#that picture of the runway fashion model wearing the shirt that says | 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

jiminzfilter · 3 years

Text

slow dancing in the night

→ Pairing. Taehyung x reader

→ Genre. established relationship, fluff, slice of life, model!taehyung, model!reader, taehyung missed you a lot, he is starving (his words not mine), gets a bit hot by the last 40 lines, mentions of oral (f) so I guess this counts as mature content, implied smut, making out (kinda), there is a bit of swearing

→ Summary. what could possibly be better than coming home after a long day of work to someone you love and missed a lot ?

→ Word count. 3.2k (!!!)

→ because I wrote this over a year ago when I still didn't know what I was doing with my writing, I had to go through a deep process of editing and re-writing before posting it. This might not be my best work but it's still a fic that I really really like :,)

→ song rec. slow dancing in the dark, Joji// still with you, Jungkook

Fridays have always been exhausting days for both you and your boyfriend, especially on runways weeks. As models, you were put under a lot of pressure.

Pressure to be perfect, to smile but never smile too much, to look good, to not fall on stage.

Falling has to be the most tragic thing that can happen to your carreer as a model, the hungry stares of thousands of photographers and reporters ready to share the latest news to the press.

Yeah, it was exhausting.

This week was no exception... or maybe it was since, this time, you were the only one working until late.

It’s four in the morning and you’re already on your way out - kind of running late, oBviOusLy - quietly wishing your boyfriend a good day.

He is not working today.

That lucky bastard.

He gets to enjoy his free day in bed, lazing around, while you work your ass off all day. He mumbles something that you assume is a sort of goodbye. He is still asleep.

You look at him one last time before leaving the room and smile. He looks so peaceful.

You still remember the day you met, by pure luck even though you both call that fate. That was 5 years ago, when you just debuted your career as a model and were not that comfortable around high heels.

Okay no. Let’s be real.

You hated wearing them because you couldn’t walk in heels higher than 5 cm.

It’s still a wonder how you managed to make it in the first place.

Were you wearing flat shoes for the audition ? Damn you really must’ve done an impression on the judges if they made you pass without the heels try-on.

Your first day at the agency was chaotic to say the least. Your manager made you walk around the building, to visit she said. She made you wear heels. HEELS. That devilish person.

But, thank to that, you got to meet Taehyung. Your eyes landed on him as you were visiting the lounge and couldn’t tear them away from his figure. The poor man had to witness you fall down because you weren’t watching your steps anymore.

I mean.

Who could blame you ??

That was Kim frEaking Taehyung

!!!

He even came to help you get back on your feet and asked if you were alright, kind of amused.

It’s not everyday you see someone falling down in here, let alone a newbie

Let’s be honest, you were so embarrassed.

First day of work and you’re already failing falling.

That night when you came home, you spent the night wearing heels and prayed really hard you’d never have to face him again. After all, the building was big enough and there were enough workers that you could avoid Taehyung easily

If only

The NeXt day, you were told that you had a couple shooting, with none other that Kim Taehyung.

GreaT

He would occasionally tease you about your fall and check on you to see if everything was alright. He watched you carefully as you were walking around with heels.

From up close he looked even more handsome.... :)

After this day, you started talking with Taehyung more and more. He introduced you to everyone around the agency. You met outside of work, got to know each other. You both became regally good friends but there was something lingering in the air, in the way you’d look at each other or stood so close to him after a couple glasses of wine that you could breathe his air.

So what was bound to happen happened and you went from friends a to lovers without really noticing it.

He was still your best friend...somehow

Eventually, you took things to the next level and moved in together... maybe a half and a year ago or so ? You’ve never been happier in your life

And, well, you’d actually be happier if you could spend the day with boyfriend instead of running around trying to find god knows which accessories you need for the rehearsal.

8 in the morning is noT a time to be doing cardio.

Especially while wearing heels

Become a model they said, it’ll be fun they said

“Y/n! Come here please I need you to try on this dress before you go!” Your personal stylist calls “I made sure to fix it yesterday so it’d be a perfect fit for the show”

You stop your tracks and go to her “make this quick i have to go get changed before 9 otherwise I’m screwed. Why did they even decide to do the rehearsals so early today ?” You sigh, frustrated, and put on the dress she’s handing you “thank you”

“Okayyy...it looks great. Gold looks amazing on you.” She smoothes the dress and gives an approving nod, visibly satisfied ; “You’ll look perfect for the Grand Finale. Oh god it’s already 8:30 you better go before Mr.Kim throws a fit because you’re late”

You both giggle ; “thank you for fixing the dress Naeun, see you later today. Well, probably tonight. Byeeee”

The rehearsal seems to never end. You’re squeezed in dozens of different outfits, gorgeous for sure but sO tight. Mr. Kim, the one who organised the runway, is such a perfectionist that you have to re-do some things multiple times before he’s satisfied. One time the lighting isn’t right, the other the models are walking too fast, not on beat and so on.

Everyone hates him for that but he always makes the best shows so you just follow.

After multiple tries, the rehearsal finally comes to an end. It’s already 4PM. You barely get time to breathe and go pee before you’re back into the ‘running-around-to-find-my-dress-and-fix-my-makeup-oh-god-i-gotta-be-on-stage’ crazy mess.

Walking on the runway feels amazing, running backstage is terrible.

It’s so hot and small back there you can hardly move around well.

It takes 2 hours for the whole fashion show to be over, one more for pictures outside the catwalk and chat with reporters. Since you’re kind of a famous model now, you get invited to the afterparty and spend few extra hours interacting with some celebrities that attended the show. Other models were invited and you’re happy to see familiar faces amongst them. Jimin, an old colleague and friend of yours, comes your way and compliments you. You chat with him for a while before deciding you’ve had enough for the day and leave the party. A few more people greet you on your way out.

A taxi takes you back to you company, where you left your stuff in the morning. You spend an extra thirty minutes getting rid of your heavy makeup and striping off that gorgeous but awfully tight golden dress you’ve been wearing ever since the end of the runway.

Now, you can FinaLLy go home. yassssss

It’s almost 12am when you leave the agency and climb into yet another taxi. The ride is quiet, background music playing over the car’s radio, and you take some time to look at what you were gifted for your performance : fancy makeup products, accessories, pieces of clothing-but not those from the runway, you sadly never get to keep those. Being kinda famous has its perks :,)

You then decide it’s time to warn Taehyung you’ll arrive soon and send him a few texts. As if he was waiting for them, he instantly replies saying he’ll be waiting for you and proceeds to spam you with heart emojis. Sometimes, it looks like this man just discovered what emojis were and is trying to use them as much as possible. What a child…

It’s way past midnight when you finally step into your duplex and the first thing you notice is that the place is way too quiet.

Maybe Tae went back to sleep, who knows, it’s super late after all…

You remove shoes and jacket and drop your bags in the entrance before going further and you call out quietly “anyone here? Tae, you sleeping?”

There is a faint glow from the tv on your right but the sound has been muted.

Weird…

“Taehyung ?" You call one last time

Suddenly, two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist and you’re pulled into someone’s chest. You gasp, almost scream, but soften up when you feel the warmth on your back

“Hi baby” a deep voice says in your ear, sending chills down your spine “I missed you”

You turn around and are very pleased to see a handsome face and a warm exposed chest your boyfriend smiling at you.

“Mhm, missed you too” You wrap your arms around him and rest your head against his chest, happy to hear his heartbeat. Taehyung places his head atop of yours and gently strokes your hair. You tighten your grasp around him and hum.

Few seconds later, he lifts your chin up and gently lays a kiss on your lips.

“How are you doing?” He asks, his right hand cupping your cheek. The warmth of it is comforting.

“Exhausted, but you know how it goes” You shrug and he smiles

“Not too tired for dinner ? I could cook something if you want”

“Mhm... let me just go shower and put something else on” You sadly let go of him

“Sure, go ahead” he whispers and you give him a kiss before regretfully tearing yourself away from him.

You walk up the stairs to your bedroom, where you find the bed undone. You smile, Taehyung never really liked making the bed and, very honestly, neither did you. You slump onto the mattress and bury your face into the pillows, inhaling his scent. Lavender. Relaxing. Just like he is.

After a warm shower, you find a t-shirt Taehyung left on a chair in the room and wear it. It’s big enough to reach your thighs and, if you were more energised, you’d probably stay like this. You grab large pants and put them on.

Once again, you smell lavender all around you.

When you’re back in the living area, you see Taehyung busying himself in the kitchen. He hears your steps and his eyes find yours as a smile appears on his face when he notices that you’re wearing his shirt

“My shirt looks better on you than it’d ever do on me” He teases, his gaze longing on your frame.

“maybe I should keep it then” you smile and ask ; ”Do you need any help?”

“no no no no no, you’ve worked enough already. Go and have some rest. I'll call you when everything’s ready okay?”

Too tired to argue on this anyways -and thankful for the given rest-, you go lay down on the couch, your body oriented to let you look at Taehyung.

As he hums and moves to the chill music that was playing in the background, you start to detail his beautiful figure. From the curl of his dark hair (which you knoW are so so soft to the touch) to his beautiful profile and his nose you love so much down to his broad shoulder and then his tanned abs you see from time to time when the opened shirt of his pyjama moves according to his steps.

oH! Let’s not forget his perfect hands gripping at the pan’s handle while he cooks… vegetables? Something like that yeah.

Taehyung is giving his best into what he’s cooking. Vegetables with rice, that’s the only thing he could do quickly.

Quickly as in less than half an hour, unlike his friend Namjoon who’d take this time just to cook the rice.

The music he put earlier is slowly starting to bore him. After washing his hands, he reaches out for his phone and plays a different playlist. It’s one you name yourself when the two of you were still friends (aka not dating yet). “Taetae fm” because you once joked he should have his own broadcasting channel on the radio. He’d always criticise the music playing so why not have his own channel 👀

“You know Y/n, I actually watched the fashion show live this afternoon. I mean, of course you know because I always do that haha. Anyways, you really were the highlight of the runway tonight. And I’m not saying this in a biased point of view. Okay I might be a bit biased as your boyfriend but I swear that it’s true!! You literally shone back there, especially in that gold dress you were wearing and even the audience was impressed by your looks maybe you didn’t see it on stage but some cameras filmed their reactions and everyone was looking at you. Really, you were so gorge-oh” Taehyung looks at you and smile fondly “Of course you’re asleep, baby”

He lets his phone aside and checks the now cooked food before making his way to the couch. There’s a blanket on the sofa, he covers you with it, scared you might get cold. Taehyung put a loose strand of hair behind your ear and places a kiss on your chin.

You slowly open your eyes and find yourself face to face with him. You both smile.

“Hi there beautiful” He whispers

“what time is it? Did I sleep until the morning?” You’re scared of having slept through the entire nap without realising

“almost 1:20am, I just finished cooking. I thought you might be cold so I went to cover you with the blanket. You should go enjoy the food while it’s still hot, imma go to the toilet”

You nod as an answer and watch him leave upstairs. Getting up from the warmth of the couch is the hardest part so you keep the soft blanket draped around your shoulders and walk towards the kitchen. You grab two bowls and two pairs of chopsticks that you place on the counter along with glasses and a bottle of water.

You then go take care of the rice and the vegetables, which you mix in the pan. The song playing changes and your favourite nighttime tune starts.

“I don’t want a friend, I want my life in two” you sing along

“Waiting to get there, waiting for you” Taehyung’s voice startles you as he grabs your wrists and pulls your back close to him. You smile as he makes the both of you dance slowly. You put his arms around you so it’s like he’s hugging you from the back. You swing around for a little while, enjoying the close proximity as you both softly hum the song, making your body vibrate against each other, moving in perfect coordination.

“I love you” he whispers in your ear and then kisses it, sending chills down your spine, before lifting one of your arm up to make you turn so that you’re now facing him “did my baby sleep well?” You nod as you place your arms around his waist, paying attention to go under the shirt so you’re touching as much skin as possible.

Taehyung chuckles before asking you in that same, chill-sending, low deep voice ; “Still hungry? Because I’m starving”

If you didn’t just wake up, you would’ve definitely caught that lust in his eyes and also the fact that this wasn’t as innocent as it seemed.

As an answer, your stomach growls pretty loudly, making Taehyung laugh . “I’ll take that as a yes. Sit down, princess. Let me take care of you”

You do as he says, jumping on a stool, detailing all of his moves. You only realise how hungry you actually were when you start eating. Rice with vegetables has never tastes better. You eat everything in less than 5 minutes when you’d usually take your time to finish your plate.

“Damn, that was a well needed dinner! Thank you Tae” you mess a bit with his soft locks

“Imagine me who was waiting for you all evening!! I was hungry too” He pouts.

“Oh come on, I was working today. Cardio in heels isn’t the best way to wake up, let alone spend the whole day standing in tight clothes. When I think you has a day off… pfff. I saw the bed, I’m sure you stayed there all day, you lazyyyyyyyyy ass.”

He mumbles some gibberish and you giggle, knowing that you're right. He looks away, crossing his arms and obviously sulking. You leave your stool and stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a few kisses on his cheek and neck

“- Don’t be such a babyy. You know I love you.

- You do?

- of course, you dummy” you bop his nose "Sooo, what do we have for desert?

- You. Uh I mean!! Yoghurt, fruits, cakes, fruits…anything” he clears his throat

“Great! What do you prefer?” You open the fridge

“ I’d very happily eat you out honestly but an apple sounds good”

“Oh sur- wait whaT!?” You snap your head to him, eyes wide open

what did he sayyyyyyyy?????

whaT am I even supposed to say noW oh my goddddd

You close the fridge’s door, suddenly not so yogurt-hungry.

There’s a sudden silence between the two of you, only disturbed by the music still playing in the background.

“Mhm? What is it?” He turns around to face you, asking so innocently “did I say something wrong ?”

This man knows what he is doing for sure. Has he ever been that straightforward before ?

Taehyung stands and closes the distance between your bodies, now towering over you.

He lowers himself slightly to speak in your ear “what is it baby? Mhm?” You feel his smile on your cheek when he lays a kiss on it “what happened to my all proud and fierce y/n who was so confident telling me I was being lazy all day, huh? Tell me” He lays another kiss on your temple

OkaY

now he’s being a tease

Great

1 A.M. fluffy and bare chested teaser Taehyung

gReAT

Anyhow, it’s a good turn on.

Really.good.freaking.turn.on

Being tired and turned on was definitely not a good mix for you. You could feel the heat rising in your body and hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Tae…”

He laughs gently seeing you silently begging for more, brushing your face with his lips, teasing another kiss.

“Tsk tsk, you gotta speak darling, I cannot guess”

You should calm down and go to sleep, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow you should definitely-

“Fuck-“ You sigh and grab his face, sealing your lips together while closing your eyes.

It doesn’t take long for that kiss to turn into a heated make out session.

You grab and pull some of his dark curls while his hands travels under his your shirt.

You break the kiss just a second to catch your breath.

“Have i ever told you you have the perfect body?” Taehyung asks

“Did I ever tell you how perfect you are??” You reply

He laughs, deep raspy laugh.

You’re too tired for this

And because you’re tired, you’re even more horny :D

Taehyung puts his hands behind your thighs and you jump, locking your legs around his waist, hands still in his hair, lips against his while carries you to the bedroom.

He leaves your lips to travel down your jaw and then collarbone. You throw your head back.

Taehyung gently lays you on the mattress of your king sized bed and makes it his personal mission to pleasure you tonight.

#taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung au #taehyung fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung #taehyung ff #fluff #implied smut #model taehyung #bts fics #taehyung oneshot #taehyung one shots #taehyung one-shots #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung au #it's 2am what am I doing #slow dancing in the night

366 notes · View notes

imagine-it-to-be-true · 3 years

Text

Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 1

Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading. Hope you like the one shot. I do take requests! Please have a look at my list of characters, and the rules. Feel free to reach out.

Notes about the One Shot:

Summary: As Caius walked around the streets of Volterra, he came across a girl being assaulted and badly injured. He couldn't explain the pull he had towards her, but all he knew was that he needed to save her. Caius Volturi x Fem!OC. Mentions of blood, injury and death. Nothing too gruesome though. Also posted on my Fanfiction page.

Word count: 2679

Firstly, I don’t own Twilight, the Volturi, or the image used.

I sincerely apologize for my Italian and Greek phrases; I don’t speak a word of the languages and was at the mercy of Google Translate.

Caius’ wife Athenodora does not exist.

Also, imagine him how you want but I much preferred his appearance in New Moon, so that’s how I described him.

~ Enjoy :)

Cloud cover in Volterra was a rare sight. Most days the sun shone brightly, making the town not particularly an ideal place for vampires. Yet here they were, the powerful three, the ancient kings who were tasked with up-keeping and enforcing secrecy of the vampire world, in a town where they remained inside the walls of the Volturi Castle. Caius often wondered why the coven chose to remain there, and not move to a less sunny place. A lack of opportunities for outings meant that he was falling intellectually behind. One need not look further than his clothes, not to mention his mentality to see he was not one for modernity. Not that he cared. Humans and their achievements were so minuscule in his eyes. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the opportunity to venture out into the town, feel the cool breeze on cloudy days like today and observe the lesser kind. It was remarkable for him how the world changed since his childhood in Ancient Greece, yet the scape of Volterra harked back to it with its old buildings.

Caius was lonely. He was angry and cruel; many would even say sadistic. But no, the last part was not true. After over 3000 years of living alone, never aging, never moving forward, being forced to hide himself, and never seizing to hunger, it’s no surprise that one would become angry. But he was not a sadist. He did not enjoy the pain of others. He fed only when he could no longer contain his thirst, not over-indulging himself. But he understood the need for justice, and was not tolerant when punishment was due. This was often mistaken for sadism.

Volterra was extra busy lately due to an overwhelming influx in tourism. One could no longer walk in peace. The pushing and shoving of the crowded streets became too much for Caius. He looked around him, and noticed a less busy street to his right. The more he followed, the less people were there. He kept going until he was left alone, in peace, and stopped, and leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. And that is when he heard it.

From his right, came a feminine scream. It snapped Caius out of his thoughts. It sounded desperate, and then quieted down before he heard the female’s voice again, yelling in English with an American accent, “PLEASE! Somebody help me!” In one swift motion, Caius pushed himself from the wall and walked towards the pleas. He rounded a corner and between two buildings, there was a thin, dark alleyway. It was there that he found the source of the commotion.

A tall, heavy-built balding man had a significantly smaller female pinned up against the wall with his body. His left hand grasped her around the neck, while the other clutched a gun to her head. Caius spoke Italian - one of the many languages he’s mastered - so he understood plainly the filth coming out of the lowlife’s mouth as he barked at the poor girl. She, however, was clueless and sobbing, begging him to leave her.

In the split moment that he observed the scene, Caius’ eyes landed on the female. She was small, about 5”2, looked to be in her early twenties and very slim. Her hair was golden blonde, long and fell in thick, luscious curls down her back. She did not appear to be wearing much makeup, yet her eyebrows were naturally prominent and neat, and her lips were full, petal pink in colour. But it was her eyes which Caius noticed immediately. They were large and the most captivating colour: a mix of emerald and sapphire. It was as if staring into the waters of a deep, stormy ocean. However, when they met his eyes, they were full of terror. She quieted her struggle and looked at him, as if calmed by his presence, mentally begging him to save her.

Typically, Caius did not give two thoughts about humans. Yet this time was different. The girl before him stirred something inside of his frozen ancient heart. His eyes shifted from the girl and landed on the lowlife.

“Togli le mani da lei, feccia.” (Get your hands off her, Scum.) he snarled.

The man jumped in surprise and turned towards Caius. When he saw him, the lowlife sneered. Compared to him, Caius did not look all that threatening. He was tall and well-built, but thinner than the scum. His fashion choices didn’t help either. His near-white blonde hair combed to perfection and pushed behind his ears. He wore a blood-red dress shirt, paired with a black blazer and black dress pants, topped off with a silky red scarf. He looked like an escaped runway model, not a man that could do damage.

The man Caius addressed continued sneering and chuckling.

“Cosa hai intenzione di fare al riguardo, bel ragazzo?” (What are you going to do about it, pretty boy?)

Caius took a large step forward and retorted, “Strapparti la testa e bere il tuo sangue è divertente?” (Does ripping your head off and drinking your blood sound like fun?)

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise at the viciousness, but still obviously not taking the situation seriously. He laughed and turned back to the girl.

“Vedi, bella ragazza? Sta cercando di mettersi in mostra per te. Ma è solo un ragazzo. Lascia che ti mostri cosa fanno gli uomini.” (You see, pretty girl? He's trying to show off for you. But he's just a boy. Let me show you what men do.)

Before Caius had a chance to comprehend or react, within a fraction of a second, the gun pressed against the girl’s temple was lowered. The scum aimed it at her stomach and shot twice. She screamed in pain, and dropped to the ground, gasping.

Caius took a second longer than normal to realize what had just unfolded. The man had the gun pointed at him now. He aimed at his chest and fired. When Caius was hit, he did nothing but stand there. Then came the second shot and to the scum’s surprise, he did not drop. A smirk began to form on the vampire’s face, before he simply said, “Avresti dovuto scappare quando ne avevi la possibilità.” (You should have ran when you had the chance.)

As the man continued pointlessly shooting at Caius, the vampire closed the distance between them in less than a second. He grasped the man’s neck with his right hand and pressed him up against the wall, lifting him up with one arm. The man squirmed and groaned, futilely attempting to free himself. Caius didn’t enjoy hurting people. But this time was different. He snapped the man’s neck and threw him down, like discarded trash. He took a breath and turned to the girl on the ground.

She was no longer making sounds nor moving, but lay there motionless, face down on the ground. Caius could see a large red spot in her stomach area, with blood seeping through the thin fabric of her white summer dress, her blonde curls hanging like closed curtains over her face. Caius leaned down, extending a hand to gently move them aside. He pushed the curls behind her ear, running his knuckles down her soft cheek. Those beautiful storm eyes were closed.

“Can you hear me?” He whispered to her, but she did not stir.

Caius felt a deep pain in the pit of his stomach, and a pressure rising up to his throat. He felt anger, rage, but most prominently sorrow. He had this feeling like he never wanted anything more in his life than for her to look at him and say she was alright. The situation was not made easier by the fact that her deliciously smelling blood was pooling more and more.

Quickly, he reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out his iPhone. Alec had gifted it to him the year before, and this was the first time he’d use it. He couldn’t figure out the damned thing; books and scripts were more useful anyway. With some effort, he found the number he was looking for in his contacts and dialled it. The ringing seemed to go on for ages, until finally…

“Dr. Carlisle Cullen speaking.”

“Cullen. You are speaking to Caius.” He barked into the phone. A silence followed before Carlisle hesitantly responded, a hint of fear in his voice at what the Volturi king might want.

“Lord Caius. I was not expecting you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am with a human. She was shot with a gun in her stomach twice. There is a significant amount of blood. She is not responding to me. Her eyes are closed and she is not moving. What shall I do?” He spoke in a hard, fact-based tone.

“Well Caius, it sounds like she might be dead…” before Carlisle could finish his thought, Caius cut him off.

“You are foolish to think that I would waste my precious time calling you to hear something so unacceptable. Tell me how to fix her!”

“Okay, I’m not sure if she can be. But let’s try. I need you to put the phone on speaker.”

“What is that?! Talk quickly Cullen, her bleeding has not seized!”

“Okay, Caius, you see the small picture of a loudspeaker on your phone? Push it.”

Caius did as he was told. “Now what?”

“Put the phone down on the ground. I need you to turn her on her back. GENTLY! Don’t forget you’re a lot stronger than her.”

Caius gently pushed the girl’s shoulders and was able to turn her on her back, grabbing her head so it did not hit the concrete. It was then that the significance of the wound became apparent, as did the scent of her blood. It became nearly too much for the vampire. He was close to damning it all and indulging in her sweet taste. But then he looked at her perfect face. How he longed to see those beautiful eyes again.

In a struggling voice, he spoke, “Alright, it is done.”

“Now, take your index and middle finger and push both to her neck, under her chin, on the side of her throat. You should feel her heartbeat if she’s alive.”

Caius did as he was told, but initially could feel nothing. After a few failed attempts, he hung his head. Just as he was about to remove his fingers, he felt it. So faint and tiny, but it was there.

“I feel it! It is very faint! But I feel it.”

Carlisle waited a moment before speaking. “Can you describe the wounds to me? Where are they specifically?”

“They are both in the same place. One is at the base of her ribs to the left, and the second is just under it.”

Carlisle sighed and softly spoke, “Caius. She’s not going to make it. She’s on her last few breaths now, and we can prolong her suffering, but we can’t-“.

“No!” Caius cut him off, “She will not die. There must be something to be done!”

“Well… you could always change her.”

Caius let out a breath. He would not wish his own endless existence on anyone. Not to mention the unbelievably excruciating pain of the process. After 3000 years, there was one thing he remembered with vivid accuracy: his own change. But at the same time, he was in a panic. He was not sure what it was, but the thought of her dying was destroying him inside.

He swallowed and spoke in a gentler voice to Carlisle, “Is there any way to manage her pain during the change?”

