so good to walk up there and just…just, like, I don’t know how to explain it? It’s like wearing someone’s art?” That is the part where it seemed like she could connect to him, to the models around her and the designers that do their best to share their absolute love for art. Some do it for the money, of course, but she thought fashion was the most hated and yet the most used piece of art. While problematic in its own way, sometimes filled with unnecessary remarks and drama, it truly was a form of art.
“I get it.” She adds, picking up the white eyeliner she had bought with the most recent trends in makeup. Neon and white were passed from clothes to liquid eyeliners, and it was something she had not tried on herself, yet, but by the looks of it, it would have worked excellently on someone like Chanyeol. Perhaps, that is why the thought of being a model even crossed his head, because he knew that he was that good-looking. The type of beautiful that left anyone in awe, that deserved to be dressed only in the most precisely made clothing, with the shiniest jewelry hanging from his neck. Still concentrated on the task at hand, Chanyeol seems relaxed under the weight of her hand, resting upon his cheek to hold his face and help her get a better grip of the eyeliner.
“You’re really good at makeup, too.”
“Ah, really? You haven’t seen that much…I only have one eye finished.” She comments, moving around his chair before taking his face in between her hand and the brush once again. The concentration on her eyes has Chanyeol staring back, trying his hardest not to blink even though his eyes are starting to water a bit. “No, no, no, no. Don’t cry.” The repetition brings a smile to his face, much more when she uses her extended palm as a fan to stop his tears from falling. “You’re going to ruin your eyeliner and I still have to put some in your waterline.”
Chanyeol looks up, to the harsh lights on the ceiling as if he is encountering his first visit to heaven, a smile appearing over his face when he dumbly says. “The least I expected was to end up crying when I sat down on this chair.”
With a white pencil eyeliner, she moves forward and makes sure to fan some more with her hands over Chanyeol’s eyes to stop him from crying. “Not my fault…” Her tongue peaks out to rest at the corner of her lips before she nears the pencil to his eye. “I am going to try to do this quickly, okay?”
“Quickly?” Chanyeol asks when he feels the first swipe of the pencil against his waterline, his eyelashes fluttering with the need to blinking, but he pushes the desire away. “Take as long as you want. I’m totally comfortable over here.”
“So, you like getting your makeup done.” She confirms, but Chanyeol merely clears his throat.
“Yeah, usually. Depends on the person, though, some I enjoy more than others…”
The flirty tone should be expected; it’s the city of love—he is a celebrity, and the amount of confidence that must have bundled up inside that big body of his is probably a compilation of all the love scores that he has had in his life. Chanyeol definitely does not look like the type that got rejected once or twice in his life; she thinks that the only chance of him being rejected would be if, perhaps, he had tried to innocently ask a girl to his girlfriend when they were in kindergarten and the girl was going through the phase of ‘boys have cooties!’, leading to a heartbroken child that felt better four days after.
The heat that radiates from her, like the sun in the middle of summer, has her smiling briefly before she shakes her head. It is obviously not about her, she tries to reason with herself, that Chanyeol was probably talking about something else, but soon after he speaks again:
“Like I said, you’re very good—”
A man with his phone pressed to his ear walks closer to Sehun and Chanyeol, standing in between the two seats. He had black hair that remained sleeked back, a dark suit to match the color and a professional look on his face. She had noticed that Chanyeol had a dimple, but this man’s were even deeper. His attire did not particularly scream runway model, but he could be if he wanted to. “Hello.” He greets the two makeup artists, making her look up from her set of bronzers to bow at him as a way of replying to his greeting. She still had to contour Chanyeol’s face, put some highlighter on and add lipstick to the mix before finishing everything up. “I would like for you to hurry up a bit, please.” He speaks way more politely than anyone else has done in that team, thankfully. “Sehun and Chanyeol have an interview with Cosmopolitan in seven minutes and I need them ready for pictures.”
Chanyeol lifts his gaze while keeping his face still, his makeup artist’s brush contouring his face professionally to make his cheekbones stand out with the sharpness of his face. “Wasn’t it with Vogue?”
“We also have a Vogue interview.” Yixing announces and Chanyeol chuckles at that, apologizing once he realizes that laughing is not exactly what he should be doing when he gets his face contoured. She doesn’t mind, however, for his smile is completely natural and away from the eccentric world that is modelling.
“These new members of the PR Team are going strong.”
“Much more the girl that is scared shitless of Yixing.” Sehun argues from his spot and a smack on his shoulder from his manager has him chuckling the slightest.
What follows next is the end of their conversation. Yixing is reading over what they have to say, what they have to do, how they should act—but also, telling them to keep it casual to the most of their abilities. She tries her best to deliver a good face of makeup but also, take her time to remember his nice looking features. She feels like this is the last time that she will see Chanyeol; the man that stands up and looks at her with a smile before bowing, the same one that repeats her name when he says his goodbyes paired up with a small ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ and the same one that leaves her with the hope that, indeed, they will meet the day after that.
✈️
This job proves to be annoying only four days into the fashion week, and it is even worse when Doah decides to take a flight back home because she is having contractions. She had tried to make her best friend stay, only to keep her company even if she had to have her child in Paris, but Doah was hard-headed and definitely had made a decision already. It leaves her alone and with twice the models to prepare, meaning that she has half the time that she used to have to prepare everything, and if designers had screamed at her in the past few days, they were even worse when Doah had left.
Most of the time, she spends sighing, looking at her watch or trying to apply makeup as quickly as possible. No longer does she embarks in conversation with the models to see how they were doing, she simply does her job and prays that it looks well on cameras.
There are two models that she leaves for last, always, and those are the ones that everyone talked about after every performance. Whenever she got to her hotel room, shared with now one makeup artist instead of two—Jenn, who snores louder than she should and she has to try to get used to it before she goes crazy from the lack of sleep, she would spend the little free time she has reading the reviews about the models that she had done their makeup for, sometimes seeing her name credited at the very bottom with the words ‘MUA’ before it. Oh Sehun is way easier to work with; he talks less, he looks at his phone most of the time and his eyebrows are already to die for, as if he had been blessed with the best genes in the world—and he probably was, really—.
But Park Chanyeol is the one that makes her feel at ease; the only one that kept her sane for the last few days, the reason why she feels like her job is as pleasing as it is. It is always a pleasure looking at him; the first day was white themed, but the second day he was modelling nothing less than Tommy Hilfiger, a brand that he has been sponsored by for a little over a year—he claims, and she listens—. The third day, another brand calls for his name to wear an advancement of their newest winter collection, and Chanyeol looks the coziest with a sweater on. On the fourth day, Chanyeol talks to her as she is doing Sehun’s makeup, going as far as asking her about the steps. He wants to know what primer works for, why Sehun uses mascara and he doesn’t, why she contours Sehun’s face differently from his.
Chanyeol is either a nice onlooker, or he has had his eye on her for the entirety of the four days that they have been here.
All moments are cut short by the man whose name she now knows. Zhang Yixing is the duo’s manager, well-educated and polite, an all-rounded person that excels in everything. If she is being honest, his honesty and niceness shines through him when Sehun teases him about some PR Member that apparently hates him, only to have Yixing whining about how he doesn’t understand why this person dislikes him. Quite the sight, if she is honest, a pretty funny one at that, too.
But on the fourth day, with only three more days left until she is back home and away from Paris, she does get to see the Eiffel Tower. It shines brightly at night, equally as beautiful as she had thought it would be, but she only sees it for a moment—just like how it happens whenever she sees Chanyeol. They barely see each other for fifteen minutes until he is off to another interview, or maybe some last minute preparations, or a photoshoot of sorts. He disappears the moment she blinks; smiling to the street, in hopes that another handful of people feel what she feels for him: endless attraction.
This time, she is inside a taxi on the way to some Spanish restaurant in the downtown part of Paris—because bringing Spain’s culture to Paris seemed like a good idea with the upcoming Madrid Fashion Week a few months from now—, with Jenn holding onto the palm of her hand as she talks and talks about this one new technique that she uses on false eyelashes, one that she doesn’t really pay much attention to. Not as much as she should, really, Jenn already has a spot on the company she is trying to work with, and that could only mean she knows better. But her mind is filled with a lot of things:
One, she is extremely tired, for Fashion Weeks are not as easy as she deemed them to be.
Two, Park Chanyeol is constantly running through her head in his tall, model-like glory as he speaks in that deep voice of his. When in reality, if she is counting, if she spends fifteen minutes on a daily with him and it has only been four days of knowing him, she has barely gotten to see him for an hour.
An hour is quite not enough.
Jenn tugs at her hand, the wavy and dark strands of the woman’s hair flowing with the wind softly as they get out of the taxi. The older makeup artist insists on paying, tossing some money to the French taxi-driver before she turned to look at the entrance of the restaurant. “You know, I have a younger sister and she would get so fucking embarrassed when I held her hand in public. But you don’t. So you’re now my new younger sister.” Jenn jokes around, random and energetic as always, as they go up to the security guard at the entrance, showing the cards that are given to them when going backstage in the fashion shows and sooner than later, they are let inside.
“…I am not sure how I feel about that.” She chuckles, shaking her head as she stares around the place. Open and with the stars twinkling above it; it was nothing less or nothing more than a dream come true. The sound of a Spanish guitar filled the air, and the crowd gathered in different spots, some eating by the tables, others by the bar’s counter and some danced to the sound of a very romantic song. Flamenco seemed to be the subject of the night, along with reds and golds that shined through with elegance. But, there she is, wearing a pair of black pants and some white crop-top that she brought with her, off the shoulder and with wide long sleeves. Now she is worried, because her heels are starting to make her feet ache and she has to eat with precision in order to keep her clothes clean.
“You’re so uptight.” Jenn says. “Let go for a moment. Just, look at this place, okay?” And she does, engulfed by the beauty and the sound of Spanish words sang in such an enticing way that it almost touched the subject of romance. “You just have to have fun in a party like this. Besides, I asked the other makeup artists to save us some seats and food, so we better get there before they start eating what they saved for us.”
“Right…I think I’ll just go grab food for myself.”
“Come on, I know we are all scary when we are in the makeup room, but they are nice people. The stress just gets to them sometimes—” Jenn cuts herself off before clicking her tongue. “And it’s kind of part of the business. Some of them are just up their asses, but you need to talk to some of them to get more well-known. You see?”
She rolls her eyes, opting to think that she just has to get this spot in that company. Madrid Fashion Week is waiting for her. She has to do it. “Okay. I will. It’s alright. I can do it.”
Or so she thought.
When she was a kid, she had played musical chairs once or twice, but the group in front of her take musical chairs to a whole different level. Whoever stands up from their seat to go look for something, they talk about. Perhaps, it would be better to talk about their experiences in the industry, talking about their hardships with makeup in the recurring fashion week, but it goes past from that. Clothing, style, makeup and overall appearance is something that everyone around the table talks about, leaving her to lean back on her seat while plopping snacks past her lips and looking around the room to see if she finds someone that takes her out of that situation.
No one does, until she sees a hand waving at her.
The blonde hair probably gave it away, or the tallness, or the fact that the lights in the room cast upon the only man that had her attention going towards him. Chanyeol waves at her to come closer, moving his arm with him as he holds onto the reason why he is being so bold and frantic—a glass of wine rests on left hand, almost finished, the red liquid tinting his lips exquisitely. She stands up from her seat, whispering to Jenn that she would be back any minute, before the woman nodded her head, too lost in gossip to even spare her a second glance. With wobbling steps in those fucking heels, she goes over to where Chanyeol is standing, obviously near the bar, and obviously smelling like wine mixed with his favorite Calvin Klein cologne.
Dressed in an all-black suit, with polka dots in the tie he wears, Chanyeol’s most outstanding feature is his smile the moment he greets her with a small exclamation of her name. “What are you doing over there, huh? Looking all bored? I was hoping you would come and—” He swallows thickly, probably salivating a bit more now that he is slightly tipsy. “Sehun told me you were over there with the MUA’s.”
She scrunches up her nose in distaste. Some were clearly enjoyable to be around, like Jenn—a good example of a person that is truly enchanting in every way, and maybe one or two that actually asked if she was doing okay, but the fashion industry was, is and will always be messy. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was doing. I’m thankful you called me over.”
Chanyeol looks at her face, up and down, inspecting her features before a quirked smile appears over his face. “Want some wine?”
“No, thank you.” She comments, shaking her hand in distaste. “I don’t like that type of wine and Jenn has already taken a few drinks, so I have to make sure we get to the hotel safe.”
“Responsible.” Chanyeol comments and then, he takes a seat in front of the bar’s counter, patting the seat beside him that she takes gleefully. Chanyeol pushes the strands of his blonde hair behind with his hand, probably used to having it sleeked back thanks to the stylist’s doings, but this was him—casual yet elegant, probably did not take that long to do something to his hair. “Have you ever gone to Madrid?”
She thinks for a moment before she answers, nodding her head as she is reminded of the very hectic, extremely stressful, definitely not pleasant memory she had of that one university trip she had to take for her thesis. Madrid was one of the destinations people were sent to and she thought she would get to see the boisterous side of the city, but she spent most of her nights typing the results of the thesis while her classmates spent their nights drinking and partying. “I did. I don’t think I truly got to see the beauty of it because I didn’t have a lot of time to do so.”
“You’re always on the run, huh?”
“Quite like yourself.” She replies, watching as Chanyeol nods as he takes another glass of wine from the bartender. She tries to stop him, placing her hand over his very expensive Rolex watch as she mumbles: “Hey, take it slow, the wine is not going anywhere.”
The tall man giggles at that, patting his cheeks to stop himself before he continues the conversation. “I haven’t even had the time to go to Seoul in a long while. So you’re right, I’m very busy.”
“But I don’t think you regret being a model at all.”
Chanyeol takes a sip of his wine before shaking his head. “Not at all.” Thankfully. She knew the feeling of wanting to get out of a place as soon as possible, but you can’t—because it is your job, and it pays the bills, and it potentially will be your future. The moment she abandoned her previous job, she spent months wondering if she had done the correct thing and only now, she got to see the flowers of the garden she had watered for years. “I did it as a joke at first,” He indicates, the dimple on his cheek prominent as he smiles. “But then it actually grew on me. My mom has all the magazines that I have been featured in saved in a drawer or something.”
Her heart beats softly at the idea of his mother being proud of the man he has become. An icon, quite clearly, much more for fashion. “So you’re a momma’s boy, then.”
“Very much so. I can only sleep well if I call my mom beforehand.”
“…You’re lying.”
“Why would I?” Chanyeol asks, his cheeks turning pink because of the drinks he has had. “But, we have talked enough about me. Tell me about yourself.”
That question can end up with two answers. The awkward answer that comes with bland connotations and a wall that separates two people from getting to know each other. And then, there is the type of answer that she gives him. She basks on conversation with him; talking about what shows she watches, the scar on her knee that is a memory of her days playing outside of the house, how she learned how to do proper eyeliner—because Chanyeol says his hands are too shaky whenever he has tried to do so—and the man replies with drunken memories of his own. His tongue is slurring by the time he finishes his glass of wine, saying how he once put glue on his sister’s hair, and how he really wishes his dog would see him as his actual owner instead of just some random dude that pets him. Briefly, he talks about how he used to listen to rock music a lot, but nowadays he listens to hip hop a lot more.
Park Chanyeol is not a paradox; he is not exactly complicated, either. People that are like open books are not ones that could be found in a world like this nowadays. Everyone is trying to put on the façade of stone cold hearts, going through life with the mindset that no one is worthy enough of trust. She is guilty of that, as well, but there are people—just like him—that just can’t be disliked. Some people are just like that.
Some people have set roles, too. Her role for the night is of the woman that smiles at the sight of Chanyeol getting closer, tapping his ear so she could talk closer to him and he would listen well. His role is of a man trying to enamor someone, not that is difficult for him at all, and of a new friend, as well…
Yixing’s role is of interruption.
All.
The.
Time.
“Ch—Are you drunk?!” The man asks the moment he comments face to face with Chanyeol, the surprise on the manager’s expression quite a funny sight. She raises an eyebrow, trying to blend into the crowd in hopes that Yixing does not blame her for his client’s drowsiness.
“Nope.” Chanyeol pops the word before he lifts his index finger and thumb in the air, indicating the smallest bit he could with a tiny gap in between his fingers. “Only this bit.”
“I—Hi.” Yixing greets the woman before him, bowing slightly before waving his hand with a smile on his face. Soon after, he turns towards Chanyeol with a pouty look and worry written all over his face. “Chanyeol, we have a meeting with a Puma sponsor and I really, really, really need you to talk well. Okay?”
The man in question is taken off by the rapidness of everything that happens around him, tumbling on his step when he stands up before straightening his back. “Okay. I can do it.” He confirms, breath lingering with the smell of wine. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He tells her, a little too loudly before nodding his head at Yixing, almost as if indicating that he is ready. She answers with a goodbye, much softer in tone.
Tomorrow sounds like a better promise than tonight would ever be.
✈️
The last day of Paris Fashion Week, in the golden makeup room, starts with two models practically ripping their heads off as they fight for hairspray. Now, her mind was divided in three parts at that point: one, that was stressed; the other part was practically mortified about the situation those models got themselves in, and, of course, the last one could only remember one of the very first few things that Chanyeol told her the first time they met. Backstage smells strangely like hairspray, and perhaps models are kind of crazy.
“Coffee?” Jenn offers almost immediately, appearing beside her in perfect attire. The concept of the night was colorful, back to the eighties, some said would be a perfect name, but she thought it was basically a night for art—or to show her art, really. She takes it, because there is no way in hell she looks as awake as Jenn does, with her hair perfectly put in a high ponytail and with the most gorgeous, designer blazer she has seen. “You look well rested.” Well, that part was indeed very true. The bags under her eyes today are because she wants more sleep, not because she needs it. Jenn had decided to have a little escapade with one of the models later on the night—and that model, although gorgeous and tall and definitely one of the most beautiful women in the top ten lists around the world, was the one that had to deal with Jenn’s snoring.
“I didn’t have to listen to your snoring.”
Jenn almost, almost seems offended. “I don’t snore!” The woman says, taking a sip from her own cup of coffee before staring at her vanity. “Speaking of…I am going to do her makeup now. Is your model here?”
“No. Ah, I think I am starting with Versace today…so that would be Kim—”
“Not Kim, you know who your model is.”
“…I don’t.”
“It’s definitely not a Kim.” Jenn prompts before winking with her two eyes. Quite clearly, the woman does not even have the exact precision to do so, but it is good that she tried, at least. “It’s a Park, and he’s friends with an Oh.”
She opens her mouth to say something, perhaps retort her comment only to be met with Jenn’s giggle and her back, going over to where her vanity was to start working. The coffee burns the roof of her mouth slightly when she tries to down something to simplify the ticklish feeling she has inside her stomach, but it does nothing more that make her hiss and remind her that she really does need to work.
