#his girl pants are technically cute and on trend but i think they look too big and too on the nose on him. yk. too trendy too clunky | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bestiesenpai · 3 years

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twitch streamer geto suguru

This is a thought that doesn’t just live rent free in my head oh no this thought is the landlord of my mind. Go read the shitposts I made about this, but technically you don’t need to for context. Femme pronouns

Looking at himself in the mirror, Suguru smiled widely. His costume was perfect for today's stream. He knew his fans would love it, they voted for his next one and were practically frothing at the mouth when he announced he’d be doing it.

“Babe, come in!” He called for you. You’d left the bathroom a few minutes ago and hadn’t seen him in the full outfit.

“Coming!” Your footsteps padded on the carpet and then you appeared in the doorway. “Looking good, Dabi.” You grinned, taking note of his lack of shirt and the pants hanging low on his hips. The only thing keeping him from looking like an off duty stripper was the jacket concealing just enough to not be too too scandalous.

“Oh Toga, you’re too kind.” He chuckled, looking at his makeup in the mirror. “You really outdid yourself with the makeup, ya know.”

“Thanks.” Twirling the skirt you had on between your fingers, you looked at yourself in the mirror. “I think I look pretty cute.”

“The cutest.” Giving your butt a squeeze, Suguru slipped past you. “I’m going to start the stream now.”

“Okay!” Giving him a wave, you went to another room to occupy yourself for however many hours he’d be busy today. You could hear the music he played at the beginning of his stream start to play, and you put on headphones.

“Hello everyone, it’s your favorite sexy cosplayer!” Suguru said into his microphone, smiling at all the comments that flooded in, all in shock of how good his makeup and outfit looked. “You like the get up?”

Hundreds and hundreds of comments flooded in all saying yes. Chuckling, he stood up and showed off his outfit to the camera. Letting his coat flutter open, he laughed at the many all caps messages saying how hot he was.

“Should I say something Dabi would say?” Tapping his chin, Suguru hummed for a bit. “If you’re trash, at least be kindling for my flames. How’s that?” A couple donations came in, all praising him for his good imitation.

Sitting back down, he set up the game he was going to play for the first portion of the stream: cooking mama. Reading out a few messages and thanking everyone over and over again, he started up the game.

In the room you were in, you could hear frantic laughter and crazed shouts from Suguru. He always got super into whatever game he was playing, playing up his reactions perfectly for the watchers. He often had to drink a warm cup of tea after a stream because he’d been shouting and laughing so much.

After an hour, you got a text from him, asking to bring him a snack. You hadn’t changed out of the outfit, promising to take pictures for his Instagram once the stream was over. Quickly fixing him a plate, you knocked on the door.

“Sugu, I’m here.” You tried not to speak too loudly in case he was talking.

“Oh everyone, my Uber eats is here, one second. I know, I know, I’m eating so early into the stream!” Chuckling, Suguru opened the door and smiled at you. “Hey delivery girl, you’re pretty cute.”

“Shut up.” You giggled, trying to push the plate into his hand.

“You know, you’re so cute my stream should see you!” He shouted, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into the room.

“Sugu!” You shouted, face flushing at suddenly being on camera.

“Sugu? I don’t know who that is, Toga.” Holding you more securely around your waist, Suguru tossed the plate on his desk and positioned you in front of the camera. “Look everyone, Toga joined me!”

“H-hi.” No matter how many times he made you appear on camera you were still a little shy. Gripping the edges of the beige cardigan you had on, you waved shyly at the camera. You could see the comments flooding by, ‘so cute!’ ‘couple goals!’ ‘I’m so jealous!’.

“Some of you were wondering why we aren’t wearing wigs too and to be honest this makeup took far too long to even fuck with a wig.” Suguru laughed, running a hand through his hair. “But I should tie it up, huh? It’s getting pretty hot.”

“I’ll help.” You always had a scrunchie on you for Suguru. He refused to use normal hair ties, citing how bad they were for your hair.

“Oh, it’s everyone’s favorite part.” He teased. Dramatically fluttering his coat to the side, Suguru dropped to his knees in front of you despite your flustered requests to just bend his head forward.

“You know you don’t have to do all this.” You muttered, ignoring all the horny comments in his chat. Suguru really knew how to play up his audience and make everything a clippable moment. He didn’t have thousands of subscribers for no reason.

“But Toga, I like it when you do it like this.” He whined loudly, smirking up at you and grabbing the edges of your cardigan. Laughing at the embarrassed noise you let out, he closed his eyes as you gathered his hair into a bun on his head.

“There you go.” Patting his shoulder, you helped him up. Trying to take a step back, Suguru caught you by the arm.

“C’mon, at least pose a little with me?”

“But I thought we were just going to do it for Instagram?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Just a little bit, promise.”

“Alright.” Moving into a better position, you threw your hands up and made the same gestures as the real Toga Himiko, cupping your cheeks and smiling up at Suguru just like you’d practiced. “Is this good?”

“Look at the donations baby, you’re doing great.” Giving you a quick peck on the forehead, Suguru thanked all the people donating. Getting into his position, he did a few poses as well. Only doing a few, he grabbed you by the hand and pulled you over to his desk, making you sit on his lap as he sat on the chair.

“There’s a few new subs, (Y/N), you should thank them.” Tapping the microphone softly, Suguru gestured for you to lean forward. Ignoring the chat all furiously typing that they wanted to sit on Sugurus lap, you looked at yourself on the monitor.

“Thank you everyone who donated and subscribed! You’re all so sweet and Suguru and I really appreciate and love every single one of you!” You had learned that script early on in Sugurus streaming career. It was heartfelt and true, and better yet you never stuttered over it.

Patting you on the back, Suguru turned off cooking mama and put on some background music.

“Toga, would you like to play a game?” He asked, making his voice drop a little.

“What is it?”

“I think you’ll like this game.” He smirked wickedly, his eyes darting to the camera and giving it a wink.

“Why’d you wink?”

“No reason!” Rocking back and forth, Suguru chuckled to himself. “Will you go grab the VR? It’s in the drawer over there.”

“Sugu, please!” You knew exactly what he was going to have you do and it was already making your heart race. You were still close to the microphone, and everyone could hear your pitiful whine.

“Hey don’t make those sounds, people have to pay extra for that.” Covering the microphone with his hand, Suguru pat you on the legs. “It’ll be a short one this time.”

“You say that all the time!” Throwing your head back, you got up from his lap and grabbed the VR headset, setting it up quickly.

“Now chat, you guys have been suggesting this game nonstop for (Y/N) to play and one of the mods sent me a copy, so now we’re going to play!” Suguru went on to show the game on screen, a horror game that had been trending recently. He’d brought it up to you in passing, asking what you thought of it and if you’d ever play it with him off stream.

“I hate it here!” You groaned, flipping off the camera as it was angled to capture your whole body. Neither the chat nor Suguru could hold back their laughs, and many donations were ringing in.

“Here, let me help.” Suguru stood and adjusted the headset on your face, putting the controllers firmly in your hands. Patting you on the head, he sent a thumbs up to the screen. “Let’s go everyone! And no one worry, (Y/N) has safety shorts on under the skirt, so if she kicks her leg like last time no perverts will see her bits.”

“That’s right!” You nodded in what you hoped was the direction of the monitor. You weren’t facing it before Suguru had put the headset on, so you had no idea if you were looking in the right direction.

“Starting now.” He announced, and the game started up on your screen. It was fine enough, chilling music playing in your ears at a low volume. “How’s the sound, (Y/N)?”

“It’s fine.” Nodding, you started a new game. “The graphics are really good on this so far!”

“That’s great.” Adjusting the microphone, Suguru could barely hide his smile. As the game started, you felt shivers roll down your spine. Little things slammed in your ears and your head whipped side to side.

“So this is one of those mission games? I-I can do it, no problem!” You breathed, jolting right after as something passed the corner of your vision.

“That’s the spirit!” Suguru clapped for you. “Chat believes in you as well.”