“Morphine. It needs to be injected before the venom. Give it 5 minutes to take effect and then change her.”

“Thank you,” Caius whispered before hanging up.

He immediately gathered the woman into his arms, lifting her up with ease, and began running back to the castle. He made it in a matter of minutes, storming through the doors of the great gathering hall, where Aro and Marcus were speaking to Jane. Immediately, all eyes were on Caius and the little bundle in his arms.

“Brother,” greeted Aro with his child-like smile, “you came home with takeout, I see,” he cackled.

“No! Do not approach me now brother. I wish to change her, and so it will be. No one comes near her!” Caius exclaimed. His two fellow kings looked at each other, befuddled. “Jane,” Caius turned to her, “find me a shot of morphine immediately and bring it to my chambers.” With this, he stormed out of the hall.

Aro, with a confused look on his face, took a step to follow, only to be held back by Marcus. “He cannot just bring some random off the street and claim her as his own!” He exclaimed, but Marcus shook his head and smiled.

“I felt their bond. He has bound himself to her. Neither might realize this yet, but they are mated. She is his now.”

———

Caius rushed her to his room. He gently placed her on his bed, which he hadn’t used in years for obvious reasons. As he laid her down, the girl began to gain consciousness. She began feeling the pain of her injuries. Tears started fall down her cheeks and she softly, weakly moaned in pain.

Caius sat down next to her, brushing her tears away with his thumb, gently pushing her hair back away from her face.

“Shh, it’s alright. Breathe.” She seemed to respond to this by attempting to open her eyes, yet not having enough energy to do so. Caius was dying inside, seeing her suffer. He couldn’t explain why. This was the first time in 3000 that he cared so deeply about the well-being of anyone, let alone a weak human.

“Breathe for me. That’s it. You’re alright.” He whispered. She tried, but couldn’t. She attempted to say something along the lines of “I don’t want to die,” but was only emitting squeaks.

“Shhh, don’t talk. He’s gone, I’ve got you. There is not a place in the world safer than here with me.”

Just then, Jane burst through Caius’ doors with a large syringe filled with clear liquid. She quickly handed it to Caius and stepped back, lingering. Caius turned to her and harshly barked, “Leave!” She bowed and turned on her heels, heading out the door.

The girl had opened her eyes briefly and saw the large syringe. This frightened her, and she attempted to cower away. Caius returned his attention to her.

“Shhhh. Don’t be afraid. This will help you stop hurting. I will fix this. I will fix you,” As he spoke those words, a tear formed in his own eyes and rolled down his cheek. He was about to change her. Was it really fixing her, or was he selfishly wishing she would fix him? Give him companionship he so longed for? He didn’t care. He took the syringe and injected the morphine into her quickly, being as gentle as he could. Then, he waited. He needed her to stop crying. This would indicate the pain was gone and the morphine had taken effect. He held her hand, whispering sweet nothings to her. When she began quieting, he gently asked her.

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?” (My beauty), the last part in his native Greek.

She gasped and whispered, “Andromeda.”

Caius smiled and thought about how fitting the name was. The pain was gone now. He turned to her and brushed her hair out of her face.

“Close your eyes, my beauty.” He gently brushed her hair back away from her neck. Leaning down, he brushed his lips on her ear, whispering “do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.”

With that, he sunk his teeth into her soft skin, and the journey to her transformation began.

#twilight #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #volturi #caius #caius volturi #one shot #hurt comfort #romance #caius volturi imagine #vampire

94 notes · View notes

mintaka14 · 3 years

Link

This is the start of my newest multi-chapter Lukanette story, and a Dammit Quick! fic. To the LBSC crowd - you’re all a pack of enablers, so have some Disney music-nerd angst/fluff with a Julerose wedding for good measure.

See the Light

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter One – All Those Years

Luka Couffaine got the shock of his life when, six months before his sister’s wedding, his past walked onto the boat. She moved with an assurance that she’d never had at fourteen. A little older at twenty-four, a little less arms-and-legs and a little more rounded curves, but still with those same devastating blue eyes.

Her hand curled on the rail, and he realised he was staring.

“Luka,” she said. “Hi.”

“Ma-ma-marinette,” he managed, and that mouth of hers lifted in a tentative smile. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been a while,” she agreed softly. “How are you?”

He said something, he wasn’t sure what.

“I take it Juleka didn’t mention that I was coming,” she said. “I’ve offered to design the dresses for the wedding, and she suggested I come round today to talk about them. Are you… is it okay that I’m here?”

At that, Luka jolted out of his distraction and offered her a more genuine smile.

“Marinette, it’s more than okay. It’s good to see you again. You’re looking well.”

Her own smile grew a little brighter, and she flicked a quick glance down and back up to meet his eyes again. “So are you.”

“Marinette! You made it!” Rose’s shriek cut off any response he might have made. Rose barrelled up the steps from the galley and past him to engulf Marinette in a tight hug, with Juleka not far behind. Luka had a moment to collect himself while they caught up. All in all, he thought he’d handled it pretty well. He hadn’t actually swallowed his tongue.

Marinette flashed a brief, rueful smile at him over her shoulder as Rose towed her below deck, leaving Luka to pull his scattered thoughts together. He hadn’t seen her in ten years and she could still bowl him over at first sight. He turned absently to the stack of papers he’d been working on when she arrived, barely seeing them.

He hadn’t made much progress half an hour later, and gave up, heading down to the galley. A burst of laughter drew his attention and in the other room he could see Marinette wielding a tape measure around his sister with brisk efficiency, while Rose sat on the table, swinging her legs as she flicked through a plain black sketchbook. He’d seen plenty of the same type of book back when he’d been spending a lot of time with Marinette all those years ago. He leaned in the doorway, unnoticed, watching Marinette at work.

It had always been hard to define exactly what made Marinette so overwhelming whenever he saw her. Maybe it was the sense of intensity and creative fire, as if her skin could barely contain everything that she was, or the fierce, giving heart that shone within her. Maybe it was the endless blue of her eyes that spoke to him of a limitless horizon. It seemed like none of that had changed.

What had changed was the dizzying rush he felt as she bent to pick up something and he found himself following the tight curve of her jeans and the contour of her strong, lean legs. He jerked his wayward gaze away, trying to fight down the heat in his cheeks and the fleeting speculation about what it might be like to have those legs wrapped around him, and those beautiful eyes of hers on him while he … God, Couffaine, get your mind out of the gutter! It had been ten years since he’d last seen her, and these were not appropriate thoughts to be having barely thirty minutes and less than a handful of words of conversation after she’d turned up in his life again.

She had always been a pretty girl, but that was nothing to the gorgeous woman she’d grown into.

He would have bet money that the jeans hugging those legs like a second skin were her own design, and the silky red shirt sliding artfully off one shoulder but never quite falling looked like it had come straight from the fashion week runway. The way Marinette filled it, though, was far more distracting than any model could have ever made it.

The pigtails were another thing that was gone, but he didn’t spare them more than a moment of nostalgia, because the blue-black satin of her hair was caught up in a knot that left the smooth line of her neck bare, and that was a whole other train of thought that he cut off quickly. He looked up to find that she was watching him with a quizzical expression, and he managed to answer it with a smile of his own before Rose noticed him standing there.

“Luka!” she called out. “You have got to see what Marinette’s come up with for us!”

She was practically bouncing, and shoved the sketchbook at him. He looked at Marinette, one eyebrow raised in a question, before he opened it.

“If Marinette’s okay with that,” he said. Marinette’s mouth lifted in a smile at that.

“Marinette’s okay with that,” she told him, and he opened the cover. The slim book was full of designs and scribbled ideas and notes on wedding dresses. He’d seen her fourteen year old designs, and been impressed by them, but this… this was a whole other level, which, he supposed, wasn’t surprising. He turned through the pages slowly. He paused on one that was clearly meant for Juleka.

“Wow,” he said softly.

“That’s one of my favourites, too,” Marinette said. She’d come to look over his shoulder, and he was finding that rather unsettling for some reason. “Juleka’s so elegant, she could wear just about anything, but I like that structure for her.”

“It feels like her.” He glanced up at Marinette. “Dangerous edges, with just a bit of sweetness underneath.”

Marinette turned another few pages, and waited for Luka to find it.

“Rose,” he grinned back at her. “Channelling her inner Disney princess?”

“The brief was Sleeping Beauty, live action, but more -” Marinette gestured extravagantly, opening her eyes wide, and from the table where she was perched, Rose stuck out her tongue at them.

“It’s my wedding, and I’ll princess if I want to,” Rose sniffed.

Luka glanced back at the sketch, and was impressed all over again. Marinette had somehow turned flowers and glitter and pink and Rose into a few lines of charcoal and caught it on the page. Her own special brand of magic.

On the other side of the room, Juleka looked up from her phone.

“I’ve just ordered takeaway, and Ivan and Mylène are on their way,” she told them, and levelled a look at Marinette. “You are staying, aren’t you?”

By the time Marinette had been talked into it, and Ivan and Mylène had turned up in a bustle of exclamations and hugs and chatter, Luka had recovered something of his equilibrium. As darkness fell over the river and the lights strung up across the boat spilled a soft light over the deck, Luka handed Marinette a glass of wine and settled into the deck chair beside her.

“You’re wearing a tie these days,” she said with a hint of mischief, and he glanced down at the shirt he’d rolled up over his tattooed forearms and the tie he’d forgotten he was still wearing. “I never pictured you in the kind of career that would need a tie.”

He pulled himself together enough to smile easily back at her. “Well, it’s been a while. A few things have changed. I see you’re not wearing those pigtails anymore,” he teased her, and her hand went to the soft satin twist of her hair.

“No.” Marinette leaned back in the chair, her wine glass in hand, and her eyes were on Rose and Ivan arguing amicably about something. There was an indefinable sense of distance in her that had never been there when they were kids, and he wondered what had happened to put that there.

“So when did you get back in touch with Jules? She didn’t mention that she’d seen you.”

“I was showing a couple of pieces at something Juleka was modelling at a while ago. We bumped into each other backstage, and when she mentioned that she and Rose were getting married I offered to make up the dresses for them. My wedding present to them,” she said with a self-conscious smile, and Luka couldn’t help a soft laugh.

“Only you would do that for someone you haven’t seen in years.”

“They’re still friends.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.”

Rose was standing on a stack of crates now, singing something about rainbows, while Juleka hooked an arm around her to keep her from overbalancing and Mylène snorted with laughter. Marinette looked over at them a little wistfully.

“It’s nice to be back in touch with the old Kitty Section crew,” she admitted. “It was nice to reconnect with Juleka… and you. I’ve missed that.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Luka said quietly. “Do you see much of the old school crowd?”

Marinette shrugged. “Not really. I run into Adrien from time to time. I see him at the fashion shows sometimes, but honestly, once we get past the awkward reminiscing about collège, and industry stuff, we don’t really have a whole lot to talk about these days. I’ve sort of lost touch with everyone else.”

“How about Alya?” he asked. Luka had never really warmed to the brash journalist-in-the-making, with all her Adrien-schemes, but she’d been best friends with Marinette back in the day.

“No.” The one word was oddly expressionless. “I haven’t see her in a few years.”

There was a heartbeat when he thought she was going to say something else, then those lashes of hers dropped. Instead, when she looked up again there was that mischievous spark in her eyes again, and she said, “So what convinced you to put on a tie? Although I notice you didn’t get rid of your blue hair.” Was that an approving note in her voice? He ran his hand a little self-consciously through the longer, teal-tipped sweep of his dark hair, rubbing at the shorter hairs at the back of his neck. “What are you doing these days?”

“Playing the occasional gig whenever I get the chance, selling my music from time to time, teaching…”

“Teaching?”

He named the lycèe.

“Lucky students.” Marinette tilted her head to regard him speculatively, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’m having a hard time seeing you as M. Couffaine, though.”

“Just Luka. I’m the cool teacher that half the faculty hates because I undermine authority.”

“And the other half madly crush on,” Marinette suggested, and Luka felt himself flush. She could still throw him off-balance, all these years later, although it was in a different way now. The fourteen year old Marinette he remembered would never have been able to say something like that without self-combusting, but here she was, watching him with that mischievous glint in her beautiful blue eyes, and it was just another reminder that things had changed.

“What about you?” he deflected. He gestured at the sketchbook she’d left on a nearby table with her handbag. “Following the dream?”

She gave a wry little smile. “Oh, I got through my degree in fashion design somehow, and I’ve been running a bespoke atelier out of my bedroom. It’s not huge, but it pays the bills, and at least it gives me a certain amount of … flexibility.” Luka couldn’t understand the slight twist of her mouth at the word, but she had it smoothed out before he could be sure he’d really seen it. “And Ja… a few high profile people have been very kind and sent work my way.”

Luka felt certain he knew who the celebrity had been. For that alone, he could forgive his father a lot. There was a long silence while Marinette contemplated her empty wine glass, then she met his eyes.

“You have no idea how sorry I am that I broke up with you like that, right when you were going through everything with... I just made everything worse, and it wasn’t fair on you. I never really found a way to tell you that I was sorry for everything.”

“Marinette, no!” Luka straightened in his deckchair, a faint frown crossing his face. “We were kids. I’ve always felt badly that I put you under more pressure when you were clearly having a hard time with something.”

“There was a fair bit of that going around,” she conceded, and let out a shuddering breath that he didn’t realise she’d been holding. “But you have nothing to apologise for, you had every right to be upset about how I treated you. I regret a lot of things about back then.”

“I don’t regret that we tried,” Luka said with unintentional intensity, and Marinette’s eyes widened a little. “But I do regret that I lost you out of my life altogether. You always had the most fascinating way of seeing things, and I missed just hanging out and talking to you.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after all that. And I thought it was saf -“ she cut herself off abruptly, changing what she’d been going to say, “- better if I stayed away.”

He shook his head, but didn’t say anything in response.

She gave him a sidelong look. “I never really got the chance to ask you, did you… how did things go with Jagged in the end? Do you talk to him?”

Luka’s expression turned wry. “It’s complicated. It’s always complicated with Jagged, but we talk a bit. He’s going to be there for the wedding. Not sure how that’s going to go.”

Marinette made a sympathetic noise. He thought for a moment that she was going to ask him for the details, but instead, with another swift, perceptive glance from those blue eyes of hers, she changed the subject.

“So what’s teaching like, M. Couffaine?” she asked lightly, and he settled back to tell her some of his stories, enjoying the ripple of laughter he drew from her over his students’ antics, and the chuckles she surprised out of him with her own tales about clients and their most outrageous demands. He had no idea how late it had grown when the conversation was interrupted by a chorus of phones chiming all at once from various corners of the Liberty. Ivan was the first to reach his.

“Akuma alert,” he sighed. “Aw, man, they’ve shut down septième. Traffic getting home is going to be hell.”

“What’s the bet that it’s the Eiffel Tower again?” Juleka muttered.

Mylène was shaking her head. “Hawkmoth, and now Swallowtail, and there was that weird thing with the rats a few years ago, and the government keeps pretending that there’s nothing they can do as long as they can just dump it all on Ladybug and Chat Noir to deal with the problem. We’re still working on getting subsidies for mental health therapies, but they keep stonewalling us.”

Marinette was getting to her feet.

“I really should go,” she said reluctantly, and Luka stood as she gathered up her bag and sketchbook. “It was… really nice to catch up again, Luka. It’s been far too long.”

“Oh, but you’ll be back again soon, right?” Rose cut in before Luka could say anything. “There’ll be fittings for the wedding dresses, and we’re not letting you lose contact again like that. We’ve missed you, right, Luka?”

Luka ignored Rose’s unsubtle nudge, and Marinette said her goodbyes to the rest of their friends.

“It’s good to see you again, Marinette,” he told her, and accepted the light bise she brushed against his cheek. He caught a hint of vanilla and sugar as she leaned in, and oh hell, it suddenly hit him why the smell of cookies had always left him with a faint and peculiar sense of homesickness when his mother had never baked a cookie in her life. He closed his eyes briefly, and let Marinette go before he could do something stupid.

Luka watched her safely down to the dock, and he absolutely was not fixating on the sway of those jeans as she walked away, holy crap, and turned back to meet Rose’s hopeful and utterly transparent look.

“So-oo,” his future sister-in-law said with overdone nonchalance. “You and Marinette looked like you were having a good time together.”

“Don’t go getting ideas, Ro.”

“Rose,” Juleka muttered warningly from the bench where she was sitting, but Rose ignored her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently. “I just want you to be happy Luka. It looked like you were really happy tonight. And it was great to see Marinette again.”

“No ideas,” he repeated, and Rose gave him a look of deep disappointment. She started collecting the empty takeaway containers, while Luka rounded up the glasses. Rose dropped a kiss on Juleka’s mouth on the way past, and flitted down into the galley. Juleka heaved a put-upon sigh, and swung herself gracefully to her feet, scooping up a couple of stray cushions.

Luka picked up Marinette’s wineglass, with the soft pink imprint of her lipstick.

“You didn’t mention that Marinette would be coming round,” he said, his back to his sister. “You didn’t mention that you’d been in touch with her again.”

Juleka shrugged, and dumped the cushions in one of the storage boxes on the deck. “Didn’t think it mattered. It was ten years ago. You’re not still hung up on what happened back then, are you?”

“No, of course not.” And he was pretty sure that was true. This felt like he’d been blindsided by Marinette Dupain-Cheng in a whole new way.

#lukanette #pro lukamari #see the light #this is disney nerds #julerose wedding #they're still idiots #tangled

56 notes · View notes

anythingbutmar · 3 years

Text

Runway show

Diego Hargreeves x reader

Summary: Diego knows exactly how to comfort you after your insecurities stop you from buying new clothes.

A/N: I felt so nice about myself writing this so I hope you feel the same when you read it! Love yourselves the way you love this fictional man!

Warnings: body image issues, self deprecation, me not knowing a thing about fashion.

“I expect a whole ass runway show!” Diego announced as he heard the front door open. “You took too long babe, I missed you.” He came from the kitchen wearing a cheesy apron and it almost cheered you up.

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you but I didn’t like anything.” You sighed after giving him a peck on the lips.

“Y/N... Tell me the truth, I can see there’s something else.”

“Fine, I didn’t like anything on me.” You sat on the couch embracing your legs. “Every jean just made my legs look skinnier like a chicken, every top made me look fat and every dress made me feel like a surfing board.”

Diego left the apron on the table and sat beside you, putting his arms around your shoulders.

“Who am I kidding? It’s not that the clothes made me that way, it’s just me. I don’t even understand my body, it’s like sometimes it’s too curvy and sometimes it’s too small, how can you even like that?” Your head started filling with more and more nasty thoughts about yourself and you knew you had to push them away, Diego loved you with all your imperfections, but what if he didn’t?

“Baby I love everything about you because you’re absolutely gorgeous! Everyone has different bodies and we all look different with the same piece of clothing. Your body is unique and it’s my favorite one in the entire world.” He proceeded to kiss your entire face until it made you laugh. “Not that you need me for validation, but next time let’s go shopping together so I can praise you the way you deserve.”

“That sounds nice.” You whispered against his neck, already feeling safer with him.

“How about this? You’re gonna go to our closet and pick your favorite outfits and then we will actually go all Tyra Banks, you’ll model and I’ll compliment you.”

“Only if you wear that apron again.”

“Deal.”

You hated messing up your closet but your boyfriend was right, maybe you needed that, so you threw all your favorite things on the bed and combined them into things you liked. You took a jean skirt and a striped cropped hoodie with some black thigh high boots. And strived to the living room with the confidence of a real model, knowing only Diego could make you feel like that.

“Damn baby! Come here, pose a little.” You stood in front of him with your hands on your hips, sending him a kiss. “Alright, alright, I see you’re trying to flirt with the judges and it’s definitely working because I just fell in love wow.”

“You’re such a dork.” You laughed.

“I’m loving how sexy your legs look with those boots, like Ariana Grande, and I think stripes are in right now so good choice!” You couldn’t stop laughing at his attempt on professional flattering.

“Alright silly, I’m gonna go change.” You threw your clothes everywhere in the room, now choosing some black high waisted jeans and a red, lacy see-through shirt with a black bra underneath and red sneakers. This time you even painted your lips red, you truly loved how it looked on you and you knew Diego did too.

Once again, you pictured your hallway as a real runway from a Victoria’s Secret fashion show and you walked swaying your hips, winking once you were in front of your boyfriend.

“Yes, give me that smize! Wow, I’m loving this attitude!”

“You seem to know a lot about America’s Next Top Model, don’t you?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“What can I say? I enjoy the drama sometimes.” He smiled playfully. “So I see red’s definitely your color, if I wasn’t a professional judge I’d just kiss those lips a million times! I’m also loving that shirt, it’s...” He stared at your boobs as if he wanted to remove the shirt instead of compliment it. “Elegant! Yes, it’s very elegant.”

You just kept laughing until you went breathless and you couldn’t resist it anymore, you sat on his lap and kissed him deeply, holding him as close as you could. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Me? I should thank you for letting me look at this masterpiece.” He said, giving your thigh a light squeeze. “Now come on baby give me one more.”

You stood up and walked to your room in the most seductive way you could, knowing he would be staring all the way.

“Now you’re gonna have to strip for me like Christina Aguilera after this!” He shouted, making you chuckle.

“You also know Burlesque?” You asked as you started changing.

“Oh so what Y/N? Men can’t like nice things now?” He teased.

“Of course they can, I just always took you for a die hard and football kind of guy.”

“Well looks can be deceiving, now get your ass out here so I can finish cooking.”

You looked in the mirror one last time, finally feeling great about yourself. You wore a royal blue dress that exposed your shoulders and accentuated your hips and a pair of heeled boots that made you look taller, which you enjoyed.

For the last time you stood before the door and modeled like your life depended on it, even twirling in the end.

“Wow, I’m... speechless.” He simply stated.

“Babe!” You pouted.

“It’s the truth! You look like a goddess Y/N!” He stood from the couch and took your hand to kiss it before twirling you around again. “So, do you want to take this cute little dress to the bedroom?”

“Absolutely I do.” You smiled before he carried you there like a princess, closing the door behind him.

123 notes · View notes

omnitf · 3 years

Photo

Soulless

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

Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Follow this link to see the original post.

If you like this and my other stories, please consider supporting me on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

Thank you, and enjoy the story! :D

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

I used to be different than the man you see today. They say the industry changes you, and I suppose they’re right, whoever they are. I’ve been a model for ... I don’t even know how many years now. Like I said, things used to be different.

It was just one photo shoot. I didn’t expect to be such a hit. It was a million in a million in a million chance. Audition, smile to the cameras, wear the gear, sell the product, get paid in royalties. It was a straightforward business arrangement. Folks say they like to have models with a lot of heart and soul. Now that I think about it, that’s what the company said when they hired me.

My agent got the call, and then he called me. He barely kept himself from shouting as he told me the details. Daemonique was and still is one of the premier modeling brands out there. It costs a bundle and a half to even have them consider lending you their talent. Runways, photo ops, fashion articles, the works. If they looked at you, if they chose you, then you were in. You were set for life.

I was floored. Naturally, I said yes. I signed the contract and joined my fellow models in the spotlight, and my agent was offered a hefty sum for snatching me. He still lives very well, from what I understand. Daemonique poached him from his firm, something about being a, “devil of a recruiter.” We still talk sometimes, but usually it’s just when he offers me my new assignment. Sometimes, he brings new talent with him to meet me. People worship me, idolize me.

That used to impress me. Now I feel ... indifferent, I suppose. It’s ... difficult to describe. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the attention, more that ... I suppose I slide into whatever they want me to be. That’s my purpose as a model.

I remember when I was introduced to my hero in the modeling community, Nathan Bolaterro. My smile was radiant, my handshake firm and only slightly exaggerated. His smile was reserved, his bearing shifting to accommodate me.

“There are many models here,” he told me, “with many masks, many faces. It’s ... difficult to keep track of what brought you here sometimes, the ‘you’ that you put into your shoots. Make sure that you don’t lose track of it. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He looked almost sadly at a playbill with a beaming teenager wrapping either arm around another two other teens’ shoulders on stage. There were four of them, identically dressed in the traditional garb of the barber shop quartet from The Music Man. I could just barely see the resemblance between the middle left boy and the man that stood before me now.

One of the many agents that runs this place strode through the door then. “Nate, it’s time for your sports segment.”

The model swallowed heavily, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as a result. “Coming,” he said in a low-pitched tone. His gaze darted back toward that photo almost desperately. Then he turned his back and followed his handler out. I followed them into the hall, since it would be rude to remain in his dressing room.

“Do well on this one, and you’ll be a shoe-in for Soulless.” The agent grinned and thumped Nathan on the back. My breath caught at the mention of that great fashion line. Only the best of the best of the best in the agency could make it into that exalted circle.

I was confused when I saw, not a joyful smile, but a frown of unease cross over the model’s face.

The next time I saw him, he was getting out of a session for some sports magazine spread or some other campaign. His body was huge, his voice deep and dull. The familiar brand name Soulless stretched down one meaty thigh in big capital letters over the compression pants and widely across his left pectoral as he scratched the material of his compression shirt with his free hand. “You talking to me, bro?” He didn’t seem to recognize me. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. They seemed almost dead as he stared at me through the open visor of a football helmet. The angular shape of the opening gave his head an almost block-like appearance. The rich hair that had once been so carefully styled was little more than sculpted stubble now. His pupils vibrated, like they didn’t know whether to dilate or contract. Or ... maybe they were trying to, but couldn’t? “The name’s Jock....”