Some days, people don’t feel fine—it is something everyone learns early on in their lives, but the person that she least expected to be silent throughout her makeup routine was Chanyeol himself. His arms are folded over his chest, looking ahead after saying his greetings to her. Even when she takes a little bit longer to do his makeup, all thanks to the amount of colors the designer wants on his eyelids—cut crease included—, he does not utter many words although she tries to initiate a conversation various times. As it seems like, the frown on Chanyeol’s face is permanent and she should be worried that the action is creasing the foundation that she had applied so effortlessly, but she is far more worried that Chanyeol is feeling wronged. Or maybe, she did something wrong.
But she doesn’t recall doing anything remotely close to a bad thing. All she has done is be wrapped in conversations with him endlessly, and he seemed to enjoy it each time.
Normally, after she ends up Sehun and Chanyeol’s makeup, she waits and sees if anyone wants some adjustments and does them, if necessary. This time around, however, she is in the lounging room behind the big wall that separated them from the runway and she could only think about Chanyeol. It’s because he is there, standing in all his tall glory with that frown over his face that only showed his distress. The outfit he is wearing is big, with some weird architectural thing that is supposedly a sleeve, in the colors of the sunset ready to step out on his own type of stage. The only thing is that, in most occasions if not all, Chanyeol is clearly more excited about things. And most importantly, he never really ignores Sehun—who now stands by his side repeating the same question over and over again until he actually gets tired of it, cussing at Chanyeol under his breath when he asks his third ‘huh?’.
Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong and it should not even be her problem if Chanyeol is going through a hard time, or if something has happened to him to make him feel that way. She should be concentrating on the book under her gaze—a romance novel that Doah left behind in their room, definitely all the clichés written in the form of bad boys and naïve girls. Anything would be more interesting than that book, if she is honest.
So she pushes herself up her feet, sighing at the action before moving forward. She stands behind Chanyeol for three seconds and soon after, she regrets even getting close to him. Who does she think she is to ask Chanyeol how he is? Maybe, he was just being nice all along, for that would not be a sin. There are people that are bookmarks in life, and maybe she was just a stopper in the chapter of his life that was this year’s Paris Fashion Week, but that did not mean he would not move forward. Chapters end. Stories are re-written. Bookmarks are lost. That is just how the world works.
“Hi.” But still, she is a person that is afraid of regret. When she left her job, her best friend at the time—also a very close coworker—almost had her head for leaving such a great spot. But she tried it, and part of her thinks that it is staring to work. In the back of her head, she ponders if she will think about this moment in a few years and wonder: What would have happened if I asked Chanyeol what was wrong?—of course, the least she wants is to have a question mark as an answer. “Is everything okay?”
Chanyeol breathes softly, through his mouth, then his nose, then back again before he replies: “No.” For a moment, she feels like his voice broke, and maybe he wants to tear up a bit but he fights back the urge to be sensible when he has makeup on and he will also go on stage as soon as possible. “I, uh, I’m about to shit my pants and these are not…very cheap pants, so that is not a good idea.” He randomly adds before muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m finally going nuts.”
She shakes her head, watching as he turns to look at her. “What are you scared of? I-Is…Is there anything bother you? Anyone, really? I would beat up anyone that is harassing you.” She says it half-seriously and half-jokingly, but it brings a soft smile that doesn’t show his teeth to Chanyeol’s lips.
“I got into a scandal yesterday.”
“Really? I haven’t heard anything about it.” It is not uncommon for big models to get into scandals. After all, they are celebrities and once you reach that title, everyone is looking to see what you do wrong.
He shrugs his shoulders, as if it is nothing, as if whatever is eating at the back of his head that is making him so anxious is even remotely valid. “It’s because it’s not true. Someone tried to say I had basically started this Tommy Hilfiger campaign so I would back out from my duo with Sehun…and then people were commenting stupid shit,” He almost grits his teeth out of anger, but his expression only shows disappointment. “About how I was always expected to be a rat, and then I had to speak up about it but, here I am, wearing the clothes of the brand everyone says I am using to stop working with Sehun.”
“…I am sure Sehun doesn’t believe the rumors.”
“But it makes me feel so bad.” Chanyeol whines, long and big fingers interlocking with one another as ��a way of keeping himself sane. “Do people really believe I am a rat?”
Her eyes soften at that, placing one hand over his shoulder to reassure him that everything would be okay. “Those who do, don’t know you.” She says, and it is quite stupid—because she has only known him for a week, but if there is an antonym to what greatness really is, Chanyeol would not be the concept of it. “Besides, you can’t give them the benefit of seeing you give up because of them. You have to go up that runway and kill it with that pet-cone sleeve of yours.”
She tries to be funny, and it seems to work because Chanyeol’s expression changes from sadness to confusion and suddenly, surprise, a smile beaming on his face as he claps his hands together, something she has learned he does when he laughs—if he can do it, he potentially slaps someone’s shoulder. “Call it fashion.” Chanyeol says in between laughter before pressing his lips together in the sweetest smile he has mustered that afternoon. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”
“Anytime.”
The complexity of talking with Chanyeol is not caused by the man himself, it is part of the situation that they are in. She’s a makeup artist, he is a model, and while they share some time together, there are far more important things that he has to concentrate on. She watches from the screens backstage as he walks, powerful and with a straight face, his legs toned with every movement and the thought of Chanyeol making up his mind thanks to her warms her heart. It brings her a sense of purpose, to know that the fashion industry was difficult for everyone was simple knowledge—but if she could do so much as making someone feel better with her words and makeup skills, then it is more than enough.
By the time Chanyeol comes backstage, she is ready to congratulate him for a great show, but whenever she gets close to him, he is interrupted by someone else. An interviewer, for example; a stylist fixing his hair, or wrapping golden chains around his neck. Then come the pictures, models approaching him to show their friends that they were in the same fashion week as Park Chanyeol, the famous model, and that is her cue to know that she should probably give up on trying to establish conversation with him.
A feeling that twists and turns on her stomach, rising up to her heart and clinging to it for dear life, is what she calls jealousy. What she is jealous of, she doesn’t know.
✈️
“Whoa, Doah’s boyfriend must have been very pretty if their son looks like that. He’s adorable!”
In the order of women in Doah’s blood, she got cheated on time and time again, ending up as a single mother just like everyone else in her family had done. Doah believed she was going to be the exception, she remembers, much more when she is packing up to go stay with her for the first few months of her son’s childhood. Paris begs her to stay, with its beautiful sceneries and the delicious pastries she had for breakfast this morning, but there are duties that need to be fulfilled—and she also doesn’t think she would ever be able to pay a room in that hotel, if it wasn’t for the company she is trying to get a spot on booking and paying for her stay.
She is not packing anything last minute, only the essentials that would go inside her backpack, and the last pair of pajamas she wore the previous night. Jenn has taken the time to look through her phone, laughing at certain pictures that she had stupidly taken of herself when she is bored, commenting on beautiful pictures that she has of sceneries and, of course, apart from downloading one—or two—pictures of Park Chanyeol in all his model glory, she takes the time to look at the high quality photograph of Doah’s baby. In awe, she is, not that she would have ever expected Jenn, out of all people, to be touched by the sight of a baby.
“Yeah, a beautiful cheating bastard.” She says, putting on her shoes and making sure that her red lipstick was still intact after having one too many croissants. “She told him she was pregnant when she was two months in and the only thing this asshole could say was,” She clears her throat to imitate his idiotic deep voice. “Not my woman to take care of, not my problem.”
Jenn gasps, locking her phone and putting it down on the woman’s lap as she rested on the big, queen sized bed of her bedroom. The hotel room consisted of two bedrooms and a bathroom, in this case. “That’s fucking it. That’s why I don’t even consider dating men. Fuck him.” Those words make her smile, standing up to place her phone inside her backpack securely before yawning deeply. There is something about staying in a hotel room with the softest mattress in the world, and that is that she has had her best night of sleep in a while. Snoring Jenn on the other room or not. A minute of silence passes by—and that is like a year in Jenn’s calendar—so she speaks up. “And you’re staying with Doah for a few months, correct?”
“She has managed to buy a pretty house by the countryside, so yes. While I am jobless, I will stay with her—you know, drive to the city if I get some gig to complete and then, go back.”
“You’re not going to be jobless for long. Madrid is coming, baby, and not only that…but there is always some lazy celebrity that doesn’t know how to contour and needs us. Needs talented people like you.” Jenn always looks at the brighter side of things, and she demonstrates it with the way she lives her life. The perfectly put-together woman stands up from her spot on the bed to stretch before pointing towards the bathroom. “I am going to pee. Don’t leave without me.”
She hums, smiling a bit to the older woman. Although, if anyone ever were to ask who is older, anyone would say that it was her, not Jenn. “As if I would leave you.”
Jenn clicks her tongue, opening the door to the bathroom before looking over her shoulder. “I was left in Bali by a few friends because ‘they couldn’t see me’ and if that doesn’t speak about my choices in friends, then I don’t know what does.”
With a chuckle, she takes the little time she has left to warm up her hands and look for her coat, the coldness in Paris making it all so much more inviting to stay in bed and simply rest all the tiredness away. However, the sound of someone knocking on her door has her frowning, thinking that maybe one of the other MUA’s had left something in their makeup bags. She trots over to the door, opening it without thinking twice but the moment she looks up, she is not met by the sight of one of the other makeup artists that worked with her in Paris Fashion Week. Chanyeol is there, in all his glory, but instead of wearing those exotic piece of clothing that they clad him in whenever he is on the runway, he is adorned in an oversized hoodie and ripped jeans, a cap covering his blonde hair with his big ears poking out from the sides.
“Chanyeol?” She speaks his name softly, a smile appearing over her features because she can, and she did. The man shares a grin of his own as well, biting down on his bottom lip as he stares at her. It is brief, nothing too long to make things awkward, but she does notice how his eyes go from her eyes to her lips, then over her eyes again after lingering on the red lipstick.
“That’s my name.” He indicates before he points to the backpack that hangs from her shoulders. “I was right about you leaving at this time, then.”
“You’re not leaving right now, too?”
“I have an interview this afternoon and I leave at night.” Chanyeol says and she hums. The man is always busy, alike Sehun, and she wonders how his skin is still as intact as it is with the amount of stress he probably goes through. The man pushes something towards her hands and she looks down to see what seems to be a bag filled with clothing, but a white paper rested upon the folded pieces of clothing. “I talked to my favorite brands and I got some clothing that I feel would fit you really well, and that I really like, and as a goodbye…gift. Well, a ‘see you later’ gift.”
“You shouldn’t have. Oh my God, Chanyeol!” The way he looks at her is enchanted, like he is in a trance as she gets out the folded piece of paper that was inside the bag. “And this is—”
Before she could continue her sentence, Chanyeol’s phone cuts through the atmosphere terribly, making him sigh before he reaches for his jeans’ back-pocket, taking his phone out and picking up the call immediately. “Yes, Yixing, I am on my way. I told you I had to make a stop first.” The sound of Yixing talking on the other end has Chanyeol nodding and she wants to feel honored, much more when Chanyeol stopped by when he has a day filled with activities to complete. By the time Chanyeol speaks to her once again, their time together has shortened for a few minutes—and she hears the sound of Jenn walking around the hotel room, probably trying to listen to what they were saying. “Uh, so yeah. Read the thing on the piece of paper and—” Chanyeol stops himself from speaking so quickly, opening his arms slightly as if to welcome her with a hug. “And could I have a hug? To say goodbye.”
“Y-Yeah.” She whispers, pushing her body forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Chanyeol’s hugs are sweet, with his cheek pressed to the top of her head and his arms wrapping around her tightly, but they do not last for long—of course, he is busy, and Yixing has probably already given him an earful of what he has to do throughout the day. “Thank you for the gifts.”
“It’s nothing.” Chanyeol says before nodding his head, waving his hand to say his goodbyes. He does say the word verbally, but she is far too concentrated on the smell of his cologne that now falls upon her.
God, she is starting to believe that Chanyeol has the effect of making her giggle like a fourteen years old girl that has just gotten her crush to hug her.
By the time the door is closed, she rushes to look at what the paper says—and Jenn is obviously by her side, making too many questions that she answers in a half-assed manner as she reads what the paper says:
Text me! And then, his number.
✈️
The benefits of being an adult is that texting first is not a problem anymore. The turmoil that comes with knowing what to write to someone you like is not as tedious anymore, it is bearable and it comes with a big batch of ‘I just need to try to see how it goes’, leading to her finally texting Chanyeol. She does it two days after he gave her his number, when she is finally well rested and when Doah’s baby is not crying loudly from the other room.
Doah’s sense of style was impeccable, and it shows through his new house—although small, the tones of dark green, beige and white create such an earth-filled atmosphere. The trees around them and the sound of the lake nearby would have been very relaxing if only there wasn’t a newborn in the household. She reminds herself that she is there for Doah, a woman that is new to the entire industry of being a mother, and instead of helping out with the baby—she keeps the house clean, cooks a few meals before leaving for the city. Two weeks after the fashion week, she has found some jobs to fulfill and an empty inbox in her e-mail account that indicated that neither Doah nor her had been picked, yet, for the new MUA position in the company.
And Chanyeol still has to respond.
The week has been busy, to the point she doesn’t even want to wash the dishes that come with the big amount of dinner she just had with Doah, but seeing the woman breastfeeding by the counter let her know that there was little to no time in the mother’s agenda for her to do any important chore. She looks out the window, seeing the night sky and the lights of the houses nearby. Thankfully for Doah, her hard work for the past few years in another company—one that she had never wanted to join for their strict rules—had led her to buy a house where her son could grow up comfortably. Humble and candid, the place was, although she missed her apartment in the city life a lot more. Nowadays, she could only stop by there to do so much before she had to return to the road to have an hour long ride back to Doah’s house, just in time to be met by dinner.
Her phone rings but her hands are full with dish soap, playing around with the sponge in between her hands while getting those bits of fried egg away from the pan. Doah still did not learn the importance of oil, as it seems. “Someone’s texting you.” Doah says, widening her eyes when her phone rings again. And again. Three times until it comes to a stop. “Geez. Is that your crazy aunt that always comments on your pictures on Instagram? I have never seen your phone blow up like that.”
“Probably.” She chuckles before pointing towards her phone with her drenched hands. “It must be Jenn. She texts like a mad man. You know my password, right?”
“What kind of best friend do you take me for?”
She scrubs on the pan once again, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess my type of best friend, because I, for sure, don’t know your password.”
Doah seems to ignore her remark, instead gasping and smiling at the person that had texted her. She thinks that maybe Jenn attached some pictures of the beautiful Tokyo—apparently, she had a gig there for a new fashion line’s photoshoot—but she is met with nothing less than the name of someone she should have expected. “Chanyeol has texted you.”
She stops washing the dishes almost immediately, wiping her hands in the back of her sweatpants to take her phone in between them. Quite like Jenn, and maybe it was an ‘energetic people’ stereotype or something that she didn’t quite get the memo of, but he had written with a bunch of exclamation marks at first. “Sorry, I couldn’t respond any earlier! I have been so busy. I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He adds in the primordial part of the text, but then another bubble appears to indicate that he wants to say more. “Hello, beautiful. How are you?!” And that, she realizes, that he uses a lot of exclamation points and emoticons. As if it is necessary to include that he is very happy to be talking to her. “Have you gotten the job? I keep asking Yixing but he doesn’t know…”
She sits down on one of the chairs, opening her legs comfortably at the position. “No worries, Chanyeol. Haha.” She starts with that, then deciding to comply more to her message. “And I haven’t heard anything back, yet. I am starting to believe that I won’t get the job.”
Maybe, he is in a country with a similar time-zone, or he is free at that moment, but he sees it immediately and replies equally as fast. “Don’t think that! You’re a super, super, super talented makeup artist, and models loved you!” She smiles down at her phone, hearing Doah chuckle to herself as if the sight of her friend being excited about a man texting her was a sight that she enjoyed. It probably was, for the last time she talked to someone with such a smile on her face, she ended up getting friend-zoned. “Sehun says you’re dumb if you say you aren’t getting the job.”
“Sehun is with you? Where are you, to start with?”
“Dubai!” Chanyeol exclaims through text excitedly and she can’t help but imagine the man taking pictures of everything. The more she hopes is that he is enjoying his visit there. “He is actually watching TV beside me. We share rooms when he is feeling sappy, and whatnot.”
She fights the urge to say ‘cute’ about the remark, because she could imagine them watching some movie that they could not quite understand, both with their faces stuck to their phone-screen as a way of distracting themselves. “Okay, I’ll take his word. What have you done the past few weeks?”
Talking to Chanyeol that night becomes easy, because he simply spills his heart out like a poet does in their poems. The beauty of his words is not particularly difficult, he speaks casually and she does as well, saying her good nights to Doah that decides to put her son to sleep while she lays on the couch, smiling at whatever Chanyeol is talking about. He sends her pictures of the meals he wants to have when he goes back home, as well as taking a picture of Sehun sleeping by his side, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted funnily, a little bit of drool falling to the side of his face. She loses track of time, even going as far as sending him a picture of one of the shirts he had given her.
He’s happy about that.
But he talks about his dreams, too, and they are as simple as saying that he just wants to be happy. He says that he wanted to launch his career in music, but that models aren’t well-welcomed in such a place. He talks about how Sehun is actually taking a nap and that they have an appearance in some ‘icon’ party that apparently includes the most iconic celebrities of the year. She tells him not to drink. He says that he is not a lightweight and then, he comments:
“I can imagine you nagging at me in the back of my head with that pretty voice of yours.”
Maybe, it is too quick to think of what his words mean—they have no meaning, really, just harmless flirting, but she can only hope that the smile he gave her that night in the Spanish themed party will only be for her. It’s selfish, and perhaps the distance between the two makes her feel that way, but it is a growing feeling that burns at the back of her chest, from her sternum to her spine.
✈️
At the end, she does get that e-mail. Four weeks and six days after Paris Fashion Week happened, and the moment she tells Chanyeol, she receives a congratulatory message…hours after she sent it. It’s fine, she tries to reason with herself, that he is busy and he texts her as much as he can, but she can’t help but feel like she has started to crush in the example of what impossibility would be like.
That was two months ago.
She tries to distract herself with her work; thankfully for her air-sickness, she hasn’t gotten to travel much, instead going to closer places to work with smaller boutiques and brands that need to get their models’ makeup done, but what she didn’t expect was for a big brand to go to her city, simply to take a photoshoot in front of bustling streets, gray buildings and in between the mess of traffic that happens in her part of town. Her fingers tuck strands of hair behind her ears as she organizes her makeup, making sure that everything is organized by color as she hears the doors opening. The makeup room is small, so she supposes she will be the only makeup artist working—and apparently, she only has to do makeup for four models, nothing too crazy.