There were a few small jump scares, spiders and things chasing you that made you shout. As the game progressed, you were doing better than anyone thought you would.

“S-sugu.” You whimpered at a checkpoint, adjusting the controllers in your sweaty hands.

“Hm?”

“T-there’s a monster.” Pointing in front of you, you could see the thing staring at you from the end of a long, dark hallway.

“Aw, there is?” Suguru teased, looking at the screen. “We see it now.”

“Oh shit, it’s coming toward me.” Taking a small step back, you quickly ran your character away from it. Chase music sounded for a bit and your skin prickled at almost getting caught.

“Good job, you got away!”

“Mhmm.” Taking a deep breath, you continued on with the game, shouting a few more times at jump scares. Suguru hadn’t spoken in a while, just letting you play the game alone. The silence from him combined with the music from the game set you more on edge, and when a monster appeared, you groaned.

“Shit, shit- Sugu! A monster is chasing me!” This one was faster and much more terrifying than the previous one. Suguru didn’t offer any words of comfort and you almost yelled at him as you were running away. “Sugu, help, help, it’s gonna- ahhhh!”

“Ah!” Suguru and you screamed at the exact same time, but for different reasons. As soon as the monster grabbed you and screamed in your ears, jump scaring you on the screen, Suguru grabbed your sides in real life, making it feel even realer.

“No!” Screaming wildly, you leapt from his hold and fell onto the floor. Scrambling to take the headset off, your breathing was all over the place. “Sugu!” You nearly cried, heart beating far too hard. Suguru was bent over, laughing so hard he was silent.

“S-so-sorry!” He choked out, slapping his knee as he tried to regain his composure.

“You’re the worst!” Silly little tears misted your lashes and you put the headset on the table behind you and crossed your arms childishly. You were shaking from how much you’d been scared, and you could see some of the messages in chat laughing at you, telling everyone they’d clipped the moment to be shared later.

“C’mere.” Tugging on the back of your cardigan, Suguru cooed at you. “Toga, don’t be pouty.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Throwing your head back, you let Suguru wrap you in a hug but you didn’t uncross your arms. “Why do I have to play the scary games?”

“Because your reactions are better than mine. I don’t get scared like that.” Putting his head on your chin, he rocked you back and forth. “You did really good too, I bet this might get us a sponsor.”

Flicking him in the forehead, you tried to worm out of his hold but he kept a tight grip on you. You fought the urge to whine, knowing he’d just use it to his advantage.

“Let’s sit down.”

“No.” You tried to keep your feet firmly planted on the floor but Suguru wasn’t having any of it.

“Toga’s being stubborn!” He shouted to the chat. Bending his knees, Suguru dropped his arms to just under your butt and lifted you up.

“Dabi, put me down!” Squirming around was no use, but you knew this kind of reaction was great for the stream. Hitting him lightly on the back, you huffed when you were set down again and pulled into Sugurus lap.

“Look, you got chat all excited with your little act.” Pinching your cheek, Suguru smirked at you. “Hey (Y/N).”

“What?”

“Are you doing anything after the stream?” Grabbing your chin, he pushed your lips together, making you pucker a little. Staring at you for a beat, he let you go and laughed, sticking his tongue out at the camera. “I know you all are so jealous.”

“You shouldn’t be.” You quipped, grinning and laughing when he pinched your sides.

“Oh, they shouldn’t be? What about now?” Clearing his throat, Suguru put his mouth against his microphone and breathed lowly. “Thank you to all the bastards watching my stream, you’re so special to me. And a big thank you to my most recent sub, glitterkitty303, you’re the best baby.” His voice had dropped impossibly low, a voice he saved to fluster the hell out of you and get a few more bigger donations.

Breaking out into a smirk, he watched the chat roll by impossibly fast, all of the comments going insane, asking Suguru to say their username next and begging with donations for him to say something, anything, in that voice.

“How was that?” He asked you, looking at your flustered face on the screen. “How cute, you’re hiding your face.”

“Play the next game already.” Pushing his shoulder, you squeaked when he cupped the back of your head and leaned toward your ear.

“Chat, I want you to guess what I’m saying to (Y/N).” Pressing his lips against your ear, Suguru couldn’t hold back a little laugh at some of the messages coming in. “After this stream, let’s order pizza.” He whispered quietly, pulling back and patting your head. “Alright?”

“Alright.” You whispered, rolling your eyes at how embarrassed you still were.

“Good girl.” Rubbing your back, Suguru motioned off screen to another chair he had. “If you want, you can play the next game with me, we’re playing some Mario games next.”

After setting up for the next game and taking a short bathroom break, you were ready. The first game was mario kart, one you loved to play with Suguru because it meant nothing scary was going to happen.

“Ah shit, (Y/N) beat me again!” After doing four races and losing horribly on purpose, Suguru shook his head. “Alright guys, that’s it, my career is over. (Y/N) is taking over the channel!”

“Yay me.” You laughed, waving at the camera. “Hi guys, I don’t stream, so consider this channel dead.”

“Oof, so harsh.” Suguru gripped his chest, leaning back dramatically in agony.

After a few more rounds of mario kart and a couple other Nintendo games, you were finally allowed to leave with a cute wave to the camera and another round of thanking everyone. You were sweating bullets from the lights pointed at you and it felt good to finally be out of the room.

A few hours later, Suguru finished his stream and came to find you. He was obviously tired, stating that the two of you would just have to take the pictures before the next stream tomorrow. He often wore his costumes for at least a week, milking the reactions for all that he could.

“I never thought I’d see Dabi eating a pizza so savagely.” You chuckled. Suguru had demanded to order pizza before he washed off the makeup, he was too hungry to wait, and as soon as it had arrived he grabbed one of the boxes for himself and sat himself on the couch.

“Villainy is hungry work.” He grunted before shoving nearly a whole piece in his mouth. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a quick photo of him for your personal records and maybe a behind the scenes post for his Instagram.

You were still in your costume as well, prepared to take photos but now too lazy to change until after you ate. Suguru kept looking at you and grinning, taking quick glances at your legs before looking away.

“Why do you keep looking at me?”

“You’re just so cute dressed as Toga! And a couple people donated and asked if we would start an only fans. Seems I’m not the only one who likes the costume.”

“We are not making an only fans!” You laughed, shaking your head vehemently.

“Alright but can we take a few pictures not for Instagram?” He asked, sending you a wink. “I keep getting hard thinking about it.” He was completely serious but seeing your face contort in your embarrassment made him laugh.

“Maybe I should make an only fans and start charging you for pictures.” You teased back, nudging his shoulder. Suguru sneaked a kiss on your cheek and squeezed your thigh.

“You already know where my bank card is, go right ahead.” Keeping himself close to you, Suguru squeezed your thigh again. “Do you need a photographer, ‘cause I might know a guy…”

#jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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swyllh · 7 years

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junhao: teething

title: teething

premise: junhui and minghao are childhood playmates. they grow up, and fall in love.

genre: fluff, very very light angst, mutual pining

wordcount: 6306

warnings: implied sexual content.

misshapen: his smile is the first thing you notice about him - white, jagged bits sticking out in a genuine show of affection. there’s a bit of gum, strawberry pink, too, but it vanishes quickly as he begins to holler your name.

“haohao!” jun’s your bestfriend, and you’re almost embarrassed by the brass display of affection.

your mothers teeter with excitement, whispering about how cute you both are. you press a sulky face into her skirt, breathing in the soft lavender scent of the cotton.

“don’t be rude, minghao,” your mother says, urging you forward. “junhui’s been waiting to see you all day.”

you nod, pouting a little, and relent yourself to the enthusiastic boy in front of you. he downplays his grin a little, if only for a moment, and tugs you into his orbit. you grip onto his sleeve, a little overwhelmed by the warm welcome, and he begins murmuring a game of catch into your ear.

