#there is more I could say especially regarding the dress itself but that’s too long to write here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The average Tumblr user visits about 67 pages every month.

#there is more I could say especially regarding the dress itself but that’s too long to write here

onomatopagu-et-cie · 11 months

Text

Some (too many) mental notes & questions about D. Gray-man!

(SPOILERS UP TO CH. 247 & sorry if the terms used are awkward esp. the localization of the manga, I read it in french!)

I recently re-read DGM as the new chapter came out. I stopped catching up after volume 22 years ago and I am so glad I re-read the series!

If it was already beautifully sad and cruel, the volumes 23 to 27 hooked me even more. Like other manga (eg. Witch Hat Atelier, Berserk), the panel composition was already beautiful in the previous volumes but I was fascinated through my reading. The attention given to hands in these volumes (like MHA) was mind-blowing!

The Allen-Kanda-Johnny-Link group (and now Tiedoll) works really well, I didn’t expect that at all! Oh, and the character development/decline of every character is great, especially Allen & Neah, Kanda & Link (and Cross and Road in those flashbacks?????).

DGM wouldn’t be DGM if the mysteries didn’t keep growing even more cryptic as the story unfolds, so I guess here are some notes and questions I’ll come back to one day to see if they are answered!

► Now that we know the D. in DGM stands for ‘Dear’ (I already sense the tragedy in the title for both Allen and Mana aaaaa), I don’t know if this was intentional, but Mana in front of the mirror strongly reminded me of The Picture of Dorian Gray, especially the end (I shouldn’t have read this scene late at night, I was spooked haha). The characters of Allen and Neah, shrouded in mystery, also encapture the elusive personality of Dorian Gray.

► Paying extra attention to all the parallels between the Ghost of Mater & the Artificial Exorcists Arcs was Pure Pain. I’m always amazed how far the details go and make (even more or a whole new) sense later on.

► Lenalee and Komui’s story touched me once more aaaaaa ► Miranda’s power is really cruel, I wish we could see more of her someday ;;

► Road used for super-human the word ‘choujin’, which also seems to refer to the concept of übermensch in japanese ie. the ideal superior man of the future who could rise above conventional Christian morality to create and impose his own values... NOW THAT IS INTERESTING.

Especially regarding Road and Cross meeting & Allen’s prophecy as the ‘Destroyer of Time’ (the fact he could ‘sense’ Lenalee’s dream and interact with it, Cross ‘death’ by Apocryphos hands, past!Allen’s mystery over his rejuvenated body, Apocryphos observation on ‘Allen’s’ long existence as a parasite, and so on …)?????????????

And could she have a link to Allen and Lenalee’s dream of the future?

► The overarching theme of humans, akuma, Noahs and even the Earl at God’s/The Heart’s mercy manifests in many little plot points eg. the Ghost of Mater (that could even foreshadow the whole Cross/Road meeting), Road dressing Lenalee as a doll, Lenalee and Miranda taking their suffering as the Innocence testing them, Link turned into a puppet, Crown Clown and so on …

► Could this be Campbell’s mansion Allen will visit in the next chapters… ?

► Reever’s devotion to Komui ;;;;;;;;

► Fascinating how everyone except Allen is at risk of becoming a Fallen One, despite everything he does ‘against’ the Order, God and the Innocence: it could be explained by the role he was given by the Heart now that we have a bigger picture And it is foreshadowed since the Suman Dark Arc:

-> When Allen says Suman betrayed ‘God’, the kanji for god is used (kami), but the furigana read as Innocence:

And Allen even says later the Innocence punishes sinners as God itself, devuring Suman from the inside like a worm ……….

-> While Komui says he has betrayed God and the furigana read as God this time:

I love the word plays in the original versions with the furigana (I wonder if this has a name?), another example:

The kanji for family, kazoku, is read as the english « home », which we always saw used to describe the Order as a comforting place to return to: the Order was never Suman’s home, he always longed for his family

► Will this ever be explained? That, and Cross's special bond to God or the Heart!

Also this????????

AND ALSO CROSS HATRED FOR TIMCAMPY???????????

► Could Cross be a Bookman?

Neah’s flashback mentioned an ‘excentric uncle’, so it could also be Cross, given how he remembers Mana’s smile from his childhood, I am Confused Or he could be their childhood friend, as his appearance in the flashbacks suggests he would've had the same age past!Allen, Neah and Mana would have, around 35yo? Idek anymore! Either way, he has an obvious hold over his age like past!Allen, maybe through magic or their nature?

Was the unknown language Bookman spoke when the Ark was disappearing in the sky the same Mana taught Allen? In Komui’s corner, we learn Bookman knew in advance they would synchronize with an Innocence when their mission began???????? Do they somehow have links to the Heart or Apocryphos? Are they from the doomed world Road told Cross, as some sort of witnesses of the Noah's struggles on behalf of God?

► Tyki’s nature is hinted at by Road even as early as ch. 93, and the confrontation with Neah in the volume 26 makes me really think he’s some sort of copy of him

► This panel is Pain:

► I love Lenalee and Lavi’s relationship so much!! Lavi’s arc was gripping, and took Lenalee’s words on the boat (‘am I still in this world?’) to a whole new context

► About Luberrier :

How in hell was he aware of the 14th without even Cross telling him? His dialogue with Zuu before saving Link strongly suggests he knew the 3rd gen. project would cause the Noah attack on the laboratory and the 14th awakening, isolating Allen, as though he made a deal with a Noah or sb else. The ch150 (Hevlaska and Luberrier’s past) is haunting me, I’m really curious to see where this is going!

► About Link : We know so little about his past, how he became a Crow, how his devotion was built by the Administration (Link’s flashback with Luberrier after recovering was scary, how easily he gave in & Luberrier’s whole behavior was ugh)! Komui’s corner mentions the two red dots on the Crow’s forehead are scars left by the operation that made them sorcerers against their will + Allen tried to touch it, which made him mad GAHHHHHH I NEED MORE CONTEXT

Ch247 hurts even more considering Neah used the same words as Allen to greet Link but rang false aaaaaaa

Link’s profile is cut from the Central Administration’s organization chart from volume 25 (when he admits feeling conflicted over Allen’s fate), before his profile was included in the same box:

Komui’s corner once mentioned comforting food thanks to the emotional value they hold eg. Allen and Cross’s porridge. Link says he had something similar so I wonder if this will ever be showed in the manga!

► About past!Allen: This might be a reach, but ch221’s flashback made me think Atuuda’s magic (its symbol in particular) can be linked to past!Allen with the whole spiral of life theory (+ the fact his body rejuvenated by some miracle):

There are also many parallels with other dynamics in the manga: -> Neah-Cross & Mana — he was set on eliminating anything else that draws near Mana, as a promise he made to Neah -> Luberrier-Link & Neah-Allen — Luberrier needs Link in order to protect and save them from anyone -> past!Allen & Neah — he promised Neah he would protect his memory from anyone (-> Kanda & Alma — he was the only one that could save Alma)

(I don’t want to think about Link potentially becoming another host for Neah, sacrificing himself for Allen for example aaaaaa)

I saw Hoshino’s sister loves Link’s character and what happens next to him will potentially be pure pain, I get her because his potential is skyrocketing and I’m definitely not ready aaaaaaaa

► What was even going on between Neah and past!Allen???????????????

► Allen’s past was really devastating. Mana’s words by the sunset ;;;;;

► In ch216, Cornelia’s wood destroys Timcampy in a similar way Red is bound eyes and ears from the scene when the Earl comes back in the circus in the recent chapters (with those little black hands)

► The parallels & oppositions btw Kanda & Link (the potential of the trio Kanda-Allen-Link!!!!!) : -> both presented in a negative light at the beginning -> both now deem themselves unworthy to be a part of Allen’s life: Kanda is glad Johnny is there to support him, Link says he will disappear from Allen’s life if he defeats the 14th (and also That Panel when he saw Allen come back to his senses and save Johnny). Both have feelings they suppress when it comes to Allen, in a stark contrast with Johnny’s honesty -> both were objects of experimentation/intensive training but Kanda feels no loyalty to the Order, while Link does strongly to Luberrier -> both wound up with a shortened lifespan they hide atm (Kanda as a Fallen One & Link with Atuuda) -> both were targeted by Apocryphos and had their memories rewritten -> Kanda wants to kill the 14th, Link is ordered to aid him -> hands shown as holding dominion over them both (the Innocence, Luberrier and the Heart)

► Predictions for the next chapters: Since Johnny is going along with Allen & Link, there’s a chance : 1) Link will drive Johnny away so Neah wakes up ; 2) Neah will do it since he sees everything through Allen’s eyes and even challenges Link’s ‘loyalty’ 1) would be logical as everyone in Allen’s group feared it while Allen accepted the risk but given the whole arc, Link seems VERY conflicted over the whole matter (and their shoujo-esque reunion damn, that and volume 25 whole vibes) Also Road seems to have led Allen to the mansion through his dream because she thought he was dangerous (????) AND a ‘bookman’ was there, so a lot will happen!

Have a nice week-end!

#dgm spoilers #dgm meta #d gray man #allen walker #yuu kanda #link howard #cross marian #yullen #linkllen

144 notes · View notes

shootingmorningstar · 1 month

Note

Hi!! I saw you also accepted matchups and I would love to request one! I’d love a romantic matchup for Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel (do only one of them if I can o my request one fandom obv)!

my pronouns are she/her and I’m asexual biromantic (I’d prefer a male character, but if you think one of the girls fits me best any gender is fine!). I’m an ESFJ and a Gemini. I have green eyes and dyed cherry red hair. I dress with vintage/fairy grunge clothes. Long skirts and corsets are my fav type of outfit. I wear lots of rings and crystal/pearl necklaces and love to exchange them with others. I also have tattoos, currently I have three but I’m planning to get more. I love to wear makeup and come up with something creative and different everyday. Also, if someone lets me do their makeup they’ll have my heart forever.

I’m the mom friend of the group, always there for everyone and my friends say that I’m really good at comforting people. I’m also calm and responsible, I usually am the one that takes care of other people. I’m very optimistic, I always try to see the good in everything and I often put other’s needs before my own. I love making others laugh to lighten the situation. I’m not afraid to stand up for myself or for someone else but sometimes it’s hard for me to say no to things. I also dislike when someone is too serious and really can’t take a joke as I tend to use humor as my coping mechanism. I’m also very ambitious, I always try to achieve my goals.

My love languages are, receiving, physical touch and words of affirmation and giving, quality time and words of affirmation.

I absolutely love listening to music, it helps me relax and I really like reading (I love reading out loud to others, when I read dialogues I act them out a little to help picture the scene). I especially love fantasy and I recently got into greek mythology. I also love watching horror movies even though it’s impossible to scare me. I also play Dungeons and Dragons with my friends anytime I can. also, I absolutely love musicals and I’m definitely a theatre kid.

Have a good day!! <3

Your sense of fashion sounds so great, anon .ᐟ As a fellow lover of horror, this matchup was a lot of fun for me.

Anon, I'm matching you with . . .

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Verosika Mayday .ᐟ

Lucky you, anon, my absolute favorite Helluva Boss character .ᐟ And the best one.

I know you said male preference, but I just can't help but think you and Verosika would pair amazingly. The best out of the entire Hellaverse. The whole time I was reading your request she just screamed at me as the answer. Seriously, detail by detail I was just convinced more and more. Who would love your dyed hair more than her .ᐣ Not only that, she'd be incredible at helping you re-dye it .ᐟ Verosika is the diva of Hell, she knows everything there is to know about beauty and haircare. She always has to look flawless, after all.

I think the appeal would be the same in regards to your creative fashion sense and makeup abilities .ᐟ She's intrigued on how a style so different from her usual one can look so cute. Please dress her up and do her makeup, she'd love it.

I also think she'd really admire your ambitious attitude. In her line of work, you have to be ambitious or you'll fail, badly. She could use someone optimistic around her, too. Blitzo left her burned and probably with some trust issues, so you'd be wonderful help with that. Verosika's love language is also physical touch, and that's practically canon. Loving horror almost always means a love for the dramatics, which she definitely appreciates. You mentioned having trouble saying no .ᐣ She is definitely the best influence for that. And your adoration of music .ᐣ It writes itself. The two of you may be in Hell, but you're definitely a match made in Heaven.

#helluva boss #verosika mayday #matchups #admin kitty

3 notes · View notes

nekropsii · 1 year

Note

Question! What exactly is march!eridan and? How was the reception towards june? Im sorry, I haven't been a part of the hs fandom in years

March!Eridan- or, more commonly, simply March Eridan- is a long-running fandom joke and fanon trope based on an image of Eridan crossdressing that was made for one of the official calendars, back in around... 2010.

Pictured here. The problem with this is that this was a "Man in a Dress" joke- an age-old transmisogynistic trope. Now, this doesn't say much about who the artist is as a person nowadays, as this is far too old to truly hang over their head, but... People took it and ran. It's been a running gag ever since the image was created. And the fandom was... Horrible about it, to say the least. People were using all manners of slurs with regards to its concept, many reacting to this image with nothing but pure disgust. And if people weren't turning the concept of a GNC guy into a laughingstock or making it out to be entirely repulsive, then they were horrifically oversexualizing him, despite his age- which, reminder, is 13 years old. It was awful, and I'm seeing the same shit to this day, even if it is on a smaller scale. It's just not kosher either way. It's not surprising at all that that's how people handled it in 2010. It's definitely a product of its time- which isn't an excuse, but absolutely a solid explanation. I really do expect better of people in 2023, though. Especially from people who claim to be "beyond" this kind of thing.

As for June's reception... God, it was awful. The amount of harassment that happened over whether her concept was even worth consideration was entirely unacceptable. No one could be normal about it. Even people who didn't care at all about canonicity and just liked the idea of June as a headcanon got lambasted. I'm honestly glad you weren't there to see it, it was all pretty sickening. I might not agree with how hardcore people will get about June's canonicity, but I do understand where that defensiveness comes from completely. It's hard to not go insane when you feel like the safety of yourself and/or your sisters is being threatened in a community you had grown to feel housed you in a way no other community really will. Getting defensive, having such strong opinions and boundaries regarding the whole thing... It's completely and utterly understandable. Natural, even. You and I would probably be the same way, had either of us been closer to the situation.

The Homestuck fandom's transmisogyny is a well that runs deep, and is about as old as the comic itself... I hate to see that it's continuing to this day. It's hard to be grateful that it doesn't seem to be as bad as it used to be, because the June situation really just proved how many people are closet transmisogynists... Even people who have outwardly progressive politics, or are trans themselves. It's disappointing, to say the least.

Also, saying this in advance: Most people tend to jump to insulting the original artist for March Eridan's art style or technique... Please refrain from doing so here, it's a childish and petty response to this conversation. There's nothing original or insightful one could say in insulting the quality their work. It's been done. Trust me. The pure acidic vitriol that the art and artist received was honestly mind-boggling.

#homestuck #homestuck meta #homestuck analyis #homestuck fandom #march!eridan ampora #eridan ampora #june egbert #junecourse #cw transphobia #cw transmisogyny #eridan.pdf #june.pdf #nekro.pdf #nekro.sms

33 notes · View notes

the1975attheirverybest · 7 months

Note

Hi Could you explain the joke behind Matty's tweet I want to get it haha

For reference, here it is.

On the surface level, the joke is making a contrast between “Boygenius” and “girlretard” like ‘oh they’re a group of women musicians who called themselves ‘Boygenius ok so what’s the opposite of that? The opposite of boy and the opposite of genius.” Hence the girlretard name that he and George are going to call themselves.

But that’s not the real joke. That’s the joke that most people are mad at him for. Cuz he used “retard” casually. Lots of people consider it a slur because it was/ is often a term used to degrade and derogatorily describe neurodivergent people for not having brains that are neurologically functioning the way that neurotypicals do. For instance, *I* was called that by teachers because I have pretty bad ADHD (fun fact, I failed high school. Twice.) which made it difficult for me to focus in class or do the in-class exercises on time like the rest of my classmates. Of course the stigma comes a long with pretty horrific consequences like the history of mistreatment of people who are deemed “retarded.” De-humanizing them, isolating them, subjecting them to cruel medical experiments, etc. (just to clarify “neurodivergent” isn’t just ADHD applied to folks, but that’s a more common example. Autistic folks and most “brain disorders” that stem from ones neurons being wired differently, therefore causing one to function differently in ways that are deemed aberrant by social normatively, are included under the “neurodivergent” category).

This is why the term “retarded” is considered socially unacceptable now. It has violent and discriminatory connotations often enacted by so-called “normal” folks upon people who don’t fit the mold.

So, when people saw the term in Matty’s ostensible joke, they got angry. Because, in those peoples eyes, he’s using the term casually and carelessly by using it as an antonym for “genius” in the same way that “girl” is the antonym for “boy.” (It’s actually not cuz that’s not how gender works and yet we seem to be totally chill about it as a society but that’s a different convo)

But Matty isn’t using it using it in the same way that he’s using “girl.” 1. Because the joke itself is aware of it being offensive (that’s why Lucy stopped talking to him in the joke). But for many, many, many, other reasons. Off the top of my head here are a few:

1. Boygenius have talked about how the name of their group is based on how previous supergroups like theirs, often the ones consisting of male musicians, get glorified and celebrated for their individualistic style and their specialness which is regarded as genius, whereas women artists never get that treatment. So, their name is intended to signal the intention behind forming the group. Which is to make space for themselves as women, and as queer women especially, and to occupy that role and to find confidence in saying that women artists, queer artists, deserve to be seen as valid, extraordinary, celebrated for writing and singing about their experiences as legit experiences just the same way that men feel so boldly comfortable doing. (That’s why their album is called ‘the record’ and same with their film, and why they dress that way etc etc) SO by making the joke that he does Matty is making fun of presumptuous entitled men.

2. He’s also making the joke that men’s “specialness” equals genius now because patriarchy regards the straight white male as the average norm. Whereas “retarded” shows that we privilege only certain types of specialness. Like if these “geniuses” where taking too long to do their in class math exercise their reachers would’ve called their moms like “your kid is retarded.” But they just happened to be really good at music.

3. The joke is designed to stir shit up because it’s self-aware, posted online, written causally, with the intention of upsetting people. But you’ll only be upset if you don’t get it. And you can only not get the joke if you focus on the word “retard” and not on the context, meaning, intention, who’s saying it (Matty; a person with ADHD, past addiction, anxiety etc), why it’s being said, and so on and so forth. Meaning, if you read it and don’t get it, you’re literally being made fun of by the joke itself. Like you’re proving it right. Proving that the problem with woke culture and online outrage is that we have become sooo hung up on labels (hence his use or a label in the joke, btw) and individual words and shit that we have turned into extreme literalists. We take every word individual and cannibalize and brutalize meaning. That’s not how language works ffs.

4. He is using a dispute over labels to highlight the hollowness of labels.

5. He’s commenting on peoples mistaken perception of him as an evil troll by getting people to react to him as if he’s an evil troll.

Also this is setting up whatever the duck SATVB plans to do. So, yeah.

Anyway hope this helps.

15 notes · View notes

calliethetrekkie · 4 months

Text

Star Trek TOS S01EP15-16: The Menagerie

I decided to review both parts in the same review. It's the same story, so I'd rather be able to go over it all at once. Plus at least half of it when put together is footage from the first pilot, The Cage. I also want to note that, at the time of writing, I have NOT watched Strange New Worlds yet, so I won't be mentioning/considering anything from it or its portrayal of Pike and crew for this review. Anyway, that should do it for window dressing, let us get underway.

Original Thoughts

I'm not even going to try and copy/paste and re-edit both of them to add onto here. This is going to be long enough. You can read my old watchthrough here, but the short version is I liked Part 1, didn't like Part 2 as much, and overall I liked it for the Spock content but it was meh otherwise.

Rewatch Thoughts

God, this took me way too long to get done...

So this episode is the first and only two-parter in TOS. We wouldn't get another one in Star Trek until TNG. One thing kind of weird about this episode is that it's more or less Spock on court martial... after we'd just done a court martial episode for Kirk. When I watched these in the airing order, I think one reason I didn't care for Court Martial is because it felt like we'd 'been there, done that' with The Menagerie, a feeling that didn't repeat in production order which let me enjoy that episode a lot more.

I thought long and hard about how I wanted to organize this. How much I wanted to go into regarding both the actual episode and The Cage footage. It's part of why this review took so long. So after thinking it over... there's not much about the pilot footage that I have to say. It's there to give context for why Spock is doing what he's doing and that's really it. I think I'd rather wait to talk about Pike and maybe the pilot itself in-depth after I've seen SNW, which from what I've heard, adds some additional context. But I'm not there yet, so all I'll say is that the pilot footage really made things drag on what would have otherwise been Court Martial: Spock Edition otherwise hey ST people, if you ever do TOS again, give us the McCoy court martial episode please.