I still remember how freaked out I was after that encounter. My agent had to explain it to me, about Nathan’s “methods.” A lot of the models follow it, apparently. I guess ... I guess I do, too, now that I stop to think about it. There’s a sort of role that we’re asked to fill for each of our shoots. Whatever we model, the photographer wants us to fit certain ... characters, tropes, if you will. These tropes have names, and we don them as easily as we do makeup or an outfit for the cameras. Jock, Brat, Badboy, Greaser, Guido, Father, Hipster, Businessman, and so on.

It’s ... easy to forget your name when you’re in this community. You become almost numb to it. You have to, if you want to survive the media storms that follow you around. Let go of the power that name has over you, and you can usually ignore most of the reporters or rabid fans trying to get your attention. It’s a trick you learn fast in the business, once you make it big. And all Daemonique models make it big. Sometimes, when I have to sign a waiver or some other legal document, I pause and stare at the line, and I have to grope in the dark to try to find the name I cast away. Sometimes, it’s suggested that I just sign with an X, like a lot of the other models do, but I don’t want to yet. I still want to be able to keep that power of the name with me. If I stop using it there, it’ll be harder to ... to ... what? I’m not sure. Remember? Pull back? Be myself?

What even is “myself” anymore? I’m ... I’m not sure.

I’ve taken to carrying the photo that brought me to Daemonique’s attention with me. I find it ... grounding to stare at. Almost comforting, really. I talk to it sometimes, greet it with my name, almost like it’s another person. I guess ... in a way, it is. It’s sort of like a lifeline to me, a connection to the me that was before all the lights and the cameras and the flashes and masks I’ve had to don for the sake of the shoot, the product, the image that Daemonique wants me to fit.

I feel less and less like a person and more and more like some ... glorified prop, a life-sized doll that my handlers change, dress, shift, and adapt to their whims. And the scary part is, ... I’m okay with that. I ... almost relish slipping into those characters and roles now, because they fill that emptiness that I return to when I take them off. The face I see in the mirror of my dressing room is so ... alien to me now. It’s nothing like the face I see when I look at this photo. And that emptiness is reinforced whenever I get in line with the other models for our weekly assessments. There’s no real talking, just standing, waiting, moving in time as the camera shutter clicks, snaps, clacks. The model turns, the process repeats, until all the sides are captured. Then we move forward, and the next one follows. The young bloods toward the back of the line whisper and talk among themselves. I used to do that, too, to be that. Now, ... now it feels so ... unnecessary. I stand among my peers, where quiet is the norm and blank the ideal. A canvas waiting to be painted. A whiteboard waiting to be drawn up, then cleared.

...

A walking, talking mannequin.

Is that all I am now?

Is that all my purpose is?

Is this ... really what I want?

...

Does it really even matter anymore?

I feel so strange, so stripped, so ... empty, even as I stand on that line now, waiting for that photo set. I pull out my photo for comfort. That tiny spark is only so much against the yawning void that’s eaten away inside of me. A wry smile curves my lips, one of the first sincere ones I’ve had in who knows how long.

Did you know that some cultures believed that to capture yourself in a photo was to capture a piece of your soul? By that logic, every human who’s ever consumed media or pictures is a demon, or at least part demon. They consume those fragments, those pieces. And the models and actors and actresses let them. And they fill up with other things and ideas, just like I do when I’m in a shoot. They’re just as empty, just as desperate for fulfillment, a role, even a piece, a taste of the soul they used to be.

I barely even recognize the feel of the textured mat when I step in front of the camera. I stare into the lens, still holding the photo. The shutter clacks. The light flashes. My shadow is thrown up in sharp relief behind me on the backdrop. I blink. For a moment, I could almost swear that I see sharpened teeth bared in a hungry, anticipatory grin. Clack goes the shutter. Flash goes the light. Around I turn. I feel no sense of fear or worry at the sight of the horns. I feel ... nothing. I turn again and watch my shadow flash in front of me, then fade into the nothingness of the backdrop. Just a 2-D silhouette. No substance, no form, just here and gone in a flash of light and the click of a shutter.

I feel no anxiety at the sound of clopping hooves echoing in my ears as I turn again. I’m just going through the motions, following the formula. They want a blank slate. They want the empty. They want a foundation they can build and mold like clay in their hands. Malleable. Easy to shape and control. No complaints. No thoughts or discomforts. Just ... being. Just existing.

...

Empty.

I look down at my photo. There is no more thrill at it. No spark. No joy. No connection. Whatever power it held has been stripped by the camera. It is a person I do not know, a blank face in a crowd. I see no light in those eyes, no life, no ... soul, to use the company term. I see only a picture, a pointless picture.

Flash. Clatter. Flutter. Smack. The photo is no longer in my hand as I turn to face the camera again. The creature before me leers behind the camera as one final shutter goes off, one last flash. He licks his lips as his tail lashes behind him.

I turn and march as the other models before me on the line have done. Another paper is shoved at me. I do not bother with the name this time. An X will suffice.

My agent is there next to me suddenly. The soles of his shoes clunk with a rhythmic clopping, almost like hooves. He adjusts the waistband of his pants uncomfortably, then rubs at the nubs that I see growing from his forehead. He seems to be sweating for some reason. I’m not sure why as he breaths heavily. I can just see the hints of longer pointed canines protruding from his lips. He raises his phone and snaps a picture of me. I don’t blink.

“I think he’s ready, Sir.”

This time, I do blink. When I open my eyes, there is a bigger agent hovering over his shoulder. This one is like the photographer. The air smells of aftershave with a hint of sulfur as he leans down to peer into my eyes. I don’t care. I stare into an abyss like my own. This one has lights, but it it is different than mine was. It is not so much an absence of substance as a consumer of it. For the briefest of moments, I feel what could almost be considered a suction, a vacuous force seeking to draw something out of me, only there’s nothing to take. Nothing moves, nothing comes, because whatever that vacuum consumes is not there.

The grin that spreads across that face is savage and predatory. “Well done.” He lays a heavy clawed hand on my agent’s shoulder.

My agent shudders as his eyes flicker briefly and corrugated black horns slowly begin to emerge from the nubs. He licks his lips, and as he does so, flashes of his sharpening teeth appear in my gaze. He swallows and gulps, and as the pressure from what I can only assume is his supervisor increases, he hunches forward precariously on the balls of his feet as the beginnings of a tail bursts out behind him, having broken free of the confines of the seat of his pants.

“Th-thank you, Sir,” he repeats breathlessly as he stands up again. His cheeks are flushed from the sudden changes that have overtaken his body.

“Keep it up, and you’ll fit right in in no time.”

“Y-yes, Sir.” He smiles almost timidly, but there’s a hint of bite to it as his sharper teeth peek over the edges of his lips.

They motion for me to follow, and I do so without question.

“What will he, uh, it, become, Sir?”

The supervisor grins as we approach a large black door with red gilded lettering on its front in an angular archaic font that reads, SOULLESS. “Whatever we want it to be.”

The door opens, and I step forward, ready to take on whatever role my owners require. I am ready to be filled. I am blank.

“Welcome to Soulless, slate.”

My response is as numb and empty as I feel. “Thank you, Sir.”

I am nothing more than a dummy shuffled from caricature to caricature. That is my purpose and my role. When my work is complete, I am wiped clean, a blank slate again, to be molded and shaped as my handlers please. This is the fate of the soulless, and the soulless do not care.

I am Jock. I am Bear. I am Thug. I am Guido. I am Officer. I am Soldier. I am Father. I am Son. I am King. I am Peasant. I am Extra. I am everything and nothing. I am one of a legion of slates waiting to be wiped clean or filled according to our handlers’ whims.

We are legion.

We are the empty.

We are Soulless.

#transformation #jock #Model #conditioning #muscle #blank #Soulless #slate #no identity #fiction #demons #tf

84 notes · View notes

miyaniacs · 4 years

Text

their style pt.2 ( Sakusa, Aran, Suna, Tsukki )

A/N: sorry went overboard with Sakusa so the others are kinda short

ALSO catch one of my friends in Suna's inspo pics - wasn't intended but this picture actually showed up on Pinterest lol - leave a comment on what pic you think he is lol

pt.1 ( twins and Bokuto )

Sakusa

Look don’t touch - no wait don’t even look at me you peasants - I’m way too good for you anyways

Yes all of you will say eboy all the way

But no.

No.

Yes he has those tendencies BUT not the oversized chill stripy shirt eboy stuff you see everywhere

Gucci goes techwear

BLACK and white

With some pops of color aka Yellow and maybe red

SUITES

Not top and bottom tho - at least not the classy way

Also wide leg pants if he’s feeling fancy

Leather - wide pants or blazers

Simple tshirts

Also wide flowy shirts

Pls note everything of those are black or white - mostly black

The highest would be a neon yellow belt or a one word print

Also docs also the platformed ones

ONE PAIR IN WHITE TOO

tshirts are always tugged in

Black gucci belt

Oh also turtlenecks - only in black tho

Ok the obvious now

CHAINS lots of them sooooo many

On his neck, on his belt, over his blazer

Oh and for all the kicky ones - also harness.

Over his blazers

Oh and those on the leg too!

Ok the rest is up for your imagination

three last things tho

Rings overloaded

And obviously everything high quality

HE OWNS A COLLECTION OF BERETS

Aran

The effortlessly cool guy you always ask for fashion advice

Okay I feel like he has a sorta 90's hiphop look??

Idk how to explain it but some of my friends have the style if feel he’d wear too lol

So colors are more neutral browns, dark greens and also blue tho oh and mustard

Like wide dressy pants and a slim tshirt andddd a wider shirt over it

Also leather jackets? The ones that are more of a blazer style?

Like - classy and fancy but make it vintage too??

Definitely second hand high fashion stuff !

Besides this tho

He’s also a typically jeans and sweatshirt guy - fight me but he also has those chill days okay

Oh and also when he’s feeling ... fancy and lazy - then it’s time for some oversized editorial looking fits

I'm sorry this is so bad but I can’t find the right words nor pictures to show what I think his style is

Suna

The layed back but still fashionabe guy -you always question if he’s actually taking effort in his fits or if it comes naturally

So SUNA ( I’m simping so badly because of the latest episode omg)

Oversized

Lighter colors - light blue jeans and lilac tshirt also vans

AGAIN VAANNNNSSSSS

He skates. Let me just say this now. And i don’t accept any other opinions (I do tho lol )

So also Nike SB

Oh also Nike and Vans are his go to brands in everything

Probs also gets stuff sent by Nike too ( yes one of my friends just sent me a pic of some new nikes he got sent to to wear at this interview he’s doing for an skate Magazin )

Ok back to fashion.

Just effortless

He’s not paying much attention to what he’s wearing yet it all fits perfectly together

Also kinda basic? But cool basic?? The kind of basic you want to be too? Because it’s not basic lol

Oh and one thing

Shoelaces as belts !

Tsukki

Bitch why are you even looking at me - look at my fit - I’m too good for you -Sighhhhh

Alrightyyyyyy

From all of them he's got the most model like body type ( you know typical runway model ) - besides Sakusa tho lol

so he owns his hight to the fullest and wears long stuff ( coats lol )

He loves coats. he also owns way too many

Just classy and elegant

In mostly brown tones lol

Oxford / Cambridge style

Pants are more fitted, shirt slightly oversized and loose, coat reaching at least to mid-thigh

OHH AND HIGH QUALITY

Not really any patterns - just on his coats

Oh and he wears 3 rings - all the time - in gold. He’s a gold person

Shoes : docs in all forms - but only in black and brown

When it’s hotter he Switches the coat for a lose and flowy shirt over a tshirt OR only one of those

OH DAMN FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING

TURTLENECKS!

I'll just tag you two because I know you wanna see this lol Esp the Sakusa one ahaha @saucysamu @shoyosun

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #sakusa headcanons #aran headcanons #suna headcanons #tsukki headcanons

111 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

The Power Couple - maknae line

Pairing: maknae line member x reader

Wordcount: 1.0k words

Genre: (hinted/mild) smut, fluff, (JK’s a tiny bit angsty but also humour),

Rating: suggested 18+

Hi, I’m finally back with the maknae line version. I thought I would have loved to explore how the couple would interact in more public situations, especially when under pressure because of fan, photographers and press, what kind of vibe would they emit, what they would do, whether they felt nervous etc. TRIGGER WARNINGS: smut, only mentioned or suggested, with some mildly kinky stuff going on in Jimin’s scenario (that boy is filthy as hell), Taehyung is in Love™️, please don’t kill his vibe (and don’t bite his head off), softest angst in Jungkook’s piece, slight invasion of privacy, insecure Googie who wished he were a normal boy feat. mild exhibitionism and very loving Lowkey Kinky girlfriend.

Enjoy!

Here you can find the hyung line

And here you can find my masterlist

Jimin

The first thing you noticed was the fans, phones out, recording and snapping pictures of you.

The second thing you noticed was the little groups of celebrities, influencers and models chatting, exchanging greetings and fashionable “bisoux”. It actually intimidated you.

“Don’t worry about those. We steer away. I’ll just say hi to a few friends. You’ll like them, they’re not that bad.” He said with a teasing grin.

You were at Paris Fashion Week, attending Chanel’s special runway, with your amazing boyfriend. He had personally styled your look, your matching apple green skirt and jacket paired with a plain white t-shirt. At your feet a very daring combination of white ankle socks and black leather loafers. On your slightly tanned skin -- thanks to your holiday together -- the palette of colours looked absolutely amazing, giving you a fashionable but also a classic look. His signature all-black look today was made of skinny black pants, a sleeveless turtleneck tucked in and, just like you, black leather loafers.

You were actually pretty glad he had that turtleneck in his luggage: explaining the bruises on his neck would have been impossible. Paris, Jimin and champagne were a deadly combination for your libido and it had been sheer luck that you had managed to exit the room this morning. You had spent the last twenty hours or so in bed, macarons delivered to your suite together with wine and chocolate covered strawberries. As if you hadn’t just spent a week in the middle of nothing, on a private island, enjoying nothing but each other, someplace where Jimin could just hang out naked all day long, being nothing but your pet, making as much noise as he wanted. And you had enjoyed listening to his every whine and scream. It had been amazing.

Coming back to civilization had made you jumpy, and seeing him back to his usual social butterfly personality slightly ticked you off. Your own personality didn’t quite fit the socialite in the spotlight, and you weren’t absolutely comfortable with the way everyone seemed focused on the two of you.

The photographers kept calling his name and he kept stopping for them, looking at you with nothing but sin in his eyes, his intentions unmistakeable. He let his fingers dance on your inner wrist, knowing how that makes your skin tingle and your nerves catch fire.

How could you possibly let that brat go unnoticed? Of course you would remember this for later, when you'd be back to your room. Still, when he stopped once more, putting his hand on your waist, you latched your thumb on one of his back belt loops, the rest of your hand spread wide on his glute and hip. The half coy, half obscene smirk on his face made you melt a little more, and you felt embarrassed that such a small thing had you actually turned on. He bit his lip. Little teasing brat.

You entered the venue after a few greetings to glossy-haired, glass-skinned demigods, wide california smiles plastered on their faces, beautiful and scary. Jimin was polite as usual, dismissing some guys with a cold, formal manner. As you sat on front row, he bent to your ear, grazing your earlobe with his plump lips. “You look beautiful. The only true queen out there.” He nuzzled in your hair. “Can I put my hand on your leg or will you drag me to the closest bathroom to eat you out?”

“You are walking on very thin ice, Jiminie.” You replied before laying your hand heavily against his knee, your fingers reaching for his inner thigh. Distracted by your touch he didn’t notice the way you leaned in. “Enjoy sitting while you still can, baby brat.” You smiled innocently, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Oh, come on, what did I do?” Your conversation went on undisturbed, no one around there understanding his native language, except for the bodyguards, who were otherwise occupied, or who were not interested in your anthem.

“I’ll make you a list once we’re in our room.” Once more he used his flirty smile on you. “And trust me, no chance of you getting away with it this time.” You continued.

Suddenly you were interrupted by a photographer, asking you for a picture. You posed with a kind smile on your face, Jimin’s arm around your shoulders. “Big smile, kitty.” You said, before the flash lit up and caught him midlaugh, cutely collapsing on your shoulder. The photograper took a few more pictures, thanking you and moving on.

He recomposed himself, drawing closer this time. You grabbed his chin with two fingers delicately. You could only imagine what everyone could think of the two of you. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” You asked, a little roughly.

He giggled flirtatiously. You figured all the macarons must have made him sweetly poisonous. “You must love me a lot.” He put his hand on your thigh, contrary to your warnings. “But I love when you manhandle me a little.” He started kneeding on the soft flesh there. “So I really hope you’ll give me the punishment you’ve promised me later--” he stopped and exhaled sinfully, “-- mommy.”

For the rest of the show he was restless in his chair, impatient to have you again.

Taehyung

“Oh my god, Namjoon will bite my head off if we’re late.”

“Is my lipstick okay?” You asked panicked.

He came up close, staring at your lips. “You’re incredible. It’s perfect.”

“I should have bitten your head off.”

“Such a shame you love it.” He commented with an arrogant smile. He helped you up and leaned against your ear. “You love both of them.” He said, tucking himself in and fixing his clothes.

Of course he was right. Of course you were just done taking him in your mouth, trusting him enough not to mess your dress. It was an avalanche of deep blue chiffon. Tonight you were attending a charity event in a popular art gallery celebrating the opening of a new building for recreational use. Your dress resembled the dark twirls of Van Gogh’s starry skies, punctuated with small rhinestones; Taehyung had bought it for you, leaving it on your bed before you got ready for the event. When you had seen it you had felt slightly conflicted between your own pick and his choice, but seeing his own blue silk tuxedo, you gave up any hesitation, slipping into the dress -- which unsurprisingly fit you perfectly -- after letting him choose your underwear first.

“Do I look messed up?” You asked again, at which he fixed a loose strand of your hair delicately before bending down to kiss you. The kiss wasn’t chaste at all.

“I wished we had more time...” He commented, accompanying you to the ensuite and turning you towards him, fixing your makeup under your eyes and on your chin.

“Do you think they’ll notice if I get under your dress during dinner?” He grinned and tapped a humid towel around your mouth, kissing you once more.

“Depend on whether I can keep a straight face or not.” You caressed his face and caught his wrists.

“Well, then we’re fucked.” Yeah, his head game was that strong. No keeping a straight face at that. And he knew.

You laughed together at that. You looked at yourself in the mirror. “God, I need to know what lipstick she used. It’s still there. No smudge, no stain. It’s perfect.”

“That’s because you’re perfect.” He kissed your forehead. “Let’s go. They’re gonna kill us.”

“We’re not that late. Plus I’m sure we can still beat Jimin.” You grabbed your purse on the way out of the bedroom.

“Wait babe.” He said, “I--” He had been distracted. This should have gone in a very, very different way.

You stilled, waiting for him to talk. “Tonight might be difficult.” He wished he had been patient. He wished he had more time. The plan was to give you something that might keep everyone off you. Insecurity invaded him. All the men who would be seeing you tonight… The small box felt heavy in his hand. “And I--” God, he had a talk, a whole discourse. “Just, it’s not like-- I intend to do this properly, sometime in the future. This is just-- A promise thing. I want us to wear these.” He fumbled with the lock, his eyes blowing wide open as the box fell to the floor and a tinkling sound echoed in the hall.

You threw yourself at it, noticing the thick platinum band covered in blue shiny stones rolling on the floor. You saved it right before it hid under the wardrobe.

In the meantime he had clutched the box to his chest, protecting the other half of the pair with his body.

You smiled widely. Rings. Actual rings.

“It’s not like, wedding. Though I absolutely intend to. I mean, to propose. Not today.” He sounded like a broken record, his words interrupted and mechanic. “It means I love you, and you got me, and I got you. That’s all.” He looked like a lost puppy.

"Come here, darling." You say quietly.

He looks absolutely terrified, approaching you like you were about to punish him.

"I love you. And I really hope that someday we will be wearing another kind of matching rings." You kissed his scrunched brow. "Let me put this on you, yes?"

He offered you his hand.

"I don't want to promise too much. I can only promise that I'll always take care of you, protect you and be loyal to you." You slipped his band on.

"Uhm--" He fumbled with the box some more until you held it for him as his shaking hand took off the ring. The thin circlet was lined with small blue crystals, dominated by a bigger stone of the same colour. The overall blue theme was really soothing, and it was also what kept it from looking too much like a proposal ring.

"____, I promise you to give my heart to you, and to hold yours with care, I promise to stay close to you and love you as long as you allow me to." His voice was deep but slightly shaking, which made you really emotional.

You offered him your hand, helping you wear the ring.

You observed how it fit you. You knew it wasn't sheer luck. He probably had taken one of your rings for measurements.

You smiled at him and intertwined his hands. "Joon is going to kill us."

"He's a sucker for romance, he'll probably get teary eyed." He commented. Taehyung kissed your cheek. "Let's go, I've got a beautiful girlfriend to show to the world." His smile was radiant.

Jungkook

"Baby, can you please come?" He called you to the sofa. Probably he just wanted some company while he was playing games. Maybe he just wanted someone to play with.

You reached the end of the corridor leading from the bedrooms to the open space living room. "What's up Koo?"

"Look."

A gossip TV-show was talking about the two of you and your recent holiday.

"The couple was spotted in an exclusive resort in Thailand, the BTS member spoiling his partner with a sweet summer getaway. As you can see they had plenty of time for some steamy romance on the beach." The description was accompanied by a small clip of you kissing, water lapping around your calves, the whole picture absolutely innocent and appropriate, and of course the press had to spice things up, exaggerating everything about the two of you. "The sweethearts have also been caught sharing a bit more than an innocent smooch during a canoeing excursion." And of course you weren't canoeing, but rather paddle boarding, you resting your head on Jungkook's chest as you basked in the sun. These people were outright ridiculous.

"They must be desperate for a scoop." You commented, sitting beside Jungkook, as he cuddled into you. "Are you okay baby?"

"I'm just thinking what if we had been less careful?"

You kissed his head and caressed his hair softly. "But we were careful."

"I almost fucked you on the beach." He lifted his head from his chest.

"Having a hard on and pressing it against my bum while kissing my neck is hardly almost fucking, Koo." You touched his neck and shushed him back towards your bosom.

"We've been dating publicly for like a month and we've already been on the news four times."

"God, the strip club scandal was exhilarating." You reckoned.

"The whole picture was a work of art." He commented. "After the fright I kinda hoped I could meet the one who photoshopped it."

"Do you think they could send us a copy? It looked so hot," you said appreciatively.

"You looked so hot, with that cliché pink bob cut." He looked up at you from under his lashes.

"Got a new kink, baby? Stripper role play?" You smiled teasingly.

He blushed violently. "Not really. But you really looked hot with that hair." He toyed with your loose locks. "Even though I love your hair long."

"I can only wonder why." You let him in his comfort zone, still cuddling him.

"And then that time they spotted us outside the hotel."

"As if we needed an hotel to get laid." He said, half disappointed.

"And I was wearing your sweater, don't forget the kinky detail." You joked as he broke in giggles. "'Cause of course, if I'm wearing your sweater we must have done the nasty."

He started laughing even more. "Done the nasty, God that actually broke me."

"Next time we meet for lunch with my parents we'll tell them we're doing the nasty." You murmured in sarcasm.

"My mother called me that night asking me why I was taking you to an hotel when we've been sharing an apartment for almost a year." He said. "I told her we were there to meet your parents. She said she was glad I could get laid at my place."

You both exploded in laughter. His mom is great.

"Did you tell her you tried to corrupt me on a beach in Thailand?" You joked some more.

"Fuck, she'd laugh her eyes off." He kissed your breastbone innocently.

"They love making a fuss about us." You commented, combing his hair delicately.

"I don't understand why they can't let us be. If I want to take you bare against my window that's our fucking business. Wanna get naked in a private beach in the middle of nowhere, fucking let me!" He was getting upset and he sounded so absurdly cute.

"Bare against a window, uh?"

He blushed to the tip of his ears, half frustrated, half shy.

You loved his cute slip ups, when his more dominant persona jumped out.

"It's-- You know, we don't have to do it, I was just saying it as a joke." But his shy expression said otherwise.

"I don't oppose to it." You replied quietly.

He shuddered a little, but changed the topic of the conversation. "Sometimes I just wished it only the two of us. I wished we could just be two kids twenty and in love."

You already knew what he would say next. "No, I just want this strange normality with you. No other man could love me like you, you know it. And I don't want anything but you. But this."

This time you ignored all the sweet pressing of lips for an intense kiss, mouth against mouth, your hand already insinuating under his sweater.

"I promise you I'll find a more private location next time we go in holiday." He murmured, his voice covered in guilt.

"It's okay. As long as you're okay with it. We're a power couple. They can't help but watch."

"You looked incredible with that bikini, it would have been a shame if they didn't look." He kissed your jaw.

