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#they cant write or really read anything but a few letters yet

antiwhores · 2 years

Note

I really loved ur short story ‘Bakugou’s game’ I would love to see a part 2 of it. Maybe a few months later or something reader is trying to get over bakugou and is really cold to him when he tries to fix their relationship and he sees her at a party with a date and he gets super jealous and possessive after seeing them together. Which leads to make up sex and hopefully reader giving bakugou a chance to make it up to her. Or be totally angsty and make reader pull a uno reverse of him.

Bakugou’s Game: Part 2.

Requested by: @jasmixs @ooftrain-12 @tsukikoxo @coffeeginie

Part one: https://antiwhores.tumblr.com/post/693877274172440576/bakugous-game

Sorry this shit took so long frfr. Ive been SO busy lately to the point its actually insane. Havent had time to even write a sliver of this. Yall probably lost interest but ill post it anyone out of respect for the og request

Warnings: Jealousy, minor violence (reader slaps bakugou again LOL L bozo), rough sex, creampie, happy ending and shit, make up sex, NOT EDITED - BARE WITH ME HERE.

Bakugou was misreable without you, the break up eats him away until he forced himself to go out to speak to you.

Bakugou never understood the idea of someone being so sorrowful about a break up that they forget their pride and beg for the person back. That is, until now. He’s starting to understand why people take break ups so badly. Cause he’s taking it badly.

Everyday is a new thing to notice. Everyday is a new thing he didn’t even know he was used to after dating you so long gone.

When he came home to his apartment you weren’t there to welcome him. When he walked past the bathroom you wernt there to sing horrible on purpose in the shower to annoy him. When he ate at the table you wernt there to tell him about your day in an exaggerated tone. When he sat down on the bed without changing you wernt there to yell at him for his outside clothes touching the clean mattress. When he spiced his food to hot you wernt there to dramatically cough and pretend to fall over. When he woke up in the middle of the night you weren’t there to tell him to “close them damn eyes again”.

Everything was different. He hasn’t moved a single bit of his furniture yet the house changed drastically.

He started to lack on his chores, throwing himself into his hero work. He exhausted his body to the point of throwing up. That and the combination of the lack of sleep and the lack of rest.

He had nightmares of how he acted. It would usually play out with you doing what he did to you. It was insufferable. Every single thing in his dream was something that he’s done before.

He looked down at his phone with his newly founder insomniac eyes.

Doll, Im so sorry. It will NEVER happen again. Im a fucking idiot and I’d do anything to make it up to you. Please just respond back.

Read 34 days ago

Y/n, I see you reading my texts. Just please let me apologize.

Read 33 days ago

Do you still want that car? I know you told me to not buy it but I’ll order it without a second thought if you talk to me. Please.

Read 32 days ago

Okay, Im sorry about the car thing. That was weird. I don’t think you’re a prize to be won with money. I just want you back.

Seen 31 days ago

Stopping by your house today, I need to see you.

Seen 29 days ago

Im sorry. I can’t loose you y/n. I cant.

Seen 27 days ago

My mom is so mad at me. I dont blame her, loosing you is like loosing half of my heart.

Seen 25 days ago

Its been so long since I’ve lived without you I dont know how to do its

Seen 23 days ago

Please love me again.

Seen 22 days ago

I know you see these. Do you enjoy seeing me like this?

Seen 19 days ago

I love you.

Seen 16 days ago

No other person will ever count to me. That stupid bitch at the bar is nothing compared to you. None of them are.

Seen 15 days ago

I left a letter under your mattress. Please read it.

Seen 12 days ago

Coming to your house tomorrow, I really need to see you. I’ll do anything.

Seen 9 days ago

The notes still here, you really break my heart. You know that?

Seen 8 days ago.

I still love you.

Seen 5 days ago

Ill fucking never look at another girl again. Swear.

Seen 4 days ago

I love you even more today

Seen 2 days ago

Whenever you’re ready.

Sent just now.

It was true, you read every single text. You read them almost 10 times over. You weren’t ready to respond.

At first, Bakugou’s texts confused you. This was against his pride. He would never suck up to you like this. So you laid it down to drunk, sad, sleepy, and/or desperate texts. It wasn’t his character so naturally you went looking for answers.

The last month has been terrible for you too. You were staying at your bestfriends house, who was GLAD to have you.

You avoided everything that mentioned him. News, certain social media platforms, public areas, etc. if it wasnt for your friend, you wouldve never gone out.

After that last text he stopped reaching out for the coming months. Things were peaceful, you were okay.

You hadn’t gone back to any club/parties since the incident. But your friend, being a party person, forced you out to a nearby club. They also made you agree to going with this guy, whatever his name was, to have a little blind date. Your friend figured it’d been a couple months and you needed to touch some bitches. You were against it, still getting over Bakugou, but they used the favor you owed them to seal the deal.

So now you found yourself at the club, chatting with a guy at one of the booths. He was actually tolerable, not your type romantically, but someone you’d be friends with. You supposed that the first step to a relationship was being friends so you continued to persue.

He was rather handsome too, not godly handsome like your ex- you needed to stop doing that. Comparing everyone to Bakugou is whats gonna make you single for life. Bakugou was not an easy man to pass.

You laughed at his joke as he continued to tell it. “Yeah man, she was crazy! She ended up calling my mom and telling her that I had set the house on fire! My mom was worried to death! Then she hit me after she found out the house was okay like I told her!”

You shook your head, “Exes man, I swear!” He leaned down towards you, “You got any exes that make you want to start a war?” You immediately nodded, “My last ex was a handful.” “Did he tell your mom you set the house on fire too?” You laughed, “Nahh, thatd be so much easier to manage. My ex, well, he-“

Prying red eyes watched you from the corner of the room. Bakugou didn’t even wanna come to this club tonight. He was, like you, forced to come out of pity of his friends. To think he could’ve missed the chance to see you and this guy flirting and laughing together.

It could be a close friend, maybe a relative, he didnt know. He wasnt close enough to make oht a single word. There was some part of him that aas glad for that nad another part that was incredibly annoyed.

No matter who it was, Bakugou’s hands started to smoke up. His teeth gritted hard against eachother. While he was moaping and suffering you were over here on what looks like a date?

It took everything in him to not just stomp over there and drag you away from the piece of shit. He was glad he hadn’t enough alcohol in him to follow those urges… to a degree.

So he waited. He waited for an opportunity. And he sure as hell got one.

“Oh!” You gasp at the ringing of your phone. You tilt the screen towards you before looking back up at your date with apologetic eyes. “Sorry, I absolutely need to take this!” He laugh, “its okay!” His back cracks when he lifts his arms to stretch. “I needa go to the restroom anyway!”

You smiled that smile that he loved. The smile that should only be directed at him. Not at some random guy you just met.

He stalked carefully behind the guy until he was walking into the back hallway with him. The guy barely had a chance to comprehend a single thought before he was slammed up against the wall with his shirt fisted by the blonde.

The man looked startled and freightened. Who wouldnt be? Bakugou’s stare was one to rival Medusa’s. He felt frozen by the pure hatred glazed over.

“What the hell are you doing with y/n.” The sentence came out between his teeth. The man put his hands up defensively, “Aye man, we’re just on a blind date!”

Bakugou’s palms sparkled threateningly, “Im gonna give yoh one chance,” He leaned down to be exactly in the guys face, “Fuck. Off.”

That was all the guy needed before he was out of the door and on his way home. An immediate wave of relief washed over him at the thought of the date finally ending. The positive emotions quickly disappeared at the sound of a famiiar voice, his favorite voice. “Seriously?”

He snapped his head over to look at you. You were even more heavenly up close, just as he remmebered but better. Your arms were folded and you looked at him with such disapproval that he wanted to immediately crawl to his knees and apologize.

“We’re not even fucking dating anymore. You just chased off my date.” He winced, “Fuck.” You scoffed at his curse to whomever. “I should be saying that not you. Leave me alone, asshat.”

Before he could stop himself he had grabbed your arm and pulled you into the closest vacant guest room. He pinned you against the doorway. You were wide eyed and your mouth slightly open. It had happened in an instant, so fast your brain was still trying to comprehend him grabbing your wrist.

Bakugou bit his lip so hard you thought it would bleed. He didn’t know were to start. This day had been rehearsed in his mind over and over again. Yet the words, the speeches, and the numerous i love you’s were gone.

“Im sorry.” Was all he could get out. Your eyebrows furrowed when he mumbled the words. He snaked his hand around your waist as he whispered in your ear. “Im sorry. Im sorry, swear on it y/n. Talk to me again. I miss you. I’m sorry.”

His head dove into your neck, kissing and sucking on every sensitive spot he gained access too. You didnt even have time to gasp before his thigh pried both your legs open. He grinded the muscle against you.

It took everything in your being to not just give in and let him pleasure you. The resolve in your head, the one that told you that him acting like this is conmmunication is what ended the relationship in the first place, slapped the hell out of you though.

His face broke as you roughly pushed him away. He whimpered while trying to trail his hands on his belt to unbuckle it.

The skin of your palm met his face quickly. He completely stopped this time. The sound of the slap reverbing in his head along with the sting. Not just the sting of the slap, but the sting of knowing he fucked up again.

“Have you learnt anything?!” You yelled, tears brimming in your eyes. “This is the reason we broke up! You can’t resolve everything with sex!” You jammed your finger into his chest, “Start thinking with your head instead of your dick! After all this time, I thought you changed. Im so ignorant.”

You turned to leave out the door. Bakugou saw everything flash before his eyes. He saw the relationship you and him had before. He saw the relationship you could have now. And he saw the relationship that fucked up and now has fucked up his life.

“I dont know HOW!” He didn’t mean to yell, really. But something just snapped in him. You stopped to listen so he continued. “I’ve spent the last several weeks missing you. I never even realized how much I fucking… damn it!”

The knot in his throat was getting tighter. You hadn’t turned around yet. “But I just dont know how…” His voice broke halfway through the sentence. He wrapped his arms around you. You felt no lustful intent, only the desire to hold his #1. “I only know how to show my love through fucking. I can be more open! I just dont know how!”

He started to shake, squeezing you even tighter. After a long while, you finally spoke.

“Then I’ll teach you how.” He looks up in bewilderment, is this you forgiving him? In one swift movement you pushed yourself towards him. You grabbed his worried face, tilting him up to look you in the eyes. He was panicked, a panick you’ve only seen a few times since knowing him. “But for now, tell me how you feel in the ways you understand.”

He seemed confused when your hands encircled around his belt and snagged it off. “What? Wait-“ you cut him off with a hefty palm on his clothed cock. His breath caught into his throat. He barely chocked back the moan that you attempted to tear from him as you dove your hands under his pants. He was puzzled, yet his arousal and the feels of your hands encircle around his throbbing cock hypnotized him.

Instinctively, he reached between your legs to rub you in return. He whined when your hand gently pulled his away. “I’m okay, you just focus.”

Easy for you to say, he thought, or atleast tried to. It wasn’t easy to focus on the situation when you began to pull his cock out and rub it against your entrance. It felt too good. It had been too long. Too long having to rub himself out to a picture of you. The real deal felt euphoric.

His hips bucked into yours, starting at a brutal pace. He picked up your legs to give himself more range. The sounds of skin on skin were loud, not as loud as the combined sound of the moans and groans you both chocked out, but loud.

He tilted his head back, his whole chest was flushed a deep red. He cursed into your neck where he had begun to lick and suck. “Damn it, I-I missed you.” Your whole body tensed when he angled himself to hit that spot deep inside of you. It was your turn to curse.

“I just- these past couple of weeks- nghhh… ive been- I cant live without you alright!” His thrusts picked up, “I regret everything I have ever done to make you upset- hhhnnm…”

Tears well up in your eyes when you start to reach your orgasm. You weren’t gonna last long either. Like him, the sensation was a lot after being away from eachother so long. He had forgotten his strength as he thrusted into you so hard you wouldn’t doubt if angry bruises were already forming.

“Katsuki… I love you,” You whined desperately. He started to unwind, tensing and untenseing, when you came around his cock while moans spilled through your mouth. It almost hurt how stong the orgasm was. Almost.

He bite into his lips so hard it began to draw blood. “Fuck, I love you too y/n! So fucking much!” With that he exploded inside you. His hot seed painted your walls without missing a single spot.

He slowly lifts you down to your feet, only to stabalize you when your knees buckle. He wrapped his arms around you, “I fucking missed you.” You breathed in deeply when he kissed at your temple, “I missed you too Katsuki.”

280 notes · View notes

davepetea · 2 months

Text

((just ranting abt writing fanfics you can ignore me lmao. I'm just in a weird place atm but I'm feeling kinda passionate abt writing rn so I'm gonna vent

originally I wrote a lil of this in the tags but then decided to just chuck it under a readmore so people aren't subjected to it against their will. then it got really long.