The most I have to say about the pilot footage is that it made the episode a chore to sit through. It's not bad, it's even kind of fun to see the early stuff and cast like Pike, Una, and a younger Spock. Seriously look at Spock's reaction when he and Pike look at the alien plants, its adorable! But it goes on for so long, especially in Part 2, that I lost complete interest in paying attention until it went back to the court martial. At that point we just want to know why Spock chose Talos IV to go to, not to watch an episode within an episode. I know they did it most likely as a cost-saving maneuver, but that doesn't change the fact that it just drags when they could have just... you know, had Spock explaining himself or whatever. It's the only reason that this is a two-parter at all. Again, I get it, but I kept tuning out during those scenes until we finally got to the end of it and we finally understood Spock's plan.

The present-day parts, however, were very much able to keep my attention. We're here at about the mid-way point of the first season, and to say that Spock's actions are a shock is putting it lightly. Spock has been nothing but loyal and by the book the whole series. Just last episode, he defended Kirk despite the evidence to the contrary and did everything possible to find the evidence to clear his name. We already questioned his loyalty in Balance of Terror, but the vast majority of the cast never questioned it, and any possible doubt was brought to a close at the end of it. But in fairness, this is very much a different dilemma as it concerns his former captain. One that he'd been as loyal to as he is to Kirk now. It brings a very unique problem for our favorite Vulcan.

Personally, I find Spock's whole plan... well, convoluted as Hell. I know it's to justify using the pilot footage, and it does add stuff to make it make some sense like Talos IV being forbidden to all ships. But it still feels ridiculous that Spock had to go to these extreme lengths to take Pike to Talos. Honestly, I'm iffy about having Pike taking to Talos at all. I mean... it's just an illusion. He's pretty much been put in a guided cage where he can pretend that he's still physically well, even though that's very much not the case. I guess it's better than his fate of being confined to that chair and only able to blink a light to communicate. But... I don't know, I keep thinking about it and I just don't like it. It feels messed up. But I guess Spock felt that it was the best place for Pike, where he could at least have some kind of happiness.

That said, it says a lot about Spock. The man put absolutely everything on the line just to help his former captain. He outright said at the start that he knew that it was mutiny and that he would be facing the death penalty if caught. But he doesn't care what becomes of him. All that matters is completing the task and getting Pike to Talos IV. Even regarding Kirk, he clearly didn't like going against his back and was not at all happy that his actions inadvertently convicted Kirk as well. Something that I believe that he wanted to avoid... unfortunately for him, Kirk doesn't take having his ship/command taken over from him well no matter who does it or why. Whoops. But still, for all the 'unfeeling, logical Vulcan' bravado, he sure as Hell had no problem dropping all of that here.

Kirk is angry and upset that his First Officer and friend would do this. As I said, he hates it when anyone threatens or endangers his command. Especially at this point in the series. We saw him get mad when Spock pried into him in The Conscience of the King, but this is even worse. As soon as he's back on the Enterprise, he hates it because it means court martialing Spock, which he doesn't want to do. He's willing to give Spock the chance to clear up everything, but he's also angry that Spock is holding things back from him and even lied to him. The last scene of Part 1 is him having Spock thrown in the brig because he won't just tell him why he's done what he's done. I don't even think that he cares too much about his own possible fate. He's certainly unhappy about it, but moreso about Spock because he can't make sense of it and Spock won't talk, only pleading guilty to everything. Why? Why won't his First Officer talk to him? Why go through all of this behind his back? Why allow himself to risk death? He doesn't know, and he can't stand it but can do nothing about it. He can do nothing but let the answer reveal itself, everything out of his control. Sure once it all comes together he's glad and clearly forgives Spock, but I'd imagine that he had a loooot to say when they had that talk later.

McCoy is really only relevant in Part 1, but what he got was so freakin' good. Spock fabricating orders is just impossible in his mind. He is steadfast in his belief that Spock would never lie or deceive them. Sure he ended up being wrong, and about why (Vulcans not being able to lie is the biggest lie in this whole show) but the fact that he doesn't doubt Spock at all and is the one to tell Jim this when he's questioning as he did in The Conscience of the King is so freakin' good. When he realizes that Spock did commit mutiny? And when Spock tells him to have him arrested? You can tell that he doesn't want to do it, let alone believe it. It really sucks that McCoy has no part after that because I can only imagine how much he would have had to say and try to make sense of, especially with also reasoning it with Kirk. But for what we did get, it's good stuff. And especially after The Galileo Seven, it's good to see that McCoy is still loyal to Spock and believes in him despite all the tension in that episode (and even after Court Martial where he got mad at Spock for seeming to not care about the situation, even though it was brief).

Aside from that... I really don't have a lot to say. The episode is okay. Really, everything in the first half of Part One I really enjoyed. It was tense and made me want to keep watching just to make sense of it all. It's when the pilot footage starts that things begin to bog down. Part Two is even more guilty of this until around the last few minutes, and like I said I'm pretty uncomfortable with the ending. It does a lot for Spock's character, adding more depth and showcasing his loyalty to both his old captain and his current one, as well as some nice bits for Kirk and McCoy. Heck, even bits like Uhura being in disbelief by all of this are really good. The episode's weakness is just going for far too long when this could have all been resolved in a few minutes and feels contrived to begin with. I'd still pick this episode over ones like Mudd's Women and the vast majority of Miri, but like with Miri I'd only want to watch it for certain parts (though unlike Miri it's because I'm bored, not squicked out). It's fine, and that's all I've got left to say about it.

Original Ratings: 4/5 (P1), 3/5 (P2), 3.5/5 (Both) Rewatch Ratings: 7/10 (P1), 5/10 (P2), 6/10 (Both)

[My TOS Reviews]

[TOS S1 Reviews]

[Previous Review] / [Next Review]

#star trek #star trek tos #tos s1 #st reviews #tos s1 reviews #the menagerie

4 notes · View notes

sepublic · 1 year

Note

🎫

Azayle’s group of Escapees isn’t as sociable with one another as they could be, but they do get into conversations. Nykon being Nykon, she generally tries to avoid it, but sometimes she’s stuck in the background when somebody strikes up a conversation. That causes someone like Magmint to direct attention to her, and for Nykon to spit out an aggressive retort, but over time her fellow Escapees have gotten more of an answer out of her.

So one day she idly wonders aloud, not even thinking about it, “I wonder what they’re up to” in regards to her fellow dragon peers, from before she was imprisoned in the Tower of Tears. Magmint is surprised, but then gets over it just as quickly, because duh! Nykon’s peers are dragons, who are long-lived! He knows that, he’s from the Monster Realm too…

Naturally he suggests to Nykon, why not go visit her peers, check up on them since she’s one of the few Escapees who have people left over from her life that are still alive? Hang around like old times, see how much has changed but also be comforted by how much has stayed the same. Nykon snaps that there’s no reason to, but we all know there’s plenty of reason. What’s keeping her is the reason NOT to, and it’s her shame, humiliation, and embarrassment at what’s happened.

Nykon has failed. She was sent on a mission nobody wanted to do, a loser rounding in other losers. And she failed. She kept trying to get stronger, sacrificed her body and now no longer qualifies as a dragon, even if she’s still in the shape of one. Nykon has changed and lost so much, and for what? Another failure, and centuries in the Tower of Tears, subjected to nightmares.

She’s become even more of a freak than the traitors she was originally sent to round up. So as far as she’s concerned, there is plenty of reason NOT to go, which Nykon may as well dress up under the apparently confident, blasé framework of “There is no reason to go at all.” At which point…

I can totally see Azayle deciding to fuck with Nykon and suggest a group trip to the Monster Realm, to the dragon vaults and whatnot. Nykon is livid and actually does try to protest, but it’s Azayle so ultimately, Nykon has to bow her head and follow. Magmint is excited, Monarch Man has never been to such a fantastical place he’d have only ever read about in his comics, and there are reactions from other members of the group I have yet to introduce.

It’s painfully awkward, but Azayle does give Nykon some space to catch up with her peers on her own, while she and the others get caught up in the touristy side of things. I like to imagine Nykon had a colleague named Linde, a cave-dwelling dragon with an apprehension towards light that she used as a resource on information, possibly a librarian.

Linde is bothered by the bright light Nykon exudes, since normally the only source is a humble lantern. They’re surprised to recognize Nykon and see how much she’s changed, especially since everyone assumed she was either dead or in self-exile. Being a dragon, Linde does not react as much as one may expect, because to be fair they live in the Monster Realm, a very strange and outlandish place in and of itself.

A closed-off Nykon grumbles a thing or two as an answer. Linde complains that Nykon is too bright and should dim herself, leading Nykon to complain over how she can do that, she IS the light! She’s made of lightning itself! Unimpressed, Linde suggests throwing a tarp over herself. Nykon does note to herself that she can compress herself into one of her smaller forms, but Linde is pissing her off so she won’t. She contemplates saying something offensive, like if Linde hates light so much why don’t they just gouge their eyes out?! What a touching reunion.

Anyhow, this trip back home all culminates with Nykon visiting one of her old superiors; She doesn't know why, maybe deep down she just wants to get it over with and satisfy the burning curiosity. The superior responds appropriately by arranging a lunch meeting, more or less rubbing it in Nykon's face that she can't eat anymore, as a result of her failures. If he's feeling particularly ceremonious, the superior offers some scrap metal.

Some passive-aggressive conversation later, and Nykon actually, finally, snaps at her superiors, promising that when Azayle's plan comes through, they'll be listening to her! At which point her superiors are pissed off, and Nykon has to leave early under less than peaceful circumstances. Azayle and the others ask what's the rush and how'd it go when she shows up, and Nykon looks Azayle dead in the eye and insists, "We need to grab that Wayvren brat. NOW." Azayle is pleased by Nykon's takeaway from her nostalgia trip, and the Escapees flee the scene. There may or may not be a bounty on Nykon's head after this...

#Nykon #the escapees #oc #ocs #my ocs #GEverse #ask #reply

1 note · View note

chuckbass-love · 2 years

Note

can you do fem readerxchris where chris is her dads best friend the reader is in her 20s with an older chris with age,size,degradation dd/lg maybe

A/N: Okay but like, why is this a big fantasy of mine. Aside from the man being my dad’s best friend but the older guy trope, and the forbidden shit too? It’s my jam. I really hope you love what i’ve done with this despite the fact that i didn’t use the age or dd/lg stuff. I could only really use the size and degradation kinks. I did my best though, i hope it suffices.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Summary: For so long you've struggled around your dad's best friend Chris. He's everything you've been searching for in a man since guys your age are way too immature. So what will happen when the opportunity to make a move on Chris, presents itself?

Warnings: Smut, slow burn (sorta), oral (f and m receiving), vaginal fingering, protected sex, dirty talk, size kink, slight degradation if you squint and language. 18+ as per, you know the drill.

Word Count: 17,033

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @charllehunnam go check them out🤍

Guys Your Age

For practically your entire life, you’ve been surrounded by adults. From teachers to your parents and even to friends of your parent’s. You never really hung out with kids your own age until school, and that’s probably why you developed quicker than other kids regarding talking and walking, you know, all of the firsts. And even as you entered your teenage years, that continued. You were the first out of all of your friends to get your period, the first to really develop breasts which certainly didn’t go unnoticed with the guys at your school.

However, they weren’t the guys for you so you continued to go through your high school years paying their childish and fuck boy style remarks no mind.

As you got older, you soon learnt that you had preferences, especially when it came to guys or should you say...men.

But even more specifically, a man... your dads best friend, Chris Evans.

You first met Chris around the time of your 16th birthday, or at least that’s the first time you distinctly recall seeing his face, your dad had invited him as he was an old buddy of his from his wild college days and you can recall the moment you laid your eyes upon him.

All of your friends were practically foaming at the mouth at the mere sight of such a tall and handsome man in such a dashing suit. His biceps were barely contained in that crisp white dress shirt of his that even you were starting to drool.

When it came to your dad introducing the two of you, Chris just sighed, smiled and turned to your dad “i can’t believe you’re a dad, man” you giggled as you shook his hand.

“You know, your dad used to be quite the wild party animal back in our day” Chris chuckled before his eyes met yours and in that moment, you knew you were fucked.

His beautiful blue orbs pierced into your soul and from then on, you looked forward to looking into them.

It was as though your whole life you had breezed by with no rhyme or reason behind your reluctance for guys your own age, but the moment you met Chris, it all became clear. You could never quite connect with the boys at school or college. But with Chris, it was so simple. You adored the way he spoke, with such intelligence that still to this day remains unmatched. Guys your age don’t know how to how to hold a mature conversation the way that Chris does.

Everything added up, the list of pro’s for Chris built up until it was ridiculously embarrassing on your part. You began to realise that you were holding yourself back from meeting anyone else because you were hell bent on saving yourself for a man that would only ever see you as his best friend’s daughter.

It was always only ever going to be platonic, and deep down, you knew that too. The pining had to end, you had to snap out of your daydreams and open yourself up to someone more reachable.

So that’s what you did. You learnt to let Chris go, to let your crush go, or at least prevent it from teetering on the edge of obsessive.

But even you can admit that there were always going to be tiny fragments of him in the back of your mind, forever lingering. The first real crush is always the hardest to kick. And you’ve learnt that the hard way.

Now fast forward to the present and your 21st birthday plans are well under way and almost complete. Your girls have kept every detail under lock and key, insisting that you’re in a dire need of letting your hair down, some proper girlfriend time.

With all of the pressure of your internship at the local newspaper as well as your intense family life, it’s a lot to keep on top of. So it’s a must.

Your parents, much to your dismay, have coerced you into joining them at a local gathering at a friend’s house. Unfortunately the name of the host completely went over your head, since they chose to disclose that detail when waking you up this morning.

As much as you groaned and dug your heels in though, you still found yourself getting up and ready for the long and no doubt boring day ahead. Brunch at a strangers house, why do your parent’s have to be so social and in with everyone in this dam town?

Just for once you’d like to go grocery shopping with your mom without others interrupting your day, it would result in things getting done a lot quicker. But things will never change, so suffer you shall.

“Do we have to go to this? I have plans tonight with the girls. You know for my birthday, i need time to get ready” you complain, sarcastically asking them as if they’d ever forget that your birthday is tomorrow, after all you are turning 21 and it’s not every day that you reach that age. If you don’t treasure this moment, you’ll blink and it’ll be gone.

“Yes, Y/N. We’ve been invited and you will come because it’s polite” your mom lectures from the passenger seat of the car before facing forward. Your dad however, just focuses on the road, ignoring the two of you.

The drive over to this friends house seems to take forever as you watch the many familiar houses pass by from your window, bored out of your mind. You pray that your phone battery lasts so that you can pass the time away on social media.

Multiple texts come through just as you arrive at the location, all of them from the group chat. Your friend Jackie sends in the time for tonight that they will arrive at yours and Payton confirms the dress code. This is very suspicious, and since you aren’t the most patient person, you’re struggling to play ball.

But you only have to wait until tonight to find out what they’ve had planned, so all in all, it’s not so bad.

Your dad knocks the door of the house and not even a beat later, it swings open to reveal a woman that you recognise but can’t quite put your finger on where you know her from.

She’s short with dark blonde/brown shoulder length hair and her eyes are sparkling with delight at the sight of guests. She seems sweet, so familiar.

“Gary, you came” she brings your dad into a big and tight hug before pulling away and glancing over at your mom. The two of them hug briefly before her eyes settle on you.

“Is this Y/N? She’s grown up so much” she steps out of the house to hug you too “i bet you don’t even remember me, do you?” you look around at your parents for help before shrugging.

“Thought so. Well i’m Lisa, i looked after your father during his college days, he practically lived here with my son Chris”

Chris as in....

“Ma, where’s the beer?” the deep Bostonian accent calls out as Lisa ushers the three of you inside before closing the door and taking your coats. And you swear that you can feel all of the hairs on your body stand on end.

You’re wearing skinny black jeans with flats and a black and white cropped shirt with small purple butterflies on it, it’s casual enough but not too casual, so you still look well put together. Enough for your parents to get off your case that is.

As soon as he enters the room, you instantly look up, feeling his presence before actually seeing him for yourself. It’s like there’s always been this unknown pull that draws you toward him, something magnetic and invisible. You’ve never been able to figure it out but whatever it is, you don’t want it to fade.

Just like every time you see Chris, he looks so incredibly gorgeous. His brown hair swept back, a white shirt on underneath a red flannel. With blue jeans on to cover his long legs, you feel your eyes lingering on his body a beat more than necessary and normal. But you just can’t tear your eyes away. His body has always been a sight for sore eyes, and you can see that he’s still in super soldier shape. He’s so tall that you figure you’ll just always be intimidated by his size, the way he commands every room, the way he owns every room. You gulp rather loudly as he steps closer to you.

He makes it incredibly hard to avoid catching feelings.

For so long you tried your hardest to bury those same feelings, in hopes that your school girl crush would dissipate in no time but looking at him now, you know that it never really left.

You just got better at forgetting and distracting yourself with your career definitely helped.

Chris greets your parents first, bringing them both into tight hugs, and judging by the way they interact, you can sense that they’ve missed one another. With his busy schedule and your dad always working himself, it’s not easy for them to keep up with seeing each other. If your dad is free, Chris is away in another country filming, and vice versa. So it’s nice to see how happy your dad gets during rare moments like this.

“Y/N” the tall and broad man greets, stepping closer to you. Everyone watches the exchange as you hug him, smiling ear to ear.

“Chris” you return, as you pull away and he pulls back to glance down at you, giving you a quick once over. The intimidation is stronger than ever as you squirm underneath his stare.

His eyes linger for a second longer on your chest. Sure you had boobs last time he saw you but they’ve grown even more so since then and your top reveals a healthy amount of cleavage for him to feast his eyes on.

“You grow more and more every time i see you, i hear you’re turning 21 tomorrow” he says, clearing his throat, a genuine smile gracing his face as he steps back. You all follow as he walks into the grand kitchen. It’s a lot bigger than any you’ve seen before. There’s a wall to wall dining table in the centre and then a kitchen island close by with bar stools all around it. They must have plenty of these gatherings and one hell of a big family.

Chris grabs a beer for himself, pulling the cap off before offering all of you a drink. You request a sprite, not wanting to set your parents off by asking for alcohol, despite you being 21 tomorrow, they’d never let you drink.

He pours your drink out, adding ice before sliding it over to you with a friendly smile, he shoots you a wink as his attention turns back to your parents. You proceed to sip the drink, finding yourself grinning again because of him.

That wink was most likely just him being nice, but in the back of your mind, you start to imagine how he must feel about you. Does he like you? No, of course he doesn’t, the chances of that actually being the case are a million to one but you still like to fantasise. And if you were to let a naked truth slip, it would be that you’d allow him to do anything to you that he wanted to and if you had the confidence to, there are a whole bunch of confessions you’d have for him.

However, since you don’t, you continue to sip your drink in between assisting Lisa with laying the table for the food.

Every now and then you catch glimpses of Chris staring at you, his eyes trained on your body until he sees you looking back, that’s when he clears his throat before looking elsewhere.

It’s probably just you hopelessly wishing here but it looked like he was checking you out.

Waving that presumptuous thought away silently, you take your seat at the table next to Scott, Chris’s younger brother who looks a lot like him.

The two of you making conversation as you mindlessly dish some food up onto your plates, Lisa really went all out with this food and everything looks so good that you just know you’ll be getting second helpings of pretty much everything.

Scott starts to ask about your internship that he heard about briefly from your parents so you decide to elaborate further for him. Writing has always been something you’ve excelled at and when an opportunity presented itself to do it for real, you’d have been a fool to turn it down. Instead, you grabbed a hold of it with both hands, refusing to let go.

Your boss Jasmine was very straight up from your very first day about a potential permanent career with them. She was insistent that it all depended on how you coped during a two year long internship. And you soon got the picture that the internship was merely a way for the newspaper to assess potential future employees. So far though, you already know that she’s proud of your work. Which is great and you feel very positive about your future.

“So journalism, huh? Doesn’t that make you like super smart?” Chris calls from across the table, he’s sat directly opposite you and you smirk “i very much doubt that, i just enjoy writing” you answer, trying to remain modest, you never like to brag about your academic successes even though your parents sing your praises from the rooftops.

“What she really means is, yes. We never had any issues with her during school, her grades remained consistent and high throughout and to cut a long story short, i’m a proud dad” your father flashes you a smile that screams love.

Sure your parents are supportive and all and they love the bones of you, but sometimes you feel like they pushed you a little too hard during your school and college years. It helped you to get the internship, so of course you’re grateful but you missed out on a couple parties-or whatever it was your friends were getting up to-due to their schedule for you to complete homework. It all worked out alright in the end but still, it plays on your mind.

It doesn’t make you love them any less though.

“Love you too dad” heat rushes up your neck and to your face as you feel everyone’s eyes on you, it only lasts a second before all of the little conversations around the table resume.

Chris shoots you another wink before looking back down at his food and you quickly scramble to distract yourself by eating too.

Scott then gets onto the topic of boys, sharing with you all about his boyfriend, complete with pictures galore. The sight of him so loved up warms your heart and you hope that one day you’ll get to experience that. He briefly mentions how he couldn’t make it due to work obligations and you can sense that he wishes he was here.

You then begin to ask him all of the obligatory questions to which he responds in detail for you before flipping them onto you.

