#i might have to give him a pep talk in the car like ‘please do not reveal that you know literally any information about these people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mingkiyoo · 2 years

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maybe this time (j.yh)

summary ⇢ after weeks of not seeing yunho since you asked for a break, you meet him again at your best friend mingi’s birthday celebration. after a few drinks, you find yourself sitting in his car in an empty parking lot at midnight and he’s kissing the pain away.

pairings ⇢ yunho x reader

genre ⇢ established relationship, non idol au, angst, suggestive, smut, light fluff

warnings ⇢ boyfriend!yunho, fem!reader, drinking, yunho has bad boy vibes, mutual pining, big dick!yunho, size kink, fingering, semi rough unprotected sex, romantic car sex, makeup sex, public sex // please let me know if i missed anything!

note ⇢ 18+ content, minors DNI. // happy birthday mingi though i'm posting late! thank you so so much for loving my first ever fic about time! this might feel a little bit rushed but i hope it's still okay. i just really needed to get it out of my brain. also - i'm so soft for yunho not wanting to lose y/n >///< please like and reblog if you love it <3

word count ⇢ 3.7K

“Can you drive?”

You hear your boyfriend, Yunho, ask through the phone. You turn your gaze to where his car is parked, just an empty spot separating yours from his. He rolls the window down on the driver’s side, and you instinctively do the same but on the passenger’s side. You lock eyes for a moment before you answer him, “No. But I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

It’s close to midnight. You’re currently sitting in your car at the parking lot beside the restaurant where your childhood best friend, Mingi, had his birthday celebration. His other friend, Wooyoung, owns the restaurant so after business hours were over, everyone just gathered around the bar for unlimited drinks. He personally cooked for everyone once the kitchen staff left so there’s something for everyone to snack on if interested.

Everyone already drove off, leaving just you and Yunho at the parking lot.

Yunho is your best friend Mingi’s other best friend. The story about how you met and fell in love started in college when you had to drop off some notes for Mingi from a class you had together because you heard that he was sick and that was why he was missing his classes only to find him huddled over a game controller along with Yunho.

Mingi was struggling with his classes. It didn’t help that a particular professor was giving him a hard time, driving him to almost drop the class. He probably would have if he didn’t meet Yunho. Mingi just needed to take a step back, take a short break so he can have a more solid approach to knocking out his requirements without feeling overwhelmed. And you’re thankful that Yunho was there to help ground him and be his comfort when you couldn’t be there for him.

Yunho—oh boy. He looked like your next big mistake. He has a sweet face with a bad boy aura that spells every bit of trouble and is the perfect combination to breaking your heart. You should have run in the opposite direction, as fast as you could but still, even now—you’re drawn to him like a moth to the flame. When he’s around, all reason goes out the window. That’s why, a few weeks ago, you asked for a break. It’s been a long time coming. You’re not sure when it started, but you found yourself and Yunho bickering over the smallest things lately, and it’s getting exhausting. You fight, have hot sex, and makeup then do it all over again. You’re hoping that the time away from him will help you assess if the relationship is worth saving without his presence clouding your judgments.

No amount of pep talk prepared you for when you finally saw him for the first time in weeks. Regardless of the issues you have in your relationship, you can’t deny the fact that you miss him. The knot in your stomach is enough proof that you still care for him. You still love him.

He’s busy talking to Mingi and Wooyoung at the bar while you chat with the other guests. Occasionally, you lock eyes with Yunho. He has a serious look on his face, one hand swirling the whiskey within the glass before bringing it back to his lips for a sip. You feel hot just from the way he stares at you from across the room.

“Talk to him,” you turn around to see Mingi whispering down to your ear. He’s the only one who knows, of course. Nothing escapes Mingi.

“About what?” you ask.

“You know what,” he answers, his eyes roam over your features as if he’s looking for a particular reaction.

“I prefer not to,” you tell him casually, not meeting his eyes and you hear him sigh before he leaves your side to go back to the bar.

Yunho tilts his head towards the passenger side as if inviting you over. You hesitate for a moment before getting out of your car and into his.

Silence filled the air. There’s no one else in the parking lot except the two of you. All you can hear is the noise of cars driving by the nearby roads and the faint music playing on his radio.

Your stomach flips at the familiar scent of his car and of his cologne. Your heart is beating so fast it’s almost hard to breathe and you close your eyes. Alcohol usually has that effect on you but tonight, you’re unsure. It could just be because you’re sitting next to Yunho and you’re trying so hard not to throw yourself at him. He’s wearing a black dress shirt, the fabric snuggly hugging his broad form, the sleeves rolled up around his elbows. A couple of buttons were undone, and you notice the silver chain hanging around his neck. He paired it with black slim trousers, tapered around his thigh accentuating his muscles. There is no other word to describe him—he’s gorgeous.

He’s always been gorgeous. But especially tonight.

“You, okay?” Yunho asks, he seems to notice your breathing.

“Yeah,” you answer, taking in a deep breath, eyes still closed. “Just can’t breathe… too much alcohol, I think.”

“Yeah,” he says, a hint of humor in his tone and you can’t help but think that maybe he’s making fun of you right now. You open your eyes to see him looking over you, a suppressed smile on his lips. “Two tall glasses of Mai Tais are usually your limit,” he chuckles this time, one arm resting on the steering wheel while he continuously rubs a finger back and forth across his bottom lip and you can’t help but stare at him, at those lips.

“I hate you,” you growl as you gently shake your head, hoping it will help get the thoughts of kissing his heart-shaped lips and sucking on his long and beautiful fingers out of your head.

“You don’t mean that,” he says in a small voice, his lips in a straight line, his expression is serious now. He opens a water bottle and takes a big sip before offering it to you. You hesitate for a moment before taking the water bottle from his hand and placing your own to where his lips were just now.

You place the bottle in the empty cupholder. You fix your gaze forwards avoiding his. “How have you been?” he finally asks, and you can’t help the lump that forms in your throat. You know he’s just making small talk because he probably feels awkward having you in his car in an empty parking lot at midnight.

“I- I’m okay,” you answer which came out more like a stutter and you squeeze your eyes shut, praying he doesn’t notice the effect he has on you.

“You?”

A moment of deafening silence before he finally says, “Not good.”

You open your eyes and turn to look at him, a concerned look on your face.

“I miss you,” he sighs, and it breaks your heart because you miss him too—more than you want to admit. You didn’t want to be apart from him, but you always end up fighting whenever you’re together. You didn’t want the space, but you needed it. Otherwise, you just might end up despising each other and you don’t want that. Yunho was your friend first before he was your boyfriend after all. You don’t want to complicate anything since you share the same group of friends, you live in the same neighborhood and Mingi—he surely doesn’t want to see his two best friends hating on each other.

“How much longer do we need to be on this break?” he asks, the bitterness towards the word ‘break’ evident in his voice.

You open your mouth in attempt to respond but you can’t find words. You look down on your fingers, feeling your cheeks heat up in frustration.

“You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” he continues when you don’t answer. His question surprising you, making you look up immediately to meet his intense gaze.

“Is there someone else?” he asks sternly, and his words cut like a knife through you.

“What— No!” you exclaim, shaking your head before burying it in your palms.

Has he ever seen you with another man other than your friends? Have you ever given him any reason to suspect you?

You can’t believe he’s even asking the question. You’re mad, disappointed and frustrated that you can no longer keep your tears from falling.

“This is exactly why we need this break!” you say as you turn in your seat to fully face him, wiping your tears with the back of your hands in annoyance. Why do you always have to cry when you’re angry?

“Aren’t you sick of this?” it’s not a real question. “We always end up fighting every time we’re together. Yunho…” you pause, reconsidering your words, “I love you so much… but I’m tired.” Your voice shaky and barely audible.

All you can hear now is the sound of your own heart breaking. You feel stuffy suddenly. You need to get away—away from him, from this moment, from this pain. You reach for the car door in an attempt to get out, but Yunho’s large hand grabs your wrist before you can even find the door handle. He pulls you forwards, pinning your wrist against your seat beside your head as his other hand cups the back of your neck, his lips pressing against yours.

His grip on your wrist is firm as if communicating that he doesn’t want to let you go but his lips were gentle on yours. You think about pushing him away for a second, but you can’t. He tastes like whiskey and smells of vanilla, making you lose control. The man who has your heart, who has all of you, kissing you so tenderly breaks your resolve. He slants his lips against yours, deepening the kiss, and you melt into his touch.

He loosens his grip on your wrist. Your hands find their way to cup his face before gliding down to the base of his neck. You longed for his touch for weeks, so you kiss him back with equal fervor determined to get your fill.

You don’t break the kiss until you’re both breathless. Yunho presses his forehead against yours. His large hands still cupping the sides of your face and you place a soft kiss on his palm, your smalls hands holding onto his wrists.

Yunho bites his lower lip. He looks out in the vast empty parking lot, seemingly searching for the right words to say.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he turns to face you again, his large hands never leaving your skin, his thumb swiping away any remnants of tears that trailed down your cheeks. “I just…” he pauses, and you notice him wince as if he’s in pain, but he looks into your eyes before he continues, “I can’t lose you. I don’t want to.”

“Me neither,” you admit in a small voice, your tears threatening to spill over once again.

“We can fix this, right?” he asks, his eyes studying you. “We’ll make it work.”

You close your eyes as you nod your head again and again in response until you feel his lips brush against yours again and he kisses you with more hunger this time. His hand reaching behind the small of your back to pull you closer while the other cups the side of your face.

“Fuck,” he moans into your mouth, “I’m sorry but I’ve missed you so much.” He says as one hand reaches down for the hem of your dress, lifting it up. His long fingers find your aching heat and he starts to rub across your swollen clit. You can feel the warmth of his fingertips through the thin fabric, making you gasp.

“Hmm, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” he teases.

“Yunho,” the sound that leaves you is breathy and desperate. Desperate to feel him, all of him, everywhere. His fingers start to move in circles against your sensitive spot building up the intoxicating pleasure in your core.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his gaze holding yours steady. “I’m not letting you go… You hear me?” he asks but doesn’t wait for your response as his lips start to move down to your chin and along your jaw before landing on your neck, nibbling and kissing on your pulse points.

“You’re mine,”he breathes against your skin, his words making your heart jump. You love it when he’s being territorial.

“I’m yours,”

He yanks your panties to the side, too impatient to even take them off you and he pushes a finger into you, curling up to reach your pleasure spot and you whimper. You place one hand to rest on his back, gripping the fabric of his shirt as he continues to work you over, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You feel him push another finger into you and the delicious stretch sends waves of heat straight to your core. Pressure builds in your belly as his fingers start to pick up speed, the rough pace he’s set is dizzying.

“Yunho!” a suppressed moan leaving your lips, legs shaking as you come apart on his fingers. “There you go.” Yunho whispers, one side of his lips upturned as if satisfied with what he’s done.

As you come down from your high, you remember you’re out in public. You straighten up against your seat almost immediately and you look around, worried that someone may have shown up at the parking lot.

Yunho notices your anxious expression. “There’s no one here…” he chuckles softly, “but you may still want to keep it down. Just in case.” He smiles and he pulls you in for another kiss and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Both of you are growing more and more desperate for each other with each passing moment.

“Forget it!” he exclaims before pressing his forehead against yours, his large hands roaming your body before they find your ass, squeezing tightly causing your hips to roll forwards in his impatience.

“I can’t wait to have you,” he breathes through his teeth. “I’ve missed this for weeks.” He leans slightly back to look into your eyes. “I’m fucking you in this car if I have to.” His lips close in on yours one more time, his teeth gently tug on your bottom lip before he opens the door to his side of the car and hurriedly gets out.

You notice him spare a glance in every direction before he finally opens the door to the backseat. He chuckles softly, eyes smiling when he notices you already made your way there without even leaving the car.

“You’re so tiny, you can fit anywhere.” He says, a playful grin on his lips.

He pushes the driver’s seat all the way forward to give room for his long legs before he turns to grab your sides and hoists you up to place you on his lap, your knees straddling his hips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his hand pushing your silky hair back so he can see your face clearly. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”

You feel your cheeks blush at the compliment. He’s always so sweet like this. He knows exactly where to touch you and what to say to send your heart racing. If you could only bottle up this moment, you would only to pull it out every time it gets rough. Loving him is a double-edged sword. It’s equally blissful and painful and oh, how you wish you can leave out the pain.

His hands glide down your neck before they land where your shoulder meets your arms on both sides, ruffling the puff sleeves of your dress. It’s cinched around the waist and the hem sits just above your knees. “I don’t think I’ve seen this dress before,” he says, giving you a once-over. “Is this new?”

He continues when you nod. “I love it. You should wear it again.” With one swift move, he reaches behind you and unzips your dress, revealing a black strapless bra underneath. He looks up to you, his eyes sparkling with desire. A devilish smile spreads across his lips as he finds the clasp of your bra and he removes it tossing it to the side. The rough pad of his thumb swipes across your nipple, his mouth capturing the other in his mouth, and you throw your head back at the sensation. You slide your hands around his neck, and you grab a fistful of his soft locks, tugging gently. You feel his large hands wrap around your ribs, pulling you closer. Your hips start moving on their own seeking more pleasure in your other parts. He shifts in his seat, and you feel his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. He wants you just as much as you want him.

“Please,” the sound that leaves you is in between a moan and a plea. You reach for the buckle of his belt, and he helps you loosen it, get the button of his pants undone and pull the zipper down to finally free his length of its constraints. He’s painfully hard. He’s big… just as you remember. You reach down to hold him, your small hands barely covering the entirety of his length and he groans against your skin. “I need you,”

With a quick kiss to your temple, he obliges. He yanks your panties to the side once again and you lift your hips off his lap slightly so he can line himself against your entrance. He grips your sides and guides you down his length until your ass is flush against his hips, the stretch feels new and familiar at the same time, catching you by wonderful surprise.

You start to move your hips on top of him, his hands never leaving your sides, guiding you where he wants you.

“You feel so good, baby.” He breathes underneath you. “Nice and tight and wet for me.” He tangles his hand in your long, beautiful hair as he wraps one arm around your waist to hold you in place. This time, he drives into you, hitting your pleasure spot so perfectly, you can’t help but roll your eyes into your head. You feel so close already. Again.

“Oh fuck!” you hear him grunt and soon, you feel him quickening his pace. He tenses underneath you, but he catches himself just in time. He maneuvers you off him and pushes you gently down to lay on your back. You’re not sure how Yunho’s tall frame fit in the car with you but that’s the least of your worries. You need more of him, so you reach for his sides to tug on his shirt, urging him to fill you up once again… and he does. He pushes your legs up so high over his shoulders, you feel your hips suspended in the air. With one hand against the back of the passenger seat, one hand planted on your side, he sinks back into you—all the way.

“Yunho—” you whimper. “It’s so deep.”

“I know, baby. I can feel you.” A breathy groan slips out of his lips. He closes his eyes as he reaches your pleasure spot once again. “You can take me though, right?” you see him smile but his eyes still dark and hungry. “I know you can.”

You nod. “I want you,” you tell him, you tug on his shirt once again, begging him to move. “I want all of you.”

He starts to move his hips a little eager this time. He’s reaching you so deep, he’s a little worried he might break you. You lift your hips up a little bit higher to meet every snap of his hips, heat pooling in your core and you tighten around him. He knows you’re close. He knows your body so well… so he pounds into you, his pace relentless, leaving both of you a panting mess.

“I love you, y/n.” He hisses through his teeth as his pace falters. His hand cups the back of your neck, pressing your foreheads together and you wrap your legs around his waist. “I love you so much. Come for me.” He groans, punctuating his words with his hips and it sends you spiraling. You let go, body convulsing at the intensity of your release. He’s not far behind. He pistons his hips recklessly into you, chasing his own high and you feel him stiffen and shudder out your name as he empties himself inside you.

Whether it’s the mixed emotions leading up to this moment or the effect of alcohol that made your orgasm the most intense you’ve ever experienced in your entire life, you’re unsure. But you do know it has everything to do with Yunho.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips before he pulls out and helps you up. He envelops you in a tight hug and you feel his heart beating as fast as yours as you both try to steady your breathing.

“I love you, Yunho.” You manage to whisper despite the shakiness in your voice.

“I love you more, baby.” He says as he leans slightly back to look at your face, pushing your hair away from it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait long enough to take you home—”

You hush him, tapping your fingers gently against his broad chest. “It was perfect.” You say, a sweet smile on your face.

He cups your face and starts pressing light kisses on your forehead, on your temples, the tip of your nose, and on either side of your cheeks before he whispers with an endearing smile, “You are.”

Your heart is filled with hope again. Maybe this time—it will be different. You hope that the words spoken between the two of you are not just empty promises and you’ll work on your relationship… together. But you do know that for Yunho, you’re always ready and willing to give your all.

a/n: thank you so much for being here! if you enjoyed this short fic and you're looking for a little bit more fluff and comedy, you might like about time!