“i’ve got you!” junhui cries, a loud gawky boy in the middle of your living room.

you laugh, giddy with adrenaline, and can’t help your arms from swatting at him. junhui becomes something like a fixture in your house, or his - to be more precise, the two of you become inseparable playmates. no matter the space, time, or configuration, it was a guarantee that the both of you were always together.

“jun-ge,” you giggle, stumbling after him.

he feints getting tired when he sees that you’re still trying to chase after him, and when you finally pounce onto his back, dutifully plays the role of a conquered beast. he roars with exaggerated anguish, much to your 8-year-old delight, and pretends to die dramatically.

“oh! i’ve been slain!” he howls, rewarded by your rousing applause.

you cheer, laughing at his theatrics, and then at the way his pearly canines resemble that of a lion. babbling, you try to tell him about his teeth.

he seems to register that, because he nods seriously, and makes you promise not to tell anyone that -

“hu ya,” he says. “like a tiger’s tooth.”

you nod, a thrill running down your spine. “hu ya.”

the secret - or at least, with the way the two of you were huddled over each other, conspiring - sticks with you well after your playdate. in the night, you stayed up, restless, eyes latching onto the curve of the crescent moon.

something like fear, or bubbling exhilaration shimmers in your chest; you can’t quite fathom the idea of a secret, but something about it sends you over the moon.

the summers pass too quickly. one moment you’re fanning yourself with a torn-up comic in junhui’s room, the two of you lazing on the cold marble; the next, he’s curled up on his chair, fingers tap-dancing across his phone.

“it’s a friend,” he says, too old to put up with the likes of a younger family friend.

you roll your eyes, and proceed to read through his entire collection.

then one summer, the invitations stop. you spend the rest of that hot-headed, resentful break in the cool boredom of your room, biting into popsicles and rubbing at your sensitive teeth.

“he’s growing up,” your mother says soothingly, “just like you are!”

you glance down miserably at the pair of pants she’s patching up; those were your favourite, before they suddenly shrunk a little too tightly. your mother catches your look, and nods.

“see, you’re growing so fast. just yesterday...”

“but why can’t jun come over?”

your mother tuts, “hao-ah, you can’t be so selfish. junhui needs to study too - don’t you have homework as well?”

chastened, you nod. “yes. i did them already.”

“good,” your mother says, and then puts down her needle and thread. she cups your disappointed face. “look, i’ll call junhui’s mother and see if we can arrange for him to come over this midautumn?”

your gloom dissipates in favour of a grin, and your mother smiles at how easy it is to placate a child like you.

(the invitation doesn’t go through, for some reason, and you end up lighting candles by the curb alone instead.)

you’re fumbling with the first awkward notions of identity when junhui turns up at your house. it’s no question that he’s also dealing with the consequences of puberty. his hair, once cropped, is now shaggy to mimic current trends; he’s even got blue, squarish glasses to fit his gangly frame.

the worst addition would be the teal, striking braces on his teeth.

you don’t wince when you see him, but internally, something cringes really, really hard. junhui makes to smile, but it’s so obviously restrained; it’s been years since you’ve played with ‘jun-ge’, and his teeth are currently being stretched unpleasantly via the zipper-like chain.

“yo,” he says, indifferent. “i’m here to teach you math.”

you nod - you’d heard of this arrangement, vaguely. “okay.”

he hesitates with the silence, but gives up on wrangling it and instead plops down at your desk. you drag another chair over to the table.

“when did you get braces?”

he shrugs. “a few months ago.”

“why?”

junhui’s somewhat irked by the question. “my teeth were crooked.”

“they weren’t,” you say, but what you meant really was that they were fine.

he doesn’t glance up from his textbooks. “they were. where are your worksheets?”

grudgingly, you take them out. he whistles lowly when he sees your chicken-scrawl penmanship and the corresponding grade.

“you’re never gonna get into pledis high like this,” he says.

you roll your eyes. “who says i want to get into pledis high.”

but you’re lying - you’ve dreamed of going there ever since your mother relayed junhui’s admission into the school. that, and the fact that it’s got one of the best bboying team.

junhui susses out your lie in a matter of seconds, but spares you the embarrassment. instead, he flips through your working, flinching at some of your more desperate attempts at calculus. you try not to stare at the disapproval in his face, and resort to clicking your pen lazily.

“okay, i see your problem,” junhui announces, though he stumbles a little on his words, no doubt hindered by those braces.

he rushes through explanations and technical jargon, and at one point spits unfortunately on your papers. you don’t comment on it, though you’re sure junhui’s noticed. he tries to subtly rub at the wet blot, and shuffles the piece of paper away into the shadows quickly.

you quietly listen, trying your best to pick out what he’s saying. but the rest of the lesson is spent distractedly tracing the outline of his braces, wondering exactly where your shared secret went.

pledis high is a whole new ball game. you pick at your collar, starched stiff and neat, and try to fold your pants up. your mother had insisted that you’d grow taller anyway, so wouldn’t it be more useful to get them in a size bigger?

two sizes bigger, actually.

as a scrawny little freshman, you’re a little overwhelmed. junhui had left too early that morning, no doubt trying to avoid the chore of chaperoning you to school on your first day. his mother had sighed, and you did your best to stifle the sulkiness rising in your chest.

it takes three periods after orientation for you to catch a glimpse of junhui. he smiles, close-lipped, but you can still see the glint of his metal braces whenever he speaks.

you’re almost about to wave hello when you realise that he’s surrounded by a group of tall, good-looking guys. they’re probably his age, and they’ve definitely gotten great luck at this biological lottery. for a moment, you can almost sympathise with junhui - struggling to catch up to the rest of his friends, tucking away his teeth with a practised (but lacking) suaveness.

he walks past you, and you make no indication that you know each other.

the strangest thing happens in your second year, right before junhui’s graduation.

“xu minghao!” someone, probably menglin, from the other class, screams for you.

you get up from your desk, and lean against the doorway. “what?”

she swats you on the head - totally unnecessary, you’re still growing. “wen junhui.”

“what about him?”

“do you know what kind of girls he likes?”

your classmate, huixiang, joins in, “yeah, xu minghao, you were childhood friends with him, right?”

you shrug. “yeah. why?”

“he’s really handsome now!” huixiang exclaims, as though she were stating some universal truth.

menglin nods. “he is!”

your mental image of junhui is still stuck somewhere between his toothy childish grin and his awkward braces-smile. somehow you don’t think that’s what the two girls are teetering on about.

“uh, we haven’t talked for a long time.”

menglin waves that away. “but you must know something.”

“doesn’t he have braces?”

huixiang rolls her eyes. “yeah, but they’re off now.”

“i don’t know anything, sorry.” you shrug noncommittally and return to your seat.

in the next few weeks leading up to graduation, more girls are ambushing you. it’s kind of flattering, actually, until all they talk about is wen junhui. for that alone, you feel almost resentful at the irony, and do your best to avoid any contact with junhui for the rest of your high school life.

it works, because the junhui-craze does go away as the school year ends. you find yourself growing exponentially during the break, and your mother informs you that junhui’s going to a university out of town.

“hey hao,” wenhao says, pressing his phone into your face. “isn’t that your childhood friend?”

you squint. it’s a picture of some commercial model - a closer look reveals the face to be familiar. longer, older, more handsome, but still somehow familiar. the name is on the tip of your tongue.

“i don’t know him,” you settle, once the silence has overstayed.

“huh, really,” wenhao says, and scrolls down. “wen junhui.”

your pencil drops. “what?”