“So, how about you then?” he inquires, shoving some potatoes into his mouth and watching you intently.

“What about me?” you decide to play dumb.

“Any guys on the scene? After all you are 21 soon so there has to be at least one boy that you like” in your peripheral you can see Chris’s eyes on you, burning a hole into your head, igniting a spark.

The 16 year old girl inside of you decides to take full advantage of his silent attention.

“Well, there was one guy” you murmur, just loud enough for Chris to hear and as Scott leans in close to hear the details you tell him all about a guy at the newspaper, he’s a fellow intern too and his name is Max. He’s a couple of inches taller, jet black long hair that he ties up in a man bun, a couple of tattoos here and there on his arms and he’s constantly flirting with you whilst the two of you are seated at your desks.

He’s the first guy close to your age that you’ve even given the time of day. He’s 24, you whisper that detail to Scott, telling him that you don’t want your parents to hear as they’ll more than likely flip their lid and go mental.

Scott chuckles with you as he gives you some x rated advice on how you could flirt back. You quickly refuse, admitting that you’re far too shy to ever even attempt his suggestions.

Finally, everyone is full and sitting back in their chairs, absolutely stuffed full of Lisa’s incredible cooking. That woman knows how to feed, that’s for sure.

“Shall we start the clean up” she chirps, rising from her seat and glancing around at all of the satisfied people. It’s clear she gains a lot of happiness from cooking for people, she’s such a lovely woman.

Chris looks around the table before his eyes settle back on you, he’s been trying his hardest all fucking day to keep from glancing your way but it’s impossible to avoid when you’re demanding to be looked at.

It must be the aura circling you. Everything about you is so mature, your dress sense, the way you speak and carry yourself. It’s like he blinked and you went from that young and innocent girl to this. It’s taken him by complete surprise if he’s being honest. The majority of your features mirror your dads, with a hint of your mom in regards to your eyes and figure.

If there was any doubt about who’s daughter you were, your looks would always be a reminder. And it’s exactly that, that one reminder that he can never go near you. He shouldn’t want to anyway, what on earth has gotten into him?

Whatever it is, he needs to snap out of it. But an earlier conversation that he overheard unintentionally springs back into his mind, the one you had with Scott about boys. You mentioned about there being one guy but all he could hear was the detail about him being 24 and tall, oh and the fact that he also interns at the newspaper.

And that makes total sense, that guy is closer to you in age and it works. It would be less of a questionable option for you.

Instead of allowing you to occupy his mind throughout the remainder of the day, Chris begins to help his mom clear up and load the dishwasher with the first lot of dishes.

An hour passes with everyone in separate sections of the lounge, all of the conversations filling the room whilst you sit down on the armchair alone, taking this time to check your phone for messages from the girls.

Layla is banging on about her outfit and how killer it is, whilst Claire is having boyfriend trouble...yet again. It’s no wonder she complains all of the time when her boyfriend Daniel is a complete and utter douche bag. He rarely makes an effort and even when he does, it never lasts long enough. Yourself and the rest of your friendship group have warned her enough times for her to know he’s no good but since it’s always seemed to fall on death ears, you now tolerate her whining every week. Yup, that’s how often they have one of their many domestics.

Before you can even register the time, a hand rests on your shoulder from behind and you turn to find your dad looking down at you.

“Ready to go?” you smile, nodding over excitedly. It’s not that you haven’t had fun because you have, but since you have mystery plans for tonight, you have to get ready earlier so you can schedule in a breakdown over what you’re going to wear.

The dress codes is sexy, so you’re already racking your brain with ideas of what outfit in your closet could go well with that. But then the real issue springs to mind, how on earth do you plan on sneaking past your folks in something sexy?

So you quickly pull out your phone to text the girls, asking if you’d be able to change at one of their houses as well as asking if you can stop over too, to avoid any commotion.

Jackie agrees for you to stay at hers, requesting that you have all your stuff ready for her to pick you up at 7:30pm. You thank her before putting your phone away and bidding everyone goodbye.

Scott rushes to hug you, whispering a quick “get your man” in your ear before allowing Chris to hug you too. His hug lingers a little longer than necessary until Lisa nudges him out of the way.

You thank her for the food before leaving the house and getting into the back of your dads car.

Another encounter with Chris Evans and you’re still no closer to kicking this huge crush of yours, you have got to work on that.

By the time you get home from Lisa’s, you’re so antsy to start getting ready that you dart up the stairs in a hurry, needing to make a decision about your outfit now so that you have enough time to change your mind.

Your parents huff as you leave them standing in the doorway but you don’t have enough time to pay them any mind.

The second you get into your room, half of hour clothes are on the floor in what your mom likes to call a ‘floordrobe’, and every time she says it you laugh as though it’s the first joke you’ve heard her tell.

Dresses, jeans and tops galore all cover your carpet. Not one solid contender in sight.

A panicky text to Jackie prompts her to call you as you sit on your bed having your first mental breakdown.

“Hello” she says as you answer, hearing your mumbling.

“I don’t know what to wear because I have no clue where we are going” you exclaim, anxiety wracking your body. It might sound silly but you always get like this whenever you are about to be sociable, it’s hard for you to do so since you always panic about looking bad or making a fool of yourself. It’s hard to explain to people who don’t suffer with it. It’s like every possibility of what could go wrong fills you to the brim until you’re drowning in your own fears.

“Come on, don’t get worked up. You’ll be fine. Just pick a nice dress. Ooo, how about the red one with the spaghetti straps, that’s a nice one”

Her suggestion isn’t bad, in fact it’s the best dress you have, so truth be told, it’ll be the best option for you. She did say sexy and this dress is definitely sexy.

It’s a red silk dress that comes to your mid thighs, it hugs your curves beautifully, fitting your body like a second skin. The square neckline is perfect for showing off your best assets, your breasts and the straps are silver, spaghetti style.

You can even pair it with your silver lace up square toed heels! Okay that’s the outfit done. Now time for you to pack it away as well as gathering all of the makeup that you’re gonna need for tonight.

Once you complete the packing, you decide to head for a shower, washing your hair and body before wrapping a towel around you as you walk into your bedroom again to dry your hair.

6:00pm rolls around and you decide to go and have something to eat downstairs. Since you don’t know when the next time you’ll be able to eat will be, you want to be prepared. And everything is always better on a full stomach.

You take a seat at the dining room table and join in with whatever small talk that your parents are making, something about gardening. Not that you have any clue about it of course, but seeing as it’s the topic for now, you decide to ask your mom questions about her newly grown roses. She adores the garden, it’s her sanctuary and her pride and joy.

It’s at times like this when you truly realise what you have, a family that loves and cares for you. No matter what happens, you know you’ll always have a home here. Not everyone can say that.

So you take the silence in conversation to count your blessings.

Dinner is put away and more mindless conversation is made, you eventually stand up to help your mom clear the table and load the dishwasher.

Afterwards you head back up the stairs to retrieve your overnight bag before informing your parents that you’re staying at Jackie’s tonight. They shrug it off a little too quickly but that’s when they promise to call Jackie’s parents ahead of time.

Thankfully when they do, they get confirmation. By this point, her parents know the drill with your folks and the memo to always downplay everything. If they trust Jackie enough and they will be home to be of any help then they don’t mind telling a little white lie.

It’s now 7:30 and Jackie isn’t here yet so you sit on the stairs to do your shoelaces up whilst you you wait and one loud beep outside lets you know she’s just arrived. She always likes to make her presence known.

“Mom, dad, I’m going now” you call out, awaiting for them to rush out and a second later, they do, like clockwork, whenever you go out they always want to assess you before you leave. Protective isn’t the word.

You bid them goodbye with a hug, as well as a side of reassurance that you’re going to be safe at Jackie’s house.

And on that note, you escape, rushing over to get into Jackie’s jeep. Her folks are loaded so she pretty much get’s everything handed to her. However, she’s not a typical rich kid, she doesn’t brag about her material things or her families wealth. Instead, she prefers to dial it down a lot of the time and being that you’re not exactly filthy rich, you appreciate her doing so.

“So, what’s this surprise?” you pry as you buckle up, but much to your dismay, her face remains neutral, no sign of what she’s got planned. Not that you’re surprised, you still wanted to try though.

“Your parent’s rang mine again” her tone merely one of observation as her eyes remain focused on the road, and you know this is just a way of her distracting you.

She’s never gotten your parents and neither have your other friends, it’s annoying because you feel pitied a lot of the time. Even though they don’t do it on purpose.

“You know how they get Jac, i just can’t have them knowing about whatever it is that you’ve planned. They are way too protective. I mean i love them, and i appreciate everything they’ve done for me. But sometimes it feels like they don’t want me to have even an ounce of freedom or for me to ever grow up. I’m 21 tomorrow, i have an internship and they still insist on calling my friends parents for confirmation that i’ll be okay. It’s like they work themselves up with worry”

A nod from her in your peripheral vision lets you know she’s listening intently. You feel like a broken record. You’ve lost count of how many times she’s had to listen to this same rant.

“I just think you need to sit them down” she pauses, using all of her concentration on parking the car in her drive before shutting the engine off and turning to you “if you don’t sit them down and talk to them, how do you expect things to change. Like you said, you’re 21 tomorrow. You need to have the chat sooner or later”

She’s right, you do need to talk to them. It’s a conversation that you’ve been putting off for quite some time now.

However, that’s a worry for another time. For now though, you need to go and celebrate your birthday with your girls and forget all about the stress that plagues you day to day.

Upon entering Jackie’s bedroom, you’re met with piles of clothes, make up and shoes. What on earth happened in here?

“What’s going on here?” you ask, setting your stuff down on the one empty space, the bed, before sitting down yourself.

Jackie, Layla, Sophie, Claire and Payton all turn to you with huge grins plastered across their faces.

“So... we thought we’d celebrate in style tonight by taking you to Oblivion, it’s a new club in town and then, maybe Stu’s?” Payton wiggles her eyebrows at you, making you giggle before shaking your head at your crazy friends.

“It’s like you’re insinuating that i’m an alcoholic with all of these grown up locations” you feign offence before standing up and taking out your dress choice for the night to show them “but since you’d be right with that, how’s this dress?”

The moment you hold it up against your body, they all gasp, uttering compliments on how amazing it will look on you. You then lay it down on the bed before settling in between Claire and Layla in front of the mirror on the floor, make up bag in your lap.

Since your dress is red, you decide a smokey eye will go great with it, as well as your red lipstick that you brought with you for tonight.

When it comes to turning 21, you either have to go bold or go home. No room for casual or under dressing. You only turn 21 once.

And you’re not even surprised by the choice your friends made regarding plans. They know you love a good drink, besides, it’s been a long time since you all gathered like this for a night of debauchery.

With your makeup blended to perfection, you stand up, walking your leg cramp off before changing into your dress.

“Woah” Sophie fans you with her hands, whistling to signal your attractiveness. Once you turn to meet the mirror, you see it.

There’s a reason behind you not wearing a whole load of make up every day, it means that when you actively try, it’s more noticeable.

“Y/N, you look insane” they all second it, nodding their heads and winking at you. You twirl a little before sitting down on the bed to check your phone whilst you wait for the others to finish dressing.

With your heels on, dress on, make up done and all of your friends ready to go, you all gather around to take each others pictures as well as group ones.

Captioning the solo picture ‘21🥳watch out world, i’m coming for ya’ and pressing upload, you shove your phone, money and lipstick into your bag before leaving the room.

First stop, Oblivion.

Meanwhile Chris is making a mental note to leave in the next 20 minutes or so, since he’s certain that Dodger will be getting restless without him. After you left he decided to stay there a little longer, wanting nothing more than to spend some extra time with the most important people in his life.

Once Lisa mentioned dessert, Chris automatically knew he’d be residing on the arm chair for the foreseeable future, especially after his moms cooking, it’s like she’s a professional or some shit. Maybe that’s just a gift given to mothers all over the world though, or maybe Lisa is just magic.

Either way, he can’t get enough. It’s the one thing he struggles to live without, what with his constant travelling and busy schedule. It makes it hard to spend any time with his nearest and dearest. As depressing as that sounds, it’s all part of being an actor.

Scott sneaks into the lounge, spotting Chris on the arm chair, head thrown back, eyes closed, the button on his jeans undone to allow room for bloating. Perfect target for the beginning of the Nerf gun fight. It was their nephews idea, they asked Scott if he was up for it, and any chance to get his own back on his brother automatically appeals to Scott.

Chris put Scott through a lot of torment growing up, and sure it was always all love on both parts, but doesn’t mean Scott will ever pass up any opportunity to get Chris back for it.

One shot, aimed at Chris’s head is all it takes to start the war off. Chris shoots up off of his seat. He immediately spots the Nerf gun at his feet and the second he picks it up, Scott yells “come get us, loser”

“You better run” Chris yells back, doing his jeans back up before running after his brother and nephews. Laughter fills the house up, warming Lisa’s heart. She can still recall when all of her kids were younger, the many games they played, oh and how could she ever forget the pranks. It was like she spent the majority of her time telling the rowdy kids off. But she wouldn’t have changed any of that for the world.

The moment you strut up to the entrance of Oblivion, the security guard lifts the rope to welcome the six of you inside, no attempt to even ask for proof of age, your dresses speak for you.

Huge perk.

First things first, you all head to the bar for your first drinks of the night. Well technically, you had some shots at Jackie’s prior to getting in the cab, but it doesn’t count because that was pre drinks. A way to get the buzz going before heading out, a money saver if you will.

The club is bustling and loud, no scrap that, it’s deafening. But regardless of the fact that you could burst an ear drum tonight, you welcome it with open arms as you order the first round at the bar.

The very tall, broad and not to mention cute bartender gives you heavy eye contact, narrowing his eyes as he scans your entire body. His way of sizing you up, you figure. His hair is a dark blonde shade, pushed back out of his face, and his eyes are green, heavenly.

The feel of his eyes is very intense, causing you to squirm a little, so much so that you contemplate chickening out and looking away but then you give yourself a little telling off (silently of course). How do you ever expect to get anywhere with guys if you shy away all of the time? Exactly, you won’t.

So you stare back, even when he looks away to make your drinks. The way his biceps push against the material, begging to be set free as the veins on his forearms become more prominent as he uses the cocktail shaker for your drinks, it’s a sight for sure.

You catch yourself staring way too intensely, moving back a little and clearing your throat but he managed to catch you before you could brush it off. The flirtatious wink he shoots you with as he serves up your cocktails causes your cheeks to heat up, your eyes averting his gaze as you take a sip whilst slipping the money across the bar to him.

Jackie gestures to a booth across the way, free from any party goers, so you decide that’s your queue to leave and take it whilst it’s free.

As you walk away, you decide to glance back at the mystery bartender in the white dress shirt, his eyes are still trained on you and you make a mental note to talk to him later.

Once you’re all seated at your booth, Chris is just collapsing down onto the couch, breathing heavily after a long and close call during the Nerf gun battle. He used to be so much fitter than this, and sure, some would argue that his body is one sculpted by the gods, but to him, he’s far from perfect.

Being Captain America comes with it’s own curses, it’s own standard. One that everyone around him seems to plague him with. To look perfect, to be perfect, to act perfect. But deep down, he just wants to be himself, without worrying about eating a pizza and putting on a little weight.

He knows his true fans support whatever it is that he does, and they’d love him regardless, but he still gets anxious.

An hour passes and you’re all still seated comfortably at the same booth, half a dozen empty glasses litter the table with no sign of slowing down anytime soon and you’re all laughing uncontrollably. Is being 21 supposed to ignite a fire inside of you, one of independence? If so, you’ve yet to feel it because secretly you always know you’ll be forever tied to the chains of your parents and their protective nature.

You’re lucky to have parents that care, sure, but sometimes you just want a break from it all.

No songs have come on-or at least as of yet anyway-that have stolen your attention enough for you to get up and dance. But the moment Dirrty by Christina Aguilera comes booming through the speakers- an oldie but a goldie in your opinion- you know you have to dance.

Claire glances over in your direction, a smirk gracing her soft facial features, dark eyes lighting up as her smile appears. With just one look, the two of you get up from your spots, strutting over to the dance floor to join the nameless sweaty bodies.

The moves you’re conjuring up could only be described as provocative, but since you’re turning 21 tomorrow, is there any other way to celebrate?

Absolutely not.

Claire breezes past you, catching the eye of some random man across the way, his flirtatious stare even warms your cheeks, and you’re not even the focus of it.

You glance back over in the direction of the bar at the tall and broad man behind it rushing around to make drinks for all of the ladies gathered around. He’s definitely enjoying the vast amount of attention on him, judging by the way he smirks and winks at all of the ladies individually. And to think you thought he took a particular liking to you, looks like you really are clueless when it comes to guys.

After all, you have only slept with one guy, so your list of experience is very small. It happened at a time in your life when the pressure to lose your virginity was insanely high, and you caved. It was with Sam Arthur, a kid you were quite close with growing up. He was constantly getting teased about supposedly being gay and the two of you made a deal.

Since you didn’t want to be called a prude for a second longer and he was still trying to figure out his sexuality, you decide to just get it over and done with. There was absolutely no foreplay, no romance, no sparks. It was a professional arrangement and you don’t regret it in the slightest. After all, the plan worked and you both got the desired outcomes. The jocks left Sam alone after that, and you became somewhat cool.

The dancing continues, despite you having already lost Claire and your moves get a little more slower paced as the music fades out into a song you barely even recognise.

So rather than sticking around, you push your way through the crowd and make your way back to the booth to find everyone sat right where you left them. Well with an extra addition of course. The guy that you saw staring at Claire.

“Y/N, this is Ray, Ray this is my friend Y/N. It’s her birthday” she cheers, knocking back another shot.

She has a boyfriend, and yet this Ray guy seems to have some kind of impression that she’s interested.

“Claire, can i talk to you for a sec, in private” you glare at her, making sure she gets the picture loud and clear but there’s no need for a private chat since Ray starts to shuffle out of the booth on his own accord.

“I’ll get the next round in, you girls have your privacy” he smiles, why does he seem like the sweetest guy ever? He’s around Claire’s height 5′6 or 7 give or take, black hair that’s been over gelled, must be his first time out at a club. His white shirt underneath his leather jacket seems trendy enough for him to be your age or close. But you still feel sorry for him.

“Before you guys say anything, Daniel and I broke up... again” you all sigh, as if she can hear you over the music.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because i didn’t want to ruin your birthday celebrations. But all i want to do now is forget Daniel and focus on having fun and Ray is the perfect distraction” she says, talking with her hands as she always does before lifting up a shot glass. You all follow, picking up the last of the shots and counting to three before knocking them back and wincing.

“Now let’s get drunk, bitches” Sophie cheers, and you all follow suit.

Not long after Ray returns with enough shots to last a lifetime. It’s going to be a messy one judging by the way things are going so far.

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

“So Ray, Raymond” you throw your arm around your new friend and pull him close to you.

“Yes Y/N” he laughs, leaning his head on yours.

“How old are you?” you inquire, talking a little louder so that he can hear you.

“23″ his answer causes you to choke on your wine before pushing him off and announcing his age to the group, their reactions are just as over dramatic as your own. Something Ray finds highly amusing.

It’s been two hours and while you didn’t plan to stay at the club this long, you have zero complaints since you’ve been far too busy making new friends and dancing all of your troubles away. Or more specifically, grinding and shaking.

Your moves have caught the eye of the bartender once more but after you noticed the way he talks to other women, you give that a hard pass in your head, smiling politely at him before using Ray as a way to get him off your back.

Shortly after Claire steals him back from you, probably giving his tiny ego a major inflation. But it had to be done. Otherwise that sleaze bag might think he has an actual chance at taking you home later, and although there would be worse situations to end up in than in a bed next to a perfect stranger, you’d rather not make random hook ups a habit. It was bad enough that your first time wasn’t with your soul mate as you had always planned for it to be, that you’d hate for the second guy you sleep with to be a random guy.

Like you’ve said before, you don’t regret Sam, you just didn’t make room in your plans for a pity fuck.

That’s when your mind travels to a certain someone... Chris.

You’ll bet your life on him being overly experienced when it comes to all things bedroom related. The amount of tabloids you’ve thrown in the bin after seeing him on the cover strolling out of clubs with mystery women or even women you’ve recognised.

Minka Kelly being the pinnacle of them all. You can recall a little too well how jealous you got. And you hadn’t even seen him in person in god knows how long at that point.

But seeing him today has awoken that feverish need, the one that’s led to all too many nights wrapped in your own sheets, droplets of sweat coating your nude body as your hand played with your dripping wet sex to the thought of him.

You’re certain he could teach you a thing or two when it comes to sex. The mere thought has your mouth watering pathetically.

However, your x rated thoughts are disrupted as you’re shoved out of nowhere. Your head spins around to your left to find Claire summoning you to follow her and the others as they head for the exit.,

And of course Ray is following you guys to Stu’s.

The bartenders burning gaze causes you to turn and look at him briefly and in a moment of madness and a drunken haze you strut over, pulling his pen from behind his ear and scribbling your name and number down on a napkin for him. Sure he’s a player but you’re feeling pretty epic right about now.