She swipes her powder brush against the back of her hand, already starting with her greeting before turning around. “Good morning, I am—Sehun?” When she turns around, she catches a glimpse of the man that she has already seen various times. His hair is a bit longer than the last time she saw him, over two months ago, styled with gel and tied in a ponytail to show his undercut. He is carrying a coffee cup, probably filled with as much caffeine as possible, wearing beige pants and a pink turtleneck, paired with a denim jacket. Something that she envies, the makeup room isn’t exactly warm.
The man greets her, sitting down on the seat in front of the vanity, definitely a repetition of previous events, before crossing one leg over the other. “You’re definitely not Sehun. I am Sehun.”
“I know.” She chuckles, already knowing what kind of shade she has to use with him and what kind of skin he has. Taking her beauty blender in between her hands, moistening it up a bit, she continues. “I just didn’t expect to see you here, and without Chanyeol. Really. You two are like the Olsen’s but Korean.”
Sehun smiles, putting his Styrofoam cup down on the vanity before leaning back on his seat, taking his phone in between his hands and responding to whatever texts he has. “He is not part of this campaign, but he’s in town. I thought you knew that.” Sehun says and perhaps, he really thought that she had a single clue that Chanyeol was in her town at that moment, but she didn’t. She tries to cover her surprised expression, settling for a muffed ‘oh’ that is followed by silence. The stoic faced man looks up from his phone before widening his eyes. “Y-You didn’t?”
“I obviously wasn’t informed about the situation…” And she wonders if maybe, and only maybe, Chanyeol is actually not as into her as he makes himself to be. That the flirting and the constant nights where Chanyeol tries to get her to speak to him through voice messages or calls mean nothing. Chanyeol is constantly throwing flowers at her, whenever he can, of course, but lately…it is as if he has forgotten about her existence.
“Fuck.” Sehun cusses, deciding to ignore the situation at hand by scrolling through his Instagram. From the corner of her eye, she can see that he has over a million likes in his latest post. “But he’s very busy, too, so maybe that’s that. He’s shooting a commercial for a skincare brand, but it is taking him longer because he grew a few pimples the day of the shoot.”
“I see…” She comments, torn in between believing the man or not, after all…Chanyeol could have just told her so. “But tell me about your campaign.” Not wanting to talk about the subject anymore, she changes the topic towards Sehun.
She really tries to be strong, to not text him and ask him why exactly he hadn’t talked about the miniscule—rather big, really—fact that was his stay at the exact same city that she is at. She talks about it with Doah, hearing the woman already coming up with some kind of deep storyline that indicates that Chanyeol is actually in “a relationship” and “using her to boost his ego”, but she thinks it is almost impossible. Instead, she concentrates on her work, on being better and doing better, on watching those tutorials that she kept on a playlist for new looks to try on the models.
Two days after her encounter with Sehun, when she is getting ready to drive back to the countryside to meet up with her friend, she feels her phone buzzing inside her purse. She sighs, placing her purse on top of the hood of her car before picking up the call, the name of Chanyeol shining bright on the screen—for a moment, she completely forgets that she is supposed to be mad at him, or that she wanted him to reach out for her first.
“What?” She asks, not meaning to sound as rude as she did as she looked for the keys to her car inside her purse. Chanyeol seems to notice her change of demeanor, speaking soon after.
“I know Sehun told you about me being here, but I was too busy to text you.” Like always, but should she be mad? She is obviously travelling less than him, but it feels like she is the one in the chase whenever she responds to him as quickly as possible and he leaves her on read for days. Maybe, she is just a hobby for him, something that he wants to do for a night or two, but doesn’t want to deal with for a long period of time. “But hey! If you’re in the city, I want to invite you to dinner—and I have already sent you the address through text, so we could catch up and I can finally give you a big hug.”
The hug sounds inviting, but she is still slightly mad at Chanyeol. “Why should I accept?” She plays around, pressing her stomach against the side of her car and looking at the flickering lights of one of the buildings in the street that she was in.
“…Because they have the best pizza I have ever tried in my life?”
“I could have it by my own.”
“Listen, I am so sorry.” Chanyeol whines on the phone, bringing a smile to her face as she finally opens the door to her car, grabbing her purse and putting it inside as she pulls her phone away from her ear, putting it on speaker to look through her texts. A fancy restaurant, he had picked. “I am such an idiot and I would hit myself if I were you, but I am not you and I am willing to buy you the entire menu if you just come here right now.”
She sighs, putting her phone down on the passenger seat as she starts the car. “Only because you owe me an apology…and because that pizza sounds inviting tonight.”
Luckily for her, Chanyeol is not dressed as fancily as she would have imagined, simply wearing an oversized tank top tucked inside his black jeans, topped over with a coat that reaches his knees. His hair is still blonde, pushed to the side as he waits for her outside. He doesn’t seem to mind that some people look at him, or that they see her with him at all, because he pushes his body off the wall to smile at her mere presence.
With a breathy tone, he places his hands on top of her shoulders and pushes her forward to go past the security at the entrance. “I’ll give you that hug once we get inside. People are looking.” The promise Chanyeol gives her sounds inviting, much more when she enters the heavily decorated place. Still, it seems inviting, the smell of cheese and sauce, as well as lasagna and pizza, immediately reaching her nostrils and making her hum. Chanyeol wraps an arm around her shoulder, smiling gleefully as he walks themselves to the table at the very end, near the biggest window in the place. “I really missed, you know?”
She wants to bite back, to show how troubled she felt when Sehun confessed that Chanyeol was in town, but instead she caved in: “I missed you, too.”
“Two months without seeing you. You need to tell me how this new contract is going on.”
“Well, I do makeup. That’s the whole ordeal.” She comments, sitting down in front of him at the table, only to have him smiling as he pushes a menu towards her way. Chanyeol studies her face, like he always does, even going as far as looking at the small amount of cleavage her shirt shows. “Have you gotten to go to Seoul?”
Chanyeol chuckles softly, shaking his head as he looks down at the menu to search for something to eat. “I haven’t. I’ve been living in hotels for the past three months.” Even before he met her, that’s for sure. “That’s why I wanted to have dinner with you. You’re the closest I feel to home.” Those words shouldn’t have warmed her up like they did, to the point she had to play with the collar of her shirt to stop the heat that radiated from her skin. Chanyeol’s eyes are wide, filled with emotion when he smiles once again. A charmer, as always. “There is something about you. You calm me down…and that is what I need in a world like the one I live in. For one moment, I just want to say fuck it to the world. That’s why I like you so much.”
Like, a word that he uses so easily, as if it doesn’t bring a heavy weight to her chest. She looks down at the menu, hiding her face behind it to stop herself from saying anything stupid. “Stop…”
“Hey, I mean it.” Chanyeol says, pushing the menu down to lean over the table and look at her. His fingers reach to pinch her cheek, making her smile softly at the man. “I know it doesn’t seem like it…but I really like you. I think you’re amazing. Beautiful smile, incredible talent. Intelligent, caring, kind, humble—”
“Keep going and I may just forgive you.” She jokes around, placing her hand on top of the one that rests upon her face before caressing the skin softly, bringing it down to rest upon the tablecloth. “But I am glad we are on the same page.”
The night is eventful, in between bites of food and sips of soda. The world seems to waltz around them, much more when he says his goodbyes with a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek. It feels right, slow but perfectly paced. Just how she likes it.
But wait.
Chanyeol said he liked her, right?!
Liked her as a person, or as something else, she doesn’t know. What she knows is that being liked is better than nothing.
✈️
“This feels like my husband is leaving me and our son behind after our divorce. It’s sad.”
The fake sniffling comes from Doah, now with a four-month old baby seated on her lap—with the cutest few strands of brown hair and the most rounded dark eyes. There is not much to pack after Doah agreed to let her go back to the city, for the payment of the fuel was falling heavy on her pocket and also, because Doah already knew how to take care of a baby on her own. Either way, it had been a nice experience; a reminder of what it used to feel like when they were roommates, but with bigger dreams and less giggly moments.
That is part of growing up, and while Doah remains as youthful as ever personality-wise, she has grown up with the birth of her child. Much more poised, definitely as loving as ever but more protective than she ever was to anyone in this world. “We are not getting a divorce, first off. I’ll still come visit anytime I can, mostly on weekends.” She replies, pushing her backpack over her shoulder after finishing up packing up the few things she had in Doah’s house. A second toothbrush, some of her shirts and a few shoes. Everything could enter in her wide and useful backpack. “And why am I the husband?”
“You’re the one that leaves.” The comment is part of Doah’s dark humor, standing up and securing her son around her arms as they walk towards the entrance. When she opens the door, the air is cold against the fabric of her fluffy white sweater, making her pull her boyfriend jeans up her hips a little bit more to cover extra skin. “Say bye to your daddy, David. Come on.”
She scoffs, letting David’s tiny hand grab her finger and waving it with a smile on her face. “Don’t say I’m his daddy. You know he’s at that point of his life where he is learning everything, and the least I want is to hear him call me ‘dada’ anytime soon. Or ever.” She kisses the baby’s hand before putting it down, hearing Doah retort with a fake sniffle.
“You just were an angel. I’d marry you if you were a man…but the lack of a pee-pee changes it all.”
“Doah, for the love of God—” She mumbles to herself, giving a few steps forward before walking backwards. “Thank god you didn’t say the D word in front of your son. I’d personally take him away from you to the city to raise him myself.”
Doah smiles at the sound of her friend’s voice, leaning on the railing of her door with David playing with the necklace that hangs from her neck. “You know why I didn’t use the D word?”
“Why?” She asks innocently, but she should have expected Doah to say something remotely inappropriate.
“Because Chanyeol is already giving it to you.”
“Okay, I’m leaving. That’s it.”
The weight of her keys feels foreign on her hand, much more when she opens the door to her apartment to realize that she won’t have to listen to the cries of a baby anymore. The old couple next door that still hit it up as if they were on their twenties would probably be more like it, but she has already grown accustomed to that noise, rolling over her bed to cover her ears with her pillow. The first thing she thinks about after an hour long trip is that she feels dizzy, with an empty stomach and a weighted mind. She walks over to her kitchen, opening the refrigerator to be met with something to make, but there is nothing. In the drawers, there is also nothing and then, she is reminded of the very important—still, ignored—fact that she had taken all the food she had in her apartment to Doah’s house.
Out the apartment as quickly as she had arrived, she was. The snow is finally starting to make place around the streets and she greets the old day—half of the old couple that she was thinking about earlier—with a wave as she rushes down the stairs to get to the closest convenience store. One block away, she remembers, and she thinks she can do it without actually passing out from hunger.
What she regrets first is not putting on a coat as the small speckles of snow fall upon her equally as white sweater. She walks through the streets as she tries not to pump into people, ignoring the vibration of her phone in the front pocket of her jeans because the least she wants is to get her phone stolen from taking it out in one of the busiest days of the year. Delinquency was growing in this side of town, the news had said a few weeks ago, and she had kept that thought in mind, even talking about it with Chanyeol, who had told her time and time again to be careful.
She pushes the doors of the convenience store open, rubbing her hands together and placing them inside her pockets for a brief second while her eyes look for a cart. Once found, she takes it in between her fingers and basks in the niceness of the heater in the store. It’s fairly quiet, too, apart from some pop song that plays in the background as she starts to go over her mental grocery list. However, as she starts to pick up what is important for her to have in her apartment, she feels her phone vibrating once again.
She takes the device out, thinking that it was probably Doah not knowing what to do now that she was alone, but she was warmed up by the sight of Chanyeol’s name. She pushes the green button, resting her phone in between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes the cart. Is ramen necessary in her apartment? Quite possibly. “Sorry I didn’t answer before, I had to drive from Doah’s and I realized I was out of groceries so I had to walk to the nearest convenience store.”
Chanyeol sighs, almost a sigh of relief. It reminds her of the plenty of video-calls that they have shared; specially, one where she decided to hide from the screen until Chanyeol started to call out of her name confusedly. When she popped up on the screen, the man screamed so loudly that the only reaction he had when she started laughing was a sigh. “You had me worried for a second.” He replies before he continues. “Was Doah okay with you moving?”
“She used some kind of metaph0r about it. Me being her husband leaving her behind or something.” Chanyeol chuckles softly, but she can tell that he is not totally into it. His voice is tired, as if he has been straining himself, and he has yet to go back to Seoul to meet up with his family. He told him this a week prior to that moment, when he was speaking about how he had mentioned her name to his mother and she had immediately thought he was dating someone. They were…flirting buddies, she would like to call it, rather than anything special in a long distance manner. “What about you? Weren’t you in Bangkok?”
“I am, still. I’m leaving in…in three days…” His voice is interrupted by his yawn and she immediately frowns at the sound of his voice, continuing with her multitasking.
“You should really sleep.”
“It’s not that late here. Four in the morning.”
“That’s extremely late. Go to sleep.”
“I slept, but I think it was the afternoon and I just woke up and I am lost.”
She smiles at that, imagining Chanyeol’s hair bundled into a mess of straight strands, falling over his eyes slightly, puffy and reddened from tiredness. “Good. Are you going to Seoul after Bangkok?”
Chanyeol groans at that and she hears the sound of ruffling against covers on the other hand. “Nope. Mr. Workaholic decided to tell me that I have a snack commercial in Italy. Venice, I think.” A snack commercial. Quite ironic, because she has had a handful of conversations with Doah where they call him a “snack”. But, what can she say? Maybe the saying of ‘you are what you eat’ as finally gotten to him.
“Is Mr. Workaholic Yixing?”
“Indeed. He’s such a workaholic that his crush is someone from the PR office, and if that isn’t…a workaholic, I don’t know what is.” Chanyeol comments and soon after, she takes a moment to stop on her tracks and see what else she needs. Perhaps, a few sanitary products in case she needs them. “By the way, what are you doing next week?”
“Nothing planned. I am doing a gig outside the company on Sunday, to earn some more money. But they haven’t called me to do anything yet.”
“What if I hire you and you go to Venice with me, and apart from doing my makeup we also get to hang out for a bit?” Chanyeol comments, quite quickly, as if it is the simplest thing in the world—and for him, it is. Sometimes, she realizes that they live completely different lives. Chanyeol lives off being on stages, he talks to big groups of people, he has to take pictures on a daily with photographers in order to post something on his social media and keep his fans updated. He has people following after his every trend. Meanwhile, she talks to him through a phone and travels thanks to a company, not because she actually has to. How could he understand her so perfectly, when in reality they are nothing alike?
“I would tell you you’re crazy.” She comments, accommodating her neck when she feels a sudden pang of ache hitting her muscles. “But…are you serious?”
“Of course I am! I would like for you to do my makeup, and I’d pay your ticket for you to be here.”
“I…No. It doesn’t feel right to have you pay for my ticket.” She comments, shaking her head profusely at the thought. “Tell the company and I will do it, but I won’t do anything sneakily.”
“Okay, I’ll have Yixing on it.” Chanyeol replies and soon after, his comment paralyzes her in her spot, making her drop a package of baby wipes she had in between her hands. “Maybe, next time we see each other I won’t only give you a hug, but also a kiss.”
Venice sounds promising to her, now, as she tries to look for words that can only be replaced with a chuckle.
✈️
But just like always, the promise of a romantic Venice dies as she only gets to see Chanyeol for an hour at a time. His commercial takes longer than usual, or perhaps he has other things to attend to, and he ends up leaving her with the hanging promise of a kiss that never happens.
She should be happy that she gets to talk and joke around with Chanyeol when she does his makeup, that sometimes she feels the warmth of his palm sneaking up her waist when she gets close too close to his face and he looks at her as if he is going to kiss her, but an ode to separated lovers keeps them apart when they realize they are surrounded by other people of his team. Chanyeol’s eyes glimmer when he says his goodbyes, promising that he will try to finish everything early to go and pick her up in her hotel room and take her out for dinner, to study Venice, to be tourists for once and enjoy the world, but she is always met by the sight of her phone displaying Chanyeol’s name, only to hear apology after apology after apology.
The man she likes starts to become a broken record. A client that always asks for something else. A lawyer that never meets up with you. All analogies to how Chanyeol made her feel, how disappointed she was that he did not even have the slightest time for her.
The crunching sound of cookies matches her chewing as she stares off at the television show in front of her. Some romance movie plays in the background, and she is sulking because most movies include a couple that go through hardships, but at the end they are the happiest when together—they find a way to make it work. But there she is—she is not even dating Chanyeol to start with, and whenever they are together in the same place, they can’t find the time to be with one another. She almost wants to pick up the remote and change it, but she is being a bit of a masochist that night. Be it by watching a couple laugh whilst in a date in a movie, or thinking about Chanyeol; she just feels like thinking about what she shouldn’t be.
She covers herself up with her blanket, pulling it over her head like a hood and wrapping it around her chin to cover her from the coldness, but she has other things to think about—like how she should just take a plane back home and pretend that she is not being an idiot while being there for Chanyeol. Nonetheless, the sound of someone knocking on her door makes her straighten her back, standing up from the hotel bed to walk towards the door.
Of course, life is a déjà-vu and the person by her door is Chanyeol. He’s a nighttime visitor, standing there with a smile on his face and what seems to be boxes of takeout.
“Chanyeol.” She enunciates. Her arms are crossed over her chest, leaning against the door as she realizes that the man has a faint smile on his face, the type he gives when he knows he is in trouble. “I wonder what you tell the receptionist of each hotel I go to just to appear right in front of me.”
Chanyeol’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, trying to look for an excuse but he simply sighs deeply. “I am sorry. I’ve been so busy and I’ve ignored you so bad, so I wanted to make it up to you.”
“As always.”
“But this time, this time it’s better!” The man points out and she nods her head, biting her bottom lip when she pushes her weight off the door and points for him to get inside. Chanyeol smiles brightly, like the sun has taken place on his face, and the next thing he does is enter the hotel room. He sits down by the edge of the bed, on the floor, and she thinks it’s just his way of being respectful, threatening to grin at the thought. “You know how in our first date we had pizza—and it was good, but we’re in Italy out of all places, so I brought us the real deal.”
She chuckles, taking a seat beside him on the floor to help him get the boxes out of bag he had brought with himself. “What is this real deal you’re talking about?”
“Lasagna and pizza, but real.”
“I am sure the pizza we had at the restaurant was very real.”
Chanyeol groans, opening one of the lids of the boxes to fill the room in the smell of sauce, cheese and deliciously baked goodness. “Stop being a dick to me.” The man comments and she smiles, watching as he takes one of the plastic forks the boxes brought with themselves in between his fingers to slice a bit of the lasagna before feeding it to her. “Come on, open up. Use that mouth for something that is not questioning everything I do.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress the chuckle that left her lips soon after. Chanyeol’s cheeks glimmer in pink when he says those words, feeding the bit of lasagna to her and the next thing he hears is a hum. She covers her mouth to speak. “Oh my God—”
“Is it the best thing you’ve tasted in your life?”