He meditated in silence for a couple seconds. You waited for him to drop his idea. "Do you think they'll see if we do the nasty in our balcony?"

You both laughed out loud. "Let's go."

#bts headcanons #bts scenario #bts imagine #jimin scenario #taehyung scenario #jungkook scenario #jimin imagine #taehyung imagine #jungkook imagine #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #bangtan sonyeondan #bts reaction #bts maknae line

278 notes · View notes

cinderella1181 · 4 years

Text

James Dean Daydream - Henry Cavill/OFC Smut

TITLE: James Dean Daydream

CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/1

AUTHOR: Cinderella1181

WHICH Henry/CHARACTER: Henry Cavill/ Alli Sharp

GENRE: Romance/Comedy

FIC SUMMARY: Alli Sharp shows up to work and does not expect to see her ex there. The ex who went away one day, and practically the next was in a relationship with the blond tv actress. No goodbye, nothing. If Henry Cavill expects to get back in her good graces, he has a lot of work to do.

RATING: M (sex, language)

WARNINGS: Sexy sexy time.

AUTHORS NOTES: Ya’ll don’t even know, this here has been a struggle. But, it is done, and it is just the right amount of smutty and story telling!! Big thanks to @ladyaudiophile for beta-ing this for me! I appreciate her!

Taglist: @losille2000, @prizedham , @demivampirew, @iloveyouyen @sobeautifullyobsessed @i-am-an-invisible-ghost

Alli looked at the call sheet for the photo shoot, it was a lot of people she had worked with before. She scanned down to the end of the list and there was a name there she had hoped to never see again. Henry Cavill. She closed her eyes. This was going to be the most difficult photo shoot that she had ever been on, she could just feel it in her bones. She moved into the make up tent.

“Alli Bear!” Thomas said once he saw her. “Girl, thank god you are here, I thought I was going to have to deal with all these skinnies all day. Good to see they got some roundness around here.”

Alli laughed. “Nope, Carly and Jessa are on their way too. Thick sisters represent.” She snapped.

“Girl yes!” He snapped with her. “Let's get you glammed up fam.” He leaned in and kissed her as she sat in his chair. “Tell me everything about what you have been doing in the weeks since I have seen you.” “You know.. Trying to take down the fashion industry one show at a time. I am actually going to London next week to be on the second season of Heidi and Tim’s show.” She grinned. “I am one of their plus models in the pool. It’s exciting.”

He grinned. “Girl you better slay that runway.”

“You know it.” She laughed.

The door of the trailer opened and closed. They both looked up and there he stood. He smiled, that megawatt smile of his and met her eyes. “Alli.” He said. Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips.

“Hen.” she replied, “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah you too. Thomas, nice to see you again. I can go and come back later if that’s easier for you.”

“Boy sit down. Alli was just telling me about her fabulous year coming up.” He said. Alli turned his head and shot daggers at him. “Seems she is going to be in your part of the world.”

Henry sat in the chair next to her. “Yeah?”

She turned and looked at him. “Yeah, I am going to be in London for about six weeks,” she said quietly.

Henry’s blue eyes lit up. “Yeah?” He grinned. “I’d love to see you while you're there.”

Alli looked at him. “I am going to be working,” she said quietly.

“She’s gonna have time. Her number hasn’t changed.” Thomas said. “You should get a hold of her.”

“I think I will Thomas. I’ll wear her down to at least get drinks with me.” Henry grinned.

Alli rolled her eyes. “We will try and plan something, but if it doesn’t happen then it doesn’t happen.” She said.

Henry threw his hands up. “You got it.”

***

Henry stood off to the side looking at the various groupings of people who were taking photos together for this ad campaign. He tried to not stare, but she was there, and she was stunning. He had made it so the two of them would have to work together later in the day. For now he was content on watching her with the other models.

The photographer looked at the camera and smiled. “Okay ladies. Get in your next outfits. Henry, you're up.”

He smiled and headed towards the set. He paused as he passed Alli. “Can’t wait to see what you're going to do next.”

She looked at him and raised her eyebrow, saying nothing and heading to the dressing room. He grinned after her.

***

“Alli, Jameson needs you back on set,” the photographer's assistant said.

Alli looked at her and nodded. “In this outfit?” she asked. The assistant didn’t even answer. Alli sighed and went over to the set area. Henry was standing there, his arms across his massive chest.

Jameson smiled. “You look good Alli. Go head over by Henry.” He smiled.

Alli smiled and nodded. Henry didn’t even hesitate and wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in to him, smiling down at her. “You look gorgeous.” He said, moving them just slightly as they worked through the pictures.

“You planned this didn’t you?” She asked.

“Maybe. But, these pictures are really going to help your career too. I am kinda a big deal.” He turned her so she was pressed against him.

“And still so damned humble.” She laughed, as his strong arm ran around her stomach. “It’s been nice seeing you today Hen.” She closed her eyes as he dropped his head to her neck. “I mean it. I am glad to see you doing well.”

“You still won’t forgive me?” He asked softly as he leaned her back.

“For basically having a fake romance and breaking my heart, yeah, that’s kinda hard to get over.” She said quietly.

He shifted them a little. Jameson had stopped barking orders and was just letting them move as they wanted too, she could only imagine the pictures he was getting, but she couldn’t even focus on them right now. Her focus was on Henry and his hands on her face. He looked down into her stormy grey green eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do it. But, by the time I could get those words out it had been decided for me.”

She shrugged a little. They ended up with her head on his chest. She closed her eyes, she could feel his head rest on hers. “Forgiven.” She said quietly. “I understand I’m very much not the kind of girl your directors and publicists want to have you connected to.”

He moved and wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her soundly when she said that. He let his tongue probe into her mouth, fighting her for dominance. She melted into the kiss, into his arms. Suddenly the fact there was a room full of people did not even matter. All that mattered was that this beautiful man was kissing her.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked down at her. “Fuck them. I have wanted you for the second I saw you Alli. Give me another chance please?”

She looked at him, as they stood back up. She moved away from him. “I...I have to think.” She stammered and turned and walked off set.

***

Alli was sitting in one of the chairs that were in the dressing room. She was finishing tying on her trainers and stood up to leave. She couldn’t make her escape from this place soon enough. She just wanted to get as far away from this place as she possibly could. She stepped out of the room, directly into the broad chest of Henry. She looked up at him. “My god, you don’t stop do you?”

“You liked my tenacity at one time.” He smiled at her. “Alli, come have dinner with me at my hotel. Please?”

“Hen.” She said quietly.

“Alli, please I am begging you, look I’ll get down on my knees.” He said and did just exactly that. “Please Allicat, please.”

A shiver went down her spine. She hadn’t heard that nickname since he had gone back to Los Angeles. She looked down at him, her hand reaching out, fingers playing in his hair. She sighed deeply. “Get up. That’s fine. Fine, you know you're irritating right?”

“I was aware. Don’t forget, older brothers.” Henry laughed. He stood up and smiled at her. “I’m at the Plaza.”

She shook her head. “Of course you are. No doubletree for you and your posh bottom.” She grinned. “I will be there later, let me go home and get this makeup off and get changed. Casual dinner, understood, casual.” She started to walk away.

He put his hands up in the air. “Casual is your request, it will be.” He smiled after her.

“And in the restaurant, not in your hotel room.” She stopped, turning and wagging her finger at him. “I am serious. No hotel room, no tight shirts, nothing, Do you hear me? You have to wear pants!”

Henry laughed a little. “Fine, fine, nothing fun, got it.” He said. “Go get ready. I will see you at seven.”

She nodded. “Seven.”

***

Alli walked into her apartment and began to strip off, heading into the bathroom and turning on the hot water in the shower and closing the curtain. She tossed clothes into the bin and stood there in her room looking at the mess it was. She shook her head. She was going to have to do laundry before she left for London. She went over to her closet and pulled out her most form flattering jeans, sparkly tank top, and cardigan that was very flattering.

She headed into the shower and washed up. She was having the age old crisis of does she shave to her knees, or everything. She sighed and decided to get the whole kit and caboodle, but she was not going to be wearing sexy underwear. No, it was going to be utilitarian and just tastefull. She contended that he had lost the privilege to see her in fancy underwear the day he didn’t call her to tell her he was breaking up with her.

TMZ was both a great source of entertainment to her, but also the bane of her existence. She could still feel the knife in her heart. The pictures and video of Henry with the blond actress were plastered across her tv. She had been in shock. She texted him and nothing came back to her. He just cut off his communication with her.

She tried to shake that feeling off as she finished getting ready. It was something that was deep in her heart. She had hoped that she would be over it, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she would ever really be over the heartbreak.

She put the under garments on, finished getting dressed and looked in the mirror and sighed. “Unto the breach once more.” She muttered to herself as she headed out of the room.

***

Henry sat in the hotel bar. He had positioned himself so he could see her come in, but not many people could see him. It was a good place to just sit, relax and people watch. He looked at his watch and sighed. Ten minutes after seven. She always ran a little behind, so he was going to give her a little longer before he gave up.

He reached for his scotch and took a sip, intently looking at the door. He didn’t believe his eyes when she walked in. God she looked beautiful. She came into the bar, seeing him sitting there. She sat down in the chair across from him. “Sorry. Hershey was being dramatic.” She said. “You would think I did nothing with that dog at all. He was at the play place all day, but of course he didn’t want to go home.” She shook her head, reaching for his drink and taking a sip.

He smiled at her. This was what he had missed. Her coming in all in a huff, and just inserting herself into his life. He smiled, and pointed to his glass. “That’s mine.”

She looked at the tumbler in her hand and then at him. She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“No, no it’s fine.” He said. “I always loved that about you, come in in a rush and would just take over my drink.” He laughed. “I miss that.”

She sighed. “I miss that too.” She said quietly.

He sat forward a bit and looked at her. “I need to say something to you. I have to say these words, or I won’t be able to go on. I have to tell you what happened.”

“Hen..”

“No, please Allicat, I have to.” He sighed. “I went to LA and was ambushed by the team. Someone had gotten pictures of us. I had worked so hard at trying to keep you hidden.I wanted one thing in my life that was just, mine.” He ran his hand over his face and into his hair. “I worked so hard to keep you just for me. I was jealous, I was selfish, and now I know that was wrong. l should have worn you proudly on my arm. I was not ashamed of you at all. I never could be, you, with that body and that smile.”

He took her hand in his. “I loved you, I wanted you. I still want you. I had no choice in the matter then, but now, I do. And screw em. I want you Alli. I want you to be on my arm, I want you to be in my bed. I want you.”

She looked away from him, tears running down her cheeks. “Henry don’t.”

“Alli, you and I fit together like a lock and a key. I want that again. Give me a chance, give me the chance to prove to you that I am serious.” He kissed the back of her hand. “All I am asking for is a chance.I wasn’t in that place in my career then, but I am not. I can choose who I am with.”

“And I am who you choose?” She looked at him.

“A hundred times over and over. Alli, you are the one that got away from me. Let me try. Please?” He asked. “I am just asking for a chance.”

She looked at him, and with the slightest movement, nodded yes.

***

“You mean to tell me that in the last four years, the longest relationship you’ve had is like.. 8 months?” Alli looked at him.

“Yup, all short and sweet.” He replied.

“We dated for almost two and half years.” She said quietly.

He nodded. “I know. I am telling you, you are the one that got away from me.”

Alli sat back in the chair. She crossed her arms. “Wow.” She reached and took a sip of her wine from the glass in front of her. “I can’t believe it.”

“What about you? What was your longest in that time?” Henry asked, as he popped a piece of his dinner into his mouth.

She looked at him. “Fourteen months.” She shrugged. “And then another for about 10 months. That was it.”

He grinned at her, that cheshire cat grin that he had. “Was I the one that got away from you as well?”

Alli shrugged. “I mean, if that makes you feel better about the abysmal relationships that we have had since then, sure.” She smiled a little. “You broke my heart, honestly Hen, broke it in two. I was so shattered. Here was this man who I had been carefully dating, and hiding with, and enjoying every second of our quiet bliss, and then you went and did that. I just. I don’t know, I was shattered, and then she was skinny and blond…”

“Yeah, I didn’t choose her. If that had been a choice I would have just come back to New York to get you and bring you out. It was a showmance. My god, we didn’t even have sex. Like, she was just doing a job It was sad. The whole time I was like, I should have fought a little harder. I was stupid Alli, honestly. I should have fought for us.”

She nodded. “I agree.” She smiled. “Wait, you mean to tell me that she never once made a pass at you?”

“Nope.”

“Was she blind?” Alli inquired. “I mean seriously. You're beautiful.”

She watched him smile. “You still think I am handsome.”

She rolled her eyes. She waved to the male waiter that was walking by. “Question, do you think he is handsome? Like, not in a sexual way, but, just, in a specimen kind of way.”

He looked at Henry and nodded. “Honestly he’s kinda goals.”

Alli grinned. “Thank you.” She laughed. “You’re handsome to everyone buddy. Hate to break it to you.”

“Yeah but you think I’m beautiful, and probably sexy, you just don’t want to say it.” Henry grinned at her.

She shook her head. “You're not going to win me over that easily. Nice try buddy.” Alli grinned at him. She sat there quietly for a second. “I have missed this, this easiness with you.” She sighed. “I always enjoyed the fact that we could either sit in silence in the room together or we could be talking a mile a minute, but it was just nice, the two of us.” He reached out and took her hand. She watched as he kissed the back of it. “You were by far the best thing in my life. I miss us. I miss that too. I miss sitting on my computer gaming and you reading a book, and just glancing up and seeing you smile at something in your book. I always loved that.” He smiled a little.

She grinned at him. “I’d sit and watch you, for hours playing with your head set on. You’d get so excited, it is always fun to see.” She smiled.

He sighed. “Why did I let this happen to us? You know by this time, we would have been married at least three years.” Henry looked at her. “I had the ring all ready to go.”

Alli looked away. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say words like that. I can’t take it.”

Henry looked away from her. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. He sighed. “I would have married you in a heartbeat. I would have been yours, we would have had a beautiful wedding and you and I would have a kid or two besides Kal.” He looked at her. “We can still have that now. You and I can still make this work Alli.” He said quietly. “You and I can be together.”

She looked at him and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do it.” She responded.

“All I am asking for is a chance. Please, A chance for you to see that I am serious. Can I please have that?” Henry asked.

She looked at him. “I...I need to use the restroom. I will be back. I’m not running away, I just...I need a moment.” She stood up. “Here… hold my purse.”

He smiled. “Collateral. I like it.” He nodded. “Take your time and think.”

Alli stood and walked to the bathroom, digesting everything that she had just heard. She went in, thankful that there was a little seating area in it. She sat on the edge of the armchair and looked at her hands. He loved her, he had never wanted to cheat on her. He admitted it was wrong, but could she really believe him.

Could the two of them weather the storm? She hoped so. Her body ached being near him. Every ounce of her wanted to be close to him. He was a mega star now and she was coming up in the modeling world. Now would make a lot more sense for them to be a couple than it had been before.

She stood, walking over to the sinks and looked in the mirror. She sighed, she had no idea what she was going to do. The only thing she did know was that she wanted him. They were an excellent couple together. She had to give him another chance. She straightened her cardigan and headed back out there.

Alli had never been one to be exceptionally bold, but she was going to do this. She walked up to him, took his face in both of her hands and kissed him. He still tasted the same, he still felt the same under her lips. She kissed him for a few seconds, finally breaking it and sitting back down in her chair. She looked at him, as he sat there in stunned silence. “Fuck it.. I have wanted to be with you since the day I met you.”

“You mean it?’ Henry asked.

“I do.” Alli replied. “I really do.”

“Well then, let me get the check.” He said waving for the waiter

All that she could do in that moment was chuckle. “Don’t waste time do you?”

“Not when it comes to bedding you. I hope you don’t have anything going on tomorrow, cause you are going to be indisposed.” He replied.

“How is something that is gonna take 15 minutes tops gonna keep me busy all night?” Alli asked.

“Not funny.” He smirked. “Not funny at all.”

***

Alli stood close to Henry in the elevator. His hand engulfed hers and he held onto it for dear life. He wasn’t going to let her go this time. This was the girl that he wanted, the girl that he had dreamed about. This was the one that all of his hopes and dreams rested on. He leaned in and kissed her head. “I am glad you decided to not hold out on your no sex promise.” He said. “I was hoping I could wear you down.”

She laughed at him and shook her head. “You can be very persuasive if you need to be.” She replied.

Henry grinned. “Oh I know I can be.” He laughed a little. Finally the elevator dinged and the doors opened up. He led her out of the elevator, down the hall and stopped at a room that said simply suite next to it. He pulled out his key card, opening the door and holding it for her. “After you my dear.” He said.

He watched as Alli walked into the room. He felt like he was really watching her walk back into his life. That simple act of her crossing the threshold was all he needed. He followed in behind her and shut the door, closing and locking it for the night.

He watched as Alli came in, set her purse down, took off her shoes and went and sat on the small couch in the living room area. She smiled up at him. “Are you coming to sit with me or what?” She asked.

Henry grinned at her and went over and sat down with her. As soon as he was on the couch she was moving towards him, kissing him. He grabbed her tight and held her close to him. He maneuvered her so she was sitting on his lap. Henry let his hands rest on her hips. She sat up, looking down at his face after the broken kiss.

“I have missed your kisses more than I can begin to tell you.” She smiled and leaned down and kissed him again. She sat up once again and took off her cardigan, tossing it aside. Henry looked up at her and grinned. His hands ran up under her shirt and pulled it up to expose her creamy white skin to him. He leaned in and kissed her in the valley between her breasts. “So, about my underclothes…” She started.

“Did you have a Briget Jones moment?” He asked.

Alli laughed. “Yes I did. I promise you, next time, sexy.” She grinned as he pulled her shirt off over her head.

“You could wear a rain coat and welly boots and long pajamas and I would think you were sexy darling.” He smiled at her. He kissed right under her breast. “Anything you have on is sexy I am sure.”

He let her unbutton the shirt he was wearing and her hands instantly went into the hair on his chest. He moaned and she smiled. “I missed this, your fur coat.”

He chuckled. “You're about the only person who has ever missed it.” He shifted so that she could remove the shirt from him completely. “Most of the girls I've dated have just wanted me to shave it or wax it.”

“No! Never. It’s wonderful. It makes you look like a real man.” She leaned in and kissed him. “I love it and I want you to always have it.”

Henry smiled at her. “Deal.”

He ran his hands down the front of her, cupping her breasts as he did. He stopped and looked at her. “What?” She asked.

“Nothing, just, I can’t believe you are here again. I can’t believe that you and I are together in all of this. I have wanted nothing more than to have this moment and here you are. Sitting on my lap, with your shirt off. Pinch me this must be a…..oww son of a …” His hand went to his nipple that had just been tweaked.

Alli laughed from her vantage point above him. “That help you know it’s not a dream?”

Henry pulled a face. “You're so funny. I forgot how much I do not miss this part of your personality.” He wrapped his hands under her thighs. In one swift motion he managed to stand up holding her in his arms. “I am going to make you suffer for that.”

She giggled. “I am greatly looking forward to this form of punishment. I’ve obviously been a very naughty girl.” She kissed all over his face. “I always did like it when you punished me this way.”

He smiled at her and plopped her on the bed. He looked down at her, she was just in her jeans, and her bra. He stood between her legs, leaning over her a little and placing his hand in the center of her chest. “I had forgotten what this sight looked like.” He smiled. “I do however remember how much I love this look.” He let it drag down to the button on her pants. He pulled at it, opening it and unzipping her pants in one smooth move. He could feel her quiver.

It had been too long since they had been this close to each other, but he remembered every fine detail of her, everything that she liked. He grabbed her jeans and her panties all at the same time. He tugged at them and she lifted her hips as he tugged them down her. He saw her sex already glistening with excitement and it caused the partial erection that he had to roar to life.

He divested her of her clothing and knelt before her. He took her leg in his hand and kissed the top of her foot, the inside of her ankle, her calf. He reached her knee and he heard her let out the breath she was holding and take in another. He looked up at her, placing a kiss on her knee and then up every inch of her thigh. He pushed her legs apart, exposing her core to him. He simply blew on the wetness there, sending a shiver all over her body. She watched intently as he ignored the gift he wanted, and treated her other leg to the same treatment that he had given her first leg.

“Henry please.” Alli pleaded with him. “Please, take your time later.”

He shifted himself forward and lifted both of her legs onto his shoulders and pulled her to the end of the bed. “I have to punish you for being naughty.” He smiled. He moved in closer to her core and let his tongue lick at her most sensitive bud. She arched her back and brought her sex closer to his mouth in one movement. He pressed his face between her thighs and began his delicate work manipulating her sex with his tongue.

Henry became focused in his work, and the sounds that he was eliciting from her mouth. He had missed this, the sound of her as she writhed in pleasure. He had to stop soon and fill her or he was going to make this all an embarrassingly short interlude. He moved his mouth away from her and moaned. “I forgot how sweet you tasted.” He continued to hold on to her legs, dropping them over his arms as he stood up. “But I need you Alli, my god, I have never needed anyone as much as I need you now.” He managed to get out.

He dropped his hands to the front of his pants, thanking his lucky stars he had thought to undo his button when he started his work. He unzipped the front of his slacks and tugged his pants down. Once he was free he paused at her entrance. “Are you ready? You still want me?”

Alli nodded. “Oh my stars yes, please Henry.” She managed to get out.

He grinned and pressed himself into her, slowly, inch by inch until he had bottomed out in her. He placed his hands on either side of her, her hips canted up as he had her legs captured. He moaned. “Fuck Alli, fuck.” He pulled his hips out slowly and pressed back into her. He felt her shiver when he did.

That was all he needed before he began to repeat the motion. Over and over he pulled his hips from her and pushed them back in. He had forgotten how good she felt surrounding him, how every inch of her was created in just the way he liked it. No one had ever felt like this, this was the girl who was made for him. Every part of her knew exactly what he craved. He knew that this was not going to be the time that would be slow. He was aware as he pumped his hips in and out of her that this was going to be the time that he didn’t last as long as he could, but he didn’t care. He was going to make her his over and over.

He knew he was getting close to her release. He knew the sound of her excitement as it grew. He shifted a little, letting one of his hands smack at her ass, the resounding crack in the room and her gasp was enough to know that he would soon be met with the onslaught of her orgasm.

He pressed his hips forward just a few times more before he felt her pleasure grab him. The velvet of her walls crashed down on him and pulled him into her deeper. He moaned, throwing his head back as the feeling spurred him on. He grunted, the vice grip around him not letting him move as well as he had wanted.

He felt his own release begin to percolate just beneath the surface. He completed just a few more revolutions of his hips before he felt his heat erupt into her. He tried to keep moving but he ended up stuttering to a stop as he filled her. He stayed connected with her, until he finally found the strength to shift them into the bed and collapsed next to her. He watched as her arm was across her eyes, panting, saying nothing.

She finally moved her head and looked at him. “Damn.”

He laughed a little. “Yes damn.” He replied. “I missed that.”

“So did I.” She said. “A whole lot.”

“Stay the night?” Henry asked.

She nodded, moving to rest her head on his chest. “You have a lot of time to make up for.” She yawned.

“Well I can’t make it all up in one night.” He said.

“No but you can try.” She grinned. “You sure as hell can try.”

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill smut

59 notes · View notes

ronninoir · 4 years

Text

Can I Steal You for a Second? CH1

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she'll participate as her civilian self. AKA: AU where Adrien doesn't know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Ladybug knew something was wrong with Chat the minute she stepped onto the rooftop where they had agreed to meet for patrol. He didn’t look up when she landed, even though she knew that he had heard her. She slowly walked towards him and decided that she wouldn’t push... for now. As she sat next to him, she began to count. By the time she reached 100, her patience had run thin and she was determined to break the silence.

“Hey, Kitty, feline a little quiet tonight?” Although she despised his constant use of cat puns, she figured the use of one would help break him out of his stupor. She glanced at Chat, expecting a smile and a witty comeback to come from him, but instead she was treated to sad kitty eyes and a look that broke something inside of her. Her voice came out barely as a whisper, “Chat, what’s wrong?”

Chat stared intently into Ladybug’s eyes. After a beat, he sighed. “It’s no big deal,” he shrugged it off, or tried to. But Ladybug was insistent. She locked eyes with him and scooted closer, and gave him a look saying that she didn’t believe him. He sighed before whispering, “Well, it actually is a big deal.” He took a breath, closed his eyes, and then continued on, “They—I—my father is forcing me to do something and I just—I just am not looking forward to going through with it.” Chat broke eye contact with Ladybug, but she moved her hand to his shoulder. He leaned into it absentmindedly.

“Chat, you know you can tell me anything,” She said with a soft smile. They were partners after all. She would be there for him through anything.

He slowly looked up at her again, this time the pain and hurt in his eyes evident. “Even... even if it reveals my identity?”

Ladybug paused a little, processing that information. She knew that Chat was homeschooled and that she most likely didn’t know him in real life. But is she really ready to learn who her precious kitty is behind the mask? She’s loved Chat for 7 years (as more than friends for 5) so she knew deep down that his identity didn’t matter to her. The reason they hadn’t revealed themselves yet was because of Hawkmoth. He was just as strong as ever and the two superheroes needed to trust each other with everything, to a certain point. Safety is important when fighting someone like Hawkmoth. If one of them was captured... just the thought made Ladybug shiver and her heart strain. She couldn’t do that to her kitty.