I'm not actually expecting anyone to read this im just sorta venting to myself. it helps me get my thoughts sorted if I write them down. I can also look back through my #.vat file tag in a few years from now and hopefully be like "wow I'm doing so much better than THAT now", so if that's the case, hi future Vatta! I hope you're having a good day. and if you're not future me, then I still hope you're having a good day, I love you, and this is your chance to turn back bc my rants are boring and LONG

(not turning back yet? ok. your funeral)

so, I haven't been online much bc I've just been in a weird limbo lately and I'm really busy when I'm at home either sorting stuff out or, with my PDA, doing anything I can to avoid my responsibilities lmao

I've been rereading my Tokyo ghoul light novels (I only have Void and Days ? I think they're called), rewatching Zankyou no Terror, and Bungou Stray Dogs (plus the live action Beast film which was? hilarious but I don't think it was supposed to be), and just suffering lmao

(you're still here? wow. you need a hobby. jk. ily)

I've been locked out of the systems at work for a bit, but I still need to be there and wait for the IT ticket to be sorted, so I've gotta be at my desk, cant have my phone or anything, so instead of sitting there doing nothing, I've either been reading, doing codeword puzzles, or I've been writing up 'drafts' for potential fanfics.

in this year of our sufferer 2024. I've been writing up some self indulgent homestuck college AU lmao. I've written over 60 sides of a5, (not inc the inbetween sections where I wrote some stuff on the chromebook at home) some notes, some accidental first draft, bc I wanted something to take up the time. but my handwriting is terrible, I don't write fast enough for my brain, I have a lil dyslexia so the letters and words get jumbled sometimes, and I have this weird thing where I don't do spaces right. but I've been trying to upload it to Google docs with Bixby's photo text extraction. it's pretty good considering how bad my writing is, then I just need to go through and touch it up, the main issues are things like names, there's some letters I do weird like my v turns into an r, or every p it thinks is a capital, but overall. amazing how technology do that.

(see my long ass rambling isn't just confined to venting. I also pretend to write actual things. you can still leave you know. I'm not holding you hostage until you read all this. you have free will)

can't remember how I ended up back in fanfic hell but I read back through like all my old published fics (aside from the cringe ones I orphaned) and the writing isn't terrible. I don't think I actually finished any of them though, which really shows my true nature lmao,,, but I've picked up a few things on my writing style now. and I've got a few things I see other people do that I wanna avoid bc I personally don't like it, and it's mostly about balance, like using names too often/not enough, being too descriptive like All The Time and making the writing really nice, but not much happens in the story so you take like an hour to read each scene, vs not enough description so everything is happening but you don't really get a visual or a breather to appreciate what's happened so far. I've been working on finding my right balance, which is imo easier if you're writing fanfic bc first up you hardly ever have to describe the characters. if someone's reading it they already know who they are. and for scenes you can take some inspo from the source material. does the original work put alot of effort into setting a cool scene? if not, then you don't have to either! if it's 90% scenery then you've gotta do it too I don't make the rules

I'm losing steam now I'm so sleepy and I've gotta go to work in a bit ugh.

(bet you're sleepy reading this too huh. told you it'd be boring)

I've been thinking about trying out writing some BSD fics but on an anonym not linked to my main Ao3, bc the themes are doozys and I kinda just wanna have the freedom of anonymity. also I'm a baby and if someone publicly criticises my stuff without it being a requested critique then it makes me bleh (I've had a few comments in the past of just general negatives, not even constructive feedback, not that I asked for any anyway...), but the abilities are tricky to write for, so it's effort lol

anyway I'm gonna stop now ive gotta get ready for work

(if you actually read this then thanks for going on this emotion deep dive with me. tune in next week when we'll get back to my usual mental breakdown)

#ooc post.#.vat file #genuinely I haven't been online on any blogs lately bc I'm doing. v bad. mental wise.#/rant off

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wincore · 4 years

Text

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

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

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

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

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

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

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

Do you love it?

Of course you fucking do.

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

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

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

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

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

You. You’re a big deal.

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

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

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

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

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

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

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

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

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

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

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

Joohyun shakes her head. “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least.

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy.

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement.

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so.

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot.

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course.

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s.

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell.

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness.

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive.

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are.

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime.

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places.

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time.

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.”

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous.

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him.

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps.

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing.

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze.

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns.

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you.

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could.

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough.

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this.

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head.

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty.

You were not one of them.

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation.

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it.

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it.

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line.

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.)

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate.

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit.

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear.

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused.

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception.

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong.

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly.

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown.

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little.

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard.

Secrets.

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it.

And perfection is your dear old friend.

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel.

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him.

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works.

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck.

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director.

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes.

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard.

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.”

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.”

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute.

“Sour.”

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays.

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that.

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models.

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration.

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too.

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.)

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore.

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave.

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not.

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said.

Why are those the words that make you worry the most?

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again.

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you.

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that.

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head.

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint.

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?”

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist.

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here.

Or is it him?

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile.

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response.

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit.

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling.

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you?

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes.

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours.

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be.

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit.

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then.

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you.

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even.

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny.

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid.

Afterparties are still not your thing.

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief.

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…”

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you.

“(name), thank you.”

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though.

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on.

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship.

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out.

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here. He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall.

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hyung—”

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

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.”

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

“That—”

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

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

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

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

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And a little bit about me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I certainly hope so.”

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

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

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crow-drawing-their-cards · 3 years

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Headcannons for the main 4(5?)

Mario, Luigi, Peach and Bowser + Jr/ Koopaling's as well. these are my personal headcannons and this is just for fun. what are your headcannons?

WARNING/TW/CW for: swearing, implied/bullying, scares, self-h*rm/depression

Mario (cis, He/Him, Straight)

- the reason his moustache is so different compared to Luigi's is because due to all the fights he gets in he doesn't brush it or his hair that often leaving it to get knotty

- his hair use to be curly but due to immense brushing and many fights over the years it turned straight

- social butterfly since he was born

- he loves adventure

- has many scars all over his body but he see's them as trophies/achievements then a bad thing

- he's not the best cook in the world but he can still make a few good things when he can (he has a MASSIVE sweet tooth and mainly makes deserts or sweeter things)

- he talks mainly English now but, due to Luigi speaking Italian at home, he does speak Italian at home but he's not limited to it

- he does welding! he can make beautiful sculptures and Peach has many in her royal gardens

Luigi (trans, He/Him/They, Gay)

- His hair is soft and fluffy with soft curls due to him not going on adventures much and he takes a lot of time for caring for himself

- he use to be a social butterfly but that got him the wrong attention and now has a pretty low self-esteem

- doesn't have the best way of coping with things and takes things to heart a lot (he has self-h*arm scares)

- he doesn't mind adventure its just that it drains him so much

- he and E.gadd stay in touch throughout the year for updates on King Boo and if there's anything that needs to be sorted (he goes to E.gadd if Polterpup is having issues)

- he loves to bake/cook! and he's really good at it. he cooks many types of meal but he likes to try and stay traditional

- he also does gardening and loves to talk about flower language

- he speaks only Italian unless there are guest/people he needs to talk to

- he also isn't the best when it comes to English and has some difficulty in writing and reading as well as some words he cant pronounce properly

- in fact he and bowser write letters to each other and he gets better over time (and flustered with how sweet Bowser is to him)

- loves dresses and will wear them when he can

Peach (cis, She/Her/They, Pan)

- although she normally has her hair out she loves to do many hair styles! space buns, braids and so many more!

- she's very open towards people but sometimes she just cant and has to take a break

- sick of Bowser's shit

- can speak English and Japanese and is now onto learning Italian (may or may not be to impress Mario ;)

- she's really good at baking. she and Luigi share recipes to try out

- she donates a lot of money to people in need (one of the main reasons most people like her, she's just really nice!)

- does rock climbing in her spar time (do NOT challenge her)

Bowser (cis, He/Him, Bi)

- #1 Dad

- his hair is a mess let me tell you

- brushing it out can take hours since he complains about it a lot

- may act tough but he's a softy

- when every he needs to take most of the kids somewhere he lets them climb on his back

- doesn't know how to cook anything more then a basic meal

- He's really good at English and is perfect at it. just don't let him write anything when he's tired it gets really weird (poor Luigi had to read some cryptic things)

- Kamek is his Dad and Kamek is also sick of his shit

- the spikes on his jewellery (?) are actually made of foam as to not hurt his kids when they go up to hug him

Jr (cis, He/Him, I don't think he knows his yet)

- C H A O S

- has too much energy and most people have trouble getting him to bed, takes about an hour or two

- Luigi can get him to sleep in about 20 minutes due to him swaying gently and humming

- he's really good at art! almost every form he can master

- he doesn't like most school subjects but he does like science, art and a surprise to most, maths!

- he and the koopaling's play pranks on anyone they can

- the koopalings are his siblings and their favourite song is 'Kidnap the Sandy Claws' from the Nightmare Before Christmas

And that's all for now! I hope you didn't mind the long post and how different it is compared to what I normally do here. if you have any questions or things you would like to add on please do so! (im really lonely please just say something)

#bowser #bowser jr #mario headcanons #luigi nintendo #luigi #mario nintendo #mario #peach toadstool #peach #koopalings #implied bowuigi #bowuigi #kamek #this was fun #please say hi

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all-hail-the-witcher · 4 years

Text

leaves

this started as a hc but turned into a long thing about geralt being a huge softie. enjoy.

___

jaskier collects leaves that he thinks are pretty during the fall and presses them in his song writing notebook so he can look at them during the winter when all the leaves are gone. and, he'd never admit this to anyone, but he knows exactly where each leaf came from, and what he and geralt were doing when he found them, so they help him stay close to geralt in the cold months when he's away at kaer morhen.

geralt doesnt understand the fascination cause “they're just leaves jaskier” and gets kinda grumpy when jaskier walks extra slow during the fall to admire and inspect the leaves. but he secretly enjoys the way that jaskiers face lights up in front of their camp fire at night as he shows geralt each leaf he collected that day and tucks them safely into the pages of his notebook.

jaskier used to show them to roach to inspect but after she ate a particularly beautiful one on accident he does not allow her anywhere near his precious leaves.

one year jaskier and geralt part ways a little earlier than normal, geralt deciding to begin the trek to kaer morhen sooner than he normally would due to a lack of contracts so jaskier goes to oxenfurt earlier as well. the leaves are just beginning to change color as they part ways.

a few nights into the journey geralt is making camp for himself and roach when he sees a bright red leaf sitting on the forest floor, exactly the kind of leaf that jaskier would pick up and admire and wax poetry about before tucking it into his notebook. but jaskier isn't there, and geralt feels a little pang. he glares at the leaf the entire time he's setting up camp.

the camp fire has burned down to the embers by the time geralt is ready to lay out his bed roll, but he can still see the leaf at the corner of his vision. he sighs and gets up, knowing that it will continue to bother him unless he does something about it. he picks up the leaf, brushes off the dirt far more lightly than he would ever care to admit, and goes to tuck it in to his saddle bag in the roll of parchment he keeps on the off chance he has to write a letter.

roach snorts at him. “shut up,” he mutters back. “its just a leaf.” roach nuzzles his arm. “no, i don't miss him. im just...bringing him a souvenir. we had to part early this year.” another snort. “yes, i know you know. but he didn't get to see the leaves this year. i don't want him to be disappointed.” roach headbuts him as if to say, you dumb witcher. geralt ignores this, but gives her some nice pats before retiring to his bedroll.

in the next town geralt buys a random book. he doesnt know what it is, he bought the cheapest one he could find. but he's not going to read it, he just needs something to keep jaskiers leaf in so it doesnt crumble to bits before the spring. he swears roach laughs at him for that.

throughout his trip up to kaer morhen, geralt finds himself progressively walking slower, taking time to admire the leaves as the bard had once done.

he picks up the second leaf a week later after a battle with some drowners. he’s heading back into the town, having come across his first contract in weeks, holding the head and covered in river muck and guts when he sees a perfectly yellow leaf on the ground in front of him. he picks it up gingerly, trying his very best not to get guts on it (and he nearly succeeds). if the alderman thinks its weird, a witcher coming back with a drowner head in one hand and a yellow maple leaf in the other, he doesnt say anything. roach does tho, whinnying the second she sees it in geralts hand. he ignores her, and presses the maple leaf into the book a few pages after the brilliant red one.

after that he adds to the collection more frequently. an reddish oak leaf he finds on the ground outside of a tavern, a brilliant orange leaf he finds at his campsite, a yellowish orange leaf the size of his face that he finds along the road and so on. roach makes fun of him every time he reaches for the book, but geralt ignores her. they're merely souvenirs for jaskier, nothing more.

collecting leaves slows him down considerably, but he cant bring himself to care. he's even disappointed when the last of the leaves disappear and the first snow sets in.

but that doesnt stop him from collecting things to add to his book. he gathers different small pine branches, holly leaves and other things that he knows jasper has never seen before because they grow too far north. he becomes so caught up in his hunt for interesting plants that the snow is already falling thickly by the time he reaches kaer morhe, despite him leaving for the keep so early. eskel and lambert chide him for being late, but he ignores them, happy that he managed to fill most of the book with leaves for jaskier.

that whole winter the book remains in the bottom of geralts pack, wrapped carefully in his spare shirt. he thinks about it often, but doesnt dare bring it out for fear that one of his brothers will catch him and make fun of him for being a sap. he's not a sap, he just found some leaves for his friend.

winter drags on far too long in geralts opinion and leaves as soon as the passes are clear, antsy to get back to his friend and give him the book. but on his way down he discovers yet another beautiful thing that jaskier would love: wildflowers. roach is slightly more appreciative of this because wildflowers are things that she is allowed to eat. geralt often feeds her them to see if she approves. if she spits it out or refuses to eat it, then it doesnt make it into the book.

in the space he has left in the book he fills it with wildflowers, sometimes going out of his way to collect them. there are buttercups, dandelions, little blue ones the color of jaskiers eyes, poppies, apple blossoms, daffodils, and even a few rose petals that he buys from a stall in a market. the book is brimming with nature now. he has to be careful not to lose any of his treasures.

finally, he arrives at his and jaskiers meeting spot. he stables roach who gives him a headbut of encouragement and he grabs the book carefully wrapped in his shirt before he makes his way to the tavern, suddenly very nervous.

jaskiers voice is already wafting out of the tavern as he draws closer, having beat geralt to the meeting spot for once, and geralt hesitantly steps inside, knowing jaskiers eyes will be on him the second he goes in. he’s overcome with thoughts, what if jaskier hates it? what if he thinks it's dumb? what if he laughs at him?

he enters anyway, because he's a witcher for fucks sake and he can handle his friends scrutiny. immediately he sees jaskier, sitting in the corner, working a crowd. as always, jaskiers eyes snap to him the second he steps foot in the tavern and he winks. geralt gives him the smallest nod and heads to his table in the corner after ordering an ale. he tucks the book out of sight on the bench next to him.

minutes later jaskier barrels over, eyes bright with the life of the crowd he had been entertaining.

