#i just like posting my silly shirt designs every now and again-

[livian-lucifenia]

Dropping this here bc I like these, but they're probably never gonna be made public lmao-

My bestie and I wanted matching shirts, so I made some.

I might do a couple more designs for other songs?? Idk-

(They all need merch tbh-)

[sunseed-leaf]

art dump timeee

lots of pokemon stuff i hope you like it :) this is a looooooooooong post

Originally these were just design mashups, at least, that was the plan for my "redesigns"... but it really made me realize how little they change Red throughout the generations. hence why he looks VERY similar to his canon design, i just added some things i guess. for Blue i could go absolutely ham with things i wanted in his design since there's so much to choose from. the fang idea comes from my friend. also, these are pretty much used for an AU based off of the RG project romhack by @shima-draws (i hope tagging is okay aaa) bc i played it with my friend and we really liked it and it converted him into a pokemon fan and namelessshipper :) In the end we made our own AU based off of it because other characters got thrown into it. we're continuing the timeline in soul silver :p

Here's a design for Leaf, she's Red's sister in my headcanon, i again went for the design mashup thing so that's why she looks like a mashup of Green and Leaf. i don't have much to say here....

Then there's some designs i can't show but it's for the reason that they are just human + trainer versions of sonic exes (not joking, i wish i was. my friend dragged them into our mini-roleplays, only two and they were Red's traveling companions and later Kris's too.)

Then here's a redesign inspired by other Daisy designs. dunno why but i just wanted her to be pink....

Eepy...

even more eepies....

then i made some silly redesigns/design mashups for Ash and Gary

And drew Red and Blue in alola. married dudes -w- Just in general my headcanon is that Red collects keychains, he probably has boxes worth of keychains and puts different ones on his bag every day, he even did this as a child he just didn't stop even into adulthood. Still a kid at heart with his silly keychains more headcanon rambles: Blue hates the cold but loves the warmth and Red loves the cold and hates the warmth. please put him into a freezer he can't handle the heat of alola- also yeah i know i messed up the number on Red's shirt, i learned how to draw 96 after this, i promise

And now we get to Pokemon Soul Crystal,,, which is just pokemon soul silver but with a patch that makes Lyra into Kris lol

Here she is!! i tried incorporating some bits from Lyra and her comfy outfit is based off of Gold i swear i love Kris's design in canon, the hair is a lil funky tho so i made the pigtails a bit shorter and poofier

then we got Silver here... again not much change, i love his design, i just wanted to add some moon details bc why not

I'll batch these together! here's some redesigns for the OG trio for Soul Crystal

Blue is supposed to look like he's been crying (sorry Blue :C) Red just makes me think of pokepastas im sorry, once he gets off mt. silver he'll get a haircut. Leaf is just. i dunno, i don't really know how to characterize her... she cares a lot about people but she's kinda bitchy about it. tough love i guess.. I think after soul crystal is over i'll get working on an continuation of that that isn't tied to a game where she gets more of an important role so i can work on her character. Blue is wearing lots of reds/warmer tones cause why not and Red is supposed to wear lots of blues/colder tones to give a little bit of a connection i guess.

Now, here's the final drawing before i show shitpost stuff, this was drawn with a drawing tablet rather than a mouse like usual

lines are a little funky but i like how this looks, i just need a bit more practice, i'm rusty on drawing with a pen

and now, shitpost:

i love Cinder the Typhlosion,,,, he's so cute

i know this is at the top of the post but i wanna put this here again and credit the idea for this: here.

that's all, goob bye i'll go back into hibernation

[seth-whumps]

HI SETH IT ME AGAIN HOPE YOU DONT MIND A FEW MISCELLANEOUS QUESTIONS

as always feel free to answer which ones you like and pass on the ones you don’t!

these are all for both jj and morri:

do they drink? (in morri’s case, do they ever need to drink to keep up social appearances? does it effect them?) and how do they act when tipsy/drunk?

what is their favorite feature about the other? could be personality-wise, physical, or one of each.

we learned about their pajamas but what do they wear on an average day? just whatever clothes they’re most comfy in their daily life?

ok now venturing into deeper territory: what are their biggest regrets. what keeps them up at night?

do they keep any secrets from the other? how important is it that the other doesn't find out? could be small secrets or huge ones.