“See you around, maybe” and with a quick wink, you kiss his cheek before leaving him standing there gobsmacked at the high level of confidence. Sure he’s had plenty of women flirt back, but you doubt that many woman have actually made an official move.

And that assumption fills you with even more confidence before that same confidence is replaced by the cold air causing goosebumps to appear all over your body, head to toe.

“How far away is Stu’s?” Jackie asks, teeth jittering all the way through the sentence.

“It’s just at the end of this road here” you say, pointing down the road on your right hand side as you begin to walk in that direction.

“I can’t believe you gave that bartender your number” Payton gasps, giggling like a little school girl “what if he’s like 30″ she’s always been over dramatic.

“He’s definitely not 30 Payt, gotta be at least nearing it though” you giggle too, realising how crazy that move was. But tonight is the perfect night for crazy decisions.

If you regret it in the morning, you can always blame the influence of alcohol.

The walk to Stu’s doesn’t take too long as you all laugh and chatter the whole way and upon your approach to the bar, the familiar face of Paul the bars regular security guard comes into view.

“You again” he smirks, to which Jackie just shrugs.

“What can i say, you draw me back here Paul” her low and seductive voice has officially been activated as she nears closer to the tall man with the dad bod. Now this dude actually looks 30. But he’s cute and totally into Jackie.

“Get in there then and have a drink for me. Oh and Stu is actually behind the bar tonight so enjoy yourself” he shouts to all of you as you strut in with Ray in tow. You assume his abrupt end to the conversation was because he knows the longer she lingers, the more distracted he’ll become.

And of course, low and behold, Stu is behind the bar. This isn’t your first time here but it is one of 3 times that the owner Stuart has been serving and helping his underpaid staff.

He’s been talking about hiring more for way too long now with no sign of it actually happening. And believe it or not, he’s offered Jackie a job on more than one occasion, something she’s been leaning closer to a lot more the last couple times you’ve been here.

However, as cool as her parents are, they’d be hesitant to allow her to work at a place like this. Although, Jackie would just do it regardless of their blessing.

If she really wants something, no one and nothing will get in her way.

Do It Again by Pia Mia comes pouring out of the speakers all around, the surround sound making it a lot louder but thankfully you’re too tipsy to give a shit.

You put your order in with Jackie, asking if she can get the round in before dragging the others to the middle of the room, there’s no proper patch in here that could even be considered a dance floor but the centre of the room is where all of the other drunk people have accumulated to dance. So here it is.

You start to dance, throwing your arms in the air as your body moves, swaying to the rhythm of the music. The build of the song helps your movements to turn sexier but as the chorus comes you just stand there screaming the words to Claire who screams them right back and Payton who just laughs as she jumps.

How she does that in stilettos, you will never know.

Claire flicks her hair away from her face before batting her false lashes at Ray who’s just leaning against the bar, biting down on his bottom lip, hunger prominent.

This is what true freedom is, this is what being a true adult is. Or at least it’s what it is to you. You have an internship, your license, and here you are at a bar drinking with your friends.

Could you get anymore grown up? Probably not, even if you actively tried.

“Hey, can i ask you something?” you question Claire as the two of you briefly excuse yourselves to go to the ladies room, leaving everyone else dancing, including Ray who was forced to bust some moves by a heavily drunk Payton. The mere sight had you belly laughing before forcing your eyes away.

And as you enter the bathroom-inserting yourself into the line that always seems to plague the bars and clubs- you feel yourself noticing something in Claire that you’ve spotted on more than one occasion.

Daniel was never a great boyfriend to her, he always disregarded her feelings with a wave of his hand, sweeping everything underneath the rug. Tonight you feel like Claire is doing the exact same thing and her reason being that she doesn’t want to ruin your night, is utter bullshit. You never want your friends to feel they can’t open up.

“Sure, what’s up?” she asks, turning to lean on the wall outside the bathroom as the line moves a smidge.

“Are you okay? You know, after Daniel” a silly question the more that you think about it, obviously she’s not okay.

A huff of annoyance escapes her and you’re immediately left with a lump in your throat and a ton of regret on your shoulders, weighing you down.

But after a beat of silence, she opens her mouth to speak.

“We were a disaster waiting to happen” her words couldn’t ring anymore true, and in a way you can admire her ability to actually speak her truth about the relationship, instead of looking at it through rose tinted lenses. “He didn’t love me, or at least not in the way i loved him and certainly not in the way i deserved. We clashed constantly and it turned our relationship into something so ugly that in the end i wasn’t happy with who i saw staring back at me in the mirror. He had tainted my perspective of myself so much so that i lost who i was before him” tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision momentarily before you use your index finger to help dab them away.

“I tried but in the end it wasn’t good enough. He has a lot he needs to work on, a lot he needs to figure out. And i’m past the point of wanting to wait for someone that already took 4 years from me”

She looks down, averting your eyes as she realises how sad this is making you.

“Don’t cry, it’s your birthday” she instructs, looking up to wipe a tear before it can fall.

“It’s just.... i know that we don’t know every detail of what happened with Daniel. And you can disclose whatever you want in your own time. But i just want to tell you how proud i am of you for finally walking away”

Okay, the official self loathing and emotionalism of a girls night out has begun. You know, when every woman intoxicated visits the bathroom and somehow has the longest heart to heart ever whilst simultaneously busting to pee. Yeah, that’s you and Claire right now.

“I love you Y/N” she pulls you close for a hug, the two of you embracing one another with open arms whilst whispering kind words.

The line moves mid hug, leading you to shuffle forward whilst still clinging on. Something that you know looks odd, but no one says a word. Here in the line to the ladies bathroom, there’s no judgement.

You separate briefly when two cubicles become free for the two of you but once you meet back up at the sinks, you decide to continue your probing.

“So, Ray, huh? What’s that about then?”

Judging by the expression her face contorts into, she’s not about to divulge into the reasoning behind her making out and flirting with a total stranger.

You dry your hands in silence before standing closer to her “Claire”

“I’m just having fun, that’s all. Besides, he’s a nice guy” she shrugs, dismissing the chat before walking out of the bathroom with you rushing to keep up.

“Did i say something wrong?” you ask, when you finally catch up to her.

“No, i just, i want to live freely tonight, no questions asked. Can we do that?” she asks, her eyes pleading with you to drop the subject of how emotionally ruined she is by what happened with Daniel. And to her surprise, you nod. Linking your arm with hers as you stride over to join the girls again, oh and Ray too.

Upon your return, Ray hands the two of you a shot of what seems to be vodka as you smell it and wince. But, it is your birthday, so down in one it is.

You knock it back, scrunching your face up in disgust as the music continues to blare, Demi Lovato’s Sorry Not Sorry starting up. Perfect timing for Claire. You glance at her and she rolls her eyes before kicking off the moves.

Stu who is rushing around the bar like a headless chicken spots her and he immediately summons her to dance on the bar, something she shakes her head no to, refusing to fall over in front of all of these people. But that’s when you take the opportunity for her, in hopes that it’ll loosen her up a little.

Almost the entirety of the bar cheers you on as you start to bust all kinds of moves, strutting confidently along the bar, making eye contact with a couple of guys who seem more than impressed with your ability to stand up and walk without falling.

Soon enough, following a lot of pushing, Claire gets up to join you and she’s followed by Payton, Jackie, Sophie and Layla. Sophie shimmies in your direction and you do the same back before throwing your heads back laughing like school kids.

The crowd cheers the 6 of you on, Including Ray. His wolf whistles in Claire’s direction don’t go unnoticed, Claire’s cheeks flush a bright red shade as she looks down at him, smiling from ear to ear.

Despite your confusion about her need for a distraction, you know that right now you don’t need to understand it. If this is something she needs for tonight then who are you to judge?

Once the song fades into a new one, you take a bow dramatically, thanking your audience before stepping down.

“Drinks for the birthday girl” Stu shouts over the music “nice moves Y/N” his wink doesn’t go unnoticed as you take the vodka soda from his hand, not even bothering to sip it slowly.

You’re so going to regret that...

Chris bids his family goodbye as he gets his jacket on at the front door whilst Lisa waits to give him a hug.

Scott already did and now he’s waiting in the lounge with their nephews who are asleep either side of him after scoffing down second helpings of dessert. Something Chris had to decline, although he did request for Lisa to put some in some Tupperware for him to enjoy later on or tomorrow.

The moment he gets into his car it’s officially 11:35pm, way too late for his nephews to not be in bed but since it’s a weekend, their mother didn’t mind them falling asleep on the couch. Eventually they’ll be taken to bed, just not yet. It spurs on memories for Chris and when himself and his siblings used to purposely fall asleep on the couch so that their parents would have to carry them to their room like royalty.

He turns the key in the ignition before putting his seat belt on and pulling away from the curb and onto the road. The drive to his place should only take around 15 minutes, depending on the traffic. “Hold tight, Dodger, Daddy’s on his way home” he mutters to himself as he checks his mirrors, his car nearing the busy side of town.

Ray orders the last round of the night, insisting that it’s the least he could do for you since it’s your birthday. And how could you ever pass up free shots of tequila?

Stu slides the full tray over to you all before walking to the other side of the bar to take someone else’s order.

The 7 of you stand in a circle, swaying as you smile “to turning 21″ you announce, holding the glass in the air for everyone to follow suit.

“To turning 21″ they repeat, your glasses clink and you all knock it back before paying Stu and heading for the exit, dancing on your way out to Beyoncés Drunk In Love.

Jackie immediately finds Paul, twirling her long brown hair around her index finger as she flirts shamelessly with a man way too old for her. Although, you’re not exactly one to judge, you know with you quite literally being the poster girl for inappropriate crushes.

The name Chris Evans should ring a bell.

You stumble a little as you walk further out into the cold, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it’ll somehow rid you of the shivering and teeth jittering. Whilst Claire and Ray start to make out in the middle of the pavement, causing everyone to make fake sick noises at. But it all ends in laughter.

Chris ends up pulling down a different road to the one he usually takes on the journey home from his moms house, a way of avoiding the heaps of traffic on the other route.

But as he slows down behind a car that’s giving way to a driver on his way up the road he just came down, he taps the steering wheel, mindlessly looking out onto the street.

However, what he didn’t expect to find was you. You’re stood there, shivering in the cold in the boldest red dress that he’s ever seen. Your long legs are out with more than just a healthy amount of cleavage showing too. And by the looks of your location, either you’re just coming out of a bar or about to go in.

He recalls you mentioning about it being your 21st tomorrow, so his guess is this is your night of celebration for hitting one of those milestone points in your adolescent life. Although adolescent is hardly the word he’d use to describe you. You’re far from it in fact.

A loud horn beeping knocks him from his focus on you but just before he pulls away, he sees you stumbling, almost falling over.

He immediately pulls his car over to a place of safety before getting out and approaching you, no time for rational thinking as he helps you before you almost fall yet again.

“Someones had a big night, i take it” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your body to steady you and once your eyes meet his, they widen in surprise.

A loud gulp can be heard by yourself and Chris as you stare at him in bewilderment. What is he doing here?

And has he always been so big?

“I was just driving past and i noticed you, thought you looked like you could do with a ride home” a lie. In reality, he was feeling protective and even jealous at the thought of another man being attracted to you, so much so that he wanted to nip it in the bud before it can even happen.

“Well aren’t you quite the gentleman” you giggle, tapping his chest and grinning up at him.

“How much has she had?” Chris calls out, catching the attention of your friends, his grip around your body tightening.

“Too much to count if that helps” Jackie shrugs, “she’s staying at mine tonight anyway, she’ll be fine” somehow with how distracted Jackie is, he’s not believing that for a second.

“Actually i’ll get her back safely”

You widen your eyes, pushing away from Chris’s grasp “i am not going home” you protest, your parents cannot see you this way, whatsoever.

“Why not?” Chris follows you as you walk to the edge of the curb to summon a cab.

“Because one look at my drunken state and my outfit and my dad won’t let me out of my room for the rest of my life” you roll your eyes out of habit at the reminder of your strict parents.

Chris just stands there, hands in his pockets, silence filling the air between you before he sees a cab driving toward you.

“My car is right over there, i can take you wherever you want, without charge” he smirks, causing you to do the same before calling your friends and gesturing to the cab that’s waiting.

As they all file in one by one, Jackie notices you standing further away “what about you?” she eyes Chris with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“I’ll be fine, i’ll text you, okay?” you say, leaning in to hug her before shutting the door for her.

“Stay safe” she blows you a kiss and with that, she’s gone.

You turn on your heels to face Chris, looking up to meet his eyes “lead the way then” a command he listens to but not before attempting to help you, something you shrug off.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking myself” your tone of voice is a lot snappier than you had initially intended for it to be. You just meant to say that you’re fine to walk without his assistance, yet it came off bratty and rude. Great.

You reach Chris’s car and with your tipsy state as well as the dark shadowing over the two of you, you can barely make out the type of car that he drives. But who cares right, your life long crush is about to drive you wherever you want, guess you’re winning.

“So where did you want me to drop you?” he asks as he gets into the drivers side, turning the key in the ignition before turning the heating on to warm you up. And slowly but surely you feel the goosebumps fade and the shivers die down.

It feels weird being here. Although you’ve wanted to be alone with him for such a long time, it feels strange to actually be here, for your wish to be coming true. Well, only half of your wish. Most of that wish centred around intimacy occurring between the two of you, fat chance of that happening.

“Anywhere where my parents are not” you smile nervously, turning to face the window and glancing out at the streets that are now filling with more party goers, the majority of them are only just starting their nights whilst yours is officially over.

Sadly.

“What’s the deal with them anyway?” he asks, starting the car and pulling out of the tight space, one he has no clue how he even parked in in the first place. Lust does crazy things to a man, as well as jealousy and protectiveness.

“They just don’t believe in giving me freedom. They are protective, too protective and it’s like i can’t do much without them setting rules” you huff, looking back away from his powerful blue orbs.

Those same blue orbs that led to you feeling this way about him in the first place and led you to dangerous territory.

He’s your dad’s best friend, you could never.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know. I’m fine, i’d just like to have their trust for once that’s all” you dismiss it, muttering under your breath as the trees and houses pass you by.

However, once the car comes to a stop, you furrow your brows, no sense of familiarity in your surroundings.

As soon as you turn to face Chris, you’re not surprised to find his eyes already fixated on you, he leans back against his seat, his head turned on the head rest to face you. His eyes drinking you in, dancing across your entire body hungrily, eyes dark from lust.

Does he want you as much as you want him?

Chris bites down on his bottom lip as his eyes make their way back up to your face, only to find your eyes watching him intently. He’s currently parked outside of what you assume to be his house, with you in his car. You said anywhere where your parent’s weren’t going to be and this was the only option in his head. Is it wrong to have you here? Or is it perfectly normal?

Who knows at this point, it’s too late to back track anyway.

“What?” you ask, covering yourself with your arms as you turn shy under his intense gaze and he immediately leans over to lift your head back up with his index finger under your chin.

“What?” he repeats, feigning cluelessness. When in reality, Chris knows dam well what you were asking him.

Instead he chooses not to answer by ripping his eyes away.

“Shall we get into the warm?” his offer is so tempting and you’d usually jump at that chance but you can feel an uneasiness settling in as though your body is telling you that if you go inside with him, that it’ll more than likely change everything. That things will never be the same again.

But somehow you shake it off, undoing your seatbelt and getting out, deciding to follow him inside the house after he locks the car and opens the door to the house. And the inside is even more fancy than you ever imagined, way too fancy for the likes of you, but if he’s inviting you in, who are you to question it?

Not even a second later, a big fluffy dog charges up to you, barking and licking at you and begging for attention.

“Woah, who’s this fluffy baby?” you inquire, dropping to your knees to make a fuss of the fur ball, welcoming the sloppy dog kisses happily. But as he goes to lick your face some more you back away, giggling.

“This is Dodger, he was a rescue dog” he announces, whilst locking the door and tossing his keys into the bowl on shelves nearby.

“He’s so fluffy” you cuddle into him and Dodger pants more, getting all the more excited at the presence of someone new.

Eventually once Dodger calms down, you start to take your heels off with Chris watching your every move.

The way you undo the intricate lace on your heels, is so fascinating for such a boring act, he enjoys watching regardless.

Once they are off, you rise to your feet and pad into the kitchen behind him, you’re so much smaller than he is and you’d be lying if that alone didn’t turn you on. You lift yourself onto one of the many stools parked around the kitchen island and the lights come on shortly after, only the ones tucked underneath the kitchen cupboards that hang over the kitchen counter but still it gives the setting soft lighting, enough for the moment. Chris starts to rummage around in one of the cupboards overhead before pulling out a glass and sticking it underneath the water dispenser attached the fridge.

He hands the half full glass to you and you grip it with both hands, lifting it to your lips to take a sip whilst your eyes watch as Chris leans back on the counter across from you. His hands grip it with white knuckle force and his eyes skim over your body for the umpteenth time tonight. Now you’re curious, what exactly is he looking at and why has he felt the need to look so many times?

“Is there something on my dress?” you ask, placing the glass down and looking down at your provocative ensemble.

He clears his throat after almost choking on his own saliva at your words “what? n-no, you’re dress is perfectly fine” his eyes widen with embarrassment as he realises you noticed him looking.

It’s that look in his eyes that alerts you of his attraction and even though nothing could ever happen, that’s good enough for you. In fact, the knowledge of Chris Evans finding you somewhat attractive is more than good enough.

“You can stay here by the way, hence why i brought you here. I have more than enough room and i’ll drop you back at your friends house in the morning.

You nod your head in agreement before uttering a quiet thank you in his direction without looking up.

The hairs on the back of his neck instantly stand on end whenever you meet his gaze, the gleam in your eyes is so innocent yet so seductive and the way that silky dress hugs your body like a second skin is enough to wake his dick up.

But, he’s doing everything humanly possible to prevent it. In these jeans, it’ll be more than obvious to you and that’s the last thing he wants.

He knows it can never happen, in fact he’s kicking himself for even bringing you here. You insisted on going back with your friends, why didn’t he listen? So stupid, Chris. He curses himself silently, hoping he never said any of that out loud.

The silence is deafening yet comfortable. But you decide to break it anyway, not realising, Chris had the same intentions.

“So -” you both start before looking directly at one another and breaking into laughter at the fact that you both spoke in unison.

“You go first” he offers, his powerful stare not letting up.

“I was just going to ask how come you stopped to help me?”

“I saw you stumbling all over the place and i panicked. I know that your dad would have wanted me to look out for you, so i decided to stop you from hurting yourself” he cares.

“Oh” you murmur, a strand of hair falling down and grazing your cheek briefly before Chris reaches over to tuck it behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your skin, the feel of them burning you deliciously.

But once he removes them, you’re left yearning for their return. The way he touches you fills you with a sense of wholeness, something you’ve lacked your entire life.

Would it be so wrong if you let go of control, even if it was just for one night? But more importantly, would he let go of his control for one night too, for you?

There’s only one way to find out and that’s for you to take a leap and try. The warm and buzzing sensation wracking your drunken body eggs you on to finally make a move, the move you’ve wanted to make for so long yet have never been old enough or had the courage to.

And now that you’re 21, surely it’s now or never.

Shivers run down your spine as you prepare yourself, psyching yourself up.

Chris notices you shift in your seat and the feel of your breathe against his hand as he retracts it from your face, it drives him insane. The shallowness of your breath indicating that you’re occupied with something or someone, that you’re nervous or maybe it’s just the alcohol and the fact that he’s standing way too close to you.

But as you look up through your long and natural eyelashes, the way they flutter at the sight of his own eyes staring right back at you, as though they are staring into your soul, he spots something. A tell tale sign of just what’s on your mind.

A fear fills him rapidly as he steps back “we can’t” he snaps, voice low. Far from a telling off but it still feels like one, like he’s scolding you for feeling.

You slip down from the bar stool and back away slowly “so where is the spare room? I think i’ll need to shower before i sleep too” speaking as you look everywhere else aside from him.

“Y/N”

When you don’t answer, he realises that it’s probably best to just forget what just happened or more so what could have happened had he not acted accordingly.

Instead he follows you out into the hall before walking ahead to direct you to one of the many spare bedrooms, one with an en suite so that you can shower too.

“There are towels in the cupboard under the sink and spare clothes of mine in some of the drawers, they’ll do for tonight” he informs you, as he lingers in the doorway to the bathroom.

“I have to sort Dodger before i sleep myself so should you need anything, at all, i’ll be in the lounge or the kitchen” he smiles weakly before turning and walking away, leaving you all alone to get yourself cleaned up.

As he makes his way back into the kitchen to sort Dodger out, he can’t help but think that if the circumstances were different that he wouldn’t have thought twice about letting you kiss him. But seeing as the circumstances aren’t different and that you are indeed his best friends daughter, not to mention you’re drunk, he knows it can never be.

Doesn’t stop him from wanting you though, he is a man after all, a man with needs and a heavy attraction to the one woman he shouldn’t want.

As Dodger wonders around the garden to do his business, Chris’s mind runs elsewhere, on the thought of you in his shower right now. The mental image he’s had of how you’ll look naked roams his brain, torturing him endlessly.