“geralt!” he exclaims. “finally. i thought you stood me up, you big oaf. i never make it here before you do, i thought you may have been eaten! although im not sure by what exactly, i don't know what species has a taste for witches, dragons maybe? well never mind, youre here now and you better have a good excuse for being so late, even im starting to get bored of this town and you know how i love towns...”

geralt smiles into his ale, he missed this, but he'd never admit it. his eyes flick over to the book sitting on the seat beside him, unsure whether or not he should give it to him.

jaskier, being the observant fucker he is, notices. “geralt what do you have on the seat there? is it a monster head? you know what happened last time you tried to hide a monster head in a tavern, i thought the town would chase us out with pitchforks they were so angry! surely you wouldn't-”

“here.” geralt mutters, cutting him off, unwilling to listen to that horrible story.

jaskier stares at the lump of black fabric on the table. “geralt, why are you giving me your shirt? its not really my style, i’m not one for black really, makes my skin look too pale.”

“open it.” he says into his ale.

jaskier does, and stares at the book dumbfounded. “a history book? geralt you know that i am a master of the seven liberal arts, im a professor at oxenfurt! i have all these boring books in the library, i didn't need you to get me one, although it is very thoughtful of you to- oh”

geralt, tired of hearing jaskiers babbling, flips open the book, revealing the bits of nature he had spent their time apart collecting. jasper is silent, which geralt takes as a bad sign. maybe roach was right, maybe he didn't like it, maybe he'd wasted his time for nothing.

“cause you....you didn't get to see...the leaves this year,” he mutters, looking into the tavern, unable to see the inevitable disappointment on jaskiers face.

“oh, geralt,” jaskier whispers. “you collected all of these for me?”

geralt doesnt say anything, but his silence is enough.

“this is why you were late. you were collecting these, for me.”

“its okay if you don't..like them” geralt bites out.

“oh no no no no, geralt, they're wonderful.”

geralt looks at jaskier and sees him touching the pine branch he took form the trees outside kaer morhen, tears brimming in his eyes. “you don't hate it?”

“no, love.” jaskier smiles softly. “i adore it. and i adore you. and id love it if you tell me about all of them, please.”

for the first time in years geralt feels something like a smile tugging at his lips and he picks up the pine branch from jaskiers hand, telling him how it came from the tree outside his window, the one that he looked at everyday as a kid growing up. the same tree that lambert once dared him to climb and he nearly did before being spotted by vesemir and scolded at. jasper laughs and sniffs the pine carefully before placing the branch back in the book.

they pour over the book for hours at their table in the tavern. geralt cant remember the last time he's talked this much, much less about himself of all things, but jaskier is more than happy to listen.

if you want to be tagged in future works of mine shoot me an ask !!

#witcher #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #geraskier #greaskier fic #witcher fic #idk where this cam from but i vibe #if anyone wants to be tagged in my future rambings #please let me know #i hope you enjoyed this hc fic type thing #geralt is a huge softie and i love him #saph scribbles

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julie-thefatones · 3 years

Text

Ghost of You || Luke x Reader || Part 4

A/N: Your best friends with Julie, since the stamp was removed from the boys they are able to be seen by lifers at choice and can touch lifers at choice, but are still ghosts. You and Luke grow closer and closer starting to go from friends to more than that and everyone starts to notice, it just takes a little longer for you two to figure it out.

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

Side Note: The song that Luke "writes" about Y/N is in fact Moving Along by 5 SOS look it up its a good one

Word Count: 3,088

WARNINGS: 16+ (Sexual References)

It had been weeks since yours and Lukes encounter, in fact you guys have barely talked.... Anytime you guys hung out it was always with the group and only the group and every time he would barely even look at you, you didnt really know what to think of it .... you missed him, yeah you knew that it was gonna be different than before but not this different... You were walking out of 4th period when Carrie came jogging down the hall to catch up with you "Hey Y/N! im gonna walk with you" She said in her normal high pitched Carrie voice, you gave her a shy but inviting smile and then hugged your books to your chest, you hadn't really felt like your self since this whole thing happened, Carrie could see the sadness in your demeanor "Are you okay Y/N? you have been down for like..... weeks" Carried asked with concern, you kind of sighed because thinking about it was hard enough let alone talking about, but you thought your friend deserved an explanation, you glanced in Carries direction "Not really" you said with sadness in your voice "Me and Luke had an... incident so to speak a few weeks ago and it kind of caused a rift in our friendship and now he won't even look at me or talk to me....." you sighed and looked down at the floor "I miss him" you said in a barely audible sad tone, Carrie came closer to you and put a gentle hand on your back showing she cared "Can I ask ... what happened between you and Luke.... you guys were so close, like it was rare to ever see you guys not together" Carrie asked in a soft tone trying not to be pushy, you contemplated on telling her or not *What do I got to loose* you thought to yourself then stopped walking, turning to face Carrie

"Okay.... you just cant tell anyone okay" you said getting close enough to Carrie so that only she could hear what you were saying, her eyes widened with intrigue "Yeah, I promise Y/N" she said urgently to insure you knew that she wouldn't tell a soul "Me and Luke......" you started saying, then stopping to look side to side, to make sure that no one was listening to what you were saying, then looking straight back into Carries eyes "Me and Luke, almost slept together... like it was going to happen but then ... Alex and Reggie Poofed in and then it was a huge mess and then Me and Luke agreed to just be friends and now we are here" You said in a slight urgent whisper, Carries mouth was wide open with shock with her eyes bugged out of her head "Carrie?" you said widening your eyes in concern to why she wasn't answering yet "Carrie!" you exclaimed in hopes she would snap out of it "YOU AND LUKE WHAT!" she yelled in which you immediately slammed your hand over her mouth "Can you not yell maam" you said with tight lips and wide eyes, Carrie shook her head yes under your mouth and relaxed, you released your hand from her mouth in which she started talking instantly "Im sorry! you and Luke what? why am I just now hearing this" Carrie exclaimed in a whispered tone, you sighed and continued walking down the hallway, in which she followed after you "Because I didnt want anyone to know .... I didnt want to make a big deal.... especially since Luke isn't even talking to me ..... I don't know... I just really really miss him" You said in a melancholy tone, Carrie looked at you as if she was gonna say something and then Alex poofed in right in front of you and Carrie, stopping you both in your tracks "Woah! Hey Alex" You said in a high pitched tone, you thought you would be used to them popping in like that by now but you weren't "Luke misses you too! hes driving me crazy" Alex exclaims motioning his hands from his head like he is going out of his mind, You just look at Alex not really knowing what to say, Carrie just looking back and forth from you to Alex waiting for one of you to speak again, Alex continues on with his rant "Y/N! hes so mopey, hes just sitting around all day writing in his stupid freaking song book with his sad Luke face! and anytime I try to ask him to do something or ask him what wrong he just looks at me with that face you know that Luke face that is just like brooding and HIS LUKE

FACE!" Alex says in frustration all while pacing back and forth in front of you guys, messing with his hair in frustration and annoyance, and then he abruptly stops in front of you with wild eyes, grabbing both your shoulders "Y/N! you gotta go make up with him or something! I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE!" Alex exclaims, you had to admit this was slightly entertaining you couldn't help but chuckle, but then you sighed thinking about the *You gotta make up with him* part of what Alex said "Theres nothing to make up, we aren't fighting ..... we just ..... I guess aren't as close as we were" You said back to your sad voice , Alex rolls his eyes throwing his hands up in the air doing a slight twirl to face away from you and then a quick motion back to face you "BULL CRAP! YOU GUYS CANT GO FROM ALMOST BONING EACH OTHER TO NOT TALKING AT ALL THAT FAST!! YOU GUYS NEED TO TALK! NOW" Alex exclaims, now pushing you toward the door, Carrie just laughing and then following after to not miss anything "GET HIM OUT OF MY STUDIO, AND FIX HIM!" Alex continues pushing you out the door, him and Carrie just standing in the hallway looking out the door as you walk down the street in major confusion to what just happened, Alex sighs "I really hope I got through to her but wasn't like mean ya know" he says tilting his head to the side as he watched you walk away through the school doors, Carrie tilting her head in the same direction but snapping it up ward to look at Alex "No I think you did a great job! very well executed" She said with reassurance, Alex snaps his head up to look back at her "Thank you, ya know I just ..... I really want Luke out of the studio" He said bringing his hand to heart.

As you walked down the street you decided you weren't gonna go see Luke, it just felt too weird and you didnt want to impose, you just decided to go home... you just wanted to sleep! not talk to anyone or deal with anyone! just sleep! you thought to yourself....... your feet dragged you up the stairs into your room, you slammed the door and face planted on your bed when you noticed something in the corner of your eye... It was your guitar, Luke had kept it with him since he gifted it to you just to keep it safe, but there it was, with its own stand and everything, then you noticed a note sticking out of the strings, you quickly rolled out of your bed to stumble over and read it, you gently pulled the note out of the strings being careful not to damage the guitar in any way, the front of the note read To: Y/N you could tell it was Luke who left it there because of the awful, but cute hand writing, it smelled like him and you thought that was a weird thing to think but .... you missed that smell, you took a moment thinking about the last time you breathed in his scent.... flashing back to the night you guys almost..... you shook your head bringing your self back to focus and opening the letter

Dear Y/N,

Hey.... long time no talk eh? how are you? I don't know why im asking that this is a letter not a text message..... anyway! here's your guitar, figured it wouldn't be any good to ya if you didnt have it. It didnt have a strap or anything so I took the liberty of picking one out for you, I figured you would like this one it has checkers all over it, It will match your vans... and my vans too! thats pretty cool .... I almost bought one for my self I think still might, look at us matching guitar straps! Reggie is gonna be so jealous! Anyway, I hope your doing good ... Oh! and good luck on you French test! I know you were nervous about that, I know youre gonna rock it! you always do

-Luke

You closed the letter holding it to your chest and smiling, you lightly lifted the guitar strap with your finger to look at it, you chuckled noticing that you were actually wearing your checkered vans today. You removed your finger letting the strap fall gently back to place, you sighed curling your legs up to your chest. You remembered that the band had a show tonight... *Should I go?* you thought to your self... you initially thought you wouldn't go, but it would be nice to support your friends, and maybe you and Luke should talk *Okay Im gonna go!* you thought to your self confidently, but first you needed a nap.

It was 7:00pm, you arrived at the venue of the gig 30 minutes before their performance, the place was packed! you knew you should have gotten their earlier, but it was hard enough to get out of bed to get here... wasn't exactly easy for you.

You danced along with the bands that were on before Julie and the boys, you noticed Flynn and Carrie across the venue, they noticed you back waving their hands in the air in excitement for you to join them, You grow a big smile and excitedly run over to join them... you hug them in a greeting, and just then you heard the announcer say "Please put your hands together for Julie and The Phantoms" the crowd goes wild, Julie and the boys had become quite popular in your town, You, Carrie, and Flynn made it a point to be the loudest ones out of everyone though. Julie entered the stage, alone like she always did, she made her way over to the keyboard and sat down. She pressed one button on the keyboard in order for the boys to poof on stage, Luke immediately starts singing while simultaneously playing the guitar "Thinking bout you lots lately! Have you been eating breakfast alone like me! Thinking bout you lots lately Oh are you moving along!" You had never heard this song before, it must have been new, Luke played and sang effortlessly, you didnt really notice the lyrics until you noticed Carrie and Flynn looking at you with curious wide eyes, Luke sang with such passion in his voice, he always did but this time seemed different. When the bridge came Luke found you in the crowd his eyes getting big but then locking his eyes with yours as he sang, not breaking his stare, singing "Scared of moving on, but you're already gone So if you're moving on, won't you just tell me? Scared of moving on, but you're already gone So if you're moving on, won't you just tell me?" As soon as the bridge ended he broke your gaze, you shook your head in order to get your self to recover, you look over at Carrie and Flynn who were watching you for your reaction, you look back up at the stage, Luke and Reggie were doing their classic move of sharing the mic during the chorus, then Luke broke off, playing the melody on his guitar with such... what seemed like anger, or frustration. You started questioning if you should have even come tonight *Was this a mistake..... he looks mad* you thought to yourself, now biting your thumb due to your new anxiety toward the situation. When the song ended Luke shook his hair which was now damp with sweat, and then he stared at you, you couldn't tell what his emotions were at this moment.... *oh boy, how am I gonna make it through this night* you thought to your self.

