#louis putting this up then going home to his white husband always makes me laugh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dropsofletters · 3 years

Text

runaway silhouette [jjh]

—summary: no one asks about that polaroid picture of a woman yoonoh keeps in the depths of his wallet.

lace, measurements, models—jung yoonoh has worked for the world of fashion for a little too long, but he’s as unknown as the person next door. with his inspiration dying down and his designs getting cheaper by the day, yoonoh has changed his ways. no longer is he the best lingerie designer in ‘silhouette’, the company he works for, neither is he the playboy he used to be and the dulcet-mouthed man that got his way through success.

bad luck has settled in his life, much like it has done on hers. the manager of a hotel that slipped his fingertips when one night she denied him all—the world, her hold, her smile, and just left him with a picture on his wallet.

only when he has to prepare one of the biggest fashion showcases of his life does he meet her again, and he realizes things could never be easy between them.

why is he, a man of fashion, infatuated with such a lovesick, monotone, blazer-sporting hotel manager? no one will ever know.

a runaway has captured him, and he’s not sure how to get his heart back.

maybe, he should start by forgetting that night.

—title: runaway silhouette —pairing: jung yoonoh x reader —genre: lingerie designer!au ; hotel manager!au ; strangers to lovers to enemies!au ; slowburn!au ; slice of life!au —type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; drama ; suggestive —word count: 19,326 (i said slowburn and i meant it) —warnings: mentions of sex (the act is never on paper or narrative)

Jung Yoonoh is dressed to succeed.

With folded white sleeves and a black vest that becomes a second skin, he merges into the office like it belongs to him. It might, at some point in time; an associate after a few years and then, onto another business that was his own—vision, designs, everything. That’s the plan. His suitcase hangs, paces back and forth in the hook of his fist while all eyes cast on him while walking through the cubicles.

Today, Yoonoh is becoming the one in charge.

Silhouette is the lingerie line everyone wants to have cladding their skin. Expensive, intricate and elegant. It’s one of those things people put on when they need to feel their best while also being comfortable. Garments that enamor the buyer and the people who see them. His home for the past two years, Yoonoh has broken his ass to get to the manager position in the design department.

When settling his suitcase on his cubicle, he shares a smile with his neighbor. Johnny, part of the social media team, with his long-curled hair framing his rounded face. Fixing the collar of his shirt, Johnny interrupts him to say.

“Big day today, aye?”

Redemption, he likes to call this day. The payment for the parties he didn’t go to and the obnoxious nagging he stood from his boss, Mrs. Kang. This tall woman with atrocious so-last-season fluffed out coats in bright pink who screams at the mere sight of beige underwear. As she says, it’s tacky and simple, the kind of clothing you’d want to wear when un-turning someone on.

Yoonoh can’t wait until he can make decisions, organize collections, make bigger and better options for Silhouette to expand.

“You see, John, once I become your boss…I’m making you the leader of the PR and Social Media Team.” This place is a nest of snakes. One bite on his first day and he already became smarter. “Can’t be trusting anyone else with these babies.” With that, he opens his suitcase, sketchbook pressed to his chest just as Johnny claps his hands.

“Better position means better salary.” Johnny conquers, as casual as ever in his baby blue sweater

There are a few rules to Silhouette. To any workplace, really, and Yoonoh thinks about this just as he swings his long legs with Johnny following after him like a dog and his tail.

He had written them down in a portion of his brain that keeps his coffee order and his mom’s birthday. He’ll never forget them.

1) Never trust nobody—never say where you come from in business, where you’re headed, what your dreams and aspirations are. Copycats exist everywhere, and they’ll do anything to follow your track if you’re doing good.

2) Say goodbye to friendships but hello to hypocrisy. A smile is needed, but is it real? Not at all.

3) Differentiate your works from others. Being special is the only way you’ll stand out.

One push of the door spreads a smile on his face, brown hair pushed back to showcase his plush, rosy lips and his gleaming eyes. What’s rule number four, you may ask?

Don’t let them see how tired you are.

Mrs. Kang sits at the very end of the meeting table. Always early, never late. Her face is dense with makeup, each wrinkle becoming more apparent as she applies a third layer of bright pink lipstick. Yoonoh knows Mrs. Kang has been the biggest dictator of all—giving him more work hours, destroying the designs she didn’t like from him, and making him get jittery fingers from how much he had to sew and unsew with the sewing machine to show her what his mind had captured. Now that she had found a way younger boyfriend that is eager to give a trip to the entirety of Asia, he’s over the moon.

Because that means old and grumpy Mrs. Kang will be gone for a while, and whoever becomes manager will be, then, the one in charge.

“Mrs. Kang!” Yoonoh greets in a tone that is much too faux, his dimple becoming apparent by the second. The woman looks up and away from her compact, stopping the conversation he is having with his biggest rival in the office. Not worth even thinking about. “Classic always goes best. You look beautiful today.”

She can barely even move her features in a smile. That’s how obstinate this woman is, but one of her wrinkly hands comes up to hold Yoonoh’s bicep when he leans down to press two kisses on each of her cheeks. The old European greeting. “I know, Yoonoh.” She adds, extending her hand towards him. “May you show me your designs? I got here earlier than expected and I have something to do right now so—”

That makes Yoonoh’s smile falter the slightest, just as he opens his sketchbook and splays it in front of Mrs. Kang. “Well, Mrs. Kang, if you let me have a few of your minutes, I prepared a PowerPoint presentation and a video for the collection I have in mind as my desire to become head of the designing team—”

“Silence, Yoonoh.” Mrs. Kang interrupts, going through his lingerie designs for both men and women. It’s not the kind of job people think about when designing, but there is something about seduction and comfort that just works well for him. “I’m in the midst of planning my engagement and I don’t have the time for whatever extra thing you have in mind.”

The room is silent, but if features could talk, the woman seated next to Mrs. Kang would have burst out in laughter. Siyeon is a 4’11 piece of shit that dared steal one of his designs when in his beginnings in Silhouette. A fuchsia baby-doll that turned viral in the blink of an eye once it appeared in runways. Comfortable, sexy, with the right number of straps and the comfort of wearing it at any occasion, companion or not.

Yoonoh had left his sketch at his desk, only to find it gone the next morning. Mrs. Kang was over the moon, both from the money she got and about the audacity of the design. Siyeon had turned it in as hers.

No wonder her husband doesn’t stand her. She’s the devil reincarnate, and slips in Johnny’s DM’s every once in a while.

Yoonoh can’t say he doesn’t have some screenshots saved on his phone just in case he needs to blackmail her. This is the kind of man he has become.

“Done before.” Mrs. Kang flips onto another one of his designs. “Done before.” And then, she continues with the rest. “Vulgar. Boring. Ugly. Done before. Jesus, Yoonoh, did you even try to do anything?”

Yoonoh is used to praise. He has got it from women, throughout his time in college and even at his previous jobs. As an intern, he was refreshing and a nice sight in the designer area. Now, he is the floor Mrs. Kang steps on with her Louis Vuitton’s.

“I—” The meeting room is silent, everyone in the designer team trying to peek at his sketches. A short laugh leaves his lips, though awkward in tone. “We’ll compete against brands like Savage with designs like this. They’re brave and fitted and—”

“Boring.” Mrs. Kang completes, and Siyeon actually laughs at that moment, playing with one of her curled bright red strands of hair. “Yoonoh, I’m being serious. If the women you’re sleeping with are wearing lingerie like this…I’m worried about your sexual health.”

More laughter, and his jaw finally tightens. He tries to tell himself to smile, but he doesn’t, instead, snatching the sketchbook from her.

Mrs. Kang notices this, pushing her reading glasses down her nose before sighing. “Yoonoh, you need to learn how to take constructive criticism. You’re not perfect and I’m here to make you grow.” Says the woman that steps on him each time she can. At this point, he’s practically plastered on the floor. “I’m sure you’ll get to divert these boring ideas into something creative once Siyeon becomes the head of the department. You two have been so close since the beginning and I am sure she will work magic on you.”

“No.” Yoonoh shakes his head just as he plasters a faux smile on his features. “Ah, I—Well, I won’t—”

Siyeon stands up from her seat, fixing the sleeves of her white dress before clearing her throat. “I’m glad of getting the position and being the one, remotely, in charge of Silhouette as Mrs. Kang goes find true love.” This is not happening. Yoonoh rubs at his eyes in case he is dreaming. He has been preparing for this presentation for five months— “All I have to say is…I wouldn’t have been able to do this without the support of everyone here. My team. My heart. I have grown to have a family with you, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re together and…of course, it’s nice to continue down this path.” She hums. “A woman in charge and then, another woman. Isn’t that the whole point of Silhouette?”

His tongue scalds his palette when he takes a seat next to Mrs. Kang, closing his sketchbook with a harsh slap of his hand. Siyeon’s eyes connect to his own, fluttering her dense mascara-coated lashes before sighing.

“I had the pleasure of seeing Yoonoh in his first few days here and he has lost that spark, but I’m sure we’ll find it again.” Oh, everyone gets roses but he gets a few, too. For his social funeral, that is. He really wants to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m thankful.”

There go the tears, and Siyeon covering her face with her hand, a smile hidden behind the action.

…Has he ever said he hates working in Silhouette?

“You’re going to make me cry, too.” One of the members of the manufacturing team says in between big sobs and Yoonoh can’t help but roll his eyes.

Fuck this place.

After an elongated meeting with tearful hugs and looks thrown his way, Yoonoh is ready to find somewhere else to work in. Keep to himself until he dares get his curriculum somewhere else and stab this company straight in the back. Not because he didn’t get the job…but…

Let’s be honest, it’s because he didn’t get the job and he lost it to Siyeon.

Johnny slips around a few hours later with some cheeseburgers in a plastic bag, dense in cheese and stinking the two conjoined cubicles before he says:

“She’s the devil.”

“An exorcism wouldn’t be enough for her.” Yoonoh replies, tongue itching to say something when he unleashes the cheeseburgers from their confines. He’s only five minutes away from lunchtime, after all. “I can’t believe they gave it to her. Her designs are…I don’t know, like lace over lace. That’s not elegant, that’s not what Silhouette stands for—”

“Here’s the thing,” Johnny says, smacking his lips as he speaks with a mouthful of burger in his mouth. “You never had a chance.”

A pang rests in the pit of his heart when he scoffs. “Yes, I did.”

“No, you don’t.” His friend replies. “Everyone in this office hates you but me. I believe it is a Freudian theory. The Jung Yoonoh Effect.” Voiced out like a movie trailer, Johnny extends one of his hands in the air.

“Sorry for not caring about anything but business. Everyone here are suck-asses and crybabies. Why should I care?”

“Because people feel disconnected to you. They don’t to Siyeon.” Johnny conquers. “The Jung Yoonoh Effect is simple.”

“Stop it. You don’t even know who Freud is.”

“That one psychologist that compared everything to sex. That’s who he is. Hence, why you’re there.”

Yoonoh quirks an eyebrow, playing with a slice of meat that had gotten out of his burger. “What are you even talking about?”

“Interns always thirst over you. At least, five out of every nine people in this office has had a wet dream about you, liked enough of your Instagram pics to look like a freak, or would have your dick in a second if the second step of your effect wouldn’t come around.”

“…I’m not that bad of a guy.”

“But you’re bland. Work. Work. Work.” Johnny moves his hand as if it’s talking. Now he’s playing marionettes. Great. “We’re selling lingerie, and you are always about competition and work. We need you to be passionate.”

“Passionately suck up to people?” Yoonoh shakes his head, huffing in the process. “No thanks, man. I’m not going to lower myself to Siyeon’s standards. Not sure I want to get pink eye from kissing so much ass.”

“Been there, done that.” Johnny sighs, a smile displayed on his features. “I’m just saying, bro. Maybe, change the game—”

Something Yoonoh is…stubborn. He’d die with that title, and it is only enhanced when he feels a long nail tapping on his shoulder, making him turn around. He expects to see one of those interns that try to stumble out words when asking him for his e-mail to send him the summaries or designs they have worked on, but this time around, he is met with Siyeon’s face.

“No eating until lunchtime.” She tuts, shaking her finger in the air.

This means war.

Yoonoh points at the clock on his wrist, showing it to her. Rolex, maybe, he’s spoiling himself with the benefit of showing her he has also earned some money, designs mediocre or not. “It’s already my lunchtime.”

“Not to me.” Siyeon answers, straightening her back. “Maybe, you’d like to listen to me before I kick you out of the team, don’t you, Yoonoh?”

With that, he pushes the burger onto his desk, covering it just as Siyeon smiles.

“Good boy.” She coos, laughing when she turns around and returns to giving a run-around the office.

“That’s it.” Yoonoh whispers, running his hands through his hair, not caring if he messes it up in the process. “I’m designing the best fucking collection one could ever find and showing everyone in this goddamned office that I have talent.”

“Ooh, and where do you think you’ll get inspiration from?” Johnny tries to gossip, and Siyeon’s soft touch for him is shown when she doesn’t even spare him a glance as he munches on his burger.

“I think I have someone in mind.”

###

She’d color-code her life if she could. Hence, it’s still a mess, and while she is as organized as she could be, her mind is still trying to process how to keep the hotel she works in safe and sound and quiet.

One would think that being the manager of a hotel would be easy. A three-star-hotel, no celebrities, no paparazzi’s, definitely not enough rich people who care about their environment. As long as she made it homely, clean, and nice to stay in, it wouldn’t be much of an issue.

The problem is…everything is a mess.

For one, her boss, Sachiko, has not appeared in the last two days into the hotel. None of her well-prepared summaries, in Times New Roman twelve, with enough punctuation to make it look like a contract, have been read. The maids keep talking amongst themselves, gossiping instead of cleaning. They got a bad review on their restaurant because the head of the cooking team had decided to shout to one of the clients about how ‘they didn’t have an ounce of taste’ because they disliked the taste of his Ratatouille and oh, how to forget? The fact that her duties as a manager transcend to something else.

She rushes through the kitchen, heat and smoke accompanied by the sizzling of veggies and meat. She doesn’t care that there are flames around her, or that she bumps into one of the cooks in the process.

Sachiko has a mini version of herself, gift of a getaway with her ex-husband to try to make her marriage work. Then, came the five-year-old that had slipped her hold as she was attending one of the residents in their hotel at the entrance, granting them information about the type of rooms they offered. Erika, in all her round-faced glory with grabby hands and too much energy, had slipped from her line of sight and her hold.

She has roamed the entire hotel and she can’t find her.

Oh, then, she should change her statement that she hasn’t seen Sachiko in two days. She has. Sachiko’s heels have clicked against the tiles of this hotel. Only to leave Erika with her, spitting out excuses about having to get on another meeting for the expansion of the hotel, before she’s off the hook of being a full-time mother.

She doesn’t even get more payment for this.

“Have you seen Erika?!” She asks out loud, voice strained from so much shouting, only to watch the head chef speak, his moustache moving with each word he says.

“Oh, little Erika?” Well, seems like he has a soft spot for someone. His eyes glimmer, just as he wraps his hand around his mouth, as if to utter a secret. “She’s in one of the tables. She asked for two milkshakes already. Oreo milkshakes. She’s starting to jitter.”

“Mr. Oh!” She whines, throwing her head back with a groan before splaying her hands on her hips. Navy blue uniform as a simple suit giving her the most boring yet comforting outfit she could come up with. “I am the one that has to get her to sleep, and if she has sugar before bed, she won’t even close an eye—”

Mr. Oh shrugs. “What am I supposed to say? She’s my boss’ daughter.”

“I am your boss as well.”

“You’re getting me fired?”

She can’t even answer to him, hearing the Baby Shark song spoken at the top of someone’s little lungs. Her feet are rushing out of the kitchen by the time she notices it, blazer opening up when she gets to the table Erika is in. Red walls and marble tables don’t scare her, playing with the straw of her drink and grabbing someone’s phone to listen to that fucking song again.

“Erika…” She tuts, voice stern, hands spread out on her knees. This cardio routine has been enough to make her burn all she has eaten this month. The little girl’s short hair caresses her cheeks when she turns towards her, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go to your room and wait for mommy to get here.”

“Nope.”

“Yes, Erika. I am not playing.” Her voice levels itself, only to have Erika staring back at her. Big brown eyes blinking, playing with the edge of her pretty pink dress before sighing.

“But you won’t let me…let me watch my shows.” She takes in a breath, shuddering it out as a pout splays on her lips. “Y—You…mommy said you’d be with me, but you aren’t with me at all—”

Tears wield her eyes and she has to rush to cage her in her hold, hoisting her up before a big wail left her lips and she lost her job. “I’m sorry, Erika. I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t realized.” She mumbles out, pressing her cheek to the top of her head before sighing. “Do you want to give a walk around the hotel and go back to your room to watch as many shows as you want?”

She has to play good cards here. She’s not raising this child, after all, so if the long hours of TV-watching make her turn out bad when she’s a teen…that’s not her business.

Erika nods continuously, engulfing her arms around her shoulders. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

At least, she has found Erika before Sachiko arrives the next morning, but her body practically glues itself to the floor in tiredness by the time she slips out of the restaurant.

The best part of being a manager is when she gets back home.

###

“So, you’re saying you practically lost your job?”

Yoonoh’s life revolves one thing. Those four walls of his cubicles, the connections he has gotten from his workplace and his elongated list of explanations that always go unheard. In any other occasion, he would have been delighted of being given the benefit of lying. Casual relationships are more of his thing and explaining his every insecurity, recollection of time or worry isn’t part of the plan. Carnalities? Sure thing.

A hook-up turned friend with benefits pushing him by the chest and practically gasping when he sighs? He didn’t think it’d end this way.

“Mia,” His voice rasps out, leaning back on his calves while hovering over her. Her bed is as pristine as always, the rosy satin sheets from last week turned into beige, deep fibers that do sound too elegant for them to do whatever they are thinking of in the bed. “I didn’t lose my job, I just didn’t become the head of my department, okay?”

He’s trying to spell it out, but the model is just as confused. Mia had modelled for Silhouette a bunch of times in the last two years, and that’s how he met her. Fitting one of his designs to her will had led him to be asked out on a date and then, the contract came about. Just sex, nothing more.

Mia scrambles away from underneath him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if repulsed. As if she had kissed an ogre itself. “Yoonoh, you’re practically jobless—!”

“I am not.” He sighs out, trying his hardest to concentrate on anything around the room. The tall ceilings, the conversation at hand, anything but the obvious problem in his boxers right now. “I swear, I will just be working for Siyeon but it’s for a period of time. I’m sure I’ll get her position soon enough.”

“Oh my God,” Mia pushes her long brown hair away from her shoulders, widening those innocent eyes of hers, sharp cheekbones lifting in distaste—not even a smile of comprehension. “I can’t believe I almost slept with a good for nothing. You told me you’d get that job and now you didn’t?”

“A good for nothing?” Yoonoh stands up from that bed, hands on his hips when Mia nods, once and then twice.

“Your dick is good, but not that good.”

Is this the day Yoonoh’s ego gets bruised to shattered little pieces that poke at his feet like glass? Perhaps.

Is this the day Yoonoh lets that pang of pain in his chest become visible? Not at all.

“Were you just with me because I was probably going to be a manager?”

“Silhouette is—listen, they are established, but it’s not what I had in mind.” Mia puts on her robe, covering her Goddess-crafted body before picking up a glass of the wine they had been sharing. “If you became manager, I’d have more connections with other teams. I would probably be in better runways and—”

“I’m not your manager or your little linking buddy, Mia.” Yoonoh complains, chest flushed when he seethes, pushing the strands of his dark hair away from his face. “We’re just having fun. I wasn’t going to bring you as my plus one when we had already established—”

“I don’t know if you notice,” She starts, licking her lips in elegance. “But you’re…you’re going to end up alone, Yoonoh. All you do is work, you’re always tense and silent and…a little bit boring, if I’m being honest. I am definitely the closest thing you’ll ever have to a relationship.”

Oh, no. That’s the thing he hates the most. How the world has been divided in romanticists and hard-workers. You’re one of the other, can’t ever be both, and sometimes, he feeds into that stereotype. He knows he doesn’t have time to fully sit down and talk to someone about his interests, let his heart be wandered about like a museum, but somehow…hearing anyone tell him that he’s tense, silent, boring…doesn’t sit well with him.

He shrugs, eager to poke just like done to him. “Good thing I never wanted a relationship with you to start with.”

Mia gasps at that, plush lips parted before she’s opening the window of her one-floor home. Elegant, but still not the grandest thing out there. “Oh, is that so?”

“You happen to be presumptuous, superficial and now, a complete opportunist—” He says, walking behind her until she turns around, her robe falling off one shoulder when she points at the window, crisp air whisking the tension around.

“Then, leave.”

“Okay.” He’s about to turn around and grab his clothing, when he feels her tugging at his taut forearm.

“Not through the door. You don’t get the benefit to do that.” Once again, Mia is pointing at the window and that catches a chuckle out of Yoonoh, that rises and rises in tone.

“I won’t get out through there.”

“I didn’t ask you. I told you to.” With that, she’s pushing at his chest, trying to get him out as he scrambles to get a hold of her.

“Mia! Are you fucking insane?!”

“Tired of your bullshit, Yoonoh. That’s it.”

Mia is, perhaps, not stronger than him, but for someone who walks on runways…she’s mad strong. Maybe, it’s the necessity to get him out of her home or the flying atrocity of her train of thought that has him stumbling backwards in one of those moments. In just his boxers, the prickling of the grass and the flowers in Mia’s garden caress and poke at his skin, tickling in enormous amounts just as he falls into the most embarrassing position he has been in.

The moonlight seeps over his skin, a groan ripping from the depths of his soul at the ache on his back when he hears the window closing, not without a few words from Mia: “And don’t you dare call me again, asshole.” And maybe, he would have laughed at the stupidity of the statement, because throwing someone out of a window is definitely not a reason to call someone back, but now, he’s much too surprised and in pain.

###

She wishes she was back to being a kid.

It’s a thought she has when the days are tough and uncertainty fills her, like a vase that is neither half full or half empty, but just stuck. In this town, with a job that she had wished for years ago, that takes away every ounce of will and thrive that she ever had. Days are tiring, nights even more so, and sometimes, she wishes the lake would stop being so calm. For it to be some movement, some waves, some dance of life that tells her: ‘this is something new and I give it to you because you deserve it’.

Instead, she’s walking alongside Erika, whose little feet in her elegant tiny boots are kicking a rock on the sidewalk. They had decided to walk for another block near the hotel, houses scattered in their glow in this enchanting night. It’s a moment of quiet, and she relishes on it, sending a look to the rock and to the little girl, just in case she’s not warm enough or she’s tired.

Oh, how she wishes she was tired.

Erika calls out her name, soft and through a pout, in a way that makes her sound like her age. Very much little a baby. “…Why do…why do girls your age never like boys?”

“What do you mean?” She questions, a smile on her face when sparing Erika a glance. A shrug is given. “I think boys are cool. Not all boys, but some are.”

“Mom doesn’t like my dad, and he’s a boy.” That must be the way she explains her parents’ divorce, but how she’s involved in that? She has no idea. “You…you don’t have a boy. I never hear you talk about boys.”

You see, she hasn’t dated in a while. A while as in…years. Comes to be, building trust into someone after having another person shatter it for you is not only difficult, but somehow near impossible. A plane ticket had said farewell to her in-person relationship and she had embarked in this immense long-distance relationship with too many tears and too much longing. He was distant after a while, and she blamed it on time differences…

Time differences that were proven to be someone else when she called him to tell him she had saved money for seven months just to visit him, only to hear him with another woman.

Another woman who claimed to be his girlfriend of four years.

Not one. Not two. Not three. Not even three and a half. Four.

“I don’t know.” She starts, trying to find the best way to say this. “We don’t always need a boy, Erika. Us girls, we don’t. The only people we need are our family, our friends and ourselves. Princesses can still be pretty and have a lot of people looking up to them without a prince.”

“Like Moana?”

“And Merida.” She completes, a smile on her face when she tugs the little girl up to scoop her in her hold. “Your mom has a hotel and she takes care of it very well without a boy. That doesn’t mean your daddy is not important, but they are happy even when he doesn’t have a girl and she doesn’t have a boy.”

“Then,” Erika plays with the collar of her white button-down. “We all have to be in pairs?” She stops.

“You mean couples?” Erika nods. “Oh no, honey, not all of us have to be in pairs or be part of a couple.” She chuckles at Erika’s innocence. She must be a bit insufferable, but still a kid. With the nightly air blowing at her face, she sighs. “We can all be with anybody, depending on who we like, girls…boys…your mom has told you that, right?”

Humming, Erika opens her mouth to speak up. “Yep.”

“Good girl.” She coos, smiling in the process. “Do you know what decision means?”

“Yes.” Erika conquers. “Carrots or potatoes, like that.”

“Exactly. What you choose is your decision.” She’s trying to make this easy for her. “Your mom doesn’t have to love a man, because that is her decision. As long as she loves herself and you, she’s already complete.”

“And you?” Erika questions.

She hadn’t thought about it in years. It didn’t feel right to be next to someone else, and she doesn’t know if that falls on her a little bit. Loneliness is inherent, this wandering thought that comes to her when she stops and wonders if there is someone out there. Not to complete her, because she’s already full by being on her own, but to support her.

“I am complete, too.” The answer is simple, tucking a strand of Erika’s hair behind her curved little ear. “So are you.”

“I am complete!”

“Yes, you are.”

Something interrupts them just as they pass by a cream-colored house. A groan comes from the flowers planted in the front-yard, and that has her stopping. Flowers don’t talk, obviously, but if someone is hurt—a dog or a human, she has to check.

More groaning and then, she sees a peak of milky skin under the moonlight, paired with tousled black hair. A man is standing in between the bushes, with his lower half thankfully covered by the plants, a short small nose, decently sized lips and a face that speaks anything but a good time.

And he’s half-naked. Only in boxers.

Her hand comes upwards to cover Erika’s eyes just as a loud gasp leaves her lips and she screeches: “Pervert!”

“No, no, no!” The man in question shushes her, lowering his body until even his taut chest and abdomen are covered. His eyes widen comically, and she has to shut her mouth to hear him speak. “I’m not a pervert, I promise! I know this looks wrong but—”

“You’re hiding in the bushes without clothes on, sir. This is definitely something illegal—”

“I was with a woman,” He sends a look towards Erika, levelling his words just because a kid is there, trying to snatch her hand away, but its grip is tight like iron. “And she threw me out because we had a break-up. Kind of. Not serious enough to call it a break up but…my clothes are inside and she won’t let me in. I’ve tried for such a long time. I was hiding until someone passed by but…no one did.”

Still far away from him, she quirks an eyebrow. This relatively, conventionally handsome man had been kicked out by a woman…almost ass-naked?

Talk about an attitude.

“Well, I’ll call someone over to help you out—” She’s about to move again, not completely trusting the man in the bushes when he calls her over with a hiss from his lips. A mix of ‘psst!’ and ‘hey!’ that obnoxiously makes her stop to turn around, still covering Erika’s eyes. “What?”

His eyes glisten when he says: “Help me.” He must be some kind of boss. The stranger says these two words like she has to do it, and she would have turned around again had it not been for those plush lips saying: “Please.”

“What do you want?” She questions, only to have him smiling.

Oh, there is a dimple there. A very profound and albeit, a bit attractive, dimple.

“Clothes.” The stranger adds. “Can you buy me some clothes? I promise I’ll pay you. I just need to get out of here. I think a cockroach bit me in the ass.”

“Language.” She spits out, just as Erika tries to wiggle away from her hold and repeats:

“Ass!”

“Erika!”

“Sorry.” He says again, bringing his hands together in a plea before sighing out: “I need them right now.”

She fixes Erika’s hold around her body, before rolling her eyes hard enough so she cans see the back of her head. “Fine. I’ll find you some clothes.”

###

Erika won’t take care of the family business. She’ll be a stylist, for sure.

The only thing opened at this hour of the night that doesn’t cost her a big portion of her salary is the thrift store and after endlessly explaining the situation to a very eager Erika, she is watching the little girl moving around the store as if she owns it, grabbing clothes here and there in a hassle.

“Erika, be careful. We can only pick three pieces of clothing!” Not that the teenager by the counter cares, popping his bubblegum in between his thin lips, looking down at his phone and tapping on it with a speed that a piano player would envy.

“We have to make him look cute.” Erika tries to say in her most professional voice, and she has to sigh. She will definitely not become a mother anytime soon.

“Yes, but we also have to make it cheap. I don’t have much money in this suit.”

“Yes, yes.” Somehow, she feels like Erika is not listening, pulling at a t-shirt on a table nearby, only to unfold it and give it to her. Her body is so small that she couldn’t see the imprint on the front. As her babysitter of the night, she expands it over her chest, only to watch something within Erika lighting up. “I like it!”

“Good,” She checks the price after muffling a laugh at the words written at the front. “It’s cheap. We can get it.”

Small steps patter against the tiles of the grand store before she’s tugging at the leg of a pair of pants she found on a rack, too tall for her to grab.

“This, this, this, I want this!”

Those ones are a little bit pricier, but when she gets them out of the rack, a smile finally spreads through her features. She has to get it. “You have a gut for styling, little one.”

Erika straightens her back in pride, fisting her small hands before nodding. “Thank you. Want me to buy one for you?”

She chuckles at her words. Definitely not, but she masks it by saying. “We don’t have enough money tonight. Another time.”

###

Props to the man whom now she knows is called Jung Yoonoh…he doesn’t look half as bad in those clothes as anyone else would.

The milky way spreads on Erika’s pupils when she leans on the table that she had taken up in the hotel’s restaurant a little bit over an hour ago. Her line of sight is filled with none other than Yoonoh, whom she had practically cried to just to invite him to have dinner with the two of them. Erika has practically eaten her weight in Oreo milkshakes, but she can’t quite say she is not starving by the time she slips into the leather seats and she smells the delicious cooking from the kitchen.

Compare that to the bland sandwich she has in her locker.

The little girl talks even out of her elbows. Yoonoh, however, patiently listens, trying to keep up with the grand story she has for the outfit she had picked for him. That explains why people take second-glances towards him. Not that he is not handsome enough; the lighting at that house his girl had kicked him out of did not do justice to his chiseled, quite carved face, but there is something about his clothing that captures most of the attention.

A pair of pink flip flops that Erika had picked up at last after they both forgot about shoes. Tight red leather pants that showcase the strength and curve of his thighs, quite lean, elongated legs that she had taken a second look at when seeing him out of the bushes with some clothes on. And, how to forget the old, quite used black tank top that reads: ‘With a body like this, who needs a personality?’.

She had laughed when she saw him.

Her fingers dip her fries on some ketchup by the time Yoonoh does so, sparing her a glance over Erika’s shoulder when the little girl says:

“My friend doesn’t need boys.” The girl adds, wrapping her hands around her mouth before saying. “But don’t feel offended, she still finds boys cool.”

“Some of them.” She corrects, connecting her gaze with Yoonoh’s just as the man leans back on his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh, words from a broken heart. Who hurt you?” He questions, quirking one of his eyebrows before taking a bite of the fried chicken he had insisted on getting. Something about those brown eyes seem to capture her perfectly, as if reading her like a book…and she doesn’t like it.

“I’m just too busy to care.” Her voice wavers the slightest when letting out her excuse and then, she scoffs. “You know, that happens when you’re the manager of a hotel.”

“Understandable.” Yoonoh nods a few times before that dimple appears again. “Too busy to care or too busy to date?”

Her face burns by the time Yoonoh asks that question, pleased with the way she widens her eyes. “When did we decide to make me the subject of our conversation?”

“You saw me half-naked, I get to know something about you other than the pressed suits and the obvious distrust issues.” Yoonoh’s tone is playful, that smile never erased from his features, while her frown deepens. She can’t say he’s not correct, but he’s also poking at her nerves with his words.

“I don’t have trust issues.”

He hums. “Your first reaction is to say no to everything. You deny every word that is thrown your way.”

“Because I happen to think guys like you just feel like they know it all.” She comments, taking the same position as him while crossing one leg over the other. Erika just looks between the two, trying to understand this conversation to no avail. “You read and read people, but I can read you well, Yoonoh.”

He expands his arms, showing that ridiculous shirt. May be half true, his body is great, and his personality may be a little bit insufferable. “Read me.”

“Bachelor with a good job who has that ‘rise and grind’ mentality. Don’t take relationships seriously. Can’t look past what’s in front of him and oh, trust issues, too.” She relishes on leaning over the table, watching as his eyes concern the rest of her face, taking in her every feature before his gaze delves down to the fold of her shirt, no buttons opened, but he’s trying to see something there.

“You want me to look at what’s in front of me?” He questions. “It’s you. Didn’t know that was your way of flirting with me. Guess I really do have to thank you for the…outfit.”

“And me!” Erika raises her hand, waiving it in the air happily.

His tutting tone changes when smiling at her. “Thank you, Erika.”

“Who hurt you, Jung Yoonoh?” She questions, mocking the tone he had used on her and trying to stop a smile from appearing on her lips. So, playing around with him is fun, as it seems.

He stops for a moment, as if thinking. The curve of his mouth falls down the slightest and she hears a breath-in that she overthinks about, noticing that there is pain in even the brightest of people. Instead, he shrugs. “I haven’t gotten my heart broken.” Yoonoh says, playing with the strands of his hair, curves of his arms contorting. “Want to be the first to break it, sweetheart?”

“You wish.” She scoffs, only to have Yoonoh dipping more of his fries in ketchup.

“You wouldn’t even kill an ant.” Yoonoh swats without importance. “I doubt you’d break my heart.”

“I wouldn’t want to break your heart, and that’s what differentiates us.” She points between them. “Good cop, bad cop.”

“Excuse me.” A tender voice cuts through the air around us, a young-looking guy with innocent features and glasses too big for his face waves a Polaroid camera in his hold when nearing them. “May I take a picture of you? I have a photography project for a class I’m taking in college and I need to take pictures that bring nostalgia and warmth. I happened to think your little family could be the perfect subject.”

Before she could fully deny they are a family, Erika is wrapping both her little arms around their shoulders as she settles at the center of the table, smiling at the camera. “Cheese!”

Two pictures are taken before she could fully bring a smile to her face, her eyes connecting to Yoonoh’s over the table in a look that she can’t quite recognize. His smile has erased but still, he’s the one to take the picture when the college student says:

“One for you, one for me.” He says, bowing slightly. “Thank you.”

With that, he is gone, but the effect of his picture lingers when she realizes where she is. A complete stranger sits at the same table as her, trying to figure each other our while she should have put Erika to bed long ago, continue with her job and not even look to the sides to see whose lives are coexisting while she’s just working.

“Sorry.” She stands up, shaking her head at her own antics. Helped him, she had already done, and now she has no business to sit with him, grab a bite and just pretend that she doesn’t have things to do. Yoonoh looks up from the picture, eyebrows furrowed when she grabs Erika by the arms and hoists her up. “I—I have to work. I don’t…I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t be here with you.”

“Why?” Yoonoh questions, voice softened when she shakes her head.

“I just shouldn’t.” She finishes, not knowing quite well what this feels like. Casually flirting with a man like him means trouble. “Goodbye, Yoonoh.”

She says those words with the harshest weight of the world, turning around and rushing out of the restaurant while Erika screams out Yoonoh’s name in need for more fun in the night. Nonetheless, she feels someone’s eyes trailing after her, but she knows one look over her shoulder would only bring more questions to her head.

What was the universe trying to do when putting him on her road?

###

There is a picture in his wallet that doesn’t even begin to answer the questions roaming his head. As confused as in the beginning, Yoonoh remains.

He doesn’t know why he stares at it after finishing his meal during lunchtime, the office emptied out of people, flicking at the corner of the Polaroid he would not show anyone even if they paid him a billion won. He just wouldn’t. That ridiculous shirt and those obnoxiously tight pants that definitely gave him a carpet burn that he’s still feeling two days later, should have been enough of a reason not to wonder about the sudden change of mind the hotel manager had.

Maybe, he had offended her. Though, she had kept on playing his game—and he half meant what he said. People like her are easy to read. Definitely an organization freak, perhaps a bit nerdy, with enough worries in her mind to fill an entire book. She wasn’t wrong about his trust issues either, but as he splays his fingertips on top of her placement in the picture, the only one who is not fully smiling, he ponders…

What’s about this girl that has his mind bringing her back all the time?

He closes his wallet just as he opens his sketchbook. A new one, because in his hassle, he had ripped the other that he had filled with all his dreams and hopes. He had crafted bodies, all in different sizes, to design something…and nothing had come to mind, not until he saw her again. That treasure hidden under baggy suits and clothes that he would have never looked at twice if only he hadn’t been captured by the naïve elegance in her face.

His eyes had tried to look, capture a glimpse of the curves around her body, and his imagination gave him more than what he could actually perceive. Yet, it had been enough. Flipping through his color scheme cards, he compares it to the vision he had inside his brain. Conservative, but still enough to feel powerful…

Violet. He doesn’t know why he picks it, but he does.