“Kind of.”
“Yeah, made it myself.” Chanyeol lies, taking a bite of it with the same fork before placing the box over her legs, reaching for a squarer shaped box that included the pizza. He opens it by the time she takes another bite of the lasagna.
“You’re such a liar.” But then again, she always goes back to him. Chanyeol is a magnet, and she’s always pulled by him. He takes a slice of pizza, the cheese parting away deliciously as he folds it over the pizza for the strand to end. It is nice to see him eat something that he enjoys, away from the thought of having to keep his figure—only enjoying a night with her.
“Then this liar won’t let you play with my PS1.”
She decides to take a slice of pizza as well, settling the lasagna in between their bodies as she speaks. “You brought a PS1?” She asks, excitement lingering on her voice when she watches the backpack Chanyeol had worn by his side, making her wonder if he had actually thought about this date beforehand. “Depends on what game we’re playing.” Chanyeol slices a bit of the lasagna, resting it on top of his pizza and making her groan in disgust as he takes a bite. “Yeol, don’t mix foods like that—”
With his mouth half open, he speaks. “Crash Team Racing, babe.” The nickname has her stomach fluttering, thinking that maybe she should be more understanding of the situation. Chanyeol is trying, she could tell, and her impatience was getting the best of her. “And let me get creative. Both the lasagna and the pizza go to the same place, they’ll end up being digested food at the same time…it’s not that big of a deal.”
Chanyeol brings comfort with him, she notices, and it comes in the shape of their legs intertwined as they lay on the floor, playing match after match of an old videogame as they laughed about everything and anything.
Not to be mistaken, the man is quite clearly and palpably competitive, to the point he had to tickle her in a race just to win—but he learns how to lose with her, quite thankfully. The night is not heavy, it doesn’t linger with tension and much less does it feel like it is forced; they have been seated there for hours, not saying empty promises but getting to know each other simply through spending time together. In one of those moments, in between one of the many racing matches they had, he hears his phone ringing. Pausing the videogame for a second, he puts it down on the floor and puts it on speaker.
“Yes, Publicist Nam?” Chanyeol speaks, his fingers still moving against the controller as he finds himself in fourth place—she’s in seventh after one of his attacks, but she thinks she can surpass him easily. However, her ears are making out the figure of what this publicist of his is saying on the other end of the phone.
“Chanyeol…Where are you?” The man asks, sounding older in tone and in ways of speaking.
“I’m with my friend in her hotel room. The makeup artist. Why?” He asks, moving his legs when he gets to the first place. It is quite the sight to see him happy, being youthful and filled with life instead of having this perfect façade put up for everyone to see.
The publicist seems displeased by his answer, however. “Get over here now. We have told you that you can’t hang out with people like that. What would you do if you ended up having a scandal, huh?” He starts to nag and Chanyeol immediately widens his eyes, letting go of the controller to grab his phone and talk to his publicists in anything that isn’t on speaker.
Now she realizes that Chanyeol is trying, for her or for them, that he is going against his own team to be with her. It scares her, to never see him again as he speaks through the phone—he seems to be apologizing, coming up with any excuse before he actually turns to her. His apologies are usual, she thinks she is starting to become immune to them as she helps him clean up and opens the door for him. What he does last, of course, is give her a hug as tight as the ones he has given her before and the promise of a kiss is out the door, to the point she doesn’t even care about it. It just scares her that every time they say their goodbyes, it will be the last time she will be able to talk to him.
The concept of love is evolution, growth—but people cover it as neediness, affection. You can feel so much for someone, but if you don’t grow with them, it feels pointless. It is not love, not anything remotely close to it, and maybe she should have thought of them as a book and a movie. Chanyeol lives quickly; he resumes everything that can be composed in three hours of a film. She is a book; she likes to rant and think about the smallest details. How Chanyeol covers his mouth when he thinks he has said something wrong, how he is given to anything that he does, he has a routine and lives by it. The man loves travelling, but he loves his family so much more and his best friend is another model, as well.
It makes her saddened that she studies the twinkles in his eyes, that the weight of his hand on hers when he says his goodbyes after every makeup session is just what she needs, especially if it’s paired with one of those soft kisses he gives to her cheek. No longer does she study Chanyeol as a person for the rest of the five days she has left in Venice, but she sees the most tedious of things around him. She notices that she wishes she had a space in Chanyeol’s life; like the ring he wears every day, carved with the initials of his mother; like the guitar that he says he keeps in his childhood room and that whenever he goes back to Seoul, he can’t seem to let go of. She is jealous of time, for not giving him to her, of the world for having him and not her.
It’s the thought of lacking him in her life that makes her really wonder what she feels for him. Is it just a crush or is it love? Does it have a name, does it not?
On her last day in Venice, and like a tradition in Chanyeol’s blood, he takes the time to be around her. He looks like an absolute tourist, dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, wearing a bucket hat and sunglasses as he takes pictures of everything and anything. He is good with being in front of the camera, but she absolutely hates that she is the subject of his every picture—even more so, the man doesn’t take the best pictures for an up-and-rising model—. The sunset welcomes them as they try street food, they check out stores and spend time together. Chanyeol talks about whatever crosses his mind and he’s free, for just a second, because he has a contract and plenty of things to take care of. If he was so proud of her, then why would he basically cover half of his face?
The one at fault is not Chanyeol, but by the time they are standing in front of the sunset, looking ahead at the beauty of the colors, she decides to fix the cap over her head and speak her mind out.
“I think that what we’re doing is wrong.”
Chanyeol perks up at that, turning to look at her while resting his elbow on the railing of the balcony of his hotel room. It could basically be a house, with how fancy and big it is. Expensive, quite clearly, just like him. “…What does that mean?” He doesn’t sound threatening, meanwhile curiousness is more of a description for that moment. His eyebrows furrow and the bucket hat is finally gone, the shadows of the sunset falling upon his skin. A little bit after golden hour, so the hues are softer.
She wants to simplify, but then again, that is not like herself. “—This—This I never thought I would have to go through. Sometimes, I just think you’re in my imagination, like you are not there. And I am not blaming you, but we both know that…that being around one another is almost impossible. You’re there, I’m here. There’s nothing we can do about it.” Now that she has spoken her mind, she realizes just how much of a dream everything has been. Not because of its sense, for she feels like what they are is nonsensical at this point, but because it rushed. There are gaps in between them, plots that have yet to be written and they do not have the time to do anything about it. Their romance is a writer’s hatred plotline, where they sit down and write certain scenes before abandoning them once again.
The man straightens his back, taking off her cap and putting it to the side before sighing. “I think I can do something about it.”
“No, Chanyeol, you can’t!” She adds with a smile, although her heart and head were hurting at that exact moment. “We both know that we only see each other for a period of time before we spend months away. It’s—And your publicists don’t even like me, so I am supposing you’re even going against your team.”
“Not all of them.”
“Huh?”
“Yixing thinks you’re pretty dope.” She scoffs at the sound of his words. “Quoting him. He just thinks you’re great.”
“Your team, minus one person, hates me.”
Chanyeol moves forward, his big hands reaching for her face to cup it in between his fingers. His thumb comes to caress her bottom lip, his eyes studying her every expression like he always does. She wants to continue talking, ramble about how she thinks they should quit it—the least she wants is to fall harder for him, only to end up heartbroken, but Chanyeol doesn’t listen. The man moves forward, wetting his lips before pressing them against hers. Maybe, his kisses show everything that he has managed to understand about her in the little time they have spent together, or perhaps he is just made for her body. He kisses her like how an artist would do to their muse, with one of his hands trailing down to the small of her back to push her forward towards his strong chest. His cupid’s bow grazes her lips before diving in once again, with certainty and all the fervor that is needed in a kiss. An expert, he is.
“Don’t shut me up when I’m talking to you.” She tells him in between kisses, feeling him walk her backwards, past the glassed doors that lead to the balcony (making sure to close them behind him), before letting her rest against the mattress. She lifts herself up on her elbows, and maybe she thinks this position was actually led by herself. Damn her for even putting her hands under Chanyeol’s shirt.
Chanyeol, however, takes her by her calves and drags her towards the edge of the bed, placing himself in between her legs to grab her by the neck and kiss her again. He doesn’t last long before he replies: “I didn’t intend to shut you up. I just really wanted to kiss you and I am not letting you regret anything that we have gone through.” Those words make her smile, because Chanyeol has tried his best to keep them together and although uncertainty is what she would call what they have, it feels like the best love affair that she has ever had. “Sorry if I came off as rude.”
“You know what was rude?” Her voice is hoarse, now that she realizes. “Making me wait almost five months just to kiss me.”
Chanyeol laughs at her words, pressing his forehead against hers and watching as her hands trail up from his abdomen to his biceps, grabbing onto them softly. “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t want to make you wait that long…but I also didn’t wanna rush it.”
“Well, you got that right. I don’t like rushing through things.”
“I am not as dumb as you think I am.” The man adds before pressing his lips softly against hers. She continues to touch him, as if she is scared that she will ever forget the curve of his shoulders or the way his waist feels when she wraps his arms around it. The weight of his body leans her back against the bed, making her pull away to look into his eyes. “Too fast?”
“Too fast.” She continues, letting her fingers go through his hair before chuckling. “I don’t want to go all the way to town tonight, boy.” She jokes around, only to hear the sweet sound of his laughter.
“That’s good with me.” Ever so sweetly he adds before she takes her hand in between hers, touching his fingers and kissing his knuckles, only to show him affection. “We go at your pace. I don’t mind.”
“But we can do other things.” She answers, watching as he tilts his head to the side before Chanyeol chuckles at her words, shaking his head as he reaches for her face, pushing her cheeks together sweetly.
“You’re the boss.” The sound of his voice is comfortable, just how she feels around him, and he leans down to press a sweet kiss to her lips that soon after turns heated. This is what she always wanted, in the shape of a forbidden love, from a person that the next day will be miles away from her. But what are a few numbers when he treats her like so?
✈️
“Last time I knew, Cupid was long dead, honey.”
The feisty old lady that lives next door speaks to her as she carries a bag of groceries in one hand, looking down at her phone with the other as she looks at one of the many pictures that Chanyeol sends her when he can. After all, it has been a bit over a month since their Venice getaway and he has spent over a week without talking to her, so seeing a recording of him running his fingers through his newly dyed black hair makes her smile gleefully. He thought of her, even when she feels like she is forgotten at times. She jumps at the sound of the old woman’s voice, watching as she smokes a cigar in the hallway—like the uncaring woman that she is—.
“Hi, Mrs. Jackson…Ah, nice to see you.” A long time ago, she has learned how to look at Mrs. Jackson in the eye after the many times that she has heard her through the walls. Absentmindedly, very accidentally, and regretfully. She greets her with the hand that holds her phone, receiving a quirked smile from the woman. “W-Why…? Why are you mentioning Cupid’s death?”
With another hit of the cigar, Mrs. Jackson gives a piece of her mind. “You’re smiling, but not the fake smile you give to the landlord.” Afraid of being caught, she feels heat radiating from her ears at the mere mention of her hypocrisy whenever she sees the landlord. Some people are just not of her liking, quite clearly, but she is not bad enough to say it straight to their faces. “What’s with the smile at your phone?”
She wants to talk about it as much as how she doesn’t want to. Chanyeol has been very secretive with this possible relationship that they have, and while they don’t necessarily give it a name, they have been very clear with what they feel. Chanyeol says he feels like he is falling for her, in one of the many calls they shared, and she talks about how she has never felt the way she feels for him with anyone else. Sehun, obviously, has made some comments while they are video-calling each other that they are basically a couple by now, but they don’t comment anything on it. “Just talking to…a guy, that’s all.”
“You? A guy?” Mrs. Jackson seems genuinely surprised. “I thought you weren’t into dating.”
“I…I am very picky, indeed.” She replies, putting her phone inside her pocket to look for her keys in her bag with only one hand. What a fucking curse.
“And does this guy live in the neighborhood?” Always asking the good questions, the nosy woman continues with her prying.
“No.”
“So he’s a foreigner.”
“Yes.” She chuckles awkwardly, finally catching her keys in between her hands before pushing them inside the doorknob, twisting them lightly to watch her door open.
Mrs. Jackson has finished her cigarette by that point, throwing it on the floor and stepping on it before opening her apartment’s door, as well. “I’m happy for you, honey.” The woman says, probably because she doesn’t remember her name. “That is the type of love a person wants. Sweet enough to induce diabetes. I hope he continues to make you smile.”
Although intentionally there to pry on her neighbor’s business, Mrs. Jackson ends it in a good note, making her smile in thankfulness. She thinks that, if given the chance, her relationship with Chanyeol would blossom beautifully, but she tries not to think of the inevitable ending in between the two. Is love really strong enough to keep two people together, even when they barely see each other? “Thank you. Have a nice day.”
She also hopes he continues to make herself smile, because if he ever so dares to break her heart, she doesn’t think she will be able to get out of it.
✈️
Madrid Fashion Week comes by, and she is not invited. Quite disappointing, really, but she has other works to attend to.
The world seems to fall into rhythm, finally, but the only part of her life that is either too fast or too slow comes from the man she has fallen for, Park Chanyeol. As expected, the man has his moment of bursting love and affection, practically telling her how much he wishes he could kiss her through a quick text or simply rambling to her about how much he misses her through video-call. Slowly but surely, she makes him a part of her daily routine; waking up to see where he is, making sure that she texts him at a proper time where she doesn’t interrupt his night of sleep—soon after, however, she is met with the reality that Chanyeol will never fall into the rhythm of her life. He won’t be in one place only, he definitely won’t be around for her to cuddle and kiss to her entire will. Chanyeol is a romance from far away, kissing her and coaxing her in love for a few days before they part once again, and she doesn’t know if that is the concept of love she had grown to dream of.
On the first day of Madrid’s fashion week, he says that he will send her a picture, but she is met with three days of complete silence. He updates his social media, he appears in interviews and the bitter taste in her mouth tells her that, for him, she will always be third or fourth place—not even second, because she would settle for someone that put their work first, and that is enough to make her feel hurt.
What happens to loving when the other person falls quiet?
A poem of Neruda is the first thing Jenn replies with. I like for you to be still or something else, that’s what she captures from what her friend tells her when she asks for advice, and it irks her terribly. Love shouldn’t be about silence; it should be about communicating even if it’s through a stare. It should feel like they were always in the same wave of feelings, not like she is constantly drowning while swimming towards the expensive ship where Chanyeol stands. She has gone weeks without hearing about him, but it hurts more whenever she gets closer to Chanyeol.
She taps her nails against her counter, watching the movement as she hears her phone ringing. Perhaps, she needs to hear her voice, or she finally needs to speak on the subject. Of course, she doesn’t want him to pick between his job and her, but she wants a little bit of commitment. For him to care, for him to try, for him to give her a space that isn’t worth a few hours every few months. She doesn’t deserve it, or at least she feels like she doesn’t. At first, he doesn’t pick up and five calls later, does she really get to hear his voice.
“Sorry. I am at a party, what’s up?” Chanyeol asks and she hears the sound of music in the background, somewhat muffled because he must have moved to somewhere quiet. Her anger boils; perhaps because she drank a glass of soda that was too sweet, or because she hates hiding the only person that she would dare to call a boyfriend. She despises that Chanyeol doesn’t give her a spot in his life, or that it is miniscule in comparison to everyone else.
“Didn’t you forget something?”
“Ah…I don’t think so.”
That’s it. If she could, she would throw the nearest slice of food to his face, if only she was in that party and not as far away as she is. “Well, you didn’t answer my text…that I sent you four days ago, don’t you remember?” The tone of her voice is the pettiest she can get, almost to the point she spits venom to the man. Chanyeol sighs deeply, and she imagines him in the bathroom crossing his arms over his chest while leaning against a wall.
“I am really trying.” And she knows, but sometimes she wishes that he would have his priorities straight. She doesn’t ask for much, perhaps a small message that tells her that ‘he is busy, and will answer her later’, but that never comes. For all she knows, he could have gotten his phone stolen, or he could be dead. There are a hundred possibilities, and none sound better than the last one. “But be a little bit more patient.”
She scoffs at that. “More patient? Chanyeol, I literally respond the second you send me a text and you take days to even consider telling me that you were busy. Don’t you think that’s unfair for me?” Now she is angered, trying to cover it up as much as she can, but her hands start to shake at the fire that she feels radiating from within.
“You need t0 understand. I am at a party right now and it’s really important for a makeup campaign I will be working in the next year—”
“I get it. I really do.” She interrupts him, wanting to be heard once in her life from the time that they have known each other. “All I am asking is just a heads up. That’s all. I have been worrying shitless about you—”
“Okay, yes, sorry. There you go.” He responds quickly, like he doesn’t mean it, and lately she feels like that is the way she would describe what they had. The more she spent thinking to herself what Chanyeol must think of her, she always convinces herself that he doesn’t mean anything that he has told her. The kisses are there to scratch an itch, he tells her that he likes her and that he loves all those things about her because he wants to sugarcoat her and the moment their relationship became serious was wonderful, but still…they hadn’t even seen each other since.
“Don’t give me that half-assed apology.”
“God! What kind of apology do you want, then?! I am being genuine!”
“I want you to feel what I feel. You don’t know how it’s like—”
“Yes, of course I know! I am also part of this relationship, if you don’t remember!” The man seems to have lost his poise, raising his voice in tone before he groans softly, lowering the sound of his voice. She’s baffled, thinking of what had made them break—but she can’t live with that uncertainty, the insecurity that comes with not knowing if he is fully in this relationship or not. “I have my dream to take care of! I haven’t even seen my family in months. Do you think I have the time to text you every time?! I try, I really do!”
Of course he does, she knows it, but all she wants is for him to take her more seriously. She doesn’t think it’s too much that she is asking for right there. “It shouldn’t be me always looking for you like a puppy! You’re not better than me because you’re rich and important and famous—” Deep within her, those facts had bothered her for long enough. Maybe, that was the reason behind their first fight. Chanyeol is famous, she is not. Chanyeol travels the world, while she mostly stays in her hometown. Chanyeol is surrounded by people who could take him away from her at any given minute, and she feels like they could.
“Who’s even talking about that? Of course I don’t think of you as some puppy!”
“I’m talking about you, because it’s never about us when it comes to our conversations.” She spits out, standing up from her seat to walk around the room to stop her freakishly racing heart. “How do you think it makes me feel that I am always the one that goes to you, and it’s never the other way around—”
“Listen, let’s talk about this—”
“And I understand your situation with your family. I am not even mentioning your family here.” Now, she is tired, like she has been drained of all the energy and instead, she has been hit by a big set of news. She feels like she can’t do it anymore, like Chanyeol will always be a thousand miles away and she will always be waiting for him. “…You know what, Chanyeol? I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can live with this fear that you’ll leave me at any given second. I don’t want to feel like I am the last option on your list.”