The band had a great set, after the new song they played Finally Free, which was one of your favorites, then they did Bright. You were really proud of your best friend and how successful her and the boys were becoming. The whole event was over and the place was now pretty much empty, it was just you, Carrie, and Flynn waiting for Julie and the Boys to come out from the back. You were super nervous to see Luke, you didnt know what to say, was that song about you? you wondered to your self.... in the middle of your internal crisis you saw Julie coming from the back with Alex, Reggie following behind all smiling and then Luke shortly after them, he wasn't smiling though, he was just anxiously messing with the hair behind his head. Carrie and Flynn ran up to Julie to give her a hug to congratulate her on the show, you broke your gaze from Luke in order to do the same, you quickly ran over to give your best friend a hug "Congrats Jules! that was an amazing show!" you exclaimed and then motioned to the boys "All of you!" you said looking at all of them, and then setting your eyes on Luke just a little longer than everyone else, he just shyly smiled in response "Thanks Y/N!" Reggie Exclaimed "Did you like the first song? Luke wrote it about you!" Reggie continued with a big smile and a slight chuckle at the end, Lukes eyes widened with annoyance, Alex just turned slowly to face Reggie, his eye twitching in the process, Reggie just looked confused at both of them "What? was she not supposed to know" Reggie asked like he really didnt know, You just stood there shyly, not really knowing what to say, Carries eyes widened "Well!! Flynn! Julie! Alex! and Reggie! I think there is something over here you guys should see its really cool?" Carrie said breaking the awkward tension, or trying to at least, motioning everyone in to the other side of the venue in order to give you and Luke some privacy "Why whats over here?" Reggie asked confused, in which Alex pulled his arm with annoyance rolling his eyes "Just come on reg!" Alex said with a frustrated tone pulling him in the direction Carrie was leading everyone. Soon enough they all disappeared behind a curtain on the other side of the venue, You turned to look at Luke who had his hands in his front pockets, he looked up to make eye contact with you, a half smile appeared on his face as you guys shared a look, you couldn't help but smile a little too. Luke lifted one leg up and then hoped forward to get closer to you "Soooo....." He said as if he didnt know what to do next, You put your hands in your back pockets, then motioned your shoulders forward a little "Sooooo" You echoed back to him, he chuckled "Did you like the show?" He said motioning toward the stage, you nodded your head yes "Yeah!! you guys rocked it as usual" You said, you felt awkward because you had so many things you wanted to say but you didnt want to overwhelm him or feel like you were over stepping, He made a slight whistle shaking his head yes then looking down at his foot which was resting on its heel motioning side to side, "Was that song really about me?" You blurted out with out even thinking, or realizing what you were doing, Luke froze and then looked up with wide eyes, his lips still pursed from whistling and then he relaxed his position putting his foot down and removing his hands from his pockets "Okay, we're just gonna jump right into it..... yeah! it was" he said with a slightly frustrated tone, you bit your lip not really understanding "Wh- why?" you asked truly wondering why he wrote it, you guys both agreed to be friends and you guys never dated so what was there to move on from, he looked at you scrunching his eyebrows together "Why?" He said back confused to why you were confused, you don't know why but you were getting angry "Yeah!" You said throwing your hands in the air "Why Luke! Why everything! Why have you been avoiding me! why have you been so absent!!!" You exclaimed, starting to tear up "So what we almost slept together! BIG DEAL! THAT DOESNT MEAN YOU HAVE TO CUT ME OFF! THAT DOESNT ME YOU

HAVE TO

TURN AWAY FROM ME!" You didnt realize it but you were yelling, tears were streaming down your face, you wiped your tears with the sleeve of your jacket "I missed you so much..... so much Luke..... so yeah why?" you said softer with a crack in your voice, Luke bit his lip in frustration "You wanna know why?!" he exclaimed moving one step closer to you "Because you mean more to me than I could ever imagine someone meaning to me, youre the most amazing person I have ever met!" He exclaimed, now him growing tears in his eyes "AND WHEN YOU KEPT SAYING WE'RE JUST FRIENDS IT EFFING BROKE ME INSIDE BECAUSE IM SO IN LOVE WITH YOU THAT IT HURTS! OKAY! THAT THE FACT YOU DONT WANT ANYTHING MORE THAN JUST FRIEND SHIP KILLS ME INSIDE! SO YEAH I AVOIDED SEEING YOU BECAUSE EVERYTIME I SAW YOU THE PAIN WAS UNBEARABLE BECAUSE ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS GRAB YOU AND HOLD YOU IN MY ARMS AND CALL YOU MINE!" He yelled, grabbing his hair in frustration "There ya go! thats why!" he exclaimed finishing his statement, You stood there gathering the ends of your jacket sleeve in your fists, looking at Luke with red puffy eyes, and before you could respond Luke picked up his guitar, wiped his eyes and poofed out.

#Luke Patterson #Luke Patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #Luke Patterson fanfic #Luke Patterson fan fiction #Jatp luke #jatp Luke fanfic #jatp Luke x reader #jatp Luke x y/n #Charlie gillespie #Marys fanfic #Charlie Gillespie luke

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

Text

Easy As A-B-C

Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x Reader

Summery: Professor Lee is getting sick of marking papers, you offer an alternative. One where he doesn't need to think at all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected sex, bimbofication (without hypnosis), oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, light dom/sub dynamic, dom!reader, sub!Gwil, overstimulation, maybe a little bit of hair pulling

Words: 4,537

A/N: This was massively massively inspired by my love @dracoladon and her Drarry fic Lucid (seriously, go read it because she’s a much better writer than me and also sex dumb Draco is hhhhhhh). Reading it made me want to write more himbo fics but without all the hypnosis stuff thats in my Future Management series. Then I got talking to @peachydeacon about himbo!Rog which led to talking about himbo!Gwil and this fic is the result of our discussion lmao. It was also partly inspired by a post on a porn blog that popped up on my dash but I can’t link to that because tumblrs dumb.

Also, it is a professor gwil fic but set after reader has graduated so it’s all above board lmao

Blurb Advent: Day 24

Taglist: @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

Gwilym looked unreasonably hot while he was grading papers, his brow knitted, wearing a look of serious concentration made all the more noticeable by the reading glasses sliding down his nose. His loose tie and the undone top buttons of his business shirt lent him a casually dishevelled air, and that wasn’t even mentioning the way he absentmindedly twisted his pen between his fingers as he read and reread sentences he was struggling to understand, occasionally pausing to underline something or write a note in the margins. It all painted a very sexy image, the kind of serious sexy only a professor could achieve, though this sexiness was nowhere near new. You’d found his manner oddly arousing even when he’d been your professor. Of course, that had been a few years ago and well before you’d had your chance encounter in the local second hand bookstore that led you to ask him out. He’d stuttered out something about never having even thought of you as more than his student and “really I feel almost as if I’ll get in trouble for the conversation as soon as I get back to campus.” But the awkwardness soon changed when you confessed to having had a minor crush on him back in the day and having since hoped to run into him. He seemed more open to the idea of dinner with you after that and, if you were being honest, more cocky too, but cocky in a decidedly dignified and charming way. Anyway, one thing led to another and now here you were somewhere close to a year and half later and you were struggling not to stare at Gwil as he graded papers and looked professor-ally disarrayed and hot.

You knew it was something to do with the Romantic era poets that the students had to write about because he’d read a question out to you earlier to get your opinion of if it was confusingly worded. “No, I don’t think so,” “Then why in god’s name do none of my students get it?” he looked about ready to hit his head against the desk until he passed out but he returned to the topmost paper with a sigh and ruffled hair from where he’d run his hand through it. That’s when you’d started trying not to stare. A tall order when all you could think about was dragging Gwil to the bedroom and ravishing him enough to make him forget all about John Keats and poetry and the English language itself. Not that that was exactly hard. No, Gwilym had a tendency to get a little dazed and confused when you really gave it to him. Sex drunk you’d decided to call it. A transformation that you quite delighted in witnessing and causing. Gwil was sharp as a tack usually, always ready with some obscure fact or quote from literature. It was part of what made him such a good teacher, his memory for all things bookish, as well as his approachable (if a little stern) demeanour and his determination to get the best from his students. But it wasn’t hard to shut down his brain, cloud his memory and entirely befuddle him. One time you’d snuck into the bathroom at the restaurant you’d gone to for dinner and poor Gwilym had become so spaced out he’d spilt half a glass of wine in his lap and then walked into the glass door as you left, even with you leading him by the hand. You supposed that what they said about great power and responsibility was true. All the same, it was a fun power to wield and you knew that, with the right sort of attention, you could have Gwilym babbling incomprehensible gibberish with no memory of what a poem even was, which was surely something he’d appreciate right about now.

You blinked yourself from your reverie as, finally, Gwil set his glasses aside and rose from his seat, groaning as he stretched out the stiffness in his back. He rolled his neck back and forth, your eyes following, before letting his shoulders drop and moving to sit next to you on the couch. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t read another word about Byron or I’ll loose it.” He sighed, draping an arm around your shoulders and leaning into your neck. “Byron? I remember that assignment. Everyone hated you for it,” His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, sending a tingle down your spine, “Well if this year’s lot is anything to go by, the feeling was probably mutual,” “Mmm, I remember one girl saying she was going to shove her copy of Don Juan up your arse if she didn’t pass,” He lifted his head again and laughed, “And yet my rectum remains Byron fee and no other injuries befell me, so either I taught you enough to get by or you were all a bunch of cowards,” “Bit of both probably. And why would this year’s be any different, huh?” “I don’t know, you haven’t read any of their attempts at cohesive analysis. Some of them are just throwing out terms like allusion and anapestic and personification all willy-nilly, clearly without properly understanding them. ” “I think you’re being too harsh on them. They’re first years after all and it’s not always easy to understand all that poncy poetical bullshit. Plus, you know it all already so of course everyone else seems stupid to you,” “Maybe,” he conceded, though it seemed to take some effort. “Honestly, someone should put you in their position, see how well you go with it,” “Yeah? And who would do something like that?” Gwilym laughed as you shifted to straddle his lap, accepting the kiss you offered, “You?” “Maybe I will. Spell personification for me,” “You know it’s not high school English, right. We don’t do pop quizzes on spelling and grammar.” “I know you don’t, but this is my subject and I’m testing spelling. Besides,” you let your hand drop between you, brushing lightly over the front of his pants, “I promise it’ll be fun.” Gwil gave a half-hearted eye roll, “P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, personification. D’you want me to use it in a sentence too?” You knew he’d get it right. Gwil always had been good at spelling off the top of his head which you supposed was a side effect of all his reading and the years devoted to the written word. But it was still a little annoying. Mostly because he was being a bit of a tool about the whole thing, but it didn’t help that you’d grown quite wet thinking about how you’d like to have him, like to turn him into the fucked out airhead you’d seen before. You shook your head and tutted at him as if he got it wrong. “No, that’s definitely it. I’ve just read it about a hundred times, I know I’m right. P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N,” he spelt it faster that time, trying to prove that you were wrong. “Try allusion for me,” “A-L-L-U-S-I-O-N,” Right again. You sighed as if you were disappointed. Gwilym raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “What about caesura?” “C-E-A-S-U-R-A,” The mistake was an easy one to make, two letters flipped around the wrong way, and you could tell he knew it was wrong as soon as he’d said it. He was surprised when you leant forward to kiss him again, cupping his jaw with one hand as you dropped the other and slowly pulled down the zip on his work pants. “But I fucked up,” he said softly, eyes still closed as you pulled away a few centimetres. You just smiled as you thought of a new word, “Anapestic,” It was another word Gwil had mentioned as seeing in his student’s essays so you knew it would be fresh in his mind and he proved as much when he spelt it, “A-N-A-P-E-S-T-I-C,” He was right of course, so you tutted and pulled your hand away from his crotch, grabbing his chin with your other and forcing him to look at you, “You can do better than that.” His features shifted at the sudden loss of contact, the look of concentration returned once more. If anything, your much closer proximity to the expression made him seem all the more hot but you resisted the urge to give in and drag him to the bedroom, curious if he’d catch onto your little game now and, equally so, to see if he’d play along, “Try Onomatopoeia.” A longer word gave him more chances to get things wrong but would his pride and his brain allow that? Apparently so. “O-N-O-M-” Gwil paused and thought for a second, his eyes narrowed as his looked at you, “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-I-A,” the last three letters were said with such deliberate diction that you knew he’d figured it out. “Good boy,” you said, letting your hands slip inside his undone pants to massage his dick. His hips jolted at the contact and he let his hands fall to your arse, squeezing. “What about, dactyl?” His reply was instant, unthinking, and totally correct, “D-A-C-T-Y-L,” You clicked your tongue condescendingly as you once again removed your hands from him. “Fuck,” “Well that’s what happens when you get things wrong, honey, and such an easy one too,” “I didn’t get it wro- fine, give me another,” You smiled, unable to hide how delighted you were that he was interested in following your rules, even if it was just his competitive streak rearing its head to show that he could out smart you, “Assonance,” Gwilym spelt the word slowly and carefully, making sure to only say one ‘s’ and to leave off the ‘e’. And you made sure to reward him for it, shuffling backwards on his lap so you could shimmy his pants down his thighs and wrap your hand around his cock. He raised an eyebrow at you but otherwise made no comment as he leant back in his seat to enjoy the attention. “Romanticism,” Once again Gwilym was careful with his spelling, intentionally replacing the ‘c’ with a double ‘s’ but that was the kind of behaviour you wanted to encourage so you kept stroking him off, twisting your wrist, dragging your thumb over his flushed tip. It must have felt good with the way he was sighing, shifting his shoulders as if to move his whole body closer to yours. “So clever baby, what about,” you paused, dredging up memories of poetry analysis and the words you used to have burned into your brain but which you’d not had much use for recently, “Enjambment” “Ummm, E-N,” Gwil hummed as you leant over him and let a trail of spit drip onto his cock, using your hand to spread it over his length, “Enjamb-ment, uh, E-N-J-A- no E, no A, M-E-N-T,” You leant into his ear and spoke softly, “That’s right, being so good for me, so clever. What should I do next though? Ride you? Or maybe suck you off? Or just keep doing this?” “Uh,” Gwilym shook his head a little as if to clear it, “mouth? Please?” “Of course, baby. If you can spell dissonance for me.” You were quietly confident that he’d get the spelling wrong, already noticing the first sign of his impending brainlessness, extra filler words where he’d normally not need them. It was funny though, usually he wouldn’t reach that stage until he was much closer to nutting. “D-I-S” he rushed through the first three letters and then stopped, biting his lip, “T-um, A-N-E-N-C-E.” You were sure the errors in that word were less intentional than the previous few and, as promised, slipped off his lap and settled yourself between his legs, pulling his pants off so he could spread them wider for you. You held eye contact as you let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing along a vein, though you couldn’t help but smile as he groaned above you. “Can you spell Decasyllable for me?” you asked before closing your lips around the head of his cock. “What? Oh, um, D-E-C-K- fuck,” he broke off as you swirled your tongue around his tip. “Fuck’s not a letter, baby,” you sank down on him again, bobbing a little lower. “I know, um, Deck-syllable, D-E-C-K-A-S-Y-B-L-E, I think. Is that right?” In answer you hummed and took him a little deeper, pushing his shirt up towards his chest. Gwilym took the hint and pulled it off before he grabbed your hair, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For a moment you just focused on sucking him off, listening to his shallow breathing and whiny groans. But you weren’t finished with your game yet.