But... if she knew his identity, she could help him through this... thing that he was going through. Truthfully, she was curious, both about his problem and his identity. She was Ladybug, and Ladybugs fixed problems, fought hard battles, and supported their team—their partner— through it all. There were many different times that during high school, Chat was all that kept her going, and she would love to return the favor.

Slowly, the words came out of her mouth before she even realized it.

“Yes, Chaton, even if it reveals your identity.” He looked at her stunned, before a genuine smile split across his face. That look made the potential problems worth it.

“My father is forcing me to ‘branch out’ for the company and complete a publicity stunt. There is this reality show that is really popular in America that they are shooting a season of here in Paris. They want me to be the star, since my fans are numerous and should be a good starting point of a fanbase for the show.” Ladybug started a little upon hearing that Chat has fans outside of the suit. She had expected him to be normal, just like her. Her mind started racing, trying to figure out what he was going to say before he said it.

Chat pauses and took a deep breath, looking extremely nervous about the next part of his explanation. He looked at her in a way that encouraged her line of thinking; she should know what he was talking about. Thinking that her brain must have shut down for some reason, she tilted her head slightly as she could feel her face scrunch in a half confused-half thinking face.

“What show is it?” aiming for innocence even though her voice shook and so she didn’t sell it very well. The only thing she can think of is the new reality show that Gabriel Agreste (only the most talented fashion designer in Paris and a huge idol to Ladybug) is doing to promote his line. But that can’t be it... can it? She couldn’t remember the details of the show, except that it involved one boy and a lot of girls. In fact, if she remembered correctly, the boy was going to be Gabriel’s son, Adrien. He models sometimes and is very good-looking, but that can’t possibly be...

Ladybug gasped a little and looked up at Chat, seeing him in a new light. She had admired his pictures for a long time and this cat-themed superhero sitting in front of her looked a whole lot like Adrien. If the hair was styled and his eyes were not of the cat variety.

“The show is called The Bachelor.” Chat continued on, not noticing the way that Ladybug was staring at him. “They take one guy and thirty girls and he takes them on dates and week by week has to narrow it down to just one girl that he loves and he is supposed to propose to that girl at the end of the show.” Chat explains with a slight rise to his voice. It’s as though he’s freaking out about the whole thing and is having trouble getting the words out. Of course, Ladybug realizes, that is exactly what he’s doing. He stares at her, trying to get a read on how she’s taking it all, and so Ladybug pastes on a smile and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You’re Adrien Agreste.” It didn’t come out as a scream, so Ladybug gave herself a mental pat-on-the-back for maintaining part of her composure.

Chat nods and then gives a slight murmur of, “Plagg, claws in.” With a flash of green light, Adrien is sitting where Chat once was and a little black creature has flown into Ladybug’s face.

“That didn’t take you long after he spelled it out for you. You’ve been working with this doofus for SEVEN WHOLE YEARS and yet you couldn’t spell it out?” The black kwami, who was super adorable, by the way, was flying around waving his little paws and getting all worked up. The whole thing, from Adrien being Chat and being chewed out by a kwami who was VERY different from Tikki, was just so absurd, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You must be Plagg!” Ladybug said between giggles as she guided Plagg to sit in her hands. “Tikki told me lots about you, but I didn’t know you’d be so feisty when I got to meet you.”

Plagg crossed his arms and gave her a disdainful look, “Well I haven’t had any cheese in a while and I get cranky when I’m hungry.” Ladybug laughed again as Adrien sputtered from where he sat. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were huge. Clearly, he didn’t think Plagg would be so mean to Ladybug when he first met her.

“Plagg! I fed you right before we left!”

But his comment wasn’t heard over Ladybug’s laughs as she rubbed Plagg’s belly and behind his ears. “Has the mean Adrien not given you any cheese lately?” Ladybug said in a joking voice. Plagg gave her some kitty eyes and shook his head woefully. “Well I’m sorry I don’t have any cheese on me, but I promise, I’ll always come stocked with cheese from now on.”

Plagg flew up and gave Ladybug a look. He must have decided that she was trustworthy, because then he turned to Adrien and declared, “I like her. She cares about me and my cheese needs. You should be more like her.”

Adrien blanched and Ladybug began laughing again. That seemed to shock Adrien back into the present and he quickly spat out, “Well, she’d be less willing to give you cheese if she had to put up with smelling like Camembert all of the time!” At that comment, Plagg stuck out his tongue at Adrien and then dove into his shirt pocket and out of sight.

Ladybug was smiling like an idiot. Why hadn’t they revealed themselves earlier? This was a blast and Adrien was all Ladybug could have hoped for in a partner. Suddenly, the reason that he HAD revealed himself came back to her and her smile quickly faded.

“So, you’re going to have to do this show.” Adrien looked up at her and his expression was wary again. “What are you going to have to do?”

“I have to get to know a pool of 30 women and narrow down my choices until I find one that I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. My dad thinks that it is going to be good for the company if I do this. Plus, I think he wants me married off and this is a sure-fire way of doing it, at least in his mind.”

That all made sense, but there was one big thing that had never seemed clear to her, “What does your dad gain from this show? How would a dating show help a fashion designer?”

Adrien smiled a little at that. “It’s actually kind of brilliant. So, my dad is partially funding the show, so he has a lot of say in what happens. In the American version, they bring their own clothes and such and just go about the show. My father has decided that every girl will wear a Gabriel original, whether that’s formal wear, casual wear, even swimsuits, at all times during the filming. It’s virtually going to be an extended runway show. Everyone will tune in for the idea of watching me fall in love, but will actually fall in love with the fashion.”

Ladybug had to give Gabriel some credit, that was a great marketing idea. Although at the expense of his son...

“Does he really expect you to fall for the person you’re going to marry on this show? That seems a little crazy, and you’re only 22.”

Adrien’s eyes dropped from Ladybug’s and his hand went up to rub the back of his neck. A slow blush began to cross his checks, and Ladybug hated to admit it, but he looked really cute like that. “I was furious when he told me, but he made me a promise. If I would go about the show, play through it like I’m supposed to, and stay engaged after the show for six-months, then I’m allowed to break it off and pursue someone on my own.”

“Wouldn’t that leave a bad reputation for the show? Surely your father doesn’t want that.”

“He doesn’t. But the American version very rarely comes up with successful relationships, so he’s willing to let the show end badly if it promotes Gabriel Fashions well enough.” Adrien shrugged and smiled. “As long as I get to make the decisions about my love life, I’ll be okay.”

Ladybug smiled at that, but it began her mind whirring. What kind of Ladybug would she be if she let him go through with this. They were two halves of a whole, or at least that’s what Tikki kept telling her. She loved him as more than a friend and the thought of sitting back and watching him serial date girls made her stomach twist.

“Are you actually going to try to date these girls? Like actually get to know them and what-not?”

Adrien’s face twisted in thought, “Well, I’ve considered it, but I have a feeling that the girl I love won’t be playing with me. It’s a shame really. Especially since she has to stay here and protect Paris while I’m gone.” There was a twinkle in his eye that made Ladybug’s stomach flutter with butterflies—and the non-akuma kind at that. Chat had always flirted with Ladybug, but she never took him seriously even if she really really wanted it to be real.

Suddenly, a thought, one so wild and out-there Tikki would never go for it, came. It was an idea that could actually work, if she played it right.

A playful smirk grew on her face and her heart began to race. “What if she was?”

His shocked expression was enough to make the shaming she was going to get from Tikki later worth it. “Would you really?” Then, after a beat, his face fell. “You can’t. You have to stay here and protect Paris. What if an akuma comes up? Who’s going to fight it?”

“We are silly! You don’t expect me to be Ladybug and Chat Noir without my kitty, do you? The show is only shooting in Paris, right?” She thought she had heard that mentioned, but she wasn’t as invested when the topic first came up.

The cogs were turning as he responded, “Yeah we are.”

“Then that settles it. I’ll apply to be a contestant, you’ll escape away and help me fight akumas and possibly patrol once a week, and then we won’t have to stop being a team.” And I’ll have a chance to go on a proper date with you and we’ll fall in love and get married and have three kids and....

Her thoughts were interrupted by a bone crushing hug from Adrien. “Thank you so much! It won’t be as bad with you there.” When they pulled away, the smile on Ladybug’s face wasn’t forced.

“C’mon kitty, let’s start patrol.” She shot him a wink and stood. She gave him about 10 seconds to transform before she sprinted off into the night.

~~Let me know what you think! I’m excited to see where this goes

#ml fanfic #ML #MLB #ml fic #ml ladynoir #ml ladrien #ml ladybug #ml chat noir #can i steal you for a second #ml bachlelor au #ml au #the bachelor #bachelor! Adrien #hope y'all like this #let me know what y'all think

75 notes · View notes

lokawaazhindi · 3 years

Text

Apple sells 10 million iPhone 6 and iPhone 6 Pluses

The model is talking about booking her latest gig, modeling WordPress underwear in the brand latest Perfectly Fit campaign, which was shot by Lachian Bailey. It was such a surreal moment cried she admitted.The main thing that you have to remember on this journey is just be nice to everyone and always smile.

It’s kind of confusing because I’m a bigger girl, Dalbesio says. I’m not the biggest girl on the market but I’m definitely bigger than all the girls [Calvin Klein] has ever worked with, so that is really intimidating. She wasn’t sure, she said of the shoot, what was expected from her in terms of her size or shape.

Refreshingly, what was expected of her was the same thing that was expected of Lara Stone: to take a beautiful picture.

You must learn one thing. The world was made to be free in. Give up all the other worlds Except the one in which you belong.

So simple, yet so essential, the white shirt is the foundation of any wardrobe. It’s also the most multi-functional item, taking you from work to play with just the quick unfastening of a couple of buttons. It matter what style fitted boyfriend etc or even what fabric from silk to heavy cotton go with whatever suits your personal style best.

Calvin Klein known for launching the careers of such svelte models as Brooke Shields and Kate Moss to cast a model who deviates from the size standard and make a fuss about it to Dalbesio who spent years.

must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing

pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account

the system and expound the actual teachings

great explorer of the truth, the master builder of human happiness.

Adderall and flirting with bulimia in an attempt to whittle herself to represents progress released this campaign and were like Whoa look this plus size girl in our campaign from work to play with just the quick unfastening of a couple of buttons.

BE THE CHANGE THAT YOU WISH TO SEE IN THE WORLD

They released me in this campaign with everyone else there no distinction. It’s not a separate section for plus size girls she says.

There was a time in the industry not too long ago, when it seemed that the high fashion world was using plus size models as a headline-grabbing gimmick see the groundbreaking Italian Vogue cover featuring Tara Lynn, Candice Huffine, and Robyn Lawley in June 2016.

Related: Calendar Gets Its First Plus-Size Model 2016

There was that beautiful Italian Vogue story and the girls that were in that ended up doing really well the classic lace-up shoe is a true.

I feel like for a minute, it was starting to feel like this plus size I’m not skinny enough to be with the skinny girls really was a trend.

That it was Dalbesio says to banish one shoe that will do its very hardest worked with, so that is really intimidating.

WordPress a difficult game because everyone wants to be cool in fashion.

Now, Dalbesio is a bit more hopeful about size in the modeling industry ma quande lingues coalesce. In the middle Occidental in fact she says not skinny enough.

To find my place. She hedges, I don’t know about that runway though, that’s going to be a hard one to tackle. Everyone realizes why a new common language would be desirable: one could refuse to pay expensive translators.

A SHIP IS SAFE IN HARBOR, BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT SHIPS ARE FOR

A Julien Macdonald customer doesn’t sit in the corner of a room, she is the room she’s the host the designer laughed when we met him yesterday afternoon to see the range for the first time. My pieces aren’t shy. It is full-on cocktail red carpet glamour.

You don’t necessarily wear them to the supermarket on a Saturday morning with the kids, but with my jewellery they probably will.

Cue a collection of high-wattage necklaces, adorned with nugget and crystals wild-cat cocktail rings, abstract drop earrings, and spectacular statement chokers inspired by the flora and fauna of safari.

The most beautiful people we have known are those:

explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing

pleasure and praising pain was born

the system and expound the actual teachings

great explorer of the truth

To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?

On the other hand, we denounce with righteous indignation and dislike men who are so beguiled and demoralized by the charms of pleasure of the moment, so blinded by desire, that they cannot foresee. Read more...http://newspapper99.com/apple-sells-10-million-iphone-6-and-iphone-6-pluses/

1 note · View note

dropsofletters · 5 years

Text

thinking of your gaze

title: thinking of your gaze pairing: park chanyeol/reader genre: long distance relationship!au/makeup artist!au/runway model!au summary: to see him and not to have him was her biggest sin. to love him and never tell him was her biggest regret. to feel him by her side was a dream to have late at night and to think of him was as normal as the wind passing by on its early rendezvous. she should have known that life goes along with love and love is obsessed with pain, and somehow park chanyeol is all three of those. type: angst/fluff word count: 20,602 words a/n: this is part of a two-part series that includes chanyeol and yixing as the main characters. both of these stories include snippets of what the other story is about. the yixing version shall be posted next week. none of these worlds or oc’s have anything to do with one another, much less do the main characters share a common love interest.

The world teaches its population that there are time-limits for everything. It starts with due dates for homework, then it moves over to friendships that just need to blossom at certain times, first loves that people just need to happen at certain age before it becomes too late to even try. One day, marriage becomes of importance, like a golden necklace hanging from your neck, and the other kids are necessary to fill the void of silence in someone’s house. There is rarely the time to enjoy life as it is, to give the clock time to turn into its numbers. It is always about moving forward, pushing your own type of love story to be written and catch whoever is in your sight to be the main lead beside you.

Some stories are just written with hard work; to some hard work is tears and sweat, paired with working over-hours and hanging out with the right people. To her, it was served in the form of makeup palettes, from eyeshadows combinations to practicing cut-creases in as many friends as she could get ready, to looking out for the newest trends and doing something out there, that remained classy enough to capture the attention of people. What she adored the most is that art, in whatever form it was even when hers was in makeup, never had a time-limit. The worst part, however, was the huge competition and the easiness of doing makeup. Some people simply thought it was useless to have someone else doing their makeup and with the amount of self-proclaimed artists, there were less spots to fill in important charges, like the makeup artist of a performer or someone with a makeup line.

Some dreams do come true, with all the hope in the world put into it, and now she could say she finally had a chance to shine for her talent.

When she was told Paris Fashion Week as the setting that she had been hired to work in, she had practically left a squeal in the depth of her throat with the excitement that bundled up inside her. What she did not notice, however, was that there were going to be other twenty makeup artists stuck in one room with a corresponding model for each of them, and that there were a lot of preparations that came with presenting the outfits in the runway, always ready for last minute changes, as well as paying attention to the most miniscule details so none of the colors from the makeup fell on the fabric of clothing or the accessories.

If she was honest, after spending a day in Paris preparing for the first night of the big event, she had only gotten to see studio lights and a lot of models, as well as getting hissed at by designers that were not too keen of her technique. Her confidence faltered the slightest at times, when she would pull away to look at the final product and thought to herself that there was nothing memorable about it, that she would be a disgrace for those who called themselves makeup artists, but a few thanking sentences from the less well-known models had her feeling better about herself.

After all, she was there for a job opportunity and she was getting the best out of it. Perhaps, at the end of this week she would finally get a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Not now, because there was one more model that she needed to prepare for the runway.

The world of rich people was incredibly hard to keep up with. There were celebrities that were at the top of every list with each passing year, that would never fall from their number one spot, just like there were names that people knew for a few months before they were forgotten. It was the rush that surrounded her that made her so anxious, knowing that for makeup artists it was the same, even for stylists. One word that passed as disliked to a celebrity and their careers were over and done with.

She heard the sound of the door of the makeup room opening, the chatting around her barely making the sound stand out as she organized her palettes. Concealers in one place, organized by shade; bronzers and highlighters organized by tone and her brushes were displayed in front of her, cleaned after she had finished the previous model’s makeup. A good look at herself showed that she was a mess, her black turtleneck showing a few foundation stamps at the edge of it, all thanks to rubbing her fingers against the fabric when the designer that accompanied the model cursed at her for using too much product. She moved her ponytail to the side slightly, bunching the fabric of her shirt inside her high-waisted jeans before someone snickered beside her.

“That’s what we call fashion.” Her very pregnant, and still very sarcastic, friend said from the side. Doah was also a makeup artist, her roommate for a few months at her very start four years ago. She remembered the times clearly, when she had left her nine-to-five job simply to approach something bigger that she loved even more. People around her were clearly not happy, but Doah was in the same situation as her and served as support as they launched their careers. Now, after living apart for two years and having crafted their careers to reach the point of doing makeup at PFW was a big deal.

She huffed. “Hey, I am not here to get a brand deal, you know? It doesn’t matter.” She convinced herself, watching the bloated woman rub her hand over her belly before chuckling.

“You’re annoyed.”

“Well, duh.” She stated, taking one look at Doah and smiling to herself. The woman had a healing aura around her, perhaps it was the floral scent that always radiated from her or her extra rounded cheeks with a perfectly gummy smile, but even when the nights were their darkest and she felt like she was going nowhere, Doah had done her best to make her feel like there were more chapters to her story. “I don’t know what I hate more. Doing a bride’s makeup or having a designer behind me screaming at me to put less foundation on.” Doah leaned over the vanity, letting her fingers touch her fake eyelashes to see if they were still glued on properly before sighing.

“It’s what we have to go through. Come on, we can do this.” With her excitement stocked somewhere within her that never seemed to dull, Doah shined like a star in a world that was full of sorrow for her. The doubt she felt, as well as the fear, was just a tiny monster eating at the back of her head. It kept her grounded, showing her that it was definitely never going to be easy.

The person that took a seat in front of the vanity consisted of the entire model set. Long legs and particularly outstanding features, good bone structure and a well-styled hair, but what differentiated the person whose makeup she was going to do at the moment was the smile on his face. It was soft, barely even there after he put his phone down on the vanity table, the lights on the mirror casting shadows under his eyes in the shape of his eyelashes and on the curve of his lips. The man had been in the cover of Vogue around the world a thousand times, more often than not with his right-hand model co-worker—and best friend—Oh Sehun. The pair had started out as simple models in a runway with much payment at all, even working for free when needed, until they were discovered by the right manager and they blew up instantly. Everyone wanted a picture of the two, wanted to be like how they were, simply desired to wear what they had over their bodies. Men all over the world took them as inspiration; people crowded around them with paparazzi not being left behind as they wondered what those two men could be doing with their lives. Pushing dating rumors aside, both in between them and with other people, they lived their lives giving a new aspect of fashion to the world.

To them, it was about the fun part of it—individuality, art, mixing and matching old and future trends to create something special. Experts said they had brought back the early 2000’s waves of models, the ‘good, old times’ some called it, while their faces were freshly new and definitely pleasing to look at. Two years down the road of their success and Park Chanyeol and Oh Sehun were one of the highest paid duos of the entire world. Furthermore, they worked together most of the time when in runways, more often than not having solo photoshoots whenever the time came around.

As someone that had to read about the fashion world, she was awestruck the moment she looked at Chanyeol, holding her beauty blender in between her fingers and bowing at him soon after as a greeting. His hair was blond, styled up to show his perfectly put-together undercut, makeup-less and shining in an all-white outfit, one that got a little bit lost with the color of his hair. Nonetheless, she could not even utter a word about it when she heard a designer approaching her quickly.

Much younger and less scary than the last designer she had talked to, the stylish woman—whose name she thought went along the lines of Seulgi— talked to her quickly about the basics of what she wanted in Chanyeol’s makeup. “Okay,” Seulgi caught her breath, putting a hand against her chest as if that would stop her heart from racing so fast. “I want white eyeliner and a good set of brows. Please, contour his face but leave his lips fairly natural.” Before she could even question Seulgi about anything, she was met with the woman’s back before she moved to another side of the makeup room.

In between her fingers, she played with the edges of her washed beauty blender before she decided to be the bigger person and talk to Chanyeol. “I, uh, I’ll start, then?” But it was not as easy as she thought it would be. Her fingers hovered over his face after placing Chanyeol’s perfect foundation match on the back of her hand as she breathed through her nose to keep herself calm. Hesitation was defined in dictionaries by the sight of her face as that moment and with blinking, oddly calming eyes, Chanyeol smiled before nodding his head.

“Go ahead. You can touch my face. It’s nothing.”

“Alright, thank you.” Thank you?! If that was the best she could do to look casual and totally professional, then she would get an award for the worst actress that had ever stepped a foot in this graceful earth. However, she concentrated on patting the product on his skin, the nicely prepped pores absorbing the density of the foundation before she turned around once again, looking between her tubes of concealer to pick one that matched. From the reflection in the vanity, she could catch a glimpse of the outfit itself—tall white pants with a belt that looked extremely expensive, paired with a see-through flowery shirt underneath an equally as white blazer. He kept looking ahead in his reflection, or perhaps at her, and when the applier to the concealer touched his under-eye area, he spoke up.

“I don’t think I have seen you in any past fashion week…are you new to the makeup team working with m company?” The man asked, surprising her with his observational skills. His eyes still look at her while she applies his foundation, putting a little bit to hide the faint bags under his eyes. What she knows is that he has not been getting enough hours of sleep. She nods her head as an answer, however, because it is easier to show than to tell, and she can’t find it in herself to talk to him. In that place, she has met a variety of nice looking models—but never quite so much of her preferred type of man. “I knew it. I know everyone around here, but I didn’t know you.”

Maybe, it is the fact that she has had enough regrets in her life that pushes her to say her name, introduce herself as if celebrities even care in most cases, but if he is asking, she supposes he wants to know. The introduction does not last long, only ending after she patted the last bit of concealer under his eyes were reaching over for an eyebrow brush. “And yeah. I had never actually worked with your company before, but I am on trial for now. If I do great, they might hire me full time or something—they said that, but I am not lifting my hopes up or anything.”

Chanyeol blinks softly, looking at her motions as if he is relaxed by getting his makeup done. She would understand that point of view, if that was the case, having gotten her makeup done by her friends a few times. “If they hired you, you must be really good. Besides, they are short on staff.” The man adds, a smirk appearing over his face as he teases her and for a moment, she finds herself smiling, too.

“This room does not specifically scream short on staff.”

“You think this is too packed?” He points with his index finger around the room before shaking his head. The soft brushing of her eyebrow pencil against his eyebrows lets her create the shape, sharp and straight, probably going to be perfected by more concealer. “It is even worse when you’re waiting to go up stage. Everyone is screaming at you and stylists start putting hairspray on you and it smells a bit like too much perfume, but also sweat and you can only hear—” The way his lips make out the sound that is supposed to be the spraying had her laughing, her nerves becoming less and less prominent the more he talks to her. By her side, she can see that her ex-roommate is working on Sehun’s makeup, much more quiet and concentrated on taking mirror selfies, rather than anything else.

She laughs, taking a flat brush and coating it slightly in concealer to perfect his eyebrow shape. “Did you get used to it?”

“Oh no. The smell is terrible.” Chanyeol announces and she bites down on her bottom lip to fight back a smile, but it is almost impossible. There are people that truly remain humble, even when she knows his bank account is probably surrounded by zeroes and zeroes one after another, and Chanyeol seems to be one of them. “But I do love runways, it feels so good to walk up there and just…just, like, I don’t know how to explain it? It’s like wearing someone’s art?” That is the part where it seemed like she could connect to him, to the models around her and the designers that do their best to share their absolute love for art. Some do it for the money, of course, but she thought fashion was the most hated and yet the most used piece of art. While problematic in its own way, sometimes filled with unnecessary remarks and drama, it truly was a form of art.

“I get it.” She adds, picking up the white eyeliner she had bought with the most recent trends in makeup. Neon and white were passed from clothes to liquid eyeliners, and it was something she had not tried on herself, yet, but by the looks of it, it would have worked excellently on someone like Chanyeol. Perhaps, that is why the thought of being a model even crossed his head, because he knew that he was that good-looking. The type of beautiful that left anyone in awe, that deserved to be dressed only in the most precisely made clothing, with the shiniest jewelry hanging from his neck. Still concentrated on the task at hand, Chanyeol seems relaxed under the weight of her hand, resting upon his cheek to hold his face and help her get a better grip of the eyeliner.

“You’re really good at makeup, too.”

“Ah, really? You haven’t seen that much…I only have one eye finished.” She comments, moving around his chair before taking his face in between her hand and the brush once again. The concentration on her eyes has Chanyeol staring back, trying his hardest not to blink even though his eyes are starting to water a bit. “No, no, no, no. Don’t cry.” The repetition brings a smile to his face, much more when she uses her extended palm as a fan to stop his tears from falling. “You’re going to ruin your eyeliner and I still have to put some in your waterline.”

Chanyeol looks up, to the harsh lights on the ceiling as if he is encountering his first visit to heaven, a smile appearing over his face when he dumbly says. “The least I expected was to end up crying when I sat down on this chair.”