“wen junhui,” wenhao says. “so you know him?”

you thank the gods for the chance to avert your gaze while you pick up your pencil. “not really.”

but as curiosity would have it, you end up scrolling through every social media site, hoping to catch a look at junhui. he appears in only a select few photos - you get it, he’s not really a bigshot now, and even in those pictures he looks a bit awkward.

they’re all staged in a pretentious, aloof manner - hands resting on hips or thighs or necks in an attempt at feigning nonchalance. very, very posed - that sealed frown, especially, looks off.

but the clothes look good on him. they fit well, emphasising the edges and hard lines his body has matured to carve. you try not to stare at his face, struck by the onesided intensity of his unmoving gaze. junhui has matured well, you figure. perhaps there was some truth in those giggly girls’ gossips.

you dream of clean cut shirts and sleek contours. the dream itself is pleasant, but waking up to cold, clinging shorts, is a rude unwelcome reality.

you do your best to forget the face behind those hands, steadily scrubbing through pruned fabric. shame follows you into the nights, readily wrecking your sleep with unnerving touches and hot flashes of bliss.

sometimes you wake with a jolt, halted from your release. in the blanket of the night, you close your eyes, and guide yourself towards a soft, sinful shudder.

university rolls around. you’ve given up on your obsession with junhui’s amateur modelling shots after a particularly gruelling year of just studying; really, you’d been knocked out so thoroughly after lectures and revision and cram schools that your sleep was nothing but a short bleak span of unconsciousness.

your grades are okay, good enough to get you into a couple of universities. there’s nothing much that really piques your interest, or so you think.

“you got a letter from MMA,” your mother says, watching while you fold laundry meticulously by her side.

“mm.”

“junhui’s in MMA too, i think,” your mother says, too casually.

you try not to fall into the trap. “yeah?”

“yeah, he’s studying acting.” and then, without missing a beat, “you were really close when you were young.”

“that was then.”

“i would be more reassured if you went to a university with someone we know.”

“ma,” you sigh. “don’t make me go there just because-”

“i’m just saying,” she says, “but MMA is a good university. don’t let us stop you from going.”

(she’s got a point.)

it’s a set up. it has to be. junhui’s things are littered all over the dorm, and there’s a soft hum from the bathroom. you press your lips into a thin line, and examine a photoframe on the desk. yep, definitely junhui. and a girl.

a preposterously attractive couple.

you tug your luggage over to what seems like your side of the room. even though the bed is still stark and unmade, junhui’s papers have made their way onto the mattress. you sigh. has he always been this messy?

someone giggles. it doesn’t sound like junhui. in fact, it doesn’t sound remotely like a guy. your suspicions are confirmed when a lower, sultry whisper emerges from the toilet. horrified, you stand there, gawking at the traces of abandoned clothing on the floor. is that a bra -?

“pervert,” a girl cries, rushing out of the toilet, junhui in tow.

you avert your eyes and cough loudly. there’s a shocked yelp as the girl flees back into the toilet.

“are you my new roommate?” junhui says. you wonder how much you’ve changed over the years for him to sound so indifferent. “i thought you were coming in next week.”

“yeah,” you say, gritting your teeth.

“who’s that?” comes a high-pitched voice from the bathroom.

junhui crosses the room to retrieve his boxers. “it’s just the new roommate.”

“oh,” the girl says, peering up into your face.

she’s not the same girl on the photo frame, you realise. but there’s a certain quality of feminine charm to her figure- you flush, turning red, when you realise you can see her cleavage despite the towel.

“he’s cute!” the girl pipes up, and junhui snatches her arm.

you finally look up at junhui. there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, and then something quite unrecognisable. you fake a cough.

“xu minghao,” he says. “is that you?”

you nod. “yeah, wen junhui.”

“oh, you know each other?” the girl says.

junhui nods, a cold inclination of his head to acknowledge the past years you’d spent conspiring. his nonchalant look is quickly replaced by a suave, patronising one when he smiles down at the girl.

“hey, bingbing, i’ve got some catching up to do with my friend,” he says. “why don’t you go back first?”

she pouts. “you’re always so bossy.”

“you like me for it.” he kisses her, full on the lips.

bingbing, now satisfied, begins to collect her clothes from the floor, and sweeps out of the dorm room. before closing the door, however, she gives you a wink.

“hey, xu minghao, was it? if junhui’s an ass i’ll come find you!”

junhui smirks back at her. the door soon closes, however, and his charm blinks out in a second.

“so you got into MMA.”

something about those words feel like an accusation, as though junhui could have known about those guilt-stained nights. the sight of his bare chest, smooth and firm, doesn’t help. immediately, you begin to sputter excuses for a verdict unvoiced.

“it- i- it’s not like i wanted to be here,” is what you say.

he narrows his eyes. “but you’re enrolled.”

“i mean, this room,” you say.

no matter how many years have passed, you still can’t help but feel the full two years’ worth of refinement that junhui’s got. you were always clinging onto junhui when the two of you were young, chasing after fireflies or imaginary dragons in your living room. in your stubborn, quiet youth, you’d listened to his patient explanation and recognised his wits for what they were.

even now, though you’re roughly the same height, you can’t help but be dwarfed. and maybe that’s why you’re so adamant on proving that the two of you being roommates is nothing more than a morbid coincidence; that you haven’t been steadily following in his footsteps like a lovesick puppy.

in your haste, however, junhui seems to misunderstand what you’re trying to say.

“that’s fine,” he says, tone chilled to the bone, “i’ll stay in my side of the room, and you can have yours.”

you falter, but his gaze remains on yours, challenging. “fine.”

“oh, wen junhui?” seokmin, your coworker says. “that’s your roommate?”

even jeonghan, ears perking up at the sound of the name, scuttles over from his slacking station. “oh, junhui? we did a gig with him a while back, didn’t we?”

you look at jeonghan, who combs through your hair soothingly. “a gig?”

“yeah!” seokmin says, bright as always, even if he’s struggling with the coffee machine. “mingyu’s boyfriend is a photographer, so mingyu asked us for help.”

the barista in mention emerges from the kitchen, sacks of coffee beans in hand. “did someone call me?”

“yeah, we were talking about the gig when we were freshmen,” jeonghan says dismissively. “thanks for getting the beans.”

“you’re such a slacker,” mingyu says. “yeah, what about that?”

“nothing,” you say, waving mingyu away.

at that, jeonghan purrs and starts rubbing affectionate little pats on your head. you can’t say you hate the coddling - especially if it makes mingyu go into a faux-tantrum like that.

“good job, hao,” jeonghan says slyly. “it’s around twelve anyway.”

the bell chimes, just as mingyu is huffing in exaggerated hurt, and in glides a thin man. he pauses at the counter, where seokmin and mingyu are improvising a skit.

“now watch,” jeonghan says, eyes locked on his target.

with a flourish, jeonghan strides over to the customer, and flashes a mega-watt smile. the customer doesn’t look very amused, but inclines towards jeonghan instead of those bumbling fools anyway.

“wonwoo!” jeonghan exclaims, successfully drawing mingyu’s attention. “you look as gorgeous as always!”

as mingyu clambers to get to jeonghan’s counter, wonwoo’s poker face doesn’t change. “you look good too, jeongh-”

“ah! no, no, no,” mingyu cries, pushing jeonghan out of the way. “you’re only allowed to say that to me, wonwoo!”

wonwoo allows the briefest of smiles to appear on his face. “alright.”

mingyu waits, expectant, like a puppy. “mmhmm?”

“i’ll have the usual, then,” wonwoo says, eyes trailing up to the menu in false appraisal.

jeonghan pats himself down and settles next to you in mock hurt. you slide an arm around him, watching the drama unfurl.

“anything else?” mingyu asks in a small, hopeful voice, concentrating on his register keys.

wonwoo peeks down at mingyu, and relents, “and you?”

the effect is instantaneous: mingyu’s face lights up with a pink flush, and he’s grinning wide, bouncing on the balls of his feet. beside you, jeonghan sighs, but he’s smiling too.

“it’s so easy to make mingyu happy,” jeonghan says, and then cuddles up to you. “meanwhile i need to figure out what makes you happy!”

you shake your head. “you’re too cunning.”

“don’t say that, haohao,” jeonghan coos, pinching your cheeks.

you still. “uh.”

“oh, no?” jeonghan pauses. “right, haohaohao it is then!”

you smile, but it’s a bit strained, and jeonghan can tell too. your saviour comes in the form of seokmin, who stumbles over to the both of you.