“Epigraph?” you asked before bobbing down on him again, pushing yourself to take him deeper still. Gwilym remained silent as you gagged and pulled back from him again to breath freely. “Well?” “What did you say?” “Epigraph. Can you spell that?” He nodded as you resumed your bobbing, his hand grabbing at your hair, “E-P-P-E-G-R-A-F-F.” You hummed around him and his hips bucked up, pushing him further down your throat for a second. “No, don’t stop,” he whined under his breath as once again you let him fall from between your lips. “Sorry baby,” you wrapped your hand around his base and switched back to jerking him off, “you’re so hard though and I know you want to earn your orgasm like a good boy,” Gwilym nodded. “Okay, so spell meter,” “M- oh, I don’t know,” “You do know, baby, you just gotta try. Meter,” He scrunched his face up in thought, “M-E-E-T-R,” “See, I said you knew it, and you did it so well!” Gwilym gave you a dopey smile, looking proud at your praise, “I did?” His mouth dropped open with the movement of your hand. “Of course baby! You got it completely right because you’re so clever. What about sonnet, do you think you can do that one for me?” He nodded enthusiastically, “S-N-E-T,” “Very good! Okay, three more and I’ll let you cum,” “Okay!” “Okay, what about,” you thought for a moment, watching your hand pumping over his shaft as you trailed your fingernails lightly over his thigh, “Spell rhyme,” “Ummm,” Gwilym bit his lip in thought, soft grunting noises rising in his throat in time with your strokes. “It’s a bit of a tricky one,” “Yeah.” “And it’s hard to concentrate isn’t it?” “Mmhmm, so hard to con-ten-tate,” he thought for a little longer as you slowed your hand, “rrr- R-I-M,” “So clever baby! Okay canto,” “Oh! Ummm,” Gwilym pouted and whined as you unexpectedly drew the tip of your tongue around his head, “I don’ know,” “No?” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay what about, poem?” Gwilym seemed to have reached the last dregs of his knowledge, grunting in frustration as he shook his head again.” “You sure you don’t know?” He bucked his hips up into your hand as he shook his head again. “Alright, I’ll give you an easy one then. Spell your name for me, spell Gwilym,” Gwil’s eyes lit up at the suggestion but his face quickly slipped into a frown again, the expression getting more pronounced with every passing second he didn’t say anything. He sought out your face, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears, “I don’t…” his fists balled up as he looked to you for help. “You don’t remember?” He shook his head once more, a tear shaking loose and rolling down his cheek, “you said it was easy.” “It’s okay if you don’t know,” “Really?” he sniffled. “Of course it’s okay. You’re not supposed to know things.” “I’m not?” “Awww, of course not baby. That’s why I’m here, to know things, and you’re just here to make me happy.” Gwilym sighed and leaned back against the couch, smiling again. “Do you want to give it a try for me?” “Umm,” he whined as you slowed your strokes “It would make me very happy,” “Okay, umm…G? L? ummmm, M?” “You’re so clever, baby!” Gwilym giggled proudly and grinned at you as you adjusted your grip on his cock. “You’re my good, smart boy, aren’t you baby?” “Mmhmm,” he bucked his hips towards you as you took him into your mouth again. “Feels go-od,” he mumbled, almost panting with how close he was. You dragged the hand that rested on his thigh up to cup his balls as you sucked on his tip until he moaned and came, spilling his seed over your tongue.

You kept working your hand along his length, even after you’d pulled your mouth from him. “Was that a good orgasm baby? Did it make you feel good?” He nodded, pouting a little as you kept wanking him, “good oggsam,” It took all your effort not to laugh at that, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting so much as a chuckle slip. Very few things delighted you as much as when Gwil forgot how to talk properly. “You know,” you said as you finally let his cock free, “sometimes when people have orgasms they feel euphoric. Do you feel euphoric?” “Mmhmm, you-porik.” “Clever boy. Do you want to help me feel euphoric?” “How?” “With your mouth,” “Oh! Okay!” You braced yourself against his knees as you stood, leaning forward to give Gwil a small kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at you contentedly as you shimmied out of your own clothes, dropping them all to the floor. “You going to let me lie down?” you asked, tapping Gwil on the shoulder. He looked around confusedly for a moment before his eyes settled on you, growing wider as he realised how naked you were. Without warning he surged forward, his hands grabbing your arse as he nuzzled his face in the valley between your breasts. If it were up to Gwil he would have stayed there all day but you had need for him elsewhere so you yanked his head back by his hair, earning a small noise of displeasure. “Don’t complain, baby. You want to make me feel euphoric, right?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed earnestly. “And how do you think you could do that?” “I don’t know,” “Maybe, cunnilingus?” “cun-un-un-un-gus,” “Exactly,” you directed his gaze down to your pussy, failing to hide your amused grin. But he was too far gone to notice, happily slipping to his knees in front of you. Telling him to wait for a second, you climbed onto the couch and spread your legs, beckoning him between them once you were comfortable.

He hadn’t been able to say the word but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled at the act. A string of soft hums and throaty sounds rose to your lips as he licked your cunt, the scratchy sensation of his beard only amplifying the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue. “Can you, oh, can you spell poem for me baby?” Gwilym hummed and then started naming letters, his mouth still pressed against your cunt as if he didn’t realise he couldn’t talk and suck at the same time. You didn’t bother to stop him when he said too many letters or correct him when all of them were wrong. You just let his breath wash over you, his tongue flicking against your clit with each new letter, eliciting longer moans and sighs from you. “Fuck Gwil,” you panted, “keep going,” “Keep going,” he repeated, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue all the way down your slit and then back up again, making you whine. You jolted when he reached your clit again and pressed against his head, keeping him close to you, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak your nipples and knead your breasts. Occasionally you’d give him an instruction – “faster please,” or “do that again,” or “fuck Gwil, right there,” – and he’d repeat the words back to you, softened and often a little slurred together or mispronounced, before doing as he was asked, drawing you closer to release. He was pleased whenever another groan or mewl slipped from your lips, responding to them with sounds of his own as if he were savouring a particularly delicious meal. It seemed he’d taken what you’d said about making you happy to heart, though some of his whines might have had more to do with his cock, hard again and straining to be touched as his attention remained focused on you. “I’m c-lose ba-by,” you grunted as Gwilym pressed his mouth to your lower lips, as if to give you a soft chaste kiss, only to begin shaking his head side to side, rubbing his face against your cunt. “loase,” he muttered to himself, trailing his tongue back up to your clit, making you grind your hips up into him. It was impossible to keep your mouth shut in the face of such a feeling, wantonly moaning as you felt your orgasm bubbling to the surface. Gwilym hummed against you in response to a particularly loud moan which managed to be your undoing, your knees trying to clamp shut around his head as he continued to suck at your clit.

When you calmed enough to let go of his hair and loosen your thighs from around his ears, Gwilym looked up at you. His face was shiny and wet but he seemed to have regained some of his usual awareness. His eyes weren’t quite as vacant and his smile less dopey than it had been. “Feel good?” he asked, sounding almost normal except for a slight lightness in his tone. “Very good baby,” you leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, tasting yourself as he opened his mouth and accepted your tongue. Slowly you dropped your hand between you, finding his cock again, not quite done with your brainless toy. He grunted against your lips and bucked into your hand as you stopped his return to sense. “Isn’t this fun?” you said softly as you pulled back, holding Gwil by the chin to stop him from trying to follow. “Yeah, fun,” a smile slowly tugging at his lips, “what is?” “Not needing to think, baby,” “Oh! Yes,” he laughed. “You’re too pretty to have a brain anyway, aren’t you? Much better off letting it leak out of your head,” “Mmhmm, much,” “And do you know what good, dumb boys get?” “No?” “They get fucked. Would you like that?” “Yes yes yes,” “Alright, lie back for me,” you chuckled, giving his cock a final stroke. Gwilym settled on the carpet on his back, grinning as you straddled his lap. Silently he held out his hand, all but two of his fingers folded against his palm. “No, I don’t need your fingers sweetie,” you said, giving the tips of his two fingers a light kiss, “as dextrous as they are and as much as I enjoy them, I think I’m okay skipping straight to your cock,” He nodded, letting you place his hand down on the floor again. You watched his face as you slowly sank down onto him, once again the picture of cunt drunk bliss with glazed eyes and his lip between his teeth. He smiled as you leaned down to kiss him, rolling your hips against his slowly. As you tongues entwined again, Gwilym framed your waist with his hands, slowly dragging them up your sides and onto your chest. He cupped each of your breasts in one of his palms, squeezing softly as you rocked forward and back. “Better than Byron isn’t this?” you asked, pushing yourself up a bit, but not so far you couldn’t kiss him again. “Wha’s Byron?” You laughed, “Y’know I think this might be the dumbest I’ve seen you. Can’t believe all it took was a rigged spelling test. He obviously didn’t understand, staring blankly back at you.

What he did understand was that you were moving further away from him and he whined as you pushed yourself to sit higher again, bracing your hands on his chest as you used your knees to raise and lower yourself. It still wasn’t enough though so you shifted again before too long, placing a hand behind you to grab Gwil’s leg. You leant back on it changing the angle of Gwilym’s cock, and felt his hands drop from your chest, no longer able to reach as easily. They came to rest on your leg, his fingertips digging into your skin as you rode him, keening as you felt the start of your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck Gwil, fill me so well, feels so good,” “My dex-ik-tus cock?” You couldn’t help but laugh, taken by surprise at his misunderstanding and mispronunciation of dextrous, but you nodded in agreement too, repeating your sentiments about how good it felt. “Wanna make me feel even better?” “How?” You sat forward again and reached for his hand, pulling it to your clit. Gwilym took the hint, messily rubbing as you bounced on his cock, but his whines and moans only grew as you rode him. “You’re close?” “Mmhmm,” You were on the verge of asking if he could hold it when he came with a groan, pulsing inside you. But you didn’t stop. “I’m close too, baby, so I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?” He nodded, eyes fixed on you. “Good boy.” You panted, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand at your clit and adjusting your rhythm. Each time you sank back down onto him you did it harder, slamming his cock into you as deep as you could manage, groaning with each one. Your orgasm was frustratingly close but Gwilym was becoming steadily more sensitive as his subsided, wincing more with each of your thrusts. The winces turned to whimpers which turned to whines as you whispered that you were so close. “Almost baby, almost,” “Please. Hur’s,” “Nearly, just. One. More,” you threw your head back with a moan as you finally found your release, Gwil whining when you pulsed around him, a fresh tear running from the corner of his eye onto the carpet as he squirmed under you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said softly as you carefully dismounted him. He hummed as you kissed him again, leaving an extra kiss against the tip of his nose. “Did so well, such a good boy for me,” “Yeah?” “Mmhmm, so good,” He gave you a slightly watery smile and let you pull him into a cuddle, sighing contentedly when you brushed your fingers through his hair. You stayed like that for a while, knowing that later you’d regret lying on the floor for so long but unable to find the energy to move or the willpower to tell Gwilym you had to let him go. He gradually lost the fucked out expression, becoming more aware of his surroundings and more capable of clear speech. “How are you feeling?” you asked when you realised he’d blinked away the last of his sex drunk vacancy. “Better than before. Little tired but much more relaxed and very satisfied. And, before you ask, yes that’s satisfied and yes I can spell it if you want,” “I believe you.”