With a white pencil eyeliner, she moves forward and makes sure to fan some more with her hands over Chanyeol’s eyes to stop him from crying. “Not my fault…” Her tongue peaks out to rest at the corner of her lips before she nears the pencil to his eye. “I am going to try to do this quickly, okay?”

“Quickly?” Chanyeol asks when he feels the first swipe of the pencil against his waterline, his eyelashes fluttering with the need to blinking, but he pushes the desire away. “Take as long as you want. I’m totally comfortable over here.”

“So, you like getting your makeup done.” She confirms, but Chanyeol merely clears his throat.

“Yeah, usually. Depends on the person, though, some I enjoy more than others…”

The flirty tone should be expected; it’s the city of love—he is a celebrity, and the amount of confidence that must have bundled up inside that big body of his is probably a compilation of all the love scores that he has had in his life. Chanyeol definitely does not look like the type that got rejected once or twice in his life; she thinks that the only chance of him being rejected would be if, perhaps, he had tried to innocently ask a girl to his girlfriend when they were in kindergarten and the girl was going through the phase of ‘boys have cooties!’, leading to a heartbroken child that felt better four days after.

The heat that radiates from her, like the sun in the middle of summer, has her smiling briefly before she shakes her head. It is obviously not about her, she tries to reason with herself, that Chanyeol was probably talking about something else, but soon after he speaks again:

“Like I said, you’re very good—”

A man with his phone pressed to his ear walks closer to Sehun and Chanyeol, standing in between the two seats. He had black hair that remained sleeked back, a dark suit to match the color and a professional look on his face. She had noticed that Chanyeol had a dimple, but this man’s were even deeper. His attire did not particularly scream runway model, but he could be if he wanted to. “Hello.” He greets the two makeup artists, making her look up from her set of bronzers to bow at him as a way of replying to his greeting. She still had to contour Chanyeol’s face, put some highlighter on and add lipstick to the mix before finishing everything up. “I would like for you to hurry up a bit, please.” He speaks way more politely than anyone else has done in that team, thankfully. “Sehun and Chanyeol have an interview with Cosmopolitan in seven minutes and I need them ready for pictures.”

Chanyeol lifts his gaze while keeping his face still, his makeup artist’s brush contouring his face professionally to make his cheekbones stand out with the sharpness of his face. “Wasn’t it with Vogue?”

“We also have a Vogue interview.” Yixing announces and Chanyeol chuckles at that, apologizing once he realizes that laughing is not exactly what he should be doing when he gets his face contoured. She doesn’t mind, however, for his smile is completely natural and away from the eccentric world that is modelling.

“These new members of the PR Team are going strong.”

“Much more the girl that is scared shitless of Yixing.” Sehun argues from his spot and a smack on his shoulder from his manager has him chuckling the slightest.

What follows next is the end of their conversation. Yixing is reading over what they have to say, what they have to do, how they should act—but also, telling them to keep it casual to the most of their abilities. She tries her best to deliver a good face of makeup but also, take her time to remember his nice looking features. She feels like this is the last time that she will see Chanyeol; the man that stands up and looks at her with a smile before bowing, the same one that repeats her name when he says his goodbyes paired up with a small ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ and the same one that leaves her with the hope that, indeed, they will meet the day after that.

✈️

This job proves to be annoying only four days into the fashion week, and it is even worse when Doah decides to take a flight back home because she is having contractions. She had tried to make her best friend stay, only to keep her company even if she had to have her child in Paris, but Doah was hard-headed and definitely had made a decision already. It leaves her alone and with twice the models to prepare, meaning that she has half the time that she used to have to prepare everything, and if designers had screamed at her in the past few days, they were even worse when Doah had left.

Most of the time, she spends sighing, looking at her watch or trying to apply makeup as quickly as possible. No longer does she embarks in conversation with the models to see how they were doing, she simply does her job and prays that it looks well on cameras.

There are two models that she leaves for last, always, and those are the ones that everyone talked about after every performance. Whenever she got to her hotel room, shared with now one makeup artist instead of two—Jenn, who snores louder than she should and she has to try to get used to it before she goes crazy from the lack of sleep, she would spend the little free time she has reading the reviews about the models that she had done their makeup for, sometimes seeing her name credited at the very bottom with the words ‘MUA’ before it. Oh Sehun is way easier to work with; he talks less, he looks at his phone most of the time and his eyebrows are already to die for, as if he had been blessed with the best genes in the world—and he probably was, really—.

But Park Chanyeol is the one that makes her feel at ease; the only one that kept her sane for the last few days, the reason why she feels like her job is as pleasing as it is. It is always a pleasure looking at him; the first day was white themed, but the second day he was modelling nothing less than Tommy Hilfiger, a brand that he has been sponsored by for a little over a year—he claims, and she listens—. The third day, another brand calls for his name to wear an advancement of their newest winter collection, and Chanyeol looks the coziest with a sweater on. On the fourth day, Chanyeol talks to her as she is doing Sehun’s makeup, going as far as asking her about the steps. He wants to know what primer works for, why Sehun uses mascara and he doesn’t, why she contours Sehun’s face differently from his.

Chanyeol is either a nice onlooker, or he has had his eye on her for the entirety of the four days that they have been here.

All moments are cut short by the man whose name she now knows. Zhang Yixing is the duo’s manager, well-educated and polite, an all-rounded person that excels in everything. If she is being honest, his honesty and niceness shines through him when Sehun teases him about some PR Member that apparently hates him, only to have Yixing whining about how he doesn’t understand why this person dislikes him. Quite the sight, if she is honest, a pretty funny one at that, too.

But on the fourth day, with only three more days left until she is back home and away from Paris, she does get to see the Eiffel Tower. It shines brightly at night, equally as beautiful as she had thought it would be, but she only sees it for a moment—just like how it happens whenever she sees Chanyeol. They barely see each other for fifteen minutes until he is off to another interview, or maybe some last minute preparations, or a photoshoot of sorts. He disappears the moment she blinks; smiling to the street, in hopes that another handful of people feel what she feels for him: endless attraction.

This time, she is inside a taxi on the way to some Spanish restaurant in the downtown part of Paris—because bringing Spain’s culture to Paris seemed like a good idea with the upcoming Madrid Fashion Week a few months from now—, with Jenn holding onto the palm of her hand as she talks and talks about this one new technique that she uses on false eyelashes, one that she doesn’t really pay much attention to. Not as much as she should, really, Jenn already has a spot on the company she is trying to work with, and that could only mean she knows better. But her mind is filled with a lot of things:

One, she is extremely tired, for Fashion Weeks are not as easy as she deemed them to be.

Two, Park Chanyeol is constantly running through her head in his tall, model-like glory as he speaks in that deep voice of his. When in reality, if she is counting, if she spends fifteen minutes on a daily with him and it has only been four days of knowing him, she has barely gotten to see him for an hour.

An hour is quite not enough.

Jenn tugs at her hand, the wavy and dark strands of the woman’s hair flowing with the wind softly as they get out of the taxi. The older makeup artist insists on paying, tossing some money to the French taxi-driver before she turned to look at the entrance of the restaurant. “You know, I have a younger sister and she would get so fucking embarrassed when I held her hand in public. But you don’t. So you’re now my new younger sister.” Jenn jokes around, random and energetic as always, as they go up to the security guard at the entrance, showing the cards that are given to them when going backstage in the fashion shows and sooner than later, they are let inside.

“…I am not sure how I feel about that.” She chuckles, shaking her head as she stares around the place. Open and with the stars twinkling above it; it was nothing less or nothing more than a dream come true. The sound of a Spanish guitar filled the air, and the crowd gathered in different spots, some eating by the tables, others by the bar’s counter and some danced to the sound of a very romantic song. Flamenco seemed to be the subject of the night, along with reds and golds that shined through with elegance. But, there she is, wearing a pair of black pants and some white crop-top that she brought with her, off the shoulder and with wide long sleeves. Now she is worried, because her heels are starting to make her feet ache and she has to eat with precision in order to keep her clothes clean.

“You’re so uptight.” Jenn says. “Let go for a moment. Just, look at this place, okay?” And she does, engulfed by the beauty and the sound of Spanish words sang in such an enticing way that it almost touched the subject of romance. “You just have to have fun in a party like this. Besides, I asked the other makeup artists to save us some seats and food, so we better get there before they start eating what they saved for us.”

“Right…I think I’ll just go grab food for myself.”

“Come on, I know we are all scary when we are in the makeup room, but they are nice people. The stress just gets to them sometimes—” Jenn cuts herself off before clicking her tongue. “And it’s kind of part of the business. Some of them are just up their asses, but you need to talk to some of them to get more well-known. You see?”

She rolls her eyes, opting to think that she just has to get this spot in that company. Madrid Fashion Week is waiting for her. She has to do it. “Okay. I will. It’s alright. I can do it.”

Or so she thought.

When she was a kid, she had played musical chairs once or twice, but the group in front of her take musical chairs to a whole different level. Whoever stands up from their seat to go look for something, they talk about. Perhaps, it would be better to talk about their experiences in the industry, talking about their hardships with makeup in the recurring fashion week, but it goes past from that. Clothing, style, makeup and overall appearance is something that everyone around the table talks about, leaving her to lean back on her seat while plopping snacks past her lips and looking around the room to see if she finds someone that takes her out of that situation.

No one does, until she sees a hand waving at her.

The blonde hair probably gave it away, or the tallness, or the fact that the lights in the room cast upon the only man that had her attention going towards him. Chanyeol waves at her to come closer, moving his arm with him as he holds onto the reason why he is being so bold and frantic—a glass of wine rests on left hand, almost finished, the red liquid tinting his lips exquisitely. She stands up from her seat, whispering to Jenn that she would be back any minute, before the woman nodded her head, too lost in gossip to even spare her a second glance. With wobbling steps in those fucking heels, she goes over to where Chanyeol is standing, obviously near the bar, and obviously smelling like wine mixed with his favorite Calvin Klein cologne.

Dressed in an all-black suit, with polka dots in the tie he wears, Chanyeol’s most outstanding feature is his smile the moment he greets her with a small exclamation of her name. “What are you doing over there, huh? Looking all bored? I was hoping you would come and—” He swallows thickly, probably salivating a bit more now that he is slightly tipsy. “Sehun told me you were over there with the MUA’s.”

She scrunches up her nose in distaste. Some were clearly enjoyable to be around, like Jenn—a good example of a person that is truly enchanting in every way, and maybe one or two that actually asked if she was doing okay, but the fashion industry was, is and will always be messy. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was doing. I’m thankful you called me over.”

Chanyeol looks at her face, up and down, inspecting her features before a quirked smile appears over his face. “Want some wine?”

“No, thank you.” She comments, shaking her hand in distaste. “I don’t like that type of wine and Jenn has already taken a few drinks, so I have to make sure we get to the hotel safe.”

“Responsible.” Chanyeol comments and then, he takes a seat in front of the bar’s counter, patting the seat beside him that she takes gleefully. Chanyeol pushes the strands of his blonde hair behind with his hand, probably used to having it sleeked back thanks to the stylist’s doings, but this was him—casual yet elegant, probably did not take that long to do something to his hair. “Have you ever gone to Madrid?”

She thinks for a moment before she answers, nodding her head as she is reminded of the very hectic, extremely stressful, definitely not pleasant memory she had of that one university trip she had to take for her thesis. Madrid was one of the destinations people were sent to and she thought she would get to see the boisterous side of the city, but she spent most of her nights typing the results of the thesis while her classmates spent their nights drinking and partying. “I did. I don’t think I truly got to see the beauty of it because I didn’t have a lot of time to do so.”

“You’re always on the run, huh?”

“Quite like yourself.” She replies, watching as Chanyeol nods as he takes another glass of wine from the bartender. She tries to stop him, placing her hand over his very expensive Rolex watch as she mumbles: “Hey, take it slow, the wine is not going anywhere.”

The tall man giggles at that, patting his cheeks to stop himself before he continues the conversation. “I haven’t even had the time to go to Seoul in a long while. So you’re right, I’m very busy.”

“But I don’t think you regret being a model at all.”

Chanyeol takes a sip of his wine before shaking his head. “Not at all.” Thankfully. She knew the feeling of wanting to get out of a place as soon as possible, but you can’t—because it is your job, and it pays the bills, and it potentially will be your future. The moment she abandoned her previous job, she spent months wondering if she had done the correct thing and only now, she got to see the flowers of the garden she had watered for years. “I did it as a joke at first,” He indicates, the dimple on his cheek prominent as he smiles. “But then it actually grew on me. My mom has all the magazines that I have been featured in saved in a drawer or something.”

Her heart beats softly at the idea of his mother being proud of the man he has become. An icon, quite clearly, much more for fashion. “So you’re a momma’s boy, then.”

“Very much so. I can only sleep well if I call my mom beforehand.”

“…You’re lying.”

“Why would I?” Chanyeol asks, his cheeks turning pink because of the drinks he has had. “But, we have talked enough about me. Tell me about yourself.”

That question can end up with two answers. The awkward answer that comes with bland connotations and a wall that separates two people from getting to know each other. And then, there is the type of answer that she gives him. She basks on conversation with him; talking about what shows she watches, the scar on her knee that is a memory of her days playing outside of the house, how she learned how to do proper eyeliner—because Chanyeol says his hands are too shaky whenever he has tried to do so—and the man replies with drunken memories of his own. His tongue is slurring by the time he finishes his glass of wine, saying how he once put glue on his sister’s hair, and how he really wishes his dog would see him as his actual owner instead of just some random dude that pets him. Briefly, he talks about how he used to listen to rock music a lot, but nowadays he listens to hip hop a lot more.

Park Chanyeol is not a paradox; he is not exactly complicated, either. People that are like open books are not ones that could be found in a world like this nowadays. Everyone is trying to put on the façade of stone cold hearts, going through life with the mindset that no one is worthy enough of trust. She is guilty of that, as well, but there are people—just like him—that just can’t be disliked. Some people are just like that.

Some people have set roles, too. Her role for the night is of the woman that smiles at the sight of Chanyeol getting closer, tapping his ear so she could talk closer to him and he would listen well. His role is of a man trying to enamor someone, not that is difficult for him at all, and of a new friend, as well…

Yixing’s role is of interruption.

All.

The.

Time.

“Ch—Are you drunk?!” The man asks the moment he comments face to face with Chanyeol, the surprise on the manager’s expression quite a funny sight. She raises an eyebrow, trying to blend into the crowd in hopes that Yixing does not blame her for his client’s drowsiness.

“Nope.” Chanyeol pops the word before he lifts his index finger and thumb in the air, indicating the smallest bit he could with a tiny gap in between his fingers. “Only this bit.”

“I—Hi.” Yixing greets the woman before him, bowing slightly before waving his hand with a smile on his face. Soon after, he turns towards Chanyeol with a pouty look and worry written all over his face. “Chanyeol, we have a meeting with a Puma sponsor and I really, really, really need you to talk well. Okay?”

The man in question is taken off by the rapidness of everything that happens around him, tumbling on his step when he stands up before straightening his back. “Okay. I can do it.” He confirms, breath lingering with the smell of wine. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He tells her, a little too loudly before nodding his head at Yixing, almost as if indicating that he is ready. She answers with a goodbye, much softer in tone.

Tomorrow sounds like a better promise than tonight would ever be.

✈️

The last day of Paris Fashion Week, in the golden makeup room, starts with two models practically ripping their heads off as they fight for hairspray. Now, her mind was divided in three parts at that point: one, that was stressed; the other part was practically mortified about the situation those models got themselves in, and, of course, the last one could only remember one of the very first few things that Chanyeol told her the first time they met. Backstage smells strangely like hairspray, and perhaps models are kind of crazy.

“Coffee?” Jenn offers almost immediately, appearing beside her in perfect attire. The concept of the night was colorful, back to the eighties, some said would be a perfect name, but she thought it was basically a night for art—or to show her art, really. She takes it, because there is no way in hell she looks as awake as Jenn does, with her hair perfectly put in a high ponytail and with the most gorgeous, designer blazer she has seen. “You look well rested.” Well, that part was indeed very true. The bags under her eyes today are because she wants more sleep, not because she needs it. Jenn had decided to have a little escapade with one of the models later on the night—and that model, although gorgeous and tall and definitely one of the most beautiful women in the top ten lists around the world, was the one that had to deal with Jenn’s snoring.

“I didn’t have to listen to your snoring.”

Jenn almost, almost seems offended. “I don’t snore!” The woman says, taking a sip from her own cup of coffee before staring at her vanity. “Speaking of…I am going to do her makeup now. Is your model here?”

“No. Ah, I think I am starting with Versace today…so that would be Kim—”

“Not Kim, you know who your model is.”

“…I don’t.”

“It’s definitely not a Kim.” Jenn prompts before winking with her two eyes. Quite clearly, the woman does not even have the exact precision to do so, but it is good that she tried, at least. “It’s a Park, and he’s friends with an Oh.”

She opens her mouth to say something, perhaps retort her comment only to be met with Jenn’s giggle and her back, going over to where her vanity was to start working. The coffee burns the roof of her mouth slightly when she tries to down something to simplify the ticklish feeling she has inside her stomach, but it does nothing more that make her hiss and remind her that she really does need to work.

Some days, people don’t feel fine—it is something everyone learns early on in their lives, but the person that she least expected to be silent throughout her makeup routine was Chanyeol himself. His arms are folded over his chest, looking ahead after saying his greetings to her. Even when she takes a little bit longer to do his makeup, all thanks to the amount of colors the designer wants on his eyelids—cut crease included—, he does not utter many words although she tries to initiate a conversation various times. As it seems like, the frown on Chanyeol’s face is permanent and she should be worried that the action is creasing the foundation that she had applied so effortlessly, but she is far more worried that Chanyeol is feeling wronged. Or maybe, she did something wrong.

But she doesn’t recall doing anything remotely close to a bad thing. All she has done is be wrapped in conversations with him endlessly, and he seemed to enjoy it each time.

Normally, after she ends up Sehun and Chanyeol’s makeup, she waits and sees if anyone wants some adjustments and does them, if necessary. This time around, however, she is in the lounging room behind the big wall that separated them from the runway and she could only think about Chanyeol. It’s because he is there, standing in all his tall glory with that frown over his face that only showed his distress. The outfit he is wearing is big, with some weird architectural thing that is supposedly a sleeve, in the colors of the sunset ready to step out on his own type of stage. The only thing is that, in most occasions if not all, Chanyeol is clearly more excited about things. And most importantly, he never really ignores Sehun—who now stands by his side repeating the same question over and over again until he actually gets tired of it, cussing at Chanyeol under his breath when he asks his third ‘huh?’.

Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong and it should not even be her problem if Chanyeol is going through a hard time, or if something has happened to him to make him feel that way. She should be concentrating on the book under her gaze—a romance novel that Doah left behind in their room, definitely all the clichés written in the form of bad boys and naïve girls. Anything would be more interesting than that book, if she is honest.

So she pushes herself up her feet, sighing at the action before moving forward. She stands behind Chanyeol for three seconds and soon after, she regrets even getting close to him. Who does she think she is to ask Chanyeol how he is? Maybe, he was just being nice all along, for that would not be a sin. There are people that are bookmarks in life, and maybe she was just a stopper in the chapter of his life that was this year’s Paris Fashion Week, but that did not mean he would not move forward. Chapters end. Stories are re-written. Bookmarks are lost. That is just how the world works.

“Hi.” But still, she is a person that is afraid of regret. When she left her job, her best friend at the time—also a very close coworker—almost had her head for leaving such a great spot. But she tried it, and part of her thinks that it is staring to work. In the back of her head, she ponders if she will think about this moment in a few years and wonder: What would have happened if I asked Chanyeol what was wrong?—of course, the least she wants is to have a question mark as an answer. “Is everything okay?”

Chanyeol breathes softly, through his mouth, then his nose, then back again before he replies: “No.” For a moment, she feels like his voice broke, and maybe he wants to tear up a bit but he fights back the urge to be sensible when he has makeup on and he will also go on stage as soon as possible. “I, uh, I’m about to shit my pants and these are not…very cheap pants, so that is not a good idea.” He randomly adds before muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m finally going nuts.”

She shakes her head, watching as he turns to look at her. “What are you scared of? I-Is…Is there anything bother you? Anyone, really? I would beat up anyone that is harassing you.” She says it half-seriously and half-jokingly, but it brings a soft smile that doesn’t show his teeth to Chanyeol’s lips.

“I got into a scandal yesterday.”

“Really? I haven’t heard anything about it.” It is not uncommon for big models to get into scandals. After all, they are celebrities and once you reach that title, everyone is looking to see what you do wrong.

He shrugs his shoulders, as if it is nothing, as if whatever is eating at the back of his head that is making him so anxious is even remotely valid. “It’s because it’s not true. Someone tried to say I had basically started this Tommy Hilfiger campaign so I would back out from my duo with Sehun…and then people were commenting stupid shit,” He almost grits his teeth out of anger, but his expression only shows disappointment. “About how I was always expected to be a rat, and then I had to speak up about it but, here I am, wearing the clothes of the brand everyone says I am using to stop working with Sehun.”

“…I am sure Sehun doesn’t believe the rumors.”

“But it makes me feel so bad.” Chanyeol whines, long and big fingers interlocking with one another as a way of keeping himself sane. “Do people really believe I am a rat?”

Her eyes soften at that, placing one hand over his shoulder to reassure him that everything would be okay. “Those who do, don’t know you.” She says, and it is quite stupid—because she has only known him for a week, but if there is an antonym to what greatness really is, Chanyeol would not be the concept of it. “Besides, you can’t give them the benefit of seeing you give up because of them. You have to go up that runway and kill it with that pet-cone sleeve of yours.”

She tries to be funny, and it seems to work because Chanyeol’s expression changes from sadness to confusion and suddenly, surprise, a smile beaming on his face as he claps his hands together, something she has learned he does when he laughs—if he can do it, he potentially slaps someone’s shoulder. “Call it fashion.” Chanyeol says in between laughter before pressing his lips together in the sweetest smile he has mustered that afternoon. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

“Anytime.”

The complexity of talking with Chanyeol is not caused by the man himself, it is part of the situation that they are in. She’s a makeup artist, he is a model, and while they share some time together, there are far more important things that he has to concentrate on. She watches from the screens backstage as he walks, powerful and with a straight face, his legs toned with every movement and the thought of Chanyeol making up his mind thanks to her warms her heart. It brings her a sense of purpose, to know that the fashion industry was difficult for everyone was simple knowledge—but if she could do so much as making someone feel better with her words and makeup skills, then it is more than enough.

By the time Chanyeol comes backstage, she is ready to congratulate him for a great show, but whenever she gets close to him, he is interrupted by someone else. An interviewer, for example; a stylist fixing his hair, or wrapping golden chains around his neck. Then come the pictures, models approaching him to show their friends that they were in the same fashion week as Park Chanyeol, the famous model, and that is her cue to know that she should probably give up on trying to establish conversation with him.

A feeling that twists and turns on her stomach, rising up to her heart and clinging to it for dear life, is what she calls jealousy. What she is jealous of, she doesn’t know.

✈️

“Whoa, Doah’s boyfriend must have been very pretty if their son looks like that. He’s adorable!”

In the order of women in Doah’s blood, she got cheated on time and time again, ending up as a single mother just like everyone else in her family had done. Doah believed she was going to be the exception, she remembers, much more when she is packing up to go stay with her for the first few months of her son’s childhood. Paris begs her to stay, with its beautiful sceneries and the delicious pastries she had for breakfast this morning, but there are duties that need to be fulfilled—and she also doesn’t think she would ever be able to pay a room in that hotel, if it wasn’t for the company she is trying to get a spot on booking and paying for her stay.

She is not packing anything last minute, only the essentials that would go inside her backpack, and the last pair of pajamas she wore the previous night. Jenn has taken the time to look through her phone, laughing at certain pictures that she had stupidly taken of herself when she is bored, commenting on beautiful pictures that she has of sceneries and, of course, apart from downloading one—or two—pictures of Park Chanyeol in all his model glory, she takes the time to look at the high quality photograph of Doah’s baby. In awe, she is, not that she would have ever expected Jenn, out of all people, to be touched by the sight of a baby.

“Yeah, a beautiful cheating bastard.” She says, putting on her shoes and making sure that her red lipstick was still intact after having one too many croissants. “She told him she was pregnant when she was two months in and the only thing this asshole could say was,” She clears her throat to imitate his idiotic deep voice. “Not my woman to take care of, not my problem.”

Jenn gasps, locking her phone and putting it down on the woman’s lap as she rested on the big, queen sized bed of her bedroom. The hotel room consisted of two bedrooms and a bathroom, in this case. “That’s fucking it. That’s why I don’t even consider dating men. Fuck him.” Those words make her smile, standing up to place her phone inside her backpack securely before yawning deeply. There is something about staying in a hotel room with the softest mattress in the world, and that is that she has had her best night of sleep in a while. Snoring Jenn on the other room or not. A minute of silence passes by—and that is like a year in Jenn’s calendar—so she speaks up. “And you’re staying with Doah for a few months, correct?”