“it’s him,” seokmin whispers dramatically. “wen junhui!”

“oh, which unfortunate lass is it this time?” jeonghan says, craning his neck to look behind seokmin.

“does he have a lot of... girlfriends?” you pipe up.

seokmin and jeonghan swivel around to face you. “yes.”

“to be fair, they’re not girlfriends. they’re just...” jeonghan pauses.

“playmates?” seokmin suggests, and you feel a sickening lurch in your stomach.

“he’d almost tried to pick me up,” jeonghan sighs dreamily. “but i was already attached.”

seokmin shudders. “hannie, don’t go back to your casanova days.”

the rumours about wen junhui continue to pile up. the more you inquire, the more questions and ridiculous conspiracies you’re left with. the strange, sordid affairs this wen junhui has cloaked himself in is in sharp contrast with the quiet, indifferent attitude he adopts in the dorm room.

sometimes it feels like you’re living with a stranger, or a shadow - some nights he doesn’t come back, and the only reminder that you have a roommate at all is the slept-in bed on his side.

you wonder where the boy you’ve known all your life has gone.

one week hits you particularly hard - there are essays due every twenty other hours, junhui’s been staying out every single night, and you can barely revise indecipherable lecture notes written from the depths of your REM cycle. (no really, what does “lettuce is frances history loot” mean?)

to top it off, you’re covering shifts for seungkwan - a supposed regular who you’ve yet to meet. jeonghan gives you a pitying look and then pilfers a shot of espresso for you. you feel slightly alive after that, but when you’re cranking out an unnecessarily complicated frappucino for the third time, you think you might just will yourself to die.

“welcome to campus coffee, how may i help you?” you say, eyes trained on the luminous green of your register.

it’s a good way to hide how bloodshot they are.

“one americano,” the voice, somewhat familiar, drifts in and out of your consciousness. he hesitates, “and one chai latte.”

you try not to nod, just in case you accidentally fall headfirst into the register. “okay. that will be 17.30 in total.”

you look up, if only to see wen junhui pressing a note into your hand. it’s a twenty, you think. or at least, it’s green.

he sighs, and then says, “keep the change.”

you jab the keys in the register. it springs open, and wen junhui moves over to the collection point. once you’re done, you tear the receipt from the register and push it into mingyu’s hands.

mingyu steadies you. “yo, hao, you wanna take a break?”

you can feel someone staring at the both of you. “no it’s fine.”

“you sure,” mingyu says, bending down to examine your face. “wow, you look terrible.”

this earns him a laugh, and you punch him in the arm. “shut up and make your drinks.”

when you’re done, you carry them over to junhui. his presence finally registers in your befuddled, hazy mind when he gives you a customary smile. it softens upon closer inspection of your face.

“hey, you should really get some sleep.”

you set the drinks down on the counter. “are you going to stay out tonight?”

“what, miss me already?” he wriggles his eyebrows.

you shut it down with a flat, unquestionable: “i’m not one of your girls. don’t do that.”

it shuts him up. for a solid moment, you’re looking at the way his fingers are pressed up against the side of the beverage.

“right,” he finally says. “i’ll see. the latte’s for you.”

and then he’s striding out of the cafe. your instincts seem to have gone on strike, as you muster the energy to rise above the foggy illusions of your sleep deprivation. jeonghan, noticing this, pushes the cup of latte into your hands and forces you into the break room.

in between the time when you plummet onto the bed and your first lucid dream, you hear the tell-tale signs of a doorknob slowly turning. the door creaks, and there’s a soft cringe at the doorway.

“junhui?”

all movements still, until an owl hooting in the distance pierces the air. “yeah, you’re awake?”

“somewhat.”

“sorry for waking you.”

you don’t say anything, your face still muffled by the pillow.

“i’ll be quiet,” he promises.

you remember something, shuffling up and perching yourself on your elbows, you croak, “thank you for the latte.”

he shrugs, peeling off his coat. “i’m supposed to take care of you.”

“i’m not a child anymore.”

you can’t tell, what with the dark and the painful dryness of your eyes every time you try to open them, but he seems to stare right into you.

“yeah, you’ve grown a lot taller.” and then, “do you eat enough? you’re so skinny.”

you laugh. “you sound like my mother.”

the quiet that lingers is a little uncomfortable, so you rack your head for something to say.

“you don’t show your teeth anymore,” you say.

he laughs. “you’re tired. go sleep.”

“no, really,” you insist. “you used to smile with your teeth but now you don’t.”

“mm.”

egged on by some delirious sentiment, and the strange awareness that you’ll forget this in the morning, you say, “i thought you looked better when you smiled with your teeth.”

there’s a pause, before he reaches over to ruffle your hair. “go sleep, haohao.”

the change, though minute, gradual, is apparent. junhui begins to shed his cold, unyielding exterior bit by bit. when spring comes, you grow used to saving him a cup of coffee at the cafe, and you end up walking back to the dorm room together after your shifts.

he’s unnervingly flirtatious with everyone, you discover - though you’re still coldly snapping at him to “stop that, i’m not a girl”, and “save it for your fans”, he’s unbearably cheerful with his pick-up lines and generous winks. a part of you thinks that maybe he’s forgotten all about your childhood spent together, that this is his way of moving on.

and to think you’re still stuck in the confines of your shy, dependent childhood.

jeonghan does tease the story out of you one break, goading you into talking by way of offering to brew you a special cup of tea. (it’s highly suspect, but the aroma is irresistible, so you fold.) he listens, intent, to the stammering way you put forth your dilemma, feeling so small and trivial about a childhood friend grown up.

“it’s like,” you say, gripping onto the cup. “like he’s grown up, and i’m just still there.”

“that’s alright,” jeonghan says, eyes glinting. “we all grow up in the end - maybe it’s just because he’s really good-looking.”

you nod pathetically. “yeah, he is.”

“but you are, too,” jeonghan says, cupping your hand. “look, how about i set you up with a date with...”

he turns around, spots, something, and grins evilly. the look should alert you to coax jeonghan out of whatever scheme he has, but you’re too busy sulking. jeonghan continues his search, and then visibly lights up.

“how about seokmin?” he suggests. “seokmin is the best fool you could ever have - he’s tall, silly, funny and handsome. besides, if it doesn’t work out, he’s not the kind to hold a grudge.”

you glance up at seokmin, who’s currently laughing with soonyoung. “isn’t he dating -?”

jeonghan snaps his fingers. “not yet. which also means you’d be killing two birds with one stone.”

you roll your eyes, “hannie, doesn’t that mean you don’t want us to work out?”

“well,” jeonghan says carefully, choosing his words. “i never said what the first bird was. besides! junhui’s waiting at the counter for you.”

you sigh, and turn around. junhui’s eager, unspoiled face rushes into view when he sees you. you try to smile back, suddenly too aware of the glowing look on his face. beside you, jeonghan hums a victorious little jingle.

junhui - online

wjh [9:00am]: haohao

wjh [9:00am]: wat time do u end

you [9:01am]: uh you can go back first

wjh [9:02am]: inline.tumblr.98hh3.gif

wjh [9:02am]: ooh suspicious

wjh [9:02am]: does haohao have,,,,,,,,,

wjh [9:03am]: a date??????

wjh [9:03am]: inline.tumblr.00874h.gif

wjh [9:03am]: imgur764.jpg

you [9:04am]: yes

wjh [9:06am]: for real?

wjh [9:07am]: who?

you [9:07am]: seokmin

you [9:07am]: coworker.

wjh [9:11am]: oh

wjh [9:20am]: have fun!!!

wjh [9:21am]: use protection!!! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

you [9:22am]: what the heck it’s just a d a t e

wjh [9:24am]: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

wjh [9:40am]: where are you guys going?

you [9:41am]: ..........

you [9:41am]: why.

wjh [9:55am]: just curious uwu

seokmin is more like a blundering fool that you adore than someone who’d sweep you off your feet. though you spend the day easily chatting and making fun of passers-by (you’re poor college students who’ve spent too much time in libraries anyway) you don’t feel like it’s a date.

the fact that seokmin won’t stop yammering about soonyoung, too, might be a clue. over the three hours, you’ve learnt what kind of ice cream, shirt, colour, future house as well as number soonyoung likes.

but seokmin is a dutiful gentleman, so he sends you all the way to your doorstep. you don’t really want to give him a kiss, even if that was an entertaining date, and he seems oblivious enough.