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sagewritings · 2 years

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Car Confessions - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

pairing: steve harrington x female reader

synopsis: in an attempt to help robin with her crisis in her love life, you and steve set up a plan to help her get closer to vickie. but steve realizes that he might just need the same push with you.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: none, aside from very minimal season 4 spoilers (scenes from s4 ep1 only)

a/n: hello everyone! here’s another steve harrington fic <3 this one is shorter than the one i posted a few days ago, but much more chill. this is sort of like an au where vecna doesn’t happen :)

also, if you’d like to check out my other works, you can check the pinned post in my blog :>

i hope you’ll like this fic! happy reading!

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

There is never a dull or quiet moment whenever you are with Steve and Robin.

“And then there’s Heidi tomorrow night, but the problem with Heidi is that she’s going out of state for college. So it’s like, do I really want to start another relationship that has no point other than sex? I mean, I don’t know, does that make sense to either of you?” Steve rambled, looking sideways at you and Robin through his rear-view mirror.

When neither of you spoke, he raised his hands off of the steering wheel.

“Y/n, Robin, are you listening?”

You sighed as Robin ignored him, continuing on her attempts to apply her mascara while holding a small mirror shakily.

“No.” You groaned. “You lost me after talking about ‘Kate’.”

“Cut us some slack, please.” You heard Robin exclaim from the backseat. “It is 7:00 in the morning, we have to go to this stupid pep rally, and I woke up looking like a total corpse!”

“You’re worried about a basketball pep rally. You expect me to believe that?” Steve gave her a pointed look.

“Yeah… so?”

“We all know what this is about.”

“Who this is about.” You corrected Steve, and both of you chuckled.

“Seriously, Y/n? You’re supposed to be on my side!” Robin threw a glare at you, pushing her head in between you and Steve.

“You know what you got to do? You need to stop pretending to be someone else when you’re around Vickie.” Steve said.

“You’re literally quoting me to me. You do realize that?” She turns her glare to him.

You shook your head as they continued to argue.

“What time is the championship game again?” Steve asked.

“6:00 p.m.” You answered.

“Want me to pick you up?” He offered.

You prepared to nod but stopped yourself after remembering your plans for this afternoon.

As a treat in regards to the pep rally and championship game, the teachers decided to shorten their class periods for today. You initially planned to return to your home after your classes, seeing that there are a few hours to spare before the game.

“Oh, no. I won’t leave the school. I’ll be with Hellfire until the game.” You smiled.

“With the entire Hellfire or just with Eddie?” Robin teased, pinching your arm.

You rolled your eyes, slightly pulling yourself from her grasp. “Seriously, Robin?”

She shrugged and Steve rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to talk, but you know him well enough to figure out what he was going to say next.

“Before you say anything,” You started. “Eddie is a nice guy. Dustin and Mike wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t.”

“Yeah, except he sells drugs.” He pointed out.

You decided not to reply; you’ve lost count on how many times you two have fought about this.

Admittedly, you were wary about Eddie Munson too. His reputation of being held back to the same grade thrice, and selling drugs on school nights isn’t particularly enticing. But that was before Dustin introduced you to him a month ago.

You weren’t a member of the Hellfire Club, but most people have mistaken you as such because of how much time you spent with them. You did this for two reasons; you started to genuinely like their company, and you needed to make sure that Eddie does not give drugs to Mike and Dustin.

You all reached the school a few minutes later, and you immediately spotted Eddie’s wavy hair by the parking lot. You quickly thanked Steve and grabbed your bag, leaving his car in seconds.

Steve watched as you walked toward your friend. He didn’t have anything personal against Eddie Munson, aside from the fact that you’re being way close to him. Despite all your assurance that you and Eddie are just friends, Steve can’t help but feel envious and protective.

“You confuse me.” Steve recoiled slightly on his seat, forgetting that Robin was still seated behind him.

“What?” He asked her.

“I don’t know why you still go out with those random girls when it’s already obvious that you like Y/n,” Robin said as she began to gather her things.

“I don’t like Y/n.” Steve groaned. “At least not in a way that you think.”

“You may be good at talking with girls, but you are not good at lying, Harrington.”

=====================

“Are you sure you’re not going?” You asked Eddie as you sat beside him, waiting for Mike and Dustin.

“Nah. Watching little boys toss balls into laundry baskets isn’t really my thing.” He shot you a smile, laughing slightly at his words.

“Alright. Well, I got to go.” You stood up.

“Woah, wait. Are you sure? You know you can stay here for a while longer.” Eddie said, looking up at you.

“I’ve been here for hours, Eddie. Besides, I promised Lucas I’ll attend this game.”

Eddie glowered at his name.

You waved the club goodbye and headed to the gym. While walking, you noticed Steve standing in line for the visitors’ entrance.

“Steve!” You called out, and he turned and smiled upon hearing your voice.

“Y/n.” He said.

You two headed towards the bleachers, taking the seats near the band so you can be closer to Robin.

While the others were tense about the game, your and Steve’s attentions were divided. You would occasionally cheer, especially when Lucas was called to replace an injured player, but your eyes would wander towards where Robin and Vickie whispered to each other.

“Aw, our girl’s finally doing it.” You mutter jokingly to Steve.

He snickered. “Do you think she’s asking her out?”

“They’re just starting to get to know each other, Steve.” You rolled your eyes. It was then that an idea popped into your head. “Hey, let’s go for a milkshake after the game.”

“Sure.” Steve agreed.

“With Vickie.” You continued, giving him a mischievous smile.

“Ooh, I think I know where you’re going with this, Y/l/n.” He laughed, immediately catching up.

You shrugged, still smiling as you look back at the game.

=====================

Go. You mouthed at Robin.

As soon as the game ended, you pulled her and shared your plan with Steve. Robin was quick to disagree, eyes wide as she looked at a cheering Vickie. You convinced her that it was just going to be casual, allowing her to spend more moments talking with the girl. After a full minute of contemplation, Robin eventually agreed.

Now, with almost everyone leaving the gym, you quickly motioned for Robin to ask Vickie who was cleaning up her things.

You and Steve watched from your seats, observing the smile and nods between the girls. When Robin pointed at the two of you and Vickie followed her hand, you and Steve waved.

You were giddy the whole time. It was as if you were the one who would be bonding with your crush. Well, technically, that was right too.

Having a crush on your best friend is the most cliche thing ever; you used to think that until it happened to you. But unlike the others, it wasn’t just Steve Harrington’s glorious hair that caught your attention.

You lost count of how many times he openly placed himself in harm’s way just to protect his friends, especially you and the kids. You witnessed him try to fix his mistakes, and you were probably the only person he allowed to see him cry. And regardless of all the silly fights, he shared with Robin, he would still take an additional shift at the Family Video so she won’t be alone.

Naturally, you kept your feelings quiet. Though, you might have slipped a few times because Robin and the kids would often tease you silently.

The ride to the diner took around fifteen minutes, and you were happy that Vickie was at ease with all of you the entire time.

“Two strawberry and two chocolate milkshakes, please,” Steve said to the waitress, shooting her a small smile as he ordered. The lady smiled back at him, returning with the milkshakes a few moments later.

Despite the diner being almost empty, the booth that the four of you chose is located at the corner. You and Steve sat beside each other, facing Robin and Vickie.

“Are you dating anyone?” Robin blurted, and her eyes widened after realizing her words. Before she could reply, Vickie laughed and shook her head.

“Nope.” She said casually as she sipped on her shake, then she turned to you and Steve.

“How about you two?”

Your eyes snapped back between her and Steve, stuttering for an answer. You didn’t know whether she was asking if you and Steve were together, or separately.

“Oh! I’m not dating anyone either.” You chuckled.

Steve uttered the same, cheeks slightly flushed as he distracted himself with his shake.

Meanwhile, Robin’s panicked expression turns into a smug one, a smirk planted on her face as her eyes darted back between you and the boy.

You glared at Robin, asking Vickie a question about the band to redirect the topic.

The next minutes were filled with questions between the four of you, and it seemed that Vickie and Robin are similar in more ways than one. They even shared a simultaneous “no!” when Steve pulled out his wallet to pay, saying that the drinks are his treat.

“Hey, wanna leave them alone for a while?” Steve whispered to you, ensuring that either of the girls couldn’t hear.

You raised your brow. “How?”

“Just follow me.” He said simply, sitting up straight as his voice got back to its normal volume. “Hey, I’ll just check something in my car. I’ll wait for you guys there.”

He stood up, and you three girls nodded your head. He discreetly motioned for you to follow him and you nodded your head, waiting a few seconds after he stepped out of the diner.

“I’ll go check on Steve.” It was your turn to stand, earning a smile from Vickie and a squinted smirk from Robin. “I’ll see you outside. Take your time.”

You hastily walked out, and you caught sight of Steve sitting on the driver’s seat.

“You think your plan worked?” He asked you with a smile as you sat beside him.

“Definitely.” You proudly grinned.

His eyes went from yours to something behind you. No, someone. There were two blonde girls, laughing as they entered the diner.

“Do you know them?” You asked, confused and slightly saddened but still keeping a neutral expression.

“Only one of them. The one with the red bag is Heidi.”

Your eyes widened, recognizing the name from your conversation earlier this morning. “No way. Heidi? Heidi for tomorrow night?”

He shrugged, reclining his seat back.

“Does it work?” You asked him quietly.

“Does what work?” Steve looked at you.

“Going out with many girls until you find someone you like.”

“I guess. It works in helping me find the characteristics I like and don’t like. But that’s it.”

“Do you think you found her?” You picked up one of your legs and tucked it under the other, allowing you to fully face him. When he shot you a confused look, you continued. “You know, ‘the one’?”

Steve’s face softened. “I think I did.”

You felt your insides turn, in a bad way. It already pains you to see him with other women every night. But him saying that he might have found the right one for him, makes you ache even more.

What you didn’t know is that Steve is also trying to maintain his calmness. He has been thinking about Robin’s words before she left his car this morning, and he immediately canceled his future dates after he made up his mind.

He was scared; he was probably more scared of coming forward to you than facing the giant Mind Flayer several months ago. But he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to hug you and kiss you, pull you closer to him whenever you needed someone’s shoulder. Most of all, he wanted to be honest.

“Really?” You asked, trying to keep your tone positive.

“Mhm. Never realized it until this morning, actually.”

You raised a brow in question, and he took it as a sign to continue.

“Y/n…” He started. He looked like he was about to close his mouth again but then he took a big sigh. “What I’ll say may or may not ruin our friendship, but I’ve spent way too much stalling already and I want to be honest.”

You felt your heart pump faster at his words, but you gave him an encouraging nod.

“I like you. And not just in an ‘I-like-you-as-a-friend’ type, but ‘I-would-like-to-take-you-out-on-a-date’ type. And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay! T-that’s cool. It’s just… you’re beautiful and smart and funny and I’ve realized I liked you since that day you took Max and El out to the mall. Then I thought that I could set aside what I feel for you by going with other girls but I can’t. And I’m sorry if this all sounds like it came out of nowhere, Robin knocked some sense into me earlier–”

You cut off Steve’s rambling by holding his hand, your face beaming.

“Steve.” You softly said his name and his eyes widened, thinking that this is going to be the last day of your friendship. You never thought that you would ever see Steve Harrington nervous as he confesses to a girl.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked.

You shook your head sideways, still smiling. “I like you too, Harrington. Not in an ‘I-like-you-as-a-friend’ type, but ‘I-would-like-to-go-on-a-date-with-you’ type.”

Steve’s eyes twinkled, his smile reached from ear to ear as he processed your words. He pulled you to him, as close as possible with the gear controls between you. You two laughed softly, pulling away when you heard the bell of the diner’s entrance.

You spotted Robin and Vickie walking towards Steve’s car, almost hip to him beside each other.

Steve looked at you, faking an annoyed expression but still keeping a smile on his face. “I guess I gotta thank Robin.”

“You really do.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfiction #robin buckley #robin x vickie #steve harrington season 4

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

I saw you were open to nurse!steve ideas so how about their first date? they’re both nervous bc they’re seeing each other outside the usual hospital room but still suuuper gone for the other already and you both realize yes this is my person 🥹

AN | No, but please. This is so soft and I just know that these two always knew they were meant to be 🥺 This can be read as a companion piece to the below but also as a stand alone!

Warnings | None

Pairing | Nurse!Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Nurse Steve, Steve, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had no clue why you were so nervous. It wasn’t like it was some weird blind date, or some total stranger, this was Steve. You were still getting to know each other but he’d already seen you at your absolute lowest point.

Really it could only go up from there and yet, you were staring at the closet, unsure of what to possibly wear. Your stomach was in absolute knots, as you tried to decide between the more casual option of jeans and a nice shirt or a dress. He hadn’t said exactly what you were doing, but you still wanted to look nice.

“Ugh,” you sighed as you settled on a simple sundress, white with some eyelet embroidery. It was a warm evening and you figured that, along with a cardigan and some flats would be perfect. You weren’t going to risk heels, you’d only just gotten comfortable with using your left leg again, “this will have to do.”

Steve was sitting in his car outside your house, trying not to have a mental breakdown. His nerves had led him to being almost half an hour early, clutching a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies tightly in his hand; sunshine for his sunshine. He was trying to give himself a pep talk, trying to tell himself that everything would be okay. He already knew you, and that was what was sending him into a tizzy. He already liked you way more than he could put into words and both thrilled and terrified him.

After letting some more time pass, he decided that five minutes early was enough to be socially appropriate. He took a deep breath, exhaling long and slow before stepping out of the car and bringing the flowers along. He counted each step as he walked to your front door, reminding himself that everything would be fine. But as he rang your doorbell and anxiously awaited your arrival, his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his ribcage. If he wasn’t a medical professional he might have thought it was just about to do that.

A few long moments passed before you opened the door and gave him the prettiest smile he had ever seen. All coherent thoughts in his mind seemed to leave as he looked you over. Holy fuck. How were you so pretty? It shouldn't have been allowed because he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive you. You would be the sweet, beautiful death of him.

“Hi Steve,” your face flushed with warmth as you tried not to stare at the handsome man on your doorstep. He was dressed smartly in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a dark button down with the sleeves rolled up, a beautiful arrangement of flowers in his hand. Oh no. He was not making this easy on you, “you’re here.”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly as he let out a small laugh, “did you not expect me?”

“I did,” you grinned, “but I don’t know…I thought maybe I’d made all this up in my mind and you weren’t real after all.”

“I assure I’m very real,” he held out the flowers to you with a small flourish, “and these are for you. I wasn’t sure what your favorite flowers were, but I hope you like them…sunflowers and daisies suit you.”

“Thank you,” your heart felt like it was about to burst as you took them gently, “it happens to be your lucky day - these are my favorites. Do you want to come in for a few? I want to put them in water real quick.”

“Of course,” you turned around and motioned for him to follow you, slowly making your way into the kitchen, which thankfully was close by. Steve, the good man that he was, tried his hardest not to stare at you, but it was a herculean challenge. You were like the sweetest and most tempting fruit in the garden, “how’s the ankle?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you promised as you grabbed a vase from the cabinet and quickly filled it with fresh water along with a bit of sugar and vinegar. Steve leaned against the counter as he watched you work, his toffee eyes practically glittering with affection for you. You made quick work of trimming the stems before setting them in the solution you’d made, “it feels weird to use that foot freely again and it still throws me off, so please excuse the fact that I’m hobbling around. I’ve just started PT so hopefully it’ll be better in a few weeks.”

“You’re perfect,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop him and the sweet look you gave him made him not regret a thing. He laughed nervously, “it takes time but you’re already using it which is a good sign. And…if you ever need any help, I’d be more than happy to help.”

“I might just have to take you up on that offer,” you set the flowers down in the center of the kitchen counter, grinning when you saw how they brightened up the room. Steve softened when he saw the happy look on your face, “so you didn’t technically tell me what we’re doing so I hope I’m not over or under dressed?”

“You look beautiful,” he promised, catching your eyes with pastel pink cheeks but refusing to look away. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before biting your bottom lip, “really.”

“Steve-”

“First thing is dinner,” he grinned and your eyes lit up, “I hope you like Italian otherwise we’re going to have some awkward reservations.”

“I love Italian,” you nodded, trying to contain your eagerness. You really liked Steve and definitely didn’t want to scare him off just yet, “that’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” he perked up as you beamed at him, “let’s get going then!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Spending time with Steve was…ridiculously easy. There was no awkwardness between the two of you, no uncomfortable pauses or nervous energy. It felt like you’d known him for ages already, and you were able to tell him anything and everything. And he gave it right back to you. You liked listening to him talk about himself, the kids he basically adopted and still loves, his work, and anything in between. He listened intently to you talking about your work, about your childhood, and how you loved only oddly specific pizza toppings. And it never once felt like he was disingenuous or condescending at all; Steve Harrington genuinely loved spending time with you.

After dinner was finished, a bundle of sadness settled in your belly as you realized that he was probably going to take you home soon. You weren’t ready to end the evening with him; he could have stayed and never left as far as you were concerned. You wondered if he left the same, if he’d even want to see you again. Little did you know that Steve was already imagining a future filled with you. Steve was a smart man, but he was also an incredible romantic…something he hadn’t really realized until he met you.