Chanyeol sighs deeply. “You’re never the last option, but this year has been so difficult for me. I only ask for more time.” The man complains, only to have her rubbing her face out of distress. She feels a headache coming up already, if it wasn’t there to stay. “And the least I want is for you to feel like I will leave you. I promise that all I think about is you. And us. It’s not always about me.”
“It damn right feels like it.”
“I’ll take a flight to your hometown if that’s what it takes then. After this fashion week—”
“I just don’t want you to come up with those ideas because you have to, because I am mad. I want you to think of it seriously.” She replies, voice softer now that she has calmed down, although she feels like she might have a heart attack right there. “And let’s be honest…your life can only get busier from now on, and as much as it hurts me, I think something needs to change.”
Once again, he seems to be stuck in whatever is his limbo. “I am trying.”
“Well, you don’t need to try anymore.” The sound of her voice breaks her heart, aching to be loved and respected, aching for the affection that she feels like is neglected from her. Is it being too damn needy to want him by her side? Is it a problem? Is she the problem in this relationship? “I feel like we should break up.”
“What?! No.” Chanyeol replies quickly. “You’re just angry-thinking. I am sure we can get through—”
“Through what? Long distance that will always be there because you live in hotels and I don’t?” Her voice is hoarse, closing her eyes tightly as she remembers that night they shared together in Venice. “It hurts me as much as it hurts you.”
“It doesn’t seem like it.” For a moment, she thinks she hears his voice becoming unclear, much more nasal than it has ever been. Was he crying, perhaps? Why does she feel like there is a dagger going through her heart? “It’s sad, really. I am actually trying for you—”
“I know.”
“Then what is the problem? I’ll get better.”
“That I don’t want to try anymore.”
The worst part was that even months after their break up, she thinks of his gaze, like a dagger that has cut right through her chest.
#chanyeol scenarios#chanyeol#exo scenarios#exo#kpop scenarios#writing#chanyeol fluff#chanyeol angst#chanyeol au#exo fluff#exo angst#exo au#runway model!chanyeol#also this idea obviously came from the what a life promo and everything according to that era#yes love blonde chanyeol please#also gimme some feedback if you read!!! i'd appreacite it so bad!!!#also very long but i am Not Surprised
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Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 28
Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.
Happy Holidays to everyone! I hope your celebrations are going better than me being cooped up with a cold and an aching chest because I always get sick at this time of year XD
Chapter 27 | Chapter 29 | AO3 link
“Hey, princess.”
Marinette’s heart skips a beat when she turns to find Chat Noir perched on the railing of her balcony just like back before Glaciator had attacked, all those months ago. This time, though, he’s got a goofy, nervous grin rather than looking heartbrokenly glum, and he’s clutching a single red tulip rather than the rose he’d had that time.
“You, uh…you look amazing,” he says, his cheeks visibly darkening in the orange glow of nighttime Paris. Marinette can’t suppress the grin that breaks free as she instinctively smooths down her strapless dress, with a black feathery pattern across the chest and down one side, while the base of the dress is white.
“Thanks,” she says. “It was a rough sketch at the photoshoot that Adrien invited me to and, well…it kinda grew from there.”
“You’re awesome,” Chat Noir says immediately, then clears his throat. “You really got dressed up just for little old me?”
“As if,” Marinette scoffs as blood starts to rush to her cheeks. “I just felt like wearing something different. For our hangout tonight. That we always have.”
Chat Noir’s smirk only increases the desire to shove the damn cat off her balcony and listen to him yowl all the way down to the ground, but Marinette just manages to resist the temptation. She’s a superhero, after all, and superheroes shouldn’t stoop to such pettiness…even if it would be very satisfying.
“So…” Chat Noir holds out the tulip in his hand. “I heard through the grapevine that a certain Miss Dupain-Cheng had a crush on me?”
“You can’t believe everything you hear,” Marinette says, although her hot cheeks as she accepts the tulip undercuts the cool-headed aura she’s trying to project. Oh, well. May as well get used to the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng is destined to always be a disaster.
“Well, then.” Chat Noir’s grin widens. “I suppose I shouldn’t tell you how simply stunning you are, if you won’t believe what you hear.”
“Now, wait just a minute! I didn’t mean – you mischievous cat!”
Chat Noir snickers, then leaps off the railing and stops just in front of Marinette. With one hand, he laces their fingers together, while he reaches up to tuck a lock of loose, dark hair behind her ear with his other hand.
“Not that I don’t love the pigtails, princess,” he says softly, “and you’re gorgeous with any hairstyle, but you’re beautiful with your hair down. I’ve never seen it before.”
Marinette bites her lip and ducks her head to hide her flaming cheeks, although if the heat in her forehead’s any indication, her entire face is probably just as red. “Thanks,” she finally manages to say. “It’s just more convenient to keep it in pigtails. Easier to keep out of the way, you know? And I like how they feel. I’m glad you like it down. So, um…what did you want to do tonight?”
“I was thinking of taking you out. On a date.” Chat Noir gives a strangled little cough and adds, “You know, if you’re into it. Not trying to force you or anything –”
“Heaven help me, but okay,” Marinette says. Chat Noir’s face lights up and goddammit, he does not have the right to look that – that – adorable!
“Really?” he says. “Well, I know I can’t take you out and give you the first date you deserve. You know, dashing leather superhero and all that. I’d be too busy fighting off the hordes of fangirls trying to steal my heart.”
“Right,” Marinette deadpans. “We wouldn’t want you to get mobbed by adoring fans.”
“I’m glad you understand,” Chat Noir grins. “So…I had another idea, if you’re willing to allow this dashing cat to escort you?”
“So long as that dashing cat doesn’t drop me, I think that’s doable,” Marinette says. In response to that, Chat Noir turns so that she can slide her arms around his neck and hoist herself onto his back, wrapping her legs around his waist to secure herself.
“Ready, princess?” Chat Noir says. Marinette rests her chin on his shoulder and hums an affirmation, and then the wind’s whistling through her ears and streaming her hair out behind her as Chat Noir takes a running leap off her balcony and lands on the next rooftop over.
Wow. It’s so…different, leaping over the rooftops as a civilian instead of behind a red spandex suit. It’s hardly the first time she’s been carried through Paris by Chat Noir but, well…it is the first time she’s been able to just enjoy it rather than focusing on the akuma or trying to cheer Chat Noir up.
“The Eiffel Tower?” Marinette says when Chat Noir arrives at the base of said Tower and starts climbing up nimbly like, well…a cat.
“The Eiffel Tower that no one ever gets to see,” Chat Noir corrects. “Well, except for me and Ladybug. And Rena Rouge. Just…sorry, Marinette, I can find somewhere else –”
“No!” Marinette squeezes her arms around his neck. “It’s perfect. I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ve never been up here before…” Well, she’s technically not lying. Ladybug has, but Marinette hasn’t.
“Trust me, it’s a view to die for, princess.”
At the very tip of the Eiffel Tower, a picnic blanket has been spread across the cool metal, held down at the corners by little candles that one might buy from a home living store; not super cheap, but also not expensive and fancy. A vase of red tulips rests at the centre and it’s surrounded by a few cushions and a platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries. All in all, it’s nothing too fancy, but Marinette’s heart still tries to batter itself free of her ribcage in response to the sight. Chat Noir’s done this for her?
“I know it’s not much,” Chat Noir says when he sets her down and then turns around to gauge her reaction. “But you’ve never really struck me as someone who’d want something over the top. And I wasn’t even sure if you’d say yes, so I didn’t want to go too far and then –”
“You’re right, kitty cat,” Marinette says. “I’ve helped my parents cater for events at Le Grand Paris before, when they needed an extra pair of hands. It’s all…too much. But this?” Marinette approaches the blanket and sinks down onto a red cushion. “This is perfect. I love it, Chat.”
Chat Noir’s shoulders visibly slump in relief as he sits down on a green cushion next to her. “I’m glad. I’ve never been on a date before, and everything I know comes from TV shows.”
“I bet you watch anime, you dork,” Marinette says. Chat Noir pouts in response. “Oh my god, you do. Nerd.”
“Hey!” Chat Noir crosses his arms. “I’ll leave you up here.”
“That’s no way to treat a lady.”
“Hmph. Fine, you win this round.”
Marinette grins. Then she shivers and wishes that she’d thought to bring a jacket, but she hadn’t exactly thought that the date would be taking place at the top of the freaking Eiffel Tower, to be fair.
“Here.” Chat Noir holds out another blanket, this one softer than the picnic blanket and made of blue fleece. “I figured it was better to be overprepared than underprepared.”
“You really did think of everything,” Marinette says as she wraps the blanket around her shoulders. She falls silent and drinks in everything before her, and all she can do is shake her head and say, “Wow. No one’s ever…I mean, Evillustrator doesn’t count because he was an akuma and he could just draw anything into existence. I love it.”
“Of course,” Chat Noir says. “You’re my princess. Only the best for someone like you.”
Marinette giggles and leans to rest her head on Chat Noir’s shoulder. For a moment, the only sounds in the night air between them are the wind this high up and the bustle of Paris below. but it feels as though these sounds are muffled; like Marinette and Chat Noir are in their own world up here, in a bubble away from Hawkmoth and their daily lives.
“This is why I love being Chat Noir,” Chat Noir finally says. “I mean, I love getting to be a superhero and kick akuma butt with milady…but just getting to let loose like this and do whatever I want. Be with whoever I want. My father would probably pitch a fit if I had a relationship as me with someone he didn’t approve of.”
“You think he wouldn’t approve of me?” Marinette says. She’s not exactly sure how she feels about that; is it a good thing that she’s someone that Chat Noir’s father wouldn’t like? Or is the thought of someone not liking her, even someone like his father, responsible for the mild churning in her gut?
“I don’t actually know,” Chat Noir says. “Nothing identity-revealing, but I know you’ve impressed him once. But at the same time…it’s hard to know what goes through his head, and I’m his son. And, like…I don’t care if he approves or not, but it’d make my life easier if he did. So, in a way, it’s kinda more freeing to be Chat Noir.”
“That’s fair enough,” Marinette says. “My parents would probably adopt you.”
“As much as I love the sound of that, it’d have unfortunate implications for us,” Chat Noir says. Marinette laughs.
“Okay, yeah, I didn’t think about that. I know stepsiblings aren’t technically related…but still.”
Chat Noir chuckles. After a moment, he stretches and yawns, and one of his arms ‘casually’ lands around Marinette’s waist.
“Oh my god, you dork,” she says, but that doesn’t stop her from snuggling into his side even further.
“Am I really a dork if it works?” Chat Noir says. When Marinette chances a peek up, he’s got a rather smug smile plastered across his face.
“Bad kitty.”
Chat Noir lets out a growl, a little thing that rumbles in his chest, and nuzzles against her cheek like an actual cat. “You shouldn’t be mean to me, princess. I could leave you up here.”
“Oh, no,” Marinette drawls, like she couldn’t just get herself down and leave him wondering if she’s a witch. “What a tragedy. You’d leave your princess trapped upon a tower?”
Chat Noir snorts. “I didn’t even think about that.” He suddenly jumps and hastens to grab the strawberries, and Marinette yelps and nearly topples over when her support unexpectedly vanishes. “D’you want a strawberry? Are you hungry? I don’t even know if you’ve eaten or if –”
“Chat.” Marinette unfolds one end of the blanket wrapped around her and throws it around Chat Noir’s shoulders, reeling him back into the cocoon of warmth. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing! Nothing’s wrong!” Chat Noir babbles. Marinette just raises an eyebrow, and it only takes a moment for his fake ears to flatten against his head. “I’m just…it’s my first date, alright? And it’s yours too, yeah? I guess I just want it to be perfect, and I don’t wanna screw it up by forgetting to offer you food or making a wrong move or –”
“The only way you could screw this up is if you left me up here.” Marinette threads her fingers with his, stroking the warm black spandex under her thumb. “I love it, Chat. I love the thought that went into this. You don’t have to be so terrified of making a wrong move that you end up twisting yourself into knots.” She laughs and adds, “Kind of like how I was with Adrien. N-Not that you want to hear about him, because bringing up other crushes on a first date is a total wrong move, and ugh, I’m suck a jerk –”
“What happened to not overthinking things?” Chat Noir says. Marinette groans and shoves him with her shoulder.
“Jerk,” she mumbles. Chat Noir gives her a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah, but I’m your jerk,” he says. His grin widens when blood rushes to Marinette’s cheeks, staining them with warmth. “Why, princess, I didn’t know you were the possessive type.”
“Shut up!”
Chat Noir just cackles but then sobers after a moment. “Hey, uh…there’s something we should talk about.”
“What?” Marinette’s gut starts to churn. Has she messed up? Is Chat Noir about to say thanks for the date, it’s been nice, he’ll call? When people say “we need to talk”, there’s only a one percent chance that it’s something good.
“Hey? Marinette? Did I do something wrong?” Chat Noir says after Marinette’s silent for too long.
“Is it a bad thing?” Marinette manages to say. “Like, “thanks for the date, maybe next time” kind of thing?”
“What? No, no, no!” Chat Noir babbles with wide eyes. “I – well, I don’t think it’s bad, but it’s nothing like that!”
“Oh.” Marinette lets her shoulders sag. “Sorry for overreacting. I just hear those words and I start thinking of the worst possible outcome. I love having anxiety.”
“Ah. Anxiety.” Chat Noir wrinkles his nose. “Sorry, Marinette, I didn’t realise. I won’t start off with those words again. But no, this isn’t bad. It’s just…something I need to get off my chest.”
Marinette tilts her head. “Yeah?”
“So, um, I get it if you decide this is all too messed up and you don’t wanna get tangled in it. But I, uh…I have feelings for someone else. Too, that is. And I’m picking you, because I want to be with you and I know that this is more than just a crush, while I don’t know about the other person, but I didn’t want you to go into this and not know because I feel like that’d be lying –”
“Chat. Hey. Breathe.” Marinette’s about two seconds from passing out in relief. That’s what he wanted to talk to her about? And she’d still freaked out, even though she’d known it had to be coming at some point! God, what a mess she is. “It’s okay.”
“It…is?”
“Yeah.” Marinette starts scratching behind his fake ears, and he lets out a loud purr. “You must be sure enough about me to be on the top of the Eiffel Tower with me right now. And I know you wouldn’t cheat, even if you’re potentially polyamorous. That’s just…not you. And that’s not what polyamory’s about in the first place.”
Chat Noir melts against her and buries his nose in the crook of her neck. Marinette shivers violently at the warm breath that ghosts across her bare skin, and she leans into him before she realises what she’s doing.
“Just keep me in the loop, yeah?” Marinette says. “The whole anxiety thing and all. I tend to jump to the worst conclusion. I remember once, I accidentally broke Mum’s favourite vase and I made up a whole plan to run away from France and live with Nonna and become a motorcyclist nomad. I even started packing my bags and everything, until Mum – stop laughing!”
“I can’t help it!” Chat Noir chokes, wiping his eyes. “I just – oh my god, Marinette, you’re amazing.”
“Try telling that to my eleven-year-old self,” Marinette huffs. But she can’t be too annoyed, not when Chat Noir’s laughing, so she just sighs and keeps scratching his scalp, relishing the purrs that burst out of him even as he claps a hand over his mouth.
“Strawberries!” Chat Noir fumbles to grab a particularly large strawberry and brandishes it with a proud little smirk. “I was almost sorry to dip this one. It looked like a butt. See, here’s the crack and everything!”
“Oh my god, you’re so immature,” Marinette says, but she can’t hold back the laughter that bubbles out of her at his antics. The silence that falls between them as they share the plate of strawberries is natural, comfortable, and it’s something that Marinette is infinitely grateful for, because there’s nothing worse than being stuck in awkward silence with someone until you both lie and promise that you’ll call each other but never do. The kind of silence she’d found herself in with Adrien, if she wasn’t stuttering so badly that even she couldn’t understand herself. And even if she’d never ended up falling for Chat Noir, moving her focus away from Adrien is probably the best thing she’s ever done for herself, because now she can string more than two words together around him and they’re actually friends.
“Hey, Marinette?” Chat Noir finally breaks the silence. Thankfully, Marinette manages not to jump or have a mini heart attack this time. “I, uh…”
Oh. Great. Has Marinette been too quiet? Is this the part where Chat Noir says thanks for a lovely evening and he’ll call and all that generic let-down stuff? It shouldn’t sting this much, except that he’s her partner and she’ll have to interact with him on a professional basis, but how is she supposed to do that when –
“– rinette? Did I do something wrong?”
“Huh?” Marinette blinks and shakes her head. “Sorry. I was kind of catastrophising in my head again. What did you say?”
Chat Noir snorts. “I was going to ask if I could kiss you, but if that’s enough to make you start planning to run away and become a motorcycle nomad…”
“You dork. You don’t have to ask to kiss me.”
“I kind of do,” Chat Noir says. “I mean, I know Ladybug likes my flirting when we’re not in the middle of a battle, but…I still kind of want to be sure. You know, so I don’t hurt you like I hurt her that time we fought Glaciator. You two are the most important girls in my life.”
Is this a dream? How is Marinette the most important girl to him twice over without him even realising it? “I – um – wow,” is all she can say. Chat Noir winces.
“Too heavy?”
“No. No. Just…wow.”
“Well, it’s true.” Chat Noir squeezes her with the arm that’s around her. “You’re the sun! The moon! The light of –”
“Drama queen.”
Chat Noir gasps and clasps a hand over his heart. “You wound me! While I’m singing your praises!”
Marinette rolls her eyes. “Didn’t you want to kiss me or something?”
“Not after you so cruelly broke my heart,” Chat Noir huffs.
“Oh, come here, you cry-baby.” Marinette shifts around so that she’s facing Chat Noir, then squeezes his hand. Chat Noir’s eyes are wide as they dart from Marinette’s eyes to her mouth, and his lips are slightly parted, and he so resembles a spooked kitten that all Marinette can do is lean in and press her mouth to his. Chat Noir freezes and gasps against her lips, and then he seems to spring to life and kiss back with a soft sound, lifting his free hand to cup her cheek.
It’s far from the first time Marinette has kissed Chat Noir, even if she had been wearing a spotted suit and he’s got no memory of it. But a kiss of necessity and a kiss of mutuality? They’re leagues apart, and although Marinette will always do whatever it takes to save and protect her kitty, a part of her can’t help but wish that this had been her first kiss with Chat Noir, because this? This is magical.
“Wow,” Marinette sighs when they finally pull apart to gulp in the cool night air. “That was – wow.”
“I always knew my kissing skills were mind-blowing,” Chat Noir says. Marinette rolls her eyes.
“Alright, that was the first and last time I’m kissing you.”
“What? No! C’mon, princess!”