“thank you for today,” you say to seokmin, instead, patting his shoulder awkwardly.

he’s unfazed. “it was really fun hanging out with you! we should do it more often!”

you laugh. “yep. night, seokmin.”

the door opens before you can get to it, and junhui peeks his head out.

“oh,” he says unnaturally. “hey, seokmin, right?”

“wen junhui!” seokmin greets. “i’ve come to bring minghao back.”

junhui flips on his charm, and you note that even seokmin isn’t immune to it. you push seokmin towards the lift lobby instead, and tell him it’s getting late. junhui gives you those greasy wriggly eyebrows.

“how was it?”

“were you waiting by the door,” you retort.

he shrugs. “you didn’t answer my question.”

“it was fine.”

“oh, just fine?” he parrots, sitting on the bed opposite yours.

you take off your coat. “seokmin is a good guy. he’s just...”

“incompatible?” junhui suggests. you can’t help but hear a note of glee in his voice.

“sure, yeah,” you say, suddenly miffed.

junhui doesn’t read the cues. “oh, so do you think you’ll have a second date?”

you’re about to tell him to get his own date when you realise that you haven’t really seen any girl fawning over him or pressing up against his side in a while. strange.

“maybe,” you say, squinting at his bobbing adam’s apple. “what’s it to you?”

“nothing,” he replies smoothly. “just making sure everything’s fine for our haohao.”

jeonghan doesn’t miss a beat. “how was your date?”

“you could ask seokmin.”

jeonghan swats you with his bunched-up apron. “i meant, what did wen junhui think of your date?”

you pause. “huh?”

“did he ask about it?” jeonghan presses.

“yeah,” you say, and jeonghan’s catlike smile spreads across his lips.

“that’s good.” and then, tying his apron on, jeonghan says, “by the way, soonyoung’s gonna ask seokmin out later around lunch time.”

“he told you?”

jeonghan waves his fingers in the air dismissively. “he doesn’t know yet, but he will.”

right before rush hour, at 11:30am, soonyoung is successfully goaded into confessing to seokmin. jeonghan, lazing by the side, gives you a sneaky smile before prowling off to sell some customer the most expensive drink on the menu. you shudder at the sly, sharp-witted manipulation, but take a look at soonyoung and seokmin who are currently all red and giggly.

it was time anyway.

history repeats itself: there’s a girl, no doubt here for wen junhui’s number. she’s sipping dreamily on her white chocolate mocha frappucino, and chatting at you. a few words, like “handsome” and “roommate” and “wen junhui” fly past your head as you grudgingly polish the cups at your station.

“what’s he like,” white chocolate mocha frappe asks. “does he like chocolates? should i give him some for valentine’s?”

you snort. “valentine’s over.”

“ooh! then his birthday! you’re his roommate, you must know!”

you pause, remembering. white chocolate mocha frappe catches on, because suddenly she’s leaning over the counter and bothering you about the date.

“what’s so special about wen junhui anyway?” you stall for time, trying to get soonyoung’s attention.

(he’s too busy clinging onto seokmin. traitor.)

white chocolate mocha frappe gasps, like you’ve committed some blasphemous crime. “have you never seen him? he’s so hot, and he’s got such a good style, and he’s smart, and his smile is just gorgeous!”

you roll your eyes, irritation reaching its peak. “he had braces done. it’s not even that good.”

because, really, you’re still a bit bitter about that whole awkward ordeal in high school.

"oh my god, wen junhui!” white chocolate mocha frappe exclaims, almost tripping over her seat to get to the man.

you turn around, and see junhui within hearing proximity. he smiles at her, and then at you, but there’s a hint of hurt in it. like someone decided to rip the door of his unfathomable ego right off its hinges.

it must be the braces.

“junhui, i-”

“i forgot i left something at bingbing’s.” and then he beats a hasty retreat.

“junhui’s birthday is coming, i made him upset, and i don’t know what to do,” is what you blurt out to jeonghan.

jeonghan, dazed and half awake, snorts at your predicament. “just kiss and make up.”

“i can’t do that!”

“why not?”

you blubber, “you don’t do that with your roommate!”

for a moment, you think jeonghan’s gone back to sleeping on the counter. but suddenly, there’s a hoarse chckle of disbelief. jeonghan looks up at you, eyes wet with tears of amusement before slowly grinding to a halt.

“wait, what?” he says.

“i talked about his braces-”

“no. what do you mean, ‘roommate’?”

you give him a glare. if he’s trying to be funny...

jeonghan moans, and presses his face into his hands. “you’re still not together?”

when confusion runs amok your features, jeonghan takes that as silent confirmation and gets up from his seat, pacing around unhappily. he shakes his head at you, adding to the incomprehension.

“look, you are not going to mess this up because of your obliviousness,” he says, cupping your face. “even soonyoung and seokmin got their shit together.”

you don’t understand what that means; soonyoung and seokmin have been forgetting orders due to lovestruck sighs and upsetting pots and pans in the kitchen for the past couple of weeks. there had been once when soonyoung accidentally keyed seokmin’s name for every order throughout the day.

jeonghan sighs, “alright, maybe just apologise for now. you’ve been friends for a long time, he’ll definitely forgive you.”

you nod obediently, and jeonghan lights up, cooing at your cuteness.

the thing is, having wen junhui tailor his schedule to suit yours means that you have no clue about his daily whereabouts. he’s retreated into the same routine of avoiding you entirely, and going to parties or hanging out at his playmates’ dorms. the thought of him tangled in white chocolate mocha frappe’s sheets has you fuming quietly, trying not to tip over boiling point.

when three cups of americanos have gone to waste because he didn’t show up, you decide to take the confrontational route: which is why you’re at the front door of some... cheap, college debauchery.

bingbing recognises you, and invites you into the frat house. she must have understood the look in your eyes - doubtful, intimidated but determined - because she excuses herself in the booming bass to help you find junhui.

it’s a whirl of colours, mostly tinted purple, and everywhere you look there are people making out, or engaging in some drunk, unfortunate behaviour. glancing around, you weave in and out of crowds, only to stop when you see someone of the same build as junhui.

he’s definitely seen you, too, because his mouth falls open as though to say something. then a slender arm snakes around his waist and a girl in a bedazzled tank top winks her way up to kiss him.

you’ve seen enough; so you turn your head and leave, feeling a pinch between your eyes. the clarity of the streets is still blurred by the pulsing bass from the frat house, and in the empty midnight you feel more suffocated than ever.

“minghao! hao!”

you don’t stop.

“haohao, look-”

“don’t call me that,” you say, disgusted, but it comes out as a weak sob.

he hesitates, but hears no bite in your words. “haohao, don’t cry, c’mon, look at me.”

you shove at him. “i’m not crying.”

“look, it’s just - you said -”

“oh, right, i’m sorry,” you spit, years of resentment and aching loneliness welling up. “i’m sorry i said that you got braces to that girl; i’m sorry i said i liked your teeth; i’m sorry i actually liked them; i’m sorry i interrupted whatever you had going on with bingbing;

“i’m sorry for chasing after you all my life - when we were playing, when you got into pledis and i followed, and now MMA and just now that party for your stupid birthday-”

you’re choking on your own tears now, breathless and panicked. junhui smooths a thumb across your cheek, and you flinch. he continues wiping away the tears on your face, even if they don’t feel like they’re stopping any time soon.

“did you really like them?”