#my writing #my fics #smut fic #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee smut #gwilym lee imagine #this has been half written in my drafts for much too long now #but im very happy to be able to finally post it!#just got one more thing to write for this advent countdown #which i'll try and knock off after i get back from church #so that its ready to go in the morning #anyway #hope ya'll like this #i might kind of love writing pretty dumb boys #blurb advent 2020

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daydream-believin · 3 years

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The Never-Ending Roadtrip (there’s nothing wrong with Ohio)

Summary: Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - (Part 5) ohio hijinks. national forests, a b ‘n b. next- (part 6) start here -> (part 1)

Warnings: swearing, meat eating, idk gambling kinda?

Word Count: 6620

A/N: AAAAAHHH i gotta stop writing shit at 3am. it’s showing. also i cant believe i reworked their entire planned trip route for this. ajhqhdsjhfljh i have no excuses for any of this

Douxie was uncharacteristically quiet during the trip through the first bit of Indiana. Y/n hung over the railing feeling awkward. The treetops below flew past her in a blur. Y/n kinda felt bad, like maybe she had broken him. Did she nudge a little too hard? She had thought, if anything, her flirting would get him flirting too. Hell, Doux flirted with everyone. It was just part of his charismatic persona he’d built over the years. And he had been so strange this week, but especially strange during the time they’d spent on the road. Every time Y/n had thought she’d figured something out with him, he’d surprise her.

Douxie was still processing what had happened earlier that day. He may have been going mad finally, immortals do tend to do that, but he was starting to think Y/n had feelings for him too. Which was something he had to be imagining, and yet she kept making it really hard to dismiss. Maybe it was just that their trip to St. Louis had felt pretty damn close to a date. His gaze lingered over her form, looking out at the scenery, covered in his jacket, a little piece of him to always cling to her skin, mingling their scents. His eyes snapped back to the sky in front of him as he narrowly dodged a telephone wire tower.

They had decided on taking one last pit stop before settling for the night. They were making their way up to Cleveland, which was a little unnecessarily high north into Ohio, but since Y/n was the one holding the map so to speak, she got to shift their course, almost to her whim even. Douxie was happy with anything as long as they kept moving. There was something she wanted to see in Cleveland. It’s not like Douxie wouldn’t enjoy it too, though. In fact, if her memory served her correctly, Douxie might enjoy the trip more than her. Back to that last pit stop. Hoosier National Forest. Somewhere nice and nature-y for Nari, and as a bonus, nice and forested for magic boat hiding. It would be a good opportunity to stretch out their legs.

Speaking of stretching, Y/n stretched out her arms to the expanse below, her fingers spread with the wind whistling between them, and she let out a soft groan. She was just trying to make her shoulders less stiff, she had been holding onto that railing tightly for quite a while now, but Douxie did not like that action one bit. He locked his staff in place at the helm, giving him just enough time to loop his arm around her midsection and pull her back into the center of the ship. He was able to return quick enough to stop them from hitting the top of a particularly tall evergreen. Y/n was still confused as to what just happened.

“Why don’t you take a seat now, Love.”

She did as she was told, less confused now, yet disgruntled at the fact the Doux had just scooped her away like she was a tiny kitten he was keeping from jumping off the couch.

Hoosier National Forest was magnificent. Well, Y/n thought all forests were wonders, but this one was still great, promise. There were tall trees and big rocks and waterfalls. What more does a national forest need. She managed to convince Douxie that they should go for a hike. Just a little trail, only half an hour, scouts honour. They had flown most of the way, and a brisk walk was what they all needed. It would be good for Nari, after all. Archie took a hard pass, in favor of yet another nap in the sun.

There was a waterfall nearby. A small one, but a waterfall nonetheless. Y/n had pulled up the map of the forest on her phone. Thank the stars for living in a cyberpunk dystopia. She led the way on the trail, until Nari told her that she could feel the waterfall and they could get there faster if they stepped off the path and made their own way. A bad idea, really, don’t do this. Y/n was all for it, to Douxie’s dismay. He had hoped she’d be more sensible, but no, now they were climbing down a steep rocky hill with a literal spirit guide. Nari led them through more twists and bigger rocks to climb over. Douxie tried his best to keep up with Y/n, to keep a hand on her, but she and Nari were moving too fast. At least he could still see them. If Y/n ate the dirt he’d just have to patch her up, he supposed.

Once they made it to the waterfall site, coming out of some brush, they took a moment to rest. Apparently, they were supposed to relax and enjoy feeling the waterfall’s aura or something but Douxie was too preoccupied on assessing the damage from the trek. After he voiced his concern, Y/n boasted that she made it here with only a few scratches and only one cut. Completely normal Dewdrop. Douxie was going to make her take the actual path back. He was probably ruining the waterfall’s calming energy.

After patching up Y/n with bandages and alcohol from the pack on his back, Douxie took a moment to actually take in the water feature. It had carved itself through the rocks it came forth from. It wasn’t powerful when it began, but capable of cutting through solid sediment now. Thousands of years, spent in the same rock formation, and yet none of the water flowing was water that had been there before. Constantly moving, and going nowhere. Neatly polished stones as it’s only reward. Doux was starting to get uncomfortable thinking about this insentient piece of nature now.

They weren’t planning on stopping again until the next national forest, Wayne, so they picked up a bite to eat from a camp store on their way out. Not exactly a restaurant, their meal consisted mostly of beef jerky, almonds, and some dried fruit. Eh, good enough. It was easy to eat on the fly. Pun intended. And it reminded Douxie a little of the dried winter foods he used to eat back in the day. A good meal indeed.

` ` `

The sun had set hours ago. Douxie was keen on spending another night flying until morning but Y/n and Nari looked like wilted flowers. Nari a little more literally. They were slumped over on each other, barely keeping their eyes open. Y/n’s eyelids fluttered. He supposed they could spend yet another night actually getting a decent amount of sleep, in a comfortable bed, and not the deck of a magic flying boat or whatever. They were still in Wayne National Forest but he could see lights up ahead. Not many, but enough that it was probably another tiny town.

Douxie steered the boat to the outskirts of the town. Not much going on, but they were in the middle of nowhere yet again after all. He called over to Y/n, who gave a jolt at the sound of her name, waking her up enough to give him her attention. He watched as she looked around, gaining her bearings. The town itself was nothing they hadn’t come across dozens of times before. Despite the inky blackness from the thin moon, and the remoteness of location, the town had a homey vibe to it. A relief, after yesterday. This town had either already started decorating for Christmas despite it being September, or never took down their decorations from last year. The lights in the trees made up for the absence of the moon, glistening off the orange leaves. This town still had a drive-in movie theater, and it was showing Roman Holiday, for some reason. It looked like more than half the town’s population was parked in that drive-in. It was almost like this little place was stuck in time.

Y/n pointed over to a gingerbread house. The hanging sign swung in the wind, reading Avalon Bed and Breakfast, painted in fancy blue cursive letters. There was an illustration of a floating island under the script. Douxie wasn’t exactly feeling good about that name, they had had enough of spending the night in someone’s final resting place last night. Sure, it looked harmless enough, but most Venus wizardtraps did. There was a wrap-around porch, illuminated by the warm light spilling from the windows, and a woman sat in one of the rocking chairs, telling a story to a couple of children, sitting on the ground around her feet. Y/n’s pupils were really big, locked onto the scene. Avalon B ‘n B it is then. If all goes well, they leave this place in the morn with a magic buzz, not entombed. Or it could just be a regular inn with a sacred namesake. It was always hard to tell with these things.

Douxie hid the boat in the nearby forest and they set off for the B ‘n B on foot. There was a chill in the air. Y/n put her hood up to shield from the wind to their backs. She threaded the fingers of the hand not attached to Nari through his. Douxie’s hands were too sweaty for her to keep doing this to him. Hopefully she wouldn’t stop. Archie jumped up on his shoulders, ready to hide if need be by shape shifting into something much smaller and less noticeable than a cat. Y/n googled the inn as they walked. They were listed as pet friendly, however their website revealed that this policy only extended to cats. Luckily for them, Archie was cat-passing. No need to become a rat that stayed in Douxie’s cap.

As they stepped inside the large wooden door, they were bathed in an orange light. There was a deep scarlet rug under their feet. The atrium they stepped into had a bench with too many colorful cushions stacked on it, an antique mirror that was probably silver-backed behind that, and a counter blocking the way for you to step into the rest of the house, with a few keys hanging behind it. The old man behind the counter stood as they entered, grinning.

“Welcome to Avalon! Name’s Robert. Why, what a beautiful family you have here.” He leaned over the counter to speak to the veggie lady. “And what’s your name, Little Miss?”

“I am Nari of the Eternal Forest.”

Y/n laughed, in an effort to be convincing, “Oh, she’s going through a wee fairy phase, it’s our fault, we took her to a renn faire last month.”

“Oh, how adorable. Could I get a name for your reservation Ma’am?”

“Casperan.”

“Perfect. And we have both a room with a single queen, and a room with a queen and a twin. We also have a room with two twins available, but I’m sure that wouldn’t serve you folks well.”

“We’ll take the single, our little one still isn’t very brave when it comes to sleeping in new places.” It was cheaper.

“Alrighty, here you go. We ask you to pay the bill up front if that’s okay with ya’ll,” Douxie came forward to hand the man his card, which he promptly accepted with a flourish, “And don’t worry about your feline, he should be fine as long as he can get along with our resident kitty cat, Sammy.”

“No worries, it should all be fine, Archie here is very friendly,” Y/n gave Robert her biggest smile. She shot Archie a look when the man turned away. He better get along with Sammy if he knew what was good for him. Speak of the devil, a little gray cat one could only assume was Sammy came trotting over and sniffed the feet of these new people in his domain. Douxie put a none too happy Archie down to greet the new friend and told him to play nice. Sammy sniffed Archie, hesitated for a moment, but then rubbed his cheek on Arch’s shoulder. Douxie let out the breath he was holding. Archie kept his tail from flicking and chirruped to the gray cat.

After passing by an archway that led into the dining area, where several old ladies were playing bridge, Robert led them up the stairs and through an unevenly rugged hallway to their room, near the end. “Now take your time settling in, but do join us downstairs soon, you’ll miss all the fun.”

After promising to show back up in a jiffy, they took in the room after he left. There bed was covered in four different green quilts, or that were as many as were visible. The windows were covered in thick green drapes. They came in and laid down their packs. The wallpaper was covered in green vines. There was some fancy loveseat, also green. Nari loved the amount of green. There was an oil painted portrait of a cat on the wall, and below it, a large vintage radio that looked like it might as well had been new. Y/n turned it on. ‘Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered’ was playing. Ooh, she loved this song.

She grabbed Douxie’s hands and pulled him to the center of the room. “C’mon, dance with me Dewdrop.” With a hand extended for him to take, her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. Well, there was no way Douxie was saying no to that face. Y/n pulled him into her embrace the second he tentatively put his hand in hers. It was a sweet, slow love song, so they began to dance sweet, slow, and loving. Nari had made herself comfortable on the loveseat with Archie, who was pretending to be busy cleaning himself to give them one less pair of eyes watching them. Nari grabbed a book off the doily covered coffee table titled ‘Poisonous Herbs and How To Use Them’ that had caught her eye.

As they swayed, Douxie leant down to Y/n’s ear, “Why are we sharing a bed once again, Love?”

“You saw those people downstairs, if they knew we weren’t married they wouldn’t have given us accommodation, you want to go look for a new inn at ten o’ clock?” Douxie nodded, “and I figured we shared a bed last night and that was fine so why not tonight too? Oh stars, did I make you uncomfortable last night?” Douxie could hear the panic surging in her voice.

“No, no not at all, Love. Well, a perhaps wee bit,” Y/n pulled slightly away from him, which he quickly countered, “But in a good way. I- liked it.”

Y/n eyes got big as she scanned his nervous face. A weak smile spread across her flushed face. “I liked it too- oh,” Doux spun her around to the music. She giggled, but soon locked onto his eyes. There were so many things in them that she couldn’t name. Despite the chaos behind them, looking into them made her feel safe, his hazel eyes always did. A brilliant hazel, a little brown, a little gold, haloed in green. Warm colors, the palette of her fondest dreams. Ella Fitzgerald’s sweet voice still sung, Y/n couldn’t tell if the melody was lasting forever or if time had just slowed in each other’s embraces. His gentle touch on the small of her back, the warmth beneath his palm, was going to linger long after they parted.

She leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. Y/n could smell a mixture of cheap soap from the motel, the sweat of his skin, and the pine needles from their hike. His hair tickled her face. She could hear him take every breath. It was enamoring. Bewitched indeed, Ella. Y/n was so lost swaying in Douxie’s embrace that she almost didn’t catch what was being sung.

Y/n lifted her head back up. “Wow, I don’t remember the lyrics to this song being so dirty.”

Douxie laughed. “That’s because most versions are not. They cut it off before it gets too far, but this is the full version.”

“And people were listening to this in the fifties?” Y/n asked incredulously.

“Oh, Love, you’d be surprised.”