His fingers can’t stop sketching over the model he has on his sketchbook. He imagines lace and stain, draped thin pieces of clothing over the shoulders. Enough coverage for a one piece…and it comes to him in the form of a muse he would have never imagined. Someone who did not even show him anything, never gave him a chance to talk or fly, because that’s what he had never tried. What Silhouette had never stood for.

The people who are too shy to wear something like what they design.

Attractiveness is a feeling most people should get used to. Being looked at in an adoring light or have a flower thrown their way in the form of a compliment is desired, but has been lost in the eye of lust. Every word of adoration these days has been related to something—the imminent stoppage of the moment for the promise of sex. Never had Yoonoh thought of his designs as something more than a form of self-seduction, with the portrayal of self-love as a higher force for lust, but now, he sees it again.

Lingerie shouldn’t be seducing. It should be a weapon of beauty; a piece of clothing to be taken into consideration, colors that merge well with one’s personality. Not everyone is ready to fully unveil themselves in the light of the sexualized society we live in. Sometimes, people just want to feel nice fabrics against their skin or a glimmer of gorgeousness without showing everything.

The magic of designing is in delicacy.

The ideas come to him then. What was once a two piece for Yoonoh, now is one. What was once see-through, now makes up for riskiness in designs and curves, fabrics added to give more structure, instead of more nudity. Lingerie doesn’t have to be a thin layer of clothing—it can be beautiful, crafted and built.

His e-mail dings with a new entrance, stopping him on his third design as he envisions what must be under that suit—what would fit her and other working people for needing a boost, without actually showing the clothing to anyone but themselves, but soon enough, his face falls at Siyeon’s e-mail.

Subject: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Greetings, my beloved Yoonoh,

Silhouette has been known for its strong stance in the fashion community, and I have been pleased to land a runway show for us in, specifically, twenty-nine (29) days. In light of this, I send you the list of things you have to do:

1) Design a set for the main male model of the runway, Kim Jungwoo. It has to be a showstopper if you want to keep working with him. I need this to be sent in 6 days.

2) Find a nice and not as expensive place for the publicity photoshoot to take part on. I don’t want simple. I need ravishing visuals.

3) Talk to the newbie models and make sure that said day, the stylists don’t screw up.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Yoonoh rolls his eyes before starting to type a reply. The devil must be in front of her computer.

Subject: [RE]: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Hello,

I had already started working on a female set. I’m a female lingerie designer. I think I am not the one in charge of Jungwoo’s outfit.

Sincerely,

Jung Yoonoh.

The response comes just as he begins scrabbling his ideas into paper once again.

Subject: Who asked?

I want you to work on Jungwoo’s outfit. See if you get better while working on boxers instead of bras.

Not as sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Spreading one hand on top of his sketchbook, he rubs the bridge of his nose before he breathes in deeply. Okay, now it seems like he has to craft something for a model that he doesn’t even know about, as well as finding the place for a photoshoot. An assistant, he seems to be now, and Siyeon’s, nonetheless.

But a place comes to mind, soon enough.

###

Devastation comes short to the wails that leave the kid’s lips. That speaks of pleas and pain.

Over a week of Sachiko coming up with different meetings had led up to an expected, yet somewhat uncalculated, road trip to where she hopes to build her second hotel. That said, she won’t stay for a day or two, but for the entirety of two weeks away from Erika. The daughter that now clings onto Sachiko like a koala, hiding her face in the crook of her neck, black hair matching her own as she cries uncontrollably.

Sachiko is at her apartment’s doorstep, luggage by the side of her elongated legs, as she shushes her daughter with a worried gaze. “You’re going to be okay, baby.” Then, she calls out her name, trying to wipe the tears in her eyes with just one hand. “You’ll be taken care of…and I will be back before you know it.”

“Why do you leave?!” Erika screeches, and Sachiko tries her best to reason with her, but her own whines are stopping her.

So, with her pajamas and tiredness lingering within her, she places a hand on top of Erika’s back. “Because your mom wants you to have a great life, Erika. She wants to buy you all you need and for you to have dreams as big as hers.” Maybe, she won’t get it now, but it’s the best she can do to explain the situation.

It manages to make Erika turn around, blinking her tears onto her cheeks. “I don’t want her to go.”

“We’ll mark the calendar…and she’ll come soon enough.” She whispers out, and it’s at this moment that she regrets saying yes to Sachiko when she asked her to take care of her daughter for a little while longer.

A little while longer shouldn’t mean two weeks.

Still, Erika doesn’t let go of her mom. She’s glued to her.

“I made you some hot chocolate, and I have some pudding that I prepared for me earlier.” Because sugary sweet meals seem to make her feel better in these days of uncertainty. This makes Erika widen her eyes, looking back at her mom before questioning her with a small smile.

“There you go, there’s my smiling baby.” Sachiko finishes, putting her daughter down before looking down at her watch. “My taxi is waiting for me. You can call me tomorrow, Erika, okay?”

“Yes, mommy!” But Erika is already moving towards the kitchen to grab a mug of that sweet, sweet hot chocolate.

She knows sweets are her weak point.

The only weak point she has.

“Make sure she sleeps early, okay?” Sachiko says, and all she can do is nod.

“Sure thing.” I can’t promise a thing, she thinks.

“And that she doesn’t eat too many sweets. I’ll let this one slide.”

“Only veggies.” She says as she grabs her doorframe in between her hold. Only to give her something sweet after she throws the veggies at my face, her mind replies.

“Thank you.” Sachiko adds over her shoulder, a smile to her face. “I know it’s difficult, but I really don’t have any family to take care of her and I really do trust you. I promise to pay you well after all this.”

That’s a nice start.

“Don’t worry. Me and Erika get along well.” That’s not a lie, but taking care of a kid is extremely tiring. “Just get in your taxi. We’ll be fine.”

With that, minutes pass by of complete silence, Erika’s eyes trained on her phone, blasting Peppa Pig, with one or two hiccups escaping here and there as she drinks her first mug of chocolate. She joins her, slicing another bit of cake and shrugging off whatever thought appears inside her brain.

The chocolate merges on the roof of her mouth, warming her to the tip of her toes, each aching muscle after hours of working relaxing, even a bit entranced by the show she’s not watching, but might be brain-washing her just like the rest of the kids.

“Another one, please.” Erika says after finishing her episode, extending her mug of chocolate towards her before she smiles sweetly.

She shakes her head. “Mom said no sweets.”

“Please?” The little girl drags with dulcetness in her tone, but she repeats the previous action.

“Nope.”

Erika places the mug down, head laying low before she repeats: “Chocolate, please!”

“I said nope.”

The kid stops for a moment, thinking as the sound of the dishwasher starting up as she cleans the mugs and the plates, and just then, her small voice is heard again:

“You don’t give me chocolates because you’re sad about Yoonoh?”

That makes her halter all steps. Yoonoh. The man that she had met days ago. Adonis without a shirt on, and then some weird 2011 wannabe that happened to have dinner with her and Erika. The lingering flirtations between the two had not been forgotten, those pair of eyes that somehow seemed to want to strip her of her utmost secrets, only for her to back away.

Yoonoh means trouble.

“I am not sad about Yoonoh.” She adds, turning around with her damp hands ending up over her waist. “Why do you think I’m sad about him?”

“Because he’s your boy!” Erika screeches as if it’s the most obvious thing, and she’s starting to get tired of the kid’s insane romanticism mixed with optimism. Sure, she’s a kid, but Disney should start making less princesses with a prince. “Mommy explained it to me.”

“What did she explain?” Not that she’s understanding a thing, but please, she does need to be enlightened.

“I asked mommy how people acted when they were in pairs.”

“When they are couples.”

“Yep!” The grin on her chubby cheeks is enchanting, but by what she’s saying, she’s about to ask Sachiko to pick her up again. The love talk is not her thing. “And she said boys smile a lot and they speak weirdly, like things I can’t understand.” That is a way to put it. “And the girl looks down a lot…and I don’t remember what else she said, but you did all those things with Yoonoh. He is your boy!”

“Boyfriend, not boy.” She corrects, turning around to continue to wash the dishes. Was he smiling at her? She had seen the dimple, but she hadn’t thought that he had beamed around like a madman. “And he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have one.”

“But why?” Erika drags her voice.

“We already had the talk of Moana and Merida.”

“I get that. I’m like them. I don’t want to be with boys.” She utters innocently, standing up to tug at her sleeve. “But you are with Yoonoh.”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, laughter escaping her lips. “You hit your head, Erika.”

“I didn’t!” The little girl says, scratching her head just in case. “You’re a princess. He’s a prince—”

“Erika!” She stops her, interrupting her with ease before sighing. “I met Yoonoh the day we saw him, and I didn’t like him that way. We aren’t even friends.”

She juts out her lip. “I wasn’t friends with Mina either.” That’s Erika’s best friend from school. “But we became friends in a day. She put a worm in the teacher’s sandwich…” Her voice becomes soft, a blush appearing on her face. “It was awesome.”

“It’s different for adults.” That’s the best way to put it. She shakes the water away from her hands after closing the faucet before patting them dry on a towel. “What would you do if I said I disliked Yoonoh?”

“Nothing.” She adds. “You said you liked cool boys, and he’s a cool boy.”

He’s an overachieving asshole with a nice smile that could potentially enter her heart if she let him, but that should and would never happen. That’s who he is.

“Erika, I’ll tell your mom to ground you if we keep this conversation up.”

That seems to make her stop, grabbing her phone once again—and she knows the password, which is even worse, kids in this generation are geniuses—, before adding: “Does Peppa have a boy?”

“Oh my God, no!”

This will definitely be a long night.

###

His mind is blank. Absolutely blank. Lingerie for men is even more difficult than lingerie for women.

Jungwoo gives another walk on the stage, bleached blonde hair barely moving with each step he takes. He’s in the simple designs, the first launch of Silhouette, as bland as bland can get, and while his strut is fine, he can’t think of anything. Nothing that couldn’t be just a simple pair of boxer briefs thrown on a model. He could do that, but that’s so common, so plastered on paper. He wants to do something else, and yet, in the day of the photoshoot, he can’t think of anything.

“Why are you making me do this?” He met Jungwoo a few days ago, and he was actually quite surprised to recognize who he is. A runway model that has been around the world and all over fashion weeks. His dulcet personality and tall frame have gotten him somewhere, that’s for sure. “I should be already in my clothes and ready to take pictures.”

“I have nothing.” In the middle of the hotel’s ballroom, Jungwoo stops walking at the sound of Yoonoh’s voice. The designer looks down at his sketchbook, where he had made the drawing of a body similar to Jungwoo’s and still, nothing came to mind.

“…You have to have something.”

“A pair of black boxers.” He turns the sketchbook around just as Jungwoo slips a robe over his body and ties it securely. “Better than white boxer briefs, sexier, too. All the women I’ve been with likes them.”

“I won’t model that.” Jungwoo conquers, a lightweight laugh following after. “Those look like plain cotton boxers.”

“Well, I just don’t know what to design. Either I make you look tacky or I make you look bland. There is no in-between.”

“That bad?” Jungwoo questions, taking a seat next to him before grabbing a water bottle. “People are going to be here any minute. Everyone has decorated and I’m not sure my manager will be happy to hear that I came here just for nothing.”

A look is spared to the model, with Yoonoh shaking his head softly. He has to think of something. He can’t give Siyeon the benefit of seeing him tuck with a simple design.

His pencil taps against the drawing for a few seconds before he breathes out a few words: “You’re okay with being more covered?”

Conservative and elegant is more of what he has been aspiring for, with that peek of skin that makes the world go around. It’s what he has been drawing these days, but mostly with a muse in mind.

“Sure. I wasn’t over the moon thinking my ass was going to be out in the world.”

Yoonoh chuckles at that, turning the page around from the plain black boxers before sketching something else. “How about a crop top? With a fabric similar to a bralette, and you look better in red than you do in black.” He draws a diagonal line across the ribcage, making slitted long sleeves to showcase pieces of biceps, filling it up with the color red in a quick hassled manner that he will fix later. “Maybe some chains and garments around that wrap up to your waist.”

“I like that.” Jungwoo announces when looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll keep the black boxers. I still think they are classics, and I can talk to the management team to make them more than just cotton.” Yoonoh announces, soon after looking at the picture before clicking his tongue. “I think there’s something lacking.”

“Dunno. You’re the designer, but I’d wear this out of the runway.”

That’s something good, but Yoonoh is thinking of something else. People in real life transcending into their own confident version. That’s what he wants to portray. He draws a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, falling onto his long legs until it reaches midway through his calves, before sketching a pair of pants on the side. Loose, simple, highlighted in the waist.

“We could connect do something like…like suspenders. Office guy turns into midnight God.” Once again, he’s sketching. “You’d wear this, the crop top underneath but I have no idea how you’d show the boxers.”

“Make them low cut.” Jungwoo suggests, eyes trained on his phone momentarily when he crosses one leg over the other. “That way, the boxer’s band will be showing, and it will have Silhouette’s name there. I’d take off the jacket to show the statement piece.”

Yoonoh thinks about it, erasing the line at the waist before drawing the band, and his eyes glimmer at the image underneath him. Not as bad as he imagined it.

“Your ideas are good.”

“Thanks, I’m not just a pretty face.” Jungwoo jokes around, only standing up when the doors of the ballroom come open.

The theme of the photoshoot is simple. A party at the eighties, with beaming colors and disco balls. Darkened walls, confetti, everything has been added to highlight the idea Yoonoh had come up with. Nonetheless, his team is not the one barging in the room when the doors open, instead, he’s met with another darkened suit and a serious face that stares down at her agenda.

“Morning, people. I’m sorry I’m late. I was figuring out an issue at the penthouse, but I am here to help you with any form of decoration or with any question you may have.” The hotel manager stands there. Not that Yoonoh ever pondered they could not meet each other when he had specifically picked her hotel—he had walked through when entering the restaurant, and the three-stars help with the price, but the decorations are immaculate. Architecture its utmost beauty.

Now that he sees her, a smile spreads across his features. Maybe, a bit too soon—in a way that has him pushing it down because it is not possible to get that reaction out of him when it’s not faux. That woman had stood him up without even much of a reason, in the literal sense of the word, took those pretty legs away from the seat and walked away after they had been having fun.

He wore those leather pants. She owed him not leaving him in the middle of a restaurant with her meal and his to pay.

When she looks up at him, a few sentiments flash before her eyes, but he can’t guess any of them. He breathes out her name, capturing her off guard when she questions:

“You remember me?” Her voice is levelled as she moves forward, with a tinge of curiousness.

Yoonoh shrugs his shoulders in his fitted black sweater, paired with dark ripped jeans. “I wasn’t shitfaced. Just half-naked.”

That makes her frown deeply when she looks up at him again. “Don’t you dare say that out loud in front of anyone.” Soon after, she’s talking to Jungwoo. “I—Don’t listen to him. I’m the manager of this hotel and I have no business with this man.”

Jungwoo lifts his hands in the air. “None of my business, but please, do let me hear.”

He doesn’t know why it surprises him that Jungwoo likes gossip. “Why? You’re embarrassed of helping me out?”

“You’re saying it with double intentions.”

Yoonoh chuckles. “I wasn’t intending on anything the night we met.”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes, making him raise his eyebrows. That cynic voice in her is not something he expected. “We both know what kind of intentions you have with everyone. It seeps from you.”

“Seeps from me?”

“You had no issue going with some stranger after being kicked out of your…your hook up’s house and you were smiling and using those eyes on me and buddy,” She stops, a short laugh leaving her lips. Her index finger extends to point at him. “I’m not a charity case. I’m not in need of a man. I don’t need you to come around and cause me trouble, okay? If you’re here just to tease me instead of letting me do my job, then we’re off to a bad start.”

Offended is short for what he feels. Sure, he may not make a big deal out of hook ups, but it’s not like he’s the easiest man in the world. And if he was, why does she care?

“You’re the one talking about my eyes. I never made eyes at you.”

That makes her stop, holding her agenda to her chest before patting her ponytail in place. “Okay. Fine.”

“You just think you’re so much better than you, don’t you?” Yoonoh spites, crossing his arms across his chest, never once raising his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, you take care of your boss’ child. You’re so sweet and kind. So in synch with yourself you need no one’s company…” He trails off, pointing them out with the sharpness of his words. “That’s fine, but it’s not fine when you point fingers at people for being with other people. The twenty-first century is calling, they are here to say you can show someone your ankles without losing all sense of rightfulness.”

Scoffing, she shakes her head, a sarcastic smile appearing on her features. “Yoonoh, I know men like you.” She starts. The typical stance people have of him. Men like him. “You’re a…around with a bunch of women, and you use your good looks to your advantage, never care about anybody but you, never take anyone out on a date—”

He gets closer at that moment, lowering his eyes onto her lips before connecting them with hers. “…You wanted me to take you out on a date and that’s why you’re mad about me being a thot?”

“No!”

His hand reaches for one of her ears, laughing when he feels the heat. “Your ears are hot. Have something to tell me?”

“Where’s the person in charge of this photoshoot?” She slaps his hand away, turning to Jungwoo who has the biggest grin on his features.

“Oh, it’s him. The asshole Jung Yoonoh.” Jungwoo conquers with a flick of his finger before he expands his hands in front of them. “But please do continue. I love a good drama.”

“You?!” She gasps that word out as if it’s venom, a sharp intake coming after.

“Me.” Yoonoh retorts, a smirk appearing on his face. “And I happen to have lots of questions about this ballroom.”

He doesn’t, but he enjoys his next thirty minutes, trying to get the offense out of his body by having her carrying boxes—not heavy, but definitely bothersome when ordered by him—and giving her his phone number wrongly three times as she finished up the contract and the bill for the rent of the ballroom. Exasperation is short for what she feels, but as she’s working on that bill, he realizes something.

The shirt underneath her suit is a sunshine yellow, and he may change violet from the position of his desired color on her, because yellow makes her beam like never before. It gives her a powerful stance, standing out even in between seas of models posing around.

Though what she thinks of him has been a repetition of what he has heard before, somehow, he cares a little bit more when it comes from the one woman that has inspired him to do better with his designs. Not that she even cares about his position as a designer.

For her, he’s only another asshole who uses people to his will, and that’s only half correct.

###

“The sexual tension was so thick I had a hard time breathing. Seriously, it was like when I used to steal rated magazines when I was young!”

The maids cheer and giggle to themselves when Blue spits out another version of the story that she and Yoonoh supposedly wrote yesterday afternoon in the ballroom. She has to play with the lettuce of her sandwich, cheek squished against her palm as she watches Erika stare in between the seas of women, following after every reaction even when she doesn’t understand them.

“Blue, don’t say such words in front of Erika.” She tells them, biting on her densely sauce-coated sandwich, before breathing out softly. How could they think of Yoonoh as a dream when he’s obviously a womanizer dressed in sheep’s clothing?

Or the devil. He’s definitely the devil.

“Whatever.” Blue, in her eighties, moves the skirt of her gray uniform before picking up one of the maids. One of the youngest and the tallest, with a long black fringe and moon-bathed features. Chaewon, she thinks her name is. “He told her: ‘Need help with those boxes’?” She lowers her voice to be a faux deep vibrato. “And she said: ‘No, I can do it myself. Thank you.’” That time around, her voice lifts up.

“I don’t speak like that.”

“And then, he retorted by saying: ‘I know, but my arms are waiting to hold something. I think you’d rather it be boxes.’”

More screeches and giggles follow after that statement, and she rolls her eyes because he did say that.

Chaewon ends up being swooped over, rolled around in Blue’s hold before she’s cooing. “I was expecting him to lower her down and give her that kiss that she was definitely asking for with her gaze,” She imitates the actions by looking down at Chaewon. She’s an actress, even at such an old age. “She kept looking at his lips before she cut him off, and you had to say the way his eyes lingered on her…”

“Where was he looking?” One of the maids asks, organizing the towels in their little eating room when Blue lets of Chaewon to let her sit somewhere else.

“He wasn’t looking.” The manager defends, ears heated up…but because of the golden lights here, definitely.

“Everywhere! There was not a portion of her that he simply did not worship with his gaze alone. He wanted to ravish her like—”

More heat, and maybe, summer is coming around earlier than expected. “Blue, stop reading those romance books with naked men on the cover. They’re getting to you.”

Blue laughs at her antics, her curled gray hair jumping around when she takes a seat in front of her. She continues to bite on her sandwich. “Aw, come on, boss. You can’t expect us not to want to see you with that man.” She covers her mouth to lower her voice before whispering: “He’s sexy.”

“Jung Yoonoh is anything but that!” She defends, leaning back on her seat and trashing the last bit that was left of her sandwich. She opens her water bottle and gulps it quickly.

“Look at that heat!” One of the maids adds, and Chaewon nods in return. “How does he look like, Blue? He sounds like a dream.”

“Pecs over pecs over pecs. He had…” The oldest woman curves her hands in the air and the manager has to scoff.

“Stop thirsting over him.”

“His girlfriend over there will get jealous but you had to see that sweater on him. That man is lean and had the sweetest, prince-like face. But not the kind of prince that wants you for his kingdom, having you wearing proper dresses and greeting the crowd.” She stops for a second, thick silence lingering in the air before she adds. “But the kind of prince that sneaks you into the castle to show you ever room—”

“More sexualization, great.” Her knees buckle when she picks Erika up from her spot in between the maids. “I have a meeting with the valet team. You better stop talking about this if you don’t want me to talk with Sachiko about your disrespect towards our clients.”

She opens the door when Erika wraps her arms around her neck, turning around to wave to the maids. “Bye!”

“Bye-bye, honey!” Blue waves back, returning to the crowd to say: “And his hair—”

She has to close the door with a bang as a huff leaves her lips. Everything has been about Jung Yoonoh these days, but what is the sudden obsession to have her paired up with someone who will definitely shatter her to pieces?

Every thought about him shall be erased as soon as possible now that he has finished with his photoshoot. She won’t hear about Jung Yoonoh ever again.

###

“And then, she went on to call me a man-whore or something. Practically drawing me as the biggest scumbag to ever exist.”

It’s way over nine at night when he finally has the time to check over what the manufacturing team had done with the design that he had sketched for Jungwoo. He still needed to take his pictures for the event, asking the graphic design team to help him out with the deadline, but that’s the least of his worries. Johnny is by his side, lost in his phone as he listened to his story, being his support for another all-nighter.

He unfolds the blood red fabric of the crop top and smiles in delight. Fitted, with slits that could pierce well into the subject of edge, and some chains dangling in elegant curves towards the waist, with Swarovski diamonds in between. He continues to look through the pieces, pants and jacket as well, when he hears Johnny speaking up.

“She’s not wrong.” He says, still engraved on his phone. “You’re a bit of an ass and you haven’t been in a serious relationship ever since I met you. Even before that, you have been single and into hook-ups. Why are you bothered?”

“Because I am not like that. I don’t have the time to embark in a relationship, okay?” Yoonoh mutters out, placing the jacket down on the table to look at it more precisely. “She has this…this air of arrogance of thinking she’s better than me. I don’t know, like…she just thinks I am some kind of douchebag that gets to her nerves—”

“Yet, still you sketch her.” That is the moment he hears the pages of his sketchbook being flickered at. Yoonoh widens his eyes, turning around to close it just as he says:

“Let go of that!”

“They’re pretty. Don’t be a nerd about it.” Once again, Johnny has taken the sketchbook, turning around to keep it away from his hold. “Are you into BDSM or something? People talking down on you? Women hating you so badly that they are kinda into you?”

Hate. That word is enormous, and he wouldn’t like to use it when plotting what she feels for him. Strong dislike, let’s go with that. “I’m not.” He denies all allegations. “…You just have to see her.”

“Ass or tits?”

“Not that.” Yoonoh feels his own cheeks heating up as a smile takes over his features. Not that he had gotten to see a lot with how baggy her suits are, but attractive is short for how he would describe her. “It’s in the way she holds herself. She’s the quiet kind of powerful. With everyone, she is kind and understanding, and yet, her action speak louder than she does. She’s independent and doesn’t let anyone else help her, even if she’s over the top with assignments and—”

“And it kind of sounds like you’re paying a little too much attention to her.” Johnny closes the sketchbook at that moment, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. “What’s with you, Yoonoh?”

The man scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just saying. I’m so angry that she’s like that, I just—”

“No, you’re not angry. Real angry Yoonoh? It’s the kind of Yoonoh we see with Siyeon. Not this one, talking about how he loves someone’s kindness.” His eyes trail over to his sketchbook, then to the design for Jungwoo before he’s ripping one page out and jotting down a message for the manufacturing team. It’s alright, he just wants a few more diamonds. “Come on, man. Talk about it. Mama Seo used to say there are no secrets in this household.”

“What do you want me to say?” Annoyance seeps from his voice when he looks over his shoulder. “Yes, I was interested. Yes, I guess we kind of flirted. Yes, she still ran away and yes, she absolutely despises my guts?”

“…She blew you off.” Johnny says that as if it’s the biggest announcement in the world.

Yoonoh shrugs. “Yeah, so what? It’s not like I asked her or made it known—”

“For the first time in his life, Jung Yoonoh didn’t get blown, he got blown off!”

“Johnny, it’s not funny—”

“I have to see who this woman is.” Johnny gets his phone out of his pocket, opening his Instagram app before he’s lurking for her. “What’s her name?”

Maybe, curiousness got the best of him when he stands behind Johnny, looking over his shoulder when he rasps out her name.

“There we have her.” His friend announces just as he clicks on the first account. “Private. I can’t really see her face in the profile picture.” It’s the silhouette of a woman, most likely her, in a sunset. Her hands are fisted deep in her pockets and she must be looking at the sun. “Should I message her? Something like: ‘Hi, if you don’t want to date Yoonoh, I’m single and the second-best option’?”

He’s joking around, yet, Yoonoh stares longingly at that picture. Something about her is so lukewarm that he finds himself at peace. He has always liked everything scalding hot—his relationships, his hook-ups, his meals, even the days that he spends at the beach, but now, he is interested in silence and tranquilness. In that lukewarm nature that comes within her, never too cold, never too hot.

“No.” His voice sounds unused when he finally speaks up. “Leave her be.”

Johnny’s eyes inspect his features. “Dude…there is really something about her, isn’t it?”

“I’ll never know, I guess.” Yoonoh finalizes, shrugging his shoulders before moving towards the edge of the room and turning off the lights. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

###

“I won’t take a bath! I don’t want to!”

Five days from Sachiko’s arrival and she already feels like breaking. Breaking down or breaking out of her home, one or the other. Erika screams at the top of her lungs while rushing out of the bathroom, still very much in her pajamas, to sit down in front of her TV and watch another cartoon.

She throws the towel over her shoulder, eyes half-closing from tiredness when she breathes out softly and approaches her again. “Erika, get in the bath. It’ll be quick.”

The little girl shakes her head, hugging her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes, I don’t want to either, but you have to.” She announces, taking a seat next to her to run her fingers through her hair. “Come on, Eri, it’s just a bath.”

“Nope.” The little girl mumbles, growing more annoyed by the second.

“You’ll stink. You don’t want anyone to smell your scent if it’s bad.”

“It’s okay.”

“Someone will come visit us.” She doesn’t know why that’s the first excuse she comes up with. Truth be told, none of her friends live in this city, and her family are nowhere near either. Loneliness is something she is used to, and she doesn’t like being the house’s host all that much, either. “And you really like them, so we need to bathe you before they come.”

Erika raises her eyebrows, a big smile appearing on her face: “Peppa?”

“No, not Peppa.” From the back of her mind, she can’t think of anybody who will come here that Erika really likes. She’s not entirely obsessed with Blue, and the woman is too old to take a taxi here. She is not sure who Erika likes apart from her…and Sachiko is not here. “Ah…” Think, think, think. “Yoonoh, my…uh…my boyfriend. He’s coming over.”

The title makes her cringe, but Erika stands up in her couch, hair wild and little fists connecting to her shirt when she says: “He’s coming! You didn’t tell me!”

“Oh, I was just waiting for you to take a bath first.” She tries to sound smart, but this is the worst idea she could have. Sure, she saved his number when she was making that bill for the rented ballroom, but that has been about it. Never texted him, never planned to, much less to tell him to come over and pretend to be her boyfriend just so Erika takes a goddamned shower.

“I will! Hurray!” Erika moves away from the couch, rushing over to take off her clothes.

“I’ll go fill up the bathtub in a sec, okay?”

“Yes!”

This is the worst idea she has ever had.

By the time she hears the door to the guest room closing, she sighs deeply, going over to the kitchen to unplug her phone and look down at her contact list. Her heart is racing, eyebrows frowned in worry when she sees it in glimmering lights:

Jung Yoonoh (Never Respond. Not Even If You’re Dying).

She’s not dying, but she definitely feels like it.

Whenever she got a cut as a kid and she put a band-aid on it, she took the band-aid off in one harsh tug. It’d rip some hairs apart, but it wouldn’t hurt—it wouldn’t make her hesitate as much as she did. This is one of those decisions that need to be done that way; as if she’s drunk and she needs to call her ex, or as if buying that dress that she’ll never wear sounds like a good idea today.

The phone rings a few times and she paces back and forth in the kitchen, giving a few puffs out and jumping in place before she hears it.

“Hello?”

His voice is to die for. One of those melodies that anyone wants to hear when they are waking up, mumbling sweet nothings, promising whatever the hell sounds great at the time, and it’s so dangerous that it has her closing her eyes, trying to fight a shiver and not exactly of anxiousness.

“Yoonoh, I need your help.”

A bead of silence follows soon after, and it comes as a surprise when he mumbles her name. She hums in return. “Why are you calling me? How do you have my phone?”

“Don’t ask.” She tells him, about to start her rant when Yoonoh cuts her off with a deep chuckle.

“You stole it from my bill.”

Caught, yet, she places a hand on her waist. “I wanted to save it just in case you decided to call me and make my day more difficult.”

“Oh, if I called you, it’d be to ease any kind of stress.” He purrs out, making her groan out loud when a lighter laugh from him comes about. “What can I help you with, ice princess?”

“Stop it with the names.”

“Boss?”

“I said—”

“Stop it with the names, I know. I will.”

When there is another pause, she knows she can speak, so she does. “…Erika believes we are in a relationship.” He doesn’t scream at the idea or laugh straight at her face, so she sighs. “And she’s also like madly connected to you. Seriously, she never stops talking about you and how you were so cool and whatnot. She only agreed to bathing now that I told her my…” She clears her throat. Shit, this is awkward. “My boyfriend is coming to visit, but you’re my supposed boyfriend and you’re nowhere around. I was wondering if you could come over, I don’t know, for like thirty minutes and then leave, just to fulfill that promise.”

Another elongated silence comes soon after, but it’s followed by a hum from Yoonoh.

“You didn’t say we were friends,” He teases, and she rolls her eyes at his antics. “You still went on with the boyfriend thing. Something you want to tell me?”

“Erika thinks we are together.”

“Erika meaning you.”

“I would personally sew my lips if we were to be in a relationship, Yoonoh.”

He chuckles, though she hears some moving. “Why? You’d want to make out with me so badly that you would want to stop yourself?”

“You wish.”

“Kinda.” Yoonoh confesses and it sounds like a pin falling to the floor. It makes her anxious, because the idea of being trapped in his arms, mouths molding into each other, breaths mixing, tongue intertwining is not so bad when in theory. “So, where do you live?”

“You’re coming?”

“Yeah, but in like forty-five.”

With that, she gives him the address, only to hear Yoonoh breathing into the microphone.

“So, my dear girlfriend, my beloved future wife,” Those dramatics that come with him make her want to slice him in half, but she keeps on just for Erika. “…How long have we been together, exactly?”

“…Since my headaches started coming daily.” She responds, hearing pattering in the hallway. “Call me when you’re here, okay?”

Once she hangs up, she sees Erika ready for a bath by the kitchen’s door, waving her hands in the air.

“Let’s go!”

Kids are nightmares.

###

Epoch hats don’t fit him well, Yoonoh realizes as he sits on a little stool that barely can hold his weight, knees practically touching his chest as he plays tea-house with Erika and her babysitter. Or well, her mom’s worker that happens not to know how to say no.

Erika had gone over the top to make this a grand event, the Peppa Pig plushie he had brought with him when entering the apartment seated in front of Erika, while he stares ahead at the woman that has his mind a complete mess. She is wearing a pair of wings on her shoulders, and her clothing is different, still not letting him see much, but the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants still fit her nicely.

The roles are simple. Erika is the princess, and they are their Aunt and Uncle. Peppa Pig is her sister, and that’s about as much as he knows as he sips on the two-point-five milliliters of water with lemon that Erika dares call tea.

“More tea, please.” Yoonoh says when placing the small cup down and looking at the woman ahead of him. She is the one serving the tea, yet, she quirks an eyebrow at him.

“That’s your fourth cup.” She explains, shaking her head when he tries to reach for the tea. “You’ve already had enough. You’re doing it just to see me serving you.”

“While the sight is adorable, beautiful, this cup is the size of my pinky. I can’t even feel it going down my throat.” He waves the little cup in his pinky before trying to reach for the tea again. “I’ll serve myself if it makes you feel better.”

“You’re too sweet-mouthed…” She looks over at Erika, inspecting them with interest. “Sugarplum.”

“Sugarplum?” Yoonoh questions the nickname, pouring himself a cup of tea when snatching it from her hands before leaning his weight forward, taking a sip that has him downing the entire drink. “I’m not sweet, don’t know if you’re noticed.”

“Quite clearly.”

“May change my ways for you if you stop judging me.” His eyes trail over her features, the culprit of his playfulness spreading across his face.

“Oh, I happen to be very judgmental.”

“Get to know me,” He waves his finger on top of the cup, tracing the outline only to see her gulp soon after. “…I promise the last thing you’ll end up doing is hating me.”

Erika stands up in between the two, her little hands spreading on their chests when she says: “Princes and princesses don’t fight.”

“We’re not fighting, Eri.” She tells her, though she sends a glare his way. “Right, sugarplum?”

“Of course, beautiful.” He uses that same nickname, relishing on the way she seems to be seething at the name. Truth be told, he knows that she’s, at least, a bit attracted to him…but whatever is stopping her must be strong enough to have her stopping on her tracks that first night. His lips wrap up in a kiss he sends flying in the air before adding: “We actually love each other. My kingdom is now better because I have found my truest love.”

“Yeah…” She trails, looking over to the side before she takes a sip of her own tea. “How’s the collection going?”

That question surprises him. She must have supposed he was a designer, much more after all he did in her hotel, but he didn’t think she was paying attention from up close.

“It’s not a collection.” Sweetly, he corrects, voice lowered when he puts the cup down. “I—I’m only working on this one fit. An outfit. We design lingerie, as you could see. I’m normally in the women design department, but my boss which is an absolute…” He stops, looking at Erika. “Witch, changed me to the men’s department just to freak up my head.”

A small chuckle trips out of her lips at the choices of his cusses. “So, you were designing Jungwoo’s fit?”

“Precisely.” Yoonoh takes his phone out of his pocket before displaying something only for her to see. “Erika, you can’t see this. It’s…it’s not something you should be seeing, okay?”

And actually, she listens. Yoonoh can’t understand why she says that Erika never listens to anybody. Her eyes trail over to Jungwoo, and the way they scan up and down have something within him tugging his phone away.

“That’s my design.”

“You’re talented.” Those words shouldn’t weight as much as they do, but he hasn’t heard them in a while. Perhaps, in two years. “If only you weren’t so much of a butt-face whenever we speak, I’m sure that part of you would show through.”

“What part of me?”

“The part that doesn’t try to hide that you care.”

That’s the moment Yoonoh backs away, because he shouldn’t care. It’s easier to go through life without caring about the people around you. The small stool falls behind him just as he stands up, clearing his throat after a harsh swallow.

“I have to go.”

Erika stands up as well, eyes widened. “Is it because she called you butt-face?”

Yoonoh chuckles, ruffling her hair with one hand. “No, I—I think I left my stove on at home.”

He hears the sound of her picking up her keys, nodding in the process. “I’ll walk you there. Don’t worry. Erika, stay here.”

The hallway that leads to her door is far too cramped for the two of them, his shoulders brushing with hers as they walk alongside each other. The part of you that doesn’t try to hide that you care; it’s not like he cares about her past the normalcy of two people who happen to be attracted towards each other buy deny it—

He turns around, his chest expanding with each breath that she takes, oxygens mingling when he looks down at her features, those lips that he would have kissed if granted the permission, but instead he asks:

“Is that why you hate me?”

She doesn’t listen, a deer caught in the headlights when she questions: “What?”

“Because you think I don’t care. Is that why you hate me?” He questions, only to have her shaking her head. His fingers hook a strand of her hair behind her ear, feeling the heat of her skin, much like that one time he had touched it.

“I don’t hate you.” She confesses, honest and yet surprising, before she breathes out in a shudder. “…Sometimes, it’s better to not wonder, Yoonoh. Not be curious about people like you. Not because you’re bad, but because you’re not right, either.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Stop looking at my lips, it distracts me.”

Yoonoh trails his eyes up before engulfing the words in his plush lips. “And what about you?” He questions. “If I’m all types of wrong, what are you?”