“hu ya,” you whisper.

he smiles, all teeth. “you remember.”

a wave of shame and embarrassment engulfs you. “i- let go-”

he doesn’t. “now you’re the only one who knows about them - no one else can really see it, you know.”

junhui takes the opportunity as you still, trying to comprehend his words.

“haohao,” he says, gentle. “i really like you."

you can’t think straight. “i’ve wasted three cups of americano for you.”

at least he has the decency to pretend to be guilty. “let me make it up to you?”

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen ff #junhao #junhui #minghao #mutual pining #fluff #teeth #wow kill me right up this is longer than i expected #coming of age #childhood friends to lovers

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Top 7 best designers collection from New York fashion week S/S 2019

Top 7 best designers collection from New York fashion week S/S 2019 catwalk team Wed, 09/12/2018 - 06:54

New York fashion week spring-summer 2019 season brings the Nomadic vibes and the emergence of the youth culture.

Oscar De La Renta

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According to Garcia “It’s a very nomadic collection,” That meant relaxed shapes done up with decorative elements and controlled exotica, fringing, tassels, embroideries and various patterns from florals to geometrics to ikats to an intricately wrought silk print featuring a montage of imagery from their summer stops.

Shapes were indeed languid, incorporating such tropes of non-specific “far away” as sarongs and caftans. There was tailoring, too, delivered with a sportswear attitude — linen blazer over charmeuse top and crochet silk raffia skirt.

Evening factors significantly into the de la Renta lexicon and the designers worked it here with an evolutionary twist. They want to guide their customers toward relaxed ways to dress at night. Thus, they all but ignored ballgowns, preferring genuine separates — silk ikat bustier over trousers; black asymmetric, fringed jacket over fluid white pants — and long dresses with languid lines, including several slit-to-there goddess beauties.

Day or night, many of the clothes looked appealing, and the designers certainly offered a different variation. However, in fashion speak “nomadic” often means eclectic, and there’s a fine line between eclectic and unfocused. With a tighter edit and fewer subplots, Kim and Garcia’s would have clarified their overall message.

3.1 Phillip Lim

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The collection was highly designed but ultimately wearable — the bulls-eye in the advanced contemporary market.

Instead of piling up as he did for fall, Lim pared down. “Coming from the previous collection where we unpacked a suitcase, I wanted to shed a little bit but keep that nomadic vibe,” he said backstage.

The elements he chose to work with from each genre were quite clear. He let the spare palette, smooth, undulating curves and abbreviated shapes of Sixties Pop frame the rustic Berber textures — fringe, woven stripes, shearling — with a clean modernity. It made for a collection that was highly designed but ultimately wearable, which is the bulls-eye in the advanced contemporary market.

Silhouettes ranged from short and neat to long and loose, always cut with a purist’s eye. A woven striped vest with fringe trim was worn over a silver metallic bra top with a curvy silver button and clean white trousers. A white tailored blazer was elongated into a maxi coat with layers of fringe inspired by a Berber carpet and worn over a black tank dress with a curved neckline. The precise lines of a silver crochet caftan made it fit for a minimalist Barbarella on vacation.

Boss RTW Spring 2019

Boss S/S2019

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The Boss collection is all about the “grounded in suiting,” it brings a collection for the young customer and so offered up more casual options inspired by Los Angeles as well. Wilts infused the line with a soft and soothing color palette of washed pinks, pale blues and stark white that was mixed by burgundy and navy in relaxed silhouettes to impart “a very light, easygoing feel.” Suits were made from crinkled cotton and paper-touch cloth for the very casual styling, while coats and jackets in a glossy nylon took on a crisp texture.

Surf, an extension of the L.A. inspiration, also influenced the collection and was evident in the details. Pants, blouses and backless dresses were fastened with long drawstrings while a woman’s jumpsuit and men’s short-sleeve tops had long zipper pulls that mimicked those of a wetsuit.

Wilts also offered up his take on board shorts and rash guards in technical nylon. Athletic stripes and a pattern abstracted from L.A. city maps adorned standout knitwear, cropped for men and ultrathin for women, as well as a great short-sleeve women’s leather dress.

The show closed with a white story of suiting and lightweight dresses that Wilts said offered up “a little more sophistication” but with the same “airy, beautiful and healthy L.A. vibe.” The collection didn’t stray too far from its elegant roots, but Wilts managed to evolve it into one that incorporates the multifaceted lives of the Hugo Boss man and woman.

Longchamp- Nomadic vibes

Longchamp

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Longchamp’s Sophie Delafontaine when speaking backstage about her inspiration for New York fashion week spring-summer 2019 collection was- a woman who was “elegant and chic but had a twist of eccentricity.”

This translated to a lineup with a palette of cobalt blue, chocolate brown and clay reds shown in a mix of layered dresses, tunics and vests. Delafontaine diluted the rich tones with several pieces in a leopard print and some semi-sheer maxidresses in a bright ikat.

The designer highlighted the French house’s history of leather craftsmanship with leather details that popped up throughout the runway. Delafontaine brings an iconic Sixties pieces like fringed halter tops and dresses and suede shorts, pairing many looks with a thigh-high gladiator sandal, many of which were also embellished with fringe.

Handbags are synonymous with the privately owned house; she upgraded her cross-body Amazone bag, introduced in fall; on the runway, it was reimagined in a variety of iterations, some with earthy stone details with lambskin, a few with fur and of course, more fringe. The fringe was heavy-handed and could have been dialed back some, as nearly every look had some sort of fringe accent.

10 cross by Derek Lam- targeting the Millennial consumers

10 cross by Derek Lam

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The biggest story for the season was the modern range of tailoring targeting the Millennial consumers. Pants have been such a strong selling category that it was time to offer jackets to pair them with.

A soft pink linen blazer was a modern proposition for the office, cut boxy and styled with matching jogger pants. Girls will appreciate their relaxed vibe and versatility. There were also short suits (a big trend for the season) in rainbow stripes, and a polished deconstructed blazer mirroring the buttons of the aforementioned dress.

Here, buttons on the back of shirting allowed it to swing either conservative or daring, and ruffles on a pink dress rotated around the sleeves. Even the new sash bag could be taken apart to become a belt and cute little clutch.

Calvin Klien- Jaws and "The Graduate"

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The theme of the season was "killer instinct", with one beast who devours beachgoers and another who would eat her own young for lunch, only she doesn’t get away with it. The attraction for the designer was Both “Jaws” and “The Graduate,” as Simons’ show notes decoded, “represent transgression, the idea of the predator, and a fundamental questioning of authority — a rebellion that is quintessentially American.”

Simons’ graduates, men, and women wore traditional mortarboards and elegant black coats as robes. As for the bevy of Mrs. Rs — they seduced with high chic rather than sexiness in plentiful takes on a shift dress that nodded beautifully to mid-century couture, the luxe fabrics bunched and “crashed” for heightened surface texture, while big, jeweled broaches added sparkle. Contrasting the haute aura: slouchy sweaters over fluid skirts. In terms of fashion news, that was more or less it.

According to Raf, “The collection explores taboos and temptations, shifts in the culture and community, but ultimately, the overarching theme is love.” Missed that one? Ditto. But so what? If Simons’ outsider musings on American culture sometimes swing pretentious, at least he’s got a thought in his head. Not all deep thoughts translate seamlessly into powerful fashion. Here, Simons allowed storyline to trump clothes, which resulted in a fashion message not fully baked.

Michael Kors- Joy and Bliss

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The styles were exuberant with color and pattern a very cheerful floral, beach scenics, stripes, dots, plaids, and mélange knits that were worn in combination.

What didn’t explode with color came in optic white with flowery surface texture — leather lace, eyelet, matelassé. Michael Kors worked to bring up the multiple styles of ruffled dresses, shirtdresses, retro shifts, floppy-hatted hippie fare, fringed skirts, straight skirts, elevated sweats and on and on, a big, breezy, something-for-everybody romp.