It’s like the devil on his shoulder is urging him to make a move, to go through with it but then he knows the angel on the other shoulder will soon make a list of why it won’t be a good choice.

Both of them battling one another and only one will come out on top but at this point, Chris has no clue which one will win.

He scrunches his hands up into fists at his sides as he walks Dodger back into the house before going around to lock all of the doors and windows.

Dodgers paws tap on the floor as he scurries behind Chris to keep up and when they walk back to the other side of the house to go to bed, he notices your bedroom door is closed, and the lights are off. Signalling that you’re now asleep, causing his heart to sink a little.

You slip underneath the covers of the unfamiliar bed, the cold but comfortable sheets grazing your skin as you toss and turn to get comfortable before picking your phone up to text Jackie.

You: Jac, i’m stopping at Chris’s tonight, he’ll drop me back in the morning so i can fetch my stuff. Thank you for such a great night x

Jackie: You’re welcome, love you and use protection x

Typical Jackie. You shake your head at her insinuation that anything will happen between you and Chris. After all, he made it very clear that nothing will ever happen judging by the way he backed off when you were about to kiss him.

You’ll never disclose this detail to anyone other than the voice in your head but the way he stepped back made you feel embarrassed. You always knew it was a long shot but to have him look so disgusted at the idea of you kissing him, it was hardly the reaction you had anticipated. But then again, you don’t know what you expected. However, it definitely wasn’t that.

The sheets wrap around you and follow as you turn to face the other side of the room. With your alarms set and your phone resting on the bedside table, you know that you better go to sleep.

But before you can, you notice the time on the alarm clock, it reads 12:30am.

“Happy Birthday Y/N”

You close your eyes to sleep, allowing your brain to replay the entire night for you. The bar dancing, the almost kiss with Chris and the emotional chat with Claire. The night wasn’t all bad. You still managed to enjoy yourself and have lots of fun.

Suddenly your throat turns dry and you decide to get up to go in search of a drink. Chris is probably in bed by now, or at least you’re assuming he is so you decide to tip toe your way through the halls of his big house, trying not to get lost.

The faint light in the distance leads the way to the kitchen thankfully.

Upon your entrance, you realise you’re alone. Chris is asleep then. You can’t say you weren’t secretly hoping he was awake.

One of his many shirts that you found in the drawers covers your nude body, it’s an old pats shirts, one that has obviously been worn a lot judging by how tattered it looks. It comes to the middle of your thighs, serving as a night dress. It’s comfortable too. You also have on some of his brand new Calvin Klein boxers

You go to retrieve a new glass from the cupboard when you spot the one that you drank out of previously still very much half full and sitting on the counter with a note.

“Drink up”

“Yes, sir” you mumble to yourself before lifting the glass to your lips and gulping down the majority of its contents. The cold and fresh water gliding down your throat feels so good and you can slowly feel the alcohol taking less control of your body as well as your headache fading.

The second you empty the glass you rest it in the sink before spinning around on the balls of your feet to walk out but that’s when you bump into Chris.

Your hands naturally find purchase on his toned chest, the hardness doesn’t surprise you.

“Sorry, i was just going back to bed” you squeak, slipping around him and toward the door but his hand catches your wrist, gripping it tight enough for you to stop in your tracks completely.

“What are you doing?” your question hangs in the air, and you wait with bated breath for him to answer it but instead he turns around to face you, his head tilted down so that your eyes meet. Okay, now you really do feel small.

The sudden chill that dances down your body is far from one of uneasiness, if anything you feel so peculiarly comfortable around him. And you barely know him. In fact you only know what your father has told you as well as what you’ve picked up on and it’s not a whole lot.

The unspoken admittance of attraction lingers in the air, crackling and fizzling like fireworks.

And as he leans down further, his plump and pink lips brushing yours ever so slightly before his tongue dips out to wet them prior to capturing yours in an intense and earth shattering kiss. You realise that In this situation, you’re perfectly content with no words being spoken, actions suffice perfectly.

A grumble coming from the back of his throat, a moan trapped and ready to be set free alerts you of his arousal. That and the feel of his dick in his pants pressing against your stomach as he pulls you closer to him, your bodies pressed together in a way you never anticipated would ever become a reality.

His large and calloused fingers slide downward to your hips, digging in. But the love you develop for his soon to be bruising touch overrules the rationality of the sinful act you’re partaking in with the one man you shouldn’t want but do regardless.

If only your dad could see you now, he’d flip his shit and probably despise Chris for what he’s doing. He’d never see you as two adults, old enough to consent to something so intimate and erotic. Instead he’d go crazy.

Thankfully he’ll never know.

Chris lifts you up onto the kitchen island, standing in between your legs and spreading them further apart in order for his hands to do some exploring.

The kiss breaks, and you’re breathless, panting as your chest rises and falls, your eyes locked on the man in front of you. The way his biceps bulge in the short sleeved white shirt he has on, it seems way too small to cover up his super soldier body, that’s for sure.

His breath fans your face as you play with the hem of his shirt, hinting at him to take it off. Something he takes note of instantly, pulling at it himself and before you know it, his upper half is on view for you.

Without a second to think, or even to second guess what you’re doing, you lean down to plant a kiss to his torso and then another just below his pecks. He watches you with curiosity, wanting to see how you’ll please him.

He has no knowledge of your previous sexual experience but so far there have been no issues in the kissing department.

Your lips make their way up to his pecks and then his neck. To reach the spot you want, you pull him down to gain the access. Your lips wrapping around the spot just below his ear, your teeth nipping at the unblemished skin just enough to elicit a quiet, whisper like moan.

“Ohhh” he continues to groan until you pull away to face him, the eye contact lingering before he throws caution the wind, his hand dipping underneath your-his-shirt and into his new Calvin Klein boxer shorts that he stored in the spare room for when he needed them. Looks like they belong to you now, no complaints.

Heavy breathing fills the silence as you feel his hand touch you in the one place you’ve dreamt of him doing so. The reality compared to the dream of it is so much more arousing, and you can quite literally feel more of that same arousal pooling at the tight hole of your inexperienced cunt.

His index finger circles it, gathering some before spreading it across your petal like folds, smearing it everywhere and suddenly your need for him intensifies. Your body arches into his demanding touch and you already know that from this moment on, whatever happens, you’ll be in safe in his large hands.

“You like this” it sounds like it’s supposed to be a question but he says it like a statement, as if he just knows you love it and crave more. Just a little more...pressure.

“Chris” you groan breathlessly, hand gripping the edge of the kitchen island counter with white knuckle force as your legs spread, moving on their own accord and succumbing to his every touch pathetically.

After lusting someone for so long, you learn to expand your imagination, your dream world allowing you to explore every possible scenario, every possible vision of how that person will look when doing certain things. But being in this position right now with Chris, he’s more impressive that your mind had allowed you to imagine. His kiss is so much more fiery than the one in your dreams and his body is just god like.

You’re one lucky woman to even know him in the way that you do, what with him being your dads best friend. But you’re even luckier to see him like this, so intimate, so raw and real. He’s a man at the end of the day, a man with needs and here you are, getting to fulfil them and so much more.

Maybe this is what the two of you need, to go there and explore each other’s bodies before you can really escape your own personal hell of pining for one another.

“Say that again” his raspy voice causes your hips to roll on his hand as his fingers rub at your bundle of nerves over and over, the pleasure consuming your body and washing over you like rain.

“Chris” you moan, voice lower and more seductive than usual as you make sure his eyes are on yours before biting your bottom lip.

His hands pulls out of the boxers you’re wearing before tugging you closer to the edge so that your ass is hanging off it as your body is relaxed against the cool marble.

He hooks his fingers into the band of the boxers, wasting no time in pulling them down and spreading your legs to expose your pussy to his hungry eyes. They grow darker, if that’s even possible as he licks his lips before pulling out one of the stools at the kitchen island.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby. Love the way you’re spreading those legs for me, like a not so innocent little whore” you gulp, every inch of your skin now covered in goosebumps.

You watch him take a seat on it in front of your spread legs that he drapes over his shoulders before blowing air on your mound and the small patch of hair that covers it beautifully.

His tongue pokes out as he nears closer to it but rather than focusing on the pulse point, he averts his mouth to that dripping entrance of yours, the never ending fountain of arousal, his to taste and drink from until his hearts content.

“Oh god” you cry out the moment his mouth makes contact with your sex, the feel of him on your most intimate part is almost too much for you to handle and the added sensation of his beard grazing the skin of your thighs, scratching deliciously, you have no idea how you’ve gone so long without this. Without the feel of a man loving you so precisely, the movement of his tongue as it navigates you slowly, taking its sweet time.

The need for his mouth to be everywhere all over your body all at once, it’s greediness at its finest, a feeling you’ll never cure.

The sensitivity that occurs as he hums on your clit before wrapping his lips around it with care, it sends your body into a shivering state, unable to comprehend all of this mind blowing pleasure.

Your inexperience once again rearing its head and showing itself to Chris.

“Tell me no one else has ever made you come before, tell me i’m the only one” his voice so low and gruff, it’s pleasure conjured up specifically for your ears.

Your hands slides into his perfectly styled hair, his locks now messed up as you tug whilst propping yourself up onto your elbows to get a better view of him.

“You’re the only one, now make me come” your confidence surprises him but he doesn’t wait a beat before he’s back between your legs, loving you the way you’ve always wished he would.

His mouth working you up, your pleasure intensifying like a crescendo building, your orgasm impending. It’s dangling in front of you, so close that you can almost taste the relief you’re about to feel thanks to Chris.

“Give those sweet juices to me, sweetheart. I know this body has more to offer, so be a good little slut and give them to me” his words are so sinful yet so angelic, and you’re putting that down to his voice.

Chris Evans, the man that can make anything sound sweet and caring, not to mention sexy.

It’s his not so hidden talent.

You roll your hips, your pussy dragging across his mouth as you push for release. The feel of it edging closer is torturous.

But the moment he inserts a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out a couple of times before adding a second you feel your pussy walls spasm around his thick digits and he sucks in a breath.

“There it is, wrap that tight pussy around my fingers, baby. Come all over them and make a mess like i know you can”

His words set off something inside of you and you feel your entire body shudder, your toes curl and you arch your back in response.

Your first proper orgasm.

“Good girl” his praise fills you with a sense of contention that nothing else has ever been able to give you, not even succeeding at school and college has been able to give you that. Yet Chris praising you for making a mess all over his fingers sure does something to you.

You spasm again around his digits before he withdraws them, lifting them to his lips.

His tongue darts in between them, licking up every single drop of the juices you have to offer before scooping you up into his arms, your body fitting right in his hands as he carries you back into the guest room, using his foot to kick the door shut.

He lays you down so gently, almost as though he fears you’ll break.

You watch him cross the room, taking his time to undress in front of you, putting on a real show.

Once he pulls his boxers down though, that’s when you really start to panic. You’ve never seen something so intimidating and yet you feel nothing but a visceral instinct to please him no matter what.

So rather than waiting for him to take the reins, you move to your knees to remove your shirt, revealing your bare breasts to him. Your nipples are now hardened peaks. He rakes his eyes over your now fully nude body, before watching as you crawl closer to the edge of the bed.

You lie on your stomach, using your fingers to summon him over and once he approaches, you wrap your hand around his impressive size. He looms over you, casting a shadow across the bed, his hands resting on his hips as he allows you to touch him. The longer you’re near him, the smaller you feel.

The sensation of your hand causes him to jerk, it’s been way too long since Chris had a woman touching him like this let alone one he wanted this bad.

Your tongue starts off at his balls, licking over them before sucking one into your mouth, one hand still wrapped loosely around his cock.

“Fuck, Y/N, please” he begs, just for a little more attention. When it comes to you, he always wants more.

Once you’ve caused just enough of a stir within him, you move to lick up the underside of his cock, making sure to take your sweet little time, you want to hear him beg for it, beg for you to suck his cock.

“Y/N” his hands move to your head, weaving into your hair and gripping at the strands hard as you reach the tip of his dick, head leaking pre-ejaculate that you soon lick away. The salty tang of it hitting your tongue is enough for you to want a better taste of him.

That’s when you give in, wrapping your mouth around his head before easing him in, inch by thick veiny inch.

A loud and guttural groan escapes him, unashamedly. The feel of your warmth around him, almost giving him an insight into what your pussy will feel like.

So fitting, like a glove.

The moment you fit the rest of his size in your mouth, you gag around him uncontrollably, unable to fit him without doing so. So you pull off, with a pop of course.

Tears fill your eyes before streaming down your cheeks rapidly, tears that Chris soon wipes away before lifting you up to your knees and manoeuvring the two of you further up the bed.

“Where did you learn that, sweetheart?” his impressed voice signals that you did a great job, and that fills you with pride, especially since you’ve never it before.

“That was my first time”

Chris stops in his tracks as his hand cups your face, his thumb stroking your soft skin.

“Have you ever had sex?” his understanding and non judgemental voice lets you know you can be brutally honest with him and still remain comfortable.

“I’ve only done it once”

He nods in understanding before reaching over to the night stand to retrieve a condom. He looks down, brows furrowing as he concentrates to put it on. But once he does you feel the weight of him hovering above you. His hands either side of your head for support and cage you in as he uses his knee to nudge your legs apart.

You spread and wrap them around him whilst he uses one hand to tap his cock on your clit, causing you to shudder once again. You’re still very much a sensitive mess in the aftermath of his tongues attack.

“Chris, do you want this?” that little voice in the back of your head second guesses his attraction, his need for you. And suddenly you don’t feel good enough.

“I want this, i want you. Do you want me?” the way he reverses the doubt, and suddenly he’s the vulnerable one looking for confirmation that he’s not alone in this.

“Yes” you murmur, your hands cupping his face are pulling him down so that your lips can connect as he nudges himself at your entrance, pushing in slowly

Your lips part into the kiss as you moan loudly, eyes rolling into the back of your head, back arching into him as he uses one hand to hold you whilst the other one holds him up.

“Christ” your music fills his ears as he eases in and out, making sure your comfortable first before establishing a far from steady pace.

“I need more of you” you plead, eyes locked with his, foreheads touching before kissing him again, his tongue pushing its way in just like his cock is doing to your cunt.

Allowing him to take over everything, your body relaxes, giving him the go ahead to speed things up and when his hips start to snap, his cock spearing into you relentlessly, your noises slip more often than not.

If this is what sex feels like with someone you truly lust after, you don’t ever want sex without it. You wish you could live in a world where you could have this for breakfast, lunch and dinner., But it’s just not realistic unfortunately.

However, until morning comes, you’ll live in this bubble of denial.

“S’tight, sweetheart” he grunts, sweat droplets coating his forehead and body as well as your own as you move with his thrusts, developing a rhythm that’s fast and needy, fuelled by desperation alone.

The feel of him poking at that spongy spot within you continuously, it’s breathtaking, a brand new experience for you, one you want to experience again and again.

Although you know this is a one time thing.

“Look at you, so small but you’re taking all of me so well, huh? Such. A. Good. Fucking. Girl” you clench down around him hard, at the pure filth he’s spouting, such a dirty mouth for such a gentleman. This side of Chris is one you could certainly grow used to seeing more often.

It’s addicting. He’s addicting.

“You gonna come? Huh baby?” he captures your lips in a passionate and fiery kiss, tongues included before waiting for your response.

You’re giving him all of the tell tale signs that you’re about to reach your first penetration induced orgasm. One in which he’s gladly taking from you, the thought of you going as long as you had without a single orgasm hurts his chest. What kind of men are around you? Clearly they aren’t men at all, just boys who can’t see a special little thing for shit. If only you were older and you met sooner under different circumstances.

“I’m gonna come” you nod along with him, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist but he soon moves them, draping them over his shoulders and the new position offers different yet better access to your g-spot. And a couple more thrusts is all it takes for him to hit it just right.

Your body goes taut as you cling to the sheets below for dear life.

Guttural moans, skin slapping against skin, it all bounces off the walls as you both come undone with each other. The intimacy reaching higher levels.

His hips start to falter and you feel him twitch, it’s clear your orgasm spurred his own on.

Chris can’t even fathom what has just occurred, the events that led him to this position, above you, easing himself through an orgasm you caused.

As soon as he pulls out and disposes of the condom into the bin, he collapses onto the bed next to where you lay. The two of you nothing but breathless messes.

The holy father has to forgive you, for you have sinned and you must repent.

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

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferous @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @randomsevans @fanficforfun @meetmeatyourworst @leyannrae @rainbowkisses31

Just Chris & His Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @sheofthegarden @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @mrslokibarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina @janeyboo @evansphnx12 @dwights-new-plague @whxre4cevans @cherry-gemz @chvntelle-99 @talley84 @peakascum

LMK if you want to be added to any of my tag lists by commenting or dropping me a DM. Thank u.

-Gee

#chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans x female reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #reader inserts #fanfiction #cevans #smut #requests

723 notes · View notes

anxiousnerdwritings · 3 years

Text

Yandere Harley Quinn w/ Friend!Reader (platonic)

First things first, it doesn’t matter how long you’ve known Harley or if you even know her at all, you are her BEST FRIEND. One look at you and she’s already planning what your BFF bracelets are going to look like. And you better wear it.

She absolutely adores you! Harley would be the type to dress like you, try to talk like you, think like you, even smell like you. It makes her feel closer than ever and what better way to be close to someone then to become them. Or rather have you become her?!

Harley always finds a way into your home, no matter what you do to prevent it. You either come home to her having cooked a meal for you or ordered takeout. Or you wake up to her curled up next to you in your bed, probably wearing some of your clothes. There have been a number of times you’ve come home to her fast asleep in your bed, wearing something of yours or clutching your pillow with one of your shirts being a makeshift pillowcase.

She loves spending any time with you. Whether it be doing something fun for just relaxing and reading a book. She’s really smart and is more than willing to help you study or with what work you may have. Harley loves to lend a hand wherever she can, especially if it means helping you.

Harley isn’t really one for punishments, she can be a real pushover most times. If you say the right things and make a few promises then Harley will usually let you off with a warning. But if you don’t come through with those promises then she’ll have to do something to make you keep your word.

Usually she only threatens to do things to people or things that you love or care a significant amount about. She’s more of a threat to others than you. But on the rare occasion you say or do something that really upsets her, Harley will have no problem acting out on those threats. She’ll even drag you along to show you that she means business. All she wants is for you to allow her to be the best friend she knows you need. Why can’t you just let her be here for you.

Harley wouldn’t want to take the same route as the Joker did with her. She doesn’t want to be your Joker, she just wants to be your Harley. But if push comes to shove and you insist on being stubborn then Harley’s hand will be forced. She will take you to the vats of chemicals that she herself was once dropped into. You and Harley will be one in the same from them on. There won’t be any running away from her anymore, not as long as you have a reflection.

But you don’t have to worry, Harley will always be there for you, even when everyone else in your life abandons you. You’re her bestest friend, of course she loves you. No matter what, Harley won’t ever leave your side. It’s you and her against the world as she says. Besides, she thinks the new change in appearance is much more flattering.

She would drag you all around Gotham City, not necessarily doing anything criminal but rather having a very fun night out on the town. She wants to show you a good time and how much fun there is to have in the world. You’ll eventually be dragged into fleeing from the cops or Batman but that’s to be expected when you’re BFF’s with Harley Quinn.

Also, Harley would definitely introduce you to Ivy. The three of you would be a packaged deal, courtesy of Harley. Wherever you go, Harley goes and Ivy follows. Wherever Harley goes, she drags you along and Ivy follows. Wherever Ivy goes Harley also drags you along. Ivy will become a constant in your life along with Harley. Harley’s own obsession or at least some of her tendencies would rub off on Ivy. And Ivy has a way of reigning Harley in, even if it’s just a bit. In a way, they’ll work together in regards to you.

By the way, Harley would totally get you your own hyena, just like hers. Oh, they could be best friends too! Or even lovers!? Then that would make you best friends, in-laws and eventually grandparents. The thought alone brings a tear to Harley’s eye every time she thinks about it.

There is a lot of delusion to Harley’s obsession if that hasn’t made itself clear yet. It doesn’t matter how absurd it is, Harley is fully invested in everything she puts her mind to. And she’s just as invested in you. So much so, that Harley would be the type to marry her best friend so long as no one else could have them. Besides, you being married to her would only ensure that you are best friends till the day you die and vice versa.

You can bet she’s getting your marriage certificate framed and hung up somewhere. I wouldn’t doubt that she would go as far as to carry it with her everywhere. Or she’d at least carry around a photo of the two of you on the most important day of both your lives. Either way, Harley will pull the certificate or the picture out and show everyone. Even showing it to Batman as he hauls her off back to Arkham, talking about you all the way.

Speaking of which, whenever Harley ends up put back into Arkham, it’s inevitable really, Ivy will be there to keep an eye on you. She’ll keep you safe and healthy for when Harley comes back. And then it’ll be the three of you once again.