“Nope. Too late. You blew it.”
“Marineeeette!”
#miraculous ladybug#ml fic#aotq fic#aotq: hold me#marinette dupain-cheng#chat noir#marichat#literally just marichat sugar#first date#marichat date#kissing#marinette has anxiety
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A Leg Up-Matty Healy Imagine
Requested: Yes
Warnings: None
“This is a good gig for you, Y/N. It will get you more exposure,” Anthony, my agent, assured me as we walked into the filming studio in central London.
Glossy black and white photographs of British, Welsh, Scottish, and Irish movie giants lined the walls of the entrance. Everyone inside was tall, slim, and stylish, as was typical of the entertainment scene. However, music people were involved in the mix so they were either stylishly disheveled or wearing every expensive item they owned. After twenty years in the entertainment world, I knew that I did not get along with either type of musician: the first were usually Kurt Cobain wannabes and the second were only interested in flashing their money on social media and starting pointless drama. Unlike my peers, I took my job as an actress seriously and knew that I had to align myself with the right people and the right projects to be seen a certain way. So, after my teen show ended, my costars and I were in a precarious stage that would determine the rest of our careers. Some of my costars would fall into the party scene and no doubt wind up in rehab while others would take a few jobs here and there only to retire to a normal life. I refused to fall into either camp and knew that if I wanted to have a long career as an actress, I had to keep working and take the best jobs. Anthony knew that and lined up several auditions for big-budget films that would premiere after my show’s finale. I landed one of them, a dive into post-apolalyptic society, but I knew that I had to keep my name in people’s minds. When I tasked Anthony with getting me a good, press-inducing gig, he called me two days later, instructing me to get on a plane to London to shoot a music video.
At first, I did not want to go and end up being another video girl, but I let Anthony persuade me and he continued persuading me when we met for brunch before leaving to the filming location.
“But are you sure this is the right kind of exposure?” I asked as two tall, thin men in black and white uniforms opened the glossy glass doors that led to the smaller studios.
“Of course!” Anthony glanced up from his BlackBerry. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”
I crossed my arms. “Must I remind you about the Care Bear incident?”
Anthony rolled his moss green eyes. “That was a decade ago? Will you ever let me live that down?”
“Not until it is completely scrubbed from the Internet,” I teased.
Anthony grumbled. “Well, this will definitely make up for it. This band is very big, not only in the UK but all over the world. Everyone with a pulse will see this music video and wonder who that girl is, dancing to the 1975? And is that her in that trailer for that blockbuster? I have to see if she can really act.”
“Fine, fine, I see your point.”
Anthony paused at one of the doors and glanced at his silver Rolex. “We’re here and right on time.”
He opened the door, revealing what could only be the music video set. There were industrial lights illuminating a large stage, complete with proper band equipment. The stage stood high above the crowd that was made up of two hundred extras. Assistants in all-black rushed around the studio, huffing into walkie-talkies, and swatting extras away from the craft service table.
Anthony had sent me a brief email describing the concept of the video: the band was going to be playing at a gig and Matty’s love interest, me, was going to show up as a surprise. The song was “The Sound” and, from what I could gather, it was about a former relationship but there was still a connection between the couple.
A blonde woman in a black pinstripe suit walked up to us. “You must be Mr. Vincent and Miss Y/L/N,” she said in a curt Welsh accent.
“Yes, that’s us,” Anthony said.
“My name is Bridget, Bridget Waters, the casting director for this video.” Bridget looked me over with her cool gray eyes. “You look better in person. Now, you must go to hair and makeup.”
“Thank you.”
Bridget rushed me over to the hair and makeup section, where I was immediately surrounded by stunning, coiffed professionals. When they were done, there was no evidence that I was jetlagged. My y/h/t y/h/c y/h/l hair was blown out in shiny strands and soft to the touch. Once my makeup and hair were done, a petite brunette girl in the new Jason Wu dress put me in a pair of black patent leather pants, a tissue-thin blue blouse, and black Balenciaga knife boots. I was already tall but the boots made me tower over almost everyone.
As if on cue, I heard my mother’s voice say, “Remember, tall girls like you are swans, make everyone else feel like ducklings for even looking at you the wrong way.”
I took a deep breath and straightened up my posture. As the stylist made some alterations, Anthony was barking orders on his phone in Portuguese. At the end of his conversation, his face was redder than usual.
“Thank you for being professional,” he said, “and you look good.”
“You’re welcome and thanks?”
A second later, a quiet roar took over the studio and that could only mean that the band had arrived.
“OI!” The director called, silencing the excited extras.
“There’s no need for that, love,” Matty teased.
It was the first time I ever heard his speaking voice and it sounded like velvet. I strolled away from Anthony and the stylist once she was done with the alterations, and saw Matty with the rest of the band. He was wearing an expensive-looking black button-down with black leather pants, ankle boots and a leather jacket. His bandmates were dressed similarly. I had seen pictures of them on social media and heard a few of their songs before, but I was not their biggest fan. However, I could respect their music and acknowledge that they were all better looking in person.
Suddenly, Matty looked at me and quirked an eyebrow in my direction. He strolled over to me and extended his hand. “Hello, ‘m Matty.”
I accepted his handshake, silently thanking myself that I decided to get a manicure the day before. “Y/N.”
“I know you from somewhere.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t think that someone like you would watch anything that I was in.”
“Roxanne!” the tall, brunette member said as he and the rest of the band approached us.
I felt my face warm up at the mention of my old character. “That’s me.”
Matty turned to him. “How’d you know that, Adam?”
“Well, she was only the best part of Bright Lights, the finest American television show I ever watched,” Adam said.
“Thank you, really, I didn’t think that anyone over sixteen watched that.” My stomach dropped as I realized I had insulted the member. “Which is fine, sorry, I just----”
“It’s fine, as long as you tell me exactly how the series ends. Do Roxanne and Edward end up together, or does she go with Nick? I’m personally more of a Nick man m’self.”
Matty wrapped his arm around Adam’s shoulders. “Right, Adam, we get it, you are a big fan. Don’t weird her out.”
“No, it’s fine, really, but I cannot give away any spoilers----ruins all the fun.”
Adam fake pouted. “Fine, I guess I can live with an autograph and a picture.”
“You have a deal.”
“Can I get those both as well?” Matty asked.
“Sure.”
“Oi, I want a picture with the movie star!” the blonde man announced as he and another tall brunette man ran over to us.
I laughed. “Fine, we can take a group picture.” I waved Anthony over and all the members handed him their phones.
We took so many pictures that I was positive that I had blinked in one of them. At the end of the impromptu photoshoot, the director insisted that we get started with shooting.
“So, I s’pose you’re my love interest then?” Matty asked.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Could you do me a favor? Try not to fall in love with me, it would make today much more complicated and I know it might be difficult, but you have to resist.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle as hair and makeup surrounded the band. “I’ll do my best, I am an actress after all.”
The music video shoot was a lot more enjoyable than I thought it would be. The director yelled instructions through the megaphone and the song blasted through the speakers. All the boys behaved energetically on stage, interacting with the extras, and pretend playing their instruments. It was almost more fun watching them perform than when it was time for me to enter. The director had me start halfway through the crowd and signalled me to push my way through the crowd until I got to the front. Matty would pause in the middle of the song as the music kept playing when he saw me, a surprised look on his face. I half-smiled in return but kept moving towards the stage. Once I got to the front, Matty would continue singing and dancing around on stage. In a few different takes, he lowered himself down to my level and winked at me. In other takes, he would blow kisses and I couldn’t help but laugh.
When my heart skipped a beat, I silently chastised myself. He was obviously acting, wasn’t he? He’d done videos before with models where he had to be romantic with them.
Then, the time came for the extras to leave so that Matty and I could film a solo scene. I took a couple of pictures with extras as they were leaving.
“Oh my gosh, Roxanne and Bridget better make up or I will have a whole cow!” one girl exclaimed after I signed her phone case.
“Oh come off it, Rachel, Bridget is the biggest slag in the history of slags and Roxanne can do better friends wise,” another girl said.
I laughed. “Thanks, but you will both have to wait and see.”
They ignored assistants ushering them away as they waved while walking in the direction of the exit.
“My, my, someone’s popular,” Matty said behind me.
I turned to him. “Oh please, I did not have all the extras screaming when I walked into the room.”
Matty shrugged. “Don’t worry, you’ll experience it one day.”
I playfully pushed him and jumped away when he tried to push me back. As we were laughing the director approached us.
“Alright you two, let’s get this over with and maybe we can all leave here at a decent hour. Now, I want Y/N to start walking out of the studio, but you’re gonna stop her, Matty, and pull her towards you. This is just after the concert ends and I want to see the emotion. Remember, you two were a mismatched couple with chemistry. “
I nodded. “Got it.”
The director marched back to the camera and signalled me to start. I turned on my heel and strolled to the door at a relaxed pace. Just when I opened the door, Matty grabbed my free hand and pulled me towards him. His dark brown eyes were intense as he held me under his gaze. I did my best to match his intensity and tried not to be surprised when he started leaning closer to me. Just when I felt his breath on my mouth, the director shouted for us to stop.
“Wonderful! I really felt the energy between you two! Now, I need the two of you to dance. This is a flashback scene, back to when things between the two of you were better.”
“Then we need some music,” Matty said.
“MUSIC!” the director yelled.
“The Sound” blasted through the speakers and Matty grabbed my hand, spinning me around, making me laugh in surprise. At one point, he picked me up and spun me around in his arms, forcing me to wrap my arms around his neck for stability. We filmed that scene about ten times with different dance moves each time. At the end of the takes, my heart seemed to beat louder and harder after the last. Why did musicians have to be so charming and funny?
Be professional, Y/L/N , I thought to myself.
Finally, the director was satisfied with our dancing and called for the cut when Matty pulled me extremely close. I could smell his expensive cologne wafting from him. It was hypnotic.
I blinked and pulled away. “Um, good work today.”
“Yeah, you too. I see what Adam was goin’ on about,” Matty muttered.
“C’mon, Y/N, you have to get back to LA to finish some scenes!” Anthony barked from the stylist area.
“Coming!” I called.
“You’re leaving so soon?” Matty asked.
“Yeah, I have to finish a movie that’s coming out next year.”
“Oh, because, I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind me showing you around the city and maybe getting dinner afterwards.”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“If you want to call it that.”
“I thought you weren’t going to fall in love with me today?”
“Who said anything about falling in love? I just like you a lot and would like to show you the better parts of London.”
“Give me your phone?”
Matty handed it over to me and I typed in my number.
“I don’t leave until the day after tomorrow so you should call me so we can make better arrangements.”
“Alright.”
“Alright.”
I walked away from him with the biggest grin on my face. Now, I finally understood why so many actresses and models in music videos wound up dating the lead musician: they’re kind of irresistible.
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Happy Birthday!
A/N: It’s my birthday! :D
I decided to gift myself with this little one shot. I used a Korean name because I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my name lol. Also, I major in American English Linguistics only but everything else mentioned in this fic are facts. Another thing, I’ve never been to Namsan Tower and only mentioned things I’ve read in blogs and seen in that one NCT ep where the foreigners line went to Namsan.
I hope you enjoy! ^^
Also, please ignore any spelling or grammatical errors!
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“Sorry! Pardon me! Excuse me!” Hanbin panted as he bypassed the sea of people while rushing towards the subway. He was on his way to Seoul National University to meet up with his best friend at exactly 1 pm. It’s 12:40 pm and it takes about 25 minutes to reach the street across the university.
“Damn it!” Hanbin cursed beneath his mask at the sight of the long line where people scanned their cards to access the metro. Checking his watch, he cursed when he realized he only has 20 minutes left and the bus leaves in 5 minutes. Inhaling deeply, the Korean idol pushed his way through, ignoring the curses and angry shouts of the people.
That all didn’t matter to him. Let them swear or curse at him. Today is a special day and he’d be damned if he missed it this year…again.
You see, Hanbin had met his best friend about four years ago at the Seoul National University library while he was reading through poems to find some inspiration to write the lyrics of iKON’s debut song. He went down isle after isle, hoping to find the right book when he suddenly bumped into someone who let out a loud squeak.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t see where I was go-” His words died on his lips as he watched the person in front of him stand up after picking up her books.
“It’s ok.” The woman said in accented Korean. “I was looking through the nombers.” She replied while holding up a piece of paper that had the number of the book required for class.
“Numbers.” Hanbin instantly closed his eyes. He didn’t mean to correct her mispronunciation but it just sliped.
Luckily, the woman took no offense and smiled up at him, “Right, numbers!”
Hanbin couldn’t help but return her smile while a sense of relief washed over him. “Do you study here?” He asked her and watched as her eyes lightened up as she answered his question.
And since that day, they’ve been best of friends. The woman’s name, Hanbin learned, was Eun Jung. Though, that was not her birth name since she was not Korean but an Arab. She explained that international students were encouraged to adapt Korean names to make things easier. Eun Jung explained that she didn’t mind the Korean name that much but she made sure when introducing her name, she would say both her Arabic and Korean names.
Hanbin also learned that she is currently studying Korean Linguistics with a minor in English Literature. She is also Muslim and that her birthday is on Feb 25th.
Eun Jung was a happy-go-lucky girl who tried as best as she could to be optimistic. She said her teen angst exhausted her and she wanted to move on from that lifestyle. Eun Jung also spoke two languages and can speak conversational Korean.
The two couldn’t meet very much in public since Hanbin became so busy with his idol life but he made sure to meet up with Eun Jung at least twice a month to catch up. Eun Jung understood his lifestyle and never judged. She eventually became a fan of iKON despite already being a fan of several other groups. But what’s nice is that she never befriended him for his fame or money. She’s his friend because of he was and Hanbin is thankful for that.
Hanbin checked his phone again and inwardly cursed once he realized that he only had ten minutes to make it to the gates of the university where he had promised to meet her at.
You see, today was Eun Jung’s birthday and every year Hanbin missed it. It was either a recording on her day, a photoshoot or a performance that he absolutely could not miss. Thankfully, Eun Jung never seemed too upset with him missing out on her birthday even though he is her best friend. Still, Hanbin felt very guilty since Eun Jung always made sure to celebrate his birthday with him either on the day of or the day before or after. So this year, Hanbin wanted to make it up for Eun Jung by clearing out his schedule two weeks in advance. He made sure that he had the whole day free just for Eun Jung.
So, he called her up two days before her birthday and told her to wait for him at the gates once she is done with classes. Hanbin had a special day planned out and he was already screwing it up by being late.
“Right on time.” Eun Jung greeted loudly as she watched Hanbin jog up to her by the gates, “Only two minutes late.” She smiled at him. Over the years, Eun Jung’s Korean improved and now she has a native like fluency when speaking the language.
Hanbin’s reply was a big exhale of air, causing Eun Jung to chuckle at him. Her teeth as white as snow.
“Ready to go?” Hanbin asked while holding his arm out for her.
“Oh, my!” Eun Jung said in mock astonishment, “Such a gentleman.”
“Har har.” The Korean idol replied while his best friend linked her arm with his.
“So, where are we going?” Eun Jung asked after a moment of walking and catching up with Hanbin.
“A little birdie told me that you wanted to try this new Indian restaurant that opened uptown.” Hanbin said with a smirk.
“Donghyuk, that snitch!” Eun Jung said playfully with an adorable pout on her lips, “Are we really going there?” she then asked with hope in her voice.
Hanbin tried very hard not to coo at her cute antics. When it comes to Indian food, Eun Jung turned into the cutest thing ever and wished he could put her in his pocket.
“Yes, really.” He chuckled instead.
Fifteen minutes later and the two arrived at the restaurant. It was a cozy restaurant with beige, gold and red decorations. Although it opened recently, there weren’t a lot of people there. Which the both of you were thankful for because then you could eat comfortably without worrying about fans and paparazzi swarming Hanbin and bombarding him with questions about his relationship with you.
“This is nice.” Eun Jung breathed out while they’re being led to their table in the corner by the window.
“Just for you.” Hanbin said in sing-song voice, beaming at the tiny blush on Eun Jung’s cheeks.
The food was amazing. The whole time Eun Jung kept moaning and chewing loudly at the delicious food. She once told Hanbin that Indian food is similar to a lot of Arab foods and she grew up eating both so she’s thankful that there are Indian restaurants when she’s feeling homesick.
“Ahh, that hit the spot!” Eun Jung stated while patting on her tummy, chuckling down at it.
“I’m glad you enjoyed.” Hanbin felt so warm inside. It felt so long since he’d seen Eun Jung happy. She’s been feeling homesick lately and stressing out about school that her personality changed a bit. It was nice seeing her happy again.
“Alright, ready to go?” Hanbin asked after paying the bill.
“Go?” Eun Jung asked in confusion as she watched Hanbin stand up.
Hanbin nodded as he slid on his coat to protect himself from the cold February air, “There’s one more place to go to.”
“Oohh where are we going?” Eun Jung asked this as she put on her own coat and gloves, linking her arms with Hanbin as they excited the restaurant.
“It’s a surprise.”
Hanbin chuckled at Eun Jung’s slight whine, “You know I hate surprises!” She reminded him with a playful annoyance in her tone of voice.
“I know, but this will be worth it.”
They had to take the subway to their next destination and halfway through, Eun Jung quickly realized where they’re going and felt her stomach clenching, “We’re not really going there, are we?” Her voice was shaky and she began to sweat a bit.
“I know that you don’t like heights, Eun Jungie, but you always wanted to go there.” Hanbin replied as they entered the cable carts building and bought their tickets. Once he noticed Eun Jung turning pale, he wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her shoulders.
“I will be here with you all the way through. But if you don’t want to go, we can go somewhere else.” As he said this, Hanbin’s voice grew soft, his breath brushing her ear while he pressed her closer to his side.
“No,” She spoke up minutes later, “I want to go and this is the only chance.” She tried to give a confident smile but Hanbin could tell she was still scared.
“I’ll hold your hand, ok?”
Eun Jung nodded and grasped his hand tightly before entering the cable cart. Her heart began to beat quickly as the cable cart jerked into movement. Hanbin’s hand was clutched in a vice grim while his other arm rubbed up and down her shoulder. At first, Eun Jung didn’t look up from the ground, too scared to see how far up they were and imagine how they wires would snap and they would plummet to their deaths. But once she noticed that the cart was going in a steady pace and nothing happened so far, she risked a glance at the window and became breathless.
Seoul was covered in a blanket of snow and the view was magnificent. It was as if they were gliding through smooth ice cream rather than being in a small box traveling through the sky.
“Wow.” She breathed out, inching closer to the window.
“Yeah.” Hanbin agreed. Though, his eyes weren’t on the window.
When they reached the top, Eun Jung gradually calmed down and her energetic nature took over. She felt giddy and excited. She never had the opportunity to visit Namsan Tower due to her very busy schedule and she felt a bit jealous whenever her friends went there. That’s why she forced herself through her fears and made the journey.