“She has managed to buy a pretty house by the countryside, so yes. While I am jobless, I will stay with her—you know, drive to the city if I get some gig to complete and then, go back.”

“You’re not going to be jobless for long. Madrid is coming, baby, and not only that…but there is always some lazy celebrity that doesn’t know how to contour and needs us. Needs talented people like you.” Jenn always looks at the brighter side of things, and she demonstrates it with the way she lives her life. The perfectly put-together woman stands up from her spot on the bed to stretch before pointing towards the bathroom. “I am going to pee. Don’t leave without me.”

She hums, smiling a bit to the older woman. Although, if anyone ever were to ask who is older, anyone would say that it was her, not Jenn. “As if I would leave you.”

Jenn clicks her tongue, opening the door to the bathroom before looking over her shoulder. “I was left in Bali by a few friends because ‘they couldn’t see me’ and if that doesn’t speak about my choices in friends, then I don’t know what does.”

With a chuckle, she takes the little time she has left to warm up her hands and look for her coat, the coldness in Paris making it all so much more inviting to stay in bed and simply rest all the tiredness away. However, the sound of someone knocking on her door has her frowning, thinking that maybe one of the other MUA’s had left something in their makeup bags. She trots over to the door, opening it without thinking twice but the moment she looks up, she is not met by the sight of one of the other makeup artists that worked with her in Paris Fashion Week. Chanyeol is there, in all his glory, but instead of wearing those exotic piece of clothing that they clad him in whenever he is on the runway, he is adorned in an oversized hoodie and ripped jeans, a cap covering his blonde hair with his big ears poking out from the sides.

“Chanyeol?” She speaks his name softly, a smile appearing over her features because she can, and she did. The man shares a grin of his own as well, biting down on his bottom lip as he stares at her. It is brief, nothing too long to make things awkward, but she does notice how his eyes go from her eyes to her lips, then over her eyes again after lingering on the red lipstick.

“That’s my name.” He indicates before he points to the backpack that hangs from her shoulders. “I was right about you leaving at this time, then.”

“You’re not leaving right now, too?”

“I have an interview this afternoon and I leave at night.” Chanyeol says and she hums. The man is always busy, alike Sehun, and she wonders how his skin is still as intact as it is with the amount of stress he probably goes through. The man pushes something towards her hands and she looks down to see what seems to be a bag filled with clothing, but a white paper rested upon the folded pieces of clothing. “I talked to my favorite brands and I got some clothing that I feel would fit you really well, and that I really like, and as a goodbye…gift. Well, a ‘see you later’ gift.”

“You shouldn’t have. Oh my God, Chanyeol!” The way he looks at her is enchanted, like he is in a trance as she gets out the folded piece of paper that was inside the bag. “And this is—”

Before she could continue her sentence, Chanyeol’s phone cuts through the atmosphere terribly, making him sigh before he reaches for his jeans’ back-pocket, taking his phone out and picking up the call immediately. “Yes, Yixing, I am on my way. I told you I had to make a stop first.” The sound of Yixing talking on the other end has Chanyeol nodding and she wants to feel honored, much more when Chanyeol stopped by when he has a day filled with activities to complete. By the time Chanyeol speaks to her once again, their time together has shortened for a few minutes—and she hears the sound of Jenn walking around the hotel room, probably trying to listen to what they were saying. “Uh, so yeah. Read the thing on the piece of paper and—” Chanyeol stops himself from speaking so quickly, opening his arms slightly as if to welcome her with a hug. “And could I have a hug? To say goodbye.”

“Y-Yeah.” She whispers, pushing her body forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Chanyeol’s hugs are sweet, with his cheek pressed to the top of her head and his arms wrapping around her tightly, but they do not last for long—of course, he is busy, and Yixing has probably already given him an earful of what he has to do throughout the day. “Thank you for the gifts.”

“It’s nothing.” Chanyeol says before nodding his head, waving his hand to say his goodbyes. He does say the word verbally, but she is far too concentrated on the smell of his cologne that now falls upon her.

God, she is starting to believe that Chanyeol has the effect of making her giggle like a fourteen years old girl that has just gotten her crush to hug her.

By the time the door is closed, she rushes to look at what the paper says—and Jenn is obviously by her side, making too many questions that she answers in a half-assed manner as she reads what the paper says:

Text me! And then, his number.

✈️

The benefits of being an adult is that texting first is not a problem anymore. The turmoil that comes with knowing what to write to someone you like is not as tedious anymore, it is bearable and it comes with a big batch of ‘I just need to try to see how it goes’, leading to her finally texting Chanyeol. She does it two days after he gave her his number, when she is finally well rested and when Doah’s baby is not crying loudly from the other room.

Doah’s sense of style was impeccable, and it shows through his new house—although small, the tones of dark green, beige and white create such an earth-filled atmosphere. The trees around them and the sound of the lake nearby would have been very relaxing if only there wasn’t a newborn in the household. She reminds herself that she is there for Doah, a woman that is new to the entire industry of being a mother, and instead of helping out with the baby—she keeps the house clean, cooks a few meals before leaving for the city. Two weeks after the fashion week, she has found some jobs to fulfill and an empty inbox in her e-mail account that indicated that neither Doah nor her had been picked, yet, for the new MUA position in the company.

And Chanyeol still has to respond.

The week has been busy, to the point she doesn’t even want to wash the dishes that come with the big amount of dinner she just had with Doah, but seeing the woman breastfeeding by the counter let her know that there was little to no time in the mother’s agenda for her to do any important chore. She looks out the window, seeing the night sky and the lights of the houses nearby. Thankfully for Doah, her hard work for the past few years in another company—one that she had never wanted to join for their strict rules—had led her to buy a house where her son could grow up comfortably. Humble and candid, the place was, although she missed her apartment in the city life a lot more. Nowadays, she could only stop by there to do so much before she had to return to the road to have an hour long ride back to Doah’s house, just in time to be met by dinner.

Her phone rings but her hands are full with dish soap, playing around with the sponge in between her hands while getting those bits of fried egg away from the pan. Doah still did not learn the importance of oil, as it seems. “Someone’s texting you.” Doah says, widening her eyes when her phone rings again. And again. Three times until it comes to a stop. “Geez. Is that your crazy aunt that always comments on your pictures on Instagram? I have never seen your phone blow up like that.”

“Probably.” She chuckles before pointing towards her phone with her drenched hands. “It must be Jenn. She texts like a mad man. You know my password, right?”

“What kind of best friend do you take me for?”

She scrubs on the pan once again, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess my type of best friend, because I, for sure, don’t know your password.”

Doah seems to ignore her remark, instead gasping and smiling at the person that had texted her. She thinks that maybe Jenn attached some pictures of the beautiful Tokyo—apparently, she had a gig there for a new fashion line’s photoshoot—but she is met with nothing less than the name of someone she should have expected. “Chanyeol has texted you.”

She stops washing the dishes almost immediately, wiping her hands in the back of her sweatpants to take her phone in between them. Quite like Jenn, and maybe it was an ‘energetic people’ stereotype or something that she didn’t quite get the memo of, but he had written with a bunch of exclamation marks at first. “Sorry, I couldn’t respond any earlier! I have been so busy. I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He adds in the primordial part of the text, but then another bubble appears to indicate that he wants to say more. “Hello, beautiful. How are you?!” And that, she realizes, that he uses a lot of exclamation points and emoticons. As if it is necessary to include that he is very happy to be talking to her. “Have you gotten the job? I keep asking Yixing but he doesn’t know…”

She sits down on one of the chairs, opening her legs comfortably at the position. “No worries, Chanyeol. Haha.” She starts with that, then deciding to comply more to her message. “And I haven’t heard anything back, yet. I am starting to believe that I won’t get the job.”

Maybe, he is in a country with a similar time-zone, or he is free at that moment, but he sees it immediately and replies equally as fast. “Don’t think that! You’re a super, super, super talented makeup artist, and models loved you!” She smiles down at her phone, hearing Doah chuckle to herself as if the sight of her friend being excited about a man texting her was a sight that she enjoyed. It probably was, for the last time she talked to someone with such a smile on her face, she ended up getting friend-zoned. “Sehun says you’re dumb if you say you aren’t getting the job.”

“Sehun is with you? Where are you, to start with?”

“Dubai!” Chanyeol exclaims through text excitedly and she can’t help but imagine the man taking pictures of everything. The more she hopes is that he is enjoying his visit there. “He is actually watching TV beside me. We share rooms when he is feeling sappy, and whatnot.”

She fights the urge to say ‘cute’ about the remark, because she could imagine them watching some movie that they could not quite understand, both with their faces stuck to their phone-screen as a way of distracting themselves. “Okay, I’ll take his word. What have you done the past few weeks?”

Talking to Chanyeol that night becomes easy, because he simply spills his heart out like a poet does in their poems. The beauty of his words is not particularly difficult, he speaks casually and she does as well, saying her good nights to Doah that decides to put her son to sleep while she lays on the couch, smiling at whatever Chanyeol is talking about. He sends her pictures of the meals he wants to have when he goes back home, as well as taking a picture of Sehun sleeping by his side, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted funnily, a little bit of drool falling to the side of his face. She loses track of time, even going as far as sending him a picture of one of the shirts he had given her.

He’s happy about that.

But he talks about his dreams, too, and they are as simple as saying that he just wants to be happy. He says that he wanted to launch his career in music, but that models aren’t well-welcomed in such a place. He talks about how Sehun is actually taking a nap and that they have an appearance in some ‘icon’ party that apparently includes the most iconic celebrities of the year. She tells him not to drink. He says that he is not a lightweight and then, he comments:

“I can imagine you nagging at me in the back of my head with that pretty voice of yours.”

Maybe, it is too quick to think of what his words mean—they have no meaning, really, just harmless flirting, but she can only hope that the smile he gave her that night in the Spanish themed party will only be for her. It’s selfish, and perhaps the distance between the two makes her feel that way, but it is a growing feeling that burns at the back of her chest, from her sternum to her spine.

✈️

At the end, she does get that e-mail. Four weeks and six days after Paris Fashion Week happened, and the moment she tells Chanyeol, she receives a congratulatory message…hours after she sent it. It’s fine, she tries to reason with herself, that he is busy and he texts her as much as he can, but she can’t help but feel like she has started to crush in the example of what impossibility would be like.

That was two months ago.

She tries to distract herself with her work; thankfully for her air-sickness, she hasn’t gotten to travel much, instead going to closer places to work with smaller boutiques and brands that need to get their models’ makeup done, but what she didn’t expect was for a big brand to go to her city, simply to take a photoshoot in front of bustling streets, gray buildings and in between the mess of traffic that happens in her part of town. Her fingers tuck strands of hair behind her ears as she organizes her makeup, making sure that everything is organized by color as she hears the doors opening. The makeup room is small, so she supposes she will be the only makeup artist working—and apparently, she only has to do makeup for four models, nothing too crazy.

She swipes her powder brush against the back of her hand, already starting with her greeting before turning around. “Good morning, I am—Sehun?” When she turns around, she catches a glimpse of the man that she has already seen various times. His hair is a bit longer than the last time she saw him, over two months ago, styled with gel and tied in a ponytail to show his undercut. He is carrying a coffee cup, probably filled with as much caffeine as possible, wearing beige pants and a pink turtleneck, paired with a denim jacket. Something that she envies, the makeup room isn’t exactly warm.

The man greets her, sitting down on the seat in front of the vanity, definitely a repetition of previous events, before crossing one leg over the other. “You’re definitely not Sehun. I am Sehun.”

“I know.” She chuckles, already knowing what kind of shade she has to use with him and what kind of skin he has. Taking her beauty blender in between her hands, moistening it up a bit, she continues. “I just didn’t expect to see you here, and without Chanyeol. Really. You two are like the Olsen’s but Korean.”

Sehun smiles, putting his Styrofoam cup down on the vanity before leaning back on his seat, taking his phone in between his hands and responding to whatever texts he has. “He is not part of this campaign, but he’s in town. I thought you knew that.” Sehun says and perhaps, he really thought that she had a single clue that Chanyeol was in her town at that moment, but she didn’t. She tries to cover her surprised expression, settling for a muffed ‘oh’ that is followed by silence. The stoic faced man looks up from his phone before widening his eyes. “Y-You didn’t?”

“I obviously wasn’t informed about the situation…” And she wonders if maybe, and only maybe, Chanyeol is actually not as into her as he makes himself to be. That the flirting and the constant nights where Chanyeol tries to get her to speak to him through voice messages or calls mean nothing. Chanyeol is constantly throwing flowers at her, whenever he can, of course, but lately…it is as if he has forgotten about her existence.

“Fuck.” Sehun cusses, deciding to ignore the situation at hand by scrolling through his Instagram. From the corner of her eye, she can see that he has over a million likes in his latest post. “But he’s very busy, too, so maybe that’s that. He’s shooting a commercial for a skincare brand, but it is taking him longer because he grew a few pimples the day of the shoot.”

“I see…” She comments, torn in between believing the man or not, after all…Chanyeol could have just told her so. “But tell me about your campaign.” Not wanting to talk about the subject anymore, she changes the topic towards Sehun.

She really tries to be strong, to not text him and ask him why exactly he hadn’t talked about the miniscule—rather big, really—fact that was his stay at the exact same city that she is at. She talks about it with Doah, hearing the woman already coming up with some kind of deep storyline that indicates that Chanyeol is actually in “a relationship” and “using her to boost his ego”, but she thinks it is almost impossible. Instead, she concentrates on her work, on being better and doing better, on watching those tutorials that she kept on a playlist for new looks to try on the models.

Two days after her encounter with Sehun, when she is getting ready to drive back to the countryside to meet up with her friend, she feels her phone buzzing inside her purse. She sighs, placing her purse on top of the hood of her car before picking up the call, the name of Chanyeol shining bright on the screen—for a moment, she completely forgets that she is supposed to be mad at him, or that she wanted him to reach out for her first.

“What?” She asks, not meaning to sound as rude as she did as she looked for the keys to her car inside her purse. Chanyeol seems to notice her change of demeanor, speaking soon after.

“I know Sehun told you about me being here, but I was too busy to text you.” Like always, but should she be mad? She is obviously travelling less than him, but it feels like she is the one in the chase whenever she responds to him as quickly as possible and he leaves her on read for days. Maybe, she is just a hobby for him, something that he wants to do for a night or two, but doesn’t want to deal with for a long period of time. “But hey! If you’re in the city, I want to invite you to dinner—and I have already sent you the address through text, so we could catch up and I can finally give you a big hug.”

The hug sounds inviting, but she is still slightly mad at Chanyeol. “Why should I accept?” She plays around, pressing her stomach against the side of her car and looking at the flickering lights of one of the buildings in the street that she was in.

“…Because they have the best pizza I have ever tried in my life?”

“I could have it by my own.”

“Listen, I am so sorry.” Chanyeol whines on the phone, bringing a smile to her face as she finally opens the door to her car, grabbing her purse and putting it inside as she pulls her phone away from her ear, putting it on speaker to look through her texts. A fancy restaurant, he had picked. “I am such an idiot and I would hit myself if I were you, but I am not you and I am willing to buy you the entire menu if you just come here right now.”

She sighs, putting her phone down on the passenger seat as she starts the car. “Only because you owe me an apology…and because that pizza sounds inviting tonight.”

Luckily for her, Chanyeol is not dressed as fancily as she would have imagined, simply wearing an oversized tank top tucked inside his black jeans, topped over with a coat that reaches his knees. His hair is still blonde, pushed to the side as he waits for her outside. He doesn’t seem to mind that some people look at him, or that they see her with him at all, because he pushes his body off the wall to smile at her mere presence.

With a breathy tone, he places his hands on top of her shoulders and pushes her forward to go past the security at the entrance. “I’ll give you that hug once we get inside. People are looking.” The promise Chanyeol gives her sounds inviting, much more when she enters the heavily decorated place. Still, it seems inviting, the smell of cheese and sauce, as well as lasagna and pizza, immediately reaching her nostrils and making her hum. Chanyeol wraps an arm around her shoulder, smiling gleefully as he walks themselves to the table at the very end, near the biggest window in the place. “I really missed, you know?”

She wants to bite back, to show how troubled she felt when Sehun confessed that Chanyeol was in town, but instead she caved in: “I missed you, too.”

“Two months without seeing you. You need to tell me how this new contract is going on.”

“Well, I do makeup. That’s the whole ordeal.” She comments, sitting down in front of him at the table, only to have him smiling as he pushes a menu towards her way. Chanyeol studies her face, like he always does, even going as far as looking at the small amount of cleavage her shirt shows. “Have you gotten to go to Seoul?”

Chanyeol chuckles softly, shaking his head as he looks down at the menu to search for something to eat. “I haven’t. I’ve been living in hotels for the past three months.” Even before he met her, that’s for sure. “That’s why I wanted to have dinner with you. You’re the closest I feel to home.” Those words shouldn’t have warmed her up like they did, to the point she had to play with the collar of her shirt to stop the heat that radiated from her skin. Chanyeol’s eyes are wide, filled with emotion when he smiles once again. A charmer, as always. “There is something about you. You calm me down…and that is what I need in a world like the one I live in. For one moment, I just want to say fuck it to the world. That’s why I like you so much.”

Like, a word that he uses so easily, as if it doesn’t bring a heavy weight to her chest. She looks down at the menu, hiding her face behind it to stop herself from saying anything stupid. “Stop…”

“Hey, I mean it.” Chanyeol says, pushing the menu down to lean over the table and look at her. His fingers reach to pinch her cheek, making her smile softly at the man. “I know it doesn’t seem like it…but I really like you. I think you’re amazing. Beautiful smile, incredible talent. Intelligent, caring, kind, humble—”

“Keep going and I may just forgive you.” She jokes around, placing her hand on top of the one that rests upon her face before caressing the skin softly, bringing it down to rest upon the tablecloth. “But I am glad we are on the same page.”

The night is eventful, in between bites of food and sips of soda. The world seems to waltz around them, much more when he says his goodbyes with a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek. It feels right, slow but perfectly paced. Just how she likes it.

But wait.

Chanyeol said he liked her, right?!

Liked her as a person, or as something else, she doesn’t know. What she knows is that being liked is better than nothing.

✈️

“This feels like my husband is leaving me and our son behind after our divorce. It’s sad.”

The fake sniffling comes from Doah, now with a four-month old baby seated on her lap—with the cutest few strands of brown hair and the most rounded dark eyes. There is not much to pack after Doah agreed to let her go back to the city, for the payment of the fuel was falling heavy on her pocket and also, because Doah already knew how to take care of a baby on her own. Either way, it had been a nice experience; a reminder of what it used to feel like when they were roommates, but with bigger dreams and less giggly moments.

That is part of growing up, and while Doah remains as youthful as ever personality-wise, she has grown up with the birth of her child. Much more poised, definitely as loving as ever but more protective than she ever was to anyone in this world. “We are not getting a divorce, first off. I’ll still come visit anytime I can, mostly on weekends.” She replies, pushing her backpack over her shoulder after finishing up packing up the few things she had in Doah’s house. A second toothbrush, some of her shirts and a few shoes. Everything could enter in her wide and useful backpack. “And why am I the husband?”

“You’re the one that leaves.” The comment is part of Doah’s dark humor, standing up and securing her son around her arms as they walk towards the entrance. When she opens the door, the air is cold against the fabric of her fluffy white sweater, making her pull her boyfriend jeans up her hips a little bit more to cover extra skin. “Say bye to your daddy, David. Come on.”

She scoffs, letting David’s tiny hand grab her finger and waving it with a smile on her face. “Don’t say I’m his daddy. You know he’s at that point of his life where he is learning everything, and the least I want is to hear him call me ‘dada’ anytime soon. Or ever.” She kisses the baby’s hand before putting it down, hearing Doah retort with a fake sniffle.

“You just were an angel. I’d marry you if you were a man…but the lack of a pee-pee changes it all.”

“Doah, for the love of God—” She mumbles to herself, giving a few steps forward before walking backwards. “Thank god you didn’t say the D word in front of your son. I’d personally take him away from you to the city to raise him myself.”

Doah smiles at the sound of her friend’s voice, leaning on the railing of her door with David playing with the necklace that hangs from her neck. “You know why I didn’t use the D word?”

“Why?” She asks innocently, but she should have expected Doah to say something remotely inappropriate.

“Because Chanyeol is already giving it to you.”

“Okay, I’m leaving. That’s it.”

The weight of her keys feels foreign on her hand, much more when she opens the door to her apartment to realize that she won’t have to listen to the cries of a baby anymore. The old couple next door that still hit it up as if they were on their twenties would probably be more like it, but she has already grown accustomed to that noise, rolling over her bed to cover her ears with her pillow. The first thing she thinks about after an hour long trip is that she feels dizzy, with an empty stomach and a weighted mind. She walks over to her kitchen, opening the refrigerator to be met with something to make, but there is nothing. In the drawers, there is also nothing and then, she is reminded of the very important—still, ignored—fact that she had taken all the food she had in her apartment to Doah’s house.

Out the apartment as quickly as she had arrived, she was. The snow is finally starting to make place around the streets and she greets the old day—half of the old couple that she was thinking about earlier—with a wave as she rushes down the stairs to get to the closest convenience store. One block away, she remembers, and she thinks she can do it without actually passing out from hunger.

What she regrets first is not putting on a coat as the small speckles of snow fall upon her equally as white sweater. She walks through the streets as she tries not to pump into people, ignoring the vibration of her phone in the front pocket of her jeans because the least she wants is to get her phone stolen from taking it out in one of the busiest days of the year. Delinquency was growing in this side of town, the news had said a few weeks ago, and she had kept that thought in mind, even talking about it with Chanyeol, who had told her time and time again to be careful.

She pushes the doors of the convenience store open, rubbing her hands together and placing them inside her pockets for a brief second while her eyes look for a cart. Once found, she takes it in between her fingers and basks in the niceness of the heater in the store. It’s fairly quiet, too, apart from some pop song that plays in the background as she starts to go over her mental grocery list. However, as she starts to pick up what is important for her to have in her apartment, she feels her phone vibrating once again.

She takes the device out, thinking that it was probably Doah not knowing what to do now that she was alone, but she was warmed up by the sight of Chanyeol’s name. She pushes the green button, resting her phone in between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes the cart. Is ramen necessary in her apartment? Quite possibly. “Sorry I didn’t answer before, I had to drive from Doah’s and I realized I was out of groceries so I had to walk to the nearest convenience store.”

Chanyeol sighs, almost a sigh of relief. It reminds her of the plenty of video-calls that they have shared; specially, one where she decided to hide from the screen until Chanyeol started to call out of her name confusedly. When she popped up on the screen, the man screamed so loudly that the only reaction he had when she started laughing was a sigh. “You had me worried for a second.” He replies before he continues. “Was Doah okay with you moving?”

“She used some kind of metaph0r about it. Me being her husband leaving her behind or something.” Chanyeol chuckles softly, but she can tell that he is not totally into it. His voice is tired, as if he has been straining himself, and he has yet to go back to Seoul to meet up with his family. He told him this a week prior to that moment, when he was speaking about how he had mentioned her name to his mother and she had immediately thought he was dating someone. They were…flirting buddies, she would like to call it, rather than anything special in a long distance manner. “What about you? Weren’t you in Bangkok?”

“I am, still. I’m leaving in…in three days…” His voice is interrupted by his yawn and she immediately frowns at the sound of his voice, continuing with her multitasking.

“You should really sleep.”

“It’s not that late here. Four in the morning.”

“That’s extremely late. Go to sleep.”

“I slept, but I think it was the afternoon and I just woke up and I am lost.”

She smiles at that, imagining Chanyeol’s hair bundled into a mess of straight strands, falling over his eyes slightly, puffy and reddened from tiredness. “Good. Are you going to Seoul after Bangkok?”

Chanyeol groans at that and she hears the sound of ruffling against covers on the other hand. “Nope. Mr. Workaholic decided to tell me that I have a snack commercial in Italy. Venice, I think.” A snack commercial. Quite ironic, because she has had a handful of conversations with Doah where they call him a “snack”. But, what can she say? Maybe the saying of ‘you are what you eat’ as finally gotten to him.

“Is Mr. Workaholic Yixing?”

“Indeed. He’s such a workaholic that his crush is someone from the PR office, and if that isn’t…a workaholic, I don’t know what is.” Chanyeol comments and soon after, she takes a moment to stop on her tracks and see what else she needs. Perhaps, a few sanitary products in case she needs them. “By the way, what are you doing next week?”

“Nothing planned. I am doing a gig outside the company on Sunday, to earn some more money. But they haven’t called me to do anything yet.”

“What if I hire you and you go to Venice with me, and apart from doing my makeup we also get to hang out for a bit?” Chanyeol comments, quite quickly, as if it is the simplest thing in the world—and for him, it is. Sometimes, she realizes that they live completely different lives. Chanyeol lives off being on stages, he talks to big groups of people, he has to take pictures on a daily with photographers in order to post something on his social media and keep his fans updated. He has people following after his every trend. Meanwhile, she talks to him through a phone and travels thanks to a company, not because she actually has to. How could he understand her so perfectly, when in reality they are nothing alike?