Now if Ivy ends up back in Arkham then you’re free for awhile. But are you really free given that not only Harley but also Ivy have been such a consistent part of your life, even for such a short amount of time. You may just end up feeling more lonely then relieved. You may even take drastic measures just to be reunited with both of them. In the end it’s better to be together then far apart.

854 notes · View notes

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T for language, implied cannibalism (because Vampires)

Warnings: Aforementioned implied cannibalism

Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering… could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique “soul mark”, which they share with their soulmate.

Notes: Features a cameo of sorts for my OC, Avaskian Caldwell. Not beta read.

Previous Chapters: 1: In The Shadow Of Giants, 2: Uncertain Destinations

3: Eat Your Heart

“Well,” Bela says, only moderately sounding hostile, “I do believe that marks the end of our tour. Unless you would like to see the dungeons? Perhaps get a proper look at where you might end up, hmm?” Resisting the urge to roll your eyes is more difficult than you would have preferred. Somehow you manage, though, and reply in a relatively relaxed tone.

“I think I’ll have to pass. After all, I wouldn’t want to be late for dinner, now would I?” You incline your head towards a nearby clock to emphasize your point. For a split second Bela seems surprised, as if she hadn’t been keeping track of time at all. But the look vanishes as quickly as it came about, soon replaced with a calculating gaze, and she gives a short nod. “Is it safe to assume that you eat together, as a family?” Another nod, this time accompanied by a small look of confusion. “Mmm, sounds wonderful. It’s been far too long since I’ve shared a nice family meal.”

That certainly wasn’t what Bela had expected you to say.

“Oh? I do hope that you can stomach the sight of blood, then. Otherwise it might not feel so nice,” she replies, after a slight pause. Her earlier confidence had returned, further bolstered by the resulting giggles from her sisters. They were a chaotic bunch. Regardless, Bela soon takes your wrist in her hand, pulling you towards the dining room, grip only tight enough to be slightly uncomfortable. Both of her siblings followed closely behind, occasionally whispering unintelligible jokes to one another. One in particular leaves Daniela pausing in the hallway, hunched over laughing, with an unnerving edge of something else you couldn’t quite place. A backwards glance in her direction leads you to make eye contact with Cassandra, who gives you a knowing smirk. Deciding that you didn’t want to know what she had said, you turned back towards Bela, and stayed facing that way until you reached the dining hall.

Inside, Alcina was already sitting at the head of the table, in a chair that would have seemed a throne to anyone else. On either side of her are two more seats, far less ornate than her own. For a moment the sisters and you hesitate in the entranceway. Evidently they weren’t accustomed to this particular arrangement, unsure where to sit. It’s not until Bela clears her throat that Alcina speaks up.

“On my left, dear,” she says, eying her eldest daughter, before turning to you. “You may sit to my right. I trust that you’ll find this agreeable?” Well, you weren’t exactly about to argue with her, so yes, you found it agreeable. Even if it meant sitting across from the more ‘direct’ member of your opposition. Though perhaps ‘judge’ and/or ‘jury’ was a better word for the Dimitrescu daughters. Regardless, you were going to have to sit with them, and in the end it hardly mattered who was where. As such, you semi-awkwardly made your way to your seat, hoping that you’d eventually feel less out of place. Soon enough Cassandra takes the spot next to you, giving you a concerning smirk as she does. What did she have planned? Before you can even contemplate her intentions, her mother is talking again, drawing both of your attention towards herself. “Splendid. I’m glad to see that you’re already finding your place here.”

It’s not hard, you think, when you’re directing my every step. Despite your biting internal commentary, you do not speak out loud, merely giving a polite smile and nod. Across from you, Bela gives her mother an affectionate expression before fixing you with a subtle disapproving look. Taking some small comfort in the fact that she wasn’t being openly hostile, you forced yourself to keep smiling, meeting her gaze with as much confidence as you can muster. Within moments both of you have your attention drawn elsewhere, thankfully, as servants begin carrying in various food platters. Most of the dishes appeared to be perfectly normal. But looks could be deceiving, and you knew that at least a handful had to contain less “traditional” ingredients. They remembered to cook something normal for me, right?

Soon enough your fears are somewhat alleviated, as one of the servants places an already filled plate in front of you. Admittedly you don’t recognize xer, despite xer oddly silver hair, or the red bandana xe wore. Something told you that xe wasn’t just another maiden, however, especially with the way xe brazenly made eye contact with each of the Dimitrescus. Before you could inquire about xer, you’re distracted by the arrival of Juniper, who instantly smiles when she sees you. In her arms she carries the last two side dishes and several empty plates, which the unknown servant gently takes from her. Together the two of them set the final items into place. Wordlessly, the grey-haired person removes a notebook from xer back pocket, handing it to Juniper with the barest sliver of a smile. Clearly having done this more than once, she accepts it readily, opening it to a bookmarked page.

“My Ladies, and our dearest, most esteemed guest, I present to you another fine selection of traditional Romanian dishes, for your sincere enjoyment. Today we will be drinking one of our more popular styles of wine, known as Febris Amatoria, meaning ‘fever of love’ in Latin,” she reads, only somewhat shakily. Next to her, the stranger inclines xer head to your employers, then does the same to you. At this point you have to assume that xe doesn’t speak, and that Juniper was serving as a translator of sorts. “Due to the unexpected nature of our guest, the dishes are not clearly marked in regards to their ingredients. You have my- as in Mx Caldwell- assurance that this will be handled by the next standard mealtime, where the shared dishes will be color coded. In the meantime, I- again, Mx Caldwell- will remain here, in order to prevent any… unintentional ingestion of human remains.” Gulping, Juniper returns the notebook to the stranger (Caldwell, apparently), then exits the room alongside the other servants.

“Isn’t Febris Amatoria also another name for a type of anemia?” Bela asks, slowly swirling the contents of her glass as she does. Caldwell, who had moved to stand several feet behind Alcina, gives a nod in response, and appears mildly amused.

“A clever allusion to our family’s nature, isn’t it? I know Daniela has certainly drained a number of ‘lovers’ over the years, perhaps causing a case or two,” Cassandra teases, much to her younger sister’s irritation. Personally you were surprised that she was willing to admit such a thing in front of her mother. Unless you were reading too much into the word ‘lovers’, due to the rumors you had heard regarding Lady Daniela. Nonetheless, the Lady in question is aggravated enough to sit up, looking ready to lunge across the table at Cassandra. As soon as Daniela moves (with frightening speed), her sister easily catches her wrist, using her other hand to wave a finger back and forth. “Ah, ah, ah, Dani, we have a guest. Do try to behave yourself.”

“Oh, because you’re the epitome of table manners? I’m amazed you haven’t already managed to spill wine all over your dress,” Daniela counters, before ripping her arm away from Cassandra. They both huff, but are quick to quiet down when their mother sends them a look. “Dinner looks delectable, as usual, Ava,” Daniela continues, after clearing her throat, accentuating the end of her sentence with a gesture of her wine glass. Then she takes a long drink from it, perhaps thinking that a little intoxication might make the evening easier to get through. Deciding that maybe she had the right idea, you take a sip from your own glass, relishing the subtle hint of lavender.

In the minutes that follow, things slide into easy comfort. Caldwell once more moves closer to the table, helping pass along side-dishes from person to person, quietly pointing out which ones you could safely consume, occasionally chuckling in response to the jokes that the daughters shared. A strange warmth built itself up within the center of your chest, heart yearning for age-old memories of your own family. Three months had passed since the last time you felt this way. Really, it felt so much like family that you didn’t catch the way Cassandra’s lips twitched into a smirk, or the way she met Bela’s gaze, or the way she pushed a dish just a tad further towards you than necessary. All it had taken was a single second of your gaze turned elsewhere… then you were reaching for the castle’s special variety of forbidden fruit.

“Ayye, nyet, nyet!” Caldwell snaps, voice oddly strained, hand wrapping around your wrist in an instant. All eyes are on you now, though Alcina’s soon flicker over to the servant. “Cass. Bad girl,” xe continues, going so far as to shake xer finger disapprovingly. Understandably, you’re rather shocked to see a butler be so bold with someone so dangerous. Even more shocking is the way that Cassandra backs down without a hint of a fight, refusing to meet her mother’s steely gaze, not even pretending that she hadn’t attempted to trick you. Satisfied with this outcome, Caldwell wordlessly fades back into the background.

Although you had almost committed an unwilling act of cannibalism, you managed to slowly relax again, content to listen in on (but not participate in) the conversations around you. ‘Twas somewhat awkward, admittedly, to be the odd one out in a family so close. Yet a part of you had gained a new sense of hope by meeting Caldwell. After all, if a human such as xerself could become so close as to chastise Cassandra of all people, why couldn’t you?

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

“Once again, I would like to… apologize, on behalf of my daughters,” Alcina says, rather softly, still keeping a gentle hand on your back to guide you along. “I must admit, I do not wish to dwell on what might have happened if not for Avaskian.”

“Believe it or not, I think I actually understand where they’re coming from. Though, of course, I am also grateful for Caldwell’s intervention. But really… your family has been together for several decades now, right? Any addition is guaranteed to stir things up,” you respond with a shrug. “Besides, I’m more than aware that I don’t exactly stand at the same level as your other romantic interest.” Suddenly both of you are halting in the middle of the hallway, unable to meet each other’s gaze, regret rumbling like butterflies in your stomach. You hadn’t intended to bring up your soulmate’s somewhat obvious affections for Mother Miranda.

“Hmm. So you are… aware of that,” Alcina murmurs, finally turning her head to look down at you. There’s no small amount of pain in her eyes, though you can tell she’s holding as much of it in as possible. “I would prefer it if we did not speak of this. I do hope you have no qualms with that.” For once, there is no hint of force or commanding edge to her tone. For once, she is letting you act as an equal, the first step towards actually accepting your role as her soulmate. It’s enough to make the corners of your lips turn up, if only for a moment.

“Alcina… I understand. I merely want to say that it won’t affect how I feel, or how I act. Love is a blessing, even when it ends in pain. I… have loved before. People whom I will never see again, people who never felt the same way, and maybe people who I really only thought that I loved. I’m trying to think of those experiences as lessons. Situations that taught me something about myself, or about what love is, that I can keep in mind and use going forward. Just as I promised to your daughters, I will try to love you. I will give you an honest chance, regardless of our past circumstances. Because we’re soulmates. Because this is the world offering us a shot at something amazing, and I’m not about to give that up,” you explain, placing one of your hands in Alcina’s. For a moment there’s silence, but you see both surprise and happiness in her expression. Still, there’s a hint of tension remaining in the air, so you do your best to dispel it. “Also your daughters threatened to kill me if I didn’t, and I’d hate to perish before lasting a full year here. I heard a rumor that one of the senior staff members makes cards to celebrate.”

Next thing you know, you’re hearing a beautiful sound, a light, genuine laugh from Alcina, who all at once releases the tension in her shoulders.

“Yes, I do believe Ava, or Caldwell as you said, still makes those. Always with strange little drawings of felines…” She trails off, voice fading into another chuckle, before at last resuming her walk, never letting go of your hand. “As much as I have enjoyed our chat, I do believe it is about time that I retire for the night. We will see each other once more in the morning. For now, I bid you goodnight. Sleep well, my dear.” With that, the two of you arrive at the entrance to the servants’ quarters, and you find just enough courage to bring her hand to your lips, for a brief kiss.

“Goodnight, Lady Alcina. May your dreams be as sweet as your company.”

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #j has ocs #avaskian caldwell

172 notes · View notes

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

embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Content: swearing, angst, no proofreading, filler? A/N: i hope your week has been great so far xx

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 35 ✷ Picture’s Up

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

James couldn't recall a time where he felt so drained.

He didn’t even think there was a word to encapsulate just how drained he really felt. Every day, there was a wariness that sunk and immersed itself so deeply within his bones that made it feel like he could hardly breathe.

Day by day, it felt like a part of his sanity was cracking.

Enervated, drowsy, exhausted, knackered, dead on his own two feet… he could go on.

Prefect duties were as dreadful as Remus had said they were and James regretted every time he ever made fun of him for it. It was miserable and karma never hit him harder. Monitoring detentions and rounds were tedious, the tests he had to grade were mind-numbingly boring; all forcing him to lose the little sleep he had.

And then there were the loads of Quidditch practices that once were fun, a way for him to exert his remarkable supply of energy, only became a bit of a nuisance with the overwhelming activities he was forced to juggle.

Working around Moony’s moon cycle...

And then there was the fucking Black family.

The mere mention of their names sent James into a spiral. He’d rather submerge himself into the Black lake and let the giant squid ink all over him than deal with them. But there he was.

He debated for a while, whether or not to tell Black about Regulus but refrained. He was far too stubborn to listen and could make matters worse.

James sighed, leaning into the couch in the common room, running his fingers through his hair.

“Potter.” The ring of Lily’s voice sounded through his ears. James turned around to look at her, feeling his heart accelerate.

“Evans,” he greeted.

“We have rounds in a bit. Don’t be late.”

James simply nodded, not having enough energy to put on a front.

And of course Lily noticed. She noticed his frazzled appearance and lack of energy. There was hardly any banter between them and Lily would’ve thought it was a miracle that his annoying self had vanished, replaced with timorous energy. But if anything, it was disquieting.

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing out, “Hey, you alright?”

He gave a little audible sound in response. “Yeah. I’ll be there. I just need to make a few arrangements quickly. Meet you by the... Prefects’ bathroom?”

Lily considered him.

“... See you.”

James made his way out of the common room, slipping out the Marauder’s Map. He’d been tracking Regulus’ movements for the past few days now and the only person he went to was Y/N for any substantial amount of time.

He truly had no one else and it ruled out any potential bullying.

Walburga and Orion… Their treatment towards him shocked James. Golden boy Regulus, who would’ve thought?

But even with the Marauder’s Map, it was impossible to keep track of him. He never stayed in one spot long enough to catch, aside from the dungeons and Slytherin common room.

Everything regarding Regulus’ situation forced James to think strenuously. If he were to accidentally say too much of what Whiskers had told him, not only would Regulus close himself off to him, but to her too, leaving them with no clue of his well-being.

And it forced him to worry about Whiskers. She didn’t know what she's getting herself into… What if Walburga and Orion caught word of their friendship?

James shuddered, pushing away the thought. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to either of them.

He continued to watch Regulus’ name travel across the map before ascertaining he was close. He tapped on the map, muttering out ‘Mischief managed’ whilst bolting down the hallways. Each twist and turn exhilarated a nervous adrenaline thumping through his veins as he rehearsed a little speech inside his head.

Before Regulus had time to process what was happening, James had already yanked him back, disappearing into one of the secret passageways.

“What the — Potter?!” He squawked. Pushing him away, James saw the pure panic washed over his features through the shadows.

“I know we don’t have much time,” James rushed, “But hear me out.”

He made no attempt to move but looked around for other students.

“You’ll always have a home with me,” James said easily as if it was the most obvious answer. “With Bla — Sirius — living with me, you’re more than welcome to as well. I understand your situation and —”

“No,” Regulus leered, “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” James challenged before easing up. “My family and I are more than willing to protect you, like how we’ve been doing for Sirius.”

And then it stayed silent for a while and he finally let himself take in his appearance.

“Regulus, what happened to you?”

Regulus’ head hung. “All I wanted was to have long hair.”

And then it clicked for James, but he was running out of things to say that were convincing and felt a familiar panic return.

“You miss him, right?” He tried. “I know he misses you. If maybe —”

But when Regulus’ mood suddenly changed, James knew instantly that he had miscalculated.

“Miss me?” Regulus laughed bitterly. “He doesn’t miss me and he has never considered me his brother. You, Lupin, Pettigrew — you’re his brothers.”

He could see the misty tears welding up in Regulus’ eyes and didn’t make a move to stop him when he stormed out from the passageway.

Once Regulus was free from James, he sprinted, blinking multiple times to prevent tears from seeping out. An ache burned inside his chest as he found himself diving into his bed, pulling the curtains shut.

Those unforgettable questions that plagued his mind for a year now played heavily in his mind, like his own personal film.

What made someone good or bad? What did he believe in? Was he strong enough to break from his mould or did he want to? And most importantly, what was he willing to do?

Blood purity…

Regulus closed his eyes. He wished life was a dress rehearsal and there were times to make mistakes and have do-overs without permanent repercussions. To get time to practice and refine life until he explored every avenue. Unfortunately, life had no room for anything but the final performance. Every stumble, every mishap or memory slip was presented to a live audience day by day.

Reopening his eyes, he had his answer.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

A few weeks went by and September was coming to a close. October came with beautiful colours and a chilly breeze.

It felt like every day, Y/N added another reason to be disgruntled and hateful onto her list. It had been a month since she’d last seen her mother and she refrained from sending any letters; waiting patiently to see if she would make the first move.

Nothing.

It was safe to say that it put her into a bad mood that morning.

The walk to Defence Against the Dark Arts with Lily was a quiet one and slightly uncomfortable. However, the uncomfortable bit was more on Lily’s end rather than Y/N who was too wrapped in her anger-induced thoughts.

These days, their lessons were almost exclusively in the Duelling room, filled with practical lessons. Especially today, she was beyond thankful for; eager to have an outlet.

But Professor Elway was unusually keen on inviting her to the Duelling sessions. She was almost as difficult as dodging Slughorn’s Slugclub invites. Luckily, Y/N liked Elway and duelling was electrifying. Even potion making, no matter how much she enjoyed it, was lengthy and mundane.

Mentioning their professor, she wasn’t there that morning when they arrived outside the Duelling room. The students lounged outside the door, taking out their books and wand while they waited.

Remus found himself drifting to her as they quietly chatted away.

“Like your sweater,” she said. In the background, she could hear Marlene and James yelling, “It’s a jumper!”

Remus smiled. “This old thing?” Pointing to the sweater that she knitted. They both giggled a bit; Remus leaned slightly against her, eyes lingering a beat.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Elway called out to them in a dreamy voice. “Everyone, follow me!”

Puzzled, the class looked at each other as they followed their professor away from the dungeons. While they walked, rude and unbearable, Peeves the Poltergeist floated upside down. Once he spotted Remus, he immediately drifted up to him, opening his mouth, no doubt about to hurl all sorts of names or songs at him.

Remus hardly looked at him, already taking out his wand and said lazily, “Waddiwasi!” at Peeves.

A wad of gum shot out from nowhere and landed directly on Peeves before he whirled back from Remus, spewing curses at him.

“Nice one! Ought to teach me that later!” “Almost feel bad for the bloke!” Both James and Peter said at the same time.

Elway had led them outside to a desolate area, free from a canopy of branches and leaves.

“Now, my pupils!” She sang. “You might be wondering, ‘what are we doing out here?’ Lucky for you, we’re going to be practicing a few spells and learning how to fight using other means during duels.”

Like most of the class, Emmeline was skeptical as she raised her hand. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use physical means during duels?”

“Precisely,” said Elway, walking back and forth in front of the class. “Couldn't have said it better myself. But you know who won’t give a damn?”

There was a long pause for effect.

“Your enemies.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, can anyone give us some ideas? How about… Miss L/N?”

Blinking a few times, she hesitated, not expecting to be called on. “Er — you can… take them from the legs?”

“Wonderful idea! I’m thrilled you said that! Does anyone else want to add on?”

Remus raised his hand, answering politely. “Using your arms — stretching them.”

Professor Elway nodded away happily. “Wonderful answer! Take five points! Like Remus said, stretching your arms out or boarding your shoulders, spacing out your legs can widen your defence range! Why don’t we try?”

She called Remus up first and Y/N could tell he was slightly nervous. He doubled down, making himself seem smaller by hunching over and made sure not to accidentally hurt their professor.

A couple of Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and then James, Marlene and Lily all tried; mimicking Elway as she let them knock her over.

“Most importantly,” Elway said, dusting off her robes free from leaves and dirt. She panted a bit, tired from being knocked down multiple times. “Never let the enemy strike first. You all did fantastically!

“Obviously, in any professional setting, you’ll be disqualified if you ever tried to physically attack your opponent. But you can still play dirty in a duel!

“The charm Obscuro has been helpful on several occasions. It blindfolds your opponent. Please repeat after me: Ob-SKOO-roh!”

“Obscuro!”

“Excellent!” Elway gave a little applause, filled with glee. “Another spell that I love is the Confundus charm. Y/N! May you please explain to us the purpose of the Confundus charm?”

“She’s calling on you an awful lot,” Lily muttered.

She nodded a bit. “It confuses your oppent. The varying degree depends on how much magic is put into the initial casting.”

“Perfect! Five points to Gryffindor. If you will tell me about Incendio.”

As she spoke, there was almost a switch that went off in Elway that made her incessantly happy that almost unnerved her.

“Beautiful! Now if you may, help demonstrate the spell?”

“I don’t want to hurt —”

“Trust me, you won’t.”

Then, Y/N felt a deep lurch of fear as everyone retreated against the trees, giving her a clear view of Professor Elway opposed to her, waiting to block her spell.

She took a deep breath in, pushing up the sleeves of her robes, she held her wand.

Professor Elway had a protective spell around her. “One, two, three — now!”

“Incendio!” Only meek sparks shot out of her wand. A few students snickered while her friends were seen trying to drown them out by clapping.