The first thing they did was wear traditional Hanbooks. At first, Eun Jung didn’t want to be a Koreaboo but Hanbin assured her that she wasn’t being one and that she enjoy it like everyone else. After they got dressed, they went to various places: the K-Star Gallery, the LG 3D zone, the LED tunnel, the Hello Kitty Island, the Ssen Toy Museum and the Teddy Bear Museum. Eun Jung’s smile never once faltered and her eyes shone brighter than any star Hanbin has seen. And when they went through the historical areas, Eun Jung shared all of her knowledge on how the Korean language was formed, changed and evolved through the years. It was nice listening to her for hours. Once they were done, Hanbin suggested they changed back into their everyday attire and buy locks to hang outside with all the rest.
“Regroup in 15 minutes?” Hanbin suggested once they stepped into the store. And with Eun Jung’s nod, the two went on their way, looking for perfect lock.
And 15 minutes later, they regrouped by the exist, each holding a plastic bag.
“Did you write on yours?” Eun Jung asked her best friend. Hanbin nodded then asked her the same question. After that, they went outside and searched for the perfect spot to hang their perfect lock.
“Here’s one!” Eun Jung stated loudly several feet from Hanbin’s right. It was by the corner, on the second row. Satisfied with the location, Hanbin took out his lock.
Simultaneously, they leaned forward and hooked the metal onto the bar before locking it shut. Stepping back, they both read each other’s locks.
Celebrating the world’s most lovable person on the planet. I love her so much and I’m thankful she’s in my life – Hanbin
I was blessed to celebrate my birthday with someone dear to my heart. I will always love and support him – Eun Jung
The two were blushing a bright red color once they’ve finished reading each other’s little notes. They glanced at each other with a shy smile playing on their lips.
“Ready to go home?” Hanbin asked quietly as the sun behind him lowered, the sky a mix of dark blue, purple and bits of orange.
“Yeah.” Eun Jung answered just as quietly. Her eyes darted downwards and shyly held Hanbin’s hand and made their way home.
It’s safe to say that this was the best birthday Eun Jung has ever had.
#ikon scenario#ikon imagines#hanbin x reader#hanbin scenario#hanbin imagine#kim hanbin scenario#kim hanbin imagine#kim hanbin x reader#kpop imagines#kpop scenario
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🌟🌟🌟- Three wildcard memories of your choice! What are three memories you really want to share? I can't wait to read them!
Memory meme | accepting
🌟 1.
It was late at night. His turn to patrol. There were few places Adrien liked more than the top of the Eiffel Tower, looking out into the sprawling city of Paris; there were few cities in the world he loved more than this one. The people here were good. They would fight for what they believed in, and they would fight to be the good people that wanted to be, and they were as extraordinary as they thought they were mundane. What mundane city would have a superhero so in love with it? What mundane city would love her superheroes back so wholly? It wasn’t raining. The weather was neither cool, nor warm. There may well have been absolutely nothing extraordinary about the night, except that Chat Noir was there leaning over the railing of the very top-level of the tower and watching these people go about their day-to-day lives, seeing them love one another and themselves, and he thought they were beautiful. He loved his lady. He loved Ladybug more than his heart could deal with, sometimes. But this was everything, as well, this - here - on the tower - with this city? It was such a tender moment, and he would have felt it as vividly as he did now whether he knew Ladybug or not. This was - would become - one of his favourite memories, this night where nothing special happened, except Paris lived and breathed and sprawled beneath him, and he thought that she was beautiful.
🌟 2.
“I can’t believe he’d leave without me.” It was always like this. The Gorilla glanced at him in the rear-view mirror; Adrien was going to some photoshoot, which he’d been scheduled onto for today, and he was coming very close to cancelling it altogether. Although his mother’s body had never surfaced, Adrien was kidding himself if he believed that she might come back one day - he knew she wouldn’t do that to them. Them, either himself or his father, his mother was a brilliant, kind woman and she was every bit as wonderful as he aspired to be, and he couldn’t ever imagine leaving the people he loved like she had. Not on purpose. He couldn’t believe that she was alive, out there, because what reason did he have to believe that? It was the first anniversary. “We should be spending this time together.” Rain streaked down the car window. When Adrien had woken up that morning he’d found that Gabriel had already left, making way to the makeshift memorial he (Adrien) and Emilie’s family had set up somewhere in a secluded spot in the public park; Gabriel hadn’t wanted anything to do with it. Now he was leaving, to mourn on his own, without Adrien, just as he had done when she’d first disappeared. Adrien’s own grief didn’t matter. It wasn’t even relevant. He scrolled through his phone, which was largely empty of messages, because none of his friends knew; they just thought he was busy; he’d blocked out this entire day; he didn’t… He didn’t want to spend it doing a photoshoot and faking a smile. He couldn’t recruit Ladybug last-minute like this, but at the very least he could be spending this time with his family. “Can we make a left here? I want to go to the bakery.” Sometimes the Gorilla didn’t like Adrien’s rebellious streak. They sat idling at the green light for what felt like an eternity, and the Gorilla watched him in the rear-view mirror, longer still - and then they made a left.
🌟 3.
“No way, are we lost?” Adrien’s enthusiasm did not match the wider class’s. They turned to stare at him, stricken that he would be so downright PLEASED by the information that they had become lost, completely, in the middle of some forest outside of Paris, in the middle of trying to film a short horror flick for the local film contest. The woods were dark and the undergrowth, creeping; the sun was setting. Any second now, a monster would come out to eat them all. (Chloe was somewhere to the side, complaining about phone reception.) “Whoa,” Nino told him, “nobody even knows we’re out here, dude, this could be serious. Does anybody have any bars?” but everybody was already checking, besides Adrien, who was looking around and looking pleased with what he found. They could totally make makeshift tents out of that stuff. They’d walk back outside of the forest in the morning - how big could it be? And worst case scenario, he could sneak off, transform, and take a look at the woods from up-top, as Chat Noir. This was just an excuse to hang out with his friends for another night or two - and they would get some radical footage out of it! “It’s not so bad,” Adrien argued, “We could set up camp. I had a whole wilderness survival class before I started public school, and - Mylene, you learnt how to set up a tent last month, when you and Ivan went camping, right?” Mylene exchanged a glance with Ivan. “Well… I suppose, but we had an actual tent, then, we weren’t building things out of the woods…” “And Juleka is awesome at lighting fires!” “We could have two people per shelter!” Alya agreed, enthusiastically, and she dragged Marinette (who was shaking her head, pleasenodon’tstop) over, “Me and Nino, Rose and Juleka, Ivan and Mylene - and I guess that leaves you and Adrien, Marinette!” “Cool!” Adrien agreed, readily! “That way we can all focus on getting something little done before sunset. It will be awesome to have more night footage, too, Alya, you can’t say that won’t go well in the final product. Let’s get started!” Adrien’s enthusiasm still far outweighed everybody else’s (besides Alya, who was strangely eager once she’d voiced her shelter-idea), but they went along with it, and they sat around Juleka’s campfire later that night, trading stories and sharing the dried nuts and fruit bars Ivan had brought with him, ‘just in case’. It was an awesome night.
#miraculous ladybug#miraculous ladybug rp#adrien agreste#chat noir#anime rp#ic#{ ; thanks for sending these in this was so much fun! }#Anonymous
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Expensive Mistakes | Calum Hood fanfic
A/N: Here’s the fanfic I’m writing, or at least the first chapter! Hope you like it! @felicitycal, let me know what you think! :) xx
Alexis Ruby Day is a passionate, intelligent girl from Queens, New York with 21 years of age. When one day her cousin asks to be a photographer on tour with her band and Fall Out Boy, she had no clue she was about to meet someone who would change her life forever. And for the better.
one // think about us
Alexis Ruby Day
London, United Kingdom
Another day, another place. This has become a habit for me to fall asleep in one place and wake up in another. If you’d tell me when I was a fifteen-year-old that I would be touring the world with a famous band like Fall Out Boy, I probably would’ve laughed right in your face. But it did happen. Thanks to my amazingly talented cousin, Chrissy Constanza. Ever since she’s started her band Against the Current, I’ve been rooting for her to become someone’s opening act before actually selling out her own arenas. And now, it’s finally happened. Against the Current is opening for Fall Out Boy. And me, being Chrissy’s cousin and best friend, she has asked me to come on tour with her to be their photographer. I’ve been obsessed with photography since I was a little girl. My favourite uncle, my dad’s brother, was a photographer and videographer and taught me all the things he knew. When I was fifteen, he gave me one of his hand-me-down cameras, just to give me a head-start. At eighteen, he gave me a brand new one. The best of the best, he said. I majored in photography in college, much to my parents’ absolute dismay, and now I work for Holly Holiday photography. A photography agency that has taken me on board and given me the best projects I could ever imagine. At the beginning, even the wedding photoshoots were cool, but now, two years later, it has kind of gotten boring. I’m extremely grateful Chrissy and the band has taken me under their wing for the MANIA tour this year. It’s finally something different, finally something I can be passionate about again. The other projects Holly has given me have kind of drained me. I needed a change. Just for this once. I’m not sure how I’m ever going to thank them for this, but I’ll find a way.
“Ready to go, Youngblood?” someone behind me asks. My hands are shaking, causing my camera to shake a little too. I’ve been doing this for almost a month now, and I’m still not ready for it.
I turn around to see who was talking to me. The one-foot-taller-than-me Pete Wentz stands behind me with his bass around his neck, his band jacket on and hair gelled back. He seems readier for the show than I am.
“I think so,” I tell him with a smile, “I don’t know why I still get nervous for this,” I chuckle a little, and he does too. Pete has been such an amazing person to me. Almost like my brother. He’s my tour brother. That’s what I’ve been calling him for a month while he’s been calling me ‘Youngblood’ because I’m the youngest and newest addition to the tour crew.
“That’s okay, Alex. I’ve been doing this for seventeen years and I still get nervous sometimes,” he reassures me, giving me a smile and a shoulder pat.
“Are you ready for this show today?” I shoot him the question back, not wanting to think about my anxiety too much. Over the years, I’ve figured out how to reduce the anxiety: distraction. It always helps whether it’s playing around with the rings around my fingers, counting how many times I twist them around my finger before moving onto the next one, or talking to someone about something completely different.
“Oh, I’m so ready! A friend of mine is in the crowd tonight. That almost excites me more than the thousands of fans waiting for us,” he explains, “Maybe you know him? Calum Hood? From Five Seconds of Summer?” he asks me, tilting his head to the right a little.
“I have heard that name somewhere, yeah,” I reply, nodding my head. I really like the songs his band makes, but I don’t know the members individually. I used to be that kind of girl when I was sixteen and the biggest One Direction fan. I knew their birthdays, birth places and families by heart. I grew out of that after a good two years. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a fan of the band and I still listen to their music. You just won’t find me screaming by the mention of their names anymore.
“Maybe we should go get a drink with him afterwards,” Pete mumbles while strumming his bass. I look at him for a moment, wondering if he meant something different by that than what it sounded like. But then I get distracted by his glorious, shiny bass guitar. I’ve always loved the bass. It gives such a different and unique sound to songs. It’s the only instrument you truly feel with your heart. You know, that feeling when you’re blasting a song and you can literally feel the bass? That’s what I love most about music and the instrument.
“Ready to go in three, two…” one of the technicians of the crew says. Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe run up the stage, the crowd going mental for them, filling up the arena with their screams and cheers. I love the atmosphere at a concert. I honestly wish I could do this for the rest of my life, rather than shooting wedding photos or family photos. I wish I could feel this passionate and this energetic everyday for the rest of my life without getting drained after a few months. I wish I could be this happy and feel this bliss all the time.
I put my camera away once the night is over. I feel ecstatic and satisfied. That was a good run. Both for me and the bands. They’ve all done such great jobs, and I feel like this is my best work I’ve ever done in my career, if I do say so myself. However, I still feel like Holly would find it shit when I show it to her after the project. The new kids at the agency have to meet with Holly every month or so – or in this case, when the project is done – to let her give comments and tell you what you need to improve. Most of the time she’ll just tell you what’s bad and never how you can improve. I’m seriously considering quitting and finding another agency that does see my worth and helps me improve on my photography.
“Pete just asked us if we wanted to go have a drink at a pub or something,” Chrissy starts as she sits down on the sofa next to the table where I had dropped all of my bags. “Do you want to go?” I nod my head, but I’m not really listening to her. Instead, I’m thinking if I’ve got everything to put on the tour bus. I can’t leave anything here as we’ll leave tomorrow morning for the next city, which is Paris. I’m so excited about Paris. I’ve been there once with my parents when I was about ten. I don’t remember anything of that trip besides the Eiffel Tower.
“I need a wee,” I then suddenly say as I realize I’ve been needing a wee since Fall Out Boy had started playing. I hear Chrissy giggle a little and I bet she’d rolled her eyes too while I run into the hallway. I slow down to a walk when I find Pete in the hallway, talking to two people I did see once before. I don’t know where I know them from, but I have seen them before. One of the two is a gorgeous blonde woman with the brightest smile I had ever seen. The second one has captured more of my attention. His dark brown curls atop his head and the dark brown orbs that look at me like I look at taco’s. Like I’m the stars and makes me feel like the sun[NV1] .
“Hey, Youngblood, let me introduce you to my friends!” Pete tells me as I pass them.
“In a minute, brother! Need the loo hearing about this show first!” I tell him and rush to the toilets. I want to meet Pete’s friends. The tall, broad and mysterious young man has intrigued me. I wonder what his name is and how he likes his coffee. Maybe he’s a tea person though. All I know is, he looks like my cup of tea and I’m thirsty.
I wash my hands afterwards and dry them, thinking about what I’m going to do next. I go over everything I have done so far; put my camera in its bag, along with the lenses and all the memory cards I’ve used so far. Did I forget anything? I don’t think so – oh. I bump into someone just as I turn the corner onto the hallway.
“I am so sorry,” I mumble, but freeze when I look up into those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes, I had seen just minutes before in the hallway. Those chocolate orbs that made me feel so warm and happy. That mysterious set of eyes that made me wonder how the boy would like his coffee.
The boy gives me a small smile but doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. It’s as if he’s starstruck, as if he’s meeting his idol for the very first time. But I doubt that’s what’s happening. He couldn’t have ever seen me before. I have seen him before, I should be starstruck. If only I knew where I … Oh, wait. This is Pete’s friend, so it must be the dude from Five Seconds of Summer. That makes sense. I should be starstruck, bumping into him and looking into his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes. Damn, those eyes.
“Hey, you’re that guy from Five Seconds of Summer, right?” I then ask, hoping he’ll react to that. His eyes widen a little before he nods slowly.
“Yep, that’s me; Calum, the guy from Five Seconds of Summer,” he sighs, and I can tell he doesn’t like his status of fame as much as I would’ve expected. He’s known as a member of the world’s hottest band. I wonder what makes it so bad. It might be rude to ask though, wouldn’t it? I only know his name, I don’t need to know his deepest, darkest secrets or the terrible things in his life. But something in me wants to.
“Right, yeah, anyway. It was really nice to meet you, Calum. But I really need to go check if all my twenty memory cards I brought with me are in my bag. If I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do my job,” I say, chuckling a little bit.
“Sure, yeah. Go ahead,” Calum says, seemingly glad I didn’t ask anything about his job. He steps aside to let me pass and I almost think he’s going to ask something else, but then he doesn’t. Something in me is upset he didn’t ask what was on the tip of his tongue. “Wait!” he then shouts, making me turn around and continue walk backwards for a little while. “What’s your name?” he questions. Was that the burning question he wanted to ask me? Or was there something else too? I have so many questions about this boy.
“Alexis,” I tell him with a smile and turn around again. I feel my cheeks heat up and my hands feel clammy. How does a stranger make me feel this giddy and nervous? Is this a sign of the universe? Or is this my anxiety acting up? It wasn’t when I was right in front of him When I was talking to him, I was calm and collected. As if I had seen home in his eyes.
“Youngblood! Are you joining us at the pub?” Patrick asks me excitedly when I find everyone – including the girl that was with Calum – huddled in the hallway, talking to one another.
“Yeah, of course! Let me check on my babies first!” I tell them and quickly rush off to count my memory cards. They’ve always teased about how I treat my memory cards and the rest of my equipment like my own children. That’s when we started calling everything I own to do my job my ‘babies’. It will probably sound weird to anyone who doesn’t know what’s behind it, but I think it’s just about perfect. It’s like a tour-thing, you know?
Once I’ve joined the rest after I’ve counted twenty of my babies – I legit have twenty memory cards with me, that was not an exaggeration – we head to the pub down the road. I’m talking to Chrissy and Mali, the girl who was with Calum. It’s his sister who moved to London a couple of years ago to pursue her music career. I find out a lot about her, but it doesn’t satisfy me. I want to know more about Calum, but he’s wrapped up in a conversation with Pete. I want to know what he’s thinking, what he thinks about the showbusiness and if he believes in conspiracy theories. Something in me wants to have deep conversations with him about flat earthers and if the earth could actually be flat. I want to know everything about him. I want to know him. I don’t know why, but I do.
#calum hood#calum 5sos#calum hood fanfic#calum hood imagine#5sos#5 seconds of summer#5sos fanfic#5sos imagine#luke 5sos#michael 5sos#ashton 5sos#expensive mistakes#chapter one#think about us#one: think about us
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My Prince, Chapter Nine
Read previous chapters here!
“Oh my god,” I gasped again. “I’m sorry. I’m… sorry.” I exited just as quickly as I entered. I shut the door, frozen for a second. Trying to process.
Kissing. They were definitely kissing. And not the cheek peck-peck “Oh it’s lovely to see you again!” kiss. Definitely the steamy, in-love kind of kiss – hands wrapped around each other, faces pressed as closely as they could possibly be.
“Technically, yes, I am single but there’s… someone else.” Jude had said that, just last week. Obviously, I thought he was talking about a girl, maybe one he went to uni with or knew since primary school. But no – he was talking about the crowned prince of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth.
He’s gay, or at least bi. And I didn’t even see it. How stupid was I to hit on him?
Another thought strikes me dumb. Alfred. Alfred, Prince of Wales. If word ever got out about this, there’s no way he’d be allowed to be king. He would have to be head of the English Church, which clearly states these kinds of things are not allowed to happen. Of course, I’d never say anything to anyone. But what if it wasn’t me that walked in there?
I was halfway down the stairs when I heard feet chasing after me.
“Carolina!” It was Jude. Jude, and his sweet Scottish accent. “Carolina, stop, please!”
I reached the bottom of the curved stairs but paused at the door. I should tell him that I would never tell anyone what I saw, obviously, and that I’d allow them their privacy for a little longer; that I’d just wait… somewhere. I didn’t want to go outside and risk Harry seeing me. That was the last thing I needed.