It took some convincing to get Nari to put down the book so they could go downstairs. She was engrossed in a page about bloodroot, and wasn’t happy about having to stop. Douxie wasn’t sure about how he felt about Nari getting into said literature, and was annoyed that Y/n was slightly encouraging it. Y/n knew all about this kind of stuff, sure, but he trusted Y/n not to suddenly turn on him when the whim found her. Bleeding balroths. Before now, Douxie hadn’t realized that he didn’t quite trust Nari. That was probably bad. Sure, Merlin trusted her, and that should be enough for his apprentice Hisirdoux. But Doux had trusted a lot of people over the years, even some endorsed by Merlin, before his slumber. It was a dangerous game, that trust. The scar on his hand served a permanent reminder, the thread tied onto his pinky, a promise to never forget.

Douxie felt bold, and laced his fingers through Y/n’s this time as they headed down the stairs. Archie took his perch on Douxie’s shoulders, it would give him an excuse not to have to interact with the inn cat. They were met cordially at the bottom of the stairs by the innkeeper’s wife, Sherry. She had been on her way from the kitchen to the dining with a platter of cookies. She beckoned the group to follow her, she’d lead them to where the action was at. Said action was laughing people sitting at the dining room table playing cards, with drinks ranging from a posh teacup to an Oktoberfest beer mug littering the table, children stealing sweets from the platters on the buffet cabinet in the midst of their game of hide and seek, and a new mother rocking her infant by the fire, a quilt draped over her lap.

“Hey folks, the Casperans have joined us finally.” They received a cheery greeting by all in the room.

Y/n didn’t like the idea of Nari joining the children in their hiding game, since Nari was not someone who should be left out of sight, so she suggested the veggie lady go ask the woman in the corner of the table who was knitting if she’d show Nari how. That kept the forest child busy all night. Easily explained to the adults by her being a strange little one, a shy child. Besides Robert there was only one other man in the gathering, so they seemed pleased by Douxie’s arrival. They tried to get him out of his shell and bond over beer, fishing stories, and how much they loved their wives. Douxie was trying his best to fit in with the merry men. As Y/n sat, the blue haired lady next to her offered her hand to shake and asked her name. “Y/n Casperan, pleased to meet you too, Ma’am.” Douxie bit the inside of his cheek, it was all he could do to keep his soul from leaving his body. Archie teased Doux with his eyebrows, which made it worse.

Much to Archie’s dismay, Doux got his revenge by putting him down on the ground and telling him to go play nice. Besides, it would be weird if Doux just left him there on his shoulder all night. Disgruntled, Archie took a perch up on the back of one of the old plush couches nearby. He kept an eye on Nari, since Douxie and Y/n were distracted. He had hoped he could stay anti-social from up there, but no, Sammy saw him from wherever the old cat was in the house and joined him. The gray cat snuggled next to Archie, loafing. It’s not that Arch didn’t like cuddles, he just didn’t want them from this random Russian blue from Ohio. Sammy began to purr; Archie could feel it against his own chest. Sighing, he accepted his fate, but didn’t hold back from flicking his tail in contempt.

The gathering dealt Douxie and Y/n in for the next round. Apparently, Y/n was a card shark, not something Doux was expecting. Y/n’s secret is that she’d oftentimes sneak off from her aunt’s fancy parties to go gamble with the snooty rich men who never thought a little girl in a poufy pink dress could clean ‘em out. They were often too embarrassed to tell the tale so she never got caught. He watched her lovingly as she bluffed and bantered with the other women. Y/n glanced over to him from across the table, catching his gaze. Her own gaze softened at the sight of his adoring expression towards her. She looked back down at her cards and promptly ended the hand. The dealer started passing around cards again, but Y/n refused hers.

“Oh, I sure would love to play another round, but I need to go have a conversation with my husband outside for a moment.” She shot a glance to Douxie and he understood. He stood up from the table and pulled her chair out for her as he did.

“Of course, Love.”

Douxie followed Y/n out to the porch. The soft orange light streaming from the window illuminated her back as she grabbed his hand to lead him towards a more private spot. Now no longer within the sight of the party, she leaned back against the porch rail, facing Doux. The expression he bore was a slightly questioning one, slightly eager. Y/n gulped, here goes nothing.

“So!”

Douxie cocked a brow, “So?”

“I know. And You know. And you didn’t know that I knew but I know, and I don’t know if you know but I’ve made it pretty clear so I’m hoping that you do know.”

Douxie’s eyes flittered back and forth as he tried to make sense of that babble. “Er- Love, could you say that in proper English for me? I think I know what you’re saying, but I- I need you to say it,” He looked away, pushing his hair back with his hands.

“I- Love You,” She lost her courage for a moment, taking a deep breath and not daring to look into his eyes, “This is so irresponsible, I know. But I, Y/n L/n, love you, Hisirdoux Casperan. And- and I have for quite some time now.” She waited a beat with no response. She still refused to look up from the floor as she asked, pleading, “Do you, return my feelings, or- or-“

“Yes.” He cut her off. She hadn’t noticed him getting so close to her. “I, Hisirdoux Casperan, love you, Y/n L/n.” Her heart skipped a beat as he chuckled, “I have for quite some time now.”

Y/n let out the breath she was holding in a dreamy sigh, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Doux brought his hand up to move a stray strand of hair away from her face, and he let it linger against her skin. Y/n placed her hand over his, and drew him closer. Her eyelids slowly closed as she reached her hands up to his hair, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. Douxie couldn’t believe this was finally happening. His eyelids snapped shut and he deepened it with fervor in an effort to show her just how much he wanted this, in case she had any hesitation left. He surely was going to wake up any moment now, alone on the smelly old couch of the bookstore with his songbook on his face. She pulled away from him way sooner than he was happy about. With their foreheads still together, he took in her flushed face. Looking up into his eyes, her voice rasped, “I- I’d- I’d like to apologize.” Douxie’s brows furrowed. His head was a little fuzzy, but he’d not know where she was going with this even if he hadn’t just kissed the love of his life. “I- I’ve been so weary, and for nothing. And-and I’ve probably wasted all this time we could have been happy an-”

He cut her off with another kiss. This time he’d make sure it lasted a good, long time. Although a bit sloppy at first, they eventually found their rhythm together. Their lips slid across each other in sync. Y/n tightened her arms around his neck as she pulled him even closer, clinging for dear life. As they eventually surfaced for breath, the hot ragged breathing visibly mingled in the chilly autumn air. He pressed his forehead back into hers, nuzzling, “I believe it was worth the wait, Darling.”

They could have spent all the time in the world in that moment, if not for the sudden crash coming from the dining area. “Oh fuzzbuckets, Nari.” Doux mumbled under his breath as he grabbed Y/n’s hand to go check out the startling noise. Once back in view of the window, they could see it was a false alarm, as Sherry had dropped a metal platter and was cleaning it up. Nari was still attentively watching the knitting woman, and Archie seemed to be getting cozy with the inn cat. Ooh Archie, you Casanova. Douxie breathed a sigh of relief. Y/n tugged at his hand,

“C’mon Dewdrop, let’s rejoin the merry making.” Douxie obliged.

And the merry making lasted until just before midnight. Surprising, considering the company they were in. They didn’t even stay until the others retired for the night, Douxie wanted to get an early start on the day and also really didn’t want to have to hear another one of Bill’s fishing stories and act like he knew anything about fishing. He complained as soon as the door closed behind them. Archie argued that he had had it worse, which Doux scoffed at. They bickered back and forth, making Y/n smile. She never knew family arguments could actually make her heart fonder. Strange. So this is what genuine love brings.

After brushing their teeth, such a mundane thing that Douxie loved doing with Y/n, they settled in to bed for the night. The autumn chill might have come, but it still way too warm for the fifteen blankets the bed had been covered in. They removed the extra and set them neatly on a pile in the loveseat. Or Y/n at least made sure the extra quilts were neatly folded, Douxie had just thrown them off and let them bunch up. Nari got under the covers, like she’d seen humans often do before, but decided it was not a sensation for her. It felt strangling, to have something weighing down at her. She joined Archie where he lay at the foot of the bed and curled up. Archie was not in the mood for more cuddles, and Nari appeared to sense that, and stayed a little ways from the dragon-cat while still trying her best to be close to him.

Y/n nestled in, with the blanket pulled up on her ear, looking cozy as ever. Douxie’s heart skipped a beat. This was still so surreal. This entire day had been surreal. There was no way this wasn’t all one big dream. Maybe he did get eaten at the Missouri motel. Perhaps something was draining his life force but giving him a pleasant dream to pacify his dwindling mind. Y/n noticed him, still standing there at the side of the bed in a trance, and reached for his hand to drag him in. He fell flush against the mattress, and as he picked himself back up, she could see his cheeks were flushed as well. Y/n giggled at the sight of him.

“Get in, just mind Arch and Nari.”

Douxie carefully got under the covers without disturbing the two at the foot of the bed, laying on his side to face Y/n. For a beat they stilled, looking into each other’s eyes and watching each other breathe, miles apart despite being so close, until Y/n stretched an arm out to place it on his shoulder, an invitation. Doux got the memo and closed the gap of sheets between them, and Y/n snuggled into his chest. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her. This was sleep time and he was supposed to be settling down and relaxing but now his heart was beating fast as if he were running. Surely Y/n could feel it, hear it even, with her ears against his heart itself. He hair smelled lovely, like dirt but right as it first starts raining. Gently smiling to himself, he tightened their embrace.

“You know, I wanted to do this last night too. So, so badly.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Bold words of someone who literally just apologized for wasting our time with her weariness.”

y/n pretended to scoff, but failed to contain her snickers, “Oh, sod off. I am asleep now, and I cannot hear you.”

Douxie woke up to a face full of dark fur. Not an unusual thing for him to wake up to, just not what he was expecting for this particular morning. At some point in the night Archie had climbed up and nestled into the space between his face and Y/n’s. Impertinent, but endearing. Douxie supposed he’d be waking up like this for many mornings to come. This magic moment would become normal, a fact of his life that he got to enjoy. Just him, Arch, and Y/n. His tiny little family. What a lovely thought. What a lovely future.

Breakfast was at seven. That was the best part of staying in a bed and breakfast, Douxie reckoned. The fragrance of the goetta frying was heavenly after not having eaten anything but beef jerky and nuts since yesterday afternoon. The innkeeper’s wife had also made biscuits that she was serving with apple butter and her signature chocolate gravy, which neither Douxie nor Y/n were brave enough to try. The apple butter was just fine, after all. Nari didn’t care for the goetta, or many meats at all, Douxie was starting to realize, instead opting to glop way too much apple butter on a biscuit that she made into a sandwich. The fruit sauce dripped out when she bit into it, which only made the other guests dote on her, telling her how she was just so cute.

Y/n was wearing that new outfit, that Ash Dispersal Pattern shirt. It looked good on her. He hoped he wasn’t being possessive here, but it really made him feel good to see her in it. They would wash their other clothes in New Jersey. Hopefully they’d make it to the garden state and the troll settlement by nightfall, but by the way things were going, Douxie could only do that, hope. They’d make their way through Pennsylvania and maybe tuck through Maryland and Delaware to avoid Philly. The new Trollmarket was under a bridge of a small town in the thick of New Jersey. They’d make it there, that was the plan.

They bid their goodbyes to the people at the bed and breakfast, and headed off to Cleveland around eight. It was an uneventful trip, unremarkable and not even worthy of being described. Although one aspect of it that Douxie enjoyed was that Y/n stayed away from the edge, choosing to hang on his arm instead of the railing. A win-win if he had ever known one. Archie made some sarcastic gagging noises at their pda, but Doux ignored him. He had been waiting way too damn long for this to not embrace his beloved on his own fucking flying ship. Arch could tease him all he wanted. This casual affection he was now allowed to show somehow was worth it. The fact that he could now just touch Y/n? And she would not only not flinch from his touch, but would even touch back? It was priceless to his heart, marrow to his old bones, chicken soup for his soul.

As they drew nearer, Douxie found out that the reason Y/n had directed them to the metropolitan area around Cleveland, pretty high up into Ohio, was that she had wanted to make a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Douxie knew he shouldn’t have expected anything less. He sure knew how to pick ‘em. He could get on board with this, a little trip down memory lane might be nice. There was a reason he’d never been. A lot of his old friends who’ve earned their places in this building had passed on. Yet, it might be nice to see their faces once again.

They once again hid the boat in a wooded area and took a bus into town. It wasn’t a problem finding a close stop, since their destination was a popular tourist destination. They wandered the halls, Douxie told Y/n and Nari about some of the people from bands that he had known. Y/n listened intently. Nari really liked all the pictures and memorabilia. She understood that this was some sort of memorial, and she was making sure that she was being respectful as Hisirdoux told her about it all. She didn’t quite understand why there were tributes to some still living humans, but did not question the humans’ rituals. Perhaps they were going to die soon. All mortals will.

There was a little station with a sundry of instruments, there for people to try out. Everything was most likely out of tune, being floor instruments touched by thousands of hands. That didn’t stop Y/n from grabbing an acoustic guitar to show Nari, plucking at it’s strings effortlessly. It was a silly little ditty, meant to entertain the veggie lady, but still impressive. Wait.

“Since when have you been able to play?”

“Ah, I dunno, Dewdrop. High school, I guess? I can’t really remember when, but my friend Roxy showed me a few chords and then I was obsessed for months.”

“What, I- I gave you lessons just last month. You were terrible.”