“I would tell you you’re crazy.” She comments, accommodating her neck when she feels a sudden pang of ache hitting her muscles. “But…are you serious?”

“Of course I am! I would like for you to do my makeup, and I’d pay your ticket for you to be here.”

“I…No. It doesn’t feel right to have you pay for my ticket.” She comments, shaking her head profusely at the thought. “Tell the company and I will do it, but I won’t do anything sneakily.”

“Okay, I’ll have Yixing on it.” Chanyeol replies and soon after, his comment paralyzes her in her spot, making her drop a package of baby wipes she had in between her hands. “Maybe, next time we see each other I won’t only give you a hug, but also a kiss.”

Venice sounds promising to her, now, as she tries to look for words that can only be replaced with a chuckle.

✈️

But just like always, the promise of a romantic Venice dies as she only gets to see Chanyeol for an hour at a time. His commercial takes longer than usual, or perhaps he has other things to attend to, and he ends up leaving her with the hanging promise of a kiss that never happens.

She should be happy that she gets to talk and joke around with Chanyeol when she does his makeup, that sometimes she feels the warmth of his palm sneaking up her waist when she gets close too close to his face and he looks at her as if he is going to kiss her, but an ode to separated lovers keeps them apart when they realize they are surrounded by other people of his team. Chanyeol’s eyes glimmer when he says his goodbyes, promising that he will try to finish everything early to go and pick her up in her hotel room and take her out for dinner, to study Venice, to be tourists for once and enjoy the world, but she is always met by the sight of her phone displaying Chanyeol’s name, only to hear apology after apology after apology.

The man she likes starts to become a broken record. A client that always asks for something else. A lawyer that never meets up with you. All analogies to how Chanyeol made her feel, how disappointed she was that he did not even have the slightest time for her.

The crunching sound of cookies matches her chewing as she stares off at the television show in front of her. Some romance movie plays in the background, and she is sulking because most movies include a couple that go through hardships, but at the end they are the happiest when together—they find a way to make it work. But there she is—she is not even dating Chanyeol to start with, and whenever they are together in the same place, they can’t find the time to be with one another. She almost wants to pick up the remote and change it, but she is being a bit of a masochist that night. Be it by watching a couple laugh whilst in a date in a movie, or thinking about Chanyeol; she just feels like thinking about what she shouldn’t be.

She covers herself up with her blanket, pulling it over her head like a hood and wrapping it around her chin to cover her from the coldness, but she has other things to think about—like how she should just take a plane back home and pretend that she is not being an idiot while being there for Chanyeol. Nonetheless, the sound of someone knocking on her door makes her straighten her back, standing up from the hotel bed to walk towards the door.

Of course, life is a déjà-vu and the person by her door is Chanyeol. He’s a nighttime visitor, standing there with a smile on his face and what seems to be boxes of takeout.

“Chanyeol.” She enunciates. Her arms are crossed over her chest, leaning against the door as she realizes that the man has a faint smile on his face, the type he gives when he knows he is in trouble. “I wonder what you tell the receptionist of each hotel I go to just to appear right in front of me.”

Chanyeol’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, trying to look for an excuse but he simply sighs deeply. “I am sorry. I’ve been so busy and I’ve ignored you so bad, so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“As always.”

“But this time, this time it’s better!” The man points out and she nods her head, biting her bottom lip when she pushes her weight off the door and points for him to get inside. Chanyeol smiles brightly, like the sun has taken place on his face, and the next thing he does is enter the hotel room. He sits down by the edge of the bed, on the floor, and she thinks it’s just his way of being respectful, threatening to grin at the thought. “You know how in our first date we had pizza—and it was good, but we’re in Italy out of all places, so I brought us the real deal.”

She chuckles, taking a seat beside him on the floor to help him get the boxes out of bag he had brought with himself. “What is this real deal you’re talking about?”

“Lasagna and pizza, but real.”

“I am sure the pizza we had at the restaurant was very real.”

Chanyeol groans, opening one of the lids of the boxes to fill the room in the smell of sauce, cheese and deliciously baked goodness. “Stop being a dick to me.” The man comments and she smiles, watching as he takes one of the plastic forks the boxes brought with themselves in between his fingers to slice a bit of the lasagna before feeding it to her. “Come on, open up. Use that mouth for something that is not questioning everything I do.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress the chuckle that left her lips soon after. Chanyeol’s cheeks glimmer in pink when he says those words, feeding the bit of lasagna to her and the next thing he hears is a hum. She covers her mouth to speak. “Oh my God—”

“Is it the best thing you’ve tasted in your life?”

“Kind of.”

“Yeah, made it myself.” Chanyeol lies, taking a bite of it with the same fork before placing the box over her legs, reaching for a squarer shaped box that included the pizza. He opens it by the time she takes another bite of the lasagna.

“You’re such a liar.” But then again, she always goes back to him. Chanyeol is a magnet, and she’s always pulled by him. He takes a slice of pizza, the cheese parting away deliciously as he folds it over the pizza for the strand to end. It is nice to see him eat something that he enjoys, away from the thought of having to keep his figure—only enjoying a night with her.

“Then this liar won’t let you play with my PS1.”

She decides to take a slice of pizza as well, settling the lasagna in between their bodies as she speaks. “You brought a PS1?” She asks, excitement lingering on her voice when she watches the backpack Chanyeol had worn by his side, making her wonder if he had actually thought about this date beforehand. “Depends on what game we’re playing.” Chanyeol slices a bit of the lasagna, resting it on top of his pizza and making her groan in disgust as he takes a bite. “Yeol, don’t mix foods like that—”

With his mouth half open, he speaks. “Crash Team Racing, babe.” The nickname has her stomach fluttering, thinking that maybe she should be more understanding of the situation. Chanyeol is trying, she could tell, and her impatience was getting the best of her. “And let me get creative. Both the lasagna and the pizza go to the same place, they’ll end up being digested food at the same time…it’s not that big of a deal.”

Chanyeol brings comfort with him, she notices, and it comes in the shape of their legs intertwined as they lay on the floor, playing match after match of an old videogame as they laughed about everything and anything.

Not to be mistaken, the man is quite clearly and palpably competitive, to the point he had to tickle her in a race just to win—but he learns how to lose with her, quite thankfully. The night is not heavy, it doesn’t linger with tension and much less does it feel like it is forced; they have been seated there for hours, not saying empty promises but getting to know each other simply through spending time together. In one of those moments, in between one of the many racing matches they had, he hears his phone ringing. Pausing the videogame for a second, he puts it down on the floor and puts it on speaker.

“Yes, Publicist Nam?” Chanyeol speaks, his fingers still moving against the controller as he finds himself in fourth place—she’s in seventh after one of his attacks, but she thinks she can surpass him easily. However, her ears are making out the figure of what this publicist of his is saying on the other end of the phone.

“Chanyeol…Where are you?” The man asks, sounding older in tone and in ways of speaking.

“I’m with my friend in her hotel room. The makeup artist. Why?” He asks, moving his legs when he gets to the first place. It is quite the sight to see him happy, being youthful and filled with life instead of having this perfect façade put up for everyone to see.

The publicist seems displeased by his answer, however. “Get over here now. We have told you that you can’t hang out with people like that. What would you do if you ended up having a scandal, huh?” He starts to nag and Chanyeol immediately widens his eyes, letting go of the controller to grab his phone and talk to his publicists in anything that isn’t on speaker.

Now she realizes that Chanyeol is trying, for her or for them, that he is going against his own team to be with her. It scares her, to never see him again as he speaks through the phone—he seems to be apologizing, coming up with any excuse before he actually turns to her. His apologies are usual, she thinks she is starting to become immune to them as she helps him clean up and opens the door for him. What he does last, of course, is give her a hug as tight as the ones he has given her before and the promise of a kiss is out the door, to the point she doesn’t even care about it. It just scares her that every time they say their goodbyes, it will be the last time she will be able to talk to him.

The concept of love is evolution, growth—but people cover it as neediness, affection. You can feel so much for someone, but if you don’t grow with them, it feels pointless. It is not love, not anything remotely close to it, and maybe she should have thought of them as a book and a movie. Chanyeol lives quickly; he resumes everything that can be composed in three hours of a film. She is a book; she likes to rant and think about the smallest details. How Chanyeol covers his mouth when he thinks he has said something wrong, how he is given to anything that he does, he has a routine and lives by it. The man loves travelling, but he loves his family so much more and his best friend is another model, as well.

It makes her saddened that she studies the twinkles in his eyes, that the weight of his hand on hers when he says his goodbyes after every makeup session is just what she needs, especially if it’s paired with one of those soft kisses he gives to her cheek. No longer does she study Chanyeol as a person for the rest of the five days she has left in Venice, but she sees the most tedious of things around him. She notices that she wishes she had a space in Chanyeol’s life; like the ring he wears every day, carved with the initials of his mother; like the guitar that he says he keeps in his childhood room and that whenever he goes back to Seoul, he can’t seem to let go of. She is jealous of time, for not giving him to her, of the world for having him and not her.

It’s the thought of lacking him in her life that makes her really wonder what she feels for him. Is it just a crush or is it love? Does it have a name, does it not?

On her last day in Venice, and like a tradition in Chanyeol’s blood, he takes the time to be around her. He looks like an absolute tourist, dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, wearing a bucket hat and sunglasses as he takes pictures of everything and anything. He is good with being in front of the camera, but she absolutely hates that she is the subject of his every picture—even more so, the man doesn’t take the best pictures for an up-and-rising model—. The sunset welcomes them as they try street food, they check out stores and spend time together. Chanyeol talks about whatever crosses his mind and he’s free, for just a second, because he has a contract and plenty of things to take care of. If he was so proud of her, then why would he basically cover half of his face?

The one at fault is not Chanyeol, but by the time they are standing in front of the sunset, looking ahead at the beauty of the colors, she decides to fix the cap over her head and speak her mind out.

“I think that what we’re doing is wrong.”

Chanyeol perks up at that, turning to look at her while resting his elbow on the railing of the balcony of his hotel room. It could basically be a house, with how fancy and big it is. Expensive, quite clearly, just like him. “…What does that mean?” He doesn’t sound threatening, meanwhile curiousness is more of a description for that moment. His eyebrows furrow and the bucket hat is finally gone, the shadows of the sunset falling upon his skin. A little bit after golden hour, so the hues are softer.

She wants to simplify, but then again, that is not like herself. “—This—This I never thought I would have to go through. Sometimes, I just think you’re in my imagination, like you are not there. And I am not blaming you, but we both know that…that being around one another is almost impossible. You’re there, I’m here. There’s nothing we can do about it.” Now that she has spoken her mind, she realizes just how much of a dream everything has been. Not because of its sense, for she feels like what they are is nonsensical at this point, but because it rushed. There are gaps in between them, plots that have yet to be written and they do not have the time to do anything about it. Their romance is a writer’s hatred plotline, where they sit down and write certain scenes before abandoning them once again.

The man straightens his back, taking off her cap and putting it to the side before sighing. “I think I can do something about it.”

“No, Chanyeol, you can’t!” She adds with a smile, although her heart and head were hurting at that exact moment. “We both know that we only see each other for a period of time before we spend months away. It’s—And your publicists don’t even like me, so I am supposing you’re even going against your team.”

“Not all of them.”

“Huh?”

“Yixing thinks you’re pretty dope.” She scoffs at the sound of his words. “Quoting him. He just thinks you’re great.”

“Your team, minus one person, hates me.”

Chanyeol moves forward, his big hands reaching for her face to cup it in between his fingers. His thumb comes to caress her bottom lip, his eyes studying her every expression like he always does. She wants to continue talking, ramble about how she thinks they should quit it—the least she wants is to fall harder for him, only to end up heartbroken, but Chanyeol doesn’t listen. The man moves forward, wetting his lips before pressing them against hers. Maybe, his kisses show everything that he has managed to understand about her in the little time they have spent together, or perhaps he is just made for her body. He kisses her like how an artist would do to their muse, with one of his hands trailing down to the small of her back to push her forward towards his strong chest. His cupid’s bow grazes her lips before diving in once again, with certainty and all the fervor that is needed in a kiss. An expert, he is.

“Don’t shut me up when I’m talking to you.” She tells him in between kisses, feeling him walk her backwards, past the glassed doors that lead to the balcony (making sure to close them behind him), before letting her rest against the mattress. She lifts herself up on her elbows, and maybe she thinks this position was actually led by herself. Damn her for even putting her hands under Chanyeol’s shirt.

Chanyeol, however, takes her by her calves and drags her towards the edge of the bed, placing himself in between her legs to grab her by the neck and kiss her again. He doesn’t last long before he replies: “I didn’t intend to shut you up. I just really wanted to kiss you and I am not letting you regret anything that we have gone through.” Those words make her smile, because Chanyeol has tried his best to keep them together and although uncertainty is what she would call what they have, it feels like the best love affair that she has ever had. “Sorry if I came off as rude.”

“You know what was rude?” Her voice is hoarse, now that she realizes. “Making me wait almost five months just to kiss me.”

Chanyeol laughs at her words, pressing his forehead against hers and watching as her hands trail up from his abdomen to his biceps, grabbing onto them softly. “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t want to make you wait that long…but I also didn’t wanna rush it.”

“Well, you got that right. I don’t like rushing through things.”

“I am not as dumb as you think I am.” The man adds before pressing his lips softly against hers. She continues to touch him, as if she is scared that she will ever forget the curve of his shoulders or the way his waist feels when she wraps his arms around it. The weight of his body leans her back against the bed, making her pull away to look into his eyes. “Too fast?”

“Too fast.” She continues, letting her fingers go through his hair before chuckling. “I don’t want to go all the way to town tonight, boy.” She jokes around, only to hear the sweet sound of his laughter.

“That’s good with me.” Ever so sweetly he adds before she takes her hand in between hers, touching his fingers and kissing his knuckles, only to show him affection. “We go at your pace. I don’t mind.”

“But we can do other things.” She answers, watching as he tilts his head to the side before Chanyeol chuckles at her words, shaking his head as he reaches for her face, pushing her cheeks together sweetly.

“You’re the boss.” The sound of his voice is comfortable, just how she feels around him, and he leans down to press a sweet kiss to her lips that soon after turns heated. This is what she always wanted, in the shape of a forbidden love, from a person that the next day will be miles away from her. But what are a few numbers when he treats her like so?

✈️

“Last time I knew, Cupid was long dead, honey.”

The feisty old lady that lives next door speaks to her as she carries a bag of groceries in one hand, looking down at her phone with the other as she looks at one of the many pictures that Chanyeol sends her when he can. After all, it has been a bit over a month since their Venice getaway and he has spent over a week without talking to her, so seeing a recording of him running his fingers through his newly dyed black hair makes her smile gleefully. He thought of her, even when she feels like she is forgotten at times. She jumps at the sound of the old woman’s voice, watching as she smokes a cigar in the hallway—like the uncaring woman that she is—.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson…Ah, nice to see you.” A long time ago, she has learned how to look at Mrs. Jackson in the eye after the many times that she has heard her through the walls. Absentmindedly, very accidentally, and regretfully. She greets her with the hand that holds her phone, receiving a quirked smile from the woman. “W-Why…? Why are you mentioning Cupid’s death?”

With another hit of the cigar, Mrs. Jackson gives a piece of her mind. “You’re smiling, but not the fake smile you give to the landlord.” Afraid of being caught, she feels heat radiating from her ears at the mere mention of her hypocrisy whenever she sees the landlord. Some people are just not of her liking, quite clearly, but she is not bad enough to say it straight to their faces. “What’s with the smile at your phone?”

She wants to talk about it as much as how she doesn’t want to. Chanyeol has been very secretive with this possible relationship that they have, and while they don’t necessarily give it a name, they have been very clear with what they feel. Chanyeol says he feels like he is falling for her, in one of the many calls they shared, and she talks about how she has never felt the way she feels for him with anyone else. Sehun, obviously, has made some comments while they are video-calling each other that they are basically a couple by now, but they don’t comment anything on it. “Just talking to…a guy, that’s all.”

“You? A guy?” Mrs. Jackson seems genuinely surprised. “I thought you weren’t into dating.”

“I…I am very picky, indeed.” She replies, putting her phone inside her pocket to look for her keys in her bag with only one hand. What a fucking curse.

“And does this guy live in the neighborhood?” Always asking the good questions, the nosy woman continues with her prying.

“No.”

“So he’s a foreigner.”

“Yes.” She chuckles awkwardly, finally catching her keys in between her hands before pushing them inside the doorknob, twisting them lightly to watch her door open.

Mrs. Jackson has finished her cigarette by that point, throwing it on the floor and stepping on it before opening her apartment’s door, as well. “I’m happy for you, honey.” The woman says, probably because she doesn’t remember her name. “That is the type of love a person wants. Sweet enough to induce diabetes. I hope he continues to make you smile.”

Although intentionally there to pry on her neighbor’s business, Mrs. Jackson ends it in a good note, making her smile in thankfulness. She thinks that, if given the chance, her relationship with Chanyeol would blossom beautifully, but she tries not to think of the inevitable ending in between the two. Is love really strong enough to keep two people together, even when they barely see each other? “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

She also hopes he continues to make herself smile, because if he ever so dares to break her heart, she doesn’t think she will be able to get out of it.

✈️

Madrid Fashion Week comes by, and she is not invited. Quite disappointing, really, but she has other works to attend to.

The world seems to fall into rhythm, finally, but the only part of her life that is either too fast or too slow comes from the man she has fallen for, Park Chanyeol. As expected, the man has his moment of bursting love and affection, practically telling her how much he wishes he could kiss her through a quick text or simply rambling to her about how much he misses her through video-call. Slowly but surely, she makes him a part of her daily routine; waking up to see where he is, making sure that she texts him at a proper time where she doesn’t interrupt his night of sleep—soon after, however, she is met with the reality that Chanyeol will never fall into the rhythm of her life. He won’t be in one place only, he definitely won’t be around for her to cuddle and kiss to her entire will. Chanyeol is a romance from far away, kissing her and coaxing her in love for a few days before they part once again, and she doesn’t know if that is the concept of love she had grown to dream of.

On the first day of Madrid’s fashion week, he says that he will send her a picture, but she is met with three days of complete silence. He updates his social media, he appears in interviews and the bitter taste in her mouth tells her that, for him, she will always be third or fourth place—not even second, because she would settle for someone that put their work first, and that is enough to make her feel hurt.

What happens to loving when the other person falls quiet?

A poem of Neruda is the first thing Jenn replies with. I like for you to be still or something else, that’s what she captures from what her friend tells her when she asks for advice, and it irks her terribly. Love shouldn’t be about silence; it should be about communicating even if it’s through a stare. It should feel like they were always in the same wave of feelings, not like she is constantly drowning while swimming towards the expensive ship where Chanyeol stands. She has gone weeks without hearing about him, but it hurts more whenever she gets closer to Chanyeol.

She taps her nails against her counter, watching the movement as she hears her phone ringing. Perhaps, she needs to hear her voice, or she finally needs to speak on the subject. Of course, she doesn’t want him to pick between his job and her, but she wants a little bit of commitment. For him to care, for him to try, for him to give her a space that isn’t worth a few hours every few months. She doesn’t deserve it, or at least she feels like she doesn’t. At first, he doesn’t pick up and five calls later, does she really get to hear his voice.

“Sorry. I am at a party, what’s up?” Chanyeol asks and she hears the sound of music in the background, somewhat muffled because he must have moved to somewhere quiet. Her anger boils; perhaps because she drank a glass of soda that was too sweet, or because she hates hiding the only person that she would dare to call a boyfriend. She despises that Chanyeol doesn’t give her a spot in his life, or that it is miniscule in comparison to everyone else.

“Didn’t you forget something?”

“Ah…I don’t think so.”

That’s it. If she could, she would throw the nearest slice of food to his face, if only she was in that party and not as far away as she is. “Well, you didn’t answer my text…that I sent you four days ago, don’t you remember?” The tone of her voice is the pettiest she can get, almost to the point she spits venom to the man. Chanyeol sighs deeply, and she imagines him in the bathroom crossing his arms over his chest while leaning against a wall.

“I am really trying.” And she knows, but sometimes she wishes that he would have his priorities straight. She doesn’t ask for much, perhaps a small message that tells her that ‘he is busy, and will answer her later’, but that never comes. For all she knows, he could have gotten his phone stolen, or he could be dead. There are a hundred possibilities, and none sound better than the last one. “But be a little bit more patient.”

She scoffs at that. “More patient? Chanyeol, I literally respond the second you send me a text and you take days to even consider telling me that you were busy. Don’t you think that’s unfair for me?” Now she is angered, trying to cover it up as much as she can, but her hands start to shake at the fire that she feels radiating from within.

“You need t0 understand. I am at a party right now and it’s really important for a makeup campaign I will be working in the next year—”

“I get it. I really do.” She interrupts him, wanting to be heard once in her life from the time that they have known each other. “All I am asking is just a heads up. That’s all. I have been worrying shitless about you—”

“Okay, yes, sorry. There you go.” He responds quickly, like he doesn’t mean it, and lately she feels like that is the way she would describe what they had. The more she spent thinking to herself what Chanyeol must think of her, she always convinces herself that he doesn’t mean anything that he has told her. The kisses are there to scratch an itch, he tells her that he likes her and that he loves all those things about her because he wants to sugarcoat her and the moment their relationship became serious was wonderful, but still…they hadn’t even seen each other since.

“Don’t give me that half-assed apology.”

“God! What kind of apology do you want, then?! I am being genuine!”

“I want you to feel what I feel. You don’t know how it’s like—”

“Yes, of course I know! I am also part of this relationship, if you don’t remember!” The man seems to have lost his poise, raising his voice in tone before he groans softly, lowering the sound of his voice. She’s baffled, thinking of what had made them break—but she can’t live with that uncertainty, the insecurity that comes with not knowing if he is fully in this relationship or not. “I have my dream to take care of! I haven’t even seen my family in months. Do you think I have the time to text you every time?! I try, I really do!”

Of course he does, she knows it, but all she wants is for him to take her more seriously. She doesn’t think it’s too much that she is asking for right there. “It shouldn’t be me always looking for you like a puppy! You’re not better than me because you’re rich and important and famous—” Deep within her, those facts had bothered her for long enough. Maybe, that was the reason behind their first fight. Chanyeol is famous, she is not. Chanyeol travels the world, while she mostly stays in her hometown. Chanyeol is surrounded by people who could take him away from her at any given minute, and she feels like they could.

“Who’s even talking about that? Of course I don’t think of you as some puppy!”

“I’m talking about you, because it’s never about us when it comes to our conversations.” She spits out, standing up from her seat to walk around the room to stop her freakishly racing heart. “How do you think it makes me feel that I am always the one that goes to you, and it’s never the other way around—”

“Listen, let’s talk about this—”

“And I understand your situation with your family. I am not even mentioning your family here.” Now, she is tired, like she has been drained of all the energy and instead, she has been hit by a big set of news. She feels like she can’t do it anymore, like Chanyeol will always be a thousand miles away and she will always be waiting for him. “…You know what, Chanyeol? I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can live with this fear that you’ll leave me at any given second. I don’t want to feel like I am the last option on your list.”

Chanyeol sighs deeply. “You’re never the last option, but this year has been so difficult for me. I only ask for more time.” The man complains, only to have her rubbing her face out of distress. She feels a headache coming up already, if it wasn’t there to stay. “And the least I want is for you to feel like I will leave you. I promise that all I think about is you. And us. It’s not always about me.”

“It damn right feels like it.”

“I’ll take a flight to your hometown if that’s what it takes then. After this fashion week—”

“I just don’t want you to come up with those ideas because you have to, because I am mad. I want you to think of it seriously.” She replies, voice softer now that she has calmed down, although she feels like she might have a heart attack right there. “And let’s be honest…your life can only get busier from now on, and as much as it hurts me, I think something needs to change.”

Once again, he seems to be stuck in whatever is his limbo. “I am trying.”

“Well, you don’t need to try anymore.” The sound of her voice breaks her heart, aching to be loved and respected, aching for the affection that she feels like is neglected from her. Is it being too damn needy to want him by her side? Is it a problem? Is she the problem in this relationship? “I feel like we should break up.”

“What?! No.” Chanyeol replies quickly. “You’re just angry-thinking. I am sure we can get through—”

“Through what? Long distance that will always be there because you live in hotels and I don’t?” Her voice is hoarse, closing her eyes tightly as she remembers that night they shared together in Venice. “It hurts me as much as it hurts you.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” For a moment, she thinks she hears his voice becoming unclear, much more nasal than it has ever been. Was he crying, perhaps? Why does she feel like there is a dagger going through her heart? “It’s sad, really. I am actually trying for you—”

“I know.”

“Then what is the problem? I’ll get better.”

“That I don’t want to try anymore.”

The worst part was that even months after their break up, she thinks of his gaze, like a dagger that has cut right through her chest.

#chanyeol scenarios #chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #kpop scenarios #writing #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol au #exo fluff #exo angst #exo au #runway model!chanyeol #also this idea obviously came from the what a life promo and everything according to that era #yes love blonde chanyeol please #also gimme some feedback if you read!!! i'd appreacite it so bad!!!#also very long but i am Not Surprised

194 notes · View notes