“That was amazing!” Peter called out.

“I wouldn’t be able to do that on the first go!” Marlene shouted.

“That was good! Try again! One, two, three — go!”

“Incendio!” Nothing noteworthy happened. It was embarrassing.

“It’s alright, try again!” Elway said, not letting her go yet. “Think about something that’s motivating!”

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and pondered. What was motivating to her? Surely, the want to continue with magic after school was motivating. Or perhaps proving someone wrong?

Proving someone wrong…

She had a lot to prove to her mother.

Instead of her being motivated, a flicker of annoyance and anger flooded her instead. Sensing the change, Elway beamed, her wand held high.

“One —”

Her mother always prioritized everyone and everything above her —

“Two —”

Was never there when it mattered —

“Three —”

There was never much affection. The constant want to please, the low self-esteem made her feel worthless, unloveable, always wanting to run when she got too close — she caused it —

“Now!”

“Incendio!” She bellowed.

A loud crack rippled through the air and caused her to stumble back. A large blast of orange and red flames shot out from her wand. Scorching heat flooded out, causing all the students to jump back as Elway shot waves of water, extinguishing the flames at once. As angry as she had been, glee and pure enjoyment replaced that quickly.

Once the bell rang, the students gathered up their belongings, leaving for their next class. But Elway took a moment, calling out her name, asking that she stay back for a few moments.

James and Lily staggered behind, offering to wait as they talked quietly under one of the willow trees.

They were so civil these days…

“I would’ve offered you a cup of tea,” Elway spoke as she approached her. Her foot tapped against the ground, her eyes far-away, thinking thoughtfully with a sly smirk. “Has anyone told you that you would make for an excellent, excellent duellist?”

Her eyebrows raised and shook her head.

That only prompted her teacher to smirk, in a satisfied sort of way. “You’re exceptionally strong for someone with no experience.”

There was a smug tone to Elway’s voice and she couldn’t quite place what she was getting at.

“Did you know that any professional duellist would kill for your wand? Or even the slight edge you have against them with your talent?”

“Erm… no?” Y/N said. She wondered if Elway needed glasses because surely, she wasn’t referring to herself. “Professor… are you sure you’re talking to the right student?”

She laughed so hard that she had to clutch her stomach tightly. She ignored her question. “My dear, do you have any ideas of what you want to be when you’re older?”

“Not really.”

“I have a proposition for you,” she beamed, flicking her long blonde, almost silver hair out of the way. “Let me take you under my wing, make you into a proper duellist.”

Y/N blinked. She didn’t know what to say and stood there with her mouth gaped.

“Yes, you heard that correctly.” Professor Elway teased. “I’d love to mentor you.”

She sputtered, positively confused and flustered. “I’m not at the top of the class, I struggle with Charms, I’ve never had a huge interest in it — I don’t know the first thing about duelling!”

“That’s what I’m here for, no? And your skill is exceptional and I know a duellist when I see one. You’ve shown the last few lessons that you’re capable of casting very strong spells.

“And do you know what separates a duellist from the masses? Energy, emotions and power. What changed when I told you to think about something motivating? A powerful Duellist may only be out of sheer power and brunt force, but a well-rounded Duellist listens to every part of their body. Their wand, their heart, the emotions that cause them to fight.”

“But —”

Elway flicked her wrist, mildly interested in her excuses. “Anyway, off to your next lesson. Take some time to think about it,” she smiled, clearly not going to take no for an answer. “I’ll be waiting for when you finally agree.”

Both Lily and James took her arms, hooking it with theirs and walked to Potions. They were staring at her, lost for words at Professor Elway’s proposition.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

“Yes, Pettigrew.” McGonagall scolded rather harshly. “The essay is due on Monday.”

Peter averted his gaze, grumbling out a thank you before exiting her office. “Dunno why she’s so strict with me.”

“She wants the best for you,” James tried to encourage as they all headed back to their common room.

Y/N couldn’t care less as she thought about later that night. No matter how hard she tried, Slughorn wouldn’t take no for an answer and she was almost forced to make an appearance at the Slugclub.

Lily was so excited, running through their dorm as she got ready.

Marlene sulked a bit, folding her arms across her chest. She was quiet enough for Lily not to hear, but Y/N heard her clear as day. “That’s not fair. I want to be invited. I want to feel special too.”

“You’re more than special,” Dorcas cut in, rubbing a hand up and down her shoulder. “You’re a star, baby.”

Y/N ignored them, fiddling with a small tube of eyeliner, watching Lily excitedly going through her closest.

Luckily, not only would Lily be there, but Remus, most likely Regulus — however, she doubted they would be able to interact — and funnily enough, James was invited too.

Inside the actual party was decent, a lot better than she expected. There were still the uptight students who thought they were above others, or the Purebloods that judged her when she walked into the room, but it was bearable.

Y/N chuckled as she watched Remus throwback drink after drink, sneakily stealing a few alcoholic beverages meant for the adults. His movements were so discreet that nobody ever suspected him.

She covered her smile behind her glass.

“Hi. It’s been awhile.”

Y/N turned around, and there, Aldrich McLaggen stood wearing a little smile. He trimmed his blond hair to sweep nicely and his cheekbones hallowed out.

“It has. And congratulations, I heard you’re on the Quidditch team.”

“Yes! Chaser - taking over Bell’s position.”

“So… How are you?”

If it was even possible, Aldrich’s smile grew wide. “I’ll be a lot better if I saw your smile tonight?”

She didn’t smile; unimpressed and decided to sip on her drink.

“Yeah,” Aldrich began again, “Didn’t think that would work.”

“A pretty big miss.” She grumbled.

“But I’m getting to know how to impress you in the future.”

Y/N turned to side-eye him. “Hmm? How?”

“How about -” And out of nowhere, he reached behind her ear and pulled out a red rose, handing it to her. Much like a Muggle magician.

She felt a coy smile tug at her lips and forced it down, but failed. “Nice one.”

“Everyone! Please come down and sit!” Slughorn announced, calling to all the students.

He beamed, flashing his teeth. “Don’t hide away again. I’d love to see you again.”

She tilted her head at him, tilting her glass before making her way to find her spot at the table.

The girl beside her had frizzy light brown hair and large glasses that looked like they were from an animated children’s television program. She was draped in a colourful shawl.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

But the other young witch smiled brightly, although never quite meeting her eyes as she outstretched her hand. “Sybill Trelawney.”

She shook Sybill’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

But then Y/N took a good look at her and realized, “We’re in the same charms class, right?”

Sybill nodded her head, fingers tapping rapidly on the table. “For two years now. I sit a row behind you. And by the way, you're very pretty.”

She was taken back, a genuine smile spreading over her lips. “Thank you, you look lovely too! I adore your glasses.”

A light blush spread across Sybill’s face, her hand brushing against her glasses. Her eyes peered up for a second before averting her gaze. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, already enjoying Sybill’s presence.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

91 notes · View notes

rqnvindr · 3 years

Text

special delivery

pairing: delivery boy!albedo x gn!reader

genre: fluff, humor, pinch of suggestiveness

w.c: 1.5k

synopsis: it was getting harder and harder to resist the beautiful boy who always delivered your pizzas. especially when he notices the way you look at him, ever the observant one...

a/n: happy birthday chae !! @albehoe i’m glad we met and i enjoy all of our talks in the server! welcome to being 19; hope you enjoy this little gift i put together for you hehe

the doorbell finally rings, snapping you out of mindlessly scrolling on your phone. you grab your wallet and hop off the couch, more than ready to receive your pizza order for dinner.

you open the door and your brain immediately shuts down.

a young man, around the same age as you, stands before you and greets you with the most princely “good evening” ever. and if his voice wasn’t already enough to melt you, the red and black uniform looked like it was made just for him, complimenting his perfect skin and hair. that, along with his sparkling eyes was enough to convince you that he couldn’t possibly be real. you resist the urge to pinch yourself to check if you were dreaming.

“for (y/n), correct?” albedo, as you read on his name pin, snaps you out of your trance with his dreamy voice. it sounded even better when he said your name.

“yes.” you hand him the required amount of cash and take the box, brushing fingers ever so slightly. you offer the boy a smile, to which he nods in response.

albedo waves a gloved hand as he walks off of your porch. “have a good day.”

“thank you.” it sounded like the most appropriate choice of words at first, but you mentally curse yourself after he gets into the car and drives off.

you should’ve asked for his number, dammit. or at least told him to have a good day too.

what was supposed to be a perfect treat of an evening ended with you chastising yourself all throughout your meal.

this was your chance. you were going to order another pizza at the end of this week and hope that albedo would be your delivery boy again. you would at least try to remember to make more conversation with him this time, before leading up to hinting that you wanted to get to know him better.

you take a deep breath on the awaited day, when you answer the door. to your luck, it’s the exact same platinum-haired, blue-eyed mystery of a man who stole your heart within seconds.

“oh! good to see you again!” you sound a little too excited, and albedo appears perfectly unfazed.

“good afternoon. that’ll be $10.” he holds up a packet when you hand him the fee, and you raise an eyebrow. “i also got you a free sample of our newest secret sauce. it’s not supposed to be out until next month, but i’m conducting some research for my university and wanted to get a head start on people’s opinions on the taste, the texture, if they could perhaps recognize any of the ingredients used to make it..” he clears his throat. “anyways, since you’re such a dedicated customer you’re the first on the list. let me know what you think next time.”

“ah.” you lightly giggle at his rambling. he seemed very passionate about whatever field he was studying and determined to flesh out the best results for his research. you were the one who was nervous about keeping a conversation going when he seemed more than capable of doing so, as long as it was something he was acutely interested in.

and most importantly: he planned on meeting you again. there would be a next time.

“may i ask what your major is?”

“i’m a chemistry major. i was originally planning on doing biology, the study of life, but there is just as much essence of life in chemical reactions. taking two or more things to form a new substance...the embodiment of the life cycle itself.”

you nod, feeling nearly as fascinated in his studies as he appears to be. you would love to hear more about it, perhaps sitting across from him at a cafe, dressed casually out of his work clothes...

“excuse me. i do not wish to take up too much of your time. enjoy your pizza.”

“wait.” you call out, a fleeting sense of courage rising up, only for it to collapse once more when you catch yourself staring directly into albedo’s eyes. an endless ocean of curious orbs, their intensity making you feel seen right through, inside and out.

“um, actually never mind. sorry, have a nice day!” albedo nods, scratching the back of his neck as he heads off.

being unfathomably nervous and having a crush on someone farther than they appear was not a good mix.

you open the cabinet, ready to do some spring cleaning. your hand slips, accidentally knocking over an empty container. before you can pick it up, you notice a white packet that had been hidden underneath.

right. the sauce.

you hadn’t forgotten about it. you simply put it aside to try it out later with another food, just for a little adventure. but there was never any time to cook anything that would possibly go with an unknown condiment.

or more like, no one to cook with.

you grab your phone and dial the number that you’ve pretty much memorized by now. you bite your lip while listening to the other line ring.

“hello, thank you for calling favonius pizza co. this is albedo, how may i help you?”

“hi, albedo.” surely he’ll recognize your voice when he promised a next time, after all.

“oh, (y/n)? will it be the usual?” your stomach flutters from the way he perks up while saying your name.

“no, but i’m so glad it’s you answering the phone. i actually wanted to talk to you regarding the sauce. um, do you mind maybe coming over when you get off from work and i can show you exactly what i wish to convey?”

this doesn’t feel right. asking someone you’ve only met twice over into your own house, just for the sake of your silly crush that led to silly little fantasies in your head-

“sounds good. it’s been really difficult gathering feedback from other customers, due to the lack of communication. and it also works out that i can see you in person so i don’t have to take up too much time during my shift. i’ll be there in an hour and a half or so.”

you stop gaping, realizing you have to confirm your meeting. “okay! take care and i’ll see you then!”

“bye.” with that, albedo hangs up.

you rush to set up the ingredients for your cooking, date, perhaps, with albedo. even if he didn’t think of you the same way that you did, you would always cherish him agreeing to spend time with you.

an hour passes by and he’s already promptly ringing the doorbell. you can’t help but feel your knees grow weak at the sight of him in his gray hoodie and light colored jeans, his hair uncovered without the cap. and his eyes glimmer differently, adding to the new feeling his casual attire grants the sight of albedo outside of work.

“hi! the kitchens right this way!” albedo takes off his shoes and follows you to the adjacent area, right to the counter.

“you seem to have gathered more than just the sauce. and you also didn’t order a pizza either.” he remarks placing a hand under his chin.

“that’s because i wanted us to cook together and for you to see my reaction to it with other food. that’d add more variety to your results y’know?”

albedo continues to inspect the ingredients you had laid out for the chicken nuggets, picking up a jar of seasoning to smell it. “you’re definitely more invested in this than i expected you’d be.” he chuckles, the deep vibrations of his chest sending shivers down your spine.

“we shouldn’t have much of a problem if we’re doing this together, even though i’m not really the best at cooking. however there is one other thing i’ve realized...” albedo puts the jar down, turning to face you. he possesses the same observational look that he gave you the last time he delivered, and walks closer to you. the closing gap effectively cages you on the counter, your chests brushing against each other, making your breath hitch.

“(y/n),” he hums. “were you really ordering pizza the last time? or were you ordering me, instead?”

you want to reply, but any form of coherent speech dissipates in your throat. he’s so close, and normally you’d be embarrassed if someone was able to figure you out like this, yet you only found his curiosity and the way he pried into things even more attractive. especially if he had that kind of attitude towards you.

a sigh escapes your lips and you place a hand on his shoulder. “i like you albedo. and yes, i did only order pizza just because i wanted an excuse to see you. i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, and if you don’t feel the same way feel free to leave and never speak to me again. i mean that.”

albedo remains silent for a few seconds before blinking slowly and shyly taking your hand.

“i’m not going anywhere. people who care about my work...are important to me. and i do admire your directness.” he lightly strokes your skin.

“perhaps i should give you what you asked for in your special delivery then, hm?” albedo chuckles. you giggle while playing with his fingers.

feeling a little bit bold, you press your lips to his digits, causing him to short circuit on the inside at your touch.

“i shall enjoy it then.” you whisper.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo fluff #albedo imagines #albedo scenarios

132 notes · View notes

gemstone-roses · 3 years

Text

Hannibal x Female Curvy reader.

Note: this was requested by a lovley nonnie who requested some characteristics and reader description be included, reader is female,curvy, Italian, opera singer, likes leopard print and Princess dresses,corsets, is a medium. Also note I've never seen beauty and the beast so I'm sorry for any inaccuracies. A few Italian pet names (apologies if I got any translations wrong).

Warnings: mentions of past child abuse, murder, drugging, kidnapping, being tied up, alcohol, swearing, dark thoughts, wanting to kill someone, jealousy.

Hannibal Lecter had an extensive and handpicked guest list for his dinner parties. You were on every single one.

In fact, some of his guests had only promised their prescense if you were to be there too.

You were quite a breathtaking sight. Your leopard print party dress highligting your beautiful curves and breasts. People wouldn't approach you, you would approach them, and only then would they be confident in speaking with you.

You could converse in several languages, Italian being your mother tongue, and people were enamoured with the way you conversed.

Hannibals guests complimented his divine cooking, but he couldn't take all the credit, you were also, a very competent cook, and had assisted him in preparing his menu many times.

You were thankful for the praise, but it didn't cancel out the feeling of anger building inside you.

You heard many comments "where did he find such a woman" "she's cold that one is" "sugar baby" "I bet she wouldn't know where to begin in his library". "he's just her sugar daddy he doesn't even like her I bet"

You came off as cold yes, on purpose, you were afraid of getting hurt. You didn't let anybody in. Ever.

Also, trying to quiet your dark thoughts took quite the effort.

People speculated about your relationship with hannibal, and he would just smile and say "I've known y/n for years"

He'd met you at the opera.

Well actually, he had gone to see you perform at the opera. And he was instantly taken by you.

He stopped by your dressing room after, complementing your stunning performance.

"I'm Dr Hannibal Lecter" he introduced.

"I know, I've read your work, doctor, I'm impressed" you smiled.

"Ah, it's not often I meet a fan of my work, especially when I am a fan of them"

"I said I was impressed by your work doctor lecter, not that I was a fan" you talked back.

Hannibal was taken aback by your retort, but he soon realised that you had quite the personality.

And he just loved you more for it.

The first time you two went out to dinner, hannibal was struck again by your beauty, wearing a beautiful dress

The two of you conversed for hours over a delicious meal, however you commented you could make something much better and invited hannibal over to your house for dinner.

Hannibal was impressed by your cooking, which was an achievement in itself to impress a man such as him with your cooking skills.

Hannibal chose his inner circle with great care, and it was someone in that circle that had told him about you.

About how if hannibal had anyone in his life who had passed then you could contact them.

You had made contact with misha for him. Hopefully giving the man some comfort and closure regarding his little sister.

And that is how the two of you became friends. It wasn't easy, breaking down the walls you had built up to protect yourself, so hannibal began thinking of other ways he could get you to warm up to him more.

Hannibal was a clever man, and he did his research on you, he knew you had some demons you buried deep.

It made choosing his next victim much easier

He'd do this for you, he thought.

Killing the man who had hurt you when you were a child was the biggest driving force you had to keep going.

You'd thought about it daily, for so long, and to finally end the horrible disgusting man who had abused you gave you a small slice of satisfaction.

So when you found out someone had beat you to it, you were not at all pleased. In fact you'd sworn that you would track down the person who'd done it and tell them just exactly what they had took from you.

Hannibal was struggling to contain his jealousy, watching men swoon over you, stare at your body with hungry eyes, only wanting one thing, he'd treat you like a goddess compared to these men. And if you weren't going to notice his efforts on your own then you'd just need a bit of guidance.

After a party, you liked to wind down surrounded by your books, mainly psychological ones, getting lost in the pages, the ins and outs of the mind, fascinating. You were so caught up in your book you didn't hear the front door opening, and by the time you felt the sharp scratch on the back of your neck, you were already dizzy. You felt strong arms catch you as you fell into darkness.

You awoke on a surprisingly soft surface, bound, but not uncomfortable.

Hannibal wasn't a total monster.

When you took in your surroundings your confusion quickly turned to anger when you saw hannibal standing in front of you.

"What the fuck do you think your doing? Did you kidnap me?!!" you fumed. Trying to struggle out of the rope.

"You are going to hurt yourself" he said calmly.

"Untie me right now!" you yelled.

"Are you going to behave?" he bent down to level with your face

"You cannot, just kidnap people, especially me?! I thought me and you were friends" you spat at him.

Hannibal just hummed and stood up and left the room.

You continued to yell curse words in many languages and call him questionable things as you strained against your bonds.

Hannibal was simply, ignoring you.

And after you had calmed down, he came back.

"Have you quiet finished my love" he tilted your chin, softly.

You looked your captor in the eye, a strange sense washing over you, furrowing your brows, your voice was soft.

"You-

"You, your him aren't you?, the chesapeake ripper?"

"Indeed" he confirmed, he stood to get up

"Wait!" you called

Hannibal stopped, a mild suprised look on his face.

"It was you, you killed him didn't you?" even surprising yourself, you weren't angry.

"Did you do that, for me?" you whispered.

"I couldn't stand the thought of a man who had hurt such a divine being such as you so much walking around freely, I made sure he suffered y/n, for you."

Your heart soared at the information, hannibal had killed, for you.

"Hannibal, I -

"Darling you do not need to say anything, I would do anything to protect you"

You smiled at the man, a genuine smile.

"I will untie you now, and we will have dinner" he stated

His hands were soft as he undid the ropes, rubbing your wrists for you as they fell to the floor.

He excused himself for a moment, returning with a hanger covered in a black sheet.

"For you tesero mio" he handed it to you.

Unzipping it you found the most divine princess dress you'd ever seen.

You gasped at his thoughtfulness.

"You may change up in the bathroom, and then, we shall eat" he smiled.

The dress highlighted your curves and chest perfectly, you honestly, felt like belle.

You sat down at the table, hannibal pulled out your chair for you, he raised his wine glass towards you.

"Are you content, amore mio?" you found yourself flustered at the name.

"I am" you sighed.

"Tomorrow, you can explore my library, and I'm sure you will find many books to satisfy you" he smiled.

You were excited to finally get chance to be in there, and also, excited at your relationship with hannibal. You raised your wine glass.

"To us"

"To us" he agreed.

#Hannibal imagine #Hannibal x reader #Hannibal lecter x reader #Hannibal lecter imagine #Hannibal x female reader

241 notes · View notes

imxeracus · 3 years

Text

From Now On

Ok y’all, this is super long hahahahha I’m so sorry. Happy Gruvia Week 2021!! Here’s my contribution and I’m sorry but I don’t think I have the time to do more but I hope you guys like it anyway. I hope its not too OOC and if FT had more romance elements I believe this would be possible. Enjoy!

--------------------------- Gray tousled his hair and fidgeted around the entrance, feeling nervous about the day when it was only about 10 o’clock in the morning. Today, he told himself that he had to make sure things went well and most of all, to not take off any of his clothes subconsciously. For an ice mage, ironically he could not seem to get himself to calm down and stay cool about this. Regarding his first official date with Juvia, that is.