I turned to Jude, who was looking at me wildly.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I should have knocked. I didn’t mean to interrupt–”
“Car, wait, stop. It’s not what you think, I promise.”
I let out a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “Jude, if you’re gay or whatever, that’s fine. I don’t care – really.”
“I’m not.”
I replayed the split second in the bedroom over and over in my head, trying to comprehend how I could have interpreted that wrong. They were definitely kissing, and a damn romantic kiss at that.
“You’re not…” I said slowly.
“I’m not gay.”
“Whatever, bi, it’s totally fine.”
“No, I…” Jude ran a hand through his hair twice. His face was flushed deeply red, I was surprised his glasses didn’t fog from the heat emanating from his cheeks. “I’m not gay, or bi, I promise. It’s… complicated.”
I kept glancing at the stairs, thinking I’d see Prince Alfred running down any minute to try and explain things himself. He never did.
I shook my head. “Look, whatever. Your life is your life. I’ll let you two, um, figure things out. I can come back later.”
Jude pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead. “Car… I just – I promise it’s not what you think. Please believe me. It’s not… It’s not my place to say it.”
“Say what?” Everything he’s saying is only confusing me more.
Jude turned around to look at the stairs. The prince still wasn’t there.
“I can’t say,” he said eventually, turning back to me. He grabbed my arms tightly. “You have to promise you won’t say anything to anyone, yeah?”
“Yes, yes,” I said nodding. “Yes, of course. I promise.”
“Can you just… wait here for a moment? I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” I said, still in a daze.
Jude ran back upstairs and I tried not to imagine what was happening up there. I still couldn’t figure out anything. Nothing made sense. They were kissing. They definitely were. How Jude could deny that didn’t make any sense. I knew what I saw.
My camera bag was weighing heavily on my shoulder so I walked into the sitting area in the next room over. The couches were so white and cushioned I wondered if anyone has ever sat on them before. I took off my camera bag from my shoulder and sat on the giant sofa, relaxing into the cushions. I could fall asleep right here, I thought. The day started off so wonderfully and now was… just strange, really. I tried everything imaginable not to think about Harry or what – who – I saw in his apartment. Strange things were happening at Kensington Palace today.
I looked at the soft plush carpet. The glass coffee table. The marble fireplace. Time ticked by slowly, and the more time it took for Jude to come back down, the more time my brain had to think about Harry.
Harry and his stupid hair and his stupid smile with his stupid dimples and his stupid charm. I was nothing but a game. A toy. Something to pass the time. Maybe that’s why the last photographer left, too. Maybe he does this to all of them. Maybe I’m just one on the giant conveyor belt, the same as all the others. I hate him. I hate him.
He made me think about my future. I’ve never really done that before. Beyond uni graduation, I lived week to week; job to job. I went to the Tower and imagined a future where I got to wear the Love Tiara upon our engagement. I knew, I knew, it was stupid to imagine such things. There’s no way a girl like me with my history would ever, ever, get to marry someone like him. Now, suddenly, I’m thankful I saw what I did. If, somehow, magically, Harry ever did propose, who knows if he’d ever be faithful? I could never trust him. I was also thankful that I was Prince Alfred’s photographer and not Harry’s. Otherwise, I’d have to quit. What kind of job does one even get after this one? Nothing could compare, surely.
I was staring so hard at a crystal vase filled with vibrant purple orchids and thinking about all of this that I didn’t hear Jude’s footsteps on the stairs or enter the room.
“Carolina?”
I spun around quickly. “Huh?”
“I said you could go up.”
His face was still red. I didn’t know what to even begin to say to tell him that I don’t care who he dates or likes without sounding like a complete knob. So I just thanked him, grabbed my bag, and walked up the stairs again. I heard the front door open and then close as I reached the top.
I walked down the long hallway, reaching the familiar door again. It felt like déjà vu, although this time my face was less red and puffy. My hands were sweating as I reached for the door handle. What do I do when I walk in? Do I pretend like I didn’t see anything? Should I act normal? I decided that would probably be best. I just had to get through this photoshoot and that would it.
I opened the door and saw Prince Alfred standing there, staring right at me. I didn’t know how long he must have been waiting, staring at the door. He was clutching his tie tightly in his hands. Similar to Jude, his face was red and he had a mildly panicked look on his face when I walked in.
I continued to try and act normal. I curtsied like I normally would. I placed my bag on his sofa and began digging out my camera and lenses.
“Do you have a preferred location, Your Highness?” I asked.
“What?”
I glanced up. “A preferred location. For this shoot.”
“Oh. Uh. No, no I don’t.”
“Would the gardens be okay?” I glanced out the window behind him, seeing a few dark clouds moving in but we could easily squeeze in a few photos before it darkens or begins to rain.
“Yes.” He said the word slowly.
“Great. Do you need help with that, Your Highness?”
He looked confused until I pointed to the crumpled tie in his hands. He glances down at it like he forgot he was holding it.
“Oh. No,” he said, chucking it onto the chair. “I think no tie is good.”
I nodded, clicking a lens on my camera. “Sounds like a good idea – gives a more informal view into your life.”
His face nearly drained of color. “My life?”
“I won’t be asking anything, I promise. I won’t even be the one posting the caption. I have no say over all of that. I’m just the one taking the pictures.”
His face remained white.
“Carolina – what did Jude tell you?”
I guess there was no way around this.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. If he even gets one inkling that I would ever tell anyone, I would be out of my job within a second. I couldn’t risk it. So I may have answered too quickly.
“What did he tell you?” he asked again, his voice rising.
“Nothing, Your Highness, I promise! All he said was that it wasn’t for him to say anything. You don’t have to worry about me saying anything. I promise. I need this job, Your Highness. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
I shook my head. “He didn’t, and I won’t either. It doesn’t matter to me that you’re gay. I just do your photos.”
“Gay?” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not gay, Carolina.”
I honestly thought I was losing my mind now. I thought maybe Jude was in denial about his feelings towards a man, but now both of them were denying being gay.
“What?”
“It’s… a bit more complicated than that.”
Now it was my turn to pinch the bridge of my nose. Nothing was adding up.
“You don’t need to tell me anything, Your Highness–”
“I’ve told you to call me Alfred, Carolina.”
“With all due respect–”
Prince Alfred let out a loud, singular laugh. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I think respect went out the window ten minutes ago.” I shut my mouth, unsure of what to even say next. “I know you won’t tell anyone,” he continued, “and I admire you for that. Other people in this place would sell it to the highest bidder.”
“Other people aren’t me, Alfred.” His name still felt foreign to say. It didn’t feel right to be so informal with him. But I was following his lead. “I need this job.”
He nodded. “You said that.”
“Do you not trust me?” My mouth went dry, scared of his answer.
It took him only a few seconds to respond, but it felt like ages.
“It’s weird, but I do trust you, Carolina.”
In some sort of instinct, I raised my camera and snapped a picture of him – arms crossed, leaning against the wall, morning light streaming in the window to his left, and his face with a small half-smile. But the moment I took it, his smile fell away.
“Don’t use that one,” he said sternly.
“Photos don’t record conversations,” I said softly, feeling far too brave to speak so candidly to him. “But if you want me to delete it, I can. But you should see it first.”
Without waiting for an answer, I walked over to him and held the camera out, showing him the shot. He took two minutes, staring at it.
Finally, he said, “No one’s ever shot me like that before. Usually, they’re always so–”
“Rigid?”
Alfred laughed. “Yeah, rigid, sure. I was going to say ‘fake.’ But rigid works.”
I took the camera back from him. “That’s why William offered me the job, you know. So photos of the future king wouldn’t be so… fake.”
Alfred gave another half-smile. “You sure are a breath of fresh air, Miss Carolina.”
“And, look, Alfred – you don’t have to tell me what all that back there was, okay? Your private life is private. Like I said, I’m just here to take photos.”
Alfred was biting his lip as I spoke. Something I knew he only did when he was contemplating hard about something. Whenever there were videos of him at a conference or listening closely to a patient at a hospital, he always did it.
“Thank you,” he said, offering me a slow smile. “I appreciate it.”
“So – photoshoot? Garden?”
Alfred grinned, obviously glad to put all the awkwardness behind us. “Lead the way.”
We managed to shoot outside for a good fifteen minutes before the clouds got too dark behind him. I didn’t want the photos to give the wrong idea of our future king. It was on our way back into Alfred’s apartments that Harry must have seen us from his own windows. He came running out of his place, screaming my name. Both Alfred and I jumped in shock.
“Carolina, please, can we talk?”
Alfred was looking at me, rightfully confused.
“I’m busy,” I shot back, not looking in Harry’s direction. I continued my walk into Alfred’s.
“When are you done?” Harry asked, walking closer. He was only a few feet away now. I could hear his steps on the pebbles.
I was close enough to the front door that I could have easily ignored him but Alfred had stopped in front, blocking my entrance.
“What is it that you need?” Alfred asked. “I’m sure you could call Jude if you wanted your own photoshoot.” I was surprised how normal and cool Alfred said while saying Jude’s name.
“No, it’s not… Look, Carolina, will you please talk to me?”
I shut my eyes tightly, wishing beyond anything that Harry would just go away. If Alfred found out about us, then I’d be out of a job. So many things could get me fired today.
“It seems urgent,” Alfred muttered to me. “You can talk to him if you want.”
I glanced up at Alfred, then at Harry. Then, in my coolest voice, I said, “I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness. I happen to be busy at the moment. But if you’d like to set up a shoot, you should talk to Jude. I’m sure he’d be more than willing.”
And then, completely breaking any and all protocol, I pushed past Alfred and went inside. I heard Alfred follow right behind me.
“Do you have a library?” I asked, my voice sounding too frantic. “I think that would be a good location.”
“Are we going to talk about what that was?”
I shrugged, glancing around the rooms pretending to decide where to photograph next. “I’m sure he just wanted a few photographs done but I’m with you. It would be rude to abandon this.”
“Trust goes both ways.”
I sighed and turned to the prince. It was clear he didn’t believe anything I was saying. I’m a terrible liar.
So, for the millionth time, I said, “Please, Alfred… I need this. I can’t lose this job.”
Alfred took a small step towards me. “Carolina, I promise you, I will not let you lose your job. You have my word. Just tell me what’s going on.”
I knew I shouldn’t tell him, but my mind was begging to let someone in on what happened just a few days ago. According to my NDA, I wasn’t allowed to discuss anything with anyone outside of the palace family and staff.
“It was just one night,” I said. “It really shouldn’t mean that much.” I don’t know whether I was saying that to him or myself. Either way, again, I wasn’t convincing.
“Whoa, whoa, back up. One night? When? What happened?”
So I told him all about Wilton’s and Harry taking me back to his. I told the truth – that nothing beyond kissing happened. That, like an idiot, this morning I went to his just to talk and found him with another girl.
“And she was beautiful, Alfred. I mean, stunning, really. I could never compare. It was stupid to expect him not to have someone, you know? It was just a couple kisses over ice cream. That’s it.” I remembered William’s words, about people trying to sneak into the royal family all the time. “It’ll never happen again, I promise.”
“Wait, was this girl blonde with skin that looked way too fake-tanned? Kinda has lips that look too big for her face?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t really get a good look,” I lied, knowing that the image of her was imprinted onto my brain forever. “I guess so?”
“Oh, Jesus.” Alfred laughed but covered his mouth. I was scared for a second he was going to say it was all a misunderstanding and she was some sort of cousin or friend or something. But then–“He’s still seeing her?”
Great, so not only was I right in my suspicions but now I was the “other girl,” not the other way around.
“Who is she?”
“Olivia. She’s the daughter of the Earl of Kent. She and Harry have had a thing on and off for the better part of five years, but last I heard they were definitely done a few months ago.”
I tried not to focus too hard on the fact that he’s been seeing her for half a decade. Of course, I could never compete.
“I’ve never heard of them being together,” I said.
“Well, you wouldn’t have. The King never allowed it to be put out there.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
Alfred looked down at me, looking deeply into my eyes. He looked so serious, I was worried about what he would say next.
“Because of me.”
“You? Why?”
“You should sit down.”
“I’m scared…”
Alfred’s lip curled into a smile for only a split second. “It’s not scary, I promise. It just… this has to do with what you saw earlier.”
“You and Jude?” Alfred’s eyes flicked down for a moment before coming back to me. I continued, “I don’t get it.”
“Just… sit.” He motioned to the sitting area again and I took the same seat on the sofa as earlier.
“What’s going on?”
He sat down on the chair beside me. He rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands together. “Look, the first thing you need to know is that my father has a complete monopoly over what the press sees about our family, okay?”
“O…kay…”
“What he says goes, and none of us are allowed to fight him on that. My brother obviously knew Olivia for most his life. Then they wanted to start dating a few years ago. Harry went to Dad and asked for his permission since the press would get wind of it pretty quickly. But Dad outright rejected him. So Harry began seeing her in secret. I’m the only one who knew, only so I could cover for him if he got home late or even the next morning.”
“Why did the king say no, though?”
Alfred paused. I could physically see him trying to string the words together in his mind before saying them.
“In short, because of me.”
I didn’t say anything. It was his story to tell now. I could tell I shouldn’t interrupt from here on out.
He continued, “Everything from now remains in this house and is never spoken about again, yeah?” I nodded. “Ever since I could remember, I always felt different. I thought something was wrong with me. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. You’d think I would – after all, I’ve lived a life of extreme luxury. But… something was off. I thought I was gay. I knew I liked men, yes, but it felt… I don’t know… deeper than that? When I was fourteen and away at Eton one year, I kissed my first boy and felt elated. I’d finally done what I was so terrified of. Again, something just didn’t feel right with me, though. I thought, maybe, I was just feeling the guilt. After all, all my life, I’ve been told this was wrong and immoral. Not only that, but I knew one day I’d grow up to be king. Whatever I was feeling, I had to shove it away and pretend it wasn’t true because otherwise I’d never reign.
“But I could never shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong with me. I began to hate who I was, what I looked like, what I dressed like. As you know, I was taken out of Eton at sixteen but what the press told wasn’t true. It wasn’t because I excelled greatly and graduated early. I had become suicidal and my parents had to take me home and watch over me every day to make sure I didn’t do anything to harm the future king.
“Then one day, while both were busy with some work or another, I wandered into my mother’s wardrobe and tried on her heels. Of course, they didn’t fit, but something inside me clicked. I walked to her vanity and put on her lipstick. I had always been fascinated as a child watching her do her makeup for formal dinners or events. After that, I would go as often as I could and sneak into her wardrobe. I tried on her dresses, mascara, all the like. By the time I was eighteen I was caught, taken to therapy, where I found out that what I was feeling was actually normal. You hear that? All my life, I was told that I was a blasphemy, that I would go to hell and suffer for all eternity for what I was feeling. And now someone was telling me it was normal. I’d never felt such a relief.
“Of course, no one outside our immediate family or top staff members was allowed to know. Whereas my family may have understood, they knew the public would never. At least, not for a future king who could provide no heir. So I just lived in the shadows. There have been a couple close calls with people who I thought were friends going to the press and trying to sell the story but Dad shut it down each time. So my parents came up with the idea of creating an ‘image’ for me – the image of the eternal playboy. Anything to keep rumors from sprouting. And so, because of this ‘image’ they created, they needed the focus solely on me. Any mention of Harry beginning a relationship, and my parents would be worried I would slip up again. With the constant pressure, I guess, they assume I won’t slip up. So Harry hasn’t been allowed to enter into a romantic relationship in the public eye because of… well, me.”
I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t say anything for what seemed like eons.
“So. You’re not gay,” I said, stupidly.
Alfred chuckled. “No, not technically.”
“You’re just transgender?”
“Bingo.”
“Wow,” I breathed.
“Is that alright with you?”
“What?”
“Is that alright with you? That I’m transgender? I know it could make a lot of people uncomfortable and if you don’t want to work with me anymore, I would completely understand.” The sound of his voice was so soft, it almost made me want to cry.
“Oh my God, of course it’s okay, Alfred!” I nearly yelled. “I don’t mind at all. I’m blown away knowing you’d trust me with such an intimate secret. Don’t you ever, ever, worry about me, okay?”
I swear I saw his eyes begin to water.
“God, that means so much to me, Carolina. Thank you. And, if it’s worth anything, I’m sorry about what happened between you and my brother. He can be a right twat sometimes.”
I waved my hand, dismissing him. “So then – how did you and Jude…?”
“Ah,” he said and sighed. “Quite a boring story, I’m afraid. Harry and I were set to do a photoshoot together for some event or other coming up but Harry had to bail last minute. We got to talking and the next time I looked at my watch, I realized four hours had passed. Then… we just kept seeing each other. He knows and understands everything, but this is a first for both of us. I have never been with a man for more than just a kiss or two and he’d never been with a man, ever. Though, really, I don’t feel like a man, you know? He’s been so understanding through everything and I couldn’t be happier.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as he spoke about his relationship with Jude. “How long have you two been together?”
“Officially? Almost a year now, I think. Yeah, it’ll be a year in May. Wow, time flies.”
I involuntarily checked the clock behind Alfred’s head as he spoke and saw it was already nearing noon. “Shit,” I muttered. “I have to be back at the office by half-past to get the photos done by tonight. I think we have enough from the garden anyways.”
Alfred stood. “No worries. You have my number in case you need to take any more for today. My schedule’s open.”
I extended a hand, feeling like a curtsy wasn’t right after all we’d just shared with each other. But Alfred didn’t even take it. Instead, he drew me in for a hug. He was a tall man, about half a head taller than Harry, so he had to crouch down to reach me.
“Oh, by the way,” I said after drawing back from the hug, “what should I refer to you as? She?”
Alfred waved a hand. “To play it safe, I tell people to still stick with him/he and Alfred. Just so you don’t have to worry about slipping up in public.”
I felt my phone begin to vibrate in my back pocket. Worried it was William, I began to pack up my things.
“Again, thank you so much for trusting me with all that, Alfred,” I said, heading for the front door. He was following me out.
“Like I said, trust goes both ways, Carolina.”
I walked out the door and pulled out my phone from my pocket. But the number wasn’t William’s. I almost gasped at the caller ID. I debated whether I should pick up or not. In the end, curiosity overtook me and I slid to unlock the screen.
“Mom?”
“Hey baby,” she said softly on the other line. She’s never called me ‘baby’ in my life.
“Hi…”
“Listen, Car, I know there’s been a lot between us for a long time–”
“Mom, now’s not the best time.”
“This will be quick.”
I glance down at my watch. “Okay.” I head down Alfred’s stairs, praying that Harry doesn’t come rushing out again.
“Car, I’m sick.”
“What?” I thought I’d heard her wrong. “Sick? Well, have you gone to the GP?”
“I don’t mean down with the flu.”
“Mom, I don’t have the time–”
“I’m dying, sweetheart.”
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