“All the different types of wrong that aren’t yours.” She says, just as his chest brushes with her own again, her stomach extending, back bending, body molding closer to his just because of electricity and gravity, she opens the door, releasing a breath that feels like a million pounds of weight. “Good night, Yoonoh, and thank you.”

He nods, and while he wants to return the words, he can’t.

###

Four Years Ago.

She never came back.

Sometimes, Yoonoh felt stupid for believing that there was someone in the other side of the computer. That said chatroom that had once started as complete curiousness had now turned into something else, tangible, present in his every day. He was young, his eyes wandered, his mind stopped thinking about the importance of his future and he thought that Dami was it. The woman of his dreams, the picture that he couldn’t take out of his head when he laid still at night and looked at his ceiling.

His friends made fun of him, because this is not the Jung Yoonoh that had gotten secret notes during Valentine’s Day in high school with love confessions and promises of marriage. This was a young man, seated in front of a computer, waiting for an answer. Waiting for the day she returned, after she said that she’d come back. It was only supposed to be a lunch break, but with no contact other than this chatroom, than what they had in social media, how was he supposed to get in touch with her?

JJH1997: Hey, did I do something wrong? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: Hello! How are you doing? Are you okay? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: I bought that one record you told me about. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: [Picture Attached]. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: Are you mad? (Thirteen hours ago.)

JJH1997: I’m sorry if I offended you. (One hour ago.)

The reply he got soon after, as he was studying for one of his finals, had him widening his eyes. She had not answered in weeks, this was the best news he could hear—

DAMISONG96: This is her husband. Who are you? (Just Now).

His hands shook, trying to find the words to say. Husband. All this time, he had been talking about a future with someone with a husband…

DAMISONG96: I’ve just read your messages. Stop talking to my wife, you fucking kid.

[This contact has blocked you].

The worst part was that he could never know if it was a catfish, if the person he talked about was real…or, actually, that he could never apologize, perhaps for ruining a marriage that he never knew of.

Love doesn’t come easy when you don’t know how to trust.

###

The reason why he became a lingerie designer instead of any other kind of designer is because of the subtlety. His friends think that it is because of the obvious love Yoonoh has for the human body, but as he sits on the front row of his own show, staring at the Silhouette designs his team had worked on, with harsh white lights matching the upbeat and bass-boosted songs that have models swinging their hips from side to side, he feels proud and more.

Jungwoo is the next one to come, and all signs of his beam is long forgotten as he struts down that runway. At first, he does it simply, how he’s taught, the buttons of his jacket are done, undoing them as he walks to showcase the crop top underneath, only pulling it down and turning around to throw the jacket aside and show the top and the chains, along with Silhouette’s name on the band of his boxers. It’s perhaps something not seen in the streets, but he can imagine celebrities falling in love with the design.

He’s concentrated on the faces of the people ahead of him, cheers resounding around the air as Jungwoo finishes off his catwalk. The invitees seem to be overjoyed, and just when a smile creeps up his features, fixing his stance in his tailored black suit, he feels a hand spreading on his thigh, a chuckle being breath out in his ear.

“You’ve done a great job, Yoonoh.” Siyeon speaks with certainty, and to anyone, they are just two friends congratulating each other. He does great work in feigning a smile when turning to her, but what he says is not so kind.

“Thank you. I’m known for that.”

“I know…if we don’t compare that to your organization problems and your endless witty mouth.” Siyeon starts clapping when another model comes around before a beam appears on her features.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“…And what about it?”

Siyeon’s long silver earrings move when she turns to him, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Well, you see, Yoonoh, the reason why I wanted you to craft a showstopper and to leave with a bang is because…” The acids in his stomach go up, nervousness creeping up on him, trying to keep the dimples there to no avail. “You’re no longer going to be part of our team. Out of all the designs you’ve done, this is your best, but you proved yourself right a little too late. Sorry.”

She’s not sorry, and he knows this. The smile that he has fought so hard to keep there is no longer of his interest as he stands up, pointing at her while scowling.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yoonoh, you’re making a scene.” She tries to chuckle through her words.

“I’ve been working for this fucking company for two years and I haven’t slacked once.”

“Says you,” Siyeon shrugs. “I’m in charge, Yoonoh, and I saw you’re slacking.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have heard that before.”

The air around him engulfs him in a way that almost makes him feel like he’s trapped. He’s out of the expensive hotel Siyeon had found in seconds, but yet, he feels like he has run a marathon. His eyes concentrate anywhere, hand coming up to his chest, his dream shattered when trying to give this company another chance—

The night whisks him in the face as he runs, not caring to grab a taxi, not minding that he feels like his life is falling down…because this is stupid. Life is so fucking ironic that he hates it. He trusts people? He ends up losing. He doesn’t trust them? They never believe him.

What’s the realest way to get a happy ending? He’ll never know.

###

Eight hours of sleep feel marvelous once she gets them back.

Not only has she gotten to return her calls, but it doesn’t smell like baby food in her apartment and she gets to take a break from Peppa Pig. Erika had been sad when letting go of her, pressing her face to her stomach in a hug before she was off to holding onto her mother for dear life. Her paycheck came around, life was good, and this night was excellent with the bag of savory chips she had just opened.

The crunch is the only thing that can be heard, mingling with the noise of the romantic movie she is watching, tears wielding her vision and yet, she pushes them away. Tragedies are the best form of romance—when both characters have gone through so much that finding happiness in each other feels a thousand times more personal. Perfect, even. It’s a nice chance for her romantic comedy binge from earlier.

The air is interrupted when she hears someone ringing her doorbell, and that brings a frown to her features. First, she’s not waiting for anybody. Secondly, she had been crying just now. Grabbing a napkin, she taps it against her ears and waltzes over to the door to see who is standing by the door through the peephole.

And if there was a sight that could capture her breath away just as much as it could make her be excited about something, it’s this.

Yoonoh stands outside her door, with the buttons of his shirt half-opened, a peak of his shirt showing, his jacket thrown haphazardly over one forearm, and if only this peephole let her see lower, she would relish on the strength of his thighs. Confusing or not, as well as a bit annoying, one can’t deny that Yoonoh is extremely handsome. Taken out of a magazine, even.

She opens the door softly, unaware of why he is there. Today, the runway for Silhouette should be happening and yet, he’s here, at 10:45 at night, with his hair made a mess and his eyes trailing on her.

“Yoonoh,” He doesn’t stop looking at her eyes, a frown in his features. “Hi…uh…may I help you with something?”

“You’re right.” He starts, entering her house just as she moves to the side. He must be in a rush. The door closes behind her. “I try not to care about things. I don’t take relationships seriously. I’m an asshole at most times. I’m fake and boring and quite clearly, all kinds of wrong.” Well, that is a statement. She knows there is some good for Yoonoh. He’s always one call away, he’s organized, he’s given. He’s strong and rampant and fiery, in that way that have people shuddering in their spots.

“So?”

“So, yes, I’m fucking tired of being that because it doesn’t work.” He stands in front of her now, in that same hallway that had trapped them weeks ago and had managed to make her even more confused. “I just lost my job and I don’t know what the hell I am going to do with my life. I was used and—fuck!”

Her heart weights down when he admits that. “Why would you lose your job? That outfit you designed for Jungwoo is amazing…”

“Because my new boss hates me, just like you do.”

“I said I didn’t hate you.”

“Then why?” Yoonoh questions. “Why did you run away that night? What about me is so repulsive that you can’t even look my way without frowning when all I have been thinking about since that moment I saw you in the restaurant, in nice light, after getting me some clothes, is that you’re the kindest and most humble woman I have ever met and I would do my fucking best to kiss away every fucking insecurity you have about me?”

Silence comes to be awkward around them. Or, well, filled with tension. But this silence is of understanding. Yoonoh’s eyes that night, that had scanned her with such intricacy, had thought about the same things that she did. And yet, she had let it slide—because it’s easier to fear than to try, to run away than to stay.

“Because…you’re difficult, Yoonoh.” She states. “And I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just know…I know I would like you.” That makes her ego blot down the slightest. “And then, when you realize that kissing me is not enough, that waking up to me is not enough, that I won’t give you whatever interesting shit you were doing when I found you outside that house, you’ll leave…and I’m not at an age or time in my life where I want to see you leave without an explanation. I don’t.”

He finally reconnects his gaze with her eyes. “The explanation here is simple,” He conquers. “You’re beautiful. Each part of you I get to see and each part I don’t. Every bit of my imagination can only think about you, so much that everything I design is everything my mind gushes about and can only perceive on you. It’s stupid enough that…” He chuckles at his own antics, leaning his head back on the wall. “That I think about what color fits you best and I am certain it’s not the navy blue you like to use. It’s yellow, because you’re so bright it practically burns my fucking eyes. You’re so smart and given and you don’t even let me tell you that, because you’re always…pushing me away.”

“Yoonoh—” Her heart flutters at his words, but he doesn’t stop talking.

“And you’re your own kind of goddess and it drives me insane, because I was the type of dumbass that didn’t like the chase, but each and every time I hear you speak, I just want to tease you more and…” He stops for a second, finally fixing his position to look at her. “I just wanted you to know, because if I’ll never get a chance, at least I want to say I—”

Silences are what made them. It’s what she likes the most about him, when he’s silent and concentrated, when all his might goes to one thing and one thing only. She doesn’t know what overtakes her at that moment, when her lips clash against his in a dance that it’s much too passionate. She can’t keep up with whatever she wants to do, her hands hooked around his waist to mold him against the wall, his abdomen carved against hers when a groan traps itself on the back of his throat and he grabs the back of her head, taking more of her in, granting himself entrance, rubbing his lips in a tempting touch before he’s diving in for air…and she’s his oxygen.

Yoonoh’s hold is not strong, overly passionate, tumbling. In his own way, Yoonoh is delicate. It’s just when she kisses him that she realizes there is a beautiful thing to Jung Yoonoh. The delicacy he portrays in lingerie, that translate into his utter fears. The pristine glass he is when she caresses his neck with a touch of her mouth and he shudders while grasping the back of her shirt, asking to see her—to be seen.

When heartbreak happens, there is always a dot. That one finalization of a chapter in your heart that aches insufferably. Her dots connected to him, in one way or another, in the moles in his face or the way he begs to connect to her lips again when she pulls away. He’s gravity when she asks to be taken to her room in one simplistic glance and he’s smiling by the time he puts her down on the sheets.

Over all, Yoonoh is a lover of beauty, and maybe, for once in her life, she feels like art, just when he throws her shirt over her head, staring down at small portions of her body being shown before showing that dimple that she had trained herself to hate.

But who is she kidding? She didn’t hate it at all.

“…You were forbidding me of this.” He points at her body, earning laughter from her, ears heated up under his gaze. “And for that, I’ll never forgive you.”

That night, it’s not a promise of love—it’s lust mixed with something else, that fluttering feeling of having a crush, maybe, or the start of something…how he calls it…beautiful.

###

Normally, Yoonoh doesn’t text. He hooks up with someone, leaves it in the air, then moves on to working. Awakening in his lover’s bed, having breakfast with her, arguing in that way that only they know how to do—playfully, of course—and then having to see him himself off just so she can go to work, however, is completely different.

Just as he lays on his bed midway through the day, he looks at her contact. Missing her would be a statement, and it would be absolutely correct. His gut twists, not knowing exactly what to say—new and yet old in this dating thing.

Uh, can he call it that? They haven’t even gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: We haven’t gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: Do you want to?

She must be near the phone, because she replies quickly.

Beautiful: If I slept with you, I obviously want to go on a date with you.

Beautiful: Duh.

There is the bite that he likes, enough to bring a smile to his face before he’s biting down on his lip.

Yoonoh: You didn’t sleep with me when I was employed, wearing suits, confident and flirty. Your standards? Very low.

Beautiful: You’re complaining? Because I could not do it again.

Yoonoh: Who said I was complaining? I was trying the whole time and just when I’m a huge loser, I get the girl.

His life seems to be twisted in circles, cycles that he don’t know how to stop, but a text from her gives him hope that he’ll figure it out.

Beautiful: You’re not a loser. I don’t date losers.

Beautiful: Dinner tonight? I brought a sandwich, but that’s bland.

Yoonoh: It’s a date.

A few seconds pass by before he’s typing again.

Yoonoh: Wait, how do you have me saved in your phone?

A screenshot comes soon after, and he doubles over in laughter when he sees ‘Sugarplum (DNI)’.

###

She has forgotten how to say it, and it’s not like it’s another language, but nervousness clads her every pore just as she sits down by a table at Erika’s seventh birthday party.

Five months into this dating thing, and she doesn’t understand most of it. What she knows is that it feels great. Waking up next to Yoonoh—her place or his—, being kissed on the cheeks, on her forehead, only to be ravished by one of those kisses that he only knows how to give. To watch him grow away from his fears and create his own lingerie line, obviously with the support of his model friends that were eager to take pictures with his pieces and make do with what they have.

It’s difficult, but just as Yoonoh lowers Erika after hoisting her up in the air, always charming with her and with anyone, she doesn’t know how to say it. You know, those three words that have captured her ever since Yoonoh smiled at all her baby pictures, or when he spends some extra time in the kitchen making her favorite meal just because he feels like pampering her.

Three words that she has said before, even jokingly, and yet, she’s petrified.

The trees are tall in the backyard of Sachiko’s home, yellows and reds contrasting the feeling in her heart. It’s pure pink, just like the glow on Yoonoh’s cheeks or that set he had once sewed himself just for her, the one that he never gets enough of and still groans at. Childish music and cake should be enough to calm her down, but just as Yoonoh plops himself alongside her, resting his head on his forearm on the picnic table she’s by, all words she had practiced are lost.

How does he have that effect after five months?

“Erika loved the gift.” Even their gifts had been united. From Uncle Prince and Aunt Princess, they had written on the note. A doll that she had been screaming about months ago when they had visited her.

That word, even he is saying it. If Jung Yoonoh is capable of spitting it out, why couldn’t she—?

“You look like you’re sick.”

That makes her sigh. “Thanks. I don’t see you complaining.”

Yoonoh’s smile grows wider at that, rolling a piece of her hair in between his index finger. “I like the sick look.” He replies. “Something about the sight of a girl who wants to throw up on me. So sexy I could take you to a bathroom right now and just—”

“Yoonoh!”

“There it is, not so sick anymore. Now you’re angry.” He has his ways, she has to admit, and even when finds herself laughing when he changes that glimmer of his eyes that always gets him what he wants. “What’s with you?”

She opens her mouth, placing a piece of cake inside of it—just a little bit too big—when she says: “I love you.”

Or whatever can be understood in between a mouthful of cake.

Yoonoh quirks a perfectly styled brow. “You what?”

“I love you.” She utters out, swallowing soon after before giving him a smile. “Okay, alright, I’m done here—”

His hands gravitate to her hips before she could stand up, sitting her down on his thigh and bringing her face to his by her chin before asking, much too close and too softly for her to ever resist him. “You what?” He repeats, much more delicately, and finally, she finds the reason to stop being nervous.

Those brown eyes look from her eyes to her lips, never getting enough of her, never knowing how to battle the thoughts that show on his features. That kind of adoration she has never gotten before, and that is worth trying for.

She hides her face in his neck, breathing in his scent before spitting out: “I love you.”

It brushes against his skin, tickles him in a way that has him tightening his hold before he replies: “Sounds so good when someone means it.” And that confession is only meant for her to be understood, before he’s pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, too.”

#jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst #jaehyun au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct au

616 notes · View notes

finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

Can you do one where Harry take his children and YN to one of his concert and their just dancing around singing along on stage with Harry.

i love this concept so much!! i kinda of wanna make it sad though soooo it’s gonna be harry’s final show :/ hope you enjoy;

oli - 29, felix - 27, belle - 24

The concert had been amazing, but unfortunately it was coming to its’ end now.

The final show.

That’s what Harry had decided to call it; a clever play on words with reference to his first ever solo single. The last 50 years had been a rollercoaster for Harry, from growing up just a kid in Cheshire, to going on the X Factor and winning the hearts of millions and from being in the most successful band of the decade to going solo and still being absolutely beloved. Times had changed, though. Harry had changed. He had a beautiful family of 3 now, excluding his wonderful wife. His children were his universe, no question about it, but they were getting older now - Harry was getting older. He was 50 this year and with that in mind he’d decided to retire. Retiring had involved a long conversation with you, along with a bottle of red wine, about whether it was the right decision or not. But it was - is.

You had suggested he put on one final, massive show, to celebrate his life and his achievements along with all that the fans have too. Tickets were open internationally and it was being streamed on various TV outlets for those who couldn’t attend. The tickets sold within 47 seconds. 47 seconds. It was being held in the Olympic Stadium in London, because it was Harry’s home and it held the most number of people he could genuinely allow.

The concert had started with ‘Fine Line’ songs, which merged into HS1 songs with a few One Direction songs as well. The entire set list had been composed by the fans with various polls on social media, with the concert supposedly lasting 2 hours (although with support artists and a few extra surprises it was more likely going to be 3!)

It had been beautiful so far. Magical. Unforgettable.

Every chance he got, without making it grossly obvious, he looked at you. He'd told you to stick your thumbs up at him every time he caught your eye, so he knew that you were okay - and every time, you did.

The concert was coming to an end now, which everyone was dreading. How could +30 years feel like it'd only been thirty minutes? You were devastated, so you could only imagine what his fans were thinking.

"Hey!"

The end Kiwi, for the second time, strummed throughout the arena and you knew it was time for the final song. His final song.

"Mum, is this the end?" Belle asked you, from where she was standing next to you. You had been dancing together all night and gotten progressively more tired. Your feet hurt. Your throats burned. Yet, as always, it was so worth it.

"Yes, Belles, it is." You tell her, and she pouted sadly. "Dad won't want to see you sad love, okay? He can still sing to you before bed?" You teased her, reminding her of a time when Harry would do such a thing, not wanting her to be all sad. It was supposed to be a celebration, but even you could admit that is was pretty hard-hitting.

"Really mum?" She asked.

You booped her nose annoyingly, before answering. "Every night if you want him to."

The lights changed from their green tone, thanks to Kiwi, back to a bright, white light. It beamed on Harry, making him look even more like the angel that he is. He dragged his microphone back to the centre stage and took a deep breath for beginning a speech he'd told you he'd prepared.

"So this is it, my friends." He laughed sadly into the microphone. He brushed his hair back and took out his in-ears to hear the audience. They were all awwing and crying, but what else did you expect? Their favourite artist was retiring - who wouldn't be crying a river?

"I, um. I'd like to take a bit of time to thank certain people." He coughed, something he always did after performing Kiwi due to his asthma. You thought it was lovely that he'd planned a speech to thank his management and crew. They did so much work backstage and you definitely didn't think they got enough credit for their hard work.

"Okay. I've made a little list..." Harry pulled out a tiny bit of crumpled paper from his pocket. "Just in case I forget anyone." He joked to himself, but made everyone laugh anyways. "So I guess first off, I should start with you lovely people." He pointed around the whole stadium, showing he was talking about the fans. "What you have done for me is indescribable. I think to myself, everyday, am I worthy of even being here—"

"Yes!" An army of agreement echoed around the arena, making Harry stop, blush and smile to himself.

"Well thank you! Um. You have been the best fans ever, and I know you will continue to be. I know you don't owe me anything, but all I ask you to keep loving yourselves and treating people with kindness, because I know I can count on you lot to do that, for me." He sniffled at the end, making you bite your lip to prevent the tears from falling for you. He looked so vulnerable right now, but you knew he'd be feeling on top of the world.

"Jheez." He sniffles again. "That's one thank you down and i'm already crying." He looked to his band to share the joke with.

“Dad’s such a wuss.” Oli laughed, holding his arm around Beas waist, making the people around you chuckle in agreement.

“Shut up you - Mr-tears-in-your-eyes!” You pointed out, laughing as he flipped you the bird - which then got him a hit off his grandma Anne.

All of Harrys family and friends were here, in a special cornered off section. It was such a thoughtful thing for Harry to do. All his family, and a fair few of yours, were sat down along with Harrys closest friends. Everyone was sharing laughs and drinks, whilst using every inch of space to dance along to your husbands boastful music.

"Secondly, my touring family. From Jeff and Ben, to Sarah's Kitchen, Adam, Mitch, Sarah, Charlotte and Nyoh, not forgetting everyone backstage and behind the lights, music and cameras. You've all been the greatest. Everything you do is second to none. You're all talented, warm-hearted, people whom I will carry in my heart forever. Thank you." You noticed members of the crew and band starting to tear up now.

"Moving on to my boys. We've been through it all, lads, and I couldn't have asked for four better brothers than you all. Louis. Liam. Niall. Zayn. Thank you." Everyone cheered ten times louder, maybe because this was as close to a One Direction reunion as the fans were ever going to get, but definitely because Harry had mentioned Zayn. You saw a girl faint at the mere mention of all the boys in the same sentence. The boys lifted up their beers to Harry, stood close by to where you were standing.

"I guess I should say thank you to the women who made all this possible. Mum. Gem. Thank you for signing me up all those years ago. Thank you for believing in me. You've made me the - crap, sorry! - the man I am now and I love you both." Harry prayed to them both, whilst bowing, and swiftly wiped away the tears afterwards. Anne and Gemma, on the other hand, were proudly crying.

"Ol, Fix and Belles. You rascals make me get out of bed every morning and give me more of a purpose in life. You four give me so much joy and happiness. I love you all, even if you do drive me up the wall on an early Saturday morning! Thank you, my loves." You stood close to all your children, giving them the support they needed in this moment. Belle was crying against your chest, the ever-so-emotional woman she was. Felix was stood up, with Heather, with his drink raised to his dad. Oli was to your side, trying to remain cool and stoic, but you still caught the tears that ran down his face.

"Now." The audience calmed down again after awing over your babies. Harry cleared his throat before beginning again. "This evening keeps on reminding me of a very special person in my life. Someone who is my everything and that's my beautiful wife, Y/N." His words make your breath hitch in your throat. You never expected him to say anything about you. I mean, what had you done?

"Mum." Belle called out to you, in affirmation that this was real.

"She's more than just a wife. She's a lover. She's my muse. She's my best-fucking-friend, apologises for swearing but sue me. I was hesitant to let go of all this, at first. What would I do with myself now? You know? People tell me i'm 'happiest on stage', and for a time that was true. Until I met Y/N. She's made me realise that family makes me the happiest. She makes me the happiest." He jumped down off stage, taking the microphone with him. He ran his hands along the fans in the front row, but had no intention of stopping until he met you.

You felt Belle leaving your side, but you were too captivated by Harry to fully understand what was happening.

"So what am I going to do now, you ask? Well..." Harry cheekily smiled at you. "I'm going to make her the happiest woman alive, just as she makes me the happiest man." You began to cry again and the chorus of thousands of fans clapping and screaming surrounds you, only to all stop when his lips meet yours. He tasted like a combination of salty sweat and mint, but he was home. After a minute of crying, kissing and 'i love yous' , Harry ran back to the stage before Jeff could shoot him.

"Thank you all. All my love." He said whilst adjusting his microphone. "Please sing along if you know the words." He asked, full well knowing every single person will be screaming out the lyrics to him.

"Just stop you're crying it's the sign of the times. Welcome to the final show. Hope you're wearing your best clothes."

288 notes · View notes

memeadonna · 3 years

Text

Anything for You, Baby

Hello everyone! This is a short little thirst story I wrote for @sendhelpimstupid featuring Sugar Baby Kirishima. The stunning art can be found here. Please visit her page and show her some love!

This story is 18+. Minors DNI

Warnings: Sugar Baby/Sugar Mommy Relationship, Premature Ejaculation, Cross-Dressing, Sub Kirishima, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Mild Choking, Scratching and Biting Mentioned, Vaginal Intercourse, I wrote this in like 3 hours sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes

Word Count: 2,562

Of all the things you were thankful for in life, people were always surprised when you mentioned Kirishima's expensive taste. Your entire relationship had started because he hadn't noticed how much money he'd been spending until one day he was overdrawn. He hadn't added up the totals of his expenses in his head, hadn't realized every time he swiped his card that money left his account. He liked the finer things in life, and how was he supposed to know that his bank account was meant to last him all of his first semester? His parents had told him "figure it out", so he couldn't even ask them for help.

Being at a hero school was tough already – he could barely even enjoy the city nightlife since he was stuck at the dorms between classes doing homework. He didn't even have enough time to get a job outside of school hours. Maybe he wasn't cut out for university, let alone at a prestigious hero school.

You had noticed Kirishima's state of panic, and when he confessed to everyone in the dorm that he was out of money, people (Bakugou and his other friends) had made fun of him. Uraraka and Iida had stepped in immediately, chastising them for mocking him. He tried to play it off as no big deal, that he'd figure it out, and the conversation shifted elsewhere.

You'd been born into a wealthy family like Iida and Momo, and on top of that you'd had your own job throughout high school, so you'd saved up lots of money already. "I could hire you," you told him after everyone had left for the night. "Pay you to do things for me."

"I don't need your charity," he'd snapped back. "Did Bakugou put you up to this?"

"I just thought I'd offer to help you since we're friends," you answered calmly, before getting up and heading to your dorm. That night you'd sat up late regretting ever asking him if he needed help.

Early the next morning he was at your door. "What kind of things?" was the first thing he asked, as you rubbed your eyes and blinked up at him blearily. You made him repeat himself twice because the words didn't stick in your brain this early.

"Clean my room, do my laundry," you'd finally told him, offering what you hoped was a kind smile. "Other things when I want them." The blush he gave you at those words more than made up for his harshness last night.

You'd started slowly, of course. You gave him rewards for handing in assignments on time, taken him out to dinner when he got good grades, and little treats for random things. "Do I always need a reason, baby?" you'd asked him one night as he examined the concert tickets, you'd just given him. You'd been delighted to accept the ticket he gave back to you and had secretly smiled to yourself as Denki had whined and complained that Kirishima had promised to take him! But that was back when Kirishima was spending his money on everything. Now he was just spending it on himself.

One day, half-joking, you'd gifted him a French Maid outfit to clean your room in. It was just a little too tight for him (he couldn't even do the zipper up!), but it was the creamy white stockings and cute little heels you were interested in. He tried his hardest to clean your room, but after the third time he rolled his ankle, he ended up with you in his lap, and let's just say that your relationship changed from there.

You'd pushed him back into your bed and felt him up beneath the skirts and ruffles. You left a smattering of dark hickies over his neck and collarbones, moving down his body with clear intent. He was beet red, sitting up and panting as he watched you with wide eyes. Your hands slipped below his skirts and trailed up his legs, and you watched him squirm. "Aw," you teased, revelling in your victory. "What's wrong, does the baby like getting dressed up all cute and ravaged?"

He stammered with a reply for a moment, but you dipped under his skirt and the breathy gasp he let out as you began to kiss up his thighs was more than worth it. A part of you wanted to pull back out and apply lipstick so you could leave more evidence of your kisses, but there was no way in hell you were going to back down now. You settled for more hickies and a few bites, and by the time you reached your prize, he was hard and throbbing.

You were the only person with a dorm on your floor (luck of the draw), so you didn't dare tell him he should quiet down his moaning, especially not as you slid the lacy panties reverently down his thighs.

It was clearly his first time, and he was squirming in your grip as you gave him a teasing lick. A part of you wanted to pull back and tease him some more, but this was too good to pass up. He threw an arm over his eyes and slipped his other hand into your hair. He arched his back as you raked your nails down his thighs, and let out the sweetest noise you'd ever heard, blowing his load directly in your face before you could even get him into your mouth. After you'd finished laughing and wiped his spunk off of your face, you'd given him the sweetest kiss on the cheek. He'd gone beet red as you laughed, and hadn't said no when you promised him a shopping spree because he was just so good for you.

The sales lady at the lingered store had been surprisingly accommodating when you'd asked her if they carried up to a 3X.

He'd been your sugar baby for all of first year, even after he got his own allowance from his parents. He'd been your boyfriend the rest of your university career (of course, you still liked to treat your spoiled baby), and a few years out of school he'd asked you to marry him, with that same sweet expression he always had when he told you he loved you.

The world saw Red Riot as a strong, manly hero that took shit from nobody. They also saw him as hopelessly in love with you (or with Dynamight, depending on which magazine you read). He was a real Man's Man, always on the covers of fitness magazines or advertising sports drinks and protein powders. He advocated for always being chivalrous and brave, but that Manly Men also took the time to be vulnerable and compassionate.

One thing that hadn't changed since your days in university was the fact that your Eijirou loved to be spoiled. Shopping sprees, private chefs, weekends away… his eyes always lit up no matter what you surprised him with. You were both similarly ranked in the charts, and both made a lot of money, but he secretly adored the fact that you had a bank account you filled up every month just for him. He'd buy whatever he wanted with it, whether it was designer clothes or handbags (for either of you), or any number of things (he particularly liked buying new gym equipment that the two of you most certainly didn't need).

Today had been a hard day. You'd been overusing your quirk and your muscles were sore, not to mention you'd been working with one Lord Explosion Murder God which meant that you'd been ordered around all day.

When you got home, a note from your husband was laying on the counter. Eijirou would be home a little late, and you could order whatever for dinner. Grumbling to yourself, you refused to take yet another order from yet another person and reheated leftovers in the fridge. Take that, loving husband!

You ate standing at the counter in your uniform, and after you'd put the dishes away you marched up to your bedroom, already peeling your costume off. You left it on the bathroom floor as you hopped into the shower, and just let the hot water scald your aching muscles. You used Eijirou's body wash because you missed his smell, and changed into your pyjamas while you combed your hair.

You crawled under the covers and scrolled on your phone for a while, wishing your husband would just hurry up and come home already. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms, hear him tell you all about how he would protect you from the bad things in the world.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs woke you from a restless sleep, and you sat up in bed. How long were you asleep? Was that your Eiji?

The door opened, and what greeted you took your breath away. Your husband stood in the doorway with a sheer robe, trimmed with red faux fur. It was tied with a ribbon around his waist and accentuated his hips beautifully. He was wearing red lacy thigh highs and nothing else beneath the robe. He completed the look with a set of Louis Vuitton stilettos, which you noticed in passing due to the stunning everything else the Adonis before you was showing off.��

"Hey," he purred. "Heard you had a rough day." He smirked at you as your eyes trailed up and down his body. "Can I make it better?" he took a few steps into the room, undoing the ribbon around his waist teasingly slowly. He opened the robe, letting it fall off his shoulders and rest at his elbows. He had filled out a lot since university, and he was a healthy 7'6 and twice as wide as you. He could lift you with one arm and toss you like a football if he wanted, but as he dropped his robe to the floor and elegantly clicked his way across the room towards you, he had no intention of tossing you around tonight. That thought made sparks dance around your core, and you felt your panties starting to soak.

You sat up on your knees for a better look at him. He ran his hands over his body, shamelessly showing off for you. His dick stood proud and tall and was already leaking for you. You smiled at him as you slipped into your role. "Did you buy that to look pretty for me?" you asked ever so sweetly. "Sounds like you want a reward."

He walked right up to the side of the bed with a breathy "Yes,". You leaned up for a kiss and enjoyed the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he took his time with you.

His hands gently explored your curves, squeezing the plush of your thighs and the soft skin beneath your breasts, and as you pulled back to lick your lips at him, "Anything for you, Baby," felt like the most natural thing to say.

He crawled into bed, careful not to kick you with his knife-shoes, and placed his wrists at the headboard. You attached the restraints with all the care in the world, and ran your hands over your baby's chest, admiring all of the scars that years of hero work had marked him with. "You're beautiful," you told him, leaning down for another kiss.

You painted his chest with kisses and hickies, not caring if they'd be visible the next day. Let people stare. Let people know who your man belonged to.

"I love these too," you ran your hand over his new stockings. "You know lace is my favourite."

"Always the best for mommy," he purred back, pleased with himself as you explored his body. It had become familiar to you; you knew everywhere he was sensitive. You knew how to get him going, how to slow him down, and how to drive him wild. You shrugged off your own pyjamas and he let out a noise of approval, eyes taking in your curves. "You're stunning." He offered, looking absolutely awestruck. If his hands were free, they'd be all over you, but now was not his turn for control.

You slid off your panties and tossed them off the bed, eyeing his body up with increasing lust, before suddenly straddling him and sinking down onto him with a small noise of discomfort. He let out a sharp noise of concern and pleasure, gasping. "You've gotta prep yourself!" He hissed, half-drunk on the tight squeeze.

"Shut up," you answered, and picked up a brutal pace. He let out a strangled noise and arched up into your touch, gasping and whining and looking up at you with eyes clouded by lust as he gave harsh thrusts up into your welcoming body. His hands hardened and unhardened within their restraints, along with a line along his forehead. You wrapped your hands around his throat, and he tilted his head back to bare it to you. His moans crescendoed as you began to put pressure on him, canting your hips faster and faster.

He was drunk off the lust singing in his veins and bent one of his knees to give you better leverage. You freed one of his hands from its restraint and it immediately flew to your hip to help you ride. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and his breath came in desperate gasps. "Gonna cum!" he whined, blinking desperately up at you. "Please mommy! Please let me fucking cum I want to cum so bad!" he babbled, blinking his pretty crimson eyes up at you.

You gently caressed his face and smiled down at him. You leaned in closer, giving him a deep kiss. "So do it," you growled. "Knock me up."

His hips faltered and the absolute roar he let out at your challenge sent a pleased shiver through you. He ripped the other restraint right off of the bedframe (along with a chunk of the frame itself) and flipped you onto your back, all without pulling out of you. He kissed you ravenously, his hands squeezing every inch of you. He grabbed one of your tits in one hand as he reached his other down to play with your clit. He threw you over the edge, and as you came around him, his thrusts changed. They were sharp and purposeful as he poured everything he had into your body.

"Mine," he growled out, sinking his fangs into the tender meat of your shoulder. He didn't dare move as the two of you came down from your highs but rolled the two of you back over so he didn't crush you. You laughed a little and cuddled into his chest, enjoying the warmth of a womb full of his cum and the delicious stretch of him inside of you, not to mention the feeling of utter safety that having his arms around you brought. "I love you." He purred, giving your forehead a kiss.

"I love you too," you answered back, smiling up at him with tenderness.

"Did you really mean it?" he traced his hands over your back, massaging your tender shoulders. "You want to start a family?"

"Mhm," you nodded tiredly, before looking back up at him once again, echoing your earlier promise: "Anything for you, Baby."

Taglist: @malicealieness (If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me an ask requesting it)

#Kirishima Eijirou #sub kirishima #kirishima x you #kirishima ejiro x reader #Kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #Bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha eijiro x reader #sendhelpimstupid #Memeadonna

280 notes · View notes

infernwetrust · 3 years

Text

The Devil In Me [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader] Part 1

Plot: What if we took the Antichrist, Michael Langdon and turned him into founder and leader of one of the largest cartel’s in California? And what’s even better, is that you’re by his side through it all.

Summary: Michael has some business handled at his California home.

Warnings: violence, swearing, fluff, a lil smut, MURDER, some graphic descriptions

WC: 3.1k

A/N: I thought long and hard about starting this, but I’m gonna go ahead and give it a shot. Outpost Michael fits this perfectly of course, but he’ll cut his hair every now and then lol. This will have it’s own bracket on my master list. Thank you for reading! -Juno

The air was cool. The evening was just right. Your husband Michael had decided to throw a small party that consisted of only close friends, family members, and some staff from your residency and Michael's line of work. Party music played moderately in the background as the backyard of the Santa Monica Villa you and Michael purchased this same year was filled with laughter, dancing, and casual conversation. Servers carried around platters of the most delectable finger foods. Drinks were also being served. Cars were lined up in the driveway, late arrivals having to park on the side of the road. Luckily, Michael always sent one of his guards on a golf cart to pick up his guests that had to park far away.

Michael laid in his hammock, across his rather large pool so that he was away from everyone else. Michael dressed comfortably. He wore a beautiful salmon pink floral shirt and white slacks, with a white belt. No need for shoes. Around Michael's neck was a platinum rope chain that glistened when the light shined on it just right. Around his wrist was a platinum iced out Rolex watch, his name engraved on the inside, one of his favorite gifts from you. The only ring he decided that he wanted to wear today was his wedding band, which shocked you. Michael always wore all of his rings.

Curled up against Michael's chest yours and his beautiful 1 year old boy, Malcolm. He was blessed with a full head of hair, just as blonde as his father's. He took after your eye color, but his resemblance to his father was unmatched. No worries because in his twin brother's arm was your handsome 3 year old son, Michael,who captured most of your features. All really, but your eye color. Michael won that fight again. Junior, is what everyone calls him. On the opposite side of Michael, still in his hammock was you, dressed in that sundress Michael loved to show you off in. Your wedding ring glistened on your finger, no matter what time of day it was or where you were. Michael made sure of that. Around your neck, your favorite Pearl necklace.

You lay head your head on Michael's chest, rubbing your hand gently against the back of your one year old. Michael raises his arm slowly as to not alert the sleeping child and takes a sip of his whiskey. He's glaring at someone, hard. And you know why and who, but you rather choose to not address it. All you were waiting for were the words.

"You know, brother." Jim said to Michael, using his free hand that wasn't holding Junior, to also take a sip of his drink. "I don't see how you do it."