For the men, the collection exuded the same sporty attitude as the women in looks featuring surf sweaters, Baja pullovers, cashmere bike shorts, and cargo track pants. A few more dressed-up pieces included a black cotton blazer, a crushed cotton trench and a suit with short-shorts.

Kors promise of spirit, joy, and charm through his collection. Yet one came away thinking that broad diversity on the runway is best limited to the casting — models of various ethnicities, ages, and body types. In that respect, Kors is a leader.

His collection, though, would have benefited from a little less universality. With so many items and silhouettes, it started to feel as if Kors were checking various merch boxes — embellished jeans, check; swimsuit, check. Along the way, the collection sacrificed some of the distinctive tony allure that typically marks Kors’ work

Michael Kors

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Catwalk

New York fashion week

The following blog post Top 7 best designers collection from New York fashion week S/S 2019 was originally published to Blog

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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Team Man Repeller Recalls Their Most Confusing Fashion Moments

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Team Man Repeller Recalls Their Most Confusing Fashion Moments

A few years ago, I found myself sitting at an airport bar with my team from my old agency job. We were trapped at Newark International after a long meeting day and, after a few glasses of really bad, expensive Malbec paired with really good, expensive nachos, the subject of old hairstyles came up. We swapped tales of adolescent bowl cuts and curls gone wrong, bad teenage dye-jobs and weird center parts that haunt us still. Our creative director piped up to say that he didn’t regret any of his hairstyles or looks in general; instead, he intentionally leaned into whatever the extreme style of the day was so that he could look back in a few years and chuckle at himself. He then proceeded to share a photo of himself in a Color Me Badd-style suit with a knowing grin on his face.

As I get older, that approach makes more sense to me. We use old music to evoke a certain time in our lives, why not clothes? As it gets harder to keep track of where I was in my life when I did that one thing, remembering that I wore too-short bootcut jeans (freshman year of high school) or a spaghetti strap tank top over a regular tank top (freshman year of undergrad) helps me place myself on the timeline of my life.

In the spirit of that perspective, and in honor of Blackout Month, I asked members of the Man Repeller team to share the outfits or looks from their pasts that they’ve intentionally blacked out (get it?) to give them a new chance in the spotlight. What I got was more than just a quick note about fit or colors, but an evocation of a certain time, an outfit that reminded them of how they felt when they wore it. Give it a read and then share your blacked out fashion moment in the comments.

Amelia Diamond, Head of Creative

I definitely have worse outfit photos from my youth, teens and young adulthood, but I remember them all. Very, very, very low-rise jeans hang in my memory right alongside the arm warmers I wore in my mall-“punk” phase and my “going out” outfits of college. What I always seem to blackout, however, are my fashion choices from around third through fifth grade, when I was somewhere in the middle of WANTING to develop a personal style but still very much needing my mom to supplement the clothes.

I forgot about this outfit in particular until my dad sent it. The photo was taken for school picture day. It makes me cringe because I kind of remember being this age. I think I wanted to be cute but was getting too old to be cute, if that makes sense? I believe the hat was my mom’s influence, and I kind of remember thinking that watch was very, very cool.

Starling Irving, Social Media Associate

My parents never once told me what I could or couldn’t wear throughout my life, which was both a blessing and a curse. I spent most of my life dressed like the photo you see here.

My favorite brand was Little Miss Matched, which sold sets of three mismatched socks, and my method of dressing was to cram as many colors into one outfit as possible and then add go-go boots, an extravagant hair bow and a retainer. Earlier, I went through a hat phase where I wore argyle fedoras and knitted golf caps every single day. They were accompanied by knee-length sweat pants.

Of all my cringeworthy fashion trends, the worst was my Juicy phase only because it was the only trend I bought into because the popular girls in middle school thought it was cool. I took pride in dressing for myself even when I knew my outfits would be a source of mocking, but my brief stint in the world of pink velour was the one time period where I was dressing for other people. Major mistake.

Haley, Deputy Editor

This was truly a difficult decision, as almost everything I wore from birth through college could qualify as embarrassing, but this photo of me wearing a fedora and a going-out top sticks out. I may be making a jokey pose — but I think that’s only because I’m wearing sunglasses at night and not because of the fedora, which I have to assume I was wearing in earnest, as there are other photos of me smiling with my roommates while wearing it. I believe this photo was taken in 2008, when I was 18, which is not long enough ago at all. I probably bought all of this at Forever 21 with my computer technician paycheck. I can’t for the life of me remember why I thought the hat was a good idea. I’m choosing to be compassionate to my former self though; my myriad fashion faux pas were never for a lack of trying. I really wanted to be cool and fashionable and special!

Imani, Editorial Assistant

This is my second grade school picture. Whenever I look at it, all I can see is a miniature Whoopi Goldberg. During this period of my life, my style was firmly situated in the business casual zone; I typically wore corduroy blazers adorned with broaches, argyle and striped sweater vests, sensible brown and black loafers. You get the picture. I dressed like a young professional and I don’t remember it being my mother’s doing (she started allowing me to pick out my own clothes when I was five). I can’t say for sure why I was drawn to such sophisticated pieces, but perhaps it was due to my newfound determination to become a fashion designer by adulthood.

Nora (me!), Managing Editor

I spent my freshman year of high school trying on a few “cool” identities. An Abercrombie shirt one day, a Baby Phat one the other. Eventually I landed on what I thought was “thrift store cool.” I knew that shopping at thrift stores was fun and neat and what all the stylish girls in the costume shop did, so I decided it was for me! I somehow missed the memo to look for interesting things or fun dresses and just bought a bunch of old sport t-shirts I thought were ironic because they had names of far off suburbs on them. This Glen Ellyn soccer was one of my favorites, but after a women yelled “I”m from Glen Ellyn too” at me one day, I decided it was time to retire my rec league looks.

Harling Ross, Fashion Editor

This photo was taken with a self-timer in 2013, when I fancied myself a burgeoning fashion blogger. As laughable as I find the outfit now (why the hamburger am I wearing wool evening gloves with low-slung boyfriend jeans?????), I DO feel a fondness for this particular period in my life, when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with myself after graduating but I knew I loved the act of getting dressed and unpacking the words and feelings that floated into my head every time I did. It’s what lead me to where I am now! But rest assured, that fondness is coupled with a healthy dose of cringe at the strange variety of stylized irony that was so popular at the time in fashion — one I fully bought into, clearly. For a real treat, zoom in on my left hand and bear witness to the fact that yes, I did, in fact, stack gold rings over the aforementioned wool evening gloves, which I remember thinking was extremely clever at the time.

Leandra Medine, Founder

Nora, I agree with your former creative director. I haven’t necessarily blocked out any fashion memories (not even the summer I wore padded bras and ribbed tank tops with low slung Abercrombie skirts and my midriff showing) and still stand by them because I have almost always used clothes to define myself through various stages of my identity evolving. Why would I want to intentionally forget the obscenity of those years, I ask you? I wouldn’t be here without them!

Now, I’d have presented a photo of said ribbed tank top but I don’t have access to albums outside of Facebook, so this picture from 2012 will have to do. I am pretty sure it was taken a couple of weeks before my wedding while walking down Broadway in Soho and mostly I have chosen it because it could have technically been taken like, last week, and no one would have questioned that. This infuriates me because I assure you my relationship with metallic wedged footwear is over (for the moment), and I hate a chiffon panel more than most things (excluding a high low dress, which this is, by the way). For now.

I guess the difference between the style and therefore identity of your early and late twenties is as simple as modifications that the unassuming eye can’t see, but as grand as the implication of a nuance. This outfit, by all accounts, is still on trend, but the neckline, the fabric, the colors, the sunglasses with the shoes…it’s all wrong. I am much more exacting in my selections now. If I’m turning this into a metaphor for my personality, what I’m saying is that in your early twenties, you dance around the person you’re going to become, but don’t quite know who she is yet. In your late twenties, it starts to crystallize, still isn’t exactly clear yet, but feels a hell of a lot more in tune with your truth/integrity.

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