The 100 Years Quest was over and as promised, he spoke to Juvia about their relationship and how he was finally good enough for her. Despite the water mage’s disagreement to his initial beliefs and reasoning, she was elated that Gray formally addressed their feelings for each other. Furthermore, he initiated that they ought to have a proper first date that weekend itself.

He clicked his tongue briefly and frowned upon himself as he began to manifest in some thoughts to keep himself together. Why are you getting all nervous for! He ponders, his hands getting a little clammy in his pockets. Aren’t you the Gray Fullbuster, who bravely puts himself out for others and save the world countless times?

”Gray-sama?”

Before he could go on any further, a cute slivery voice interrupted his train of thought. Miserably trying to keep his cool, he spun around eagerly and was met with sapphire eyes that gave off a different vibe from her usual self. The said bluenette had her locks half tied and wore an off-shoulder dress that was not too revealing, similar to her nature. Accompanied with her outfit was a pair of kitten heels, some accessories and a subtle blush adorning her cheeks.

”Juvia is sorry for making you wait.”

For the majority, her outfit is considered simple and chic but for today, Gray thought she looked really, really good. Dammit, he gulped loudly as he felt his cheeks started to blush already at the sight of her. He knew that the water user was attractive, but it was beginning to sink in that he is now calling this beautiful person his. “Ah—um—” Gray fumbled and looked away, trying his best to hide the redness. “Shall we get going?” She simply smiled, gave a small chuckle and placed her left hand gently on his right arm (as if he could take more), indicating him to proceed to their destination. On their first date, Fullbuster had planned to go and visit the aquarium—because the water reminds him of Juvia, but he is never going to admit it—which was not too far off from where they were. It was a good walking distance, and they had a nice peaceful time on the way there. Despite saying that, he was worried as it did not seem natural for the bluenette to stay silent. Especially today, he expected her to be more excited and be all over him. As they arrive at the aquarium, Gray went over to the counter and bought a pair of tickets and made his way back to the front, where Juvia was waiting for him. As he carefully observed the water mage from a distance, he could see that she was looking down with an expression he could not seem to grasp. ”Juvia.” Surprised, she looked up hastily to see Gray back by her side. ”Is everything alright?” ”Juvia’s fine!” She exclaimed, quick to lighten up the mood. “She’s just... a little excited—as in, we’ve never done this before—but Juvia’s really happy!” She glanced at him timidly. “Also, Gray-sama looks dashing today.” For once with the determination of not stripping everything off, the ice mage did make the effort to dress well in a brown coat paired with a t-shirt and jeans. Albeit reddening slightly at her remark, he was more concerned on the fact she seemed to not be telling the truth. Here he was, blessed to have her despite all those years of constantly avoiding her advances—and now, when she is distressed, she was still keeping herself together to not worry him. His gaze soften as the guilt was slowly crept up inside him. Despite that, the said man tried to push the matter aside for the time being and wanted to make sure the day goes well. As of now, he knew that he needed to push himself more and step up his game. Once again, her eyes met with his onyx ones as he spoke quickly. “You.. you look good, too.” Juvia’s pupils dilated while Gray blushed furiously, frowning at how embarrassed he was over such a simple statement. It was a start, at least. He also noted on how she seemed to be elated from it. Before she could ask anything else, he took her hand in his and brought them into the aquarium. He could tell people were staring as the both of them were rather known after all they have done in Fiore, but screw it. Gray decided that it was not going to get in the way of his pride today if it could. Thankfully, the ice mage started to loosen up as Juvia gleefully looked at all the sea creatures that were present. When her beloved mentioned about this place, she gladly agreed because this place was known for breeding imported fishes outside of Fiore. The water woman, being part of the sea and occasionally swimming in it, found joy learning the names and characteristics of the animals she meets in the ocean. “So these are angelfishes!” she exclaimed to Gray, as she lightly tapped on his shoulder while pointing at the said creature. “Juvia always sees them if she takes a dive into the ocean.” “Hmm,” Gray mused, acting disinterested. “What else do you normally see?” "Juvia’s seen all of these underwater because in this tank, all of them are common sea fishes.” “Isn’t that a bore?” The ice mage rolled his eyes. “We should go see something you don’t normally see—that’s what this place is for.” He smoothly took her hand in his and brought her along. Meanwhile, Juvia lightly blushes as she realised that this incident—Gray initiating the hand holding—has been happening a few times already. Every time she releases his grasp to point or walk towards a destination, the brunet would eventually put them back together again. She glanced at Gray who seemed to pay no mind to the matter as they visited the different tanks and places of the aquarium. Indeed, the bluenette was not complaining but a little taken aback. Is this suppose to be normal? She thought, as her imagination continued to spiral on. The smooth and sly Gray-sama was taking a little too much for her to handle—even from before! Eventually, her legs gave way and she started to lose her balance. Quickly, she placed her hand on the wall for balance which caused her footsteps to come to a halt and the ice mage to notice her situation. “Juvia!” He held her arms by the sides and shook her slightly in worry. “I’m right earlier, aren’t I? You really weren’t feeling good?” “Gray-sama...” He raised a brow in question. “Yes?” Juvia took a quick glance back at him before she burst into tears. “Gray-sama is too gentlemanly and sly today!” She wailed, half in distress and in joy. “First, he chooses to dress up and pick Juvia up at her place. Secondly, he complimented her outfit she took hours to decide and still felt it wasn’t good enough!” “Lastly, Juvia didn’t want to bother him and occasionally walks on her own, but Gray-sama keeps coming back, holding her hands gently and she’s too happy that she can’t walk straight anymore!” Full of emotions, she tried to control her tears as she quickly wiped some of it away. “Juvia’s not used to it Gray-sama. You’re being too nice and cool!” At this he flushed hard, did he really hold her hand so often? “Oi!” He panicked, his cheeks continue to redden in embarrassment at her bold statements of him. “D-don’t make sure a big deal out of it. I mean—like—just calm down!” With her loud voice, the people nearby saw and heard the context of the incident and lightly chuckled in amusement which caused Gray to be conscious with their surroundings and it made him uncomfortable. He quickly took her to an area with minimal crowd and dimmed lights to spare them from all the attention. He sat Juvia down on the nearby bench in hopes to calm her down as she sniffed softly. The ice mage took a moment to stare at the bluenette who was being all worked up earlier on. Gray’s eyebrows furrowed as he run his hand through his hair in exasperation before he sat down next to her. “Here,” A cold can drink grazed upon Juvia’s cheek gently. “Drink this.” She took it with gratitude and managed a few sips, a troubled look appearing on her features as she noticed her beloved looking away—clearly upset. The water mage frowned and looked down, tightening her hold on the can drink as she quickly apologises. “Juvia is sorry, Gray-sama. She should’ve known better than to embarrass Gray-sama in public,” Surprised at herself, she started to fumble. “Gray-sama doesn’t like attention and Juvia failed to see it. Juvia shouldn’t have been so swamped at her own giddiness, Juvia was too–” “Stop it,” Gray clicked his tongue in annoyance, his bangs covering his eyes. “You make me sound like a terrible boyfriend.” “Juvia didn’t mean—eh?” It took a moment before she realised what Gray has declared and took a small peak at him. “Did Gray-sama just say ‘boyfriend’?” “Aren’t I?” “Juvia didn’t expect you to say that out...” He scratched his neck nervously, his eyes looking away. “I mean.. I promised you didn’t I? I’m going to become a man good enough for you. If I can’t even say that out, I’m worse than flamebrain.” As much as she was feeling touched, she couldn’t help but worry. “Juvia doesn’t want to force you to change, Gray-sama.” “I’m not forcing myself.” “But Gray-sama kept forcing himself to make sure that we held hands—” “Because I wanted to!” Pupils dilated once again as she was struck with confusion. Fullbuster, flushed and embarrassed at what he just blurted out, grew annoyed at her denseness and tousled his hair once more before speaking up. “Dammit woman, why are you making me say all these sappy shit...” “Look,” He sighed before looking back at her once again, determined. “Every time we hold hands, I always try to play it cool but damn—it’s stupid to say this as a grown man but I get so nervous and happy about it. I kept wanting you close to me....” Gray felt annoyed at his frenzied heart as he continued to speak his feelings aloud. “I really want to be better for you, Juvia. I don’t want you to always make it easy for me. I want to return the favour back as much as I can.” Before he went on, the ice mage narrowed his eyes in dismay and looked away as he gripped his knuckles tightly. “But this whole time, I kept making you cry and get upset. Even now, I don’t even know how to make you feel better when you’re always here for me previously. Instead, I chose to take us somewhere else and frown about it because I was a coward.... I’m sorry.” The ice mage mumbled at the end of his sentence, but Juvia could make out his words anytime. It was funny, really. All her life, the water mage was contented on loving him without expecting anything much back. Now, when it was becoming a reality, Juvia’s heart swelled. For once, her mind went blank on how to express these thoughts aloud. Loving Gray has been wonderful, but being loved back by him now was even better than she could ever imagined. She placed a hand on his cheek in efforts to cheer him up and as he turned back—in his opinion, Gray was greeted with the most alluring smile he has ever seen. “Thank you for trying so hard, Gray-sama.” She spoke in the most loving voice she could muster. “Juvia loves you very much.” In that moment, his gaze softened as he swiftly took away her hand that was on his face into his own, lacing them together. Tightening his hold on her said hand, Gray took her cheek in with his other free palm. The ice mage took a good look at her before he slowly leaned in. He heard Juvia uttered something out of confusion, but he paid no mind to it. Because in that moment, all he could think of was how much he adored her kindness, love and patience. In the dim lighting and quiet section of the aquarium, his lips met hers in a chaste kiss as response to her statement earlier on. Frankly, the ice mage did not know what to say either as he nervously pulled away to check on her reaction. When his eyes slowly opened and met with hers, Gray could not help but smile back at his girl whose cheeks were now flushed in surprise. He let out a slight chuckle and squeezed her hand lovingly as he could tell that the water mage was clearly still processing the kiss. It was embarrassing, he admitted, but he did not regret doing so. He had nothing to hide anyways. “Shall we continue on with our date?”

After all, Juvia was his to keep from now on.

#gruvia #fairy tail #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gruvia week #I hope it's okay ><#by imxeracus #gruvia fanfic #gruvia drabble

165 notes · View notes

the-huntress · 3 years

Text

Little Moth - Chapter 1 - The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

[Hi guys, welcome to my fanfiction. This is a Resident Evil inspired fanfiction, I wanted to incorporate a number of my favourite characters, and especially our beloved Magnet Daddy. Slow burn, soft smut impending, beyond that who knows… But to be safe I will say that this is for 18+ years of age only. Let me know if you’d liked to be on a tag list for future chapters. Masterlist is pinned. Thank you to everyone that has read so far. <3]

Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: Mention of menstruation, swearing.

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg [18+]

Summary:

Your lifelong friend, Leon Kennedy, has mysteriously gone missing two years after the events of Racoon City. You make a discovery that could lead to his whereabouts; dare you enter the Village?

[Photos are my own] You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at for a moment, arching your back forwards over the desk in the dimly lit room, the glare from the laptop the only source of light. Several windows had been left open on the screen, and despite the turmoil that Leon’s apartment had been left in, this was what had really grabbed your attention.

The most notable of which was a photo, the resolution was grainy, a scan from a black and white film photo, it looked almost like a foetus, but you couldn’t be sure. Was somebody pregnant? It was almost akin to the sort of photograph that expecting parents would show at a baby shower, but this was… different. You had a feeling of impending doom just by looking at this thing.

Next, another very grainy photo of a town, it almost looked like some of the places from back home in England; a church steeple, a castle or maybe a mansion in the distance? A quaint looking village in the snow. And lastly, a very cryptic email;

10/10/2000

Leon,

Know not what I have done, but what I believe must be done now.

Half of the results of good intentions are evil; half of the results of an evil intention are good.

You have the information that you need, please make haste.

A friend.

Well, that’s ambiguous as fuck. You thought to yourself, pushing the chair back and pulling the lighter from the little band on the side of your cap. You reached to your shoulder and cursed. That’s right, you’d given up, “for health reasons”. Putting the lighter back you reached instead for your camera, a notepad and a pen. You’d been tempted to just take the laptop and the scattered papers, but after several years in the police you knew it was beneficial to leave things as they were. Your eyes flitted from paper to paper, taking notes of numbers, flights, times, place names, anything that you could until you’d filled a couple of pages. One page for practical info, and one page, now that you looked at it almost sounded like a fairy tale;

A village, four kings, four lords, and a mysterious ‘Mother Miranda’. You bit the end of the pen and pondered. It was like nothing you’d ever heard of before, what had he got himself into…

Several days ago you had received a text from the man himself;

‘Y/N I am going to be out of

town for a while, something has

come up. Please don’t worry,

will explain soon. Leon. X

P.S. I’ve left Timesplitters in

your mail box, play you again

when I get back! :] ’

And now here you were. You scoffed knowing he’d have had to pay double to send that one, but he was mad to think that you wouldn’t worry, he was like a brother to you, hell, the only family that you had. After a childhood growing up in rural England you had moved to the states with your father and stepmother when you were in those vulnerable years of your teens during the early 90s, but were lucky enough to have met Leon in school. The two of you had become best friends quickly, and even graduated from the same police academy. It was Leon that saved your butt two years ago when all hell broke loose in Racoon City, him and Claire.

You shifted on the collapsible chair in front of the usually neatly tidied desk which was now strewn with various papers and articles. Your thoughts of Claire continued, and you pulled out your Nokia, opened a message and then faltered. It was late. Later than late you realised, seeing the time; 02:08 AM. What am I doing? You didn’t want to wake her, so you put the phone back into the pocket on your belt.

You swept a strand of your hair behind your ear, the outgrown bangs jumping back in the way and you blew at them irritated. You heard a grumble and moaned, looking down at your stomach. Padding across the shiny, tiled floor you left the desk and headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge where you knew there would be left-over pizza. Sure, it was from over a week ago when you were last here hanging out, but hey, it’s pizza, right?

‘Ugh dude, always with the anchovies, why?’ you mumbled, flinging a small fish into the bin and mentally backhanding the back of Leon’s head. Of course, it was his side of the pizza that was left over, probably trying to stay in shape in case he bumped into ‘Ada’ again. You weren’t keen, but then, you didn’t trust her. You looked at your phone again, left on the desk besides the laptop, Leon would be much better off with Claire, but sadly you felt perhaps that ship had set sail long ago.

You went to sit yourself back down at the desk. CRUNCH “Shit!” Your eyes darted to your right knee. “Fuck… you’re not giving me a break are you.” Letting out a sigh you closed your eyes for a moment. Since you were a child your knee had given you problems. A few dislocations, hospital visits, insteps, braces and physiotherapy. You’d had to grit your teeth hard through every physical training session during academy, but you’d made it. Fortunately for you it wasn’t something that many people would be able to notice or spot. You could run for miles with no problem; it was the recovery time in the days that followed that was tough. You knew it was getting worse, and had been reading about how much longer you might have before you’d need a full replacement, but you knew that it could jeopardise your job, you knew you’d likely not get put on the jobs that you wanted, and the thought of being put into the office answering calls made your heart sink.

And then you spotted it, the corner of another window was sticking out from under the others, exposing the corner of a third photograph. Instantly recognising the symbol you felt as though you were falling.

“What…”

Dragging the window and clicking it to full screen you could see this photograph clearly; some kind of mural, was it in stone? It looked as though there were four crests, family crests maybe. And at the centre; “Umbrella.” You breathed. You stared at it for several minutes and quickly took a photo of the screen on your camera, no point trying to get that old thing to work, you thought, looking at the printer at the other end of the desk. You couldn’t help but smirk, memories of Leon trying to print page after page of game walk throughs, whilst trying to find all the secrets in your favourite action/ adventure game, and laughing your head off at him, mouthful of noodles spilling back out into the carton as a hundred pages shot out at him, flying all over the room with cheat codes for a scantily dressed version of the playable character.

You looked at the clock again, time to go. If you were going to do this, you needed sleep and to get going as soon as you could the next day. It might drain your bank account, but it would be worth it. You didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, and more often than not, your gut instincts were right. Grabbing your R.P.D jacket at the door, you took one last glance at the room. It really did look like a whirlwind had hit it, not like Leon when he was in a better mental state at all. You knew that when he wasn’t his best he’d reach a for a drink and then some, but you could see that nothing was broken, and it was mostly clothes scattered, some bits of equipment and where he’d clearly got the luggage bag down from on top of the wardrobe. Nothing to worry about in regard to kidnap or a break in at least; as if that was enough to stop you from worrying about whatever lay ahead in this ‘Village’.

It started to rain just as you got into your apartment building, and you smiled. You’d always liked the rain. Stopping to quickly check your pigeon-hole for mail and seeing nothing you felt something press up against you calf, rubbing itself against the tops of your boots. You looked down and grinned, scooping up a slender, black cat in one hand and kissing the top of her head. “I’m going to miss you Boo, keep an eye on my mail for me while I’m gone, you know how crammed that thing gets.” You winked at her as you set her back down outside Mrs. Little’s door and fished a sandwich bag full of the leftover pizza anchovies out of your R.P.D. bag. “You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you?” Leaving Boo hastily munching into her treats you jogged up the stairs, your knee twinged, but it wasn’t too bad. It just had its moments.

Your apartment was pretty standard for this part of the city; both you and Leon had left Racoon city some time ago, though it wasn’t far from here. It had been destroyed and bordered off and that was all there was too it. You had to tell it to yourself that way to cope. Leon’s apartment was slightly swankier, but then again, he did like his gadgets and liked to keep things tidy, when his thoughts weren’t somewhere else. You on the other hand were happy to know that while everything had its place, sometimes that place would be on the floor… next to the thingy and nestled safely under a cereal box; and that was okay! You picked up the thingy, and looked at it fondly, before folding it up and putting it away with the others.

Stretching and yawning you looked around you, making a mental note of what needed to be done; pack, shower, sleep. You’d get the tickets the next day, and some money too, you’d have to stop off at the currency exchange. What currency did they even use there? Equipment, keep it simple; knives, pistol, rounds, lighter, fluid, compass, torch, camera, medi-kit. A couple of spare pairs of clothes, and you had your light armour that also fit into the case. You knew the contents would raise suspicion, but you had your badge, at the end of the day another cop had gone missing, and your team knew too.

You whipped off the remainder of your uniform and jumped in the shower, the bathroom filling up with steam and bubbles quickly and you sang along to a few songs on the radio. Wiping the mirror to see yourself more clearly you felt all your insecurities flood to you at once, as well as seeing yourself for the natural beauty that you were. You pursed your lips, staring into your own eyes and promised you’d find him safe and bring him back. He’d yell at you for going in the first place, but you knew this wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Traipsing out from the bathroom, you felt the cool air attack your flushed skin. You liked it, you were always a window open kind of person, no matter the weather, the fresh air just soothed you. Of course, that meant the odd moth now and again, like now as you heard the tiny body plummet time and time again against the spherical glass shade of the dim lamp besides your bed. Snuggling up into the loose blankets you smiled at the little creature and pulled the cord on the lamp, smiling again as you felt the moth settle on the side of your head.

After that you actually fell to sleep very quickly. It had been a long day after all; a 6AM start, patrol, arresting some juvies for petty crimes, followed by yet another zombie scare, (false alarm thank God), before filing up all the paper work and heading to Leon’s. Sleep fell like a veil of cool clouds, taking you in and raising you up into the inky blue skies of the night. The next thing you knew, you were butt naked in a dark green forest, dew drops shining on moss like a trillion tiny emeralds. Mist hung thick in the air, and thousands of tiny moths flew up from the ground? No. From you. You were raising your arms up to the skies, the moss covered forest floor moist under your bare feet and between your toes. Behind you the silhouette of a deer… antlers, but much, much taller. In front of you a pair of cold silver-gold eyes in the dark. You felt drawn, ever so drawn, taking one step forward, and then another, your arms coming down now, hands outstretched in caring caress, your heart swelled, your lips bloomed, taking in a short breath, and then; blood. Gushes of it, soaking into the moss, reddening Earth’s green carpet, and dripping down the trunks of the trees, the moths falling from the air around you, their wings sticking and stopping in the thick, red mess.

“Shit!” You fell back down onto your bed, several items around you also crashing down. Hand to your head, you looked wildly about. It happened again. Whatever had fallen this time had been heavy. You turned to see half the cutlery that had been lying on the kitchen tops now on the floor, and the knives and pistol that you’d placed earlier on top of the luggage bag were now in the middle of the floor. A sudden feeling of loneliness washed over you. The same dream, but longer, and this time with blood. “Shit” again, you put a hand to your pants, pulled the covers back and saw red. “Well, that’s one more thing I need to bring with me.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes, and throwing yourself back onto the bed.

Song Suggestion: ‘The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning’ by The Smashing Pumpkins

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil 2 #resident evil village #leon kennedy #Karl Heisenberg #mother miranda #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg fluff

83 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs