#but it might be the fact that I was working in a sketchbook twice the size

[kira-light0]

Happy Trapper Tuesday everybody!!!

(Reference + closeups under the cut)

[its-short-for-jackalope]

greetings! i have made a thing! ✨️two✨️ things!

✨️ sketchboooooooooooks! ✨️

it took longer than anticipated (I've been trying to get this done since the end of last year, oops) but I finally finished putting these together today. all that's left to do is decorate the covers and start drawing in 'em!

they are slightly–moderately wonky and pretty clearly handmade, but I love them. gives em charm. these are only the second and third books I've made myself so I'm still learning.

if you're interested I'll drop a few more photos and babble a little about the process under the cut! (definitely not a tutorial if that's what you're hoping for lol i was winging it the whole time)

okay so we'll start with the little guy. this is meant to be more of a travel sketchbook.

I wanted something fairly small that I could take on the go without it being too much of a hassle, because I'm also hoping to get out more and like... go for walks to the park or the cemetery or w/e and try doing some studies and life drawing and such. or just get some fresh air and doodle while I make a valiant attempt to get some vitamin D.

THE PROCESS

both sketchbooks are made out of materials I just had lying around, but this one is even more "recycled" lmao

i took the inside pages from an old sketchbook, and about half of them had previously been used, so I went and erased my old sketches as much as I could (they were bad and low effort, so it's no loss I assure you) and that was a boring and frustrating endeavor but it was worth it because, well, I get to use the paper again! I did a very poor job the first time around, I almost never drew on both sides of the page and so many pages were just one shitty sketch and nothing else 🙈

i sorted the pages into signatures (tried to mix up the used and new paper because it'd annoy me if I had just like one big chunk of ghost drawings and then the rest of the book was good and clean lol) and stitched those together and then put just a couple layers of glue on the spine to hold it together.

I made the cover by gluing two pieces of thin cardboard together for each part (front cover, back cover, spine) to make em sturdier, and then I trimmed them down to size and glued the pieces to a paper shopping bag. I didn't have the patience to try flattening the cover under a heavy book or anything, so it's a little warped and will kind of open up on its own so I'm just using the binder clip to hold it closed. plus idk it looks cool!

once the cover was done and dry I just... glued it all together! added the end pages i cut out of construction paper to the.. chunk of book? the book brick? (is there a technical word for it when the signatures are all together....?) and then glued the other sides of the end pages to the inside covers.

now for the second book! the big boy!

this fella was intended to be the grand, improved follow-up to the first sketchbook I put together, and I started working on it right when said first book started running out of paper.

this one is the wonkier of the two but I think it's definitely a few steps up from the original, and I'm pleased with it. this is gonna be my everyday sketchbook, so I wanted it to have a ton of pages so I can use it for a good long while. I think it's at least twice as thick as my first sketchbook. 😂

THE PROCESS

...basically the same as the travel sketchbook, just bigger! the pages are sourced from a different sketchbook, one I started using in high school and promptly forgot about upon graduation.

fun fact: the end pages are covered in countless tiny little hatch lines that i drew by hand while I watched/listened to something on my computer. I don't quite remember what I was watching at this point, but it was almost certainly something from Starkid... probably VHSCC on repeat, since I did this part back in november/december. it might sound tedious but I shit you not I was thrilled to do this part and it was just a blissful neurodivergent turn the brain off and vibe kind of time.

the biggest difference in this process was doing the cover; it's not cardboard, it's some kind of particle board.. thing that was salvaged from the back of a busted picture frame. it is VERY stiff and sturdy and I did not cut the pieces out so much as score the board with my box cutter as deeply as I could, bend it back and forth, and pray it didn't break. 😅 the cover-cover is from the same bag I used on the smaller book!

most of the wonkiness comes from the fact that the cover is sliiiiiiiightly too small for the book brick inside. I had limited material for the cover so I couldn't stretch that at all, I made the cover as big as I possibly could, but I also did not feel like trimming the inside pages so that they would fit better because that would have taken FOREVER and also probably killed me. 😫 soooo the pages stick out a little bit, but that's fine and it doesn't bother me much. 🤷🏻‍♂️

and that's my two sketchbooks! finished em both up over 3 days after procrastinating for at least a month. and now that they exist I can finally draw again!!! been wanting to do that for WEEKS.

if you read all of this I hope you got something out of it, lol. whether you did or didnt, here's a skull for your troubles.

😊🤲🏻💀

enjoy!! <3

[frogsandfries]

So anyway, the real reason I came over here:

I've been watching more sketchbook tours and watching people talk about their graphic novels. I just wanted to remark, I'm noticing this interesting pattern. Or, idk I guess maybe not a pattern. There are some people who are perhaps, in my opinion, overly proud of their work, even though it's not all that, and by their own admission they didn't work all that hard on it. On the other hand, I found someone who was perhaps overly critical of their work, to the point of going back over and over, not redrawing the whole thing, but redrawing pages they weren't happy with.

I'm obviously no professional. When it comes to discussing my own graphic novel, I obviously have no fucking idea what I'm doing, seeing as I've never sold a copy of my single issue of my own graphic novel (available on Amazon please at least click the link if you see this).

As a matter of fact, I wonder if I'm not maybe a little embarrassed of what this cute, seemingly-innocent slice of life will become...one day, maybe in a million years, it feels like. Maybe that's what's holding me back...

But, I don't look back. That's the rule. I have been searching for a way to continue coloring my graphic novel, so very strictly speaking, you very fairly could say that I most certainly have gone back. I have started coloring volume 001 probably three times. To be fair, it's not like I've gotten very far on any of my attempts. I'm not charging forward with the coloring only to repeatedly backtrack. More to the point, since I've "Actually™️ Started " the graphic novel, I haven't gone back and completely redrawn entire scenes. I've traced my own work in order to set it up for the coloring process. I've improved hands and feet. But I haven't finished any part of my work only to completely throw it out and start completely over.

I don't look back. No matter how badly I might one day want to, like, maybe I've finally finished it and I'm comparing the last-est frame to the first? I mean, personally, I like to think I'm pretty zen about my art. One foot in front of the other, one day at a time, more secure than insecure that yesterday is gone and behind me, even in my art.

Plus, when trying to make a graphic novel, I'm not trying to suffer any more than I already am. It feels like the only thing there is, at least in terms of my linework and this graphic novel, is whatever there is. For graphic novels, it's perhaps the one time and place in my creative journey where quantity is more significant than quality.

I read graphic novels, of course I do (mostly for the art). I know that when I'm reading a graphic novel, I'm paying more attention than the average reader to things like composition, color palette, character design, small details that anyone with an untrained eye wouldn't think twice about.

I know there's probably a million places where the artist said to themself, quietly, Oh shit. Oops. Argh.

But a fellow artist who has zero relation with these artists has no idea where these "oh shit"s are. And the average reader probably doesn't really even know or care that these moments happen (unless they are so jarringly, glaringly obvious that there was definitely an opportunity to fix that and now anyone who sees this error will be thrown bodily from their suspension of disbelief).

So, apart from fighting myself over how to color the damn graphic novel in the first place, given that pixel art was painfully unsustainable, I have a) learned to train my focus forward (especially because, if you think Ava's Demon is huge, the only difference between the sizes of our bodies of work presently is merely starting time), and b) fully embraced quantity of art over quality of art for this body of work. If I want to make any sort of progress on this project, I simply cannot be throwing the whole thing in the garbage every six months because it isn't absolutely flawless. I've been making art for long enough, and college was brutal enough, for me to have fully made me more than embrace the imperfection of a quantity-based creative endeavor, but I have fully absorbed the lessons of imperfection.

Anyway, all this to say, I think style one of being peacockish-ly proud of something you barely put any time and effort into, to the point that it shows, is sophomoric in not having any critical thoughts or feelings toward your work. I don't beam like a toddler every time I finish a single page. Style two of reviewing your graphic novel every six months or whatever is also sophomoric, perhaps self-sabotaging in a way. I'm not trying to pretend that one shouldn't be proud of their graphic novel, whether it's five pages or twenty-five volumes. I don’t think you should be so proud of your work, you want to slap it on the fridge; nor should you be so self-sabotagingly harsh.

And to be totally fair, maybe low-effort artist has it right in a way: Maybe, who cares about becoming a better artist in the course of making a graphic novel. Certainly most readers aren't necessarily watching your creative journey; they should be focused on the story.

[mc-lukanette]

It was the first day of the school year, and Marinette figured that nothing could surprise her. She'd dealt with just about everything she could think of on her first days, both good and bad (mostly bad), so she imagined that she at least wouldn't be caught off guard by anything.

Then, she opened her locker and found someone else's things inside. She blinked twice, just to make sure that she wasn't seeing things, then closed the locker door to check the number on it. Without a doubt, it was her locker, yet it was apparently being used by some mystery person.

Definitely something she hadn't experienced before, though she could think of worse things that could've happened. Still, what did it mean?

She inhaled, then let out a calm breath, not wanting to freak out over what could've just been a mistake. Keeping her things, she took them - along with her questions - off to the principal's office.

—————

"And you say that another person had already put their supplies in your locker?" Mister Damocles asked as he typed away on his computer, occasionally glancing at the sheet of paper Marinette had given him with her locker number on it.

"Yes," she replied, a little formally given that she was talking to the principal. Leaning forward in her seat, she added, "I don't want any trouble though. If they just put their stuff in the wrong locker, I'll take theirs. It's okay."

He nodded, but focused almost completely on the screen of his computer. Marinette couldn't help feeling anxious doing nothing at all, so she tried to occupy her time by looking around the room and swinging her legs back and forth.

She jumped when Mister Damocles abruptly cleared his throat, soon after his typing stopped. His expression was nervous even though he clearly tried to hide it.

"W-well, it wasn't an error exactly," he began, "you see, we... had an increase in students this year that we weren't prepared for."

"Really?" she asked, unsure but also not seeing what reason he'd have to lie to her.

"So there just weren't enough lockers for us to give one to each student. You and one of the students in Ms. Mendeleiev's class happened to be the odd ones out."

"Oh." She slumped, considering that. It seemed unnecessary to put up a fight about it, and although the idea was a little strange, the worst case scenario was the other student taking something of hers that could probably just be replaced anyway.

Satisfied enough, she stood up and approached the desk. "At least now I know. I guess I'll just have to work with it." She turned, waving as she went. "Have a nice day, Mister Damocles!"

Mister Damocles nodded and waved back at her, grinning far too wide to be genuine. It was only once the door closed and she was gone that he let himself fall onto the desk with an exhausted grunt. He hoped beyond reasonable expectation that neither student ever had a problem sharing a locker with the other and decided to bring it up with their parents.

He just had no idea how he was going to explain that Chloe Bourgeois had demanded so many lockers for herself that it caused the problem in the first place.

—————

Having returned to her locker, Marinette whispered an unheard apology to her mystery person, as she had no choice but to move their things so that she could put her own in. At the very least, she made sure things were organized so that their stuff didn't mingle.

That done, she reached into her bag, smiling as she pulled out a stack of oversized - courtesy of her tendency to ramble, even in text - sticky notes, brand new and ready for the school year. She hadn't expected to start using it so soon, but she knew from experience that classes didn't seem to go to their lockers at the same time, meaning that it'd have to be by note if she wanted to communicate.

Using her nails to tear into the protective plastic around the sticky notes, she then pulled off a single note to write on. She sat on her heels, placing her closed sketchbook on her legs and putting the sticky note on top. From her bag, she pulled out one of her fancier pens, not wanting to seem sloppy to the person sharing her locker since it wasn't like it was their fault they were sharing.

She tapped the blunt end of the pen against her chin, having to think for a moment before feeling mentally prepared enough to write.

Hey, so it seems there weren't enough lockers this year and we both have the same locker number because of it. I don't really mind, but I could maybe talk to Mr. Damocles again if it's a bother?

(by the way, I took the bottom shelf because I'd be surprised if you were shorter than me ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭, but you can have the two top ones, so I hope that makes up for it!)

Signed, 🌺

It wasn't very professional, but she hadn't intended it to be, as she wouldn't have been able to keep up such an aura for the entire school year if they ended up being okay sharing with her.

The decision to sign with a flower rather than her name was a matter of privacy; neither of them knew each other's faces yet, so it only seemed right to use something less identifying than a name. She couldn't help giggling, feeling as though it added an air of mystery to the whole thing and made her look cooler than she really was.

Putting her sketchbook and pen away, she stood up and stuck her note to the front of the top shelf, where the future recipient was sure to see it. She turned to pick up her bag, but realized belatedly that they might not have the supplies she had to write her back. Thinking quickly, she got another sticky note out, laying it along with a pencil on the middle shelf without specifically sticking them there, hoping the intent was obvious.

That done, she headed off to class, a little more bounce in her step than usual from the mixture of nerves and curiosity at the idea of getting a reply.

—————

It turned out that she hadn't had to worry at all.

Hey. I don't mind at all. You don't have to move anywhere.

(and thanks, but I feel bad for taking both shelves, so maybe we can swap every other day or something? (;´~`))

Signed, 🎵

Marinette grinned, amused by the fact that her locker buddy (as she now felt safe to call them) had signed in the same manner as her, yet their handwriting was very different. While she was more cutesy in her letters, theirs were more carefree, though she supposed that was cute in its own way.

Maybe sharing a locker would end up being fun after all.

[continuation]

[wincore]

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.

[ifmywishescametrue]

Choosing which prompt to send you from list was an impossible task!! They’re just all that good🥺 but if u feel inspired, maybe 15 or 76 would be really cute for stevetony?

Also, hope you have the best and loveliest day, friend 💖💝

thank you for sending one!! for #76 - "thank you for making me smile" - here's 1.6k words of getting together and absolutely terrible jokes

also i hope you have the loveliest day too 🥺

"I'm never listening to your advice again," Steve says the second he walks in the door. He lets it slam shut behind him and stomps off to his bedroom with another rough bang.

Tony and Bucky exchange a look on the couch, and Tony pauses their video game.

"Me or you?"

"Probably you," Bucky says. "Your advice is usually shit."

Tony scoffs, "Please, I'm a genius for a reason. All of my advice is amazing. Or are you forgetting that I'm the reason that you have a boyfriend right now?"

"One time in the last three years and you won't let it go."

"It'd be you and your right hand for the rest of your life if it wasn't for me."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "I would have made it work with Sam on my own eventually. But that's besides the point. I haven't given Steve any advice lately, so it has to be you. And in case you forgot, I don't even live here. He didn't know I was here when he said it."

"You don't live here?" Tony says with mock surprise. "Wow, you eat an awful lot of our food then."

Bucky grins, "It's payback for all the times you did the same to me before I moved out. Now go fix Steve. We'll rematch tomorrow."

"I didn't break him," Tony argues, even as he sets his controller down and stands from the couch. "I am a beacon of wisdom."

"You started a fire in the microwave twice last week, beacon."

Tony flips him off on his way to Steve's bedroom. He knocks once and ignores it when Steve tells him to go away.

Steve is sitting at his desk with his back to the door and his sketchbook open in front of him. He has a pencil in his hand, but the page is untouched.

"So, uh, what's up with you?"

"Nothing."

Tony nods slowly, "Right, okay. Care to share what advice of mine went wrong exactly? Cause I gotta say I'm drawing a blank."

"I was talking to Buck."

"Oh," Tony says in relief, then he frowns. "How'd you even know he was here?"

"When isn't he here? Our fridge is always empty because of him."

Tony smiles and flops down on Steve's bed, propping himself up against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head. He pushes the back of Steve's chair with his foot, making it spin his way.

"So what did Bucky do?"

Steve looks like he's about to say, but then he bites his lip and shakes his head instead. "Really doesn't matter."

Tony looks at him for a long moment, taking in all those subtle tells of his. The slight downturn of the corners of his mouth and the crease between his brows, but they don't come with any tension in his jaw or shoulders, which means he's more disappointed than angry. His eyes never hide hurt, but there's none to be found in them. Whatever it was didn't crush him, and Tony knows just how to fix him when he's like this.

He pokes Steve's arm with his socked toes. "Hey, Steve, why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?"

Steve sighs, but there's already a hint of a smile. Further evidence to support Tony's hypothesis.

"Why, Tony?"

"In case he got a hole in one."

Steve presses his lips together and shakes his head. "That's not very funny."

"Why do bees have sticky hair?"

The look Steve gives him is long-suffering.

"Because they use honeycombs," Tony grins, and Steve relaxes back into his chair a little. "What kind of music do planets like?"

"Neptunes," Steve says, smirking a little, and Tony pouts dramatically.

"Nooo, how did you know that?"

"Used it on me two months ago. Remember when you broke the sink and you didn't want me to be mad at you anymore?"

"I also remember fixing the sink in the same day, but fine dwell on the fact that I broke it in the first place."

Steve laughs, and Tony feels the knot in his own chest loosen. He hates it when Steve's upset. It throws him off his own axis, because his world revolves around Steve's sun.

He gets up from the desk chair, and Tony shifts over to make room for him on the bed. They reach for each other's hands at the same time, interlocking fingers in the small space between them.

It's moments like these when the longing hits him the most. When Steve is this close, but it doesn't mean nearly as much to him as it does to Tony.

Sometimes he pictures what it would be like if he leaned over a little more. If Steve's eyes would flicker down to his lips, then away quickly like he didn't want to be caught. He wonders what Steve's cheek would feel like under his hand as he pulls his attention back, silently telling him it's okay to look.

It always stops there in his mind, right before a first kiss that he just knows would change his life. Guilt creeps in, because he should be happy with what he has. Happy with all of the pieces Steve lets him have now. It's more than most people will ever get.

"Thank you," Steve says. "You're the only one who can ever get me to smile after a day like today."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tony asks, tilting his head to the side to look at him.

Steve bites his lip again, staring up at the ceiling. It takes a long moment for him to talk.

"There's somebody that I like, but they don't like me back. Not like that, anyway."

Tony's heart sinks, but he tries not to let it show. "You told them and they rejected you?"

Steve shakes his head, "No, I don't need to tell them to know how they feel. But Bucky said that I should find someone else to get over them, so I asked out that girl in my art history class."

"The one with the nose ring?"

"That's the one, yeah. We went for coffee this morning."

"How was it?" Tony asks, and more guilt accompanies the fact that he's actively and selfishly hoping Steve is about to say that it was awful.

Steve shrugs, "It was fine, technically. But then she tried to kiss me, and I sort of freaked out and ruined it. She looked at me like I was insane, and, god, it was so embarrassing, but I just couldn't do it when I know that I don't actually want anything like that from her. I didn't want to lead her on. It's not fair to her."

"Not fair to you either," Tony says softly. "You shouldn't force yourself to like someone you don't. And whoever the other person is, the one that doesn't want you back, they're missing out on someone really amazing, and they're stupid to let you go."

Steve smiles, but it's tinged with sadness as he turns his head to look at Tony. "I don't know about that. They can do better than me."

"Hey, no, don't say that. You're incredible. You're funny and smart and gorgeous, and I've never met anyone as kind as you in my entire life. There isn't anyone better than you, okay? And if they don't see that, then fuck them. Clearly, they're dumb as hell anyway," Tony rants, getting progressively louder as he goes and his free hand gesturing wildly.

"They're kind of a genius, actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "Yeah, sure they are. Way to miss the point."

Steve's smile turns amused. "No, but they really are."

"What is this?" Tony asks with narrow eyes. "Are you trying to make me jealous by saying you know other geniuses? Cause I'm the only know-it-all in your life. I claimed the spot. It's mine."

"Definitely yours," Steve agrees, and he shifts a little to turn on his side. With his left hand, he tentatively reaches up towards Tony's face, and Tony's breath catches at the brush of fingertips against his cheek. "I think I might have been wrong, though, about how they feel about me."

It takes a few seconds for it to click in Tony's, but even when it does he doesn't believe it just yet.

"Why's that?"

"Apparently they think I'm incredible, and they get really angry when anybody else thinks otherwise."

Tony smiles softly, "Yeah, they really don't like that."

Steve's thumb strokes across his cheekbone, then his fingers drift back to run through his hair.

"They think I'm funny, too, but they've also got a terrible sense of humor, so I don't know how accurate that is."

Tony laughs, then says, "You know what I think?"

"What's that?"

"I think you should kiss them. Just go for it and see what happens."

Steve smiles, slowly leaning down, "You really think so? It could make things weird. We might not be able to be friends anymore."

Tony puts his hand on the nape of Steve's neck, drawing him further in until he's a scant inch away. "Trust me, they don't really want to be just a friend, anyway."

He finds out that Steve's skin is smooth and warm beneath his palms, and his lips are unexpectedly soft. His hands are constantly in motion, slowly mapping out Tony's hips and sides and back like he's memorizing the feeling. As if it's his one chance to learn what Tony feels like he won't let it get away from him. But it won't be the only one. There will be second, third, and hundredth kisses, because Tony knows better than to let someone like Steve slip away.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve whispers after.

"Yeah?"

"What's the best thing about Switzerland?"

Tony smiles, "What?"

"I don't know, but the flag is a big plus."

They stare at each other, and Steve is the first to crack, but his laugh makes Tony follow right behind him.

[slasherhaven]

okay okay, now I REALLY gotta ask: following up on the art s/o request, how would the boys feel if they've found LEWD drawings of themselves in their love's sketchbooks 😏😏

The Slashers reacting to their S/O’s lewd sketches of them:

Thomas Hewitt 

Honestly...good for his self esteem. The sketches are definitely surprising to him, he wasn’t expecting them and he supposes it’s a way of reminding him why he shouldn’t go nosing around in your belongings. He’s definitely flustered but you must think rather highly of him to draw these...and looking at himself through your eyes, he can see himself more positively.

Still very flustered though. You drew these...adding all those details. Yeah, he’s extra thankful for the mask right now because he’s blushing. When you catch him with your sketchbook in hand, he’s even more flustered, and very apologetic. Will blush every time he sees those sketchbooks.

Michael Myers 

That usual stoic expression as he presents you with them. He places the open book down in front of you, lewd sketches of himself on the pages. You look up at him with wide eyes, unable to tell what he was thinking or feeling, as usual. He just looks between you and the pages, like he wanted an explanation. So you gave him one, even if you stuttered once or twice.

Silently teases you about it. He is admittedly curious about the images but more amused by your reaction. He doesn’t need to speak to tease you. Hiding the sketchbooks so that you have to ask him for them, randomly placing one of your drawings in front of you, sometimes you even know what he’s thinking just from the way he’s looking at you. And he never fails to get a reaction from you.

Jason Voorhees

Feels like he shouldn’t be looking at these. Even though they’re of him...he feels like they’re private to you. He’s certainly flustered and even more so if you catch him. He won’t approach you about it, that’s all your business, but he isn’t going to hold it against you either. Just maybe blush a bit whenever he sees you for a little while.

It’s a little...freeing. If he had stumbled across these when you first got together, he would be freaked out and probably distanced himself from you for a long time. But now, now that you already have an intimate relationship, that you’re close and you trust each other. It’s actually a little freeing because it’s all the more convincing that all of this is nothing to be ashamed off, something that you’re still trying to help him with.

Brahms Heelshire

Super smug. Look at how good he looks in these! You must really like him and must be really attracted to him to make and keep all of these. He’ll have them spread out around him as he examines each other. He didn’t realise you thought so much about his nude body, he’s going to have to bring this up to you! He has plenty of compliments, not really stopping if you’re flustered by his discovery.

Could you, maybe...do some of yourself? These are nice and everything, very flattering, but he would much prefer having some lewd sketches of you than himself. Oh! Better idea! How about you do some sketches of you both together? He would love those and some would definitely go ‘missing’.

Bo Sinclair

Not sure whether to be smug or freaked out. He just isn’t sure how to feel. It definitely feeds his ego and makes him even more cocky than usual but he also thinks it’s a little strange. He knows you’re an artist and everything but...would a photograph just be easier? No offence, Bo just does understand the artist process. All he knows if he would rather have a picture of you rather than a sketch.

Will tease you about it. Despite all of that, he knows what this means. You just can’t get enough of him, can you? Something about him must enthral you so much that you just have to spend your free time sketching his nudes from memory. That also makes him smirk, you’ve memorised every detail of his body. You’re feeding that ego and it’s your own fault!

Vincent Sinclair

Very flustered under the mask. That mask might be pale but his face his bright red. But does that stop him from flicking through your sketchbook? Not at all! He’s...curious, sure, that’s the word. All of these sketches of him. The artist in him admires the talent and detail. The normal guy in him wonders what you are doing drawing his body. Similar to Thomas, it probably builds his self esteem just a little.

Is more likely to show you his own. Of course he has done plenty of sketches of you, even before you were dating. You inspire him. He might have already shown you one or two but only ever the innocent ones. The more inappropriate ones he didn’t dare share with you. It felt wrong to make them but he loved them, loved you, so much. But you clearly have the same artistic inspiration so...maybe he should show you some of his sketches of you.

Lester Sinclair

Has to double check. Are these really of him? They really look like him. Do you really think he is worthy of drawing and of drawing like...this. Everything was so...accurate. You must have done this from memory, you must know his body better than him at this point. And he found something about that both flattering and...exciting.

Mutual embarrassment. You’re embarrassed because he found your sketches, he’s embarrassed because you just walked in on him flexing in the mirror. He was trying to see what you see! He’s just had an ego boost! He’s honest with you though, you don’t have to be embarrassed. He’s very flattered and they’re really good. And, well...you don’t have to stop drawing them.

Bubba Sawyer

This is him? Of course it’s him, it looks exactly like him, and who else would you be drawing in these...situations. He’s a little flustered but any of that is wiped away by his curiosity. He’s able to look past the lewdness of it all, just so proud of your talent. Then he focuses back on exactly what it was you were drawing and blushes ten times harder.

Let’s just hide these a little better, yeah? They’re very good, very impressive, and he likes them. But he couldn’t even imagine the teasing both you and he would get from his brothers if they found any of these. You both agree that they’re just for the two of you.

Billy Lenz 

Naughty, dirty, little Y/n...As soon as he sees the first one, he’s grabbing the book and heading for the attic to properly relax and examine them. Muttering to himself the whole time about how naughty you are for drawing these. And when you get home, he’s scurrying to meet you, forcing the sketchbook into your hands. Wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering in your ear all about your pretty drawing.

Maybe you should do more of these...including you. Really, he thinks they’re wonderful, very talented, very detailed. You should do more! But do you know what might be better? If you did some more of him that included you, wouldn’t that just be so much better, Y/n? Will keep his favourites up in the attic.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Teases you about it. He just likes seeing you flustered, that’s it really. And this is the perfect opportunity. He’ll be sitting in the lounge, them spread out on the coffee table, two in his hands as he examines them. They’re good, he will give you that, but the look on your face when you find him like that is even better.

Becomes determined to make these sketches a reality. Asa now sees this as a challenge almost. Whatever fantasies you have put to paper, he wants to make them real. Every position, location, whatever it is, you will both work your way through them. Not that it feels like work.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Appreciates the art form. He prefers videos but he appreciates your preference for drawing. He particularly appreciates your art when it paints him in such a positive light. So you have these drawing of him...can he have some videos of you?

He’s not bashful about it. He’s flattered! He sees your talent and compliments you on it. But his new favourite thing to do? Taking one of those drawings and placing it down in front of you, making you look up at him, wide eyed and flustered. But it gets the message across just fine, this is the sketch he would like to recreate tonight. You’re pretty sure he only does it to make you flustered though.

Otis Driftwood

Is surprised but will tease you about it. He definitely wasn’t expecting this but it’s better than anything he could have guessed you liked drawing. It definitely inflates his ego that you’re drawing him at all and the fact that most of them are so lewd is even better to him. He doesn’t think they’re any need to be embarrassed or ashamed, they’re really good! But he can’t resist teasing you about your infatuation with him.

Will definitely show you his own (if he hasn’t already). It’s perfectly possible that he’s already showed you his pornographic sketches of you, and he has a lot of the. But if he hasn’t, this will definitely get him too. You show him yours and he’ll show you his, it’s only fair even to him. Plus he hopes it will encourage you to share any future sketches with him.

Baby Firefly

Is flattered and think you’re cute when you blush about it. She’s honestly just flattered and impressed. They’re good! You’re so talented! But if you’re embarrassed or blushing about her finding them, she will both compliment and reassure you while teasing you just a little. You’re too cute to not tease at least a bit.

Will pose for you in future. Baby doesn’t really have any embarrassment about this kind of stuff, and she clearly has nothing to be ashamed off if you keep making these. So of course she will pose for you, she might even get more into it than you.

Yautja (Predator) 

Are these for...science? No? When he first finds them, he believes them to be studies of his anatomy. He is curious about your race and it makes sense that you’d be interested in his, wanting to learn as much as you want. But as he kept looking through the sketches, he could see that these were not scientific.

Flattered. He’s not going to get flustered, this type of stuff doesn’t really bother him. He feels a sense of pride that you admire him so much to put your time into these, he’s also impressed by their accuracy.

[droppingartintotheinfinite]

Hello! My name is Soléna, (pronounced “soul-ANE-uh”) and I do art sometimes!

Feel free to shorten my name to just Sol. I use they/them pronouns.

My main blog is @solena2, where I reblog things and sometimes (rarely) make original posts.

My birthday is February 2nd.

I do Art Fight every year, so if you want to attack me, my account is here!

-

Stuff about this blog:

- It runs on a queue! I draw a lot, so I’ve got the queue set to post twice a day. I’ll often post more than that if I’ve got a big backlog, though.

- It’s primarily an archive for my work! Though I do like attention, the primary purpose of this blog is to store my art in case I ever lose access to the original photos and/or sketchbooks. Because of this, I pretty much post everything I draw, as opposed to just the stuff I really like.

- It’s mostly my visual art, but I sometimes post my writing here as well. Most of it I just stick on ao3, though, so if you’re looking for that my username there is solena2 as well.

Interaction:

- feel free to send asks and stuff! I will respond to them! I love attention.

- I read all of the tags. If you tag my art with something nice, I will see it and I will smile very wide.

- I typically don’t respond to comments on my posts! On tumblr, you can only reply to posts with your main, and this is a sideblog, so I avoid replying to my own posts to prevent confusion. If you’d like me to respond to something you say, please put it in a reblog or an ask!

- Do you have questions about my OCs? My process? Did you see a cool rock this morning and thought I would like it? Send it to me! I cannot overstate the degree to which getting asks fills me with joy!

- Constructive criticism of my work is fine, though I don’t usually respond to it.

- Prompts are also fine, though I make no promises to actually do them!

Commissions:

- I don’t do commissions as a regular thing and don’t really consider myself to be a professional artist, so I don’t have any kind of default pricing scale for them or anything like that, but if you want to pay me to do art for you I’m probably down with that. Just send me a dm with what you want and how much you’re willing to pay for it and we can discuss from there.

- For pricing, please assume you’re paying at least minimum wage and that anything more complicated than a sketch is going to take a couple hours. Minimum wage in my state is about $15/hour.

- I might also be willing to do stuff for free or for cheap if you’re a friend or there’s some other reason I’d be willing to charge less from you, but if I do something for you for free I’m only going to put as much effort in as I feel like. You get what you pay for, you know?

- If you want a commission from me, a person who does not regularly do commissions, please assume I know jackshit about standard practice for them because that is in fact the truth.

- This section only exists because I keep getting questions about it. If I ever start doing commissions regularly, I’ll redo this to be less vague.

Other stuff:

- Feel free to use my stuff for things as long as you credit me! Whether that be using my art as a reference, directly tracing it, sticking it in a slideshow where you repeatedly call it a crime against the medium... I don’t really care! Just make sure to tag me or send it to me so I can check it out!

- Please don’t repost my stuff. If you’re adding something it’s fine, but just reposting my art with nothing extra on it is cringe. If you’re doing it on another site I don’t really care, though. Just make sure to give a link back to this blog!

- Seriously go wild

- The only situation in which I care even slightly about people doing things with my art is if it’s a commission. If it’s a commission, I don’t own it and therefore cannot grant permissions about how the image can be used. If you want to do something with a piece I did on commission, ask the person who commissioned it. All commissioned pieces on this blog are labeled, so there shouldn’t be any confusion there.

Tagging:

- The TWs I try to reliably tag are eyestrain, blood and body horror. For pretty much anything else, send me an ask about it and if it’s just a couple posts, I’ll add the tag, though if it’s like half my blog it might be a better idea to just unfollow.

- My phase tags are so I can easily find my stuff by post date, and also to make it easier for me to gauge my progress. I update the number approximately at the start of each month, though sometimes I’m a couple days off for whatever reason.

- My favorite art is tagged “fav”. Usually I go through my posts every couple months and stick the tag on a bunch of stuff, as opposed to adding it when I make the post.

- My “ballgown” tag isn’t necessarily for actual ballgowns. It’s more just fancy clothes in general. Things just worked out that way.

- Fanart is tagged “fanart” and original art is tagged “original art”. Older original art is tagged “not fanart” which I changed when I realized how tumblr’s search works.

- Posts in color are tagged “color”. If you’re looking for stuff of mine that’s more than sketches, this is probably the place to check.

- The abstract pieces I do are tagged “abstract art”. Stuff in this tag is typically what I use for my blog banners. And also my home screen.

- Every post on my blog is tagged with “art” and “sketch”. It just worked out that way.

- Digital art is tagged “digital art” and traditional art is tagged “traditional art”. Older traditional art doesn’t have its own tag, since when this blog started it was pretty much all I did so I didn’t need to differentiate.

- “old art” is the tag for really old art of mine that wasn’t posted when it was drawn. This tag typically shows up on my redraws of my old stuff.

- “Redraw” is my tag for redraws. I do them occasionally for fun.

- Posts tagged “reference” were drawn using a different image as a reference. Many of the older posts on this blog don’t credit the reference in question at all, which is a practice I’ve decided to move away from. The reason these posts stay up is because of this blog’s status as an archive.

- Comics are tagged “comic”.

- Non-art posts are tagged “not art” and “off topic”. If they’re text posts, they’re tagged “text post”. Reblogs are tagged “reblog” and/or “self reblog”, as appropriate.

- Every character who appears in a post is tagged. I do my best to use the same tag for the same character every time. Characters with ambiguous names (ie: Ghost from Hollow Knight) will usually have their fandom name included in their character tag. (ie: “hk ghost”)

- Shitposts are tagged “shitpost”

Enjoy!

[twiceinadream]

Twice HC- How They Would Make Their S/O Feel Better After a Bad Day

Requested: Yup

Request: How they would make their s/o feel better after a bad day

a/u: Hey, guys! So I hope you all had a great new year and yay first post of 2021! I meant to go on a break but not posting makes me nervous so I wrote an HC for the first in over a year. I hope you guys like it, but my posts still might not be as frequent so I’m sorry about that. I love you guys!

Category: Fluff and Minor NSFW

Nayeon

Nayeon would immediately notice the far off look in your eyes the second she greeted you at the door

Your usual cheerfulness was replaced with something more solemn as your smile never reached your eyes

She would immediately go into “Mom Mode” as she sat you down on the couch, and went to make you a cup of hot cocoa

Ordering take out from your guy’s favorite restaurant while she cuddled with you on the couch

By night’s end, delivery boxes littered the coffee table as your body began to feel heavy in Nayeon’s hold, “Thanks Jagi.” She would smile as she placed a kiss on your forehead, “Anything for you, Y/N-ah.”

Jeongyeon (This is my favorite gif of her)

Jeongyeon tapped her foot against the cement as she checked her watch, you were late getting out of work. Which was strange since you always made a habit of not staying longer than you had to

Another five minutes passed before your disheveled form made its way out of the building, and your girlfriend immediately knew you had a bad day

You didn’t even need to say anything as she placed a kiss on your lips and began walking towards the park outside your work (coincidentally, the same park the two of you had your first date)

Jeongyeon would talk about practice and the rest of the girls to ease your mind off today, knowing she did her job when she saw the way your eyes lit up at the sight of your favorite ice cream stall

A bright smile eventually finding its way on your face as Jeong fed you small scoops of her ice cream. “You’re amazing Jeongie.” The sincerity in your voice made your girlfriend’s face scrunch up in “disgust”. “Sweet talker.” You chuckled at her words as you leaned into her. “Only for you.”

Momo (This is perfect because Boo’s actually in this)

Usually it was you who would be taking care of Momo when she had a bad day. But now that the roles were reversed, she was determined to make you feel as special as you made her feel

By the sound of your voice on the phone she knew today had been rough and she wanted to make it just a bit better once you got home

So she got set with making your favorite foods for dinner. Even sending you a cute photo of herself and Boo with the caption, “We can’t wait for you to come home!”

As soon as you opened the door you were hit by the different smells of the dishes Momo had made, your mood lifting slightly as the sound of paws and feet came at you as your girlfriend wrapped you in a hug and Boo circled around your feet

The Japanese girl leading you to the dining table that was scattered with all your favorite foods. A smile broke out onto your face as you felt your heart swell, bringing her in for a kiss as you hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Momoring.”

Sana (Penny for your thoughts -> What’s on your mind?)

From the way the door slammed when you came into the house, Sana could tell you were not exactly happy

Her frown deepened as you went straight for the fridge to grab a beer. It was worse than she thought, as she watched you fall back into the couch. A heavy sigh leaving your lips as you just sat there

Sana made her way next to you slowly as she noticed the way your eyebrows knitted together, “Penny for your thoughts?” You nodded, leaning into your girlfriend’s touch as she ran her fingers through your hair as you talked about your day

“Wow, I do feel better. Thanks Satang.” You whispered as you buried your face into the top of your girlfriend’s hair as she snuggled into you

“Anytime, Y/N-ah.” She whispered back, placing a kiss to the top of your hand that was intertwined with hers

Jihyo

Jihyo could sense the second you walked through the door your day had not gone well, if the fact you were missing a shoe and soaking wet didn’t give any hints

You took one look at your girlfriend before sliding down to a sitting position at the front door, hitting the back of your head as you groaned, “Never tell me, ‘You should try jogging, it’s fun!’ ever again.”

The brunette bit back a smile as she came to kneel in front of you, brushing away the hair from your eyes, “Y/N, what happened?”

You looked Jihyo in the eyes as you explained how a branch had almost fallen on you, which caused you to dive into a person’s front yard, when their sprinklers turned on and their dog came out and started chasing you, then just you thought you weren’t gonna get away you threw your shoe to distract it

Jihyo concealed her laughter with a cough as she wrapped you in a hug, “My poor baby. How could I ever make it up to you?” The teasing glint in her eyes wasn’t lost to you as you smirk. “Well, I can think of a few.”

Mina

Mina had noticed the far look in your eyes when you got home, but decided against prying when you offered to play a game with her on the new Switch you had gotten her for Christmas. An offer you rarely made which caused her to take it when she had it

Your girlfriend didn’t find it difficult to beat you, but after about the fifth time you loss Mina could see it was starting to become more personal than she thought

“Let’s take a break.” She offered, pausing the game so you would look at her. “No, it’s fine.” You insisted but Mina refused. “Something’s wrong Y/N. What happened today?”

You sighed as you revealed that the project you had been working on had fallen through and your months of hard work had pretty much gone down the drain. You sniffed hard, holding back your tears as Mina pulled you into a hug, “Oh, Y/N. You should have told me sooner, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, “It’s not your fault, my boss is just stupid.” Mina cupped your cheek, “The stupidest.” The Japanese girl’s words made a smile break out onto your face as you pressed a kiss to her lips.

Dahyun

Dahyun had noticed the somber look in your eyes when you had picked her up from work. Your smile replaced by a persistent frown as you pulled into the driveway

Before you could go any farther into the house Dahyun caught your wrist in her hand, “Tell me what’s wrong Y/N.” You were about to open your mouth to protest when Dahyun held a hand up, “Save it. Just come with me.”

You shrugged as you allowed your girlfriend to drag you into the living room. Before she sat you and herself down at the piano, not saying a word as she let her hands glide up and down the keys

Your eyes closed as you let the music move you, feeling your body lighten as your girlfriend concluded her concerto. “That was amazing Dahyun-ah.” A light blush colored her cheeks as she smiled, “Thanks Jagiya. My mom used to play it to me when I wasn’t feeling too good either.”

You let her words sink in as you pressed a kiss to her cheek, “You’re too good for me.” Dahyun shook her head, as she rested her head on your shoulder, “No, you just need to realize you’re worth a lot more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Chaeyoung (TW: Meantions of pet death, P/N -> Pet’s Name)

Your red eyes weren’t lost on Chaeyoung as you did your best to wipe away any stray tears that fell. The news of your family dog’s death had really hit you hard and she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t hurt her too

She had met your prized pup many times visiting your family and knew from the first few dates she had gone on with you, that your dog meant the world to you

So deciding that she was going to put what she did best to good use she went to work. Her nose buried in her sketchbook for most of the day as you left to pay your respects

It wasn’t until later that night did she see you again, a wrapped present on the table as she stayed latched to your side, “I’m so sorry about today Y/N, I know how much you loved P/N. And I made something for you.” She handed you the wrapped present, “Open it.”

You bit your lip as you pulled back the wrapping paper, gasping as you turned over the picture frame. It was a drawing of you and your dog in Chaeyoung’s style with the caption, ‘In our hearts forever.’ The sound of your tears hit the glass of the frame as you tackled your girlfriend in a hug, “I can’t thank you enough.” Chae smiled as she held you tight, “No need baby.”

Tzuyu

Tzuyu knew as soon as she had stepped into the apartment something was off. And her suspicions were only confirmed when she noticed your papers had been thrown in the trash

Following the sound of sobs to your office, pushing open the door to find you curled in on yourself in your desk chair. She quickly rushed to your side as she cupped your face, using her thumbs to brush away your tears, “Hey, Y/N. It’s okay, it’s me. I’m here. What happened?”

You sniffed hard, “I got passed up, I broke my back for the bastard and they passed up my promotion.” Tzuyu frowned, she knew how hard you had been working these past few weeks, “Oh, Y/N. God, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

You couldn’t respond as your body continued to tremble so your girlfriend opted to just hold you. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear till your breathing finally evened out. Your eyes puffy from crying as you leaned into Tzuyu’s hold

“Thank you Tzu.” Your girlfriend smiled as she placed a kiss to your forehead, “No need. I’m sure if you ever want it, we’re always looking for new managers.”

[mcu-fan-fics-blog]

The Artist and Her Deadly Muse

One Shot Mini Series: Natasha Romanoff x  Fisk Reader. 

Word Count: 3000 approx 

A/n: I have WIP for Wanda and reader its taking more time than I thought, but for now this. I kind of got little carried away with this I hope you guys like it. There will be a second part. See you soon! 

Part 2

New York, your home… Your safe haven. You're sitting on the subway when you see her. You’ve always liked New York for this very reason there are people everywhere. Your hands are fidgeting, anxious to begin their work. There is just something about her the way she handles herself, how her head is steady on her shoulders, no apparent worry crossing her mind. Your hand begins to move on the paper making her rough outline. Your eyes shift between her and your book for a couple of stops. 

Stepping out of the subway and taking that first breath of fresh air… It was just like the first time. There was something about walking through masses of people every day, knowing that you will pass them again and again, and they won't even notice. However, you do notice and you pride yourself in that. Three years living in this marvelous city and it has not ceased to amaze you. You have New York down to a “T”. That's not to say that it was all good, you were detail oriented almost to a pathological degree. Which is why you noticed her and her marvelous red hair. Also the small fact that she was definitely following you. 

You weave through crowds, take unexpected turns, yet still you see her keeping her distance. It was almost funny how she's not noticed that you were leading her on a wild goose chase. You duck into your favorite sandwich shop, and take a seat. You can't help, but feel a little disappointed at the fact that she didn't bother to follow you in. You take your time, catching your breath. When you feel safe you decide to walk out the back door. Suddenly you’re being pinned against a wall, by a very familiar redhead. 

“I usually don't do this before the third date.” You quip a smirk on your face. “Although looking at you now, I might make an exception.” She doesn't seem to like your compliments as she snatched your satchel. “Who do you work for?” she asked impatiently, pressing you harder against the wall. “I’d have to ask you the same question, because I swear if my father sent you…” The confusion written on her face makes you stop your rant. “And you don’t work for my… father” You emphasize the last part. Regretting having opened your mouth.  

You clear your throat and shift your view to her hold on your arms raising your brow. She lets go a little embarrassed. “So… What's up with the staring?” She asks confused. “Well, It's simple really. You stick out like a sore thumb.” You say chuckling at the slightly offended look she flashes you with. You take your satchel back and look through it to make sure everything is good. “Care to explain?” she asked with an amused look in her eyes. You narrow your eyes and she continues. “Your sore thumb statement… What's your evidence.” You shift off the wall, and clean yourself off. “Well, to your credit most people don't pay attention… but I’m not most people.” 

You take your sketchbook out of your satchel and flip to her page showing it to her. “I’ve never seen you around… If I had I’d remember.” You say walking away, and her smile makes your stomach flip. Natasha made her way back to the compound where the team was waiting for her. “What took you so long?” Asked Tony as soon as he saw her walk through the elevator doors. “I took the Subway” Is all she says too preoccupied to notice Tony grimace and the sheer look of disgust in his face. She hears him mutter something about disinfecting everything she touches… She's not completely listening, still thinking about you.  

“Now where have you gone off to Romanoff.” Tony asks teasingly as he waves his hand in her face, which she promptly swats away. “I met an interesting character on the Subway.” She states, still faraway. Tony hums. “I’m sure you did, you’ll always find some interesting characters on the subways.” She shakes her head and agrees. It had been mere hours after meeting you and she could tell she was hooked. The next day she went to the same subway in hopes of finding you but no such luck. She didn't give up though she showed up every day for weeks... She was on the verge of giving up when she saw you. Getting off an armored black car your head bowed as you made your way to an apartment building nearby. For someone you had clocked her… you were incredibly off your game.  You didn't even turn when she walked into the building after you.

“Let me guess you’re about to ask me to paint you like one of my French girls.” You say not bothering to look back a smirk on your face as you turn to face that redhead. You chuckle at her baffled face as you turn around. “Will you paint me like one of your French girls?” She asks, it’s her turn to bask in your reaction. Your laugh fills the room making her laugh with you. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this… I don't even know your name” You point out making her clear her throat just as she's about to say her name you interrupt her. “Let me guess… Patricia?”  She shakes her head in denial stifling a laugh. “Natalie Rushman” You nod. “Yeah that was going to be my next guess.” You play it off making her laugh. “My name is Y/n Fisk it's nice to officially meet you Natalie.” You say as you give her your hand to shake. “Would you like to come upstairs.” You ask politely and she hesitates, but ultimately gives in. You make your way up to your apartment which is a complete understatement. “Well you seem awfully humble for this place.” She states. 

“And for that matter it’s twice now that you’ve clocked me how?” You sigh putting your keys down on the table. “Yes, well my father always had a way of showing me he cared.” She nods intrigued. “My turn… Why were you looking for me?” You were direct and firm, yet not confrontational. “Well you made an impression Y/n.” You hum pouring her and yourself a glass of wine. You take the first sip and she follows shortly after. “I wanted to see how that sketch turned out Y/n… you know because you used my likeness and all. Want to make sure it doesn't end up in the wrong hands.” She says smirking, but there's a seriousness in her voice. And you nod. “Well you'd be relieved to know that the artist is out of commission till further notice.” 

This takes Natalie by surprise, you see it in her eyes she wants to ask why but can't bring herself to actually do it so you tell her. “Another gift from my father… the family company. That is currently on the brink of financial devastation.” You say as you finish off the rest of your wine in one gulp, pouring yourself another glass you offer Natalie one as well. “So no more art and sitting on the subway for hours on end.” You chuckle humorlessly. “When you put it like that…” You try to make light of the situation, but fail. “No more art… No more sitting on the subway for hours on end… No more doing what I love.” Your thoughts racing, almost forgetting you're in a room with an otherwise complete stranger. You clear your throat stopping your train of thought and continue. “This is actually my last night here, I'm moving.” You lift your gaze to meet hers and it’s consuming. The way that her eyes are looking at yours, how she can see right through you. She starts moving closer to you and you let out a deep breath. 

When you don't step away or break eye contact she continues making her way towards you. Her hands move to your face, and she slowly closes in interlocking your lips. You deepen the kiss holding on to her hips and moving her closer to you. Your hands brush the hem of her shirt. She bites your bottom lip asking for entrance and you grant it. A fight for dominance ensues, you almost give in but she beat you to it letting you take control. Your night goes by in her arms exploring her skin, etching every detail in your mind, remembering every spot that makes her knees go weak. When you wake up your bed is empty, and you want to be disappointed but you can't. You can't drag someone into the shit show that is your family. So true to your word you were gone by lunchtime. 

It had been months and it just kept getting worse. You found out why the financial situation had become so dire. Your father all but drained the company of all its funds… You always knew that your father was a questionable man but this was low even for him. Disparaging your mothers name your name. You learned not to be offended though he trusted you enough to get out of this mess. Your mother brought out the best in him, but in the end the worst ended up prevailing. You worked, and worked threw yourself into the obligation that was tossed your way. “Miss Fisk you have Forbes on the line and Pepper Potts on another.” You nod. It had been a year and a half and you thrived. You haven't heard from your father in all that time. You had Manhattan wrapped around your finger, and everyone knew it, like your father you were ruthless to those you betrayed you, Once someone was burned by you no one dared talk about them, much less in your precedence.  

You look and wonder where that bright eyed hopeful person you were went. Then you remember all the people you put your trust in and all the people that tried to kick you when you were down. Forbes was something that represented the end of you, whatever was left of that person you were not too long ago. “Y/n Fisk, to what do I owe the pleasure Ms. Potts?” You were surprised when she called. You thought Stark Industries would want to stay away from a name like yours. “No, need for the formalities Y/n. I’m exploring a business venture that might help us both out.” She goes on to explain her plan and you say you’d think about it, in turn she invites you to a Stark Function this weekend… “Well Pepper I look forward to meeting you and discussing this business venture further.” You put the phone down into the receiver and can't help the small smile that grows on your face. As much as you hated the obligation you couldn't deny the pride that you felt, or how you felt thinking of how proud your mother would be… It almost makes it all worth it.   

It's another one of Tony's parties that she is forced to go to, Natasha Is at the bar serving drinks when she sees you. Or someone who held an uncanny resemblance, something was different, your posture no longer relaxed, now effortlessly poised and business like. The sparkle in your eyes was the same, but everything else was fundamentally different. She witnessed Pepper walk up to you, and how your face instantly lightened. Pepper had shared a couple of words with you and took you to speak with Tony. Natasha's eyes widen slightly as she notices Pepper making her way straight to her. “How’d I do?” She asks Natasha with a smile growing on her face. “What do you mean?” She asks confused. “Well, the new mission haven't you been briefed?” She shakes her head. “No, I just got back from one abroad. What is this mission about?” She nodded understandingly. “That's Y/n Fisk Daughter of Wilson Grant Fisk… Kingpin.”

Natasha's eyes widened, she can't believe she didn't put it together sooner. “So she’s following in her Father's footsteps?” Natasha asks carefully. Pepper continues. “Well, we’ve been keeping tabs since a year and a half ago, after Fisk Industries suddenly went into the red.” Natasha quirks her head. “Wilson syphoned all the money and took off. Y/n is ruthless when it comes to business, it's a miracle she saved the company.” Pepper stops and looks at Natasha's still confused face. “What exactly is she doing here though.” Pepper takes a moment before she answers. “We’re recruiting her… using her to get to her Father.”  Natasha can't help, but shake her head. “How do you know she’s willing to work against her father… They are family at the end of the day. Blood is thicker than water.”  She says as she sees You and Tony walk off into a more secluded part of the compound.

After an hour maybe more she spots you again. This time the light is completely gone in your eyes. It was truly an off putting sight, no apparent emotion ran through your expressions. Your movements were cold, and calculated an opportune smile on your face when someone walked up to you. The desire to get out of there was apparent. She took her eyes off you all of two minutes, and by then you'd made it to the elevator door standing next to a rather old man, whose talking business. She watches you as you wave the older man away with a smile plastered on your face, handing him your card, and just like that you’re gone.

The drive back to Manhattan was a quiet one, full of reflection and contemplation. By the time you make it back to your Penthouse you’re ready to just go to bed. As soon as you walked in you knew something was off. “You need to stay away from Stark Industries Y/n '' It didn't even phase you, your back still turned on him you made yourself a drink and drank it. Finally turning you meet your fathers gaze. “Father, I would say it's good to see you, but that would be a lie. You know how mom felt about lying.” You were testing him and he knew it. “What do you want?” You reiterate and make your annoyance known. “You need to stay away from Stark Industries Y/n, It's for your own good.” You sigh rubbing your temples. “Why would I back down from the business deal of my life? What do you know?” He’s quiet, his eyes boring holes into yours, testing your resilience. “You left me with the mess that was My mothers company in shambles… you don't get a voice in what I do with the company.” 

“You’re not going to like what's going to happen if you don't back down Y/n. The board…” You laugh at his attempt at a threat. “Well, haven't you heard… Those usurpers paid for their wrongs. They tried to take your precious company from me.” You chuckle at his obliviousness. “I have the power here… So I suggest you start talking.” 

(4 Hours Ago)   

“Y/n, I see no need to continue this charade. I Don't think you’re a bad person.” This is where Tony starts off which sets the tone foe the rest of the conversation. “Well, I’ve been around long enough to know when someone wants something from me. So what does Tony Stark need from me?” You say as your eyes close in on him. “It’s not really what I need. It's more of a ‘are you willing to’ corporate.” He then proceeds to show you this presentation very well made if you might add. Of things you already knew about your father, but your question was, How did he know? “Right… So you want me as bait?” You say finally leaving with him. “Well, in a way yes. You won't be in immediate danger, your father won't hurt you.” You chuckle. “You underestimate him.” You say. “He left me to clean up after his mess. Hasn’t checked in once, since then. Why would he now?” 

“Lets just say word has spread about our little business venture.” He states. “So this... you are informing me that  I’m bait.”  He nods. “Great glad you caught on… see we couldn't take the risk…” you finish his statement. “Of me saying no.” You nod. “What do you need me to do exactly.”  Tony then goes on a tangent on what you will need to do takes too long for you liking but you sit through it anyways. “So you want me to push his buttons and get him to talk.” He agrees giving more specifics and more details. “Right, well call me when you need me” You say as you stand up and walk away.

 (Current Time) 

“And you did all of this, Why?” You don't even give him the chance to explain himself. “I was never under any pretense that you were a good man, but this… this is vile.”  You could tell your words hurt him. The same words your mother had once uttered before she passed. “Y/n I-i tried to keep you away from all of this.” He tries to defend himself. “Of course by throwing me right in the middle of all of it.” Push buttons you did. “I was once proud to be a Fisk, a name that commanded respect, now I am disgusted and ashamed of this name.” At this point he just kept blaring on about how he tried to fix things, how he just dug himself deeper. Final jab, at this point it wasn't necessary this one was for you. “I hate you for making me hate mom… every time you would promise her an out of this… she believed you, and I hate her for that.” you take a breath and look him dead in the eye. “Because you never deserved her love.”

Before you could even process the hurt on his face, agents stayed bursting through every entrance. Window, doors, balcony, any entrance you could possibly think about blocked and barricaded. You step back from your father, but he’s too quick. He takes our arm and drags you in front of him, using you as a human shield. 

[takuyakistall]

selcouth | leech twins

Synopsis: An unexpected encounter with a certain pair of twins by the beach.

Tags: Leech twins/Yuu, fluff

Tagging: @myuminn

Notes: Your raffle prize! Thank you so much for joining and for letting me write your Yuu. This was enjoyable to write, I hope you like it!

The gentle, warm breeze caressed Yuu's cheeks as they sat crossed-legged on a huge rock by the shore. The occasional squawking of the seagulls, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand was enough to give them some sense of serenity. Throughout the whole day they were sitting here, they had their pen and sketchbook resting on their lap as they tried to take in the view and replicate fragments of it on their sketchbook.

It was a bit amusing to think about how accustomed they already are in this foreign world. Everything was unusual, they didn't know anything when they were suddenly thrown into this bizarre world. It was terrifying at first, anyone in their place would feel the same—or so they liked to think. Although with the help of certain friends they made along the way, they learned how to love the current reality they faced despite how wrong it may seem.

They let out a tired sigh, setting down the sketchbook and the pen and placed it beside them. They stretched out their arms, eliciting a small groan when they heard a bone make a popping noise. The sunset was beautiful today. Various shades of red and orange-tinted the whole scene—even in a different world, it was nice to know that some things never change. It was oddly comforting for them.

"Oya, Yuu-san?" A sudden voice sliced through the serene silence, making Yuu jolt up from their place and frantically looked at the owner of the voice.

"Eh~? Shrimpy is here?" Two of them. Any other student would've tensed up, sudden nervousness clawing at the pits of their stomach as they catch a glimpse of a certain pair of twins going toward their direction. Oddly enough, Yuu is part of the minority that felt nothing of the sorts, or rather, they felt more relaxed around them.

The tension faded from their shoulders as they let out a curious gasp, "Floyd-senpai? Jade-senpai?" It was a blessing in disguise—they would've never expected the twins to wind up here at the beach of all places, don't they have other things to attend to? Of course, the first thing to ask them was—!

"What are you doing here?" It was a question out of pure curiosity. The only reason why Yuu winded up here was because of the built-up stress over the past week, they barely got enough sleep, tossing and turning whenever they attempted to. Overworking theirself was another thing too. Despite being a student under special circumstances, they were not exempt from the expectations teachers had for the students in a prestigious school. Being magic-less was already big enough of a disadvantage, they have to work twice as hard as a normal student.

Of course, Floyd didn't even bother answering the question as he made his way from his brother's side to Yuu's side. Sitting down beside you on the giant rock with a lollipop candy inside his mouth, holding the stick as he removed it from his mouth to speak, "We should be asking you the same thing, no one usually goes out this far."

Yuu opened their mouth to respond but before they could do, Jade suddenly made his way towards them too—sitting on the opposite end of Yuu as he let out a small hum. "Floyd is correct. It's indeed usual to see someone like you stray this far from the school grounds." Jade mused.

Yuu squinted, wanting to avoid answering the question as they didn't know the answer theirself. That was a lie, of course; they knew why and how they ended up here but, would it be any fun if they just answered their question seeing as how the twins themselves didn't answer theirs? "I don't know either." They acted out, scratching their cheek lightly as if to feign cluelessness.

Floyd didn't want to let this slide, he knew better than to believe the white lies that came from their lips. Although one glance at their expression after saying that lie, so peaceful with an underlying tone of heartache reflected in their eyes, he couldn't help but change his mind. Surely, they must have a reason why they held such a painstakingly heartbreaking look in their face?

"Is that so?" It was a question that came from Jade's lips but oddly enough, he wasn't looking for an answer. "Shrimpy~, you need to be more careful next time. Who knows what might happen and you might get lost." Floyd decided to play along after all, sticking out his tongue as if to make fun of Yuu. They just chuckled in response, a hand going to their neck.

"My, don't tease Yuu-san that much. I'm sure they have a decent sense of direction, am I right?" Even though his words were defending Yuu, the tone of his voice implied otherwise. It was situations like these that made Yuu think that the twins really were alike in some aspects. They couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.

"Don't worry, Senpai. I won't get lost that easily." They said in response to both of the twins, it was hard to tell whether or not they were kidding about that. Silence took over the atmosphere once again and yet, oddly enough, it wasn't that awkward. Perhaps it was the presence of the Leech twins? Yuu found their presence as a source of comfort.

It was weird, yes, they'll admit it. Though in their defense, feelings are hard to control—and it's harder when they're stuck in an unfamiliar yet fascinating world. It couldn't be helped, Yuu was also a growing teen like any other student in the school. Save for maybe a few exceptions like Leona or Lilia.

Floyd fumbled a bit in his seat, saying something incoherent under his breath. He looked at Yuu at the corner of his eye and he felt something tug at him with the strings of his heart. His lips formed a thin line, the almost unnoticeable hue of pink tinting his cheeks.

Jade was as calm as ever, admiring the view of the beautiful sunset along with the other two. He kept quiet, the graceful poise he always retained during normal days still present until now—it was astounding. He didn't like being uncertain at all. When he glanced at Yuu, a certain kind of uncertainty loomed over his mind as something unreadable flashes over his expression. Yet, he retained his mask—smoothing over the cracks he may have caused as he let out a quiet sigh.

Yuu let out a yawn, eyes droopy and their whole body felt heavy. "I'm sleepy…" they let out, trying their best to stay awake. Yet the urge was too strong for them to simply ignore so they found theirself resting their head against someone's shoulder. Floyd, in particular.

His body stiffened up slightly, surprised at how much Yuu lets down their guard around them—it was unusual. Although he told himself he should've expected this, they weren't exactly normal after all. Coming from another world and all of that jazz. He didn't dare move his head to glance at them and just stayed perfectly still as if to not bother them.

Jade saw that from the corner of his eye, hands twitching slightly when he saw it. "Oya, it seems like someone is sleepy." He chuckled, lifting a hand to place it on their head—giving it a soft ruffle before retracting it back to his side. A warm gaze falling into his indifferent eyes. Floyd suddenly complained, "Eh? Why is shrimpy leaning on me?" One look at him and it was enough to know that he said those words just to cover up his face which was tinted light pink.

"Now, now, Floyd. You mustn't wake them up." Jade told his brother in a hushed tone, bringing a finger up to his lips—an indicator for him to seal his lips shut or to lower his voice.

Floyd may have been grumbling about this under his breath but in truth, he personally didn't mind it. In fact, he may even go to the extent of thinking that he liked it!

"Tch, what a pain." He clicked his tongue, the annoyed tone in his voice betraying the blush that spread on his lovely, lovely cheeks. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what he felt like, multiple emotions playing out inside his head and his head—Shrimpy was confusing him too much! Though the usual response he would show was to click his tongue and move on, feigning annoyance. Or perhaps he wasn't really feigning that feeling, who knows?

Yuu stirred a little, knocking over their pen off the ledge of the rock. Thankfully, it didn't go to the water but it was a close call. Jade stood up and excused himself from the two, on his way to pick up the pen near the shore.

Alone for a brief moment.

Floyd glanced ever so slightly at the person leaning on him, dozing off without another care in the world. 'They must be tired.' He thought. Floyd didn't really think about his next actions, he usually went with the flow—it's how he kept a free and unhinged lifestyle up until now.

Slowly, he turned his head around while wrapping his arm around their shoulders—his actions were slightly filled with hesitation. Afraid that they might wake up and question what he was about to do. In the end, he went along with it anyway.

He placed a chaste kiss on their head, his surprisingly soft yet rough lips making contact with their head. The action was light enough so it wouldn't wake them up. When he pulled away, his face was redder than before. Cursing at himself underneath his breath.

"Is this it?"

"It seems so."

"Then I'll put them here."

"Make sure to be gentle-- Ah! You just dropped them like a sack. Nice going, Floyd."

"Shut it. See? They're still fast asleep. No biggie." Floyd waved his hand dismissively, already making his exit through the door, leaving Jade behind to clean up after his mess.

Jade could only let out a sigh, staring at his brother's back in disbelief before averting his gaze to Yuu on their bed. As an attempt, he tried to put them under the covers and actually succeeded. It was nice to see that despite the rough attempts, they were still fast asleep—'How cute.' He thought.

He stared at their face for a solid minute, incomprehensible thoughts running through his mind before lifting up his hand to remove the glasses from their face. Folding them and placing them on the bedside table, he wouldn't want them to break when they twist or turn now, wouldn't he?

He allowed himself another moment of weakness, a fond gaze replacing his once neutral expression. Of course, he wouldn't let anyone see him like this and the only reason why he is the way he is right now is because of the absence of his twin brother.

Gently, with enough courage mustered up, he cupped their face as his face inched closer and closer. Only centimeters away before speeding up and placing a quick kiss on their forehead. Pulling away before he gets caught, although a part of him—just a small part—wanted Yuu to stirr up awake.

He stood up, dusting his clothes a bit before walking away. Muttering a soft goodnight before closing the door shut, heading home towards his own dormitory along with Floyd.

Omake!

Yuu woke up, hair all tangled up and messy. "What happened yesterday…?" Memories were a blur and they couldn't really recall anything else after meeting the twins by the shore. It feels like they just woke up from a very very long, fleeting dream.

[artxyra]

I got another request! So, Jason is Red Hood at the time when he sees Marinette clutching a backpack (it has the miraculous box inside and some essentials and clothing) as she was falling from a portal (even tho a cloud was covering it so it looked like she was falling from the sky) into a river. He jumps in, saves her, and says something like "Holy sh*t I just saved an angel" He stays hidden for 2 weeks helping her until the fam meet her. [Anything you want from here but end goal is daminette]

It was close to midnight when the Red Hood notice that something was up. Little did he knew was that his next encounter with someone would have changed his entire life. He looked up to the cloudy night sky that always plagues Gotham, nothing felt out of the place. Well, the moment lasted into his begins to see a silhouette of someone falling from the sky. The person was coming down fast, real fast.

Rushing to what he presumed to be the persons landing grounds, he failed to realize that the person wasn’t going to reach the cold hard concrete ground but the river not far from him. As the person was falling quickly than anticipated, he ditched his jacket and ran towards the river.

Splash. Splash.

He breaks for air pulling the formerly falling person with him to shore. Back on dry land, the Red Hood was finally able to get a good look at the person he saved.

“Holy shit, did I just save an Angel?” He whispers to himself brushing back strands of dark hair that clings to the girl’s face.

Looking around for any signs of help coming, he picks the girl up into his arms and disappears into the night, not caring that it was his night to patrol.

Marinette woke up the next day with a massive headache. Quickly leaning upward, she calls out for Tikki as she searches through the blankets looking for her backpack. It hasn’t registered to Marinette that wasn’t at home nor was she in Paris anymore.

Tikki flies up to Marinette, giving the panic guardian a sense of reassurance.

“Where am I? Kaalki?” Marinette finally takes in her bearings as she touches face noticing the lack of glasses that is the horse miraculous.

“Kaalki’s fine, Marinette. Your entry coming here was rather shaky.” Tikki states keeping close to Marinette as the realization hits her. Turning to the side table, Marinette sees the horse miraculous and puts.

“Kaalki, where did that portal send us?” Kaalki finally appears but she scoffs and looks around the room.

“The portal sent us to a place called Gotham. In the Americas, apparently.” Kaalki answers before flying off to who knows where.

“Gotham, like in the Batman comics?” Marinette says before groaning resting her hand over her forehead and lay back down. All she could do is think, how was this possible.

“Hey Angel from the sky, you alright in there?” A voice startles her out of the bed. She stares at the tall muscular man in front of her. He has a turf of white in his dark hair, blue eyes, and wearing the worst kind of leather jacket she has ever seen in her life.

Racking through her brain, she tries to find the words to say in English, “Uh… and you are?”

“I should be asking you the same, but the names Jason, and you look like someone who has been trucked over, twice,” Jason says cautiously take a few steps forward.

Marinette’s shoulders relax. “I’m Marinette.”

Marinette walks over to Jason, shaking his hand, thus creating one of the most cherished siblings’ bonds ever created in the city of Gotham.

Over the course of a week, Jason quickly learned that Marinette’s English wasn’t that great (she knew basic English, but then again who doesn’t know anything past basic English), he also learned that Marinette was only sixteen almost seventeen, just a year younger than this youngest brother. Marinette had learned that Jason lives by himself in this rundown apartment complex, though he does spend a handful of times over at his adoptive family’s house. She also learned he really enjoys guns and rock music, so of course they bond over Jagged Stone’s latest new album.

At the beginning of her second week in Gotham, Marinette was growing anxious and a little stir crazy. After Jason had left to go to work, she decided that it would do her and the kwamis well to leave the apartment and explore. She doesn’t know why, but she found herself drawn to the park.

Pulling out the remains of one her sketchbook, she finds a dainty little bench underneath a tree far away from people. Looking around, inspiration hits her, so she begins sketching out an outline.

Marinette doesn’t know how long it has passed until a ball dropped in front of her. She sets the sketchbook aside and is immediately greeted by black Great Dane wagging his tail. Marinette giggles before bending down to search for a name tag.

“Titus?” Marinette mutters before scratching Titus’ head and neck.

Titus nudges the ball towards her getting the message to Marinette. She managed to play ball with her new furry friend until a concerned voice calls out the dog’s name. The person she assumes is Titus’ owner walks in fury towards her direction.

“Hi, he came over to me…” The owner cuts her off turning his attention to the dog who wags his tail in the owner’s face before walking over to Marinette. Marinette tries and fails to conceal her laughter.

The owner sighs and turns his attention to Marinette, “Damian.”

“Damian,” Marinette test the name, “Well you have a very nice dog. Actually, I’m very thankful for him pulling me out of my zone.” She holds out her hand. Damian shakes it after a moment of eyeing her down.

“Titus does have a tendency to do that.” She’s beginning to wonder if Damian was a person against small talk or better yet talking about himself.

Marinette bends down to say goodbye but not before wishing to see him and Damian again in the future.

Damian turns to Titus who does the same, and Damian could have sworn that he says a smirk on that dog’s face.

After their first encounter, Damian and Marinette continuously met at the park. Their second encounter was by pure accident. Marinette had wanted ice cream the following day and decided to enjoy her soft serve back on that dainty bench. Titus wanted to get out again, so Damian took him back to the park around the same time. After that, they decided to meet at the park every day around the same time.

As another week past by, Marinette finally began to wonder what was going on in Paris. She doubts that any besides her parents would care that she was missing, but she can’t help but wonder whether that person (or group) that was after her left Paris alone.

As Marinette grow closer to Damian, she did the same with Jason. He even took her to the shooting ring for practice one night and was blown away by her aim. Jason now swears that if Bruce doesn’t adopt his newly claimed sister then he would find a way to do it legally.

After having Marinette to his lonesome for two weeks, Jason decided that it might be best to introduce her to the family against every bone in his body. He knows that Marinette is hiding something, but it also seemed like she didn’t know what she was hiding also.

“Hey Pixie-Pop, you would you mind coming with to B’s house?” He asks on that faithful Sunday morning, which is odd considering Sundays were the days he typically leaves Marinette to herself.

“Sure,” She pauses for a moment, “Are you sure that they wouldn’t mind? I hate to be—” She rambles on getting a chuckle out of the older male.

“Nah, Pixie-Pop, they wouldn’t mind.” He tells her easing her growing anxiety.

Marinette smiles up at him before rushing into the guestroom that slowly became her room.

On the back of Jason’s bike reminded her of her Nona. In fact, every time she rides with him it’s a constant reminder of her Nona, the rush of wind blowing through her hair. The feeling of someone close to you knowing that you’re most likely being protected. Marinette had dreamed of getting a bike of her own when she older and in case she can never return to Paris perhaps Jason would be willing to teach her.

“Jay-Jay this a house, it’s a mansion.” Were the first few words upon entering the Wayne Manor grounds. Jason laughs it off by rubbing her head and motioning for her to follow him.

“Sup nimrods, I’m back and I brought a guest. Treat her right and there will be no bullets shooting tonight.” He calls out to the group of people settled into the room.

Marinette squirms underneath all the glances she was receiving but upon seeing the familiar sight of green eyes and a certain Great Dane, she slowly became at ease.

“Hey Damian, I didn’t know you lived here.” Well, ring the alarms because immediately she is greeted by screams of all kinds some projected to the green-eyed teen while one was projected to her.

Ignoring the commotion that is aimed at him, Damian curtly nods to Marinette as Titus rushes over to her. “Hi, Angel.” Cue another round of commotion.

So, dinner was a complete mess, well not like food is thrown everywhere kind of a mess but it was an emotional disaster. Tim was knocked over the table, the like of caffeine and sleep finally getting to him. Dick and was having a heated conversation with Jason about Marinette, all while Bruce sat there in silence. Secretly he was hoping for the chance of grandchildren in the future if this girl can make it through with his family.

Once Damian had finished his food and notice how uncomfortable Marinette is, they managed to disappear down the halls to who knows where. Alfred walks in shaking his head all while cleaning up the dishes.

Marinette ended up moving into Wayne Manor just days after the dinner at the request of Jason who ended up tag-teaming with Bruce. It didn’t take her long to figure their secret identities and it wasn’t long after that when they question her as to why she was declared missing and presumed dead in Paris. Let just say that was another heated conversation because it unleashed a whole lot of emotions.

Damian finally worked up the courage to ask the bluenette out after her staying with them for over a month. Both of them were too afraid of ruining the friendship they created. Not long after they started dating, Marinette learned that the people who were after her in Paris were a part of some cult under the name League of Assassins. This is then prompted Damian to talk about his past and Marinette telling the family that she had known their identities for quite some time. It didn’t them long to meet the kwamis and adding Ladybug to their personal alliance.

Marinette only went back to Paris after some convincing from the Batfamily to at least give her parents some sort of closure that their daughter is safe. She took Kaalki to make the trip easy. Her parents were, of course, mad at her for not contacting them sooner, but after she explained everything it was Sabine that had some choice words to say to some “old co-workers” of hers from her early teen and adult years. As much as they didn’t want Marinette to leave, her parents knew their daughter was happier in Gotham than she ever was after the whole Hawkmoth ordeal and even both that. Her missing person case was closed, and Marinette went back to Gotham with the promise to come to see them again in the summer.

Damian and Marinette finally shared their first kiss with each other after a couple of months of dating. It was Titus that pushed them to do at the park underneath the bench where they meet.

Permanent Tag List: @vixen-uchiha | @i-is-mysterious | @kuroko26 | @maribat-is-lifeblood | @marinettepotterandplagg | @loveswifi | @ladybug-182

Unspecific Tag List: @g-arya | @jardimazul | @jeminiikrystal | @zalladane | @bluerosette23  | @dast218 

[raayllum]

I've always found it interesting how both Callum and Rayla are highly emotional people, but with her she's been raised to hide emotions but she's bad at at it, while he's been raised to be more open but is better at hiding emotions. And how that may contradict what one might expect, except for the fact that Rayla hiding her emotions seems to be out of fear or shame, whereas Callum does it out of love (to protect Ezran, for example). That's how I see it anyway, but I may well be missing the point

Nah, you’re dead on. When Rayla first corners him, he flounders, she speaks, and then he has her looking at tapestries and coming up with an escape plan for what he knows he can do (which at that point isn’t much, but he is thinking things through at least a couple steps head). Like when it matters and comes down to the wire, Callum is an amazing, calm and collected liar.

The only reason his lie doesn’t work is because Ezran interrupts and confirms otherwise. Callum doesn’t falter and Rayla doesn’t question why he’s being so forthcoming considering the circumstances in the first place. 

When Rayla is openly emotional, it’s usually 1) not by choice and 2) a bit of a mess. She cries and get desperate and starts breaking down to various degrees in situations where she’s upset (not angry).

When she doesn’t follow this pattern, it’s usually because someone has prompted her to open up and she’s decided to listen. This happens in 1x05 with Callum and the boys after a lot of prodding, 1x08 with Ezran, 1x09 with Callum very briefly, 2x06 with Villads, 2x07 with Callum, and 3x08 with Callum.

She is comparatively a horrible liar with obvious clues written all over. Just look at the way she awkwardly covers her tracks with Runaan and he sees through her stalling, the way Callum can know that she’s hiding something despite hardly knowing her at all, Claudia knowing that “the elf is onto” them about Harrow, the human Rayla impression she tries to pull off even when it’s comparatively serious. The way she’ll say this even when it is blatantly not true and nobody would be in her sitution. 

There are only two times in the entire show that Rayla opens up with zero prompting from anyone, and both are to Callum: in 1x02 when she’s apologizing for having to take his life (“I don’t want to do this but I have to”) and in the beginning of 3x03. Meanwhile Callum opens up to people with zero prompting all the time (1x04 with Rayla, 1x06 with Ezran, 1x07 with Ezran, 2x04 with Rayla, 2x07 with Rayla, 3x06 with Rayla). Like, entire speeches and conversations, with no prelude. Or hell, sometimes he goes from talking about one topic to another with nothing in between.

Great segue, bby.

And it shows in their relationship in the pining stage, too. Rayla gets very flustered almost twice as often, but it’s not like his feelings are less obvious. They’re just expressed, ironically enough, more privately than hers are, ie. Callum drawing in his sketchbook and not making the first move. Which is also how Callum conducted things with Claudia without too many exceptions. He only really does anything remotely indicating romantic interest with either of them when they’re alone, she initiates, or other people aren’t paying attention.

Meanwhile, this is how Callum processes his emotions.

The main emotion he doesn’t process well is anger, which is more explosive, and is what Rayla uses to try and hide her emotions behind; meanwhile when Callum is angry, he’s usually genuinely angry or frustrated. It can be mixed with other emotions (worry, grief, etc.) but he’s not hiding behind it. 

The way I see it, because Callum knows how to healthily process his emotions, there’s no real self loathing when it comes to experiencing negative ones. But Rayla hasn’t had that same form of processing, so when negative ones do happen, she has less grounds of dealing with them at all. 

Ezran is actually this very interesting combination of both of them in some ways, because he’s simultaneously very open and heartfelt in his support of others more so than his own feelings (ie. “I’m not scared, Bait was scared” in 1x01 VS “It’s okay to be afraid of things” to Rayla in 1x05), can be quite fierce when he’s angry, and doesn’t always open up either (although he mostly does), a mixture of personality and maturity, I think. 

I feel like I’ve rambled enough that I’m just on the verge of not making sense anymore, but yeah: Rayla can’t really hide her emotions to save her life, and although it’s much more rare, when Callum does decide to hide his emotions, he’s way better at doing so successfully.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Chapter 6: A Room with a View

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 3,359

Warnings: Swearing, slut shaming, death mention, crying

Author’s Note: So, I already answered this, but just in case anyone missed it: I update this series weekly and I am still editing the vast majority of chapters! Sorry if it’s coming out slower than expected!

Tags: @divinity-deos @wolfish-willow​ @scoopsohboi​ @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @the-creative-lie​ @yall-wildin-like-siriusly​ @ggclarissa​ @voidnarnia​ @anonymousonion23 

Steve had no idea what he’d done wrong. Not a clue. But you were ignoring him. You sat farther away from him in English the past two days, and you’d been blowing off plans with him. You’d say that you had other plans, but he’d see you sat on the bleachers after school, watching the girls soccer practise or drawing in that book again. He still didn’t know what you were doing in that book and he was irritated by the fact that he could see you sat in your room some days, caught in a lie without knowing it, your nose caught in the pages in front of you, pencil in between your teeth, focused but unaware of an audience. Steve could see right into your room from his when your curtains were open and you often sat at your desk, working in your pads.

On the day that Mr. Lawrence announced the start for the final essay, Steve had had enough. It had been a week of this behaviour and he felt as though he deserved an answer. And he was sick of watching through the window. Tommy and Carol were busy every damn day chasing Billy Hargrove, Vicki had gone back after him too after their awful date, and Tina wasn’t his friend. Sure, he could bug Dustin, but that made him feel like such a loser. His only friends were a rag tag group of preteens and a weird girl who wouldn’t even talk to him! This was getting pathetic.

The bell rang before Steve could make his move and you were out the door before he could even open his mouth. Tina rolled her eyes as she passed him by, grabbing Tina’s arm to whisper loudly “God, how tragic.” making Vicki cackle loudly.

Steve booked it out the door, scanning the halls for you, but you’d already disappeared from sight. He spotted Samantha, but she was on the retreat. He chose not to chase her down, they’d never even had a conversation before and using her to try to get her to spill on her friend felt a bit shitty. So he decided to just take a walk, no harm in a walk, it was a nice day anyway, out by the field. He wandered out the gym doors by the car park. He shoved his hands into his blue workman’s jacket. The weather was still a bit too chilly to go without a coat, but the sunshine made it easier.

He spotted you and Samantha at the top of the bleachers. You had your hair up that day and your lavender bomber jacket draped around your shoulders. Carol had something similar, or maybe it was Tina, he couldn’t remember which one the pair blurred into one being in his mind.

Samantha caught Steve’s eye before you did. She leaned over to you with a smirk “Lover boy’s watching.” She whispered cheekily, pointing slyly at him.

You turned immediately. Steve was standing in the car park, a few smattering of folks on car hoods, eating packed lunches and watching the scene go down. He waved, taking a step towards you. You turned your attention away.

Samantha was baffled. A week ago, you were telling her all about the weird fun you were having with him, all smiles and laughter, and now you wouldn’t even look at him for more than a second. You wouldn’t admit it, but Samantha knew that he was something more than a friend to you. Nobody was this upset when someone cancelled plans.

Steve turned away without a word. He wanted to scream at you, his mind demanding to know what he had done wrong. He made a plan that afternoon, one he was certain might ruin everything for him.  

As soon as the three o’clock bell rang, Steve made a mad dash for his car. He didn’t leave immediately; instead he waited to see an expected sight. Once he saw you huddled and headed for the bleachers, he was sure that the girl’s team was practising. Then he drove off towards home, parking in his own driveway. His mother was home, a shock to him, but he still headed upstairs. The next part was tricky. He’d time out that practise ended at four thirty, but that you usually left at four since the walk was so long. At four twenty, he headed across the street. As always, the yellow Volkswagen sat in the driveway. He’d rarely ever seen it leave the driveway, but it gave him hope that someone was inside the house. You couldn’t be living alone as a senior. He bounded up the front steps, knocking on the door twice. He was nervous, switching his weight from his toes to his heels in a rocking motion forward and back, forward and back.

An older man opened the door. He had to be in his eighties, with age spots speckling him around his eyes like a second pair of wide frames behind his tortoise shell glasses.  He seemed suspicious of Steve, although that was probably because he was staring.

“Hello,” he stuck out his hand for the man to shake “I’m Steve Harrington, I’m a friend of Y/N.” the man didn’t take his hand, staying silent as he looked him over.

Steve pressed on “I was wondering if she was home, we were supposed to study together today and she said that she’d call when she got home but I haven’t heard from her.” He chuckled awkwardly.

From behind the old man, a woman’s voice called “Harold, who’s there?”

“One of Y/N’s friends, she home yet?” he called back, opening the door wider. Steve could see the pale yellow walls, sun stained from the large three panel window at the front of their house.

Steve watched as an older woman hobbled into the scene, back hunched and skin thin. She looked frail, her hair dyed to what Steve assumed was its original shade, her grey roots visible from the top of her head. She greeted Steve with a warm smile. Steve was quick to offer his hand to shake, which she took carefully. “Hi, Steve Harrington, it’s nice to meet you both.” He said quickly, smiling brightly at the pair.

“Well hello there, I’m Maude and this is Y/N’s grandfather Harold, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said sweetly. “Why don’t you come inside, Y/N should be home any minute.”

Maude hit Harold’s arm roughly and he let go of the door, letting Steve into the house. He quickly kicked off his shoes, noting the pair’s socked feet. He looked around the house. Every house on the street was one of three standard box deals, with specified details. His parents hadn’t paid for the window seat like your family had, but you didn’t have the open kitchen that his did; an extra yellow wall separated the space. He looked to the fireplace, an exact copy of his family’s before their renovation last august. He missed the grey brick they used to have. You had a large family portrait on the mantle. You were sat in the centre in your Sunday best, your grandparents flanking the outside, two other adults stood closest to you. Steve assumed they were your parents. You looked like your father.

“You have a lovely home,” he said, turning his attention to the pair who were watching him intently.

“Thank you.” Maude smiled “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” Steve wasn’t much for tea, but he was taught not to refuse something offered by his host. Maude hurried off, leaving him and grumpy old Harold alone.

“Y/N doesn’t bring boys around.” Harold announced when his wife was out of the room. Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, luckily he continued “So what’re you trying to do with my girl?”

“Study,” Steve said with a shrug. The man scoffed, but Steve pressed on. “She’s my partner for our English final, we’re supposed to be working on it today, it’s due soon.”

Harold nodded gruffly “Alright…” he took a seat on the couch, turning the volume back on. The Love Boat was on, a rerun of the episode with guest stars the Captain and Tennille, and Steve was certain that they’d both seen it before.

Maude came in with a tray, handing her husband a mug. It was hand painted, thick script reading ‘Happy Father’s Day’ on the front, the year 1974 written in smaller script underneath in blue paint. She handed him a plain white mug.

“Well, Steve, you’re free to go and wait for Y/N upstairs, her room is two doors to the right of the stairs, you can’t miss it.” She said, gesturing to the stairwell. Steve bid his thanks and headed up the wide carpeted stairwell.

Harold mumbled something to his wife that Steve couldn’t hear, only catching her response. “He’s young, he doesn’t want to sit with us old folks.” She laughed at her own joke and Steve smiled at their friendly banter. They reminded him of his aunt and uncle, they always joked in that sort of way, laughing at themselves before anyone else. It made him feel as if he were at home in the house; he was comforted by the casualness of existence.

Maude was right that the room was impossible to miss. The door was covered in childlike butterflies painted in purple puffy paint. When he opened the bedroom door, he was transported into a small, private art gallery. The room was covered wall to wall in fabric canvases, canvas boards, and paper sketches. Your desk was covered in paint splotches and doodles carved into the wood, there were glow in the dark stars and moons on the blades of your ceiling fan. You’d painted your ceiling into a buttery sunset. It was as if for the first time, Steve was seeing all of you. And you were absolutely incandescent.

His hands went to roam your shelves, filled with sketchbooks and art books and worn copies of the classics. Greedily, he grabbed the first black sketchbook he found its pages heavy and curled. A piece of masking tape on the cover read ‘Still Life, 1980’ in black Sharpie. He flipped over the cover. Every page was the same bowl of fruit, some plain sketches, some painted in acrylics or water colours, but the fruit changed in shape and structure with every flip, rotting more with each sketch until the image switched to a vase of sunflowers, a prim and proper version of the Van Gogh he’d seen a print of in his freshman year art class. He wondered if you’d been there, silently making your own master pieces. He wondered how many masterpieces you had hidden away in your big black book.

The door opened behind him before he could put the sketch book away. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” you snapped, bounding towards him. When your grandmother told you that your friend from school was upstairs waiting for you, you had a sinking feeling that you knew who it was. And seeing him rifling through your things made your blood boil.

Steve turned slowly, unsure what to say. You snatched the pad out of his hands “And who the fuck gave you permission to look at my stuff, you pervert!” You knew that he hadn’t done anything actually perverted, but you still felt violated.

“I can’t get you to talk to me, I figured coming here would at least make you see me.” Steve laughed a bit, unable to even process what was happening. In the back of his mind, he thought that this would be an effortlessly cool way to go about a solution. Like you’d see him in your room and think ‘wow…what an effort that was…’ Instead, you were furious.

“So, you thought that coming into my house without telling me, lying to my grandparents, and touching my stuff would make it better.” You raised an eyebrow, shoving your sketchbook onto the shelf.

“What was I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls, you won’t talk to me, I can’t get you to look at me for more than a second and all I want to know is what I did wrong so I can fix it!” Steve cried, words tumbling out of his mouth. You both stared at each other for a moment, surprised by each other, your mouth hanging silently ajar.

You closed it fast, swallowing before speaking “You…you hurt my feelings.” You said softly, pushing past him to put distance between you, standing next to your desk and the window.

“How did I hurt your feelings?” Steve asked quietly, watching you carefully even as you stared defiantly out the window.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest “You cancelled our plans. For Vicki.”

“So?” Steve asked.

“So, I don’t cancel on you. I never cancel on you, especially not the day of. It hurt my feelings.” You explained, picking at a bit of lint on your sweater.

“Yeah, but I…” he tried to catch himself before he said something terrible, but you already knew what filled in the blank.

“What? You have more friends than me? Is that it?” you snapped. It was Steve’s turn to look away, but you pressed on. “You’re right, you do have more friends than me. But don’t act like I don’t have a social life without you. I do. Do you know how many games of Samantha’s I’ve skipped out on to help you study? How many practises she’s asked me to come and watch that I’ve said no to because I already had plans with you?”

“I don’t know…” Steve muttered. Embarrassment crept up his face. He felt like such a dick. In truth he had forgotten about your plans that day in the excitement of a date with Vicki. With hindsight in full effect he could see that he would’ve had twice as much fun with you eating greasy burgers then he did with Vicki driving around Hawkins.

“Well, it’s been a lot. And it’s not the fact that you went out with Vicki that upset me, you are free to date whoever you want. But can you please at least tell me if you’re cancelling a little sooner than mere minutes before?” you asked, your voice cracking on the end.

“Sure, yeah of course. I should’ve been doing that before.” Steve stumbled over his words to apologize.

“Okay.” You nodded “Now, why are you going through my shit?”

“I wanted to see more. This whole room is incredible.” Steve breathed, plopping down on your mattress.

“You think?” you asked quietly. In truth, you didn’t think that you were that good of an artist. You loved art, but you didn’t think you were exactly talented.

“It’s so cool!” you couldn’t help but laugh, or else you’d cry. Nobody ever talked about your art with such enthusiasm. Teachers only criticized mistakes and your mother and grandparents saw it as clutter. Samantha liked some stuff but she didn’t talk about it much. Even a simple compliment from Steve made you want to cry. You covered your mouth to avoid the tears.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, wandering the room to point out pieces he thought were interesting. He pointed to a canvas depicting the quarry. You’d camped out there one night in the summer; drawing until the sun fades out of the sky and then painting it out once you had it exactly right. “This one is just insane I mean it looks like it’s going to eat you whole, like it has teeth or something.” He exclaimed.

“You can have it.” You replied quickly.

Steve shook his head “No, I couldn’t I mean don’t you want it? For college apps or something?” he couldn’t take it, he’d feel too guilty.

You shrugged “I have enough stuff for at least three portfolios, you should have that one if you like it so much. It’ll make your room cooler.”

“Hey, my room is cool.” Steve pouted, making you laugh harder. He liked your laugh, it split your whole face open into a smile. And your smile looked as if it sat on a bed of clouds. He wanted to float along with it forever.

“Oh yeah, your pee wee t-ball participation trophy is real slick, it gets you all the chicks.” You drawling, bouncing on your mattress.

“Hey, you didn’t run when you saw it.” Steve shrugged, sitting down next to you.

“Eh, your baby sports escapades don’t frighten me. It adds character to know that you suck at something.” You replied. Steve thought briefly of the bat in his trunk and the weight of it mid-swing, connecting with a heavy skull. Better with a bat now then he was as an elementary schooler.

You both lay back on the mattress, staring up at the slowly turning fan. Steve turned to you “What’d you think of Vicki anyway?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Steve nodded “I think she’s a bitch.” Steve laughed loudly but you pressed on “She is! She’s so mean for no reason!”

“Yeah, she’s not cool. She spent our whole date bitching about people, saying a lot of shit about you.” Steve murmured.

“What’d you…” you didn’t know if you could ask how he responded. You bit your tongue before finishing the sentence.

Steve understood anyway “I told her the truth. That you’re a really cool chick and that she shouldn’t be such a bitch about people she doesn’t know.” He said simply, turning his attention back to the slowly moving stars.

You didn’t necessarily believe that he actually defended you. Still, you didn’t feel like arguing. Steve continued on in your silence. “So, do you live with your grandparents’ full time? Or do your parents just work?” he asked.

“Both,” you sighed softly “My mom’s not home very much so they take care of me. She’s a fashion photographer, travels all over the world for different magazines.”

“What about your dad?” Steve asked. He’d seen a younger man in the photo; he assumed that it was some kind of father figure.

“He died.” You muttered.

“Oh…” Steve didn’t know how to react to that. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize.

“She killed him.” You couldn’t help yourself from saying that. Anger still stewed into your bones whenever you thought about your parents.

“What?” Steve to fully look at you, flabbergasted.

“She worked him to death. She always wanted more and farther away from us. Trips to Europe, designer things, this stupid house. She killed him.” You wiped hard at your face, trying to keep the hot tears from streaming down your face. Steve didn’t say anything, he simply pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly into him and letting you cry. He patted your hair gently, trying to soothe you as best he could. He didn’t think he was very good at helping people in their pain. But you grabbed onto his middle and clung to him like a life raft.

“My parents aren’t that great either.” He muttered, unsure if he was helping at all. “They ignore me.”

“I-I’m sorry they do that…” you muttered, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes. Steve melted. He absolutely melted. He was filled with the sudden urge to kiss you, which surprised him. He didn’t follow through with the urge; he didn’t know how you’d take it.

“I’m sorry he’s not here for you…” he replied, petting your hair softly. He stayed with you like that for what felt like hours, letting you cling to him and ruin his shirt with tears. He didn’t care. He needed to be there for you. He promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt you again. That he’d be more careful and pay more attention. He couldn’t bear to see you in this much pain again. He knew that you weren’t crying because of him, but if he could keep you from feeling even an ounce of this sort of pain again, he would.

He cared about you too much to ever let you suffer alone again.

[mcrmadness]

Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the latest Farin&Bela pencil drawing.

Aka the one that’s also my icon, even when that was a big risk to take because normally I start hating the photos I have once drawn, especially if I have failed miserably. This is how the drawing itself turned out:

ATTENTION: The original post about that drawing, with better image, behind this link.

This post is solely about the process itself with lots of pictures and also plenty of gifs, because I promised to do one if people would like to see that and I got some comments saying that they’re looking forward for that. So, here’s now that post!

For starters I have to apologize for the terrible quality that is the photos. I used my phone camera only and never thought about posting them, I just took them as a reference for myself and to show the progress to a friend and only after finishing the drawing I noticed that the angle of the camera causes a huge impact on the perspective of the drawing, so I sometimes might have done useless work when I thought some perspective was wrong when it was actually the photo that was wrong and not my work! I mean, take a look at these photos of the finished piece:

You see that? I realized this when I took maybe the second photo of the Farin sheet and looked at it and couldn’t believe my eyes because I didn’t remember drawing his torsto THAT small! And then I looked at the drawing and was like “wtf???” because it looked nothing like in the photo and then it hit me...

Also, another thing that I learn was that I might need to pay more attention to the perspective of the whole thing also because when I draw, I sit at the table so I am constantly seeing the drawing from my perspective instead of looking at it from above so that’s probably also going to affect the way I draw. I try to keep that in mind in the future so I can avoid redrawing things again and again just because my perspective is different than the reference photo’s.

Also the giant forehead of Farin’s in the photo on the right might have caused me to laugh a bit too much but anyway, let’s continue~ Or more like: let’s start for real this time.

Here’s the reference photo to y’all:

What I did in photoshop was to draw a line between them to see how I can divide the photo on two A4 papers. I had been thinking about this photo for some time already because it’s one of my favorites (but now I just feel cringy looking at it after I have drawn it... goddamnit!), and I got this idea that I could try drawing it on two papers in case I fuck up so I can start over or try again without having to do twice the work! Which was actually a good decision because this was the first version of Farin:

And it was awful. I also realized I had never drawn Farin’s face from he front. I have drawn him before from the side a few times but maybe once it came out actually good so that was why I decided to do the 2 paper method - because I knew it was not going to be an easy job! Bela is relatively easy to draw so I knew already that I would not have too many problems with that one.

I struggled with Farin’s eyes the most, at first.

It took me a while to figure out how to do that white line in his lower lid. Keep in mind that this was my first face portrait in over 10 years so I was very, very rusty and I just didn’t remember how to draw like anything anymore. (The photo is tilted because Bela’s face is a bit tilted and my hand can’t draw anything that is not straight [lol] so I have to rotate the photo in order to even draw the sketch of Bela’s eyes.)

So I took my sketchbook and tried to do some eyes...

I was still struggling so much here until I remembered about blending. And I didn’t have my hopes high but grabbed the eyeshadow applicators (my fave tool for blending) anyway, and switched to my other sketchbook in case the paper was the issue and:

Blending. It was all about blending! So with that in mind, I realized I can continue and I don’t need to do these in my old way, everything doesn’t have to have a lineart done but some of the job is done not with the pencils but with the eraser.

Anyhow, the previous Farin looked really bad and was too big as well so I just discarded that and started a new sheet because the old lines were not coming off properly anymore. I don’t remember if this is the old face or new but I think this might still be the old one:

Yes it definitely is the old because look at those lines! This is the new sheet:

And in the photo you can see one of my pencils - I use Derwent Graphic pencils, it’s a 12 pencil set with very soft pencils, starting with H, F and HB and ending to 9B. With this one I used F, HB, B, 2B, 5B, 7B and 9B. The white pencil is actually my new love aka the eraser pencil Koh-I-Noor Hardmuth. It’s amazing, I recommend! I just didn’t order 10 new ones this other day. I actually used about 1,5 full eraser pencils on this drawing alone so that’s why 10.

Here’s a “little” gif of the process on Farin:

I felt crazy when I went for the shirt, and I felt like I was going crazy MEANWHILE drawing it but in the end I did it and I’m super proud of it!

Below is the reference photo, it was pain in the ass to follow all those lines with my eyes and try to find what was I drawing and where was I but I think I did good. That was a fun challenge.

Okay so, when I was done with the new lineart, I decided to go for the shading and blending because that’s what really makes the drawings to pop. I started with the left (his right, my left) side of Farin’s face because I’m right-handed, and in the first photo I had done just the left (right) eye and mouth and nose, but in the second there’s also the other eye done already:

Keep in mind this was not the last time I drew the eyes. Not even close.

Something was off with the right (left) eye so I had to do that one again and I noticed that when you blend but haven’t erased and cleaned it yet, it looks like a black eye :DDD So here’s the before and after images of that cleaning. (Cleaning = I draw, blend, erase, draw and blend more when needed and then erase again, and repeat this as many times as I need until it starts to look ready to my eye.)

So here Farin was “finished” but if you still remember the final piece or compare it to it, you might notice it looks quite different. And you’re right. But more about that later, because at this point I started to work on Bela.

It actually started really well - I also had to do the whole lineart again because it did not match the size of “finished” Farin. I don’t remember if this is the first or second eye but when I had drawn his eye for the first time, I noticed it was not in line with Farin so I had to redraw it. A gif of the progress:

What’s that brown paper I’m using, you may ask? Well I noticed that people have some sort of paper on top of their art to keep it from smudging and I have no clue what that is so here’s my poor artist recommendation: baking paper! I tested it and it works (if you just remember to keep it under your hand, that is...) so that is, in fact, baking paper! :DD

I have drawn Bela’s face a few times before and he’s just so much easier to draw. In fact I used 4-5 days on Farin but I managed to start and finish (this version of) Bela just in one day. And that means that out of 12 hours (because I literally used the whole day for drawing) I used maybe like... 5h or something on Bela. That’s how much easier he really is to draw.

I don’t know wtf is wrong with Farin’s face but he’s extremely difficult to draw and I’m not the only one who has been saying this. I guess he just looks so regular but still unique enough to be difficult to draw. Bela then again has features that are very unique and very... caricature-like? I mean that just by drawing his nose or chin you can make a comic book Bela look exactly like himself, and with more realistic style his eyes already do a lot, but Farin’s really the opposite. My comic book version of Farin is literally the most basic version I can draw, it’s how I draw those characters and the only thing that makes him look himself is the hair, and his nose in a side profile. So I think that’s why it’s so difficult to draw him because he doesn’t look too regular but still regular enough to make is a very challenging task to do properly.

So yeah, the same day as I started working on Bela, I was also “finished” with the drawing:

Also look at how different it looks like from this perspective:

With the reference photo open in photoshop and I don’t understand how Bela looks more like himself in my drawing than in the photo. Also when I showed the WIP to my brother, he said that I somehow had succeeded at making Farin look more like Farin than what he does in the photo even. It’s weird.

But we were still far from finished. I was going to use the fixative on this soon but it just kept snowing the whole week so I couldn’t so every time I walked past the drawings, I stopped to fix this and that. For days I kept telling myself “I’m done, I can’t do more than this, I can’t do better than this.” and considered the drawing finished but still kept fixing things. Every time I was “done” with the other drawing, I saw something to fix in the other one and once that was done, I felt like the first one wasn’t as good and had to fix something from it too. And that led to a cycle where the other drawing was always better than the other and the worse one needed to be fixed. In the end I was hating the whole process and myself and my skills and I was already ready to abandon this whole thing and call it a day and never ever show it to anyone “because I cannot draw”. The photo above, here’s a list of things I redrew after that:

Bela’s eyes, the right (left) one at least twice.

Bela’s nose.

Bela’s mouth a couple of times.

Farin’s eyes x588045028520

And a list of things I kept fixing and fixing:

Bela’s chin.

Bela’s neck shadows.

Bela’s hairline.

Farin’s whole face was tilted so I tried to fix that.

Farin’s face was too wide, which meant also partially redrawing the ear.

Farin’s hair was too long and wide too.

Farin’s nose.

Farin’s mouth might be the only thing I drew only once and I’m actually still extremely proud of how it came to be. I did the lips solely with blending so that was super exciting to notice how I can use it for drawing and don’t need the pencils for everything!

During Bela’s eyes and nose and mouth especially I was hating myself so much and I felt like I was taking the risk of ruining the whole thing and a few times I was certain that was what I had just done too, until I somehow was able to save it again. But because of that, I wasn’t able to make Bela’s mouth any lighter anymore, the color wasn’t just coming off the paper so had to use what was there and make it look like it’s how it’s supposed to be, too.

Here’s a gif about those changes on Bela - the first one has the old eyes and nose, the others have minor changed on the nose and mouth:

(The blacks probably don’t get any blacker in reality, I did add more color to it all the time but mainly it’s just the lighting and my phone camera changing the brightness.)

I did the final details on his nose without even using the reference photo anymore. The photo didn’t seem to make any sense anymore at all so I was just using my mechanical pencil and the blending tool and eraser to make is look better. To my eye it looked more like a very flat nose with a big tip of the nose and he doesn’t have a flat nose and I tried to get rid of that illusion. I still feel like it makes him look bit weird but I’m not entirely sure how. Maybe it was because of my improvisation, idk...

So, Bela was then finally finished for the last time. In the Farin piece his left (right) eye had been bugging me the whole time and I didn’t want to touch it but still I felt like I have to do something about it because it was bugging me way too much. I then figured I could draw the eye line by line and take a photo of it each time to see if it looks right already or not, maybe I could then avoid doing all the phases before I was sure what to think about it. I mean, now the only way to see if it was correct was to draw e.g. an eye from start to finish, I couldn’t see from just the lineart or unblended eye if it was in the right spot etc. And here’s that progress on a gif:

The gif about only the eye would look so nice if Tumblr didn’t make the gifs so HUGE - this one is actually only 300px or 400px or something:

Apparently I also wasn’t happy with the other eye because:

But good thing is: I really enjoy drawing eyes. I love seeing them to “come alive”, my favorite part was to eraser a bit of the color on the iris to make them look like they are actually shiny! It feels like something so small to do and yet it makes a huge impact on the drawing!

And here’s yet another gif of the whole Farin sheet with all of the changes, including the last changes that made his head narrower, and less tilted and more in line. Look at the left side of his head especially to see that:

I can also see his nose changing between the first few photos. I keep forgetting about that but yeah, I also fixed that a little at some point.

And last but not least, the whole drawing in some sort of a timelapse gif:

Last two are the same but just a photo and the scan of the finished drawing. I still keep seeing things I would do differently but no can do, I already used fixative on it, also to keep myself from obsessing with it any more :D And to use it as a study of some sort. I have never been able to draw a perfect pencil drawing and this isn’t one either. I probably never can draw perfect drawings from references.

I do enjoy the whole shading and blending process, so much so that when I was editing these photos, I just wanted to start drawing something so bad but I also figured that I start to lose motivation when I get to the point where everything should be finished but I just can’t make it perfect. Like the current WIP I have, all I should do is to get the proportions and perspective and the lines of their faces correctly and I would be ready but it feels more like a superpower some people possess and I’m not one of those. I don’t know what is it but I just feel that I cannot see. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can’t see what I try to do and somehow keep drawing everything the wrong way. Just like in this post’s drawing too. There’s still things that are wrong and I know what it is but I don’t know how to solve it. My hands just don’t listen to me and they can’t do what I think they should. I also think the reason I cannot draw perfect copies of photos is because you can always see my “handprint” in them. If I copy a photo, it will look like a photo and not like a drawing made by me. So I believe that in my drawing there’s always a part of me visible and I’m not entirely sure if it’s a good thing or not. On bad days it’s not a good thing, obviously. On good days? Well I guess it’s good then because it just means I have my own style which I really should appreciate. But I wish I had my style only when I want it to be visible, but I can’t control it. Just like I cannot write text by hand that would look like it was written with a computer, so I guess I should just try to get used to it, no matter how much it’d bug me sometimes.

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Between the Ink and Papers Ch. 3

Summary: Steve and Peggy have been divorced for a year and Sarah is still starting to find her groove in it. However, it becomes a lot easier when she and Typhanie realize it might be time for her dad to start dating again.

Pairings: tattooartist!dad!Steve x Reader, Typhanie x Sarah, Peggy x Logan, Bucky x Natasha

Word Count: 1592 words

Warnings: Mentions of past self harm, there might be cussing?

Between the Ink and Papers Masterlist - Masterlist to Other Works

Previous Chapter

--

Y/N had seen a lot of smiles in her life. Working as a counselor, they ranged, but the one Sarah gave her now was absolutely terrifying. She knew, in this moment, she would never be able to live it down. “Uh…Sarah? What are you doing here?”

The grin never wavered. Sarah intertwined her fingers, resting her chin on top of her hands. “Oh, just working. What about you, Miss Y/L/N?”

If Y/N could crawl into a hole, she would. This wasn’t exactly a setting she would have ever expected to cross with one of her clients. “I – “ Before she could stutter out an answer, a rhyme or reason for being in a tattoo parlor with her tipsy friends, someone came from the back.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, surprised to see someone that looked like that working at a tattoo shop. He looked like he should have been a model. His blonde hair was swept back and those bright blue eyes surveyed the room as if he owned the place.

And maybe he did.

“Hi. I take it you ladies are the ones Bucky told me about?”

“That’s right,” Y/N heard Wanda say, walking past her and to the counter he now stood behind. “All five of us wanted to get something.”

Y/N was hardly paying attention to the conversation. She was far more focused on trying to figure out why this guy looked so familiar. He held out a hand to Wanda. She promptly shook it, her grip lingering a little too long before he shook hands with Hope, Carol, and Val as well. They introduced their names before he looked at Y/N.

She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, but refused to let herself think too much about the cause of them. Instead, she took his hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Steve Rogers. This is my place.”

Rogers. Y/N looked at Sarah. She was still watching, that amusement never wavering from her eyes. He was her – Oh boy.

As Steve took their IDs and handed them to Sarah, he explained how they would most likely have to divvy the women up between himself and Bucky. It would keep them from spending too much time here at least. Y/N also had a feeling it was something to do with getting Sarah home at a reasonable hour, but there was no way she could be sure. For all she knew, Sarah had a bed here that she slept in.

Oh, dear god, that was a horrible thought. Why would she put that idea in her head?

“Hey.” Y/N blinked, looking at the hand touching her arm. Hope was watching her curiously, clearly concerned but not willing to voice it. “You okay? You’re not already regretting this, are you?”

“No, of course not. It’s…” Y/N glanced at Sarah. Her back was to them, copying their IDs to the paper each woman would need to sign. “Complicated.” She remembered all the sessions she had with the young girl. How she was struggling. Was it because she was spending nights like this? How much of Sarah’s life was being kept out of their sessions? And what sort of stability did she really have?

“You comin’?”

Y/N jerked, looking towards the back. Steve was waiting there, and her friends were already putting down their pens. Sheepishly, she scribbled her signature on the paper. It wasn’t her first tattoo. She knew the drill. Sarah took the papers, straitening and filing them away as Steve led them down the hall. “Have fun,” she called just as Typhanie came out of the bathroom.

Seeing the smirk and glimmer in her girlfriend’s eyes, Typhanie frowned. “What? What’d I miss?”

--

“Hey, Buck!’ Steve’s fist collided with the doorframe, making the brunette inside jump a foot in the air. He grinned before jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Got some customers for you if you’re interested.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, rising to his feet as Carol and Val stepped in. “Hi.” He was sheepish, obviously feeling bad for not noticing they were ready for him. “Um…come on in and we’ll talk about what you guys are lookin’ for.”

Across the hall was Steve’s room. He opened the door, propping it against the wall. “There’s two chairs there. If you want to wait and watch, you can. If not, you’re more than welcome to hang out up front and us come and get you.”

There was an awkwardness in the air. None of them really knew who wanted to go first and it seemed none were interested in making the first move. Y/N chuckled and said, “I’ll go first. You two want to wait up front?”

“Yeah! I saw the records and wanted to check those out, if you don’t mind,” Wanda said, already hightailing it out of the room.

--

Hope was quick to follow her. It had nothing to do with her wanting to be out of the room, Y/N knew that. It had everything to do with the fact that Wanda was the wild card of the group. Leaving her alone with two teenagers up front… No, Y/N definitely appreciated Hope going with her.

“Uh…guess that settles that.”

Y/N squeaked. She turned back to Steve, unable to fathom how she had forgotten that he had been in the room with her. “Sorry, it’s been a weird night.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t have to tell me twice. I’ve heard some weird stories.” He gestured to the table as he sat on his stool, rolling to her side. “So – is this a group tattoo? Or each is getting their own thing?”

“A bit of both actually,” she explained, voice a little softer than before. “We’re all getting the semi-colon symbol.”

Steve had been reaching for his sketch book, faltering when he heard that. A lot of people got that symbol. He knew the reason behind it. Sparing a glance at her, Steve understood why she was so quiet. Instead of grabbing his sketchbook, he rolled the stool so he sat in front of her. On the table, she easily towered over him, but that was normal. Gnawing at the corner of his lip, Steve wasn’t sure what to say so he simply started with, “Hey.”

She looked up, meeting those pretty baby blues of his as he offered a small smile. “Hi.”

“You don’t have to go into detail if you don���t want, okay? This is about your comfort.” He noticed the way her shoulders dropped and smiled. There. That was what he wanted to see. “Do you just want the black ink or something else?”

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured the black ink was sort of party of it.”

Steve grabbed his sketch book. “It doesn’t have to be.” He took one of the pencils off the table and flipped to a spare page, tracing quick, rough strokes.

Y/N was amazed by the way he so easily moved the pencil, as if he knew exactly what stroke needed to go where. Her brain didn’t work like that. She wasn’t that creative when it came to artistic things. She tucked her hair behind her ear, sparing a small glance his way. Steve was concentrating, putting as much focus into this as if he were creating something completely extraordinary instead of a little tattoo. His brow was furrowed, pinched in the middle, and his teeth were worrying his lip.

He really wanted to make this right.

“We could do something like this.”

Y/N straightened, making herself focus on the paper as he turned it her way. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling when she saw the design. It was simple. Needing only a little bit of color. And it wasn’t so big or over the top that she couldn’t hide it for her job.

“I love it.” She turned back to him. The smile on her face made Steve proud of the creation even though it wasn’t anything fancy. It meant something to her. And that made him happy for her.

She shrugged off her jacket, setting it aside and turning her body back towards him. It wasn’t Steve’s first time seeing scars, nor would it be his last, but seeing those faint, risen lines on the inside of her wrist...it hurt. He could never imagine what had happened in her life to cause such a reaction, but he wanted to help her move forward now.

It was the least he could do.

“We’ll start with the black and then go to the watercolor,” he told her, spinning back towards his inks. He put a tray of them together, lining them up. “Sound good?”

“Uh…yeah.”

Steve chuckled. “Not having doubts, are you?”

Y/N shook her head. No, there were no doubts. She absolutely wanted this. “Not doubts,” she told him as he tested the pressure on the tattoo-gun. Setting it down, Steve turned back to her and started cleaning her wrist. “It’s just…I feel like I should make sure you’re properly informed.”

He laughed, running the razor over her skin and shaving away any little baby hairs that would get in the way. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“Well, yeah,” Y/N admitted, knowing she was probably being silly. Still, honesty was important to Y/N. It always had been. “But I still think you should know.”

Steve raised a brow, finally meeting her gaze. “What?”

“I’m…” Y/N sighed, reminding herself that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It shouldn’t be, right? Glancing down at the sketch between them, she admitted, “I’m your daughter’s counselor.”

--

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