"And what is it that I do, Jim?" Michael questioned, turning his head slightly to meet his brothers gaze. Junior nestled his head back into Jim's chest, mouth full of goldfish out of the bowl he was holding. Jim sat in a chair, adjacent to Michael's hammock.

"How you stay so calm and collected about things."

"Dirty work is not something I'm a fan of."

"But I am."

"I know, so that's why I gave this task to you."

"You know I'll do anything for my family."

"I just don't see why we can't just kick them out." you mumbled, watching as Malcolm grabbed your finger in his sleep as you tried to put your hand back down from his back.

"Because in this life, lessons have to be taught." Michael answered you, putting his glass down to wrap his arm fully around you. Michael made eye contact with his other twin, Duncan, who sat amongst a group of women, one of them in his lap, stroking his hair. He nodded, giving Michael the cue. "Will you go ahead and take the kids inside?" You sighed, sitting up, looking Michael in his soft blue eyes.

"Baby, you don't have to-,"

"One day you'll understand, Y/N." Michael said, cutting you off, grabbing one of your hands and giving it a few small kisses. Getting up, you gently picked up Malcolm, holding him close to you.

"Come on, Junior."

"Nooooooo." Junior whined, not wanting to leave his Uncle's side. "Don't wanna."

"Hey." Jim said, playfully grabbing Junior's tummy, causing him to giggle. "What was that phrase I taught you?"

"The first time." Junior responded happily.

"The first time what?"

"Listen!" he clapped, letting go of his bowl which Jim quickly caught before it fell to the floor.

"Smart boy. Now go with inside with your mommy. We'll play later, yeah?" Junior quickly nodded, scurrying off of Jim's lap and to your side, grabbing your hand. He turned around momentarily to look back at Jim, who shot him a quick wink before you took both boys inside. You also managed to scurry up the other children as well, promising treats and a good show on TV. You had them at treats.

"He loves you so damn much." Michael said, sitting up, hanging his feet of his hammock to come face to face with his brother. "Sometimes I swear he thinks you're his father."

"I mean. I could be. We're twins."

"Watch it, playboy."

Jim chuckled, reaching for his drink to take another sip. He dressed in a dark blue polo shirt, black slacks, and a pair of dark blue dress shoes. A black Louis Vuitton belt, midnight silver buckle, lined his waist. He sighed, reaching for his pistol that was tucked neatly behind him is waistband. He quickly removed the clip, checking it, and popping it back in before setting it down on the table next to Michael.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Jim questioned. "He's been with us for a few years, Mike."

"All the more reason to get rid of him. I've taken care of you for years and you betray me like that?" Michael answered. "He knows too much and has seen too much."

"That's true." Jim mumbled, rubbing his hand underneath his chin. "What are they doing with his body?"

"Burning it." Michael said quickly, squinting his eyes at Jim. "Like we do 90% of the time. Do you not want to, Jim?" Michael's question caused Jim to laugh as he got up, returning his shirt back into his slacks. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the table, taking one out, placing it between his lips and giving it a light, tossing the box back on the table. He inhaled sharply, before exhaling lengthy.

"You and I both know, Michael." Jim began as he took another hit of his cigarette. "That I shy away from nothing. Especially not an, how do I put this, opportunity." Jim tucked his gun back into his waistband.

"And speaking of opportunity." Jim continued, looking out into the body of people before hitting his cigarette one last time and then handing it to Michael. "Here's mine."

Jim made his way, at a decent pace, back to the other side of the pool, where all the party goers stood. He took his time, waving and smiling at familiar faces. Spotting his target, he moved with just a little bit more urgency. It's such a shame that Bryce had to go. Michael watched Jim as he moved, continuing to sip his drink. Part of him wanted to look away because this hurt him as much as it was going to kill Bryce. Bryce was one of his favorites.

He remembered when he stumbled across Bryce who limped out of an alleyway, screaming for help as Michael closed up his bar. When Michael laid eyes on him, his clothes were completely ruined by blood. He held onto his stomach, collapsing onto the sidewalk, coughing up more blood as he spoke. Michael made his way over to the boy, kneeling down by his side, removing his hand from his wound, watching as the he poured out.

"How bad do you want to live?" Michael asked, cocking his head at the boy.

"What the fuck is up with you man?!" he questioned. "Help me!"

"I asked you a question." Michael spoke again. "You want to live right? I could just let you die, here."

"Um, kinda, yeah!"

"Then tell me how bad you want to live."

"Bad man! Bad! I want to fucking live bad! Please don't let me die!" Michael grinned. How fragile life was, he thought. How it could just be taken from you at any moment. Moments like these.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Br-Br-Bryce." he responded before blacking out from the pain.

"We're going to get you alllllll fixed up, Bryce."

Michael took Bryce, not to a hospital, but instead back to his property, where his own private doctor could deal with Bryce. They managed to take care of what they discovered was a gunshot wound instead of a stab wound like Michael originally thought when he found Bryce.

"How's he doing?" Michael asked Dr. Joseph as he stepped into the rather large, renovated, shed he had given to his doctor for his medical practices. He even was nice enough to give him a little office space as well.

"Well. He's very lucky considering how much he was bleeding." he answered. "Those two bullets I removed barely missed his vital organs, but he'll make a full recovery."

"Which room do you have him in? Is he awake now?"

"Room 3. It has the most room. The last time I checked on him, yes."

Michael nodded at his words, making his way over to the room. He entered quietly, not wanting to startle, Bryce. Bryce sat up in the bed, sipping on an ice cold water, scrolling through the movies on the flatscreen TV Michael had gotten installed in every room. Jim's idea, of course. There was an awkward silence in the room as Bryce didn't know whether to thank him first or say fuck him for waiting until he passed out and asking him all those stupid questions.

Michael didn't say anything as he walked around to the side of Bryce's bed, pulling up a near by chair to sit closer to him. Michael leaned back in his chair, throwing a leg halfway over his knee as he clasped his hands together. Bryce never took his eyes off of him, not sure what his next move would be.

"You're welcome by the way." Michael said. "Isn't it nice having someone take care of you without all the pesky need for insurance information or just a bill in general?"

"Why are you doing this?" Bryce questioned.

"Answer me this, Bryce." Michael leaned forward in his seat. "What if I offered you a chance to start over? A new chance at life. Somewhere, where you could be safe, your meals paid for. And all you have to do is stay by my side, loyal to me."

"I'm not gay, man."

"Who said anything about being gay?" Michael questioned, raising his eyebrow. "And what if I was?"

"Listen." Bryce breathed out. "I didn't mean to offend you. Look. Thank you. For bringing me, to, well wherever we are, and helping me. And once I'm all healed up, I'll be all out of your hair."

"Do you have any family, Bryce?" Bryce's whole attitude changed. He looked softer.

"No..." he answered silently.

"Well you do now."

Jim was just a few feet away from Bryce now when the two made eye contact. And when Jim reached, rather quickly, behind his back, Bryce knew. Of course he knew what he had done. Bryce turned around to start running, when Jim quickly cocked his gun and fired two shots, both at the back of his legs. Everyone stopped what they were doing, in shock, but not enough shock to runaway. It was Jim and who dares question one of Michael's brothers. Everyone watched as Bryce fell to the floor, screaming bloody murder in pain. Jim continued to walk at his leisurely pace to him, standing in front of him.

"Now." Jim said aloud, over the groans and screams of Bryce. "I know you all looked at Bryce as family, right? 4 years ago my brother found this piece of scum bleeding to death, begging for help. And of course Michael helped him."

"I'm sorry!" Bryce yelled, hands reaching out to grab Jim's ankle and it took everything in him not to kill Bryce right then and there, but he wanted to get his point across.

"And with the help of our wonderful Dr. Joseph, he was taken care of, free of charge, can you believe that?" Jim continued. "And all we asked for in return was just his unwavering loyalty." Jim snatched his ankle away from Bryce's hand, stepping on it, instead, causing him to scream out again as his fingers were crushed.

"But when you lie to AND you steal from the hand that feeds you." Jim looked around at everyone as he said this. "There are consequences." Jim kneeled down in front of Bryce who looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears, pleading with Jim.

"Please..." Bryce whispered to Jim, grabbing ahold of him again. "Please Jim, I'm sorry. I was desperate."

Jim grabbed him by his face, snapping his head up to look all the way at him. He looked at the gun in his opposite hand, before looking back at Bryce. The small breeze that was in the air had come completely still, everyone virtually silent as they watched the events unfold. When things first went missing around the house when Michael would hold meetings, they didn't even think to look at Bryce. Not until Michael had trusted him enough to appoint him as Duncan's right hand man. Duncan handled all of the cartel's finances and when he kept coming up short on the days just him and Bryce would do the counting, he caught on rather quickly.

"I liked you Bryce." Jim said, jaw clenched. "I really did. We all did. We loved you almost, but you know the rules, don't you?"

"Jim please..." Bryce whined, starting to cry his eyes out, but only enough for Jim to see and hear. "Please man. I'll do anything. Anything please!"

"What did I tell you happened to those who betrayed the cartel? What is your own way out once you're in? I mean I could just let you go, yeah? But once you walk out those doors you become a liability to me, my brothers, and my family. And I just can't have that."

"Death..." Bryce mumbled. "But we can work something out, please!" Jim chuckled as he let go of Bryce's face, quickly cocking his gun again, before holding Bryce's face up again. He put the gun inside of Bryce's mouth, looking him dead in his eyes.

"Maybe in another life." And with those words said, Jim pulled the trigger, the sounds of bloods and mush splattering across the ground. A few turned their heads, not wanting to see the sight. Jim looked up and back across the pool at his brother who downed the rest of his drink, nodding at Jim.

"Clean it up." Jim said to the disposal crew who stood near by, rising to his feet, and tucking his gun back away. "Everyone else can carry on."

///

The warm water danced on your skin as you stood in the shower, washing away all events from today. You put your face underneath the water for a few seconds before running both of your hands through your hair. When you turned around you were startled by the presence of your husband, Michael, who stood behind you, a little soaked from the backlash of you being underneath the water. His vibrant blue eyes were now several shades darker as he was out of the sun light. He simply just stared at you.

You offered to trade him positions under the water so he could get completely wet too and of course he didn't object. You were now staring at him as he stepped underneath the water, sighing as it hit his skin. He ran his hands over his face as he turned around to face you, getting off as much water as he could before he opened his eyes again to look at you. Water dripped off his skin and your eyes couldn't help but trail all over him. He was so beautiful. His long blonde hair, over shoulder length, completely wet now as the water continued to pour down on him. You almost smiled, remember when Michael told you that he was going to start growing his hair out. He cut it every now and then, but nothing compared to long haired beauty.

"I'm sorry." he spoke, running his hands over his face again. "I know you don't like when.. you know." You walked over to your husband, pressing your forehead against his, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His large hands found their way to small of your back, pulling you even closer.

"I know..." you mumbled, using your thumbs to rub the back of his neck. "I'm not mad at you, Michael. I just don't want you to become... emotionless."

"Everything I do is to protect you and our boys. Without my family, I am nothing. This empire? We built it, Y/N. Not just me. I'm still here emotionally, but you know it works. He was too much of a liability to just let go. And when the right information gets into the wrong hands, I'm only sure you can imagine what happens."

"Do you ever get afraid, Michael?"

"Only if it deals with you and my sons." he said, looking down at you, smiling. Cheeky bastard.

"I'm being serious. What if one day you go out and don't come back home? What if we get attacked here? What will I do? What will I tell our children?"

"Don't you ever worry about that, my love." Michael reassured you. "As long as my brothers and I are alive and breathing, no one will be in any kind of danger. I promise." Michael brushed his lips across yours as he finished his sentence. You pulled him in for a kiss. A hungry one, it was, as your tongues wasted no time entering each other's mouths, Michael's dominance showing as you basically let him devour you, melting away at his touch. He backed you up against the shower wall and you gasped against him as it was cold. He picked you up and you immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him like your life depended on it.

"Let me help you forget..." he said against your lips, brushing his nose across yours and you remembered, just how in love you are with Michael.

Taglist: @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake @xavierplympton @jimmason @theneverendinghunger

#cody fern #american horror story #cody fern imagine #ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #jim mason #duncan shepherd #tribes of palos verdes #michael langdon smut #michael langdon x reader

107 notes · View notes

ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Positive

Blurb night:

1.4k words

(request: imagine you’re married to harry & you’re pregnant and you meet up with the boys and tell them and it’s just all happy and so cute🥺) + request: what about some morning cuddles? or how they communicate to everyone that they’re having a baby? sorry im soft today i need some good fluffs)

(Sorry if you didn’t want them combined they were similar so I thought it might be repetitive if I did them independently)

-----

Trying to conceive was always a nerve-wracking trial and error process for those participating in the journey, and Harry and Y/n are no exception to those bumps in the road to starting a family.

The couple had waited till their one-year wedding anniversary to start trying for a child, making sure the marriage was going smoothly and both of them were able to devote as much attention to the child if they were to successfully fall pregnant.

The pair decided to both get exams to make sure they were fertile and another to make sure Y/n was healthy enough to carry a pregnancy, both of their results came back perfect for the two of them so you can imagine the confusion and upset they experienced when months went by without a positive pregnancy test. Harry and Y/n have been doing a lot of condoling each other, cooking comfort foods for dinners and taking their vitamins religiously to give themselves some hope, carbs and cuddles to carry them through this journey of bringing a new person into the world.

You’d think trying was the most fun part of making a baby yet months of constant sex did a number on the two. They were losing their libido, tired and sometimes sore from the constant friction on their most sensitive areas but the duo refused to give up.

It was a typical Thursday morning, Harry sending off emails while cramming toast into his mouth and Y/n was brushing her teeth, feeling particularly out of it that day. She was tired and sluggish, a bit queasy and just off.

By now taking a pregnancy test was part of her morning routine. She even had a designated cup next to the toilet she used to collect her first morning wee in to dip the tests in, every morning she took one just to see. She was never very good at controlling her curiosity and when it comes to something this life changing, well she just can’t stop herself.

Y/n swears her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she saw the second line, bright and bold perfectly straight next to the control line. It took a few minutes for her brain to truly comprehend the evidence in front of her, there were two lines.

She was pregnant!

After the initial shock started to fade, excitement flooded through her. A shriek of her husbands name rolled through the house prompting him to jump to his feet and rush towards the noise.

“What?! Are you okay?! Are you hurt baby? What happen-“

“Harry I’m pregnant! Look ! it worked! We’re having a baby!” Y/n held the positive test in the hair, thrusting it towards his wide eyes seeing the man shift from panic to being elated.

“Oh my god! We’re having a baby! My dick works!” Harry wrapped his arms around his wife before hoisting her in the air, spinning the both of them around while they cheered and let out happy tears.

That night the pair celebrated with a nice dinner and excitedly calling y/n’s obgyn to set up her first prenatal visit. The pair decided they’d keep their secret till they were in the clear, the first couple weeks of pregnancy are the most high risk time for miscarriage so they didn’t want to get their hopes up and let everyone know till they were sure this baby was going to make it to term.

___

Y/n was 18 weeks along when the couple decided they were going to announce the news to their friends and family. Harry was giddy, obsessed with his wife’s tummy that was now starting to get a little curve to the lower part of it. He kept ultrasound pictures in his wallet and spend every evening reading baby books and making a list of names for their growing baby.

The first people they decided to tell was of course their mothers and siblings, it was a great experience lots of hugs, happy tears and celebration sweets. Everyone was over the moon, the couple had full hearts and tummy’s when they left Anne’s home. The couple had never felt happier in their lives.

Of course when it came to telling the news to the boys, Harry decided to whip out one of his dad jokes he’d already been hoarding in his mind. His jokes were always terrible, lets face it, but the boys loved to take the piss out of him and found his jokes entertaining now.

So, Harry invited the group over directing Louis to open the oven for him which inside was a bun- yes Y/n had to refrain from cringing at the horrible dad joke but she let him has his fun- and Louis reacted first with a confused glance to Harry. “Mate, ya’ not the best chef but I thought you’d know that cookin’ one thing at a time is a bit wasteful of the gas innit?” the man plucked the bread off the rack, handing it to Harry who was rolling his eyes since the other man didn’t seem to get the implications.

“Lou, what was in the oven?” he decided to throw him a line, the other guys just watching the interaction confused and waiting for Harry to reveal what the hell he was on about. “A roll Harold” Harry then huffed, “No! it’s a bun!”, Niall was now laughing finding the situation at hand seeing Harry getting mad over the guys not having a clue what he was trying to imply.

When the bickering filled the kitchen between the boys Y/n decided to step in- “Alright! Harry I told you the joke was rubbish, guys ‘bun in the oven’- the reference and horrible execution was a reference to me since I’m pregnant.” – only then did it click in all their heads, a chorus of ‘ohhhh’ and then excited congratulations followed. Louis of course took the chance to pick on Harry who gave him the finger before excepting the celebratory hugs and pats on the back, the boys giving Y/n a good cuddle too congratulating her on the pregnancy and telling her how excited they were to be uncles. A few making jokes to Harry about ‘getting it in’ and all that boyish banter.

The pair couldn’t be more thrilled at all the excitement that surrounded the arrival of their first born, Y/n was also happy she wouldn’t have to wear baggy clothes around them anymore either. Sweaters in august was a bit uncomfortable for a pregnant woman with hot flashes.

____

When the 20 week mark came, the couple decided to keep the gender a surprise till birth when offered the anatomy scan. They really didn’t have a preference as long as their bundle of joy was healthy, they were happy.

They had spent the last few weeks painting the nursery a pale yellow, making an accent wall with a neutral colored floral wallpaper, lots of vines and plants on it in a grey and white color theme. The room was fit for whatever gender their baby turned out to be, and it was now being filled with a crib Harry had put together- which he nearly had a breakdown over how many fucking screws and parts it had- and a nice changing table stocked with diapers, wipes and all the baby essentials.

The little ones closet was organized by size, all hung neatly on hangers and in organized bins as well. A nice rocking chair with a little nursing station was in one of the corners, stocked with burp cloths and a nursing pillow as well as a few jars of nipple balm since breastfeeding can caused chapped skin on the breasts. They had a little dish with pacifiers sitting on the small table next to the chair, picture books and a few nice soft blankets folded on the small shelf below the drawers.

Everything was slowly but surely coming together, and now they couldn’t wait to welcome their baby into the world.

(Tbh idk if I like this one, but I tried my best.)

#harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles fiction #harry styles concept #harry styles drabble #harry styles smut #dad!harry

302 notes · View notes

girlactionfigure · 3 years

Photo

Last of the Red Hot Mamas

The Queen of Jazz

Sophie Tucker was a singer and comedienne whose powerful voice and brassy wit delighted audiences for over six decades.

Sophie’s Jewish parents had to escape from Russia in 1886 after her father had deserted the Russian military, and she was born on the boat to America. The family settled in Hartford, Connecticut where they ran a kosher boarding house and restaurant. Sophie and her three siblings worked hard in the family business, waking up at 3 am every day to peel and chop vegetables before school. After Sophie got home she waited tables and washed dishes.

From almost the moment of birth, Sophie had a huge and magnetic personality. She was confident, sassy, and uninhibited. Jewish vaudeville stars often stayed at her family’s boarding house and she was fascinated by them and their lives. She always knew she was destined for a life in show business. Her parents absolutely forbade her to join the paskudnyaks (rascals) who stayed at their rooming house. Sophie still found a way to perform – she started singing for their guests as she served them. “I would stand up in the narrow space by the door and sing with all the drama I could put into it. At the end of the last chorus, between me and the onions there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

Desperate to leave home, she eloped in 1903 with local beer truck driver Louis Tuck. When they returned, her parents organized a traditional Orthodox wedding for them. They had a son, Burt, in 1906, and lived with her family, where she was back to her old role of cooking, cleaning, and serving customers. Meanwhile a frequent guest was Willie Howard, a popular vaudeville comedian and the first to use openly Jewish content in his act. He was impressed by Sophie’s natural talent as an entertainer, and he urged her to move to New York and break into show business. Sophie’s husband Louis did not share her enthusiasm for the stage and after she told him she wanted to move to New York, he took off. Soon, Sophie left Burt with her family, telling them she was going to New Haven for a short vacation. Instead, she moved to New York and never returned. She was 19 years old. Burt was raised by Sophie’s family, and Sophie kept in frequent contact with them over the years.

Sophie arrived in New York with a letter of introduction to a famous composer from Willie Howard, but the composer wasn’t impressed by her singing. She was quickly able to find work singing at coffeehouses and saloons. At the German Village, a popular beer garden, she sang 50-100 songs a night for $15 a week. She was such a hit that she was soon making over $150 a week in pay and tips.

Sophie was generous with her money. She sent most of what she made to her family, and lived in a shabby boarding house where the other residents were prostitutes. A nice Jewish girl from Hartford, Sophie had never encountered this type of woman before, but she wasted no time making friends with her neighbors, and started a longtime practice of giving free women-only concerts in bordellos. Sophie shared her money and belongings with the call girls, and hid the money they made from their pimps. She later said, “Every one of them supported a family back home, or a child somewhere.”

At the time, $150/week was an impressive salary for a single woman, but it wasn’t enough for Sophie, who wanted to get out of the restaurant business once and for all and make it big in vaudeville. She got her first break in 1907: a chance to audition for impresario Chris Brown’s Amateur Night. After her audition she overheard Brown say, “This one’s so big and ugly, the crowd out front will razz her. Better get some cork and black her up.” He told Sophie that she passed the audition and would be featured in the show. However, she had to do it in blackface. Sophie was aghast at the suggestion, but Brown and the other producers insisted that her only chance for a career in show business was in blackface. She agreed to do it.

Sophie’s first vaudeville gig was at Tony Pastor’s on the Bowery where she was booked for a pre-show before the matinee. When she took the stage, the theater was empty. She started singing, but as people entered the room they completely ignored her, chatting noisily as they awaited the main event. She suddenly stopped the show, and started berating the audience for being so rude to her. Sophie had what Jews call chutzpah – audacious self-confidence – and she displayed so much humor and spirit that the audience fell in love with her. Nobody made a peep for the rest of the show, and they demanded three encores.

She was booked onto the New England Vaudeville circuit to sing African-American spirituals, and got rave reviews everywhere she went. It wasn’t just her big voice audiences loved, it was also her big personality, her confident swagger combined with self-deprecating humor. Sophie had a sharp wit and a voice that didn’t need a microphone to fill a room.

Audiences adored Sophie’s minstrel act, but she hated performing in blackface. Finally, at a performance in Boston, she’d had enough. She told the producer that her blackface makeup and costume were lost in transit, and before he could argue she marched onstage as herself. She told the shocked audience, “You-all can see I’m a white girl. Well, I’ll tell you something more: I’m not Southern. I’m a Jewish girl and I just learned this Southern accent doing a blackface act. And now, Mr. Leader, please play my song.” She never performed in blackface again.

Some of Sophie’s songs were bawdy, filled with innuendo and double entendre, while others were sentimental. Her most popular songs included “Some of These Days” and the Jewish favorite, “My Yiddishe Mama.” Initially Sophie only performed “Yiddishe Mama” in front of mostly Jewish audiences since much of the song was in Yiddish, but she soon found that all audiences loved the song. Even if they didn’t understand all of the words, they could appreciate her heartful singing about her devoted mother.

Sophie did a European tour in the 1920’s which was a huge success. When she arrived in England in 1922, she was greeted by fans with a huge sign reading “Welcome Sophie Tucker, America’s Foremost Jewish Actress!” Looking back at her career later in life, she described that sign as her proudest moment. Sophie performed for King George V and Queen Mary at the London Palladium in 1926. She greeted the monarch with a hearty “Hiya King!” The Daily Express described Sophie as “a big fat blond genius, with a dynamic personality and amazing vitality.” Yiddishe Mama became an international hit, and she was asked to perform the song in Berlin by the Berlin Broadcasting Company in 1931. Two years later, when Hitler came to power in 1933, all copies of the recording were destroyed.

Comedy writer Bruce Vilanch saw Sophie Tucker perform when he was a child. He remembered, “She’d make you laugh like crazy. She would belt. She still could blow the roof off the joint. Then she would do something incredibly schmaltzy, she would turn on a dime and make the audience weep… As soon as you were done crying, she would turn around and do some bawdy song… Everything she said was with the force of a judge making a sentence. She didn’t speak, she made policy statements.”

Throughout her career, Sophie chose songs mostly written by black and Jewish songwriters from Tin Pan Alley, including young Irving Berlin. She was close friends with her fellow Vaudeville performer Bill Robinson, known as Bojangles. When Sophie invited Bill to her sister’s wedding in the 1920’s, the doorman wouldn’t let him in, telling him to go through the kitchen. Sophie heard this and immediately pushed the doorman out of the way, closed the front door, and told the guests, “OK everybody goes through the kitchen.”

Despite her act’s raciness, she said “I’ve never sung a single song in my whole life on purpose to shock anyone. My ‘hot numbers’ are all, if you will notice, written about something that is real in the lives of millions of people.” Her songs included, “I May Be Getting Older Every Day (But Younger Every Night),” “I’m The Last of the Red-Hot Mamas,” “I Ain’t Takin’ Orders From No One,” and “When They Start to Ration my Passion, It’s Gonna Be Tough on Me.” She often made fun of her size, calling herself a “perfect 48.”

She kept improving her act, and after a decade as a solo performer, she created a back-up band of black jazz musicians called the “Kings of Syncopation.” They recorded several albums together, all of which were hits, and toured the country playing to enthusiastic crowds. In Chicago they played 15 weeks at the Palace and then at every other theater in town. Crooner Tony Bennett called Sophie “the most underrated jazz singer that ever lived.”

After a few years as the self-styled “Queen of Jazz,” Sophie re-imagined herself again, as a cabaret performer, accompanied by piano player Ted Shapiro. He became part of her act as they developed a snappy banter. Over the years she did some film, radio and TV work but what she loved most was interacting with a live audience.

Sophie married two more times, but neither husband liked being “Mr. Sophie Tucker” and both marriages failed. She said, “Once you start carrying your own suitcase, paying your own bills, running your own show, you’ve done something to yourself that makes you one of those women men like to call ‘a pal’ and “a good sport,’ the kind of woman they tell their troubles to. But you’ve cut yourself off from the orchids and the diamond bracelets, except those you buy yourself.” Throughout her life, Sophie was known for her generosity, and she gave away much of what she made to a variety of philanthropic causes. She established the Sophie Tucker Foundation in the early 1950’s, and endowed hospitals, synagogues, actors guilds, and several charitable organizations in Israel.

Sophie continued performing until the end of her life, even after getting lung cancer. While undergoing treatment she was still doing two shows a night. Sophie died at age 80 in 1966, during a months-long theater engagement. As she lay on her death bed, she asked the nurse to “bring me my chiffon hanky, bring me my wig” and she did bits from her act until she took her last breath. Thousands of mourners attended her funeral at Emanuel Synagogue Cemetery in Wethersfield, Connecticut. Known as the “Last of the Red-Hot Mamas,” Sophie’s act inspired later female performers such as Mae West and Bette Midler.

For entertaining audiences around the world for sixty years and giving generously to others, we honor Sophie Tucker as this week’s Thursday Hero.

Accidental Talmudist

29 notes · View notes

manchesterau · 4 years

Text

you’re in a car by leedsau

words: 1515

summary: harry thinks he knows what love means when he looks at louis.

note: i woke up inching to write someone last night. first I read a fic, which I really enjoyed. and that fic lead me into reading poetry, which naturally leaded me to read poems by richard siken. and after reading the poem im quoted below, I decided to open at google docs and start writing until I couldnt. usually I tamper down this feeling until it goes away, but this time I decided to indulge in it. and im glad I did. before writing this I was going through a bad case of writers block, but know I feel like...a weight as been lifted off my shoulders. I hope you enjoy this, and I felt like it was too short to put it on ao3 so here it is in it’s entirety. thank you to my writing gc for the encouraging words! (this is unedited)

_______________

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for. -- richard siken

harry doesn’t know how they always end up this way. in a car while it pours down outside. the heat their bodies radiate fogging up the windows.

it’s at these moments that the world feels like it’s been paused. that it’s just him and louis and the sound of them breathing harshly.

they had run to louis’ mum’s car with smiles on their faces and with laughter in the air. the car was the only car left in the parking lot. it’s an off green color from years of use and the interior is a dark blue, so dark it looks black.

on a previous day some weeks ago they had ran to louis’ mum’s car with smiles on their faces and laughter in the air. they weren’t the only car in the parking lot. but the windows were foggy, and again, the world felt like it had been paused.

harry looks to louis.

it’s a tricky thing, love. what it does to people. how it can destroy you and put you back together again, sometimes all in the same day. love is fleeting but also everlasting. love is ugly and demented, but also beautiful and sane. it has many forms, taking the form of whatever it chooses that day, or that week, that month and maybe even years. sometimes people grow out of love, losing what once came so easily to them.

harry looks away from louis.

if he thinks hard enough, strains his brain to come up with the answers to all the questions he holds, he thinks he can just about find love in everything. like his mum making his stepdad coffee in the morning every morning for five years now. or the way his mum cards her soft fingers through his hair when he's got his head on her lap. the way couples on the street move in tandem with each other. the way they unconsciously start to match, becoming a mirror, becoming one.

harry thinks he knows what love means when he looks at louis.

it didn’t start out this way. that’s what he always tells himself but he knows it’s not true. since the beginning he’s always loved louis, even when he didn't know it yet. they had always been close is the thing, closer than most anyways. and it’s sort of always been just him and louis even when it wasn't. he doesn't like to think he was just wondering his little part of earth until he found louis. he likes to think that louis had always been there and that there had been no waiting. they were just slow to come together.

the thing about love is that it comes easier to some people than others, and harry thinks that loving louis is the easiest thing he’s ever done. it’s because it isn't hard to love louis. harry actually thinks the whole world is in love with louis. it’s the way he talks to people that makes it so easy. he’s attentive and generous in the way he looks at you. he pays attention and makes sure your heard. he laughs at all your dumb jokes and teases until your smiling so wide and so big it hurts, but it’s louis so you endure the ache you feel later.

loving louis comes so naturally to harry it scares him sometimes, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if this doesn’t last. It's a scary thing to love, it takes bravery to really love someone the way they deserve to be loved. harry hopes he loves louis the way he deserves to be loved.

“hopefully the rain stops soon.” louis says.

he’s smiling, and harry can't help but smile back even when he can't bring himself to look at louis. he fears that if he looks at louis again he’ll know how he feels and then this moment will be over. the world will be unpaused and it just won't be them, stuck in louis’ mum‘s old beat up van. louis will drive harry back to his flat, and then he will drive himself home, and then he will tell his sisters about the day he’s had with harry. and harry will wait alone in his flat waiting for tomorrow when they will see each other again and pretend harry didn't have that look on his face. they will go on pretending like everything is fine. and soon harry will be old and louis will be old and he will tell his children’s children about the look he gave to a friend years before.

“yeah, hopefully.” he says.

the sound of the thunder outside says differently. louis laughs, and harry can't help but to look at him. and he knows that louis can see that look on his face, because louis has that same look. and harry doesn’t know how to understand what that means, what even is that look. but he has a feeling he knows.

he doesn’t know how they always end up this way. it’s pouring raining outside, and yet it’s so quiet in this car. he can hear louis breathing, and he thinks if louis strained his ears enough he could hear the way harry's heart is beating. it says I think i'm in love with you. and harry hopes that's enough.

love is a tricky thing. it’s what it does to people, what it makes them do that makes it so tricky and scary. people have fought over love. people have died over love and have gotten married and had babies. people will abandon one love for another. love gives people courage to do things they'd never do in daylight when someone can see.

so while the world is paused, while it’s just him and louis in this van looking at each other saying all the things they’re too afraid to say, harry thinks about love. he hopes louis is too.

“I…“ he tries to say something but what else is there to say. he is looking at louis, and louis is looking at him. it’s raining outside, a flash of lightning illuminates everything the light can touch. louis is lit ablaze by white light. somewhere far away or maybe close by a tree is more than likely on fire, and harry doesn't have a care in the world.

louis leans over the console.

for a split second, just before their lips meet, harry thinks this is it, there is no turning back from this. and then their lips meet. and then louis is grabbing harry's hand and placing it right where his heart beats beneath his chest. and harry thinks he’s telling him: feel that? i'm in love with you too.

harry doesn't know how they always end up like this, but he thinks this is the first time where he doesn’t mind if the world unpauses, because louis doesn’t stop kissing him. he'd stay right here if he could, his hand on louis’ chest and his lips on louis’ lips. for a fleeting moment he wished he had licked his lips before hand. it makes him laugh, his silly thought. and then louis is pulling back laughing as well. and harry chases after louis as he pulls back, eager to keep kissing. and louis crashes his lips back onto harry’s.

they kiss until the sun has gone down, until the rain has stopped and it’s so cold that harry can’t feel his finger tips. he thinks he’s getting lightheaded, but it feels good. if this were his last day on earth, last hour, he thinks he would be content with it. knowing that louis loves him back.

they pull back, harry looks away from louis. there is no sound of the rain anymore to drown out the silence. the sounds of them breathing harshly through shiny spit covered lips has harry in disbelief. as much as he wants to let the words be spoken for by the way he looks at louis he has to let him know, subtle but telling looks aren't enough. he still feels like there is this weight on his shoulders.

“I love you.” harry says.

“me too.” louis says.

harry shakes his head, he knows louis understands but he has to get it out. “I love you…like the way a wife loves her husband. like…the way two people feel after they’ve gone on a honeymoon. too much but also just right at the same time. I…think i've loved you before i've even known you, it comes so naturally to me it’s scary.” he looks to louis, he’s shaking.

“me too.”

and that’s done. harry’s said what he needed to say, and even though his hand isn't over the space where louis’ heart is anymore, he thinks if he strains enough he can hear it beating. it says to him I love you more than i've loved anything on this earth. and while love is scary, it’s also wonderful. it leaves the two who are in love feeling weightless and breathless, like they can conquer the whole world together. harry feels like he just conquered the world with louis.

#*#umm dont know what to tag this uhhh :DD #my writing #fic rec #Idk man lol I wasnt even gonna put this out there but here it is #also ignore why some of this is small text and some isn't I tried to fic it but couldnt dsfghfgds

69 notes · View notes

papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

Text

LUCY SHUNS AUDITIONS

July 21, 1950

[In the below article, reprinted verbatim, Johnson writes using a lot of imagery and insider jargon. This sort of article was common in trade papers like Variety, but seems odd in a daily newspaper.]

Hollywood—(NEA) Lucille Ball slipped me the lowdown on her failure to pin to the canvas the dumb chick role in “Born Yesterday” and make it holler uncle. (1)

She’s got a touch of Francis the mule in her when it comes to auditions. (2)

Instead of scrimmaging for the role with Evelyn Keyes, Judy Holliday, Marie Wilson, Shelly Winters and Jan Sterling, (3) Lucille went bolting the other way.

The “let’s-see-if-you’re-it” boys pleaded and cajoled.

But Miss Anti-Auditions wasn’t having any of the competition, thank you.

“I figure if they want you, they want you,” Lucille plainspoke it. If you’ve got to read and test for it, to heck with it.’

She isn’t chronicled in Hollywood history, but once, badgered by her RKO bosses, Lucille went tripping over to David O. Selznick’s office for a whack at the Scarlett O’Hara role in “Gone With the Wind.”

That’s what curdled her in the first place.

“It was awful,’’ Lucille shudders. I was shaking all over when I hit Selznick’s office. My knees gave way. I did the whole audition in scrubwoman position. Selznick laughs and says thanks a lot. (4)

Judy Holliday landed the junkman’s doll role and Lucille grabbed a railroad ticket for a personal appearance tour with hubby Desi Arnaz. She strutted to Latin rhythms, swung a glittering purse in a manner dear to runaway girls and wisecracked for the customers. (5)

MIMICS OSCAR WINNER

At the last moment she nixed a dancing and singing routine. The star with the forest-fire hair shrugged:

“I decided it would be silly to compete with Grable.” (6)

A lot of movie queens laid in fresh supplies of smelling salts, ice beanies and copies of “Release From Nervous Tension” when word got around that Lucille was about to whoop it up on the six-a-day circuit. (7)

She’s a blister-raiser from way back and the air was shrill with ouches about a year ago when she whipped up an impression of an Academy Award winner.

But the girls can go back to worrying about other things—like shrinking from larger-than-life to television screen size.

Lucille didn’t let any “furriners” see the routine.

“It's for Hollywood only," she said. “I should take radio-active material on the road?”

Her Oscar-grabber routine is strictly for unreal anyhow, she says. and no blood relation to Bette Davis, Olivia de Havilland, Ingrid Bergman or any other Screen Duse. (8) She insisted:

“She's any movie star, even me. This character has to go up on that stage and act surprised. She’s only been rehearsing what she's going say flor eight weeks. So she says, ‘Ye gads, me? But I’m so unprepared. Really, I didn’t dream...” Lucille is generally is as unflinching about the movie queen business as Pearl White was about onrushing trains. (9)

But her knees executed some wobbles that aren’t in Arthur Murray’s rhumba dance book when she checked into her first vaudeville dressing room. (10)

“Those stages—they’re so big.” she gasped. “Hey, I’d hate to get caught in the middle of one of those stages without bread and water.”