“I hope I’m not, you know, reading the room wrong, but would you like to get dessert?” he sounded timid as the two of you walked out of the restaurant; you turned to him with a big smile and an eager nod.

“I was umm…kind of hoping for that,” you admitted sheepishly, feeling your heart jump as he took your hand in his, threading his fingers through yours as though he’d done it thousands of times before. You gently squeezed his hand and followed his lead, feeling both exuberant and protected, “I’m not really ready for this night to be over.”

“Me neither,” he had a really pretty smile. You suddenly had the desire to make sure he always had a smile on his face, “I…this feels so crazy to say, but I really like spending time with you.”

“Funny,” you nudged your arm slightly into his, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Yeah?” oh. You could definitely get used to that.

“Yeah,” before you could stop yourself, you leaned up and pressed a quick little kiss to his cheek. Steve turned bright red and flustered; you thought he was adorable.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You clearly have no taste,” you pretended to huff heavily as you licked at your ice cream cone, “chocolate chip cookie dough is a classic. Iconic basically, and you, Harrington, are missing out.”

He snorted in amusement as the two of you walked through the park, the setting sun coloring the sky in pretty shades of golds and oranges. One hand was holding yours and the other was holding his own ice cream, a mixture of chocolate and vanilla today.

“I’m telling you, I spent a whole summer working at Scoops Ahoy and it scarred me for life,” he playfully groaned, “really ruins a lot of ice cream when you have to serve it to screaming children everyday!”

“You did get something good out of it,” you reminded him, “your best friend!”

“That’s true,” his heart fluttered with the knowledge that you already remembered this little detail about his life, “don’t know what I’d do without Robin.”

“Maybe one day I can meet her,” you looked over and gave him a hopeful little smile, aware of the full meaning behind your statement. It held a promise of more - of a future together. You’d never been sure about a lot of things in life, but you were already sure about Steve Harrington, “if she’s anything like you, she must be great.”

“Flatterer,” he smiled nonetheless, busying him with his cone in order to keep from making a total fool out of himself, “lucky for you it works on me.”

“Lucky me,” you stopped in front of a bench overlooking the small lake, and tilted your head towards it in a silent question, both of you throwing away the cone wrappers. He nodded and the two of you sat down, leaving just enough of an acceptable space between your bodies, “you know, I never felt particularly lucky, but I’m starting to think I just might be.”

“That makes two of us,” he hesitated for a moment before putting his arm around your shoulders and scooting just a little closer. You stiffened for a moment, nervous at his affection for a fraction of a second before relaxing into his touch and putting your head on his shoulder.

It was easy to fall back into conversation with him, and the two of you talked until the sun had set and the sky was a pretty shade of blue and purple, a few stars visible. You were glad it was summer or you would have been freezing, but everything that evening felt perfect. You were half tempted to ask him to stay for the evening, but didn’t want him to get the wrong idea either. Of course you wanted to have sex with him, you were only human after all, but you didn’t want to rush anything either. Steve Harrington was a good one and you didn’t want to ruin this.

With a small sigh, you peeled yourself away from his side and sat up, angling your body towards his. He looked at you, an air of disappointment around him too. He reached over and gently tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before brushing his knuckles over your cheek, “it’s getting late.”

“I know,” you tried to keep the pout off your face but were sure you were doing a horrible job of it, “I don’t want this evening to end.”

“Me neither,” he seemed bashful as he looked away for a moment before looking at you with expression on his face. He leaned ever so slightly and your breath hitched in your throat as you realized what was happening, “may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” his large, warm hand settled on the side of your face as he closed the remaining gap and gently pressed his lips to yours. As soon as he kissed you, you felt an electric shiver run down your spine and a delicious warmth bloom in your stomach and spread through your body. You’d kissed a fair number of people before, but he made all of them seem like they had no clue what they were doing. He melded perfectly into you, and it felt like the two of you had been doing this forever.

When he pulled back after he kissed you dizzy and breathless, he looked at you curiously. You kissed many frogs before but you were sure that Steve was your prince.

“That was-”

“Incredible,” you finished for him and he nodded happily. Both of you seemed to be on the same page as he leaned in and kissed you again, pulling you into his warm body as the kiss slowly became more passionate and intense. You hated to pull back but you knew that you couldn’t keep going or you wouldn’t be able to stop, “Steve.”

“You’re an angel, you know that?” he pressed his forehead against yours, and you could feel him smiling against your lips, “and as much as I wanted to keep going, I want to do this right. I don’t wanna half-ass anything with you.”

“Yeah?” you were looking up at him with the sweetest eyes and he couldn’t help but steal a few more kisses, “I really like you, Steve.”

“I really like you,” he had a breathtaking smile, “I hope this isn’t too forward but…when can I see you again?”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #joe keery #joe keery x you #joe keery x reader

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appleofthemoon · 1 year

Text

⸻ * ❪ ❀ ... ROSE

premise. oh dear, it looks like death has parted you and your lover. don’t worry, beomgyu is here to make you whole again.

pairing. non-idol! choi beomgyu x widow(er)! reader.

pantone. yandere.

word count. six hundred seventy three.

warning. delusional yandere, a funeral takes place, allusion to death by suffocation.

note for the reader. the depiction of the muse does not reflect upon their behavior in the real world. the muse’s actions are also not condoned by me, this is all purely a work of fiction.

“YOU LOVE HIM.”

thump.

“you love him not.”

scratch.

“you love him.”

thump.

“you love him not.”

scratch.

and he does this a few more times—cradling the rose petal before letting it fall upon the disturbed earth. to beomgyu's delight, he peels off the last one and hums, “you love him not.”

but you don't seem to share his happiness. in fact, so many tears are falling down, the handkerchief he gave you is useless. so he tucks the stem in his breast pocket, kneels in front of you, and cups your face in his hands.

“it's okay, sweetheart. funerals really are a sad occasion.” he assures you while the pads of his thumbs gently wipe your cheeks clean.

you say nothing, not when the sadness that's painted on your face says everything. it pains beomgyu to see it, but he doesn't stop you. give some time with him, and that pain will ebb quicker than you think.

eventually, your sobs are nothing more than sniffles. feeling like you've cried enough for the buried, you finally take beomgyu's hand and rise from your chair. unfortunately, due to the uneven ground, you lose your footing and accidentally stumble into his arms.

within this close proximity, you feel his warm breath fan over your skin as he whispers, “already falling for me, sweetheart? you should be more careful, or else people will start to talk.”

you close your eyes and beg, “please, let's just go..”

“whatever you wish, my flower~”

he steps back and guides you to the car. since your wrist is still healing from an.. accident, beomgyu decides to rest his hand upon the small of your back. but if someone looked closer, they'd notice him pinching your top with his index and middle finger.

you get into the passenger seat and fold your hands upon your lap once you do so. beomgyu prefers you to sit that way, claiming it accentuates your ‘delicateness’. you don't know what that means; what you do know is that it's better to not question him.

“wait here, sweetheart. i'll just go get the chair, and then i'll take you home, okay?”

“alright, just don't take too long.” your response makes him so happy, he just has to give you a kiss on the cheek before shutting the door.

of course he makes sure to lock the car. what if someone is watching, waiting for an opening so they can take you from him? he might as well dig a grave for himself too.

there's a pep in his step as he walks back to the site. he hums while folding the chair, but pauses because the noise your ex-lover is making is threatening to overpower it. that just won't do, not when he's trying to make a melody for you. so he stands over the grave and looks upon it with a frown.

“stop being such a baby, i got you the comfiest bed possible.” he hears a faint scream, eliciting him to roll his eyes and scoff, “how ungrateful, maybe i shouldn't have wasted my time on making a resting place.”

a series of banging and scratching follows suit, as well as cries of your name. and he does it a few more times—trying to break the coffin open before calling for your help. to your ex's fright, nothing is working; you're not coming.

“denial won't do you any good. just accept the fact that i'm here now to do everything you didn't, including caring for them and ensuring their happiness. once you do that, you'll be able to rest peacefully.”

beomgyu can't help but smile as the sounds gradually decreases until.. silence. hm, seems like the male finally listened to him. he takes out the rose's stem and a lighter. after carefully twirling the former between his fingers, he snaps it in two.

“they love me.”

he puts it back in his pocket, right above his heart.

“they love me not.”

then he burns the other half, its remains carelessly scattered upon the dirt.

#yandere txt #yandere beomgyu #yandere kpop #txt imagines #txt scenarios #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x reader

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1989luvr · 4 months

Note

hi! could you please write about Mike and the reader’s first fight as a couple kind of in the style of “The Great War” by Taylor Swift? like angst followed up with comfort? thanks for writing, I enjoy reading your work!

The Great War

a/n: thank you so much for enjoying my work :))), it means so much to me! AND I FUCKING LOVE TAYLOR SWIFT I AM LOVING THE TAYLOR REQUESTS OH MY GOD. also buckle up because she's a long one hehehe (i was yapping so hard)

It started out as a regular evening, you were watching Abby while Mike was at his night shift at the abandoned pizzeria. You always got a queasy feeling whenever he left for work, like he was in danger. You hated how he would be towards you when he got back, like he was shutting you out, and not telling you anything. You already knew that this relationship might be hard for him since he does not like to be vulnerable and doesn't trust easy. You've tried to bring it up to Mike, but he would immediately shut it down, and you understood.

In the early morning, you were in the kitchen making Abby breakfast, while she sat at the kitchen table coloring a picture, Mike was fast asleep, you drove over early that day so you could take Abby to school. As you set a plate of pancakes in-front of Abby there was a knock at the door "what the hell?" you thought before answering the door. There on Mike's front porch stood an officer. "O…Officer! How can I help you?" you ask, a pit of nerves filling in your stomach. "Mike didn't mention he had a girlfriend.. Vanessa Shelly, pleasure to meet you." Vanessa sticks out her hand for you to shake it, so you shake it. "Y/n L/n." you responded.

"What can I help you with?" you restated your question, "Ah, yes. Freddy's, the place where Mike is employed got broken into early this morning." Vanessa answers, you scrunch your eyebrows together. "Oh my god! That's horrible." you responded. "It happened possibly an hour or so after 6am, when I went to go check on the place, I found that it had been destroyed. I also took a trip to the security room, I found these." Vanessa pulls out an orange medicine bottle. Your eyes widen, you were completely unaware that Mike was taken any pills, even after almost four months of dating you remained completely oblivious.

"Do you know about these?" Vanessa handed them to you and you recognized the medicine, your dad used to take it because he struggled with severe insomnia. "These are sleep pills, my dad used to take these. I… I had no idea Mike took them, I am so so sorry, Vanessa." you apologize profusely. "You shouldn't be the one apologizing, Y/n. Have a good one." She nods her head and turns back. "Thanks, you too." you meekly replied, closing the door and locking it. You turn to Abby who is just finishing up her breakfast, she notices your gaze and looks at you. "Is everything okay?" she looks confused. "Yeah, everything's okay, Abs. Hurry and finish we gotta get you to school." You go to her and softly ruffle her hair, putting the medicine bottle in your hoodie pocket.

After you dropped off Abby you had finally taken enough time to cope with what was going on. You were hurt, hurt that Mike doesn't open up. You knew stuff happened in his childhood but you've known him for about two years, while he was at his mall job and even then he was extra closed off. You just didn't know why he would not tell you anything. You trusted him with everything, why can't he trust you, you just couldn't understand why. You went back to your house and got ready for your 5 hour shift at work.

After you got back to your house after work, you showered and then gained the courage to ask Mike about it. You looked at the clock on your bedside table. '1:45' you go out the front door and lock it behind you and go to your car, giving yourself a pep talk on the way, praying that this won't be the end of anything, which you were aware that it was over dramatic that you were thinking like that but, you don't ever know. You drive to Mike's house and pull into the driveway, you park and lock the car as you walk up to the porch and give a soft, but firm knock.

Less than a minute later, a very tired, but handsome Mike opening the door, and second thoughts flooded your mind. "Hey, babe. What's up?" He let you in, "Nothing much, I just wanted to talk." you say softly taking a seat on the couch, Mike raises an eyebrow as he sat next to you, facing you. "About?" "Well uh, this morning, Officer Vanessa stopped by and said that Freddy's was broken into an hour after you left and she looked in your office and found these." You pull out the orange bottle from your pocket and show him, Mike's face falls. "What are these, and why didn't you tell me." You feel your face grow warmer. "They're sleeping pills, I have a hard time sleeping, they just... I don't know. I didn't tell you because I didn't think it would be a big deal." Mike takes the bottle out from your grasp

"Mike, you've been super closed off ever since I met you. What is going on. Do you not trust me?" You shoot at Mike. Mike feels like he's going to explode, he's embarrassed you had to find out this way and that he's getting asked questions about it. "Well, maybe it's because you don't need to know everything. Some things are better off without you knowing." He stands up. You shoot up from your spot. "Don't even put this on me, Mike!" You march right up to him. "What do you even want me to say, Y/n?!" He throws his hands up.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a, 'Sorry for not telling you, Y/n'. God forbid Abby gotten into them." You mutter the last part. "Don't you dare bring Abby into this." Mike looks dead into your eyes. "Sorry, maybe it's your past that's talking-" You instantly slap your hands over your mouth and tears brink your eyes. "Mike I-" He cut you off. "No, you're right. It is, I can't trust anyone anymore. And you getting all this information makes it even more worse." Mike raises his voice. Somewhere in the haze, you had a sense you've been betrayed. "I'm sorry, Mike." You brushed past him and walked out the door to your car.

You pulled out of his driveway, feeling stupid. You regreted everything that you said, and you wonder if he did too, you never ever wanted to hurt him. You pull into your drive way and you walk into your house crying. You have never felt this guilty.

About two days go by, nothing from Mike. After an hour after you had gotten home from work on the third day, you heard a soft knock. You open the door, to find Abby? Standing with a... poppy. "Abby? What are you doing here?" You ask. She says nothing, just handing you the flower and looking to the side of her where she was beckoning someone over. To your surprise, it was Mike, holding a bouquet of poppy's. Your favorite. "Mike? Mike, I'm so sorry. I should have never said what I did. I just felt like there wasn't any trust and I had no right too-" He cut you off with cupping your cheeks and kissing you. Abby rushed back to the car. "Y/n. I honestly needed that snap back to reality." Mike confesses, "Nobody has ever been that honest with me before, and I shouldn't have just shut you out like that. You're my best friend and my lover. You have a right to know." His soft brown-green eyes stare into your eyes. "I don't want to force you to do anything, though Mike." you grab his hands. "No. I want to do this. I love you. I want you to know." He kisses your forehead.

You wrap your arms around his neck, "Jesus, I almost thought I lost you, Mike." His hands wrap around your middle, "You may be a pain in the ass, sometimes, but you'll never loose me." He picks one of the poppy's from the bouquet and places it behind your ear. "You're a pain in my ass, Mike. I love you" You let out a laugh before pressing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you too." Mike says, kissing you back and resting his forehead against yours.

a/n: omg i'm sosososo sorry this took so long, and that it's so lengthy. i really hope you all like this. Requests are still always open! ps: dm me if i made any mistakes!!!

tags: @etherynn

#1989luvr #1989luvr updates #mike schmidt x reader #josh hutcherson #five nights at freddy's #abby schmidt #mike schmidt marry me plz plz plz #mike schmidt fanfic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff

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ncisfranchise-source · 4 months

Text

NCIS: Sydney 1×05 “Doggieccino Day Afternoon” is the best episode of the show so far, and the first one that truly feels like a team episode. Everyone’s got a role and case-wise, everyone is necessary. NCIS: Sydney has been building towards that conclusion for the first four episodes. But that’s not just true in the professional sense, it also very much applies to the family this team is building.

It took five episodes, but NCIS: Sydney 1×05 “Doggieccino Day Afternoon” focuses on the one member of the team we hadn’t spent all that much time on — Doctor Roy ‘Rosie’ Penrose. It does so as subtly as this show has handled all episodes, by showcasing his importance in the office, subtly reminding us of the relationships he already has within the team, and shining a light on the new ones he’s building.

But the show also takes the time to provide some very important context on Doctor Penrose, enough that by the end of the hour, we feel like we know him — and by extension, the team better. Now, that’s an effective episode of a procedural.

Family

Family is at the center of every decision made in this episode — from a kid just trying to save his family, to Doc trying to get home so his wife has someone to call, someone to be there for her. But NCIS: Sydney 1×05 “Doggieccino Day Afternoon” is very clear in the messaging about the good doctor, starting from the moment he calls J.D — he might think his wife is all the family he has left, but that is very much not the case.

Family is, has never been, just blood. Family is the people who show up when you need them. The ones who pick you up when you’re feeling down, who make ill-advised decisions (and sometimes defy authority) to try to help you, and yes, the ones that wait in a car for you as you go do something hard. Not because they have to, but because they don’t want you to be alone.

Sometimes you’re lucky enough to be born with them, yes. But sometimes you choose them, or they choose you. And the ones you choose are just as important as the ones that life chooses for you.

You Can Stay In the Fight

Seeing one of your own in danger isn’t easy — especially when we consider how much the team has clicked in such a short time. And everyone deals with things in their way. In the case of Blue, sometimes that means not dealing. In a way, that’s understandable. She doesn’t have the training the other members of the team have. And it’s hard to keep it together when you care. This is why Mackey giving her the Mackey pep-talk is so important.

There were no false promises made. But there was respect. Mackey was treating Blue with the respect she deserves as a member of the team, one Mackey is holding to the same standard she would anyone else. And on this team, no one gives up on each other. It’s that simple.

It all, of course, starts with Mackey and J.D. It has since “Gone Fission.” And though it’s too early to say if those two have the makings of an epic ship, it is not too early to say we want a lot more of them to figure it out.

Things I think I think:

I will take more of Mackey and Evie casually ganging up to tease J.D, please and thank you.

Honestly, I appreciate how the show doesn’t do subterfuge in some things. Someone like J.D would catch on fast.

This might be the best episode of the show so far at teamwork.

They’ve done great with the twosomes, this is a team episode as much as a Doc Penrose episode.

J.D standing in the way of the shot was hot, WHAT CAN I SAY.

I thought this was a safe episode about dogs, not one that would compromise my emotions! How very wrong I was.

Seriously, everyone got me this episode. Everyone.

All this information on J.D! A marriage (and a divorce). Plus a kid?

Give me a Mackey and J.D heart-to-heart every episode, please. But without Todd Lasance smiling like that, because that’s just unfair.

Did I finish the episode crying at Doc and Blue? Maybe I did.

There’s only eight episodes total in the season, what do you mean there’s a hiatus?!

#ncis sydney

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hawkins-losers · 2 years

Note

number 13 with steve please🦦🦦🦦

(‘’My friends get annoyed by how much I talk about you sometimes.’’)

‘’Talking about birthdays, Y/N and I are celebrating our seven months anniversary next week. I’m taking her to Enzo’s for dinner. Do you know? I had to make a reservation five weeks in advance, but it’s the only restaurant in Hawkins that’s not a fast food chain or a diner,’’ Steve went on while scanning returns on the computer and checking if they had been rewinded.

Celebrating your anniversary every month could be perceived as excessive to some, but you were his first relationship since Nancy and it was a huge deal for Steve. A huge step forward in his life. And like every huge step in life, it deserved to be celebrated. His and Nancy's breakup had been tough on him. He was still hung up on her for months following the breakup, but he finally moved on and healed – and given his heart to someone else.

‘’Do you guys think I should get her a gift too? I was thinking a piece of jewelry, but I’ve already given her a necklace and earrings. I’m afraid a ring could give her the wrong message and scare her-’’

Dustin’s head slowly turned to Steve, his annoyance growing and about to explode. ‘’I’m asking you if you can pick up Lucas and his cake for Max’s birthday tomorrow and you’re telling me about you and your girlfriend’s anniversary that’s next week?’’ The younger boy let out an exasperated sigh, which made Steve really confused. ‘’I’m very happy that you finally found a girl to settle with, but do you always have to talk about her? Every occasion you get, you bring her up. No hate to Y/N, she is a really nice girl, but give us a break.’’

Steve was shocked by the younger boy’s outburst. Maybe mentioning your anniversary when the subject was Max’s birthday was a little rude, but Dustin was wrong about Steve always talking about you.

‘’Robin, can you tell Henderson he’s wrong?’’ Steve turned to Robin for back up, but she was busying herself with a stack of flyers about Family Video’s new loyalty program. ‘’Robin!’’

She didn’t want to get involved in another stupid argument between her co-worker and his adopted son, but she was the only other person inside the store – unfortunately.

She shrugged. ‘’I mean, Dustin’s not wrong-’’

‘’You’re gonna side with him?!’’ Steve scoffed, shaking his head. ‘’I don’t mention her that much. You’re both exaggerating. And, even if I was, you’re no better. You talk about Vickie all the time too.’’

‘’Vickie is not my girlfriend,’’ Robin pressed to correct. ‘’She’s a girl…who is my friend. I may or may not wish we would be more, but we’re both really awkward and neither of us has the balls to make a move so we might get stuck in this friendship zone for a very very long time-’’

‘’The point is,’’ Dustin said, snapping everyone out of their bubble and reminding them of the main reason he came to Family Video. ‘’Can you pick up Lucas with the cake tomorrow and take him to Mike’s? Yes or no?’’

The second time someone pointed it out, Steve wasn’t as defensive.

He and Robin were on their way to the pep rally, driving bright and early to Hawkins High School. Robin was rushing to get ready in the car while Steve carried the conversation from one subject to another. Naturally, you ended up in the mix.

‘’I can’t work the closing shift this weekend because-’’

‘’Your anniversary date at Enzo’s, I know,’’ Robin finished while fixing her hair in the car’s mirror.

Steve glanced at her confusedly. ‘’How do you know?’’

‘’You’ve mentioned it a billion times in the last twelve days. I think even the Tuesday delivery guy knows about Enzo’s. Everyone knows.’’ She gave herself a spritz of mouthwash and grimaced because of how strong it tasted. ‘’Keith begged me to take your shift so he would stop hearing about it.’’

At the pep rally, Steve immediately searched for you. Your little sister was on the cheerleading squad so you had to drive her to school very early for a last minute practice. He spotted you in the bleachers, difficult to miss in your tracksuit jacket and green scrunchie to match the Tigers’ spirit.

‘’Good morning, handsome,’’ you greeted when he got to your seats, cupping his face for a kiss.

Steve happily obliged, keeping it sweet. You pouted at the shortness of the kiss, so Steve pecked your lips a few more times to make up. If any of his friends would’ve been nearby, they would’ve complained about the overload of PDA so early in the morning.

‘’Look, it’s Dustin,’’ you said, pointing to the curly haired boy a few steps lower. He was sitting with Mike and Max. ‘’Should we go sit with them?’’ You made a move to go, but Steve grabbed your arm to stop you.

‘’No!’’

‘’No?’’ You frowned. ‘’Did you ask Dustin get into an argument or something?’’

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. ‘’No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just, my friends get annoyed by how much I talk about you sometimes. I don’t want to annoy them further by sitting with them. I already have to announce to them that you’ll be coming to the championship tonight and for ice cream on Sunday. Let’s give them a break.’’

The corner of your lips curved into a smile. ‘’You talk to your friends about me?’’

‘’A little.’’

‘’A little?’’ You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. ‘’Should I go ask Dustin? Or Robin?’’

‘’Okay, maybe more than a little,’’ Steve admitted, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3 @cursedandromedablack @Slashersimpfor @savagejane1 @wh0reforbucknasty @eddiemunson-slut @slvdsjjk @hehehehannahthings @dreamdancers-world @eddiemunsonbby @notbeforelong @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog @tatespillows @alwayslexii @lilygreennn @milkiane @imahomeslice @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun @marauders3rawh0re @your-mom21 @parkersmyth @voguesir @milkiane @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @lilygreennn @alexxavicry @charlie-chick @wandamaximoffs-deadchild @horrorstreet @rmeddar123 @pastel-abyss-x @lil-tracys @luvmybbies @chloepricesgrafitimarker @inluvweddiemunson @i-like-trains @kittenfrostt @simp-for-slasher @m-rae23 @kenzi-woycehoski

Steve Harrington taglist: @dylanstilinskiposts @captainbuckyyy12 @valevalentyne @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @heizenka @eddie_munsons_girlfriend @scarlet-kazuha @uhidklol-26 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @swiftbyul @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie @tinfoilhat2719 @straycatarang @wayfaring----stranger @starstruckspring @fourlokiss @mi-amoree1111 @starshipsxx @ghoulishlygrey @bubsonnobx @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella @Dreamtiara @pastelbabygirl19 @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby @evanstanwhore @bootlegmothman420 @courtmr @nia-um @strangermarvelgirl @fandomloversvaries @missmaxmayfield @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @Minksblog @soph69420world @truewdw1 @crying-caro @nancewheelersworld @nluvwitheddiemunson @veniceb1tch88 @hcloangcls @ilovetaylorswift1 @steveharringtonsupremacy @jusstdreaaming @buckyswhxre @tomspidertingle @thechoiceslookgrimm @bobafettsleftglove @princesseddie @yourfavdummy

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington blurb #stranger things #stranger things s4 #steve stranger things #stranger things imagine

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kaymd0313 · 4 months

Text

Chapter Ten: Silence

Warnings: Language and almost smut.

MINORS DNI

Authors Note: When I first started writing this story I was bad at timelines. But as of 12-11-23 I have a whole calendar of 1985 and 1986, so the time passing gets better<3

A week has gone by since I’ve talked to Eddie. Frankly, I didn't want to talk to him. He really pissed me off with that shit. I skipped lunch every day and just ate outside in my car. Just so I could avoid him.

It was Friday which meant we would have a pep rally at the end of the day to celebrate the football team, even though they haven’t played a game yet, we pe-celebrate. It’s very stupid if you ask me. But nobody does.

I walked out of 7th period and headed to my locker to put away my books. I put in the combination and opened my locker and sat my books down. I turned to close my locker but my eyes caught a glimpse of something. There was a piece of paper barely sitting in the vent slits. I grabbed it and opened it.

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

Meet me in the old science room.

-E

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

I just sat there and looked at it. I didn’t know if I wanted to meet him. I’m still pretty ticked off.

I closed my locker and walked towards the gym. I went to the bathroom just to gather my thoughts. On one hand I missed seeing him, but on the other hand I feel like I might get even more pissed if I see him.

I sat in the stall as the cheerleaders and other excited girls left. The principal’s voice then came over the speaker trying to settle all the yelling students. Yea I’m not going in there.

Fuck it.

I walked out the bathroom and headed towards the old science room.

Once I got there I stood at the door for a second before knocking.

“Edd?”

Silence.

The door cracked open and I saw those brown eyes. The ones that first sucked me in. He opened the door more and let me in. I walked in and hopped up onto one of the counters and sat there. I looked at him as he stood by the door and literally twiddled his thumbs.

God his hands. The rings. I’d give so much to have those hands around my throat.

“Eddie, what did you want?”

Silence.

I huffed and hopped off the counter and headed towards the door. I wasn’t going to sit here for no reason.

As I reached the door, Eddie grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him. I couldn’t make eye contact with him, but I could tell he was looking down at me. I just stared at his shirt.

He lifted up my head so I was forced to look at him.

God those eyes.

“Look, y/n….I can’t keep not talking to you. It’s fucking killing me.”

I lightly shook my head. I really didn’t know what to say.

“When I’m at home, I’m thinking of you. When I’m at campaigns, I can’t think straight, because I’m thinking of you. I’ve been playing worse at Corroded Coffin practices, and the guys are getting pissed at me. y/n it’s all because I can’t get you off my mind. Not seeing you at lunch or not hanging out with you outside of school is just driving me crazy.”

I still said nothing.

“Please talk to me….please.”

I looked back at those brown eyes then back at his shirt.

“Eddie….I….I don’t really know what to say. I do know that I probably miss you more than you miss me, because you’re basically my only friend. Eddie, I forgive you, but I do need to tell you something and you can’t overreact like you did last week.”

“Of course, just tell me y/n.”

“I work at Family Video with Robin and Steve now, so you’re going to have to deal with it. I didn’t do it out of spite, I promise. I really just want to make money so I can do whatever I want.”

Silence.

“There you go being quiet again….God Eddie!”

I threw my hands up and walked towards the door again.

He grabbed me.

“y/n sorry, I just don’t like him, and I never will, at least I’m pretty sure of that. But I’ll support it, if that means I can talk to you again. I just want to be close again. I really hate not talking to you.”

He had his head hung low as if he was a puppy that had done something bad.

I walked over to him and raised his head and tucked his hair behind his ear so I could look at him fully. His eyes met mine and they were glazed over as if he was going to cry.

“How about this Edd, if I work with him I’ll let you know, so you can stop by and come bug me. And you can pick me up after work some days and we can go to your place and smoke. You can pick whenever you want to do that. If I don’t work we can just hang out regularly. Unless I have something else planned….Deal?”

His sad, pitiful face slowly turned to a happy, excited one as I said all this.

“I think I can handle that,” he said.

“I would hope so Edd cause that’s a lot.”

We looked at each other with slight smiles on our faces for a while.

“God Eddie, you’re so gorgeous.”

I then leaned in and kissed him which Eddie eagerly went along with.

Kissing him felt like I was safe. I reached my hand into his hair to pull him more into me. Eddie then grabbed me up by my waist and sat me up on the counter. He pulled me in deeper and kissed me harder. I slightly opened my mouth to breathe and Eddie took that opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, which I welcomed with mine.

His hand slowly started to reach under my shirt and settled at my middle back.

I was holding onto his face admiring the Greek god-like facial structure. He turned me on so much and he didn’t even have to do much.

All of a sudden the school bell rang, which was followed by students filling the halls with excited screams.

I let out a giggle at the people already bickering in the hallway, which really ruined the moment.

Eddie laid his head into my chest and let out a long sigh.

“Dammit,” he said.

“Oh, poor, Edds. C’mon, let's go to your place.”

“I can’t,” he said

I looked at him confused.

“Hellfire has a campaign tonight at Dustin’s house and I have to go set it up.”

Then it was all of a sudden as if a light bulb went off in his head.

“Come to the campaign. Please? If you don’t like it, you'll never have to go to another one. But I’d love to have you there with me. C’mon princess, please?”

He was on his hands and knees at this point.

I hopped off the counter and pulled him up off the ground and looked him in the eyes.

“Let’s go set up this campaign.”

There was the shit eating grin again.

“God Eddie, what am I going to do with you?”

“Hopefully everything,” he said.

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n

0 notes

im-in-love-with-pizza-bites · 3 years

Note

Hiya, I was wondering if you could write a Holland!sister reader where she comes out as pansexual to her brothers? And lots of fluff.

Only if it’s not a problem to write obviously

Also, love you Holland!sister fics

We'll love you no matter what

Holland Brothers X Pan!Sister!Reader

Summary: You come out to your brothers

Warnings: Fluff. idk... Let me know if you see any more (please do politely)

Reader's Age: 17

A/n: This is the first thing I've written like this but I hope you like it!

You could do this. You got this. They won't think of you differently. Right? You thought to yourself as you drove you and your younger brother home from school. Today was the day you were coming out to your brothers as Pan. You realized a little while ago, but have to be afraid to tell your brothers. A few select friends, and your parents knew but no one else. You only brought boyfriends home as to not raise suspicion. So they think you've only dated a few people though you've dated more and currently are dating someone.

"Are you okay?" Paddy asked. You snapped from your thoughts looking at him for a split second then your eyes were back on the road.

"Of course. Just thinking." You excused pulling into the driveway. "Uh, can you wait in the living room? I need to tell you, Tom, Harry, and Sam something." You stated.

"Sure." He agreed not thinking to much into it.

You gave him a smile as he went inside. You gulped giving yourself a pep talk in your head. You could do this, nothing will change... But what if everything changes. Nothing changed with your parents or most of your friends. You took a deep breath before climbing from your car.

Meanwhile inside Paddy was gathering your brothers.

"Tom! Sam! Harry! Y/n wants to talk to us about something!" Paddy shouted. Tom was the first in the living room, followed by Sam then Harry.

"What does she want to talk to us about?" Sam asked sitting down.

"I don't know she didn't tell me."

"Ah crap did any of you eat her food I'm not stopping her from murdering you." Tom said

"I didn't."

"I don't think I did." Harry said very unsure.

"Your gonna die." Paddy teased as you walked in looking very nervous.

"Hey Princess what did you need to talk to us about?" Tom asked you smiling.

"Uh." You walked farther kicking your shoes off setting the bag down. You sat down fiddling with your hands.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked you. Now the boys were worried.

"Are you pregnant?" Paddy asked causing you to let out a laugh while Tom smacked his brother.

"No I'm not pregnant." You assured your little brother.

"That's a relief I'm not ready to be an uncle." Sam sighed in relief.

"Yep so uh." You looked at your hands and took a deep breath. Tom moved seats to sit next to your and put a hand on your shoulder to try and calm you down. "I'm pan." You said softly not making I contact.

"Princess we thought you were gonna kill Harry cause he might have ate your food." Tom sighed a breath of relief. You looked at him relieved but also confused.

"He ate my food?"

"No nope I did not."

"So uh are you guys uhm." You dragged off looking at your feet.

"Princess I'll love you no matter what." Sam assured you. You looked at Sam before hugging him. He smiled softly wrapping his arms around you. You looked at your other brother worrying about what they'd say.

"Now we can check out girls together." Paddy joked unsure of what to say. You let out a chuckle.

"Actually I'm dating someone already." You told him.

"I want to meet them just like with your boyfriends I need to make sure they're not gonna hurt my baby sister." Tom told you before pulling you into a hug.

"Group hug!" Harry said.

"I love you guys."

"Love you too."

"Princess. Does mom and dad know?" Harry asked you after pulling from the hug.

"Yeah, I told them a few months ago." You said.

"You told them before me! I thought I was your best friend." Paddy feigned offense. You rolled your eyes resting your head on tom's shoulder.

"So what's their name?" Sam asked you.

"Uh Riley." You said.

"Ooh Riley. Yeah I'm gonna need to meet them." Tom told you. You were grateful to know that your brothers still cared. You were imagining the worst.

"What're they like?" Sam asked leaning over with a smirk. Your face heated up as you told your brothers about them.

Tom Holland and Co TagList: @the-girl-in-the-chair @gengen64 @roseeditsss @mcushvft

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA 326: What’s up Kids, It’s Me, Your Old Pal Stain

Previously on BnHA: Ochako shamed the U.A. Clown Mob into letting Deku go back inside his own fucking school by giving them an hour-long speech about how not to be humongous dickheads. Kouta and Gigantic Fox Lady saved the manga by being the only ones brave enough to give Deku a hug. Shouto was all “man, all this togetherness sure does remind me of that promise you made that we would handle Touya together which you immediately bailed on, doesn’t it, Dad.” Aizawa was all, “for the one and a half people out there who thought that my losing an eye and a leg might actually make me less sexy, I’m very happy to prove you wrong.” All Might was all, “[standing outside the U.A. fortress alone in the rain talking to someone or something??].” Like seriously, what was up with that though.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “here I am in Kamino having a belated mid-life crisis because Deku abandoned me and I’m a terrible mentor and everything sucks and I hate myself.” Stain is all, “don’t make me come over there and give you a ten page speech about why you’re still the goat while menacingly holding you at swordpoint the entire time” because idk if you knew this guys, but Stain is pretty crazy actually. Anyway so he does that, and then All Might gets all emotional, and then the lady from chapter 92 shows up and gives All Might’s statue an encouraging pep talk, and then Horikoshi is all “and it even stopped raining lol can you believe this shit I’m not even a little bit subtle,” and he really isn’t. But I still got emotional anyway, because seeing people reassure All Might that everything he’s struggled for his entire life hasn’t been in vain just got to me okay. Horikoshi knows I am weak to the All Might feels and he just goes for the jugular every time, that bastard.

lmao. “in the neverending downpour, All Might is...” yeah, thank you, glad we’re getting right to that then

“All Might is driving 95 mph in his busted ass car in the pouring rain, is what he’s doing.” huh

so basically a day or two after his adopted child refused to accept the handmade bento that he packed with love, my man is out here acting like he’s got nothing to live for anymore. this sure bodes well for certain prophecies on which the clock is still ominously ticking down

his fucking face though omg. is it weird that I’m kind of hoping more people ambush him just because I think it’d be funny to see them get their asses kicked like the last bunch

(ETA: or maybe he will just stand there openly not giving a fuck and basically daring them to stab him!! get it together please All Might.)

side note, “anti-hero supporters” is such a strange way of saying “people who hate heroes”, which I’m assuming is what they actually wanted to say?? this makes it sound like it’s a group that really loves antiheroes. “these Hannibal stans have been a real menace lately. time to go deal with them”

ha ha ha, fucking ouch

are you really gonna do it Horikoshi you bastard. are you really going to let that be the final encounter between the two characters whose relationship you once described as the vertical axis of the entire fucking story. are you really gonna?? huh??

huh

you’re telling me you were driving 112 mph and you still didn’t get there in time. you’re losing your touch old man. lol Todo’s ice is almost fully melted already, how late were you

(ETA: so apparently this is taking place after the end of chapter 325, meaning he went to U.A., hung out for a bit, saw the kids come back with his bedraggled half-dead protégé in tow, watched as they shamed the civilians into some long-overdue character development, and then was all “welp, time to go argue with the hero-hating faction or something because I’m feeling useless.” and Edge just let him go, just like that. though to be fair I have to imagine it’s pretty hard to say no to All Fucking Might.)

also belated lol at the fact that the kids were all “yeahhhhhhh we are definitely not gonna touch that thing, let’s just leave it here, he doesn’t need it anyway.” probably the right call to make since they couldn’t get a hazmat team on such short notice

fuck. ha ha ha fucking ouch part two

All Might please put that thing down before you get gangrene. also yeah, you dropped the ball, good for you to acknowledge it. nobody’s perfect and you did your best. but yeah you could have handled a lot of things completely differently. but I still love you

is Horikoshi really putting this flashback here. are you serious. what kind of fucking sadist

look, I swear I’m not one of those people that runs up and down the street shouting “DEATH FLAG!!” at every third panel lol. but this shit screamed Death Flag when we originally got it, and it’s screaming DEATH FLAG!!! even more now. like with the capital letters and exclamation marks and all. and that’s just a fact. I don’t like it but that’s how it is

ffkdjslk

“DID YOU READ THE SIGN??!” Horikoshi asks while zooming in maniacally because he thinks we’re blind or something. lol what

-- though actually, it only just occurred to me that this sign is actually written in English. I never really paid attention up until now and had been assuming it was written in Japanese and translated by the scanlators, but the writing here is clearly part of the original image. anyway so maybe that’s why he’s zooming in?? just to make sure everybody pays attention lol

okay fuck this

see, this is the whole problem right here. once again All Might is all on his own. Deku’s self-destructive angst spiral was fortunately brought to a grinding halt because he actually has support from his friends and family and teachers and classmates. but All Might never had that same kind of support, and it’s made all the difference between the two of them, and not in a good way. Katsuki wasn’t wrong when he said All Might and Deku were both cut from the same cloth. but now when it’s All Might’s turn to go all “I WALK A LONELY ROAD~~” once again, there’s nobody in sight

just, after forty plus years of him carrying this torch, I just wish someone would finally come along to let him know he doesn’t have to. all those things that he wanted to say to Deku are also things that he needs and deserves to hear himself. Aizawa was making a little progress there, but now he’s got his sad zombie cloud boyfriend situation to deal with, and we can’t expect him and his perfect hair to solve all our problems. someone else has gotta step up

oh my god

“you rang?” never mind I take it all back sob

omg why am I laughing. shit

this man truly has the best PR game in the series. we were truly convinced he was gonna suddenly become a good guy and defend All Might against the other villains or some nonsense. as if this wasn’t the same man who decided on a whim that Iida Tensei deserved to be paralyzed, and that his fifteen-year-old brother deserved to die for daring to be upset about it

lol even All Might is all “I genuinely never saw this coming” lmao

just want to say, for the record, I have always harbored a very sensible hatred toward Stain. feeling very vindicated right now. good job Past Me

adsfklwkfsdwgkj

ffffwefjslkg. ghsdlkg. dsfkkkslkjldwkjrg

STAIN: heard you talking shit old man

ME: smh that’s what I thought you’d say you dumb fucking Stain

STAIN: how dare you talk about All Might that way

ME: gljfljgk

(ETA: in hindsight I have no idea how I didn’t clue in sooner that he didn’t recognize him -- or, well, ~didn’t recognize~ him, to be more accurate lol. I think it was the whole “is that a slight against the heroes?” thing that threw me. Viz’s translation makes it much clearer that he’s offended on behalf of All Might specifically, not heroes in general. anyways.)

sob. so All Might is all “yeah I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this sweet leather jacket”

good thing he still knows how to do this party trick

A+ reflexes on Stain’s part presumably pulling the sword back a few inches to keep this dumbass from impaling himself with his whole pufferfish routine. can you imagine if that was the gruesome death Nighteye foresaw. and he was just too embarrassed to say anything

lol anyways guess I was wrong about Stain everyone

way to fucking go, Past Me. you really biffed this one

oh wait

Stain sure is one wacky rollercoaster ride

oh fuck me lol I forgot how much I did not miss this

(ETA: “this here is the sacred ground where All Might gave up the last of his power and turned into a shriveled old man!! please ignore the part where I admit to knowing all about that, and yet pretend not to recognize said man when he’s standing two feet in front of me.”)

Past Me, I know we’ve had our ups and downs these past ninety seconds, but I’m really starting to think you were on to something. this dude has always been kind of insufferable. always acting like his high horse is a fucking giraffe when it’s actually a Shetland pony

dammit now he’s got All Might going off on a depressed monologue

oh my god my heart

shit

why the fuck does that hit so hard. he became a hero because he couldn’t bear to just sit back and let bad things happen to people who didn’t deserve it. I mean that’s basically the same as every hero ever, right? so why does it still hit so fucking hard every single time though. what is it about seeing someone so determined to stand up for other people and fight on their behalf. it just never loses its impact no matter how many times I see that determination mirrored in so many of my favorite characters

“I wanted to make the world a better place.” omg. but you did, though. like seriously, I feel like people are always dogging on him for not being 100% perfect, and fandom really doesn’t give him enough credit for everything he still managed to accomplish. this man came of age at a time when Japan was by all accounts a total shitshow, and singlehandedly managed to bring about an era of peace that lasted for four fucking decades. can you imagine having peace for that long?? that’s longer than I’ve been alive. shit

and he gave people hope. he inspired them and protected them and made them feel safe. and no, he couldn’t save everyone, because he’s only one fucking dude (and also because the whole time AFO was also out there desperately working to undermine him so that he could keep preaching his narrative of “heroes are bad actually”). but you know what he did do, is inspire multiple new generations of heroes who, if they can all manage to work together, will finally be able to accomplish everything he never could

so yeah. forty years of peace, and inspired the “that’s how we all became the greatest heroes” generation -- that’s a fucking win in my book. talk about having a net positive impact on the world. lol anyways now I’m all fired up and ready to fight anyone who tries to talk any shit about you, All Might

“but what if I talk shit about myself” okay listen up All Might I’m gonna need you to try just a little bit harder to work with me here okay. please calm down and stop blaming yourself for every single bad thing that’s ever happened in the world. do you remember that time Bakugou was blaming himself for Kamino, and you gave him a hug and told him it wasn’t his fault, and that he was only a boy, and that even though he was strong, even strong people can struggle with the burdens they place on themselves, and that you were sorry for not seeing that earlier? do you remember all of that? that’s what I want someone to tell you too, dammit. anyway please stop breaking my heart please and thanks

wtf

are you dead All Might

I don’t even have the slightest idea what’s happening lol

oh snap did he grab him so they could hide??

hold the fucking phone. don’t tell me this person in the background with the umbrella is here to actually do something decent??

oh my godddd

and here come the feels. oh boy. okay don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit here sobbing over this fictional lady and her simple act of kindness in this weekly shounen manga that I care about way too much

FUCKING DAMMIT AND HERE’S A SECOND HELPING

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST GETTING DISPROPORTIONATELY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS WOMAN’S DETERMINATION TO HONOR A MAN WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER AND COUNTLESS OTHERS. I’M JUST HAVING SOME FEELS OVER HERE ABOUT HER HEARTFELT, DOESN’T-EVEN-KNOW-ANYONE-ELSE-IS-WATCHING FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE THAT COMPELLED HER TO COME OUT HERE AND MAKE THIS SMALL BUT POWERFUL GESTURE. I’M JUST OUT HERE GETTING ALL PROFOUNDLY WORKED UP ABOUT STATUE MAINTENANCE AND THE HUMAN RACE. NEVER MIND. JUST IGNORE ME AND CARRY ON

holy shit. I was not even remotely prepared. you can’t just do that to me. you can’t just leave all these death flags on my lawn and then suddenly shift gears to show me the best of humanity in a chapter where I was expecting the worst. that fucks a person up lol

OH ARE WE STILL GOING

my heart. you see that, All Might. your legacy is so much more powerful and meaningful than you think

...has. has Stain actually been giving All Might a pep talk this entire time

I give up lol. this dude is a fucking enigma

YAYYY

it may just be a metaphor panel, but I’ll take it lol. I missed them. nice to see the traffic light trio front and off-center. I know the whole “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes” thing had left some questioning whether certain characters would continue to play a central role in the narrative, and hopefully this will help to ease those concerns just a bit

anyway, so idk if it’s getting a bit chilly down there in hell, but damned if Stain didn’t just give an actual decent fucking speech

I have to say, earlier when I was whining about All Might not having a support squad, I really was not expecting Stain to be the one to come over and pat his head and reassure him that he made the world a better place

-- okay LISTEN

YOU CAN’T JUST COME INTO MY HOUSE AND HIT ME WITH THOSE ALL MIGHT TEARS AGAIN GODDAMMIT THIS ISN’T FAIR. my god. first 317 and now this

holy fucking shit

“I’m just gonna pretend like I haven’t been stalking him for two days and didn’t see the entire Deku bentogate thing go down, and then I’ll give him the whole big speech that I rehearsed, and then I’ll turn around and be all ‘BUT IF YOU’RE A TRUE HERO’, and then I’ll toss him the super-secret AFO wifi password that I stole from Tartarus. god I’m such a badass. fucking give myself chills”

so basically what you’re telling me is that this whole time my “what’s up kids” characterization of Stain from this shitpost has actually been 100% accurate. just want to make sure I’m understanding this right. okay then

“and then I’ll dramatically spin around and be all NOW COME KILL ME BITCH”

it must be so much fun to write Stain. drawing this coked-out maniac who talks like a chatbot that was trained to speak by reading Alan Moore monologues. that must be a trip

anyway so All Might is still crying, the awesome lady from chapter 92 is admiring her handiwork totally oblivious to the batshit insanity going on fifty meters to her right, and it’s finally stopped raining lol

“THE RAIN WAS A METAPHOR YOU SEE” yes, yes, we got it lol. thanks for that Horikoshi. don’t think we needed any help putting the pieces together on that one but I appreciate the effort

so that’s the end! and as I mentioned in another post, I had the count off by one chapter, but next week should be cliffhanger week! so break out your U.A. Traitor bingo cards, friends and fiends. either that or something else happens that I’m completely not expecting at all. which, based on my success rate with Stain predictions, I’d say is more than likely lol

mmm but anyway, so now that the Hug Deku 2021 campaign has finally come to an end, what’s it gonna take to get a hug for my struggling bento-preparing jacket-rocking world-weary death-flag-waving husband who is the worthiest man to ever live and deserves the fucking world, goddammit

#bnha 326 #all might #yagi toshinori #stain (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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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.

5K notes · View notes

foli-vora · 3 years

Text

more than words, pt.3

A/N: Thank you for all the love! 🥺🥰 overwhelmed by the reaction I’ve had to this story! Super excited that so many of you are coming along for the ride! There is a tag list for this—let me know if you’d like to be added! (I apologise if I’ve missed anyone!) I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, general first date nerves that trigger my anxiety x10

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.4 / pt.5 / pt.6

He was trying to listen. He really was, but God, how many times can you hear the same thing over and over and over again before you start to drift away from the conversation? He knew the answer. He had a very short attention span when it came to certain subjects – he’ll admit that freely – so when you continued to gush about his best friend, his main man, naturally his attention fell to the couple seemingly having an argument by their truck in the parking lot. Hmm… wonder what they’re fighting about? He purses his lips, watching the girl deliver one hell of a slap across her boyfriend’s face and strut away, tears streaking mascara down her face. Cheater. Definitely a cheater.

“Benny? Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes roll back to you, taking in your narrowed eyes and angry chewing as a slice of pizza dangles from your hand. Was he listening? Well, he did for the first few minutes… does that still count?

He finally answers, tone flat and uninterested. “No.”

“Ben.”

He shrugs, gesturing to the scene outside the window with a flick of his head. “Malibu barbie just smacked the shit out of her beau.”

Your head snaps to where he was looking, shamelessly curious. “Cheater?��

“That’s my bet.”

You both fall quiet, watching the strangers play out a scene that really should belong in a cringe-worthy daytime reality show while you chew. It’s almost depressing, how eagerly you both watch someone else’s life seemingly crumble in public. But the longer they scream and cry, the longer they yell and fight, the harder it is to tear your eyes away.

“Shit.” Benny sighs, reclining in the booth and stretching his arms up and behind him once the couple in conflict goes their separate ways. “That was the most interesting thing that happened to me all week.”

“Not me,” you sing with a smile, fondly remembering the phone calls and texts you had been sharing with Frankie the past few days. Benny sighs in irritation, neck cracking as he rolls his head on his shoulders.

“I swear, if you talk any more about Fish, I’m gonna throw myself out of this fuckin’ window.” He levels you with a challenging stare, lips twitching as you eye the glass critically. “I’ll do it, too. Try me.”

Deflating, you sag in your seat and fiddle with the peeling label on your beer bottle, realising with a wave of slight shame that you had been talking about Frankie ever since you sat down at the table. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’m just excited. He seems really cool, and nice, and –”

“Alright then.” He stands abruptly, kneeling on the worn leather to brace a shoulder against the glass panel with a look of severe concentration.

“Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry – sit down, you idiot!” Laughing loudly, you tug at his shirt until he sits with a lazy grin and you shake your head. “God, you are such a child, Benjamin.”

He snorts, pinching a cold fry from the basket in the middle of the table and waving it at you. “You love me.”

Grinning, you snatch it from his fingers, and chew it loudly, grinning at his pout. “I sure do, especially when you set me up with your gorgeous fri–”

He groans loudly, “Enough, woman. I’ll throw you out of this fuckin’ window in a minute. Get me another beer.”

“You’re callin’ the wrong friend, angel.” Benny drawls lazily, “I’m no good with these kinds of pep talks.”

“Benny, I’m freaking out, please –”

The car feels small, cramped. The open windows letting in the cool evening air does nothing for you trying to suck in a lungful of oxygen as you pull nervously at your jacket. Have you overdressed? Underdressed? What would he be wearing? You hadn’t been on a first date in months.

“Look, I can almost guarantee you he’s somewhere having this exact conversation with another friend of mine. You’re both stress heads. Just relax – he’s gonna love you.”

You stare vacantly at your steering wheel, swallowing around the lump of anxiety stuck in your throat. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

He snorts in amusement, “Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it now – puking on the poor guy isn’t a first date thing. And don’t forget to rinse your mouth out.”

Leave it to the younger Miller to make you feel ten times worse. “Oh God. Ben –”

“You’ll be fine. Now get out of your car.”

“But –”

“Get. Out. of your car.” He waits, listening intently to the mechanical whirr of your windows as they close, smiling when he hears the loud thump of your car door shutting. “There we go. Now breathe, and get marchin’ – you got this. And don’t call me again – I’m watching a fight. Pay per view isn’t cheap.”

“Right. Sorry. Thanks Benny.”

“Anytime, angel. Have fun.”

You ring your hands as you start walking the short distance to the bar, running through a last-minute check of your appearance. Nothing in your teeth. No stains on your clothes. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, brushing the non-existent dirt from the fabric and making sure it’s not horrifically tucked in to your underwear at the back.

Oh God, your palms are so sweaty. What if he shakes your hand? His hand will slide right off. He’d be mortified. Who even goes for a handshake on a first date anyways? You’re being silly. Everything’s fine. You look great. Did you put deodorant on?

The twisting of your stomach and panicked rush of thoughts thankfully pause when your eyes catch Frankie standing outside the bar, hands buried deep in his pockets and dark eyes flickering around at the passers-by somewhat nervously. When they land on you, the apprehension seems to melt from his shoulders and he grins. Unable to stop the smile creeping on your face in response, you now walk without the sick feeling of anxiety creeping up your throat.

He strides forward to greet you, and for a brief second, you wonder how you should greet him. It’s not like you were strangers, per se, you had been talking on the phone all week, but where did you stand in the physical sense? Certainly not a handshake.

Throwing caution to the wind, you bounce forward and greet him with a hug, hoping to high heaven he doesn’t push you away and call the whole thing off.

He doesn’t.

Inwardly screaming, you melt at the feeling of a pair of strong arms winding around your waist, a small quiet chuckle brushing past your ear. Oh shit, oh fuck… he smells divine.

“Hi,” you mutter shyly when you pull away, a flush of warmth flooding through you from top to toe when he smiles kindly and hovers only a step away.

“Hi,”

You can’t help but admire his features up close; the ones that were lost on the photo Ben had shown you when first trying to convince you into this arrangement. His eyes were a lot darker, tousled curls longer than they had looked when they were hidden under a well-loved hat. A light flush of pink sweeps up his neck and along his cheeks, and you watch it fondly with a wild flutter of your heart.

Okay, you could just stand here all night and stare at him, but that might freak him out a little… maybe try speaking. Talk. Just talk. Say something smart – something stimulating. First date impressions and all that.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

What? No. You did not just say that. Seriously? That’s what had to bubble from your mouth? Are you kidding?

You want to face palm, want to just turn around and march right back to your car with a text to Benny saying ‘thanks, but we can’t be friends anymore’ and just disappear from the face of the Earth. God, he’s going to give you so much shit for this.

Thankfully though, Frankie doesn’t seem bothered by your blurted out statement in the slightest, and even grins, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it is.” He watches you shift on your feet, smile widening just a little more at the look of complete horror that had just washed your features before he had spoken, and then half turns, “Shall we?” Oh God, what was that? Pope’s gonna kill him. You’ve got his head in a complete spin and now he’s forgotten Pope’s whole pep talk. Shit. Shit. Be cool. Be cool... what the fuck does ‘be cool’ even mean?

The bar’s warm when you both walk in side by side, Frankie’s hand placed softly on your lower back as he leads you to the bar, and then through to a spare table, nestled out of the way and tucked into the farthest corner after he buys your drinks. He lets you sit first, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he stays close and, instead of sitting opposite you, he sits to your right, knees bumping yours softly under the table.

It’s not until you both sit, quiet and fiddling with your beers while sharing nervous smiles, that you remember something you had been meaning to ask all day.

“Oh. How did Mena’s appointment go?” You ask immediately, recalling his slight worry the day before over her slightly warmer than normal forehead and uncharacteristic crankiness. Your stomach plummets when he shoots you a startled look.

Oh no… have you blown it? Were you not meant to ask about kids on the first date or something? What were the rules for this kind of thing? You’d never dated someone with a baby, you had no idea what was okay to ask and what wasn’t. You guys had literally only just sat down, and here you were, ruining it already. That’s got to be the quickest end to a date, well… ever.

Panic creases your features and you frown in worry, “Sorry, should I – should I not have said anything? I’m sorry, I’ve never –”

“No, no – you’re fine! I just… I didn’t expect you to remember.” And then he smiles. Blindingly. The dread crushing your chest quickly morphs into something sweeter, something that has your heart quickening. “She’s okay – she’s getting her molars. Thank you for asking.”

You smile, turning bashful under the pure admiration shining in his eyes, and shrug lightly.

“It’s alright. I was worried for you.” You’re quiet when you admit it, unsure if that’s something you should be upfront about with only knowing him for such a short period, but he seems to take it in stride, smiling fondly at you and reaching a hand to cover yours softly. The immediate heat from his skin encompasses yours, shooting wave after wave of electric tingles up your arm and straight to your chest.

If your pulse was racing before, it’s downright wild now.

He flushes when your fingers part ever so slightly, letting his nestle in between yours, and then you’re smiling at each other, laughing quietly as the awkwardness all but evaporates.

You talk about everything. Growing up, moving around, Frankie’s time in the military being a pilot. You have so many questions, but pick up on the wave of tension that rolls through him at the mention of flying. For a short moment, you wonder why he didn’t want to talk about such an achievement – being a pilot was incredible, but not wanting to ruin the easy-going atmosphere that had fallen over you both, you leave the topic of flying instantly, and switch for talking about Mena, thankful to see the light return immediately to his eyes as he gushes about his little girl.

“Can I ask a question?” You ask sometime later in the evening, now comfortably closer to Frankie as your legs tangle under the table.

He hums, sipping on his third beer and nodding, “Of course.”

You watch your fingers play with his on the table, before grinning up at him slyly, “Why ‘Catfish’?”

He groans, throwing his head back with a chuckle, and wipes a hand across his face.

“My whiskers.” He finally admits with a playfully defeated sigh. When you frown in confusion, his grin widens, and he scratches his fingers along his jaw and through the patch of facial hair. “The guys used to give me shit because I can’t grow much more than this.” He gestures to his face, rolling his eyes. “Used to say I had whiskers – like a catfish, apparently.” He chuckles, shrugging light heartedly. “It just seemed to stick after a while.”

You’re laughing, and it keeps the smile planted firmly on his face. What a sound.

“Well, it’s an interesting nickname, but I think I prefer Frankie.”

He softens, unable to resist melting closer to you, and nods, “Me too.”

He likes the way you say it… sweetly, softly. He’s desperate to hear it fall from your lips more, in all sorts of ways.

Disappointment floods you both when you notice the late hour, Frankie explaining dejectedly that he should probably go and relieve his babysitter before said babysitter gets too comfortable with his refrigerator and the beer in there. You can hear the fondness in his voice when he tells you about his sitter for the evening, Mena’s tío – another close friend of Benny’s apparently – as you leave the bar, his hand automatically falling to tangle with yours.

“I’m this way,” you point a thumb over your shoulder, fully expecting to say your goodbyes outside the brightly lit bar, but frowning in slight confusion when he merely nods and starts to walk the way to your car.

“Oh – are you parked over here, too?”

He shakes his head, pointing to the complete opposite direction. “No, I’m over there. I don’t want you to walk to your car alone.”

Your insides turn to jelly, smiling to yourself as you grip his hand a little tighter. Thoughtful. He returns your smile, but hates that you seem so surprised by the notion of being walked to your car in the dark. What kind of losers had you dated previously that either didn’t walk you safely to your car?

“Thank you for tonight, Frankie.”

He grins, thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles. “Thank you – I had a great time.”

“Next time, it’s my treat.” You say, hoping you weren’t thinking too much of something that wasn’t there. Would he even want a second date? Was he just being polite saying he had a good time? Is that what people said before never calling them again?

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie was having a hard time reigning in the enthusiastic excitement that had flooded through him the second you had spoken. You wanted another date? With him? He had to mash his teeth together to stop the eager grin threatening to break his face completely in half. Thank God he hadn’t blown it. You were… God. You were fucking incredible. He owed Benny – big time.

“I can deal with that,” he eventually agrees, face warm and giddy at the prospect of taking you out again.

You turn and envelope him in a hug when you reach your car, breathing in one final lungful of whatever delicious aftershave he had used, and smile to yourself against his shirt when he folds his arms around you, a hand cupping the back of your head to keep you pressed tightly against him.

Pulling back to say one final goodbye, you’re struck by how close his face seems, eyes flicking across his face before meeting his dark ones.

Suddenly trapped in a gaze that had a fire licking up your spine, your breath goes in a stuttered exhale. Rough fingertips trace your jaw, and then you’re holding your breath entirely as he leans in closer. Anticipation kicks in, heart thumping through your chest as he closes the distance much slower than you would like, and you fight away the wave of impatience that screams at you to just push forward and kiss him.

You don’t expect him to stop however, only a breath away from your lips, and you panic for a small second, wondering if you’re doing something wrong, but when he murmurs a quiet question, it takes all the strength in your legs to not fall to the fucking ground in a lump of melted goo.

“Can I kiss you?”

God yes. Please.

Unable to stop the shy smile that tugs at your lips, you try not to nod too eagerly and definitely fail miserably. You want this, more than what you’ve ever felt with anyone else. Frankie had you feeling like a giddy teenager with a huge crush and you were desperate to feel more of it, to see where it goes and what it could develop into.

At your nod of approval, he moves in the rest of the way, hand moving to cup the side of your neck below your ear, and he sighs lightly when your soft lips finally meet his. The kiss is tender, warm, and does nothing to soothe your raging pulse. He can’t hear your heartbeat, can he? God, can you hear his? He briefly worries, but when your lips move against his, his mind blanks.

His moustache tickles your lip, nose bumps gently with yours. Your hands find his chest, fingers gripping at the soft material, and for a moment it feels like you two are the only ones in existence, floating in a hazy whirl of space.

You take a minute to open your eyes when he eventually pulls away, and when you do, you find him gazing at you with a shy smile and a rosy flush across his cheeks. Lashes fluttering as you blink, you try to get a hold of your heart beating heavily against your ribs while your lips tingle from the aftershocks of his kiss.

Holy shit.

Before you can even think it through, his shirt tangles in your scrunched fist and you pull him back to you, replanting your lips against his with a desperate urgency he meets head on and returns eagerly. His hands, previously gentle, now grip at your waist, squeezing the flesh greedily as you let him walk you back into the side of your car. The metal is cold, even through your jacket, and you arch into him, moaning softly when his tongue traces your lip.

Your knees buckle when his tongue tangles with yours, and he presses you harder into the car to stop you dropping.

“Holy shit.” He breathes huskily after separating, lips widening into a grin when he sees you mirroring his breathlessness. You giggle softly, the fire roaring in your stomach turning into an affectionate warmth that floods your system when he brushes his nose along yours tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop.” Your smile turns shy, teeth digging into your lips as he chuckles again, dark eyes shining. He watches you wrangle your breathing into something semi normal, glad he wasn’t the only one that got swept up and carried away with the moment.

He traces your cheek, planting one more, less hungry and more affectionate, kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight, mystery girl.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

He backs away, face split as he smiles, eyes admiring you before he turns and starts to meander away to wherever he was parked, turning to look at you over his shoulder every few steps. You climb into your car, grinning at the final wave he sends you before disappearing around the corner.

Finally alone in your car, you let out the disbelieving chuckle you’ve been keeping in all night, face feeling hot as the aftereffects of such a great date rests pleasantly in your stomach, mind running through every little moment of the night. Starting your car, you start the drive home, unable to stop touching your lips every so often, insides clenching at the memory of his lips moving against yours.

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @emilykjh @peterhollandkait @sara-alonso @starlightsearches @bookishofalder @empress-palpat1ne @shadowolf993 @rosiefridayrogersunday @canyonmirrors @eoz-stuff @blackonemasie @layniapetrovnaaa @alberta-sunrise @goldielocks2004 @betterthanbucky @linkpk88 @afootnoteofhappiness @livilottie

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #benny miller x reader

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mythiccheroacademia · 3 years

Text

— what you fight about (pt.2)

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙

𝕙𝕠𝕥 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: 𝕚’𝕞 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪. 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕪'𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤. 𝕒𝕝𝕤𝕠 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜 <𝟛 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕥𝕠𝕩𝕚𝕔 𝕓𝕖𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕣𝕤/𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕤, 𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕥 ℙ𝕋𝕊𝔻, 𝕒𝕟𝕩𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕪, 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕪 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕗𝕗 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪’𝕣𝕖 𝕦𝕡𝕤𝕖𝕥 :/

Tamaki Amajiki:

you love everything about tamaki

all his faults and his strengths

but sometimes…it feels like you’re the only one keeping it together

and to always be the strong one is hard

It had been a difficult two weeks since your last mission.

Perhaps you were naïve to believe you wouldn’t experience a death any time soon. However, you had been bright and hopeful. The hero you worked as a sidekick for rarely got involved in super-high level threats. You dealt with misdemeanors and a few moderate-sized threats.

Maybe you were being stupid. Nevertheless, the tragedy hit you hard. Both physically and mentally.

You were out until you could safely use your quirk again. In the meantime, your fiancé had done all he could to take care of you. But he was worried.

Tamaki couldn’t help but panic. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you better. Honestly, he wanted you back to normal. He just didn’t know how to do it. You were always the strength of the relationship.

He felt so pathetic over his inability to help, spending hours on the phone with Mirio and Neijre crying over the issue. Afterwards, he’d crawl into bed, cheeks wet with tears, and despite your sadness, you’d wrap your arms around him.

You’d comfort him like you always do and it’d make him feel even worse.

You knew he was trying his best and appreciated that. Though, there was a point to which it all got to be too much for you to handle.

Mirio and Neijre came over to help put up some Christmas decorations. You wanted to cancel. Today hadn’t been a good day. However, Amajiki began to worry over your mood again and so you held your thoughts to avoid his tears.

But it seemed like your tears were the ones you should’ve been worried about.

You sat down on a chair and held your head. The world was spinning, and your ears were ringing. Your eyes burned so badly you felt they’d melt out of your head.

“Bunny!?”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I just need a minute.”

“What can I do?” Tamaki rushed to kneel beside you, fear shining in his glossy eyes.

You shook you head balling your fist near your lips to keep in a cry. “I’m fine, baby,” you sniffed, but that was a lie.

Your head was swimming, buzzing, and filled with nothing but noise. No matter how hard you tried to make it go away, you just couldn’t. You couldn’t deal with that or—

“I-I’ll take care of you. Just p-please tell me what to do!” he begged. You could feel his anxiety seeping into your body and it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Tama, please.”

“I can—I can do something. Anything. Anything you want. An-and—"

All you could think about was how you failed the mission, the girl, her parents, your team, your friends, the public, and—

“Amajiki.”

“B-bunny, I know I haven’t been a good fiancé l-lately, but I-I promise I’ll—"

“AMAJIKI!”

Tamaki jumped, eyes wide and body frozen as he took in the near panic in your eyes.

“I CAN’T—” your voice was shrill before you hiccupped, choking back a sob. You squeezed the air by your head, hoping to ground yourself to something that wasn’t there.

“I just can’t deal with you right now, okay? I-I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Your breaths left in puffs as you silently watched his mind work to process your words, and when it did, you saw his heart visibly break.

He grabbed his hand to cradle it into his chest like it was wounded. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper, not even a decibel above faint.

“N-no, it’s…I—I’ll give you some space.”

He tried to offer a brave smile, but it wobbled too much to do anything. The tears that ran down his cheeks seemed to suffocate him, and Tamaki couldn’t bite back his cry in time before he quickly left the room. Mirio worriedly gazed at you before running after his friend.

Your eyes remained transfixed on the space where your fiancé once stood. It wasn’t until moments later, when you felt Neijre’s comforting hands around your torso, that you doubled over and wept.

Togata Mirio:

he’s optimistic

too optimistic sometimes

you love the light he brings into your life

but it’s at the cost of him dismissing your feelings and worries

You checked the backseat when the car stopped at the red light to ensure your sleeping son was still there.

“Two minutes and 20 seconds. That’s a new record babe,” Mirio chuckled.

“Very funny.” You threw an unimpressed glare at your husband before turning back into your seat. “But can you blame me? After the heart attack I had this morning, I wanna chain him to my chest and never let go.”

The blonde hero hummed thoughtfully. “That’s only slightly psychotic.”

“Mirio.”

“I’m kidding!”

You huffed and looked away. You were a bit annoyed over the nonchalance your husband seemed to have over what occurred today.

Your son had presented with a quirk and, to your horror, it was similar to Mirio’s—if not even more dangerous. When you came back to find your baby fading away before sinking into the ground, you screamed like murder.

Mirio had never phased into a room so quickly in his life.

After getting both you and your kid (mostly you) to calm down, you went straight to the hospital to make sure everything was still intact. They gave you some quirk inhibiting medication for your kid, a quick pep talk, and you were on your way back home.

The hectic morning made your son knock out as soon as he hit the car seat. You wanted to follow suit but were too paranoid to do so. In fact, you wanted to hold him—just in case. But Mirio insisted the medication would hold him until you got home. Then he cracked a joke about your kid turning into tumble weed and laughed like it was the funniest thing he ever said.

And he kept making jokes. Like this was funny.

Forget annoyed. It was pissing you off.

Mirio peeked a quick glance over your stiff figure. A small grin graced his lips, and he placed a comforting hand on your thigh.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I know you’re scared. I’ll chill with the jokes. Just promise not to blow a gasket on me, will ya?” he smiled.

You averted your eyes away from the moving tress to look at him well. “You could take this a little more seriously, you know?” you said.

“I assure you, I am 100% serious.”

He couldn’t even say that with a straight face. You rolled your eyes, groaning into your head tilt.

“Ooou you get on my nerves—”

“Sunshine, it’ll be fineee,” he happily assured. “It’ll just take some practice before [S/N] gets control of it.”

“[S/N] literally turns invisible before he permeates through surfaces. That’s so scary. I can’t do anything for him unless you're there and even then, that might not always work out. We need to figure something out.”

“His quirk is really not too far from mine. And you remember all the funny things that happened when I was a kid.”

You incredulously looked at him. “Yeah, all the funny near death experiences!”

“And I turned out fine!” Mirio laughed.

You wanted to rip your hair out. There was literally no getting through to him.

“Forget it. I don’t even know why I bother.” You scooted away from his hand, crossing your arms in frustration. “It’s not like you take my feelings seriously anyways.”

That last part was meant for your own ears, however Mirio heard them loud and clear. He turned into the neighborhood, brows subtly scrunching together.

“Now that’s not true. I care about that a lot actually.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Well that was not the answer he expected.

There were a couple minutes of uncomfortable silence before the car reached your garage and was turned off. You two looked forwards for a moment before someone spoke.

“I feel like we should talk about this,” Mirio slowly said, turning to watch for your reaction.

You gave him a glare that caused him to goofily purse his lips. You then got out of the car and went to go unstrap your son so you could hold him until the events of the morning faded from your mind.

As a last resort to make you smile, Mirio permeated his torso through his seat to give you the cheesiest grin.

“I love you, honey bunny~” he sung.

To which he earned a car door slammed in his face.

Dabi:

he’s selfish

you know it and he does too

yet you still stay around because you love him

but it seems like he couldn’t care less about whether or not you do

You impassively sat on the couch of your small apartment. Your hands were folded across your chest, teeth chattering against the raw skin underneath your nail bed. For a minute straight, your knee bounced in place before you stood up and took to pacing in order to release the energy bubbling in your chest.

It felt like hours before your apartment door opened.

Dabi threw his keys onto the closest surface and shrugged off his heavy jacket. You didn’t realize you’d moved before you took the jacket to hang on the wall.

“It’s cold as shit out there,” he shivered.

“Yeah, there’s supposed to be a blizzard sometime soon,” you replied, yet it sounded distant. However, Dabi didn’t seem to notice.

“Can’t wait,” he huffed. A mischievous glint grew in his eyes as he pulled you into his chest by your waist. Usually that would’ve made your thighs tense with anticipation. But all you could do was stand there like dead weight—and again, he didn’t notice. Did he ever? “But I guess it won’t be too bad if I have you to keep me warm, hm?” he smirked.

You stood stiff as he kissed your lips and tears burned your eyes as he moved to your neck, hands affectionately squeezing your hips. The bubbles in your chest rumbled and popped like angry bees when you realized he hadn’t noticed. He never noticed it. He never noticed anything about you. Just like he hadn’t noticed—

“Dabi, what day is it?”

His lips continued to pepper your skin with licks and nips, mindlessly working to find your sweet spot again. “Mmm…Thursday, sweetheart.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” Dabi looked up and met your stone cold face that looked angrier by the second. He quirked a brow. “What’s up with you?”

“It’s our one year anniversary, you asshole.”

You pushed him away, stomping towards your room. However, Dabi grabbed your arm, pulling you back into the conversation. But instead of hearing an apology, you received an inattentive eyeroll.

“Don’t be like that, doll-face. It’s really not that deep.”

“Excuse me?” you spat. “You said the same thing ever since our 6 month and I let it go, but now you wanna act like this isn’t a big deal? You know how much this means to me.”

“And you know that’s not my style. I don’t care about shit like that.”

“Well I do.” You moved out of his grasp and put distance between yourselves to help you think.

Dabi ran a hand through his hair, stress in his movements. “Are we really gonna do this right now, Y/N?”

“Yes! Because you don’t get it!”

Fed up with the argument already, Dabi threw his hands in the air, letting his frustration carry the words through his lips. It had been an awful day, his staples were aching from the weather, and this was making everything worse.

“I already missed the damn thing, what do you want me to do!? You want me to say I’ll make up for it?”

“I want you to care, Dabi!” you desperately exclaimed. “I want you to care about me, about this relationship. Damn it, I want you to care about anything else besides what’s in my pants for once in your life—”

“Well that’s all I wanted until you started asking for more shit and I gave you that. What more do you want from me?” he sneered.

There was a silent pause between you two. You blankly stared at the man you’d come to love despite the hell he put you through. When you observed the honest irritation in his eyes, everything became clear. It was in that moment you realized it wasn’t that he never noticed. It was that he didn’t care. He never did.

That’s when you felt the deep ache of heartbreak nestle between your lungs.

“What more do I want from you,” you repeated, tasting the words. You numbly laughed and nodded your head, silently accepting his truth.

There were no tears, just bitter emptiness.

“Well, uh…you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You won’t be roped into another anniversary with me again.”

It was a moment too late when your soft whisper broke through the angry storm that clouded Dabi’s head. His face sunk with the exhaustion of a man well beyond his years.

“Y/N, baby, can we just talk about this—"

“Leave the spare key on your way out.”

And before he could utter another word, you shut your bedroom door like it was never to be opened again.

#tamaki amakiji #tamaki x reader #suneater #mirio togata #mirio x reader #lemillion #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #bnha headcanons #mha drabbles #angst

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

KISMETS.

Harry Styles x fem!reader.

Slow burn, platonic love and jealousy clićhes.

Fluff! Fluff! Fluff!

Frenemies and dad!harry.

Author's Note: The concept's kinda weird but if you've watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Phoebe Buffay carrying child for someone. You've got it my pal!

MASTERLIST LETS TALK! PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

"Can ya stop breathing like, THAT!?" She whisper yells twisting to give him a sharp glare full of spleen elbow poking at his side abs, "Like what!?" He half squeaks peering down at her with doe eyes palms flat at sides to convey his surprise.

"Like a train engine whistling -- it's annoying." She mutters rolling her eyes and turning back to listen to instructor.

"Now, I can't even breath without ye' comin' fo' me throat?" He grits with a kink of brows and when she confirms with a no --- He gasps dramatically. It's gonna be a long journey of Hell for them. Harry hates her hormones. Little bitches.

Y/N is carrying a baby for Harry and his girlfriend --- but something went downhill.

Twinkling droplets of crystal rain pelts against the bricked road subsiding harsh noises of surrounding but a nettled groan caught everyone's attention ‐‐‐ stares turning in direction. Have you ever wanted to just disappear under a warm invisible cloak and enjoy the drollery aspects of life without worrying? Because this is what Y/N wants at the moment as she stands under the bus stop shelter with few people beside her and the british showers starts pouring mocking at her for not carrying an umbrella with her.

Everyone leaves when the bus didn't arrive — who remains behind's Y/N huffing and pouting wishing for rain to stop. When it didn't she muttered a 'fuck it' before risking catching a cold and stepping under the pitter patter with her books atop her head for less damage.

Trying to punch in the passcode of society's gate with shivery fingers perhaps it opens before that startling her wet-y self. Similar car drives near her and a head pops in from inside with his big goofy smile and crinkles by his charming eyes, "Ni!" She exclaims pushing away the drippy hair sticking to her lips with her pinky.

"Pet you're gonna catch a cold. Want me to drop ya?" Niall kinda yells over the rain's loudness. She sighs fog whirling infront of her. Shoves her hand in her trench coat's pocket to seek for heat instead it's all icky and drenching.

"No it's just a tiny walk away. I'll manage — call me will tell ya how my class went." She waves him looking at him from her shoulder while rushing away towards the most elegant house in the block. Niall gives her a thumbs up from before getting out of sight and she tries to hop over the puddles of water to make it to doorsteps.

The water she brings from outside pooling at the dark timber floor - it trails behind her past the pink door as she rushes jumpy-ly where the most hot's in the house and apparently it's more than she expected, "ouch. ouch my eyes!!" She screams covering them at the sight of Harry butt naked pinning his girlfriend against the wall near fire place. Her face turning into a tomato at the horrendous raid but she seems pissed and well . . displeased that Y/N ruined a mind boggling orgasm for her.

Before, they could disattach from eachother to unravel their humiliation Y/N jogged up to attic into the guest room slamming her forehead against the door to knock away the embarrassment. She always barges in Harry's house without announcing but sometimes she forgets he isn't alone everytime his girlfriend comes to live by every two weeks (it's his fault too that he never locks the main door as anytime anyone's coming at his place). Changes into clothes she forgets at her visits, tries to dry her hair with a towel that no-more smells like Harry but expensive fabric softeners and has a pep talk for a minute to show herself down infront of them.

Instinctive voices coming from the Kitchen and she pads towards it. They act like nothing happened. Like Harry wasn't dick deep into Chessie moments ago. Harry ushers her to barstool and hands her a cuppa tea moving on with a kiss to her head. It still gives her butterflies even though how many sense awakening scoldings she gave to herself at 3 ams.

"'M sorry." She squeaks with a wavering smile wrapping her palms around the mug. Harry cackles softly brushing the underbelly of his nose as Chessie cordinated the cutlery drawer, "'s okay moppet. we finished our business when ye' left." Y/N almost choked on her hot beverage gulping it down when Chessie shocked gasp throwing little socksies that were laying ontop of the counter at Harry. Are those of toddler? Adam's out of town so there's no way it could be his daughter's socks. Maybe Chessies's one of friend's?

"Should've called me t' pick y'up. Niall was loafin' around too —- wear it you're turnin' blue, pet." He comes back with a swarmy chunky knitted sweater Anne gifted him at his birthday handing it to Y/N and sitting opposite of her pulling Chessie with her wrist into his lap clearing his throat to bring Y/N's attention back from eyeing the socks on the floor. Her eyes flicker between them chest tightening at the love and glow that radiates from Harry when he looks at her.

No. She's not jealous. Mightyyyy bit yeah –- cause she could never be this lucky to have someone as Harry. He's the most caring towards her since ten years been her compass to the home she wanted, her anchor saving her from sinking and the sixth sense of a blind to her. In fact she thinks he's her soulmate and not every soulmates needs to be romantically involved some could watch them growing beautiful in love. Y/N's doing it. Admiring the maturity of his life with the person that truly makes him enough---or she thinks so.

"How was ye'r meditation class?" Harry asks (she took a semester off as she was unable to haul the burden'; Harry convinced her how her health should be her first priority) breaking a cookie in two giving half of it to Chessie who thanks him with a kiss in return, "Was good been feelin' great!" She chirps pulling the sleeves of the sweater that's drenched in cinnamon vanilla-y smell with lingers of what comes of as Chessie's scent. She assumes they cuddled shit loads.

To subside the gnaw in her brain down she finally asks the question pointing at the sock that nobody gave a heed to pick up, they stop chewing looking at eachother to come up with something. Chessie's face distressed knowing Harry wouldn't hide it from Y/N. He tells her everything and sometimes it could be too personal to share.

"Erm. . I bought 'em — 'cos. . " Harry stammers and Y/N smacks her hand atop her mouth avoiding from giving a shocked reaction, "Oh my goodness ye' guys are pregnant!?" It was enough to make Chessie flinch and hike down Harry's lap.

"No! 'S not what ye'r thinkin'." He shakes his head making Y/N confused. "Then you bought it fo' your fingers? Cause that's the only body part it could fit." She teases him to break through the insight tension around and he chuckles shaking his head grabbing Chessie's hand rubbing her knuckles how he used to when Y/N's anxious and over the edge.

"We want to have a family." His words low as he looks at Chessie but she shrugs in return as 'in it is what it is'. Y/N stomach twisted at that. The thought that one day He's gonna have a family of his own and the little bubble that Y/N would be privy to made her throat dry. Because she has no-one despite Harry and he deserves the whole world not just baby keeping Y/N everytime.

"So . .? What's the problem?" She raises her brows looking between them noticing Harry's fingers fiddle with the flower tea mats, "There are complications from Chessie's side." Chessie sighs in disappointment and Y/N ponders over the idea, clocks working and spindling wildly in her mind.

"I could do that for you guys — since I took a semester off --–" She puts the offer nervously and both of their jaws went slack Harry with an adoring grin while Chessie in hitting shock. "--Erm we could go through a traditional surrogacy."

"Are you sure?" Chessie asks squeezing her shoulder and Y/N nodded taking both of their hands, "Anything for ye' guys!" Harry's eyes glossing over and he leaves his spot sprawling his arms calling for her, "Gimme a hug pet. Life saver ye're - we're gonna take care of ye." They group hug tightly and excitedly.

Sometimes actions could speak much more than words because the lies that words hold could ruin the great bondages.

. . .

They went through the medical procedure two days after Her, Harry and Chessie being guided by their acquired doc. She was nervous and sweaty but Harry's presence beside her soothed out any negativity that was building inside her brain. By womb the babies would be Harry's and Y/N but legally Chessie's and Harry. She's just wishing that everything goes alright cause that happiness of them is million worthy to her.

People might call her stupid and brainless for going through sickness, crankiness, back pains and the pain during labour just to give those babies to someone else (she's too afraid to call them her's cause she knows her emotional attachments could be very destructive) but she loves Harry and love makes you do those thingies.

At the moment she's on the toilet seat eyes bolted shut counting threes with the pregnancy test in her wavering fingers. "Please it better work." A squeal of surprise leaves her lungs when her eyes fell over the two positive lines quickly dragging her panties over she tumbled outside where everyone's waiting for her.

"You guys are pregnant!!" Sounds dumb right? She announces loudly. Harry's and Chessie's heads perked up while everyone cheered beers spilling from the rims. She flashed grins to each one of them splitting her gaze away from Harry giving Chessie a celebratory kiss.

"Thank you. Oh my god, love! Can't belive it." Harry held her from shoulders giving her a toothy smile and it puts her off that Chessie didn't say anything just a nod along Harry. "Me too." She breathes out as he leads her to sofa sitting her cautiously. "We'll visit the doctor tommorrow." He reassures popping his head from Sarah's neck as she hugged him tight.

"We're gonna have a little Y/N and Harry running and pooping it's nappies soon." Everyone went silent. A grimace on Y/N and Chessie's face. Niall doesn't know when to shut up does he? Y/N's gonna strangle him alive. Harry laughed out aloud not caring about the thick tension in room, "I'll rip ye'r hair if you'll turn me baby into a golf freak Niall." His baby.

Niall raises his hands in defence, "No guarantees Harold."

. . .

They had a check-up and Y/N indeed's pregnant. Harry's over the moon. Kissing her forehead. Thanking her for millionth time – to the point she told him to let her watch telly in peace and shut up. Chessie bringing her organic vegan dishes that Y/N isn't a fan of but eats nevertheless under Harry's stern gaze. "'S not about them only I want ye' to be healthy too, pet. Can't be selfish now can I?" He'd insist.

When she'd be sick he'd be at her side giving her back rubs while Chessie stood at the doorframe of washroom. Y/N thinks since she's pregnant her womanly instincts has gotten more sharp as she sensed something's off between the pair.

He'd be at her flat early morning waking her up to have a morning walk with him not giving in her grunts and whines. Who'd want to leave their crispy warm bed to just be out in the cold? A fool like Harry only. Making her brekkie afterwards as a reward giggling and massaging her shoulders when she'd gobble down food like a greedy squirrel, "Easy there love. 'S all yours."