“Hisirdoux Casperan we both know that was just an excuse for you to hold me and touch my hands as you positioned my fingers.”

Douxie’s face was red. She was right, of course, but he hadn’t thought he had been so obvious about it. He watched her fingers drift across the neck as she started playing a softer tune. It was a song he recognized. Y/n seemed to get lost in what she was doing, mumbling the words here and there. At one point she started actually singing. Softly, under her breath, but it was audible nonetheless. Either she had forgotten he was there or she was finally getting comfortable enough around him to let him hear the beautiful voice. He hoped it was the latter. Nevertheless, whichever it was, it was like a siren song to Douxie’s ears.

“Why don’t you ever sing?”

Y/n stopped suddenly. She looked up from the stings, her eyes wide. “What?”

“You’re always humming as you do things, but you only ever actually sing when you think no one’s around. Why’s that, Love?”

While he wouldn’t recommend she try out for a singing competition reality show any time soon, her voice was hypnotic to him. Soothed his soul. Not that silky as was traditionally praised, but somehow felt like home, like a less smooth polished fabric, like a well-loved linen. The cadence of her voice was the best sound he had ever heard even. He had only been lucky enough to hear her fully sing a few blessed times, yet he knew that he could listen to her sing forever. Addicting.

“I – well it’s quite embarrassing isn’t it? To sing in front of people. I’m no starlet.”

Okay, now Douxie was ready to punch the lights out of anyone who made her think she should hide the angel voice of hers. Embarrassing. Who the fuck had the nerve. “Hmm. I think that’s bullshit, Love.” Y/n looked taken aback, and morphed into an expression of confusion. Douxie decided this wasn’t a time to be subtle. He cupped her face in his hand, drawing her in to make eye contact. “Let me make this clear, My Darling. Everything I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth has been nothing but angelic. I would never want you to feel shame about expressing yourself, even if I didn’t think your voice was my favourite sound on the planet.”

Tears welled in Y/n’s eyes. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. She was so cautious to keep him from hearing her before, but he liked her singing? It was hard for her to fathom. The first time he had caught her crooning to herself while unboxing a new shipment of bestsellers in the bookstore had been mortifying. She had never wanted to relive that, but maybe she wouldn’t have to. She loved singing. Her father had liked to call her his little songbird. She had hidden away that part of herself like a chest of out of fashion clothes in a dusty attic. If someone like Douxie, her beloved, thought so kindly of her though, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to open up the chest and try on a few dresses.

“I- You’re serious? You really think that?”

Douxie held her gaze. “Absolutely.” He tipped her face up towards his to punctuate his point with a kiss.

They continued to wander through the rooms and exhibits of the museum. Douxie stopped to look at a portrait of someone he particularly missed, an old friend he had many good times with. He’d miss the geezer. He really was a great musician. He had taught Douxie a lot of tricks, and Doux wouldn’t be able to play the electric guitar half as well without his friend. He had a different kind of magic.

He was caught in his reverie when Y/n popped in from another room, urging him to come see something. Her excitement was something Doux would never stop enjoying, so he let her grab his hand so he would follow her. Douxie didn’t know what he was expecting her to show him, definitely not this. He was staring face to face with his own poster, circa 1960. They were experimenting with a new style, the rock of the day that was becoming increasingly popular. He remembered it fondly. It was a new age. The drummer in the photo, he was mortal, and while he could have been alive today, sadly he was taken, just ten years after joining the band. Seeing his smiling face filled Doux with peace. So many memories, he was glad he got to make them. And there would be more memories to come, he’d make sure of it. No order of ancient terrors breathing down his neck was gonna stop him from doing what he loved.

He was so lost in thought they he almost missed what this meant. He was in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. How did he not know he was in the fucking hall of fame. They didn’t even tell him. Well, he supposed this version of him no longer legally existed, so that made sense. Still. It was fantastic news. He was pretty proud. Some sweet validation that he always craved. Y/n had brought him here, she’d been here before, she knew. She was showing him off, to no one in particular, but the thought made him grin. Ash Dispersal Pattern in the hall of fame. Heh. He’d have to tell the others; in fact he would announce this to the group chat as soon as he had some free time. Zoe would get a kick out of him not knowing. Y/n tugged on his arm.

“Aren’t you cool, Mr. Rockstar.”

#hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie casperan x reader #hisirdoux x reader #tales of arcadia x reader #hisirdoux casperan imagine #douxie imagine #douxie casperan imagine #hisirdoux imagine #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #tales of arcadia imagine #douxie casperan #toa douxie #my writing #nert

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floatinginwords · 3 years

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Saved by the Devil (10/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You spend a little time with Tommy (Again sorry about my summaries i suck at them)

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Fem!reader (not romantic..but we are getting there slowly but surely)

A/n: Hi everyone. this chapter maybe a bit shorter than what i usually write and i didnt proof read this one so apologizes for that. This semester is just annoying. Too much going on for stupid online courses. Anyway this chapter is bit more in Tommys p.o.v, i mean we get a bit of readers in the end but yea...if you dont like that tell me or if you do tell me. If you guys have any questions or anything like that just tell me. And of course and always have a lovely day.

Thomas Shelby leads you to a little apartment near his office. He knew he could have driven you to the train station, given you some fare as you went on your way. He could have driven you to London. Hell, he could have paid someone to do it. But there was part of him deep down within that didn’t want you to go yet. It was a surprise for him to see you in the office. He hadn’t been avoiding you, things were just getting hectic around with the business. And with the constant pressure from the inspector and the sudden charges on Arthur and Michael, his focus needed to be sharp. And then he exits his office and see you standing with Lizzie, Polly, and Esme. For the first since he’s known you, he actually detected a little bit of nervousness from you.

At first he didn’t understand why you wanted to help in his little plan. It didn’t make sense for you to put yourself in harms way with all the shit you’ve already been through. He notices that when he asks about your father the way you tense up. He doesn’t know why he asks, its something he rather not talk about either. But it was a question that bothered him for awhile. He could of asked your father, in that last meeting when…

Thomas shakes his head from his thoughts turning to look at you who seemed just as dazed and muddled in their own thoughts. You were definitely an enigma to him. He doesn’t even remember what he said to make you laugh. All he remembers is that he did.

To him you laugh was like a canary singing a song of hope in the middle of brutal winter. Thomas doesn’t think he ever heard a sound so sweet. He feels his lips stretch into a smile, something that felt foreign on his face. It was definitely something he hadn’t done in awhile. So as he walks you to his place, keeping a gentle hand on your elbow to keep your balance. He couldn’t help but to think to himself ‘how can I hear that sound again?’

So he leads you in the apartment, setting you down on his couch. You flop down like a child and he cant help but be amused at your drunken state.

“Mr.Shelby, I believe I drank too much.” You hiccup.

“Thats alright,” Thomas says, “Listen you can rest here and we’ll talk more in the morning.” He doesn’t really want to end the night yet but he can see the fatigue in your face.

You shake you head at him, “We can talk now. I don’t sleep very much.” You don’t look into his eyes as you speak which he finds odd. A detail he’s always noticed was the eye contact you gave. He couldn’t tell what you were searching but he appreciated it, not many people could look him in the eye.

Hes suddenly reminded of a conversation you had awhile ago. When you had bluntly asked him your father was dead. He had expected you to say nothing for that entire ride. But you didn’t. He remembers your question.

“Do your nightmares ever stay with you longer that you would like?”

He had answered honestly. The nightmares often lingered around him for days sometimes weeks. It wasn’t often he got a good nights sleep. He could see the sleep in your eyes wanting to take over. You were fighting it though quite easily like you’ve done it before. He didn’t want to be overstepping any line and he also didn’t want to seem creepy remembering a conversation, a small detail from weeks ago. He wasn’t sure at all how you’d react to it. So he decided to say nothing, wait for you to take the lead. Which you did, mostly because your mouth seemed to have a mind of its own sometimes.

“You get nightmares too Mr. Shelby, I remember you agreeing with me this one time…”You trail off slurring your word, “Sometimes they can be so much…”

“What do you dream about?” He asks.

You don’t answer. Thomas doesn’t pressure you for answer, you look to be searching for one. Your mouth open and eyes wandering around the room. But you give no answer.

Thomas decides to speak, lighting a cigarette as he does, “I dream about France sometimes.” The answer surprise him. Hes not one for opening up.

You don’t say anything so he continues, “I can hear the shovels at night. That’s when their the loudest.” He blows the smoke as he talks.

“I sometimes dream of the hospital…they didn’t exactly treat me great there. Sometimes its my father…” You say the word ‘father’ quietly as if it was like a little curse falling off your lips.

Thomas wants to ask you what that man had done to you, why it seemed you feared and hated him so much. He wished he asked you in that first meeting with you. When he promised to kill him for you…..he knew then it was something you wanted, he didn’t know how badly…maybe if he had known he would have done things differently.

“Sometime he’s not even doing anything…he’s just watching me. And smiling,” You say pulling him away from his thoughts, “It takes a moment for me to realize he’s not there. He’s not watching.” You stop talking suddenly, certainly not meaning to get that honest.

Thomas clenches his jaw, “well it’s a good thing hes not around anymore.”

You look up at him for the first time the whole night, meeting his eyes. Your stare sends shivers up his arms.

“Right…” you trail off, looking uncertain. “Mr Shelby I-“

“You know,” He cuts you off wanting to change the subject, “I don’t think this is very business like.”

“Excuse me.” You blink confused with the sudden statement.

“I mean you won’t’ call me by my name because this is business but here you are at my place, drunk, talking to me about stuff that not business.”

You scoff at him. “Are you really that bothered by it?” you tease

“I just think in settings like this, you can let go a little bit.”

“I think you should get used to disappointment, Mr.Shelby.” You emphasize his name a bit.

“You must admit that we aren’t doing anything related to business.”

“Then what would you call it?” You challenge.

And he didn’t know what to call it. But he just felt more. Maybe it was friendship. He definitely enjoyed your company. He wasn’t afraid to admit that to himself. Hes reminded of the feelings of when you got hurt at the horse auction and went missing those three days. He didn’t want to admit that there was apart of him that cared for you. That part has been locked away ever since Grace. He had trusted her and loved her. And then she betrayed him. And there was just a part of him that just didn’t want to go through that again.

“Are you okay,” you ask, “you went quiet for a minute.”

“ Yea just thinking.”

“Do you wanna keep talking?” you say shyly.

And he couldn’t say no to you. That night the two of you spend you time just talking. It’s the first time Tommy’s ever done something like that. Take a woman home and not bed her. He wasn’t thinking about doing that with you but it had dawned on him later that small fact. You listened to his stories about his family. You were an only child and had no stories nearly s fun as his. You tell him you wish you grew up in a big family. You list all the places you wanted to travel to and he watches you ramble about them. The two of you laugh and smile. Both feeling lighter in each others presence. He can see you loosening up a bit and he just wonders what your like when you aren’t fully on guard. He can fee himself doing the same. He doesn’t mind but he knews that hes going to berate himself later. Hours pass and You both fall asleep on the couch, neither of you remembering what the other was talking about as you do. It was the first time in a long time that either of you had fallen asleep peacefully.

You wake up first, feeling an awful pudding within your head. Why was it that you never could know your limit. You attempt to get up when you sense an arm around you. A unwelcomed flutter of butterflies erupt in your stomach as you realize who the arm belongs to.

‘Fuck’ you think to yourself trying to untangle yourself from his arm, trying to understand how you even got roped up in him.

Successfully you manage to unwrap your self from him, the warmth of his body leaving your side making you feel cold. You’re tempted to roll back but think against it. You stretch up from the couch and walk around the apartment quietly. It wasn’t very big. The living room connected to the kitchen. And his room connected to the bathroom. You wonder around trying to wake your creaky bones. You see a bundle of letters on his, dresser with very neat and lovely writing, addressed to him. You see a pipe beside his bed and pick it up wondering if he used this on himself last night. You walk backwards trying to take it all in. He didnt have much. A few pictures of him and his siblings. And that woman from before. The older one who gave you chills with her stare. Pol-polly you think her name was. You continue walking backward before bumping into his dresser. The letters falling down. You bend down picking them up not without looking more closely at the beautiful stationary. You see at corner of the envelope

From Grace

For a minute you’re really disappointed. And you don’t know why. And then the pieces fall together. When you remember Mr.shelbys horses name, “Graces secret,” And when Ada told you ‘he had someone last year.” You don’t know why you feel uncomfortable all of a sudden. You don’t feel right hanging around his apartment. Unless their not together? Wait why do you even care? You neatly stack the envelopes back to their place and calmly walk away, needing to distract yourself from the sudden intrusion of thoughts you would very much like to get rid of.

You pass by Thomas sleeping body. You pause to look at him. Admiring the way his feature seem to soften up as he slept. You almost compare him to an angel. A knock on the door alerts you as you sit up straight. Thomas shoots up in a panic. He looks at you confused before getting up.

“How long have you been up?” he asks you, heading for the door.

You don’t answer. Watching him go to get the door. A small boy is behind the door, you cant hear what either of them say as they talk in hushed voices.

“(y/n),,” he calls you over, “my brother finn here is gonna lead you to the garrison I have a meeting I have to attend to.” He says not leaving you any room to argue to deny his request as he grabs his jacket and locks the door before the two of you.

“Ill be back soon, try not to run into trouble.” He says.

You nod and go your separate ways, following the young boy through the streets of Birmingham.

Read pt.11