Lucille didn’t take any chances with out-of-town press interviews, either. “I once did a personal appearance tour with Maureen O'Hara and had to show up at a press party,” she grinned. (11)

My sinus - I just die from it - was acting up. The reporter next to me didn’t understand my puffed eyes and cold sores. He called Maureen a lady in his story. But he referred to me as a whisky tenor with red-runny eyes.”

Lucille’s brain cells work on direct current and she’s not one to make with the figure eights when a straight glide to home base would get her there quicker.

They still laugh about her exit line to Louis B. Mayer. (12) Mayer always referred to her as a thoroughbred and sometimes compared her to his famous horses. "Yes, and like your other nags, I'm leaving your stable," Lucille said when she decided to bow out of her contract.

She has high hopes for her new picture “The Fuller Brush Man.” Not that she enjoyed it: (13)

“Honey, this ones that I don t enjoy turn out be the best ones. This one put me in the hospital. My feet are still bandaged up. I’m a mess. No more physical-type pictures for me.”

# # # FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) The 1946 Broadway hit comedy Born Yesterday by Garsin Kanin was bought by Columbia Pictures. Things got complicated when its stage star, Judy Holliday, swore she would not do the film version. Columbia used this as fuel for publicity about who would win the role. Naturally, Lucille Ball was considered a top contender. As the article states, she was not eager, however, to prove her worth to the ‘let’s-see-if-you’re-it’ boys (aka producers). There was talk of Lucille performing the play in London, or summer stock, but her film contracts would not allow her time off for a stage run.

(2) Mules are supposedly notoriously stubborn animals - just like Lucy. Francis the Talking Mule was the star of seven popular Universal-International film comedies. The character originated in the 1946 novel Francis by David Stern III, adapting his own script for the first entry, simply titled Francis. On “I Love Lucy” Fred Mertz sometimes called Ethel “Francis” to indicate she was being stubborn about something.

(3) These were some of the Hollywood stars looking to play the part of Billie Dawn in the film Born Yesterday. Evelyn Keyes (1916 – 2008) was best known for playing Sue Ellen, Scarlett O’Hara’s kid sister, in Gone With The Wind (1939). Judy Holliday (1921-65), changed her mind about playing the role she originated on Broadway, but by then the casting net was cast, and she was just another performer on the short list. She eventually got the role, which defined her career. Marie Wilson (1916-72) was a zany comedic actress in the style of Gracie Burns. She was widely known as the star of radio and TV’s “My Friend Irma”. Shelley Winters (1920-2006) would be nominated for an Oscar the year after this article. She was adept at playing drama and comedy, and had a long-lasting career in Hollywood. She appeared on “Here’s Lucy” in 1968; Critics raved about her Jan Sterling’s portrayal of Billie Dawn in the Chicago touring company of Born Yesterday and Columbia brought her out to the West Coast to test for the film. At one point, she was actually announced to play the part but the role ultimately went to Holliday.

(4) Lucille Ball did indeed read (not screen test) for the role of Scarlet O’Hara, just like nearly all of the women in Hollywood in 1938. Ball told the story several times on television, each time with varying details, but probably most completely on “Bob Hope’s Unrehearsed Antics of The Stars” (1984).

(5) This is a vivid description of the “Cuban Pete / Sally Sweet” portion of Lucy and Desi’s nightclub act to convince sponsors to buy them as a couple.

(6) Betty Grable (1916-73) was considered one of the most famous pin-up girls in history. In addition to her million dollar gams (legs), she could sing, dance, and act, too. She guest starred with her then-husband Harry James on “Lucy Wins A Racehorse”, an installment of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” aired on February 3, 1958.

(7) “Release from Nervous Tension” was an actual best-selling book by Dr. David Harold Fink, published in 1950. Vaudeville and Burlesque shows were often known as the ‘six-a-day circuit’ because sometimes there would be as many as six performances of the same act in a day. Naturally, this did not apply to Lucy and Desi, who were big film and radio stars at the time.

(8) These were some of Hollywood’s top-line dramatic actors. Bette Davis (1908-89) had won two Oscars, and was nominated for several others during her long career. She was supposed to guest-star on “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” in “The Celebrity Next Door” in 1957 but dropped out after a horse-riding accident, leaving the role to Tallulah Bankhead; Olivia de Havilland (1916-2020) had also won two Oscars, the second the year this article was published. She was best remembered for playing Melanie Wilkes in Gone With The Wind (1939); Ingrid Bergman (1915-82) was a Swedish-born actress, who, by career’s end, had scored three Academy Awards. When Johnson talks about “any other screen Duse” he is referring to Eleonor Duse (1858-1924), an Italian-born stage actress known for her grand, dramatic style.

(9) Pearl White (1889-1938) was best known as the silent film actress who was tied to the railroad tracks in “The Perils of Pauline” (1914).

(10) Arthur Murray (1895-1991) was a ballroom dancer and businessman best known for the chain of dancing schools that bear his name. Murray was often a punchline on “I Love Lucy,” especially when the subject of dancing came up. The Rhumba was a Latin dance that took America by storm in the late 1940s and 1950. Desi Arnaz often called his orchestra a ‘rhumba band.’

(11) Maureen O’Hara (1920-2015) and Lucille Ball had starred in Dance, Girl, Dance in 1940. As a result, the two went on a promotional tour that took them to several US cities, including the nation’s capitol.

(12) Louis B. Meyer (1884-1957), along with Samuel Goldwyn and Marcus Loew of Metro Pictures, had formed a new motion picture company called Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) in 1918. Over the next 25 years, MGM was "the Tiffany of the studios," producing more films and movie stars than any other studio in the world. Mayer became the highest-paid man in America, and one of the country's most successful horse breeders. Both he and MGM reached their peaks at the end of World War II, and Mayer was forced out in 1951, just a year after this article was written.

(13) Erskine Johnson gets the title wrong. Lucille had madeThe Fuller Brush Girl, a sequel to The Fuller Brush Man (1948). The film was released in mid-September 1950.

#Lucille Ball #Erskine Johnson #Newspaper #Fuller Brush Girl #Born Yesterday #Judy Holliday #MGM #Louis B. Mayer #Pearl White #Olivia DeHavilland #Bette Davis #Ingrid Bergman #Release from Nervous Tension #Eleonor Duse #Betty Grable #Desi Arnaz #Gone With The Wind

3 notes · View notes

threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

[Finale] 10 | Illegirl

→ previous | next (second book of ly trilogy masterpost)

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity, implied, CONSENTED & PROTECTED sex (these adults are role models), mentions of sexual activities

→ wordcount: 5.5k

"But what if they ask how we met?" you say, wiping your sweaty palms on the side of your modest skinny jeans. "What if they ask my age? Oh my god. What if they ask to meet my parents?"

"Relax, Y/N," your boyfriend soothes, taking you into a warm side hug as he guides you up the steps of his parents' rather large home. "You're 18 now, and you'll be in college next month. You're not so young anymore."

You huff, tucking in a strand of loose hair and fussing with the hem of your nicest blouse. "They're gonna hate me."

"It takes a lot for them to hate someone," Jimin laughs, rubbing your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down. "They're just... slightly judgmental. But it's not like they're going to interrogate you! It's just dinner."

"This was a bad idea."

"It won't be, trust me."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Is this my late graduation present? Or perhaps an early entering college gift?"

"Kinda?" It sounds more like a question than a sure statement. "I just want them to meet the person I love as early as possible!" Jimin gives you the puppy dog eyes he knows you can't resist.

"Okay, okay! But what if they ask questions we don't fucking know the answer to?" you say, worry lines appearing on your forehead. "Like when we met and shit??"

Jimin hums, lips pulling out in a pout as he thinks hard. After a moment of silence, he grins as if an adequate idea popped up in his head. "We'll improv!"

"Oh, you son of a b—HELLO, Mr. and Mrs. Park!" you quickly say, heart beating violently in your chest. Damn. Off to a not-so-great start. You almost called Jimin a 'son of a bitch,' in front of his goddamn mother.

Thankfully it seems like Jimin's parents didn't hear you. They smile at both of you as they open their front door wider, and your boyfriend noticeably grips your shoulder tighter, in an attempt to remind you to release your inner tension.

"Y/N, is it?" Mrs. Park smiles, though she looks you over with scrutiny. "Don't you look young?"

You flinch as Jimin wraps his arm around you, then saves you from answering. "Yeah, she's 18, mom." He places a hand on the small of your back, ushering you into the house.

"18? 18?!" Mrs. Park gasps, putting a polite hand over her mouth in shock. "Goodness me. You never date anyone more than three years younger! Your exes all had a stable job with high income... she's barely in college!"

Already, you feel quite uncomfortable, especially with Jimin's mother spewing random facts about his past girlfriends and lowkey dissing you. Then you have Mr. Park who had seemed friendly at first but continues to sneak glances at his phone as if he was expecting an important call. You were getting rich businessman vibes from him. No wonder their home had one too many chandeliers and shining glass windows.

"Mom..." Jimin warns, his voice dipping low. "You're gonna make Y/N feel uncomfortable."

"Oh no, it's fine," you quickly say, faking a genuine smile. "Yes, I'm young, but I am pretty mature for my age."

Damn. You're getting good at this lying business if you do say so yourself.

Mrs. Park raises her eyebrow, turning to consult her husband but finding him engaged in a serious phone call. She sighs, shaking her head as she looks you over once more, a warm smile blossoming on her face. "It's fine, dear. Age is merely a number. Come, dinner's waiting."

Jimin's mother waves you and her son over, her inside-wear Louis Watton fur slippers clacking against the white marble floor as she marches over to an extravagant dining room. Even the gilded vase in the center of the mahogany dinner table looks like it could pay for your whole college tuition.

And speaking of college tuition, the moment a steaming hot meal is placed on the expensive table by a couple of servants, Mrs. Park turns to you, a false smile playing on her lips. "So, Y/N, what is your college major?"

You had been looking forward to dipping your spoon into that aromatic soup but you pause, looking up to make eye contact with the older woman. "Uh, I'm gonna major in statistics but minor in mathematics."

Jimin grins proudly next to you, already wolfing down a piece of savory white truffle garlic bread. You gulp next to him, wanting to take a piece of that dish yourself. But Mrs. Park interrupts your inner drooling.

"Really? That's quite interesting. My son is a high school mathematics teacher, you two must get along well, especially if you love arithmetic like him," Mrs. Park hums while taking a delicate sip from her intricate glass of red wine. "Would you like some?" she offers to you. "It's the finest we've got, slightly acidulated with a citrus finish."

There's an awkward silence as Jimin noticeably pauses his chewing and you completely freeze on the spot.

"Oh! That's right, you're underage," Mrs. Park chuckles. "My deepest apologies, Y/N. Jimin? Would you like a glass?"

You duck your head down to stare at your hands, wondering what the hell this woman was up to. Was she purposefully bringing up your age to make the dinner more awkward? Or was it just polite habit that got in the way?

To your surprise, Jimin refuses the drink. "It's fine, mom. I have to drive us home, so I'll pass."

Mrs. Park nods in approvement, sipping on her wine glass with a dainty hand. "Now I wonder what your father is taking so long with. He was surely excited to meet Y/N." She huffs. "Doesn't seem like it to me."

Again, you really don't know what to say or how to react. Conversations, er, socializing has never been your thing. Especially with adults (eXcEpT JiMiN).

"So, tell me about yourself, Y/N," Mrs. Park says, scooting her chair closer as her eyes seem to pierce into your soul. "I want to get to know the lovely lady my son loves so much."

You gulp, taking a nervous look at Jimin who's been sipping his glass of water for quite a long time. Now you're thinking of doing the same, just to avoid talking.

Your tongue is a limp mess in your mouth, and your brain refuses to make coherent sentences. But amidst your panic, you feel a warm hand wrap around yours underneath the table, out of sight. It's Jimin, wordlessly showing his support.

Somehow it helps.

"Well, I really do love mathematics," you start as Jimin squeezes your hand.

"She might love it more than me," your boyfriend adds, giving you a loving glance. You smile. "Oh, and did I mention? Y/N's never had a 'B' in her life! She's the most intelligent person I know!"

You blush, sticking a piece of marinated flank steak in your mouth.

"Oh? Goodness, you must be hardworking, Y/N!" Mrs. Park compliments.

"Hardworking? Did I hear hardworking?" Mr. Park calls as he settles down next to his wife, across from you and Jimin. "I've always wanted a hardworking daughter in law!"

Your eyes widen as you chew on your sauteed asparagus. Daughter in law? What the fuck???

Jimin lightly squeezes your hand. A gesture to try to calm you for sure, and lucky for him, it works.

"Dad, I've already told you we haven't dated for too long," Jimin says, chuckling. "If you keep saying that, Y/N will run away!"

Mr. Park throws his head back and laughs. "Sorry, it's just that I've heard so many amazing stories about you, Y/N," he tells you, a particular glint in his eye. "You're a special young lady, and my son is blessed to be with you."

You're stuttering again, trying to find the right words to thank Jimin's dad for all the flattery. "I-I... O-Oh, gosh. Thank you, but I'm sure I'm the one who's been blessed to have met someone like Jimin." They're true words, not a hint of a fib between the lines.

"Awww!" your boyfriend sings, nudging your shoulder with affection. It's honestly then when it becomes so clear to you. Just a small action, only a small nudge of the shoulder shows you that with Jimin's support, you won't ever have to be uncomfortable. He's the magical key to your safe haven, your very own utopia. Somehow his little actions can make you feel like the two of you are the only ones in the room.

"Y/N. Y/N??"

Jimin's voice breaks you from your thoughts as you perk up looking around to see what you missed.

"You kinda fazed out there, you okay?" he asks, rubbing small circles to the back of your hand.

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter, leaning against him. God. I am so fucking in love.

Mr. and Mrs. Park watch intently with interest as they witness intense love with their own eyes. Even they seem to realize you and Jimin are a match made in the heavens.

"Ahem," Mr. Park coughs, gaining you and Jimin's attention. He smiles warmly at you, then grins proudly at Jimin. "So, enlighten us. How did you two ever meet?"

You jerk your head towards Jimin as both of you erupt in nervous laughter. "Err... long story."

It's a goddamn sin to be stripped of sight. First off, you can't fucking see which is a whole problem of its own. Second off, Jimin's sweaty hands are pressing against your closed eyelids, and you can't help but wonder if they're clean.

You'll take one for the (figurative) team and assume that they are. Besides, you don't want to ruin the romantic night by grumbling your ass off.

"Hey, that wasn't so bad, right?" Jimin whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. He guides your body, pressing his broad chest against your back to god knows where.

"Interrogation from your parents? No, it was fucking glorious," you say, voice dripping with nothing but sarcasm. Jimin chuckles, leaving a light kiss on the back of your neck, but you pout. "Where are you taking me, Jiminie?"

"It's a surprise." He nuzzles you from behind as if that display of affection would placate you. Normally it would, but you're just not having it today. Something about being temporarily blind sucked all the patience out of you.

"Yeah, well, I hate you and your surprises," you mutter underneath your breath.

"If you hate me so much, why are you holding onto me so tightly?" Jimin chuckles as you flush. He was right. You were gripping onto his tan, exposed arms, hoping they would somehow protect you from the never-ending darkness that seemingly enveloped you as a whole.

"They say one should keep one's enemies close," you say snarkily. You're not backing down.

Jimin chuckles, placing another chaste kiss on the back of your neck. "I'm your enemy now?"

"Yeah, there's a fucking reason why there's a 'my' in enemy. You're my enemy, gotcha?" you giggle, shaking your head at how cheesy you were sounding. How love made you say the cringiest things.

You can't see it, but you know Jimin's beaming... either that or he's considering ditching you. Both are plausible.

"I just think you don't like surprises," Jimin sings in your ear.

"That too," you murmur. "Are we there yet?"

"God, Y/N," your boyfriend laughs. "You're 18, act like it! Besides, you'll love this surprise, I know you will."

"Yeah right, how can you be so su—"

Jimin's hands fall from your face, interrupting you mid-sentence as your eyes flutter rapidly to adjust to sight. Your jaw drops. "Oh my god," you whisper. "Jimin..."

It's that beach house. The same exact one that you two had visited way back when. The embarrassing night (if you recall correctly) when Jimin had quite sweetly apologized for 'sexually harassing' you. Your face reddens at the thought, and you quickly force yourself to admire the rest of your surroundings.

From outside, you can see the hundreds of little candles placed inside the house, lighting up the premises and warming your heart. There are even scented candles leading the way up to the front door. It smells like mint, and a flowery aroma you can't recall the name of.

"I remembered you like this place," Jimin says in a husky voice dripping with rich honey. He takes your hand, guiding you over and unlocking the door to the charming vacation home.

"It was beautiful," you whisper, eyes trained on the hundreds of flickering candles in front of the dimly lit ocean waters. "Even more so now."

Jimin smiles, his pillowy lips stretching perfectly across his glowing face as he tugs you into the house. "Good," he says, "we're here to make even more beautiful memories."

"Memories of what?" You cock your head, staring into your boyfriend's eyes that reflected the dancing embers of the candlelight.

"You'll see." And with that, he pulls you away to one of the larger bedrooms, following the pathway that the candles had offered.

You gasp once you enter the room. With the lack of sophisticated description, you could say that a fucking rose threw up in there. There are scarlet petals sprinkled meticulously across the dimly lit bedroom. Some incense burns in the corner, welcoming you with a sweet, floral fragrance. An aureate bed rests in the middle of the commodious chamber—your favorite kind of bed too, you might add—fluffy-looking with clean, white sheets.

The space takes your breath away. It's nothing like anything you've ever imagined. Romance writers take this!

"Do you like it?" Jimin whispers, nuzzling you from behind.

"Like would definitely be an understatement," you breathe, eyes still glued to the overwhelming scenery. "You planned all of this?"

"More or less," he mutters, tenderly nudging you towards the grand bed. Taking the hint, you flop down on the soft mattress, immediately assuming your natural position of looking like a human starfish. The sheets feel too silky against your hands, almost as if you were undeserving of touching such a delicate object. But it's absolutely perfect.

"God, Jiminie, this is so romantic."

You giggle, reaching out for your boyfriend's hand to pull him onto the bed. He complies, lying right by your side with your hands intertwined. It's silent for a while as you drink in your surroundings, attempting to engrave everything into your memories.

Then: "I'm thinking..." Jimin murmurs, interrupting your own thoughts.

"Really?" you giggle. "Usually one thinks quietly," you tease, rubbing small circles on the back of Jimin's hand.

Your boyfriend pouts as he turns on his side to face you. "At least ask me what I was thinking about." How can you resist when he's looking at you like that?

"Alright, alright, what were you thinking about?"

"You."

"Well, I am the only one here, and—"

"How I want you," Jimin quickly interrupts, his voice low, husky and sultry.

You giggle, moving over to wrap your arms around your boyfriend and burying your face into his warm chest. "But I'm right here!" you protest.

"But Y/N, I need you..." Jimin whispers, slowly pushing you back while maintaining eye contact. His look reflects back to your perception, and you can see the burning desire in them. Your stomach drops low.

Oh.

That look, with all that burning desire. It's what most people would call bedroom eyes. You would've never thought you'd see them up close, in real life. But here you are.

"Do you want me too?" His voice brings chills down your spine, and you gulp.

"No... I need you," you answer softly.

Jimin grins, wrapping a secure arm around you as he moves in. You don't have a second to breathe as his lips engulf yours. He kisses you slowly and sensually, both of your lips pulling and pushing in sync.

It's just the right amount of love and lust.

And when his tongue finds its way into your mouth, the wet figure slightly grazing your lips, you let out a weak breath. Noticing, Jimin smiles against the kiss, pulling away slightly just to flip you over.

"Jimin!" you shriek as your back hits the soft mattress.

Your boyfriend just gives you a breathtaking smile before crawling on top of you. He waits until you impatiently tug on his collar, bringing him in for another intense kiss. In acknowledgment, Jimin lightly bites your bottom lip, then traces his tongue over the bitten mark to soothe it, leaving you writhing beneath him.

He seems to like your response, hand reaching up to tilt your chin slightly upwards, everso deepening the kiss. Your tongues battle for the long-desired dominance, but in your case, winning the competition (that even proceeds to continue in the bedroom).

But even so, everything's taken to leisure and behind every sensual action is love.

You don't want to pull away, you don't want it to stop. Yet you're human and you need some damn thing called oxygen. "Ah, fuck." You softly detach your mouth from Jimin's lips wet as you gasp for breath.

Jimin chuckles. "Already?"

Your face burns at the memory that had happened early senior year, back when you hadn't known you would fall in love with the man above you. But then it hits you. "Wait, really?!"

"No, Y/N," Jimin undertones, giving you a quick peck. "We're not fucking."

"Oh, good. 'Cause I—"

"We're making love."

"Oh." You pause. "Oh."

Jimin notices your hesitation, cupping your cheeks with his hands and he gazes lovingly into your eyes. "You can always tell me to stop."

"N-No. Don't stop. It's just... I'm... Well... Oh fuck it," you mumble the last part under your breath. "I'm a goddamn virgin, Jimin."

Your boyfriend nods. "I know, Y/N. We'll go slow. You know, with an extra side of immense love..." He pauses to see if you're comfortable, tucking in a strand of sweaty hair that clings onto your face behind your ear. "Make me stop when you want it to stop."

You can't help but nod, head reeling with all sorts of thoughts. Then, your legs turn to jelly as your boyfriend leans away to start unbuttoning his shirt. That little shit. He's doing it tantalizingly slow, making sure you get ever glimpse of his smooth, toned muscles. His eyes never leave yours, even when he's lingeringly inching his shirt down, revealing more and more skin.

You think you might go crazy.

"You've seen me shirtless before." Jimin has a proud grin etched on his face, seemingly proud that you're admiring his body in awe.

You sigh quickly, averting your eyes for your own innocence. "Yeah, but not in bed," you mutter.

Your boyfriend chuckles lowly, rushing in to meet your lips. "There's a first time for everything," he breathes heavily against your mouth. You'd normally nod your head in agreement but your thoughts are a bit occupied at the moment. Especially when Jimin's hands are tugging at the hem of your blouse. "Can I?" he murmurs.

Oh god.

You nod weakly, watching as Jimin carefully starts unbuttoning your blouse. He gingerly slides the silky material off of your shoulders, flinging it behind his back afterward. Instinctively, you cross your arms over your bare stomach, averting your eyes off to the dark ocean waters as Jimin's warm hands tenderly dance across your shoulders. It feels so embarrassing to be half-naked in front of someone—even if you're madly in love with the man.

Your boyfriend notices, smiling warmly at you as he pecks your cheek. "Hey, hey, don't be embarrassed. You're beautiful to me no matter what. Don't hide yourself."

"Sorry, I just..." you trail off as you make eye contact with Jimin, cheeks tinging pink. "I have no fucking idea what I'm doing."

Jimin laughs. "No one ever does when they're thinking too much of it. Just go with the flow, don't think. Your mind might not know, but your body does; let that guide you..." His sultry voice does wonders. You don't understand how it's possible to have become weaker than you were before.

Goddamn.

You shock yourself when you tug Jimin back in, his lips crashing down on yours. He groans against the contact, hands fluttering south to graze against his belt. Your stomach drops low. Damn. It's really happening.

"You good?" Jimin mutters against your lips. "Too fast?"

You shake your head. "No it's good," you breathe, gripping his arm as his fingers work to unbuckle the belt. Time seems to slow down as he slips the black band from his jeans, tossing it off the bed.

You can hear your own heavy pants, and gasp when you feel something hot graze against your jeans.

"Sorry, I—" Jimin stutters, shifting above you. But that only makes his (god forbid) boner dig into your inner thigh. Quite unholily.

"O-Oh my god," you stutter as Jimin buries his face into the crevice of your neck. "Park Jimin, your thing inflated." You giggle slightly, cheeks heating up as you feel it chafe against your jeans. "Just thought you ought to know."

Your boyfriend grunts, pouting against your neck. "I'm aware," he says softly, shifting weight from his right to his left, making you groan.

"Let's just... continue," you choke out as Jimin has a shit-eating grin on his face above you.

And just like that, Jimin helps you peel the remaining clothing off of each other. (Somehow he miraculously unhooks your bra faster than you ever could.)

You'd say it would be awkward, but it's anything but. Yet your face still burns red and your eyes keep trailing off to look at the ocean. It's not awkward but you feel so bare. You're not cold at all, especially not when Jimin's holding you so close. But you feel... shy. That's the word. You feel shy.

And it's almost as if Jimin can read your mind. "Hey, Y/N, you don't have to be so shy." He leans in, leaving a chaste kiss to the shell of your ear.

You let out a little whine, hands reaching up to cover up your face. "I'm not being shy," you argue. "I dunno. I'm just... I don't know. If you told me we were going to do the deed, I would've taken a longer shower." You pout behind your hands.

"Y/N!" Jimin laughs. "I love you, no matter how much you smell," he says, kissing your exposed forehead as he sniffles his nose to take in your scent. "And you only smell like a delicious meal to me."

You make a face, rolling your eyes from under your palms.

"Aw, c'mon, show me your beautiful face," Jimin coaxes, his sultry voice replaced with bubbly teasing as his warm hands attempt to separate yours from your face.

You huff. "I don't see where you see the beauty," you mutter, finally giving in and uncovering your face. Jimin immediately peppers your face with light kisses.

"What do you mean? I see beauty everywhere," Jimin chuckles, fingers grazing over your collarbone. "And by everywhere, I mean, everywhere," he whispers hotly in your ear, emphasizing the last word. You flush, suddenly feeling the urge to cover up your chest, but you remember you're in safe, loving hands. "Hey," Jimin calls, his fingers running through your hair, "you ready?"

"I... uh..." Your brain turns into mush at that absolute moment. It's a simple yes or no question, but your mind goes blank, and you utter something completely else. "Wait, is it going to hurt?"

Jimin chuckles, raising a cocky brow. "Well, that depends on how much you can take me."

Your eyes enlarge and you almost choke on your own breath. "Damn. I think I just got unaroused."

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes, though a smile peeks out from his lips. You feel the heat of his body lift from you as he slightly pulls away to reach for something on the elegant nightstand. Looking at him with questioning eyes, you wordlessly ask what he was doing.

"Condom," he answers, hands fumbling with the wrapper. You quickly avert your eyes, almost feeling the need to give Jimin some privacy as he deals with the protection. When he's finished, he slowly crawls back onto you, legs on both sides of your body. "Hey," he breathes, running a soft finger over your cheek, "trust me, alright? Don't be nervous, Y/N. I'll be right here the whole time."

You nod, reaching for his hands. He gladly gives them to you, and the two of you interlock both of your hands by each side of your head. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his warm breath escaping from his lips and caressing your pink cheeks.

"I love you, Y/N," Jimin whispers.

If you thought you knew what love looked like before, you were wrong. This. This look is the embodiment of love. How his eyes are slightly hooded from sexual desire, but how they also glisten brightly with all the adoration in the world. It's the look that speaks a million words. A look to say, 'I can't tell you my love enough, so I must show you.'

It's not that he was going to make love. No, with that look, he wants to give love with you. And you're not one to oppose.

Your eyes can't leave Jimin's, savoring the intimate feeling with him and the last moments of what some people might say your purity. "You and me both," you finally manage to breathe.

Jimin gives you a tender smile, hands still tightly intertwined with yours. And with that, your bodies are one.

You gasp from the foreign feeling, toes curling and head throwing back. Your hands subconsciously grip onto Jimin's and he grunts. "Good?"

"O-Oh god, y-yeah," you breathe shakily, closing your eyes as your lips part involuntarily.

You've never been this physically close with another human being. No one's ever gotten permission from you to invade your space so literally, either. But it's this moment in time where you're in pure bliss. Every movement, every breath, every warm pant that falls from both of your lips is euphoric, making up the utopian world you live in every time you're with your love.

And once it all ends and you're cleaned up, Jimin takes you by his side, cuddling you like there's no tomorrow.

"You know," he whispers sleepily in your ear, breath tickling your baby hairs. He kisses the back of your neck as you snuggle up against him, naked back touching his warm chest. "It was my first time tonight too."

You turn your head in shock, then finding your lips inches away from his. "What?" you whisper back.

"Mhm," Jimin hums, pecking your lips and intertwining his bare legs with yours. "First time making love, that is."

It only takes one statement for your mind to flash back to the pleasurable moments you'd shared with your boyfriend. How the once quiet room had become a chamber blossoming with pants, moans and little whispers of endearment. You remember the eyes that Jimin had look at you throughout the night. They had reflected all of your love for him straight back to you. That was the moment when you had known. That was when you'd truly realized this form of unadulterated love was new to your boyfriend as well. Both of you would find your way through the twists and turns of the maze that follows any true relationship, together.

The thought keeps you at peace.

24 is an age you never thought you'd reach.

It's an age old enough to make important decisions. But also an age young enough to get away with doing dumb shit.

You've lived for 24 years. Okay well, 24 years and 220 days to be exact (that's counting 6 leap days). Which is approximately 295.26 months. About 1283 weeks and 5 days. Then 8986 days. Fuck, you're old.

24's the age Jimin was when he met you, therefore it was deemed a magical age and number. Some days you agree with that, some days you don't.

Today though, you full-heartedly agree.

Jimin intertwines his hand with yours, rubbing small circles on the back of it — just the way you like. His strides equal yours, making sure he's walking right next to you, never faster, never slower. He's also wearing an all-black outfit, something that you've mentioned your love for countless times.

And you had left the house together, deciding to walk to the theater to watch Jin's newest play. Your cousin had saved both of you a special seat "on the house," and you were honestly excited to be able to support your cousin (to repay back all the support he had given you in your angsty teen years).

"So, what do you think, Y/N?" Jimin asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"Hm?"

"The proof I was talking about for the last ten minutes. Think it's alright to give to my students during winter break?"

"Oh god," you sigh. "I don't know... Nothing screams satanic hell than a five-page double-sided proof. Especially during winter vacation." You look at Jimin for support, squeezing his hand. "You and your students can use a break, you know. Besides, if you assign a five-page proof, you'll have to grade it, and I'm not helping you with that anymore."

"Yeah but —"

"Jiminie, they're college kids. They need to have time to go to parties as much as you need time to hang out with me!" you pout, leaning into your boyfriend convincingly. "Besides, college is stressful as hell."

"Damn." Jimin shakes his head, chuckling. "Ever since you got a job, you act like you have the answer to everything!"

"Oh yeah? Well ever since you became a college professor, you've been giving me less attention!" You swing your linked hands back and forth, grinning wildly. "And for the record, I've always acted like I had the answer to everything."

Jimin scoffs, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "Fine. Whatever, but ever since you turned 24, you think you need all the attention in the world!"

"Mhm, yes, sure. But you're just working way harder because you know I make more money than you." You stick out your tongue at your boyfriend. A childish play, but something you know for a fact that Jimin finds absolutely adorable. "Wanna know the exact math? Twenty-one thousand, three hundred and ten more bucks!"

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes. "Y/N, we've gone over this. We share a bank account, therefore we don't need to compete over our salaries."

You huff, slipping your hand away from Jimin's grip to cross your arms disapprovingly. "That's what the lesser money-maker always says but whatever, I gotchu."

"Y/N..." Jimin warns.

God. You know that voice. You know that voice very well. It's the "shut up right now or I'll punish you in the bedroom" voice. And you don't plan on being dominated today, thank you very much.

"Okay, okay," you sigh, playing with the ends of your hair. "I guess I went too far."

"You guess?"

You scoff. "Okay, fine. I know. Feel happy now, Professor?"

Dom-Jimin is replaced with the smiley boyfriend that you know well. "Just call me Jimin, Y/N... Unless you're okay with some role-playing when we get back home."

He whispers the last part in your ear, making the hair on the back of your neck stand tall. "Jimin!" you shriek, slapping your boyfriend's shoulder in shock. "You're not supposed to talk about that... that kind of stuff in public!"

But Jimin's all smiles as he links arms with you, marching you towards the theater.

"What the fuck??" you announce as you march out of the theater still dazed from what you had just witnessed.

"I know," Jimin agrees, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jin did us so fucking dirty."

"I just can't believe he made a whole ass play about us!" you exclaim, throwing up your hands. Passerbys are giving you strange looks but at age 24, you don't give a fuck. "Illegal Love my ass."

"But you've got to admit, people really digged the teacher-student romance," Jimin whispers in your ear, his hands gripping your shoulders. "Who wouldn't? It's the sexiest kink out there."

You flush red, swatting Jimin's arm away. "That's subjective, Professor," you mutter under your breath. "Besides, you and I both know you're only saying that to get in my pants tonight."

"I'd be lying if I said no, Miss Y/N."

Now you know it's gonna be a fun night. 24's the magical age alright.

At least you think it is.

—previous | next (second book of ly trilogy masterpost)

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin angst #teacher au #jimin crack #jimin fanfic #illegirl

148 notes · View notes

eeveedel · 3 years

Text

Before I go to bed -- a GOD TIER drabble @nevergoingbacknowshine sent me today inspired by the chubby actor au 🥰🥰

Surprise :) for Del & the chubby friday fans :)

—-

Indulging in the Actor Louis AU - PT. 1

—-

Louis had a few fun things lined up for the next two days whilst Harry attended meetings with the rest of his fashion team in LA, it was rare he ever got to spend time alone unless it was being on set and away from home. Harry and Louis were always harryandlouis, and the entire world knew that.

What they didn’t know, was everything Louis did to rile Harry up whilst he was home alone. Or, just what the pair did in general.

“Hollywood’s fittest couple” hung in the balance as Louis had to lose weight for another role that required him to be slim and fit and run miles on end without breaking a sweat, and it was tiring Louis out. Granted, he decided he would never again reach his old physique of pure muscle, even for a role, because it didn’t make him happy anymore. The morning workouts, the constant bland food, tracking every calorie and macro was boring Louis to death - especially after having to gain 30 pounds for the previous role he just played.

So here he was, a weekend away from set, laying on the couch and stuffing his face with whatever he damn well pleased. In 20 minutes he decided he would get in the bath and indulge in some champagne with the silence of the house as his company before him and Harry had their facetime call later that night. Harry knew Louis was off this weekend and was sad he couldn’t reschedule his meetings to spend time with him, but they never missed a single day without wishing each other a good night over video call, no matter what time zone they happened to be in.

Louis had ordered just about everything his heart had been craving over the last two weeks he’d spent on set, hopelessly eating kale salads, green smoothies (that Harry would probably enjoy), and no meat in sight besides plain grilled chicken.

On the table in front of him now sat three large fries and a twenty piece chicken nugget from mcdonalds, two burgers from five guys, and a milkshake from shake shack - all of which arrived only about 5 minutes ago to the door of their California home, and Louis would be damned if he didn’t take this opportunity to make Harry wish he could teleport to their front door too.

Snapping a photograph of the impressive spread, Louis sent it away to the iphone of his husband all the way in some stuffy LA meeting space, while he began enjoying his meal like it was the last good one he would have for a while.

Not 10 minutes later when Louis was putting a burger wrapper and the first empty french fry container in the bag to be tossed when he was finished, his phone started buzzing like mad on the table before him.

H: “Are you kidding me Louis, I don’t even get to be there :(“

H: “The ONE WEEKEND I don’t get to spend with you and I can’t be there encouraging you?”

H: “Take it easy though, you have to be back on set in a few days, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the director for having a puffy face from the salt”

H: “this is an important meeting and here you are, ruining my thought process.”

H: “i’m kidding, i love you”

H: “but still.”

Louis couldn’t help but chuckle, he was going to leave Harry on read until he finished all of this food, just because he knows Harry will be losing his mind knowing that Louis was too preoccupied to answer right away.

And, when the phone started vibrating again, Louis knew he was right.

H: “too busy stuffing your face to answer me I see :(“

H: “you know, it’s not very nice of you to torture me when I’m 4 hours away.”

H: “loooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuubear”

Instead of answering, Louis sent him a picture of the now two empty french fry containers and both burger wrappers in the trash bag, hoping Harry would catch the hint.

H: “god damn it Louis William Tomlinson.”

With that, Louis kept eating, until everything was finished and he was struggling to suck down the rest of his vanilla milkshake.

When it was finished Louis’ belly ached from the amount of food it wasn’t as accustomed to anymore, and as he sat practically sedated on the couch, he got an idea.

He gave himself a few more minutes before picking up his feet and walking to the master bedroom, hand on his belly the entire way there, where he decided to take out one of his lace bodysuits.

Stripping out of his boxers and t-shirt, he slipped the soft lace on gently trying not to jostle his belly in the process, loving the way the lace scraped at his stretch marked skin while he pulled it on.

He glanced in the mirror and he lifted his arms to tie the top around his neck, noticing how his stomach was round and bloated from all the food packed into it.

Carefully, Louis laid on the bed after propping his phone up at the right angle, setting the timer, and beginning to pose for each shutter of the camera. This was going to drive Harry absolutely mad.