Chessie's back at LA. They had a small argument because Harry wants her to be participating in all of this as much as he's. But, her priorities are not set for this. They never were.

Y/N was at Harry's place nibbling onto chocolate cupcakes Anne sent specifically for her with a note ("my grandchild shouldn't be privy to their Nana's bakin' skills all my love to Y/N." along a winky smiley) when she spilled cold milk all over her nooked tee-shirt. Harry gave her his clothes to change into and baby wipes but she warded him with a scoff that water exists. She has become more feisty with each passing day.

Was discarding the tee when her gaze fell over the sveltest of bump in the mirror taking her breath away. It makes her realize it's all real. She never touches her belly in fear if she'd she will never stop. Now, when the pads of her fingers skim alongs the skin it strips shivers down her spine. She always wanted this. Not in this scenario though. Shaking her head of the thoughts she slips Harry's hoodie over it climbing down the stairs and it causes Harry to snap his head in alert. He stops chopping the carrots spinning to see Y/N standing feet away from him.

"My baby bump's showing." Her voice almost a whisper and it widens Harry's pupils as his hands fell in air midway between them hesitant to reach her, "Can I see?" She bobs her head shyly cheeks blazing red while revealing the bump for Harry to see. It's not like he hasn't seen her before. He has. But, this's more intimate than all of that. It made him fall on his knees. He's a sensitive person in general. Pure from heart but during this period it seems like he's pregnant not Y/N which's quite amusing too.

"She's beautiful." His gaze full of adoration. "She?" Y/N furrows her brow with a smile. He bobbed his head with a grin, "Think so our baby's gonna be she." Now that's the problem cause Y/N doesn't know which ours he's talking about.

"My pregnancy instincts says it's he." He scoffs, "Bet!?" She rolls her eyes forwarding her fist to do the hand shake they do while betting, "If you loose your pink macbook gonna be mine." They solid the deal with their traditional shake.

"Can I touch it?" Harry's asks politely. When she gives him permission he spreads his warm palms flat against her tummy tongue tied with the affection boozing in his veins for the baby that's not out in the world yet. Y/N eyes flutters and her fingers twitches by her sides from carding them into his hair. This's wrong she scolds herself. Her hormones all over the place.

"You wanna send a picture to Chessie?" At this his lips thinned and he gave her a curt nod standing up to fetch his phone, "Sure. But she might be busy..." on the verge of spitting his words in vile.

. . .

Y/N was reading a crime mystery book. Stroking the side of her baby bump carelessly. Cosy in her blanket hoodie telly murmuring in the distance. "Your dad's taste in books is shit, innit?" She peers down with a smile. It's the first time she's talking to them. "We'll read loads of good books together so that when you'll grow up – I could know what to gift you on Christmas." She tries to grab more popcorns from the bowl but it's empty. "Wanna be best aunt out there!!"

"Will you miss me? As much as I'll when we'll be separated?" Tears well up at her waterline. She huffs through her nose running her hand down her belly several times. It's coming; the breakdown she was toiling for days. "I know it sucks I cant be your mommy." Her cravings kicking in and all she want's a strawberry oreo icecream.

"Oh no. Seriously? I'm sad and ye' lil bean want an ice? Let's call your daddy and see what he got." She rings him and he picks up on the third one. Voice groggy from the sleep. She wants to feel bad but she isn't when all her taste buds could think of is strawberry flavour.

"'M cravin' strawberry ice-cream bad. . . Is it possible for ya to bring one?" He's already throwing duvets off his body reaching for his phone and wallet, "No worries pet I'll be there in tick."

"What the fuck Harry? It's three in the mornin'." Chessie groaned from beside him throwing pillow at her face. "We already stored her fridge with alot of food — " She squints about to change the side.

"She's carrying a baby for us Chess. Ye should know better since ya didn't wanted to." She sits up like bullet folding her arms against her chest.

"Thank you for throwing it at my face, H." He doesn't even spare her a glance walking outside and Chessie wants to scream at the top of her lungs. Why did she even agreed to this?

. . .

When he bought her ice-cream she throws herself in his arms kissing his cheek and he giggled in return feeling good when her bump pressed against him. They ate ice-cream with a bantering mess discussing names of the babies, the one that Chessie and Harry decided, him telling her about the little onesies they bought hearing that Y/N stood up taking out a little bag from the chests of drawers.

"I hope you wouldn't mind." She mutters showing him the lil knitted gloves and Harry slid his palm above her's wrapping them snugly, "I don't want ye' to think ya can't love on 'em 'cos after all it's ye'r womb they belong too." Her lip wobbles at his words and she stuffs her face against his chest fisting the hem. It fred away butterflies inside Harry. He sucka his lip. He shouldn't be acting like this. He has a girlfriend that he's gonna have a baby with. They're happy or atleast he thinks so.

They've been bestfriend for years and those feelings never drowned him. Is it because now she's having his babies? Maybe? Harry tries to convince himself.

When he looks down Y/N's drooling onto his shirt deep into slumber. He pecks her hair slipping his arms under her to hold her firmly against his chest. Laying her on the bed tucking her under blankets.

. . .

It sounds like multiple thuds as doctor hovered the ultrasound device over her gelled cover belly. Her belly growing way faster than it should. Her gaze glued at the ceiling fingers crossed. Harry and Chessie holding hands tight gazes fixed at the screen both of them confused at the disoriented image. They all were on the edge of their seats waiting for their turns. Y/N wished that someone could give her a huge warm hug to soothe her nerves down. But, in the first place she shouldn't be worried about the gender as it's none of concern but theirs. It's getting hard day by day.

"It's twins!" Doctor announces chirply getting a wave of silence in return. But, soon the room filled with happy giggles and gasps of Harry as he went to hug Chessie who's expressionless from shock. Y/N pouts wishing it was her. Smiling at doctor when she squeezed her hand in consolation. She's frightened though. How could she deliver two babies? To deal with the roughness that comes along them? Gonna be pretty hectic.

"We hit a jackpot, innit?" He grins down at her kissing Chessie's cheek last time before leaning down to hug her. "Gonna be super carin' with ye' now." Y/N gives a pat to his back in return awkwardly eyeing as Chessie left the room hastily.

. . .

It rakes against the wood harshly as Chessie glided keys of Harry's house towards him without a word. He puts the baby guide book aside arching his brow, "I can't do this anymore. I want an out." Dread. Seeping down Harry's bones.

Guarding himself down he grits, "What do ya mean you want an out? We agreed with full consent of yours Chessie." She shakes her head furiously.

"I didn't sign up for two of 'em Harry I could barely be there for one!!" He puts his elbows on his knees head lowering, "But you wanted to have a family with me didn't ye'?" His eyes tearing and she throws her head back in annoyance finding it difficult to make him understand.

"No. No – No. You wanted a family! Because of your continuous protests I gave in. Told you I wasn't ready for all of this bullshit now we are here." She emphasises. Harry stands up from his seat towering her pointing a finger at her.

He's rageous. Could burn this house down. How could she be so mean? Cowarding back at the last moment.

"Don't call it bullshit." He spits full of venom for the woman he mighty love and she snaps her head other way, "Congrats she finally ruined us and couldn't be more happy – now that she's having your mother fuckin' babies." He stumbles back knocking the coffee table lungs congesting.

"Don't drag her in all of this she's innocent." She laughs ironically looking him square in eyes yelling like a maniac, "Gave her your sperms now you can't hold back from fucking her. I knew it. You were fucking her behind my back weren't you?" She thinks of him like that? A cheater? He loved her and she always thought he was cheating her.

"Don't yell. I don't want to see ye'r cruel face when I come back home." He tries not to croak mustering strength to walk away from her. Exposing himslef to freezing weather locking himself in his car and crying his heart out. Sky crying along him. He punches the steering wheel brutally shouting "why's?" Head falling atlast as he thought of all his dreams shattering at his feet.

She caged him instead of giving him shelter. Replaced the butterflies he used to get from her with a burning hell in his pit, should've been mother of his children now she's just an ex.

The excruciating part is how he's gonna tell Y/N about this? She'll be crushed.

. . .

"Oh my god . . ." It was the roar of thunder that startled her but something else took her attention away. That tinsy kick protruding the taught skin of her belly, ". . . which one of you?" She was extra happy today. It's swimming in her head. It's just a thought but sharing it with Harry wouldn't kill someone. She wanna ask him if she could've one of the babies. It's just she's too much into the moment that she forgot she still have a degree to complete. A career to pursue and a life she always wanted.

When there's a knock at door she tries to stand up with the support of armrest a hand on her back. A gasp falling from her mouth at the sight of Harry's clothes soaked and another when he looks up with bloodshot eyes. Tears dried cheeks and heaving chest seeming utterly devastated.

"Pet what happened!?" She grabs him from elbow pulling him inside and he falls onto his knees smashing his cheeks against her showing tummy -- a sob recking through him, "Harry you're scarin' me. Tell me what happened is everything okay?"

"Chessie don't want these babies - sh-she didn't wanna ruin her career but atlast agreed . . . n-n now she doesn't want 'em 'n wants an out." He stutters. White noise deafening Y/N's ears and she steps back with expressions as if she's scared. Horrified of the future.

"It means she never had complications? She just didn't wanted her body to go through all of this." When Harry didn't fill in to her inquiry she flopped onto sofa from the shock shoving her face into her palms giving out a cry of hurt at her stupidity.

"God. I'm such an idiot!" He shakes his head crawling towards her with sad eyes and lil hiccups, "No please don'tcha say that. We'll figure it out yeah? Never wanted this t'happen." God. How bad he wants her to assure him that it'll be alright.

"You'll figure out what, huh!? Leaving them just like she did!?" Swear Harry felt a dagger jabbing it's way into his heart more upsetting tears spilling down his throat. "I hate you guys. They're none of your babies from now on. . ."

"Leave." She orders him wiping her tears roughly with the sleeve of her jumper. Running out of breath with each sniffle. Raises her hand stopping him to step forward and protest, "I said leave before I make you!!" He nods inhaling breath of remorse looking at the ceiling for a second then to her.

"Before, that want ya t'know. I still want 'em. They're mine. How could I not? love 'em. Hope ya'll forgive me." Then it's just sobs of Y/N taking over the buzz of telly as the door ticks. He didn't leave though. He's too afraid to. His back sliding against her door knees closing against his chest letting it all dawn upon him. His green luscious orbs hooding with sadness and the fluff of his curls.

Dunno if Y/N would be able to forgive him.

. . .

He woke up to a boot nudging to his thigh squinting up to find Niall stating down at him with consoling eyes. Poor Harry slept in the hallway. His neck sore and limbs stoned.

"Heard it 'lad. Was suspicious with Chessie long way." He helps Harry stand up patting his shoulders, "Y/N called ye'?" He grogs rubbing his eye with knuckles. When Niall confirms he quips with pleading eyes in a low whisper knowing he'll get his hair ripped if that furious little mama bunny will find him outside.

"Ye' think she'll forgive meh?" Niall chuckles to light up the situation, "'course H. Do ya think our pet's that ruthel—" He bites his tongue. Harry's gaze following the snap of his neck when the door opened revealing Y/N in a lilac chunky sweater. Puffy eyes and swollen lips. Harry feeling like a dickhead at her condition. It's all his fault. Then their eyes fall at the piping hot cuppa of tea in her hand.

With a stoic face she hands it to Harry and pulls Niall inside slamming the door at curly boy's face. So, she knew he was there sharing a door with her the whole night.

. . .

"Isn't it a good thing thou, love?" Niall smiles. He's chill in all of this. Watching it unwrap. They were meant for eachother Niall thinks so, "You wanted one of 'em and ended up havin' a whole bean can." She groans throwing her peach plushie at his chest. A smile swirming up her lips at his silly statement now that she's more stable less sad.

"You're the absolute worst, Ni!" He holds her cold hands tugging her close to make her look, "Want ya to forgive H. He did nothin' wrong, pet." When she pouts ruffling the silk strands of her rug with her feet he grabs her chin.

"Remember how happy he was? Don't go mad on him yeah?" She bobs her head not meeting his gaze. Meanwhile, there's knock at the door and Niall takes it laughing to himself softly at the box of doughnuts with a note.

"What is it?" He's already flopping beside her hooking his nimble finger around the white doughnut with rainbow sprinkles, "If I'd have known pregnant ladies gets treated this way. Would be havin' one baby every year." She smacks him in belly and unlatches the note reading it with a sucked lip.

Ye'r antenatal class's tommorrow. Don't forget to take ye vitamins :)

How gentle, calm and optimistic Harry could be needles her some.

. . .

Harry's waiting for her in the car fiddling with the radio. He isn't gonna lie. He's been going through a heartbreak. To cope with it he wants to accompany Y/N in her parent craft classes. When she waddles towards his car cosied up in a yellow baggy sweater and a cardigan Harry remembers she stole from him ages ago he mighty scrunched his nose in adoration at her cuteness.

Her nose pink and cheeks flushing as she slips into her seat, "Can you stop bringin' me stuff. I know how to take care of myself." She nips at him when he forwards her a kale smoothie. He doesn't seem to mind. Both, of them knows very well she's trying to avoid drinking it. She finds it yucky!

"Wanna take care of ya'll is all." He mumbles putting it in her side's cup holder. Ya'll .She regrets it instantly. Damn his puppy eyes!

. . .

"Mr. Styles and . . . Miss Y/N." The instructor calls them and they both raises their hand awkwardly as if in elementary school. "You're the parents of twin right?" She asks. Y/N wanted to say that their supposed to be parent ran off from the fear. But, she couldn't. Could never. It'll be like rubbing salt to his wounds. Bestfriends don't do that shit even in their most anger.

"Yes." She confirms. When Harry didn't. Scared if he might say something wrong. "Ok then! Lay your mats n' have a seat." Harry guides her with the little of his hand on her back. Her shoulder nudging his taut chest, and goosebumps pimples at her skin when his fingers brushes the side of her belly as he helps her sit down.

She takes an all rounder of the room and none of the parents looks like they're here to prepare for war unlike them. She shyly waves at the two mothers beside her and Harry twinges his lip equally flustered as her.

They start with relaxation and breathing exercises. Telling Y/N to let herself loose in Harry's arms. She fumbles with the hem of her sweater when his fingers gingerly winked at her sides and the lull of his breath hit her earlobe.

"Like a train engine whistling -- it's annoying." She mutters rolling her eyes and turning back to listen to instructor. "Now, I can't even breath without ye' comin' fo' me throat?" He grits with a kink of brows and when she confirms with a no --- He gasps dramatically. He hates her hormones little bitches.

It's gonna be a long journey of Hell for them.

. . .

"Are you hungry?" He asks turning the heat on knowing how cold her feet could get in the span of seconds. She huffs trying to buckle her belt and it squirms a fond smile out of him at her cute effort to be put in place due to her bump. If he'd coo. She'd rip him into tiny bits. It's better if he gazes away.

"Does it mean emptying your pocket?" She arches her brow sinking into her seat. "Bitso. . " He chuckles softly drumming at the steering wheel.

"Then I'd love to." She adds with a smirk. Clasping her hands atop her heart outta excitement. It makes him shake his poof of hickorey curls at her silliness.

They end up taking a takeout of onion loaded cheese burgers. Greasy fries. An iced-tea and a box of cookies from Babara's shop a block away from Harry's house.

"Wanna choose fo' ye'rself?" He asked her before going inside and she denied with a worried expression. Not knowing how she'll explain all of this to Babara who's her one of the good friends from UNI. Harry respects that. If she isn't ready to talk about it he isn't gonna pressurize her. They've been dodging the serious talk since she let him take to parental classes. Knows one day or another they've to decide how it's all gonna work.

. . .

Good food can make you more high than actual drugs. Licking their fingers off now they feel all sleepy and lazy sitting on the comfortable sofa watching telly with hooded eyes.

Harry's cheek smushed adorably against her baby bump ears tuned into what his babies are talking about.

"You know what? 'S not about winners or loosers. Bu' I won." She bubble hiccups slumping deeper with sugar rush hitting her. "Huh? Harry mumbles eyes drooping. The cotton balls of snowflakes glittering outside, collecting at the window and foging them up.

"I get to have babies of my bestfriend and this nice foodddd — 'n what did Chessie got? No babies and no happy feeling of being their mother." Harry shots up from his snooze blinking up at her and she quickly takes it back regret eating her alive, "'m sorry it slipped."

"No!!" He almost shouts cupping her cheeks making her look at him. His dimples deeps that someone could scoop them like an ice-cream. He gives her an eskimo kiss that makes her veins run with glittery blood.

"I wan' ye' to be the mother of me babies." No hesitation. No dithering. Just him asking for the tinsy bit of her heart. For her forgiveness. For the love they've kept blind eye for years. "We'll figure this out, yeah?" He murmurs their lips brushing and breaths kissing. Pulling back with a forehead kiss.

She lives for forehead kisses makes her shallow tin heart explode with glittery firecrackers.

She nods to give him the affirmation that she wants what he wants.

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