5 minutes later, after choosing and sending an appropriate photo captioned “babe my belly hurts :(“, Louis’ phone was again buzzing wildly.

H: “LOUIS I SWEAR TO GOD.”

H: “I’M IN A MEETING.”

H: “you know what”

H: “I hope it does, you did this to yourself whilst I wasn’t able to be there.”

Louis didn’t like the tone of that last text, so he sent another picture of just his hand resting on his belly for good measure, giggling like a madman after this time captioning it “do you think this body suit looks a little loose?”

H: “I think when I get home that body suit is going to be ruined.” Was the only reply Louis got before Harry put his phone on silent and buried it in his bag, hoping to feign innocence when he could feel his half hard on pressing against the zipper of his trousers.

Louis was a giggling mess as he rolled onto his back, continuing to rub his poor belly.

—-

It wasn’t an hour later when Louis was peacefully laying in the bathtub, still petting at his rounded tummy and sipping on some red wine that the doorbell rang a few times.

After about the fifth ring, Louis pulled himself out of the bath mumbling about who the hell could be visiting them today of all days, tying his bathrobe around his dripping body as he made his way down the staircase to the front door.

When he opened the door, he knew exactly who was to blame.

“Door dash, order for Louis Tomlinson.” The teenager looked less than enthused as he handed a large pizza and a small box of cupcakes over to Louis.

“Um…thank you” Louis said, taking the boxes before the teenager turned around to get back into his car.

L: “I can’t believe you”

L: “if you think I won’t finish all of this…”

Louis began walking back up to their master bath, setting the food down on the bed.

H: “facetime call in 30 minutes when I get to my hotel room.”

——

By the time 15 minutes flew past, Louis had already decided not to wait for Harry.

He knew what Harry would be expecting him to eat, so….he just decided to have something different so Harry wouldn’t know he had eaten more before their call.

Logic, right?

Wrong. Because after Louis had finished his fifth king size chocolate bar in the bath tub, his belly was not too happy with him and his choices.

He lifted himself out of the tub gently, his belly making angry noises at the movements. Louis stifled a burp into his palm begging for room to be made inside his tummy or Harry would know something was up.

No such luck when only a small air bubble was shifted, making him feel even more uncomfortable.

He was going to have to play pretend.

Trudging to the bed to lay down for a few minutes, Louis hoped the food would shift around even a little bit to make room for what he was sure Harry would expect him to eat on the call. He reached his hand down to grip the swell of his bloated belly, angry with his decision to play this game.

When his Skype began ringing a few minutes later he had picked out a soft set of lace to lay down in front of the camera for his husband. He laid on his side, his head propped up on one hand that was propped by his elbow on the soft comforter, and pressed the answer button.

“Hey sweetie, I missed you so-“ Harry stopped when he realized what he was looking at and Louis smirked in pleasure as he ran his hand over his belly.

“You…I haven’t been gone more than 24 and you look like you’ve put on weight Louis.” Harry blurted out not thinking.

“Well, they do say the camera adds 10 pounds so…” Louis said, picking up a cupcake to lick the icing off from the meal Harry had ordered for him. His belly gurgled softly in protest, knowing it would soon be packed beyond repair.

“I…I….Mhm.” Harry stuttered out as he watched Louis lick the white frosting off the cupcake, acting like he’d never experienced something like this before.

“Stunned to silence huh? Over a little lace? Surely you’re not a virgin we know this.” Louis laughed gently, his belly pushing forward a little more as he took a deep breath in preparation.

“Sorry sorry sorry, just…fuck I wish I was with you Lou you look…really fucking good. So fucking fit.” Harry blushed a deeper shade of red as he went to rest his head in his hands to watch.

“Fit? Hmmm….yeah if you say so. Wouldn’t use that term but..” Louis slapped his belly, helping to move the air enough for him to finally burp effectively, he was gonna need more room for this food if he was going to trick Harry - and he wanted nothing more than to see Harry’s face when he finished this.

“Not like I’ll be running a few miles anytime soon yeah?” Louis said with a smirk as he took a bite out of the frosting-Less cupcake.

“We may live in America currently but you know what I mean when I say fit Louis” Harry deadpanned at his husband’s joke, even if the joke did make his dick twitch in interest. He wasn’t going to make Louis run or anything, maybe…maybe he’d have him top, just to tease him. Louis loved a good teasing.

“Yeah yeah, I know, tell me about your day sweetheart while I finish this for you.” Louis smiled as he picked up another cupcake, Harry detailing his slew of fashion meetings for the upcoming spring season - all the types of fabrics and colors that were projected to be on trend that Harry wanted to be ahead of.

“And of course they chose this shade of violet that was just…ridiculous Louis you should’ve seen it I -“ Harry stopped off as Louis interrupted him stifling another burp into his palm.

“You’re really struggling through this one babe?” Harry asked with interest laced in his tone. Louis had only had the two cupcakes and three slices of pizza, he wasn’t anywhere near finished and usually he would be plowing through a meal this simple.

He so wished he could be there to force the food into a tied up Louis’ mouth.

“Mmmm I, yeah, I guess I am.” Louis set the cupcake he was working on down and rolled onto his back, rubbing his distended belly that was on full display for Harry and the camera, groaning as the food shifted around in his tummy.

“Harrrrryyyyyy, my belly hurts” Louis whined as his right hand joined his left on top of his belly, slowly moving lower to knead the pudge below his belly button.

“Louis…god, what did….what did you even eat today? Did you eat again before this call?” Harry’s interest was peaking, his dick hard as he questioned why Louis’ stomach was so round and firm, the pressure of all the food packed so tightly in his belly making the older boy groan.

“N-no I wouldn’t, you wanted me to wait for you.” Louis cheeks were giving his lies away as they became a cute shade of pink.

“Louis, tell me the truth. There is no way you’re this full from this meal - I’ve seen you eat far more in less time with an embarrassing amount of ease.” Harry huffed, Louis had to be lying.

“Embarrassing? I take pride in that, you know. I worked hard to be able to eat so much in such a little time.” Louis glared at the computer screen as his left house pinched at his lower belly for emphasis.

“I take pride in it too, after all, you are bursting with my love. Now be honest and tell me what you ate.” Harry said, voice firm. He was not playing games if he couldn’t be there to absolutely wreck his boy.

“Mmmmm, Harry” Louis frowned as his belly made a very loud unhappy noise, moving his hand to pat his upper belly as if apologizing to it.

Harry stayed silent as he waited for his answer.

“Fine, yes, I ate candy. A lot of candy.” Louis huffed as he rolled back onto his side gently, cradling his belly as a pregnant woman would.

“Hmm, why did you lie?” Harry mused, entertained by Louis having to eat before their Skype call.

“Because I wanted to be able to do this, eat all this food, and then tell you I got hungry before hand and ate even more.” Louis poutted, looking directly into the camera.

“Well, looks like this is going to be a very long Skype call. Because you’re going to eat, all of this.” Harry’s tone was not to be played with.

“Can I…can I wait for just a few more minutes? My belly is so tight Harry, please.” Louis stifled yet another burp into his palm, finally the food beginning to digest.

“A few minutes honey, then you’re going to finish the pizza. The cupcakes can wait.” Harry took pity on his husband, knowing Louis was much better as finishing stuffings when he was physically there to help.

“Okay okay, yeah, a couple minutes.” Louis rolled back onto his back, patting his tummy. “Maybe….maybe it’s not the camera that adds 10 pounds” Louis chuckled at his previous joke.

“I knew you looked bigger than you did, you bastard. Your belly does look really tight baby boy, wish I could be there to help” Harry frowned. He missed Louis’ soft skin, running his fingers up and down his curves, patting his belly from behind. Even if it had only been a day since he had left.

“Yeah, don’t know what I weigh right now” Louis jiggled his belly, what he could with it being so full. “That’s your job” He looked into the camera at Harry with a smile.

“What I do know is that I haven’t stopped eating since you left, genuinely. We’re definitely going to have to go shopping when you come home, I might clean the house out.” Louis giggled a little bit at that.

“Hmmmm, my baby boy has been hungry lately hasn’t he? We can certainly buy whatever you’d like when I come back.” Harry smiled brightly, always happy for Louis’ appetite to be growing with him.

#chubby 1d #chubby actor #submission #I'm hoarding her og submission in my inbox #so I can read it easily rip #I'm obsessed

18 notes · View notes

ladyanput · 4 years

Text

Oh You Mother-

Alright, here it is. This has nothing to do with Seeing Green, it was just something fun I wanted to write.

Eva yawned as she stretched her body, the sun's bright rays pulling her out of her sleep. She stretched and went to sit up, but realized something was holding her down. She blinked the blurriness out of her eyes and sat up, giving a soft chuckle as soon as she realized that a woman had her head on Eva's chest, asleep, and also realized both of them were very naked. Well, this was certainly a nice thing to wake up to.

At the sound of Eva's chuckle, the woman's eyes fluttered open and their eyes met. The woman's cheeks blossomed red and she quickly sat up, then held her head with a groan.

"Mio Dio, my head really hurts.." The woman muttered softly, sitting back, finally allowing Eva to sit up, who herself was feeling a hangover coming on. "I had far too much to drink last night."

"You and I both." Eva agreed, then chuckled when the woman looked even more embarrassed. Suddenly Eva remembered; meeting this woman at a bar and talking with her for hours, flirting, and eventually going home with her. Her eyes drifted around the woman's bedroom before she smiled at her. "Do you need anything for that? I have some ibuprofen in my purse, that and water usually helps."

"Oh… Um, thank you." The woman's cheeks were even rosier now, but she smiled, knocking the air right out of Eva's lungs. Fuck, that was a gorgeous smile, on a gorgeous woman. "I guess we… Slept together."

"Yes, and you were wonderful." Eva hummed as she reached out and cupped the woman's cheek, running her thumb lightly over the woman's soft lips. "I wasn't rough or anything, was I? I've been told I get a bit fierce in bed."

"You were wonderful as well, I haven't felt like that in a long time." The woman admitted, her hazel eyes taking on a sparkle to them. Then she suddenly looked thoughtful, then embarrassed. "I'm sorry I.. I forgot your name."

"Eva. And yours?" Eva felt her grin widen as the woman laughed.

"Cécile." The woman returned warmly, then glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and let out a disappointed sigh. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to start getting ready for work."

One glance at the clock told Eva that she'd have to get ready too, but she didn't want this pretty woman out of her grasp just yet.

"Well if that's the case, why don't you and I have a nice shower." Eva murmured, pulling Cécile close and running her fingers through the woman's dark brown hair carefully. "Sounds nice, right?"

In response, Eva received a kiss.

…

"You didn't have to make breakfast." Cécile poured herself another mug of coffee as she watched Eva flip pancakes, smiling to herself.

"To be fair, I'm using your flour, eggs, milk, and other things." Eva pointed out and took a long swig from her own mug, both women now dressed for work. "And I kinda seduced you, so hopefully pancakes and bacon make up for that."

"I don't usually do that sort of thing. One night stands." Cécile took a seat at the kitchen table as Eva set two plates full of delicious breakfast. She blushed even more when she noticed the other watching her. "I mean, I have a daughter so I wouldn't want to be so careless. I think the only reason I actually took you home was because she's away at a sleepover."

"Listen, Cécile, you don't need to explain yourself to me." Eva reached out and gently took the blabbering woman's left hand, then noticed the ring on her ring finger. "Oh… I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

"I'm not married." Cécile blurted out in a slight panic, then her face visibly coloured. "I mean… I'm sorry. My husband passed away a few years ago, I could just never bring myself to take off the ring."

"... I'm sorry. I hope I didn't cause you any pain." Eva bit her lower lip gently as Cécile looked away, carefully withdrawing her hand. "You really love your daughter, huh?"

"I do. I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you feel bad." Cécile put in, then took a long drink of her coffee, suddenly looking tired. "I just… I don't want to hurt my daughter. I've been so busy with work that I'm barely home, or barely have time to socialize. Those akuma attacks are getting out of control and she's terrified, her boyfriend keeps calling to check on her and she had such lovely friends who always want to hang out. I feel like if I start dating again, she'll be under even more stress. I'm already involved so little in her life right now, I…"

"Cécile, it doesn't have to be us dating." Eva reached out and took her hand in a comforting manner. She forced herself to smile brightly in an almost carefree manner. Eva would be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking of asking her out on a date, but it wasn't like Cécile owed her anything. "It's just a bit of sex we had last night. We can go to work today and never see each other again, if you'd like. Sex doesn't automatically mean a relationship."

They soon began eating breakfast in an uncomfortable silence, Eva eyeing the pictures hanging on the kitchen wall. What caught her eye was on a small girl with brown hair and vivid green eyes, smiling brightly as she hugged a much younger looking Cécile. Something about the little girl sent this feeling to form in the back of her mind, but she decided to ignore it.

After dishes were put away, coats were on,and both women were out of the apartment building, they exchanged glances on the sidewalk.

"Well, I need to get to the embassy." Cécile smiled at Eva, who returned the smile. "Those ambassadors can never get stuff done without secretaries like myself."

"... If you think you're not so close to your daughter anymore,maybe try spending more time with her? Surely you're allowed to take a day off, or have lunch with her?" Eva smiled as she took out her umbrella, noticing the dark skies overhead. "Not that's it's my place to tell you how to live your life or anything."

"..." Cécile stared at her for what felt like the longest time, before she bit her lower lip. "I want to try. The… the whole dating thing, I want to try it. So maybe we could go out for lunch today? Could I bring my daughter too?"

"Sure, why not?" Eva's smile brightened considerably, before taking a pad of paper out of her purse and jotting down her phone number. "Here, just text me if you change your mind. We can meet at the Grand Paris. I had a reservation today, I'm sure I can add two more seats to my table."

"I think I'd love that." Cécile beamed and then quickly took the paper, tucking it into her purse. "So we'll meet you there at twelve?"

"Sounds perfect." Eva waved, and quickly, the two went their separate ways, both with wide smiles on their face.

…

Eva arrived at the high school in a chipper mood, happily waving to any teachers she passed, brightly greeting the principal, Mr. Arquette, who happily waved back before he took a guilty looking student into his office.

"Good morning, Eva." Caline Bustier smiled brightly as she stepped out of her classroom, looking prim and proper in her white pantsuit, that was spotless and ironed to perfection. Eva silently wondered if she ever spilled anything on that thing. She nodded in greeting, but remained silent and gripped her purse tighter, eyeing the classroom door. "Listen, I need you to fetch all of my worksheets from the printer room. I have a lot of assignments to hand out today."

"Sure thing." Eva shrugged and brushed past her, making her way towards the staff room. The papers could wait for a few minutes. She waved to a few of the teachers that were gathered around, drinking coffee and chatting as they snacked on a box of pastries from a familiar looking bakery box. She poured herself a mug of coffee and took a seat amongst the teachers, who all returned her smile. "Guess what she asked me to do this morning. She wants me to grab all of her worksheets, she's not planning on teaching today."

"She's getting lazier." One of the teachers commented as she picked up a danish from the box and took a bite of the sugary pastry. "Mmm, Tom and Sabine never let me down with my morning orders."

"She's been printing off a lot of worksheets and such. Is she even giving lectures anymore? It feels like she simply gives her class readings and does the worksheets, without truly doing anything." Another teacher sniffed in annoyance, choosing a muffin for himself. He then eyed Eva and grinned. "But we all know Caline doesn't know how to do her job, at least, not properly."

There were playful chuckles sounding around the staff room at his comment. Caline Bustier was an outcast, in a sense, with the staff at Lycée Saint Louis. They saw the woman as a teacher who didn't take her job seriously, given that her class was left to run wild, and had all been akumatized several times, save for a few students.

She tried so hard to be friends with everyone, but she just didn't have the respect of her fellow colleagues. They all saw her as a child playing dress up, in a sense. Her students got more detention than anyone, and the fact that she refused to discipline her students properly was a thorn in the other teachers' sides, because they had to deal with the bratty kids who wouldn't listen to authority. Mr. Arquette had even threatened to expel one miss Lila Rossi and Alya Césaire because of their behavioural issues; fake doctor's notes, outbursts of rage and violence when questioned… It was just a mess.

They had worried when they heard a TA was coming and asked to work with Caline, though many of them hoped that she would somehow rattle Caline's train of thought into something more sane, but no such luck. The teacher merely put all of her responsibilities on the TA and carried on thinking she was a beloved teacher, who had been moved from DuPont to Saint Louis because she was just so amazing that they didn't want her class of superb, inspirational, gifted students to be without her gifted guidance.

To be honest, it was the complete opposite. The only promising students in that class were Adrien Agreste; the famous model and heir to the Gabriel brand, Marinette Dupain-Cheng; an inspiring designer who seemed to be designing for many influential celebrities these days, and Nathaniel: whose comic he made with his boyfriend Marc seemed to be taking off at a breakneck pace and was already being picked up by a publisher.

But that was all, really.

And somehow, Evangeline had been guided into the staff and their companionship. A woman who had only been in France for five months had gotten into their good graces,instead of the new teacher who had been there now for three years.

"You look chipper today." One of the other teachers gave a sly grin, a devious glint in her eyes. "You brought someone home last night?"

"Actually, I was the one brought home." Eva smiled as she snatched a muffin from the bakery box and winked at the woman. "I even got myself a date. Well, I'm going out to lunch with her and her daughter, I think it's gonna be an 'I want my daughter's approval to date' kind of thing."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Why the hell not? She's… She's gorgeous and her smile is amazing. Sure, she's fairly older than me, in her mid thirties, but I wanna give this a chance."

"You're a cougar hunter, aren't you?"

"No! I'm, like, twenty four!"

There was laughter around them before Eva gave them a playful scowl and snatched two pastries from the box, much to the outcry of the other teachers. Eva spitefully stuck out her tongue and left the room without another word.

After getting an ungodly amount of papers from the printer room, Eva got to Caline's class, and she was greeted with the familiar scene of everyone crowded around Lila Rossi, enraptured with some tall tale she was telling about a prince and a Wayne boy fighting for her hand in marriage or something.

Evangeline rolled her eyes and made her way to the back of the class, where two students were seated alone.

"Good morning Mari, Adrien." Evangeline handed them each a pastry she had snatched, then had a devious little grin on her face. "How are my favourite kids today?"

"Father is making me do another photo shoot with the banshee." Adrien stated dryly as he happily munched into the chocolate filled croissant he was handed. He carefully eyed the TA, then smiled. "What's got you so happy today?"

"I'm so sorry, Alya, but I can't." Lila's voice grew louder as she sounded so regretful, pouting. "But my mother invited me to lunch as the Grand Paris. We're getting the best VIP table and she's going to be introducing me to a supermodel, who wants me to be her apprentice."

Marinette rolled her eyes and shared a smirk with Adrien and Eva, before she bit into her cinnamon bun. When Miss Bustier appeared, all of the students took their seats and class began. But Eva couldn't ignore the little niggle that was wriggling in the back of her mind, telling her that something was wrong.

…

As soon as lunch rolled around, Evangeline eagerly went and got her purse. As she headed towards the school entrance, Marinette fell in step beside her.

"I've filed to switch classes. Adrien too."

"Good. Glad you finally stop giving out second chances like they're candy." Eva smiled down at Marinette, ruffling her hair a bit. " Listen, I've got a date to get to, so you might just be stuck with Adrien at lunch today."

"Oh, we're actually going to Luka's for lunch. He, Kagami, and Chloé thought it would be fun to have lunch, we haven't had it together in a while."

"Kinda hard to do that when those three are constantly making kissy faces at each other."

"And Adrien is wanting into that relationship too." Marinette gave a soft giggle, then smiled up at the older woman. "Since we're eighteen now, I think he's getting bolder about his life choices. No more father dictating everything."

"And for you, no more classmates putting all the responsibilities on you. Just don't stress, fall in love again, maybe join the poly squad." Eva joked, winking. "You have lots of love to give, sugar cookie."

"Okay, enough poking into my love life, go deal with your own." Marinette let out a laugh and the two walked down the front steps. Just as Eva was about her hail herself a cab, one pulled up and out stepped Cécile. "Cécile? What are you doing here?"

"Eva? Oh, is this where you work?" Cécile's beautiful face lit up with a stunning smile as she strode over to the woman, taking her hands. "What a coincidence, my daughter goes here as well! And there she is!"

Eva glanced to where Cécile was indicating and felt her gut clench. Striding down the steps, surrounded by her entourage, was Lila Rossi. Her cat-like green eyes narrowed as soon as she set eyes on Eva, but she strode forward confidently, calling out to her mother and embracing her. She began talking louder, giving a dramatic performance for her faithful entourage.

"Mama, I'm so glad you're here! Let's hurry and get to the Grand Paris so I can meet your special friend!" Lila flipped her hair over her shoulder and smirked at Marinette and Eva, hands on her hips. "We wouldn't want to make such an important person wait, now do we?"

"There's no rush, Lila, don't worry." Cécile laughed as she returned her daughter's hug, then motioned to Eva. "She's actually right here. Isn't that lucky, now we all can go to the restaurant together?"

"Wait, Miss Bourbon is a supermodel? Isn't she a bit fat for that?" Alya's brows shot up as she eyed the TA skeptically.

"Supermodel? What are you talking about?" Cécile's brows drew together as she glanced at Alya curiously, then to her daughter. "I never said a supermodel. I told you I met someone special and she was nice enough to make room in her reservations for us to join her for lunch."

Marinette had to hold back a giggle as she watched Lila's face go bright red in embarrassment as her lie was brought to light. Many of her classmates were giving confused looks before Rose, innocent little Rose, stepped forward and shook Cécile's hand.

"Mrs. Rossi, it's so good to see you again! How was your time in Prague the other week? Wasn't it exciting that Damian Wayne and Roy Harper fought over her? You must have been so thrilled to have met the Achu royal family."

"What are you talking about? We've never been to Prague.. Lila?" Cécile glanced over at her daughter, who had begun to panic.

Marinette took a step back as she watched the chaos unfold and Lila's lies came to light. She felt a bit of glee as Alya kept demanding answers, while Cécile kept tearing every lie to shreds, right in front of the entire class. But then she remembered what Evangeline said earlier.

Slowly, she turned to her friend and saw that her face had gone stark white, even her lips had lost some colour.

"Eva?" Marinette spoke, suddenly drawing everyone's attention.

"Evangeline?" Cécile stepped forward, reaching for the woman, but stopped at the glazed look she saw in the woman's eyes. Eva couldn't hear anything, the blood was roaring in her ears and her mind was reeling.

"You planned this, didn't you? Why would you do this? You teamed up with Marinette to bully me!" Lila burst into tears, obviously trying to save face. "You motherfucker, you turned my mother against me! How do you know her?!"

"You just answered your own question, Miss Rossi." Eva's voice came out cold, hard, and her expression mirrored it. The class took a moment of silence to ponder her words, before the light of realization hit them.

Marinette couldn't help it, she began laughing. She quickly doubled over from the onslaught of laughter, before she wiped away her tears.

Lila's face went red and something dangerous sparked in her eyes. She launched herself as Marinette and aimed her claws at the girl, but Eva stepped forward and got in her way.

Eva didn't cry out as Lila's long manicured nails raked over her face and neck, leaving behind marks. She grabbed Lila's wrists roughly, stopping her attack after the Italian got a few hits in. She stopped the screaming girl from any further attacks and met Adrien's gaze as he made his way down the front steps.

"Adrien, please go get Miss Bustier and Mr. Arquette. It seems like we finally have a hold of Mrs. Rossi and now we can ask her all about those long absences and the false doctors notes." Evangeline smiled thinly down at Lila, whose eyes glimmered with rage and hatred. "Funny how things work out, hm?"

"You'll regret this." Lila hissed through clenched teeth as Adrien ran back into the school. "I'll make sure of it."

Evangeline just rolled her eyes and somewhat roughly guided Lila up the front steps and towards the principal's office.

…

"I just don't understand. Lila's told me that the school has been shut down for weeks at a time due to the akuma attacks, due to Ladybug and Chat Noir taking so long to defeat them." Cécile explained to a grave looking Mr. Arquette. "I don't understand, why would you all believe she was away on a trip with me?"

"Because that's what she told us. Not that I was fooled, I easily looked into her absences and I knew you and her were still in the city. Contacting you is quite difficult, Mrs. Rossi." Mr. Arquette rose a brow at the woman, who had the decency to blush in embarrassment. "Our daughter never gave us your new cell phone number."

"Oh, she told me she had, because I gave her my old phone since hers broke." Cécile out in, her lips pressed into a thin line as she eyed her daughter. "So you've been telling everyone that we've been traveling to exotic places? Lila, I'm a secretary with the embassy, not an ambassador. Why on earth would you be telling people that, I could lose my job!"

"It's also online." Eva piped in, arms crossed. Cécile flinched when she saw the blood dripping from the scratches on the woman's face as she had refused medical attention. "On the Ladyblog, with Lila also stating she's Ladybug's best friend. Your daughter has been a ringleader of some bullies in her class, telling lies and targeting a specific student, as well as sexually harassing Adrien Agreste. We've already contacted their parents, they should be here shortly."

"What?! Mama, you can't believe them, Evangeline hates me and used you to hurt me! She's upset because I refused her advances, she's a creep, a criminal, she's obsessed with me!" Lila screeched, tightly gripping her mother's arm with tears swimming in her eyes.

"That is enough, Ms. Rossi." Mr. Arquette snapped at Lila, making her flinch. "We've already had this long discussion with your false accusations towards Ms. Bourbon. Miss Bustier, control your student for once!"

Caline looked embarrassed and went to speak, but Mr. Arquette cut her off with a look, then returned his gaze to a dumbfounded Cécile.

"Your daughter has been causing quite the amount of trouble. When Miss Bourbon got here, your daughter began telling everyone that she was on the run from Canadian police because she enjoys little boys."

"She also told everyone that I touched her and tried to force her into sex." Evangeline's voice remained icy as she crossed her arms, her eyes cold and flat. "We tried contacting you at your home, at the embassy, but there was no luck. Miss Bustier here told Mr. Arquette not to bring this slander to the police, that she'd discipline Lila. She never did and it all got swept under the rug."

"Eva…" Cécile whispered, her horror growing and a nauseous feeling rolling over her. "I'm so sorry…"

"Not as sorry as I am." Eva turned towards Mr. Arquette, her body shivering gently. "I'm going back to the class. Someone needs to actually watch over them and keep them in line. I'll visit the nurse on my way there to get bandaged up."

Mr Arquette was quiet for a long moment, but seeing the swirl of emotions in the TA's eyes, he nodded and let her go. Once Evangeline shut the office door closed behind her, she heard screaming from both mother and daughter through it, making her shudder.

She walked in almost a daze, before slipping into one of the bathrooms. Nausea hit her full force and she got violently sick in one of the trash cans, before she dropped to her knees and began to sob.

…

Marinette watched as Eva entered the classroom, which had been gravely quiet. She watched as her friend stiffly walked and sat down at the teacher's desk, looking absolutely miserable.

"Miss Rossi won't be returning to class today. In fact, the authorities have been contacted, due to her assault towards myself." Eva muttered and no one dazed argue with her as they eyes her bandaged face, though Alya looked pissed.

" You set her up, you b-"

"Miss Césaire, hold your tongue before I come over there and make you close it. You're already on thin ice as well with the slander you made towards in on that tabloid of yours." Evangeline's words made Alya's mouth snap shut. "I honestly hope you're all happy now. I hope every action you made since meeting Lila was worth it."

The class was silent, then blinked and all of them rushed towards Marinette, shouting apologies. Marinette ignored them, tightly gripping Adrien's arm as she was swarmed by the apologies, the tears, the begging. But she watched as Eva laid her head on the desk and seemed defeated. And her heart ached.

It quickly spread around the school that Lila had been expelled and Miss Bustier had been fired for grooming things to get this out of control. That Lila had been dragged off school property kicking and screaming profanities, and many waited for an akuma, but none appeared. Hawkmoth found no use in the angry girl; she had failed far too many times for his liking, she was useless.

Marinette and Adrien transferred classes despite the begging and pleading of their former classmates

Mr. Arquette offered Evangeline Caline's job, much to the woman's surprise.

And it seems to get better. Though Alya herself was expelled not too long after, after lashing out and trying to slander Marinette and Eva on her blog once again, it seemed to get better.

No more bullying, the class was reined in, they behaved better, their futures looked brighter, if only a little bit.

Cécile never spoke to Eva again, heading back to Italy without another word

So Eva took the bottle of wine she had been planning.to share with Cécile and opened it, heading to her balcony to spend the night getting drunk.

When a familiar heroic pair showed up on her balcony, she invited them to join her, if only for one glass.

And she took a deep breath and smiled.

All is fine.

It would be fine.

She'd be fine.

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @ravennightingaleandavatempus @2sunchild2 @crazylittlemunchkin @bee-wrecker @souleateralicestein @loysydark @kceedraws @realrandomposts @alienjoyful

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous oc #miraculous fic

244 notes · View notes

quickspinner · 4 years

Text

Beautiful Dreams - Ch 3 Dreams Worth Chasing

Marinette was on her way to pick up her missing folder, and Luka had a plan. Sort of. He caught himself chewing his freshly painted thumbnail and made a face (both at himself and the taste). He was going to be a wreck by the time she got here if he didn’t do something.

Luka picked up his electric guitar and cranked his amp. Rocking out was always the best way to deal with nerves. He was breathing a little hard by the time he finished his own version of Jagged Stone’s Rock Giant but he was comparatively relaxed when a slightly timid knock sounded on his door.

Okay. He could do this. He was smooth, no matter how much Juleka liked to pick on him.

Luka opened the door and there she was, stylish and put together as always, and as always his heart stuttered in his chest. Her hair was looking a little windblown and a strand stuck to her lips. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him, and he didn’t miss the way her gaze flicked over his white t-shirt and black jeans, nor the faint color that tinted her cheeks. He tended to keep his arms covered when he was with his students, as the type of parents who could afford his rates were often the type who didn’t really appreciate tattoos, but he’d left his arms bare today just to see if he’d been imagining things at the market. He concluded a little smugly that he hadn’t and Marinette wasn’t put off by his ink at all. That gave him the boost he needed to stop staring like an idiot himself.

“Come on in,” he offered, stepping back. “I put it in the back so I wouldn’t lose it or spill anything on it, I’ll go grab it. Make yourself at home.”

“Last time I did that I fell asleep,” Marinette said wryly, and he laughed, wincing slightly at how it echoed in the hallway.

“I hope you’re better rested today,” he called as he reached for the folder where he’d left it on top of his dresser.

“I wish. Was that you playing just now?” she asked when he returned with the folder in hand, and then answered herself before he could. “Sorry, that was a stupid question, of course it was you. It was good—I mean of course, you’d be good, you’re a teacher. I just—I’m a big fan of Jagged Stone and…” She seemed to run out of steam, blushing.

He’d thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach but the idea that her slip-up at the market hadn’t been just a fluke, that she was nervous because maybe she was just a little bit affected by him too was enough to make him feel sixteen again for the second time in as many weeks.

“I’m a teacher,” Luka said, leaning one shoulder against the wall as casually as possible. “But I’m a musician first and the electric guitar’s always been my first love. I play every chance I get. I’m glad you liked it, I’m a big fan of Jagged Stone myself.” He held the folder out to her.

Marinette took it, her gaze on the floor. “He’s actually one of my oldest clients.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s impressive. Louis told me you worked for him, but I didn’t realize you’d been working with him that long.”

“It was luck that started it, really, but we’ve had a good working relationship. Not so much lately since he’s sort of semi-retired but…” She trailed off, blushing harder, and Luka gestured to a poster on his wall.

“Louis told me you designed that one. He’s very proud of you. As he should be, I’m really impressed,” he said. “It’s one of my favorites.” He grinned back at her. “You’re really talented, Marinette.”

She lit up red as a tomato and stammered something about needing to go.

“Of course,” he said, stepping back and motioning her ahead of him. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy.” That’s such a lie. I want to keep you forever.

He walked her to the door. Now or never, Couffaine.

“Marinette.” Luka took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. “If you’d like to hear more, my band is playing this weekend. I’d love for you to come.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, taking the paper and unfolding it slowly to look at the flier. “I’m...not sure? I’ll have to see if I’m free.”

“I understand. Well, I hope you can make it.” He took a breath. “Maybe after our set is over, I can buy you a drink.”

Her gaze snapped to his face and Luka did all he could to keep his expression relaxed and friendly, though his eyes were locked on hers. He shrugged slightly. “No pressure, just...if you feel like getting out.”

Marinette bit her lip and lowered her eyes, and then looked back up and smiled. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Great.” Luka smiled and opened the door for her. “Have a good week.”

She smiled back at him, blushing faintly. “Thanks. You too.”

He watched her get into her car, and then stepped back inside, shut the door, and leaned against it, all his breath rushing out with a whoosh. “Your move, dreamer,” he muttered. “Hope I see you Saturday. If you come, it’s on.”

***

Luka went through his usual pre-show routine, and his body and mind readied themselves to sink into the music in response. If he had something different than usual dwelling at the corners of his mind, no one noticed, and no one spoke to him, his bandmates having long ago learned to respect his space before a show.

If there was any place at all that Luka could feel at home outside of his family, it was at the club. He’d practically grown up in the back rooms of clubs and bars and anywhere else they could find that had a stage and somewhere to plug in an amp, trailing behind his mother with Juleka’s hand held tightly in his. Anarka Couffaine was fiery and bombastic where Luka was quiet and calm, but once he began to take the stage, first by her side and later on his own with Juleka at his, it became obvious he was his mother’s son. The stage contained and tempered Anarka’s fire, taming it into something other people could share. It fanned Luka’s flame, giving him the energy to reach out, to connect, to give others a glimpse of the inner world he guarded so carefully.

If Marinette was out there, beyond the stage light and the wall of crowd noise, she would see him tonight.

She’s here, he thought to himself as he picked up his guitar and stripped the strap over his head. She has to be.

No way he was going to fumble it this time. He was in his element here, he’d made his choice, made his peace with it, and now there was nothing left to do but act.

Behind him, the count tapped out, and Luka played.

***

For once, the pounding of his heart didn’t stop when he stepped off the stage. Luka accepted and returned the fistbumps and backslaps and congratulations of his bandmates on an excellent show. He stowed his gear as quickly as he could, and grabbed the extra bag he’d packed.

There was only so much he could do in the small, cramped bathroom, but he got his stage makeup washed off, freshened up as much as he could, and changed his shirt. He redid his eyeliner and ruffled up his hair, before taking a deep breath. He tossed his bag in the back with the rest of his stuff, and went to look for Marinette.

He found her faster than he expected, wearing a slinky red dress and her hair pinned up, standing at a table with a couple of other people. Luka lingered just a moment to prepare himself and then slipped through the crowd and touched her elbow. “Hey, Marinette. Glad you could make it.”

“Luka!” The smile she turned on him was blinding. “Luka that was amazing!”

He grinned back, instantly captivated. “Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I loved it! Oh!” She jumped as the brunette next to her elbowed her. “Um, Luka, this is my best friend Alya, and I’m pretty sure you and Nino have met.”

“We have. Good to see you again, Nino.” He exchanged a handshake and a shoulder bump with the other man, trying not to sigh at this slight complication. He hasn’t counted on having to hit on Marinette in front of her ex-husband’s best friend.

Not that it was going to stop him.

Nino gave him a neutral nod as he pulled back. “Hey Luka, long time no see. The band was sick.”

“Thanks,” Luka grinned, and offered his hand to Alya. “Nice to meet you, Alya.” She took his hand and looked him up and down, but not like she was checking him out—more like she was sizing him up. Luka had been on the receiving end of the BFF stare too many times to be bothered. He gave her his blandest smile and turned to Marinette. “So, can I buy you that drink?”

Marinette’s cheeks pinked. “Sure.”

He walked Marinette to the bar and let her order what she liked, and got a beer for himself. “So you liked the set?”

“I loved it,” Marinette smiled up at him. “The covers were cool but there were some original songs in there too, right? I really liked the one you did…” She gestured vaguely, forehead creasing in thought. “Umm, I think it went ‘not the right hand, not the right touch, but she always said I needed too much’? And it had that amazing guitar solo in the middle? That was my favorite.”

“Yeah?” Luka grinned, leaning against the bar. “I wrote that one, I’m glad you liked it.”

Marinette’s eyes went huge. “You wrote it? Like out of nothing?”

“More or less,” Luka chuckled. “I roughed it out and wrote the instrumentals, and our vocalist Jenner, he helped me work out the lyrics and the vocals. Only fair, really, since he had to sing it. I can usually put the melodies together on my own, but I always have to have some help with the words.”

“The melodies were so evocative and emotional though,” Marinette said, picking up her drink as the bartender delivered it. “The words are just the icing on the cake.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Luka picked up his beer and motioned Marinette to precede him back to the table.

Marinette didn’t move right away, giving him an adorably pouty look that came with such sad eyes that it made him want to cringe. “You make it sound like you think I’m insincere.”

“That was absolutely not my intention, I’m sorry.” Luka sighed and drummed his fingers on the bar, trying to find a better way to explain. “People tend to...notice words more, I guess. When people talk to us about a song they usually talk about how the words affected them, or that they thought this or that thing we did with the instrumentals is cool or catchy. I don’t get a lot of people who talk about how the music itself made them feel. So, what I meant was, thank you. That’s nice to hear.”

“Oh.” Marinette tucked a strand of hair back, clearly processing. “Then...you’re welcome. I really do feel that way, especially…” she hesitated, tilting her head slightly as she looked up at him. “Especially when you were taking the lead. I mean, I’m no expert, but, um...wow. That was incredible, what you can do with that guitar.”

It might be a shy, hesitant flirt, but he’d take it. He leaned into her space just a little, one hand resting on the bar next to her elbow. “Well, considering you’ve spent a lot of time around Jagged Stone—and don’t think I don’t know he’s not the only musician you’ve worked with—I think I’m very flattered, expert or no.”

He couldn’t quite see if she was blushing in the blue light coming off the bar, but he was pretty sure she was as she stammered something about getting back to the table and turned quickly, nearly tripping in her haste to put some space between them. Luka caught her arm to steady her, and rested just his fingertips on her back as he tried to shield her from some of the jostling of the crowd as they wound their way back to the table. Once over her initial fluster, she leaned back into his protection almost automatically, tucking her petite figure against his side when things got a bit tight.

When they got back to her friends, Marinette excitedly recounted their conversation. It wasn’t quite enough to make Luka blush, he knew what his strengths were, but it did make it easy to keep a smile on his face.

As Marinette talked on, Alya fixed Luka with a stare. When there was a lull in the conversation, she said, “Marinette, why don’t you go grab us another round.”

Marinette frowned. “Alya, nobody’s even finished—”

“Food,” Alya declared. “Get us some food. Please.” She reached over and slid Marinette’s glass in front of her. “I’ll watch your drink. Shoo.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and stood up. “Rude,” she sniffed. “You better not ditch Luka all by himself while I’m gone.”

“Of course not!” Alya promised.

Luka frowned, wanting to offer to go in Marinette’s place, or at least to go with her, but it was obvious that Alya just wanted Marinette out of the way. If that was the case he might as well sit here and get it over with. The crowd was clearing a bit as the DJ got rolling, people pressing toward either the bar or the dance floor, so she’d probably be okay.

Sure enough, as soon as Marinette was out of earshot, Alya rounded on him. “So what’s the deal? Are you into my girl or what?”

Direct. He could appreciate that. “Yes.” He lifted his bottle to his lips, watching Marinette over Alya’s shoulder trying to make her way through the crowd.

“Like a house and picket fence interested or like take her home and fuck her brains out interested?”

“Alya!” Nino hissed, looking horrified.

Luka barely managed to swallow before he laughed, putting his drink back down. “Both.”

“Oh my God,” Nino groaned, putting his hands over his face.

Alya grinned. “Good answer, Blue.”

“It’s Luka,” he said, amused.

“Make it past the second date and I’ll consider remembering that. So you teach music for a living?”

“I do all kinds of music for a living, but my steadiest income comes from my students, yes.”

“And you’re okay with being a stepdad?”

“You really don’t have to answer any of this,” Nino broke in. “Alya, come on.”

Luka ignored him. “Totally. Louis is a great kid and I like him. Honestly I didn’t have the greatest example in the dad department myself, so it’s a little scary, but I can deal.”

“Would you want more kids than just Louis?”

“Sure, I’d be open to that someday. Though I’d want us all to get settled with each other first before we brought a baby into the mix.” Luka sat back and let Alya continue giving him the third degree, refusing to answer only a few very personal questions. Finally she folded her arms and regarded him thoughtfully.

Luka smiled. “So, do I pass?”

Alya snorted. “If you can live up to half of what you just said I’ll gift wrap her for you myself.” She leaned forward. “Take advantage of my girl and I’ll kill you. Push her into anything before she’s ready and there are no words for the kind of hell I will put you through.”

“Noted,” Luka replied without any change of expression. Alya gave a nod and stood up.

“Listen, be blunt with her. She’s terrible at flirting. You have no idea how many men hit on her and she never even noticed. If you just hint around like you did with this, even if you think you’re being obvious at the time, she’ll convince herself it doesn’t really mean what you’re trying to mean. Now I better go help Marinette or we’ll be waiting here all night.”

“I can’t believe you let her grill you like that,” Nino said as Alya walked away, his eyes glued to her...back.

“It’s not the first best friend interrogation I’ve been through, although that was one of the more entertaining,” Luka grinned, propping his thick boots up on the currently empty chair next to him. “It’s usually easier to just go with it. What’s the harm if it gets her on board?”

There was no answer, and Luka looked over to find Nino regarding him soberly. “What?”

“Nothing, just...I thought you and Adrien were friends, dude.”

“We are.”

“You won’t be any more if he finds out you’re dating Marinette behind his back.”

“I’m not doing anything behind his back. If she actually agrees to go out with me, I’ll call and tell him myself.”

“He still loves her.”

Luka shrugged. “She still loves him too. You can see it every time she talks about him. But they’re done, and he doesn’t get a say anymore. And honestly man? If it was you and Alya was Adrien’s ex-wife, would it stop you?”

“You think you feel about Marinette like I feel about Alya?”

Luka looked across to where the girls were working their way back across the crowd. “Hell yeah,” he breathed.

Nino blew out a long sigh, and lifted his glass. Luka clinked it with his bottle and they both took a long drink. “Then I guess, good luck, bro.”

“Just do me a favor and don’t say anything to Adrien yet, okay?” Luka said. “I’m not asking you to lie to him if it comes up, but just leave it alone for now. She could still turn me down and I don’t want to cause a big shitstorm over nothing.”

Nino eyed him. “You’ll tell him before you two go out?”

“Absolutely.”

Nino sighed. “Okay.”

The girls finally returned, setting an assortment of bar food on the table. “Dance with me, Nino,” Alya ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” Nino sighed, standing up with a put-upon air but a smile on his face.

Luka watched them go and then turned back to Marinette as she settled back in her chair.

“So,” Marinette sighed. “How bad was she?”

“Pretty bad,” Luka chuckled, and Marinette giggled nervously. “I didn’t mind though, she’s just looking out for you.”

“Sorry, I told her it wasn’t like that, but—“ she gestured vaguely, not meeting his eyes.

Score one for the BFF. Blunt it is then. “What if it was like that?” Luka leaned his elbows on the table and tilted his head so that he was looking up at her. “What if I was hoping you’d come out tonight so that I could ask you out without being totally unprofessional?”

Marinette went red as a cherry and her mouth opened and closed and nothing came out.

“I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I’d really like to change that.” He put his hand out, palm up, on the table. “So if you want, we can talk some and maybe dance a little and then, if you’re feeling it, I could take you out for coffee tomorrow?”

He could see her swallow. She looked like a deer in the headlights and he wondered if he’d been a little too direct. Luka withdrew, sitting back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I won’t bring it up again.”

“No, I, it’s j-just, I mean I’m divorced and I have a k-kid and—and—“

“I know all that already,” Luka said gently, leaning forward again.

“But—But I’m boring and you’re all dyed hair and tattoos and you can play guitar like that and—why would you want to go out with me?”

Luka’s smile spread slowly across his face. “Well that sounds like something we can talk about over coffee. If you’d like.”

Marinette bit her lip and blushed, looking away, but he could see the smile tugging at her lips. "Coffee sounds nice," she finally managed, giving up on containing her smile.

"Do you maybe want to join Nino and Alya on the dance floor?" he suggested. They both looked automatically towards the couple on the dance floor, only for Luka's eyebrows to raise and Marinette to bring a hand up to cover her jaw drop.

"On second thought," Luka amended. "Maybe we'd better leave them to themselves." He coughed, trying to keep back his laughter. "Damn, I'm not sure whether to feel sorry for Nino or high-five him." He and Marinette exchanged a look, and they both broke down in a fit of laughter that lasted several minutes.

***

When Marinette walked into the little coffee shop the next day, Luka had to slide his gaze away for a moment, trying not to remember how she looked under the club lights, her red dress swirling around her thighs when Alya had finally convinced her to dance while Luka and a still-flushed Nino watched from their table.

She was lovely in a different way today, soft and sweet in a peasant style top over jeans, her hair flowing loose around her shoulders. Luka was just as glad to be spared the distraction of her bare neck, though God did that loose hair make him want to tangle his fingers in it.

He swallowed and managed to greet her in a mostly normal voice. “Can I get you something?” he asked her, but Marinette set her purse down and shook her head.

“I’ll get it,” she smiled, and went to the counter to order. She didn’t ask for it to go, which he thought was a good sign.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Luka asked when she came back and sat down at the table. “I hope we didn’t keep you out too late last night.”

“No, I’m fine,” Marinette said, waving her hands. “I’m kind of a night owl anyway, at least when Louis is with Adrien. Usually I’m designing and not dancing, but I had fun last night. A lot of fun. And the band, that was really great, I‘m really glad you invited me. ”

“That’s great to hear,” Luka smiled. “Have you thought about what we talked about?”

“I…” Marinette blushed, but went on bravely. “I like you, Luka. I think I’d like to go out with you. I just…” She chewed her lip.

“Go on,” Luka said gently.

“I’m worried about Louis. And…” Marinette tapped a finger on her cup thoughtfully, staring at the table. “I’ve been with Adrien since we were kids. I’m not sure I even know what grownup dating looks like.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her eyes shot to his, like that was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Luka smiled at her. “I think it’s sweet. You were in love, you took a chance, and you gave it your best.” He took her hand carefully and squeezed it. “Listen, my sister and I were raised by a single mother, so I know at least a little bit about where you’re coming from—more than a little bit about where Louis is coming from, and I promise you I’ll be as sensitive with him as I can, and if we need to work with his therapist to figure out how to approach this with him then I’m absolutely willing to do that. But let me make something perfectly clear, Marinette. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not leftovers or damaged goods or whatever other awful words that roll around in your mind when you hear the word divorce. You’re not a failure, you’re not a mistake, you’re not stupid for taking a chance on young love, and you are so far from being unloveable. Okay? And even if you decide that you don’t want to be with me, I don’t want you going into any other relationship thinking any of those things. So what if you don’t know what so-called ‘normal’ dating is? It’s not that big of a deal to ask a guy what that looks like to him and expect him to be honest back. There is nothing wrong with you. You are successful and smart and pretty and a great mom and there are a million guys out there who would fall all over themselves to date you. I’m just lucky enough to be the first in line.”

She stared at him, and he thought he saw a shimmer in the dim café lighting. Luka squeezed her hand and let go, standing up. “Tell you what, I’m gonna give you a minute. I’ll bring us back some pastries or something.”

When he got back to the table, Marinette looked a little more composed. “You’re very upfront with your feelings,” she observed quietly as he sat down.

“I try to be,” he agreed. “Partly because I’m not really that great with words and when I beat around the bush I end up creating a lot of misunderstandings. I’m not scaring you off, am I?”

“No, it’s just...I don’t think I’m as brave as you are.” Her gaze slanted away.

Luka touched the back of her hand. “May I?” She blushed and nodded, and he took her hand. “That’s all there is to it, Marinette. Just one decision at a time.” He held out his other hand. “It’s up to you.” She put her other hand slowly in his. “And if it’s too much and you change your mind, that’s okay too.” He opened his fingers so that he was just cradling each of her hands in his loosely. “You have a creator’s hands.”

Marinette huffed. “Rough and scarred up?”

He grinned. “Just like mine. Although I would have said strong and capable.”

She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I don’t think we compare. You’re a teacher and a musician. I just make clothes.”

“Art is art, Marinette, and don’t sell yourself short, I may not know much about fashion but I know that you don’t get a position like yours just because you can sew. And I doubt making clothes is all you do. You must have other interests. Can I ask about this?” He turned her hand slightly so that the ladybug tattoo was facing upwards.

“Oh,” Marinette said, blushing. “That was just—it was stupid.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” he said lightly. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I know tattoos can get really personal.”

Marinette’s eyes slid away. “Maybe sometime, just...not now.”

“Sure,” Luka said easily, letting her turn her hand in his so the ladybug was out of sight. “So tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

“Oh. Um,” Marinette frowned for a moment, thinking, and Luka’s mouth twitched as he tried not to smile at how seriously she took the question. “My father’s a baker. He and my mother own the bakery on Rue Gotlib, and that’s where I grew up. Sometimes I still design cakes for my parents, just for fun.”

He listened to her talk about her family, and volunteered information about his. “My father’s never really been in the picture,” he told her. “Oddly enough we’ve gotten closer since my mom passed, but he travels a lot, so I only really see him every once in a while when he’s in town. My sister lives here, though, and we’re really close. I think I told you she and her wife just had a baby about a month ago, so that’s been a bit of an adventure for all of us.”

“I remember those days,” Marinette said sympathetically. “It’s a huge adjustment for everybody.”

“They’re doing great with it,” Luka said, smiling fondly, pulling out his phone, and pulling up a picture. He and Juleka leaned over Rose where she lay in a hospital bed holding up a little pink bundle for the camera. “That’s my sister, and that’s her wife Rose, and that’s Angelique.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Marinette cooed, leaning closer, and Luka swiped through a couple more pictures—he and Juleka hugging, him holding the baby, Rose and Juleka asleep on each other side-by-side in the narrow hospital bed—until he found a close up of Angie. “She’s precious.”

“She’s been a light in our world this past year, just getting ready for her and watching her grow in the sonogram pictures,” Luka said, putting away the phone a little reluctantly. “I painted the nursery three times because Rose couldn’t pick a color and I don’t regret a second of it.” Marinette giggled, a hand over her mouth, and Luka smiled at her. “I try to get over and see them as often as I can without being in the way. She’s just learning how to smile now.”

“Ooooh,” Marinette swooned, putting her hands to her chest. “When Louis was that age, Adrien used to—” She broke off and bit her lip.

Luka’s expression didn’t change. “Go on,” he encouraged.

She did, haltingly, and it took a few minutes to find their rhythm again, but then it began to flow. Marinette seemed to find it easier to talk about other people rather than herself, a fact Luka filed away for reference. It was funny, the way she talked about her friends and Louis and even her assistant at work while only just touching on her own thoughts. Luka didn’t press, content for the moment to learn about whatever part of her life she felt comfortable sharing.

“I have to go soon,” Luka said regretfully, checking the time. “I do actually have some students today. So, how are you feeling about a date?” He leaned his elbows on the table, trying to keep his tone casual. “I’m thinking maybe we could check out a museum and a café?”

“That—“ Marinette took a deep breath, and then smiled. “That sounds really nice. I’d love to go.”

Luka grinned and they both pulled out their phones and hashed out a time and place.

“It’s a date then,” Luka said, once everything was settled. “I have to go now, but...I’m really looking forward to it.” He reached over and tucked a lock of hair gently behind her ear, letting his fingers brush her suddenly blushing cheek lightly as he drew back. “See you soon, Marinette.”

“See you soon, Luka,” she said shyly as he got up from the table. He glanced back with a smile as he opened the door, and the little ladybug danced as she waved.

***

“Hi Luka. I got your message. What did you need? I thought the lessons were going well.”

”Hey, Adrien. Sorry to bother you but I...kind of need to talk to you about something. You’re probably not going to like it.”

“...You’re not calling to talk to me about Louis, are you?”

“No. I’m calling to tell you I’m taking Marinette out this weekend. On a date.”

“...”

“Adrien?”

“If I say I’m not okay with it?”

“Then things are going to be rough for a while, because I’m not disrespecting her by asking for your permission. It’s not up to you, man. But I didn’t want you to find out from somebody else and think I was hiding it.”

“I might appreciate that eventually. I’m having a bit of trouble mustering any appreciation at the moment.”

“I understand. I know this sucks, man. I’m sorry for that.”

“Not sorry enough to back off.”

“Would you?”

“God, I really hate you right now, Couffaine.”

“Understood. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

#quickspins #beautiful dreams #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette

59 notes · View notes

telmes · 4 years

Text

there's no such thing as time to kill

note: did i fact check anything when i wrote this or did i just vomit words that make no sense when strung together?

disclaimer: major character death.

words: 1,945

vi.

You’re dying.

The thought lingers in Gabriel’s still functioning brain. Two minutes have passed since it makes itself known. Somehow, Gabriel knows that it takes approximately four to six minutes before the brain finally ceases to function.

He doesn’t actually know. It’s a random number, a random thought. Two minutes and fifty seconds have passed. It means nothing now, to assume.

Three minutes have passed. That was also how long since his whole body had shut down.

His body is dead. You’re dead.

It’s like, it makes little sense. You were healthy as can be. And then you aren't. You were going to your wedding planner to finalize the whole ceremony. And then you aren’t. You were going to start a new family, build back from whatever ashes you held in your hands. And then you aren’t.

Three minutes and forty seconds have passed.

Dying? Dead? Maybe, maybe.

He is not old and decrepit. He hasn't lived his life. He should be better. Thirty more years, at least. Old enough for another child, maybe. A girl, hopefully, with eyes as bright and as blue as Nathalie’s. Maybe with hair as dark as well, but, you wouldn’t fault your little girl if she gets your blonde instead.

Or another boy. Or whatever they choose to be. Either or.

Maybe grandchildren from Adrien and Marinette, at least. They keep talking about a little girl named Emma and two little boys named Hugo and Louis. They keep saying things like, they’ll call you grand-père and you’ll get to see them, despite the way you treated Adrien during his years growing up under your thumb.

Speaking of his son—

Adrien is, or was, standing at the foot of Gabriel’s bed, watching the slow descent of his supposed-to-be step-mother’s life. Nathalie is, or was, standing by Gabriel’s right, blinking, watching her supposed-to-be husband fading away. The air around them feels so cold, arctic even. They were never a warm family, but this is—

Oh my Nathalie, Gabriel thinks. Regret burns deep in his throat. His numbing fingers long to brush against her cheeks, where her tears are running tracks, prominent and glistening, and where he often kisses her when she least expects it.

Gabriel may have smiled at the thought. Four minutes and thirteen seconds. The crinkle in his eyes is obvious enough to his fiance. Nathalie blinks again, and again, and now there are more tears running down her cheeks. Four minutes and thirty seconds. The action doesn't register anymore because Gabriel's vision has long faded and Nathalie is not even a blur now, not even the bright red of her hair recognizable. He smiles anyway, not feeling the way she grabs his arm, nails digging into his skin, his muscles, his bones.

It should be painful.

It isn't. It isn't and he isn't afraid.

His smile is frozen on his lips. Five minutes have passed.

His brain finally stops.

You know she will have to let go. (She never will.)

When Hawkmoth is found (finally), head bowed in defeat, Gabriel thinks of death.

It is almost a guarantee. You know, they’ll want your head. If not the heroes, Paris will. You’ve spent the better part of three years, vying for jewelry for a quest that won’t see the light of day now because you’ve lost.

It’s over. Emilie is gone.

Emilie is gone.

The thought lingers in the air, stale and predictable. Ladybug and Chat Noir are around, somewhere, looking. Looking for what? What else do they need but the Butterfly, still pinned on your chest, thrumming with Paris’ emotions, equal parts uncertainty and hope?

(The Peacock, maybe.)

Mayura is nowhere to be found. Good news, at least. Gabriel wouldn’t know what to do had she been caught too. But they must know who she is, now that they know who he is. But then again, Mayura has been nowhere since they came for you. She hasn’t been anywhere since you sent her away all those months ago.

Gabriel wonders where she is now— if she’s in Paris at all.

Maybe it’s fear that he catches the scent of, mingling with the air. Thickening. His hands are slicked with sweat beneath his gloves and his chest is heaving with anxiety. He remembers the days spent in the sanctity of his lair, perusing through Paris’ emotions like an open book.

Anger is always the most prevalent one. Fear is always a close second. They go hand in hand, sometimes, and they’re familiar on his tongue.

And right now, he can sense it. Fear. It’s not his own. He knows what his fear smells, tastes like. (Like peaches, oh, but, it’s not like you’ll admit that it tasted like your favorite fruit.)

Chat Noir glances at him and doesn’t say a word. Is it his? He stands there and he stares at Gabriel and everything about this is wrong, wrong, wrong. His eyes are set in a hard glare and his features twisted with disappointment and rage and Gabriel can feel it and it's wrong.

A shadow shields him from the sunlight draped on his pathetic form and when he looks up, it’s his Nathalie. She’s back and now his forehead is wet and his glasses are askew and his mouth is taut and his chest is heaving and emotions are so, so confusing that, if he could just say something—

She takes away his brooch and everything dims into the background, like a faint humming, like static. He inhales. His chest feels lighter already.

The headlines say, Hawkmoth is finally defeated!

The headlines should say, Hawkmoth is finally dead!

iv.

This was supposed to be a victory.

When you think of victory, you think of Emilie. She will be beside you, holding your hand. You will rejoice because a year-long quest will finally be fulfilled. You will have a tearful reunion and Adrien will finally be happy.

But, but, but—

The air shifts into something stifling. Nathalie moans behind him. She struggles to lift her head. He has to hold her (and, oh, her skin feels too cold to the touch, you wonder if you need a new chamber down in the basement prepared).

She breathes in short puffs and, maybe, you imagine that the air around her feels like a noose. The sun hurts her so you put her by the shade. Maybe she will be fine. She says she will be fine.

Gabriel believes her, but only for a little while.

When they arrive home and when he places her on her bed, her head lolls to the side. At least she looks peaceful, asleep. At least there’s no pain. The apologies slosh around his tongue and he tries to swallow them before they spill and wake her.

But Nathalie doesn't wake for two days. Gabriel is beside himself.

If she dies, if she dies, you know.

Her hands feel cold to the touch. She weighs like a feather. He thinks of that joke he heard Adrien tell her before, which is heavier, a ton of feathers or a ton of rocks?

She answers, they're the same, but he shakes his head.

It’s the feathers , and then he laughs at her expression, because you have to carry the weight of what you did to all those birds.

If she dies, you die. It's as simple as that.

(iii.)

“Your son—” Nathalie’s breath hitches. He can taste her regret when he licks his lips clean from the anticipation. “Your son is Chat Noir.”

Gabriel's ears are ringing. His cane has fallen on the marble beneath his feet and the butterflies around him have been startled by the sound.

Chat Noir is Adrien. Adrien is Chat Noir. Chat Noir is your enemy. Adrien is your son.

Victory feels so, so close now. Adrien will want you to succeed. He will want his mother back.

Nathalie’s voice echoes but he is too far away in his thoughts for her to reach, reveling in a would-be future with Emilie and Adrien and him. Perfectly happy and content.

Hawkmoth watches Chat Blanc’s eyes. Can’t help but stare into them. Something akin to despair reeks from his gaze. Or betrayal, or hesitation, or fear, or contempt. In it, he sees nothing but Chat Blanc and not Adrien Agreste, sees the anguish he caused with the clench in Chat Blanc’s jaw, at that wide-eyed desperation as Chat Blanc fervently keeps his power in check.

Maybe that’s where Gabriel realizes that victory (Emilie) is slipping away. Because Chat Blanc (not Adrien, not Chat Noir) keeps on defying him. Because Ladybug is still here, destroy her!, and yet Chat Blanc still persists on holding Cataclysm in his father’s face.

When Gabriel hears it softly said, before everything turns to white, I’m sorry, he knows it’s not for him.

ii.

Gabriel never thinks about the consequences when he is too immersed in an idea. Never does it occur to him that there is something so painstakingly obvious about keeping information that could cost you, from someone that held no loyalty to you.

An idea. Akumatizing a sentient machine. A fact. The Miraculous granting wishes.

Robustus is a sentient machine who wants to be human. A real Pinocchio, that thing. Are you supposed to be his Blue Fairy? You’ve granted his wish but can’t grant your own?

But he’s powerful and that’s enough for Gabriel. He can take back Robustus’ powers. Cut the deal short.

Until, well, until he couldn’t.

Oh, dear.

Nathalie finds him later, the security system disabled and him lying in rubble. His head is on her lap as he dreams of Emilie.

The Miraculous protected him from the brunt of it all, and she wonders how he is so lucky to be alive at all.

Tell me a bedtime story.

You want to start with 'Once upon a time,', but that's a cliche you're trying to avoid. You want to start at the end and work your way down, but you'll spoil the surprise that way. You want to start in the middle, but that'll just confuse me.

Maybe if you say, you’re dying, you’ll catch their attention.

When did it start?

How do you greet Emilie a good morning when she is the epitome of the sun?

You don’t. You never do.

In kneeling in front of her coffin, holding a bouquet of Baby’s Breaths and mourning, he will never know how to say good morning again. In holding the Miraculous in his hand, feeling the burn of magic against his palm, he will never learn what regrets are until he’s faced with them again.

Emilie held everything good in the world. Her pink-stained cheeks and bright green eyes hide her black-ink heart. Just like you, just like you— both the same in that regard, so naturally, you gravitate around her like the Earth does three hundred and sixty-five days around the Sun.

But is it that simple?

She is also his muse. She holds out her hand and he will take it without question. He looks past verdant meadows and sees the faint lines of jagged hills, carved sharp and imposing— and there Emilie stands, as if she’s on Mt. Everest instead of a piece of land even he could climb. But she makes it so enticing that he regards it as a trial to overcome until he stands beside her at the top.

And maybe that’s why Gabriel is adamant. And maybe that’s why he wants her back. And maybe that’s why he loses himself when she succumbs; when she presses the Butterfly to his heart before she leaves; when he promises her return as the Miraculous bites onto his chest, marking their vows.

#gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #gabenath #tw character death #i forgot what the emilie x gabe ship tag is again but there #ml fanfic #koeln writes

8 notes · View notes

captain-kingliamsqueen · 5 years

Text

Beautiful in White - Until We Meet Again - Part 11(Liam x MC)

Pairing: Liam x MC

Summary: …DISTANCE MEANS SO LITTLE, WHEN SOMEONE MEANS SO MUCH!

When King Liam manages to break free from his Marriage to madeleine and takes a trip to new York for the biggest UN event of the century. What happens when his suitcase doesn’t make it to new York with him. when a stranger comes to his rescue to find appropriate clothing for the Event. What happens when he meets the woman of his dreams but she already has a home along with a Multi-billion dollar business in New York.

Word Count: 2,532

Masterlist

ASK IF YOU WANT TAGGED! SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE!

I always notice every single spelling mistake or issue after I’ve posted…so apologies in advance!

Tags aren’t working so I will be tagging in the comments.

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

Straight after the wedding ceremony the guests were escorted to the Gazebo where the reception was to take place whilst Liam, Kayliegh and the bridal party went off to get their formal pictures taken. After spending the next hour getting their photos taken, they all headed for the gazebo where they were to have reception drinks followed the speeches then a three-course meal.

Once everyone was seated, Drake was the first to make a toast.

“um…as most of you know, my names Drake also known as Liam's best friend and best man, I had the honour of being in the room when Liam and Kayliegh first met and I’ll be honest, I thought he was crazy, when he told us he was going to stay at her house without security or anything…I nearly dragged him out of there myself” he laughed “but the next time we seen him after it was at the UN party and let me tell you…the smirk that man had on his face!” the room laughed “I’m telling you! When we spoke to him that evening, he was smitten…I warned him, I said listen man, just be careful, this woman she’s been through a lot! And he assured me he would never do anything to hurt her, which everyone who knows Liam knows he wouldn’t! when Kayliegh left upset that night, without question without a thought he was hightailing after her. The whole plane ride home he wouldn’t take his head out of his phone, he was messaging her, video calling her. I have never seen Liam so caught up in a woman in my life. And I’m so glad that woman is Kayliegh because these two people are perfect for each other, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my best friend so happy. So…a toast to Liam and Kayliegh, may your marriage be long and happy, I wish you both all the best” everyone raised their glasses then took a sip of their drinks.

Allie was next up. she stood to her feet with her drink in her hand.

“hello everyone, I’m Allie, Kayliegh is not only my sister but my best friend. We have spent the whole of our lives getting to know each other, we used to fight a lot…like ALOT” both Allie and Kayliegh laughed “when I was fourteen and you were seventeen and every time you left the house I would raid your things, especially your jewellery and shoes and I remember you were going out on your first date, and you had picked out your outfit like a week in advance, you were so excited to go, when it came to you getting ready for him to come and pick you up, you couldn’t find the shoes you had picked out…and that’s because little ole me got sticky fingers” everyone laughed “we were driving mom and dad crazy! You were shouting at me because you knew there was a 99% chance it was me who moved them, I was shouting at you because I had them but I had broken the strap on them so I refused to admit that I had done it…so I have something for you” Allie smirked as she lifted a box from beside her seat and passed it to Kayliegh, who opened the box then laughed as she lifted the small burnt orange coloured block heeled sandals from it, in perfect condition. “you little snake” Kayliegh laughed “thank you” she smirked “what I most remember about that night is watching you wait in the living room for over an hour when the guy didn’t show up…my point in telling this story is that you have had so many let downs in your life Kayliegh, every time you got knocked down, you fell harder, eventually you decided to focus on your work and only your work! You refused to let anyone get in your way, you stuck to it and became one of the most amazing women to walk the planet, you didn’t just achieve your dreams you built them from scratch, from the ground up and I have never been more proud of anyone in my life. It wasn’t long after you started your brand that Louis tumbled into your life…and after everything that happened with him, I wasn’t sure you were going to make it back from that one…it scared me a lot seeing you in such a bad place. When I was serving Liam and the rest of the guys that night in the restaurant, I knew something was there…as soon as I met him, you instantly popped into my head. when the opportunity arose for you two to meet, I couldn’t turn down a little matchmaking.” Everyone laughed “the second you guys met each other…oh my goodness I have never felt so much electricity between two people.” She smiled as she looked between both Liam and Kayliegh. “over the past year and a half, you have become so much happier and that makes me so soo happy. I want to thank Liam…for being such an amazing person towards my sister, I couldn’t imagine a better partner for her to spend the rest of her life with. I love you both so much. To Liam and Kayliegh”

“To Liam and Kayliegh!” everyone raised their glasses before taking a drink. The next person to make a toast was Leo. He stood to his feet looking Liam dead in the eyes with a smirk. Liam had warned him prior to wedding not to embarrass him, but he knew his brother…he knew him too well. Leo was not going to pass the opportunity to make everyone laugh.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I stand here before you at my brother’s wedding, it’s clear that he’s come a long way. Once he could barely decide which pastry to have for breakfast…and now he’s the ruler of an entire kingdom,”

“well, it’s a lot easier to pick your breakfast when your older brother isn’t around to steal all the Danishes.” Liam laughed along with all the other guests. Leo smirked knowing Liam wouldn’t let him embarrass him.

“All jokes aside, it truly is an honour to be here tonight. When I abdicated the throne, I knew deep down that I was doing Cordonia a favour. Because I knew this man right here would be twice the king that I could ever be. But Liam, I knew it wasn’t a favour to my little brother. I knew I was putting a heavy burden on his shoulders and I hoped my little brother could find a way to wear the crown that wouldn’t crush him. From the night I told Liam that I was abdicating, I never saw him smile. But let me tell you, when Liam called me about this amazing woman he had met in America, I thought okay, cool he’s met someone, but I wasn’t too sure about it because as you all knew he’s a king…kings don’t usually get the whole love story, but then he wouldn’t shut up about her” he laughed “I could hear how happy he was in his voice! Tonight, I don’t see my little brother wracked with the weight of the world, I see Cordonia’s true king, and the man my brother was destined to become. Seeing him next to Kayliegh, any doubts I had about him being happy are gone. In the past I would have described my brother as the reserved one. the cautious one. the one who carefully kept a blank face. Kayliegh…look at the grin on his face!! look he’s even blushing because we’re all looking at him now”

Everyone laughed as Liam blushed

“honestly, I couldn’t be happier to see such a smile on his face, so thank you Kayliegh for it truly is the queen who makes the king! Cheers” he raised his glass followed by everyone else. once everyone had put their glasses back down Liam stood from his seat.

“well, I think it’s my turn” he smirked

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I want to thank you all for being here with us today to celebrate our wedding! I truly appreciate all of your support! I want to thank my new wife, Kayliegh. I always thought a long distance relationship wouldn’t work, especially with my status, it was out of the question, but then I met you and you changed my world, after spending those two days with you, I was smitten, there was no way I would have left without having some way of keeping in contact with you. Being so far away from you Kayliegh, made the time we actually got to spend together so much better and I am grateful for every second that we get to spend together. When you told me, you were coming to Cordonia for the first time I was elated! I was so happy I was finally getting the chance to show you where I live. You make me happier than I’d ever dare to dream possible, you make me a better king and a better man. I may be a king, but my greatest honour is to be the man you have chosen to stand by your side, for the rest of our lives. To Kayliegh…the Queen of my heart long may she reign!”

Everyone cheered as they raised their glasses then took a sip of their drinks as Liam sat down, he lifted his glass and clinked it with Kaylieghs “I love you” he smiled “I love you too” she leaned in placing the sweetest kiss on his lips.

Kayliegh then stood to her feet with a smile.

“hi everyone, most people who know me, know I don’t like speaking in front of people, I get very nervous In front of large crowds, so I’m going to keep this short and sweet” she smiled “I want to thank you all so much for coming to share this day with us, we are so happy you all could be here. I want to thank the whole bridal party; you all look AMAZING! If I do say so myself” everyone laughed knowing she was the one who made the outfits “no you do, you all look amazing! I want to say thank you to my sister, you are the most amazing person and I love you so much! And lastly I want to say thank you to my new husband, I love you so much, I couldn’t ask for a more amazing husband, you mean the world to me and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life by your side. To Liam” she raised her glass “the man who holds my heart” everyone cheered then took a sip of their drinks.

It wasn’t too long after that everyone was tucking into their meals. By the time it hit five thirty, everyone had finished eating and it was time for Liam and Kayliegh’s first dance as husband and wife. Liam offered his hand out for her to take as he stood from the table “shall we” he asked, “we shall” She nodded with a gentle smile as she placed her hand in his then stood from her seat. The two made their way to the dance floor, just as the melody started Liam gently took one of her hands in his, then he placed his other hand on the middle of her back whilst she placed her arm over his upper arm her hand on the back of his shoulder. She was practically leaning on his chest. The two swayed together as the slow song filled the room. With her head leaning on Liam’s chest, Kayliegh closed her eyes and listened to the music as they danced.

“Not sure if you know this But when we first met I got so nervous I couldn't speak In that very moment I found the one and My life had found its missing piece So as long as I live I'll love you Will have and hold you You look so beautiful in white And from now to my very last breath This day I'll cherish You look so beautiful in white Tonight”

As they swayed slowly to the music Liam leaned down and whispered in her ear “I love you so much”

“I love you too” she whispered in return.

Once the song came to an end the rest of the guests joined Liam and Kayliegh for the next song.

“do me a favour” Kayliegh whispered as she stayed leaning against his chest.

“anything”

“Don’t move away from me for a minute” Liam looked down at her with a confused smile to see a tear falling down her face.

“is everything okay?” he asked as he gently wiped her cheek.

“yeah, I’m just…really happy” she giggled.

The couple spent the rest of the night dancing and drinking, and just being with their family and friends. By the time the end of the night came Liam and Kayliegh were both well and truly ready to be alone. They both approached their group of friends from across the room.

“Kayliegh!!!” A drunk Allie called loudly with a laugh as they got closer. She ran over wrapping her arms around her sister. “I love you Kayliegh bear”

“I love you too Allie bear” Kayliegh giggled “I have to go speak with Bastian about something I’ll be back in a minute” Kayliegh stated before heading over in Bastian's direction who was not far from them.

“Your Majesty” Bastian bowed his head.

“oh goodness, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that” she giggled

“I’m sure you’ll adjust to it” he smirked

“could you do me a huge favour Bastian?” she asked

“of course, anything”

“my sister, she’s extremely drunk, Liam and I are going to head out, but I know I’ll worry about her if I don’t ask, but could you get Mara to make sure she gets to her room okay? I would ask her, but I don’t know where she’s gone”

“of course, don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure your sister gets back safe”

“thank you so much Bastian”

“have a good evening, your Majesty” he bowed before she bid him goodnight then headed back over towards Liam and their friends.

“is everything okay?” Liam asked as he leaned down quietly asking in her ear.

“yeah, I was just asking Bastian if he could make sure Allie got to her room okay, she’s very drunk, I’ll just worry if I leave her here without someone to make sure she gets back okay.”

“Bastian will make sure she’s alright” he smiled as his hand gently landed on her lower back.

“are you ready to get going?” he asked her.

“more than ready” she smirked

“alright guys, we’re going to head out, but we’ll see you tomorrow” Liam smiled

“goodnight everyone” Kayliegh added then pointedly stared at Allie “don’t drink anymore alcohol, I’m cutting you off” she smirked

“boooo!!” Allie called

“shush, I love you, goodnight”

“ooo I love you too Kayliegh bear, now go get some ass!”

“Allie!” Kayliegh laughed as she blushed causing Liam to chuckle.

“come on, my love, let’s get some ass” Liam smirked as the two headed out.

#liam x riley #riley x liam #mc x liam #liam x mc #king Liam x mc #king liam x riley #king liam of cordonia #king liam #Liam x OC #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #choices the stories you play #the royal romance fanfic #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fandom #play choices fanfiction #trr #trr3

45 notes · View notes

stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 5 years

Text

with you [1/6]

Summary: Clementine pops the question.

Preview:

Mitch frowns, holding up the ring, “Then, why the stupid ring? It doesn’t mean anything. Wearing this and saying you’re married doesn’t change anything, so why bother?”

“It means something to me, okay?” Clementine snaps. “I don’t care if it’s ‘not a thing’ anymore. Is it so wrong that maybe I want to try and give him something that most of us thought was long dead? That I want something like that?” She snatches the ring away from him. “Yesterday, AJ found a wedding photo that belonged to this walker couple, and Louis explained what it meant and I just… I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. I didn’t ask you to understand what I want to do. I asked you if you could adjust the ring for me.”

Mitch eyes her quietly. Then, he straightens up. “Fine,” he says, holding out his hand, “I’ll fix your fucking ring.”

Warnings: There’s a little dirty talk but it’s just Mitch, no actual sexual content, just some good ‘ol smooching. Ruby’s a fucking sweetheart. Mitch is Clem’s tsundere best friend. Violet’s pretty angsty. Nightmares occur. This is long, sorry.

Author’s Note: Hey so episode 3 has killed me and I’m coping by writing some overly gushy Clouis even though I should be finishing up the final part of my Aasim story but it’s fine. I got this asks months ago requesting some married!clouis where Louis proposes to Clem, but then I thought, “Know what’s even better?? Clementine proposing to Louis” because my boy needs some real love and I’m a ho for this concept.

Also, Mitch is alive in this because fuck Lilly I miss my boy my fic my rules

---

It was back in the train station that the thought ever crossed her mind. Which is actually kind of strange to think about, Clementine realizes as she examines the small box in her hand.

She feels Louis shift beside her, turning over to sleep on his side facing her. She sits at the edge of the bed, peering over her shoulder at him. He’s quiet tonight with a calm face. He nuzzles closer into his pillow as his near silent sigh escapes his lips.

Clementine smiles to herself. She opens the box, setting the lid on her desk and pulls out two freshly polished rings. She lets the larger one fall down her pointer finger as she examines it, twisting it around until she finds the detail she’s looking for, and she smiles again.

Then, she turns to the sleeping boy beside her. One arm is tucked under his pillow while the other rests close to his chest. Clementine holds her breath as she carefully, gently pulls his hand closer to her. He doesn’t move or wake.

She easily slips the band onto his ring finger and lets out her breath.

It actually fits. Not too loose, not too tight, but snug enough that it’ll only come off with a little force. And it does. She slides the ring off and places it back in the box. Her heart beats loud in her chest and she recognizes the fluttering and tightening in her gut.

Tomorrow evening.

It’s so close.

And to think had AJ not rummaged through that walker’s pockets, she probably wouldn’t be holding this box in her hands.

---

Two Weeks Earlier...

A supply run to the train station was a spur of the moment thing when the three of them were out hunting. They’d only caught three full-grown rabbits when Louis mentioned that it wasn’t too far away. AJ had been all for the idea, and Clementine figured it wouldn’t be so awful to go back and collect anything they might’ve missed from their previous trip.

Up ahead, but not too far, Louis is telling some crazy, exaggerated story that left AJ hanging onto every single word.

Clementine spots a walker from the corner of her eye lingering in the trees, it’s head twitching with interest at the sound of Louis’ laughter. It’s the first one they’ve spotted in the time they’ve traveled, likely due to James doing his part of their arrangement.

They’ve worked out a decent system; anywhere they plan to hunt or scavenge, they let James know in advance so he can gather and lead stray walkers away, making trips a lot easier and a lot quicker. In exchange, he’s welcome to come and stay in a room and eat with them whenever he wants. He didn’t often stay many nights in a row, but Clementine’s just glad to see him opening up with the others and making friends.

Clementine picks up a large rock and chucks it. The walker follows the noise.

The decrepit train station is empty. When they enter, there sat the dead couple, slumped over and still tied to their chairs. Everything looks the same as they left it last. They gather as much as they can, like leftover food and duct tape and a few bandages.

“Oh-ho!” Louis calls out from behind the counter. “Looks like I found your secret stash.”

Clem quirks a brow and leans over the counter to peer down at him. He flashes her a bright smile and waves a beaten up chocolate bar.

“Seriously?” When she tries to reach for it, he teasingly jerks it away.

“I don’t think so, darling,” he pockets the bar. “Gotta save stuff like that for a special occasion.”

“Special occasion,” she scoffs. “Like?”

“Like when it’s your birthday, or if it’s someone else’s birthday and you forgot to get them a present,” Louis then glances away, “or, y’know, for date night.”

“Date night, huh?” Clementine smirks.

“Woah...”

From behind her, Clementine hears AJ shuffling around the dead couple. He’s unfolding something small and gray curiously. Upon a closer look, Clementine can tell it’s a wallet, and from it, AJ pulls out a five-dollar bill to study it.

“Look at that,” Louis approaches the boy, “looks like dinner’s on AJ.”

“Huh?”

Louis takes the wallet and pulls out some credit cards. “By the looks of it, we’re getting a three-course meal.”

“With extra dessert,” Clementine smiles.

AJ looks between the two of them, clearly confused. “I don’t get it.”

“Money,” he explains. When he turns it around, something falls out and Louis pauses. “...Huh.” He bends down to pick it up. He flips it around and a smile tugs at his lips.

“What is it?” AJ asked.

Louis motions to the couple. “It’s, uhm... their wedding photo.” He hands it over to AJ.

“Wedding photo?” AJ studies the picture. Clementine moves around them to look as well.

It’s jarring, the idea that the young couple are the same people as the decaying bodies in the chairs before them. They’re both so clean and happy with wide smiles.

The woman’s beautiful, Clementine thinks, with her hair pulled back into a bun of curls and her cheeks a pretty pink. Her dress is white with glittering details, and her diamond ring is visible on her hand resting against her husband's chest.

“They look...” AJ’s mouth twists as he searches for the right word.

“Happy?” Louis offers.

“Well, yeah, they’re smiling, but...” AJ looks at the dead bodies. “I don’t know. It’s weird. Why’re they dressed like that?”

Louis laughs. “Well, little dude, back before the walkers came, people used to get married. It was a pretty big deal, and when they did, they’d have a wedding. Think of it like a huge party with lots and lots of people to celebrate the couple getting married.”

“Okay, but,” AJ says, “but what does it mean? To be married?”

“Uh, well,” Louis scratches his neck, “it’s what people used to do to prove they really loved each other, I guess. It was, like, a big step to take to marry someone and call them your wife, or your husband.”

“And anyone can do it? Even me?” asks AJ. “I can get married?”

Clementine smiles, and says, “You’re a little young for that right now.”

AJ frowns and crosses his arms. “How old do I gotta be?”

“Well, there isn’t really a set age, I guess-”

“And I can marry who I want?”

“Yes, but,” Clementine shoots Louis, who’s completely amused by the conversation, a glance as if looking for help with an explanation, “it’s not really something people do anymore.”

“Why not? I mean, you just throw a party, right? And I can marry whoever I love? Like you, right?”

At that, Louis laughs. Clementine sighs. “Uh...”

“Well, little dude, marriage wasn’t for that kind of love,” Louis says, “it’s a bit more complicated than that.” He puts the picture back into the wallet and tucks it back into the dead man’s pocket. “These two didn’t love each other like you and Clem do. They got married because...” Louis’ smile almost turns sad, “they were in love, as a couple.”

“Oh...” AJ thinks, “oh, like, a kissing love.”

“A kissing love,” Louis agrees. He winks at Clementine, and her heart flutters.

“Like you and Clem?”

Blood rushes to Clementine’s cheeks as a loud, nervous laugh escapes Louis.

Before AJ can ask his next question, there’s a soft bang against the door. The conversation’s forgotten as they get low and carefully maneuver close to the door. AJ peeks out the window.

“Monster.”

Clementine nods. They all stand, relaxing a little. The door’s closed so one walker isn’t a threat.

Louis hauls a large bag over his shoulder. “Well, I think we’ve gotten all we can get,” he says, “should head back before dark.”

Clementine nods. “Right.”

But, she doesn’t move. She watches Louis and AJ leave, and hears the walker being dealt with. Clementine turns back to the couple, her eyes glancing down at the man’s rotten hand.

He still has his ring on.

“Clem?”

“...Coming.”

---

It stuck with her the rest of the day. From when they entered the gates of the school again and all throughout dinner.

Marriage wasn’t something she ever thought of. Sure, there had been that dumb “marry, ‘flip’, kill” question that seemed to come up during their card games, and sure, from all the groups she’d been in, some have had married couples.

Like Kenny and Katjaa.

Like Christa and Omid.

Like David and Kate.

...Like Rebecca and Alvin.

And before the walkers, her parents had been married. Happily married. She didn’t remember a lot about them, but there were things that stood out in her brain when she concentrated her thoughts.

Like how her father would always kiss her mother’s cheek before going to work and after coming home. It didn’t matter if she was cooking, or still in bed, or working on a project, or on the phone, he always kissed her, like it was some unspoken rule.

And how they laughed together. Her father had this deep, rumbling voice that practically shook the house when he laughed, and his laugh only made her mother laugh harder.

And the cute names they called each other. Honeybun. That’s what her father called her mother. Honeybun.

But, marriage wasn’t something that stuck in her brain, not something she actively thought about. However, seeing that wedding photo, the couple who died together tied to those chairs, and actually talking about it, hearing Louis talk about it... it stuck with her.

AJ had let the conversation go after Louis moved onto another topic. She knew that he was trying to avoid the obvious question on AJ’s mind.

“Like you and Clem?”

Like Louis and her...

“Yoo-hoo?”

A hand waves in front of her face. She blinks and turns to Louis. They’re on the outside couch sitting in front of a fire. His arm rests comfortably behind her.

He grins. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere.”

“You went somewhere.”

Clementine sighs. “Just thinking, I guess.”

“You got watch, Lou,” Ruby says, approaching them. “You and Aasim.”

“Aw, seriously?” Louis sighs before grinning. “Hey, wanna switch? I can take your morning shift and you can go with Aasim tonight?”

“Nope,” Ruby shook her head and points back at the tower. “Get goin.’“

Louis slouches, mumbling quietly, “I tried, my dude...” Clementine rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis stands, reaching his arms high over his head to stretch out his body. He lets out a satisfied groan as his arms fall back to his sides. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Ruby nods and walks off.

His foot taps hers. “Guess I’ll see you tonight,” he says. Then, he leans forward. His fingers caress her jawline as he lightly pulls her towards him and places a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

“Goodnight,” is all she can muster up to say.

“Goodnight, darling.” He leaves her with a smile.

And as she watches him walk away, it occurs to her with a single, strange thought.

I want to marry that boy.

---

Clementine tries to fall asleep, but she’s restless. She doesn’t know how long she’s laid there, but no position, no angle allows sleep to take her.

AJ snores quietly in his bed on the other side of the room. Louis still won’t be back for a few hours.

So, she gets up and leaves. As she’s quietly closing the door behind her, she hears footsteps. Instinctively, she turns to see who it is.

Violet keeps her eyes forward as she walks down the hall, not giving Clementine any acknowledgment.

It’d been awful between the two of them ever since the delta fight two years ago. She couldn’t even breathe in Violet’s direction without getting ‘fuck you’ eyes, and talking was completely out of question. Not that Clementine didn’t still try, but it seems that Violet’s determined to keep herself in the shadows of the school, only talking to Tenn and Louis, and on rare occasions Ruby, Omar, and Aasim.

Louis once tried to help them patch things up. It didn’t go over well.

What else could she do, though? Clementine can’t force their friendship back together. Not after everything.

Clementine tries to put it out of her mind as she moves down the opposite direction. Down by the entrance doors, she finds Ruby grimacing at something in her hands.

“Hi, Ruby,” she greets.

“Oh, hi, Clem,” Ruby smiles. “Thought you went off ‘ta bed?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Ruby nods understandingly. “Well, you wanna help me fix Willy’s shirt?” she holds up a dirty blue shirt with a tear along the side. “Got it caught again and didn’t bother stopin’ to untangle himself.”

“Of course.”

Clementine kept the shirt still and flattened out while Ruby went to work.

“Wish that runt would be more careful,” murmurs Ruby, “always tearing his clothes up. What’ll happen if he ruins all of ‘em? That boy’ll be in nothin’ but rags.”

“You could have him sew his own stuff.”

Ruby scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Clementine watches her steady hand as she sews in a comfortable silence. Being around Ruby like this is peaceful. The two had gotten close over the years, and for that, she’s grateful. She adores Ruby.

Clementine glances around and decides to just go for it while it was just the two of them. ”Hey, Ruby, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure, hon,” Ruby smiles. “What’s on yer mind?”

“Uh, well...” Clementine starts. “Have you... ever liked someone?” Ruby stops her needlework and perks a brow. “Like, had a crush?”

The redness on Ruby’s cheeks brighten. “I-uh- what in the world are ya asking me that for?”

“Just curious if anyone ever caught your fancy,” Clementine replies. She didn’t think the question would actually make Ruby flustered.

Ruby pokes herself with the needle, hissing a cuss.

“Well,” she says, “hate ta disappoint you, but no.”

“Never?”

Ruby shakes her head. “Nu-uh.”

Clementine thinks back to Aasim and Louis’ constant teasing of the poor boy.

“You don’t like anyone here like that? Not even a little?”

Ruby hesitates. “No.” She finishes sewing up the shirt and holds it up in front of her. “Why the sudden question?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Clementine answers honestly.

Ruby shifts her weight onto one foot and scratches at her arm. After an awkward silence. “Well... alright, can ya keep a secret?”

Clementine perks up. “Yes.”

Ruby shakes her head. “Don’t get excited. He, uh, he’s not real.”

“What?”

Ruby’s blush deepens. “Sometime, after all the adults left, I had a hard time sleepin’ at night. Ms. Martin was startin’ ta worry ‘bout me. She told me I should try readin’, and I remember tellin’ her how stupid that was. But...” Ruby sighs, “I still let her read ta me before bed one night. A love story called ‘The Woodsman.’ Well, kinda a love story. She read it so well and,” she grins, “I guess I kinda fell in love with Milo.”

Clementine smiles back. “And, why’s that?”

“Milo’s this handsome woodsman doin’ everythin’ he can to help support him and his family, right. He’s kind, like, genuine kind. And the way he describes and talks about Abigail just is enough ta melt your heart. Or make ya cry.”

“Do they end up together?” asks Clementine.

Ruby shakes her head. “No. Ya see, Abigail’s taken and forced ta live on top this big ‘ol mountain by this old, ugly witch as punishment fer Milo killin’ one of her wolves.” She runs her fingers over the fresh stitching in Willy’s shirt and sighs. “Milo tries and tries again ta climb the mountain and save her, but every time he gets a little bit closer, he slips and tumbles down.”

“Shit,” Clementine says.

“Everything he does, he does it fer her. To free her of that witch’s cruelty. And the crazy part’s that he doesn’t even know if she loves him back. He don’t care if she does or not, he keeps climbin’ anyway and it eventually kills him,” Ruby shakes her head. “Never makes it back to Abigail.”

“That’s...” Clementine frowns, “awful.”

“Can’t tell ya how many times that part’s made me cry,” Ruby laughs, “and it’s even worse ‘cause as he’s laying at the bottom dyin’ he still thinkin’ ‘bout how only he knows she’s up there and only he can save her and... he dies. He dies and becomes a star.”

“A star?”

“In the sky. High up there and he watches and protects her from the witch until eventually, Abigail dies, too.”

“And becomes a star, too, right?”

Ruby nods. “Right.” She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Guess I always liked the idea of someone lovin’ me that much, enough ta fall down a mountain over and over again just ta save me. It’s silly, ‘cause I know someone like that doesn’t exist, but… thinkin’ they do still helps me sleep at night.” She begins to fold up the shirt. “After we lost Ms. Martin, I went through some of her things and found the book. Can’t tell ya how many times I’ve read it.” Ruby gives her a sheepish grin. “Huh… never told that ta anyone before.”

“That’s...” Clementine reaches out and touches Ruby’s shoulder, “really sweet, actually.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Ruby smirks. “Don’t want anyone ta think I’m too soft.”

Clementine laughs. “I promise.”

Ruby yawns then, and says, “Well, sorry I blabbered so much. Think it’s time I hit the hay. Thanks fer helpin’ me and... fer listenin.’”

“It sounds like a good read,” Clementine says.

“I’d let you borrow it if ya want.”

“I think I’d like that.”

Ruby beams at her, smile wide across her face. She gathers all her things and is just about to walk back to her room when Clementine stops her.

“Ruby?”

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Don’t hafta,” Ruby says. “Just ‘cause I shared, I mean.”

Clementine shakes her head. “I know.”

“Well, alright, then.”

Clementine hesitates, and in a whisper, she says, “I think I’m in love with Louis.”

Ruby laughs. “Oh, hon, that ain’t no secret,” she grins, “it’s all over yer face when yer together. His, too.”

“No, I mean...I’m in love with him.” Clementine meets Ruby’s eye. “If Louis were cursed by some witch and put on top of a mountain, I’d never stop climbing to get him back.”

Ruby’s grin falters as her eyes widen a bit with shock at the realization of Clementine’s words. “Oh...”

“Is that crazy?”

“No,” Ruby walks toward her, reaching down to grab her hands. “Not at all.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Ruby says firmly. “In fact, you should tell him that.”

“Yeah?” Clementine smirks. “’Hey, Louis, by the way, if you ever happen to get cursed and kidnapped by a witch I promise to save you.’”

That makes Ruby giggle. “Well, if any one of us were ta get cursed...” The two laugh together. Ruby lets go of her hands. “Serious, though? Tell him you love him. Ya never know in this world... don’t want any more regrets than we already got.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

---

Clementine’s still awake when Louis sneaks in. He tries his best to be quiet, tiptoeing around before slowly sliding into bed with her with a huff.

Clem lifts her head off the pillow. “Hey,” she whispers.

“Shit didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she sighs. “Been in and out.”

Louis scoots closer to her so that her chin presses against his shoulder. He entwines their fingers and brings their hands to rest against his chest. He’s freezing from being outside.

“How was watch?” she asks.

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” he replies. “Convinced Aasim to play go-fish with a twist ‘til he got mad,” he yawns, “and threatened to throw my deck away.”

Clementine smirks. “Sounds about right.” She gets comfortable, pressing her body against his side. He kisses the back of her hand. She sees his eyes fluttering shut as the day's exhaustion catches up with him.

“How’s your night?” he asks.

“Good, but better now.” She watches the corner of his mouth twitch into a grin.

Clementine watches their hands raise and fall with every breath he takes, and soon he’s fast asleep. His heartbeat is soft against her hand. She keeps herself awake a little while longer to make sure he remains peaceful. And he does.

As she runs her thumb over his, she wonders if the couple if the train station were holding hands when they died. She wonders what their last kiss was like, what their final words to each other were. She wonders if there were a lot of things left unspoken, things that wanted to be said, needed to be said.

She squeezes his hand and allows her eyes to rest.

---

In the morning, Clementine’s determined to find James.

She sneaks out, leaving Louis in bed. AJ’s already up, walking around on patrol. She makes sure to tell the others she’s going out to find James, making up an excuse, saying she’s worried that he hasn’t been back in a week.

AJ insists that he go with her, but Clem manages to convince him that she’ll just walk the perimeter since that’s usually where James sticks around. That calms him down, but he still mumbles about never going alone. So, Clementine takes Rosie with her. After all, Rosie could use the walk.

After she’s left, she wanders around to his usual spots close to the school, letting Rosie sniff around and chew up some sticks. She eventually finds him near his barn full of walkers.

When he sees her, he slips his mask off. “Clementine,” he greets softly. Rosie comes up to him and licks his hand. He softly pats her head. “Ah, Rosie.”

“James, you’re okay.”

“Yes,” he says. “You were worried?”

“Just haven’t seen you in a while. Wanted to check up on you.”

He smiles. “You’re very kind,” he says. He stands from the log he’s sitting on and says, “It’s been peaceful out here. And cool. Sleeping outdoors when it’s like this always makes me feel good.”

“I can see that. Just, don’t forget to check in with us, okay? Willy’s been asking about you.”

That makes James smile.

Clementine crosses her arms and takes a breath to steady her quick pulse. “Actually, there's another reason I wanted to find you.”

“Oh?” he asks. “What is it?”

“Well, uhm,” Clementine looks up at the barn. It’s faint, but she can hear them shuffling around and groaning inside. “Of the walkers you’ve found, do any of them happen to be wearing a ring?”

James cocks his head to the side. “That’s a strange question.”

“I know,” Clementine admits.

“What do you need a ring for?”

Clementine doesn’t reply. She tries to think of an excuse, to hide her true intentions, but her mind’s suddenly gone blank.

“Clementine?”

“I just... need a ring. Nothing fancy.”

James doesn’t push. He slips his mask on and as he walks over to the barn, he says, “I’ll look.”

He’s inside for a long time. Long enough that Clementine starts to get anxious. She wanders about, kicking at rocks and watching for stray walkers. She throws a stick for Rosie a few times.

Eventually, he does come out, and Clementine is right there, eager to see his findings.

James shakes his head. “Sorry.”

She gives a disappointed sigh.

She was hoping that she wouldn’t have to go back to the train station. It’s out of the way, and with only Rosie...

Actually...

“That’s okay,” she says. “Mind tagging along with me, then?”

“Where?”

“There’s a train station a little ways away,” she explains. “There’s a ring there.”

He’s curious, but again, he doesn’t push. “Okay.”

They don’t speak much as they walk. Clementine’s a little glad, it gives her a moment to really think about what she’s doing.

It’s odd that she’s considering the “feelings” of the dead walkers left in the train station, but she keeps telling herself they’re dead, they don’t need their wedding rings anymore. If anything, they'd be glad their rings could be used again for their intended purpose, right?

Then again, the couple had made a request to be left alone, one that Clementine didn’t honor. Perhaps they wouldn’t be too thrilled with her stealing from them after all.

The area around the train station is clear, just like it was yesterday. Once inside, they approach the couple. Clementine bends down and slips the gold ring off the male walker’s finger, wiping it off on her jacket. She studies it, and something occurs to her.

What if it doesn’t fit?

She slips it onto her ring finger. It’s a little loose. When she looks at it, she realizes it might even be too small for Louis. His hands are bigger than hers and if it’s only a little loose on her...

She turns back to James. “Try this on.”

“Uhm, what?” He blinks down at her.

“Your hands are bigger. I just need to see if it’ll fit.”

James’ eyes dart between her and the ring. “Clementine... you- you’re not... uhm, asking...”

She stares at his suddenly terrified face and it hits her. “No! No, I’m not- no!”

“I-It’s just, um, Tennessee once told me-”

“I’m not proposing to you!” She exclaims that way louder than she probably should have. This causes Rosie to bark.

James visibly relaxes. “Oh,” he says, “then why do you need me to wear it?”

“Because I...” Clem lowers her head, weighing her options here. She decides that James is trustworthy and that the truth is the best answer. “Because you have bigger hands than me and... I need to see if this will fit Louis.”

The surprise is clear in his expression even though his face is covered by his mask.

“I see,” he says. “When did this happen?”

“Nothing’s ‘happened,’ really. Not yet.”

“He asked you...?”

“No,” Clem shakes her head. “He... actually has no idea about this.”

James smiles slightly. “Oh.”

“So,” Clementine’s face is warm when she offers him the ring. “Will you just try it on?”

James takes the ring, but when he tries to slip it on, it barely goes past the mid-knuckle. “Seems he has smaller hands than me,” he says, referring to the walker.

“Shit. It probably won’t fit Louis then, either.”

Well, there went her plan.

“Keep it anyway,” James hands it back to her, “in case you can’t find anything else. I’ll keep an eye out for any walkers I come across, see what I can collect.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence falls over them, so Clem decides to check the lady walker, only to find her ring missing.

“Well... I might need not any rings. After all, it’s the thought that counts, right?” she half-jokes.

“Giving up so quick is unlike you,” says James. “His hands aren’t mine. It might fit.”

“I guess.”

“At least keep it as a symbol of what you’re asking. It’ll mean a lot to him, regardless.”

Clementine runs a finger over the smooth band. It almost feels heavy, not physically, but with all the intentions behind it.

“Did you ever think about these things with Charlie?”

“...At one time, yes.” He says nothing more.

With the ring in her possession, Clementine leaves the couple behind once more.

She fumbles with the ring secured in her pocket. “Maybe there’s a way to change it? Stretch it, maybe?”

“I wouldn’t know,” James says. “Maybe ask Mitch. He has plenty of tools. Maybe he could help.”

Clementine hadn’t thought of that.

Their tool collection doubled after they took down the raiders and stole most of their supplies. Plenty of things used for building or repairing or breaking things down. Mitch and Willy were thrilled when they dragged it all back to the school. They kept most of it hidden away in the basement. Maybe they did have something that could help.

---

James comes back with her to the school. Once they’re through the gates, he takes off his mask and is nearly run into by Willy and AJ.

“James!”

“You’re back!”

“Good to see you’re not dead,” Mitch says, approaching and knocking James’ shoulder with his fist.

“Yes,” James replies awkwardly, rubbing at his arm where Mitch punched him.

Ruby comes over to greet them, too.

“James, you hungry? I can have Omar whip you up something.”

“No, thank you, I’m alright-”

Willy grabs a hold of his arm and drags James over to one of the tables. “C’mon! Look what I did to this crossbow!”

“It’s super cool!” AJ exclaims.

“Oh-okay!”

Clementine grins before turning to Mitch and Ruby.

“He stayin’ a while this time?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” replies Clementine. “Hopefully.”

“Louis was asking for you earlier,” Mitch says. “Something about tuning the piano or some shit.”

Clementine smiles. ‘Tuning the piano’ meant piano lessons. He’d been teaching her to play for a few months now, insisting she learns so they can do duets together. She isn’t great, but she’s improving.

Ruby giggles at the expression Clementine’s face. She snaps out of it and says, “Okay, I will go find him.”

Mitch rolls his eyes and walks away.

Before Clementine can call after him, Ruby says, “I left ‘The Woodsman’ in yer room fer ya.”

“Thanks,” she says. “Can’t wait to read it.”

“Enjoy tuning the piano,” Ruby smiles before walking off.

Clementine decides that Louis can wait a little longer. She spots Mitch over on the couch, sharpening his knife with some handheld tool.

“Hey,” she greets. He barely looks up from his work.

“What’s up?”

“I need your help with something.”

“Oh, do you?” he says flatly.

“Yes,” Clementine frowns. “In the basement.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Mitch examines his freshly sharpened knife. “...Fine. I was going down there anyway.” He tucks his weapon away and moves over to the basement doors. Clementine follows close behind. Mitch yanks open the doors with a grunt, and as they go down the stairs, he asks, “What’ja need?”

They stop at one of the work desks. Clem pulls out the ring. “Is there anyway you can make this bigger?”

Mitch stares at the ring with a deadpan expression.

“Serious?”

“Is that a no?” Clementine asks.

Mitch snatches the ring out of her hand. “Make it bigger?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“That’s for me to know.”

He shoots her another look. He taps the ring on the desk a few times then examines it again. Then, he bites it.

“Look, if you can’t do anything, just say so,” Clementine says, annoyed.

Mitch quirks a brow at her. “Fine,” he leans against the counter, holding the ring up, “I’ll see what I can do… if you tell me what it’s for.”

Clementine’s insides tighten. She knows he won’t give in, as stubborn as he tends to be, and if she wants his help, she’d have to give in. Not point in fighting.

“Fine, fuck it,” she says. “You’re going to find out anyway, might as well tell you now.” She crosses her arms and leans against the table as well. “But, you gotta keep it to yourself, at least for right now. Got it?”

“Fine.”

“It’s for Louis.”

“Louis?”

“Yeah, I’m…” she closes her eyes and takes a breath, “I’m asking him to marry me.”

Wow, saying it out loud is… strange.

When Mitch doesn’t say anything, she looks up at him. His expression is almost funny.

“...Why?” he finally asks.

Clementine shrugs, saying, “Because I love him.”

“Gross.”

She elbows him.

“Wait, you’re asking him to marry you? You know that’s not even a thing anymore, right?” Mitch asks. “That shit doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe not to everyone, and, honestly, it didn’t matter to me either until now,” she explains. “And it’s not a big deal, I just… want to let him know how I feel and I need a ring to give to him.”

“So, what? You’re gonna have a wedding?”

“I-I don’t know,” she admits.”I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Mitch’s brows furrow as he eyes her and Clementine can see the gears turning in his head. She figured he wouldn’t understand what she wants to do, or that he’d call her an idiot, or-

“Are you doing this so you two can fuck?” Mitch asks bluntly.

It feels like her heart stops in her chest as her eyes pop wide open. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t gotta be married to screw around. I’m not saying that you should or anything, though. These walls are fucking thin,” Mitch explains.

Clementine’s mouth moves but no words came out. She shakes her head. “No, that’s not- we’re not- just-”

“Y’know,” Mitch ignores her stuttering, “My grams used to tell us we’d go to Hell if we had sex before we were married and all kinds of stupid shit. Yet, here we are, literally living in hell, and I doubt it’s because some idiots fucked before someone ‘officially’ declared them married,” Mitch says.

“That’s not why I’m doing this!” Clementine manages. “That’s not even- It’s not your business, anyway!”

Mitch frowns, holding up the ring, “Then, why the stupid ring? It doesn’t mean anything. Wearing this and saying you’re married doesn’t change anything, so why bother?”

Mitch eyes her quietly. Then, he straightens up. “Fine,” he says, holding out his hand, “I’ll fix your fucking ring.”

She hesitates but hands it back in his palm. Then, he searches around in one of the drawers and pulls out some string. “Gimme your hand,” he demands.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She does so, and he wraps the string around her ring finger. He pinches it and slides it off, then cuts it with his knife. He gives her the rest of the string. “Measure his finger and get back to me.”

“Uhm?”

“Do it when he’s asleep or something.”

Clementine watches as he starts darting around, pulling tools off shelves and digging around in drawers, muttering to himself. When he notices she’s still standing there, he says, “Don’t you gotta meet your husband-to-be?”

Shit, she almost forgot.

“Right, the piano,” she says.

Then, Mitch tenses. “Wait…” his face twists in disgust, “Oh, God, is ‘tuning the piano’ code for...?”

It takes her a second to get what he’s talking about.

“Mitch, I will stab you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t wanna hear about it anyway,” he waves her off. “Go do your gross stuff.”

She leaves the basement flustered and ready to strangle Mitch. She takes a deep breath to calm herself and looks around for AJ. He’s still over sitting with James, Willy and Tenn. Determining he’s in good hands, she goes into the school.

---

A week passes before she's able to figure out how to measure Louis' finger.

She comes in after her night shift to see him and AJ still awake and reading a book together. She recognizes the cover as the one Ruby gave her.

"That was so cool!" AJ exclaims. "That wolf came outta nowhere and swish! Off goes its head!"

Louis laughs as AJ chops his hands through the air and jumps off the bed.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Clementine asks.

AJ freezes. "Oh, I couldn't sleep."

"I thought maybe a story would calm him down but it seems that backfired," Louis explains. He closes the book and sets it on the nightstand. This causes AJ to pout.

"C'mon, one more chapter?"

"Sorry, little dude, it's time to get some shut eye."

"But, I'm not tired!"

"We can read some more tomorrow night, okay?"

"Promise?" AJ holds out his pinky, expression serious. Louis hooks their pinkies together.

"Promise."

Then, AJ turns to Clementine. "I'm still not tired, though. Can I go check and see if Tenn's still awake? I'll go on patrol if he's not."

Clementine sighs. "Fine, just don't cause too much trouble."

"I won't!"

He grabs his box of crayons off his desk and hurries out the door.

Louis slips off his jacket and flops down onto their bed. "Now that the small child is gone, and we're alone..." he trails off. Clementine feels her pulse quicken at the suggestive look on his face, but then rolls her eyes when he pulls out his deck of cards from his pocket. “How about we play a game?”

“Another card game, hm?”

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” he laughs. He shuffles through his deck, flipping and rearranging them. She joins him on the bed, sitting across from him with her legs crossed. She reaches over and plucks the deck out of his hands.

“How about we mix it up?” She sets the cards on the table.

"What did you have in mind?” he asks.

She smirks. “Close your eyes.”

Louis raises a curious brow up at her. “Don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

“Just do it,” she says.

“And what happens when I do?”

“You’ll have to close them and see.”

She can see his confidence starting to bend, but he rearranges his position on the bed to be more comfortable and clears his throat to try and hide it. Then, he closes his eyes.

“Keep them closed,” she says. “And no peeking.”

“A little peeking?”

“Nope,” she pinches his arm. “Peek and you lose.” She keeps an eye on his somewhat nervous face as she grabs his hand with the palm facing upwards.

“Uh, remind me,” he blurts out, “what-uh, what are the rules of this game, exactly?”

“You keep your eyes closed,” she says. She uses her pointer finger to trace an L on his palm. Almost immediately, he closes his fist and jerks it away. He covers up a laugh with a cough.

“What-!?”

“Eyes closed!” Clem presses her other hand over his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to spell something out on your hand,” she explains, “and when I’m done you tell me what it is. And you can’t look or pull away.”

“Seriously?” he asks. “Do you have any idea how much that tickles?”

“Well, I didn’t think you were ticklish,” she teases.

“I’m not!” he objects.

She grabs his hand again. “I’ll give you an easy one to start, okay?”

She tries to move as little as possible to pull the string out of her pocket. She traces the L again. His fingers twitch and he grows tense with keeping the laughter bottled up inside him. She carefully spells the rest of his name as well as wraps the string lightly around his ring finger before quickly pulling it off.

“Don’t open them,” she says.

When she’s done, he pulls away again and rubs his hands together. He keeps his eyes closed.

“What did I spell?” she asks him. She ties the string at the measurement mark.

“Louis.”

“Are you sure?” she teases.

“I think I know how to spell my own name, thank you,” he says. “Even with whatever sneaky finger trick you’re trying to pull.”

“Well, I guess you win.”

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“No.”

“What? Isn’t it your turn?”

“Nope.”

“Darling, I’m starting to think this game’s a little rigged.”

Clementine takes a moment to glance over his face. His brows are knitted with concentration, and she can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. She pockets the sting and reaches for his hand again. She absently traces the lines along his palm. His hand twitches again.

“Okay, that’s not even a word,” he complains.

She brings his hand up and kisses his knuckles.

Then, she leans over and kisses his chin, then his cheek. His breath stops before coming out shaky. She kisses his jaw. She lets go of his hand and runs her fingers over the thin fabric of his shirt. They move to his collarbone and his neck. She presses her thumb lightly against his pulse point. It beats hard. His skin is warm.

He carefully grabs her waist.

She traces a heart over his chest.

He tightens his grip on her.

And she finally presses her lips to his with a satisfied sigh.

---

The world’s a blur when her eyes flutter open.

She feels relaxed, calm as she weaves in and out of dreamless sleep. The body wrapped around her is warm, tight... and trembling?

And suddenly, she’s cold and awake, and Louis is gasping for air.

Fear runs through her veins as she jolts up. Louis has his head tucked between his knees, shaking and trying to breathe. All that escapes his lungs are short puffs. Her hands are on him immediately, pulling him close even when he flinches away.

“No-” he whimpers.

“Louis,” she whispers, pushing his dreads away from his face, “it’s okay, it’s me.”

He shakes his head. “Shit-” he sobs. He cries are muffled by his arm but Clementine can see how red and wet his eyes are. “-I’m sorry-” she hears him cry, “-I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

She holds him tight against her.

He’d been sleeping so calmly these past few weeks. But, even so, the nightmares always back. They always did for her, too. But, that’s where she and Louis differed. Clementine’s nightmares have become a natural, accepted part of her life. She knows there’s no escape from them.

But Louis… even now, two years later, he still dreams of that woman. Shit, Clementine couldn’t even remember her name or what she looked like, but she knew Louis did. Her name engraved itself into his brain the moment he heard Minerva’s distressed cry at seeing her fall over dead.

She’s tried telling him over and over again that what he did was self-defense, that if he hadn’t done what he did, that woman wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him. Fuck, that woman wouldn’t have hesitated to cut off his hand had AJ not attacked her. In her mind, Louis had no reason to feel so horrified, so ashamed.

“-I didn’t mean to-”

But he did feel those things and she wouldn’t ever ignore that. She wouldn’t ever belittle that.

So, she holds him and let him quietly weep until he physically can’t anymore. She rubs his back and his arms to try and calm his shaking. She whispers comforting words into his ear and kisses his temple, his cheek. She wipes the cold sweat off his brow.

And when they wake up tomorrow morning, she doesn’t say anything.

She watches him move about the room, gathering up his boots and sitting on the bed. He laces them up and rests his elbows on his knees. She doesn’t need to see his face to tell he’s exhausted.

“Clementine?” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

And like that, any doubts about what she wants are gone.

“I love you, too.”

422 notes · View notes