LASTLY what is one thing the other does that drives them crazy. INTERPRET THAT HOW YOU WILL COULD BE SILLY OR SERIOUS

your sillies live in my mind. they have a little apartment and everything. they're cooking breakfast right now.

HI BUG EVERY QUESTION FROM YOU IS A BLESSING. never fear my askbox it welcomes you

long post alert I LOVE these questions so so much

Do they drink?

Morrigan does have systems allocated to eating and drinking, but they get no pleasure from it. In fact, it's more likely to make them feel ill. If however they have to drink, they might act tipsy or drunk for the act. They turn down alcohol when they can though--it's combustible and they're machine made of metal.

JJ was underage, not even sixteen, when he first became a hero. He was only 18 when he became Journey. However, that didn't stop him from a beer with his friends back home or a college-style blackout drunk episode. He doesn't like getting drunk now, his body isn't accustomed to it and he gets very violently sick if he drinks too much.

Favorite feature about the other?

At first, Morrigan was somewhat taken by JJ's freckles. They were so natural, and gave his face a glow and a warmth to it. Now, though, it's kind of everything. There is no trait that disgusts Morrigan. They don't realize any love for JJ besides loyalty--that is, loyalty to everything he is, was, and will be.

JJ is very shocked to discover how soft their hair is. The moments when they break down, and allow his fingers to brush over their head, took him completely aback. When the Crush starts actually developing, there's no point where he isn't wanting to reach over and just tangle a finger in their black locks.

Outfits!

JJ:

He's most comfortable in his home letterman from high school. It's tan and red, it's got his last name on the back, it's his most prized piece of clothing, even if he has to hide it sometimes to be less recognizable. Often, this is paired with black jeans and a pair of very comfortable sneakers, black and white with some red designs, and his favorite pair of strawberry earrings.

An alternate design is a plan white t-shirt and black and white running sweats. This is where he puts his hair up. He looks very dressed down and casual in this. Otherwise, he'll throw a red flannel over it, or swap the t for a tank top instead.

Morrigan:

Morri loves to feel professional. It makes them feel in control. Their favorite article of clothing is a blue diamond patterned sweater vest. Often, they'll wear this over either a white button up or a black long-sleeved turtleneck, and throw a black blazer or jacket over. Khakis, white jeans, and grey dress pants are common, with a pair of black shined dress shoes.

Otherwise, they might be caught with just the white button up, sleeves rolled up, tucked into grey dress pants, hair a bit ruffled as they work. The day JJ sees them in his black Nirvana shirt though? That's the day he dies of Bisexuality.

Biggest regrets? this is a deep one. i love it.

It's hard not to regret anything when you're Morrigan White. You have killed without remorse. You didn't learn about remorse until the person you now care about more than anything was bloody and broken at your feet. You are built for a purpose and you broke it. Morrigan regrets learning how to feel. Staying a machine would've made it all so much easier.

JJ regrets leaving home. He misses it desperately, but everything is so different it hurts. He wishes he stayed, wishes he let himself train to take over his dad's farm, he wishes he never stepped foot from the town sign marking its edge. He wishes he could go back. He's too different, though. Everything is.

Secrets?

Morrigan does their best to hide anything they're afraid of from JJ. He knows nothing about maintenance, and how much it hurts. He doesn't know that Morrigan's greatest fear is hurting someone else. That acting is great, but sometimes they feel like they're suffocating. Because they shouldn't feel things anyway. Why should JJ know about it?

JJ is hiding one very particularly important thing from Morrigan. It's very important. They have never pried about his background, even when he became a target. Their information on Journey is limited unless they go looking, and they don't look. This wildly, incredibly important thing that Morrigan has no clue about? Journey was a superhuman. Now, though? After cryotherapy?

His powers are gone.

Pet peeves about the other?

JJ never puts his shoes on the shoe rack in his own studio apartment or in Morrigan's underground hideout. And they're not prone to outbursts of emotion unless something is wrong, but that pisses them off so much.

Uh. This one is a bit of a surprise thing for the WWEvent. But I'll give you a sneak peek here--even if Morri doesn't pry into JJ's background or past or personal information, they apparently have no qualms about actually breaking into his apartment.

[tortoisebore]

I just saw your post abt chapter 8 so naturally i have to ask what kind of drunk are the marauders? (Ex: Happy drunk, sad drunk, horny drunk etc..)

i’m finally starting to get caught up on these again eeeeeeeeeeeeeee i love this one 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 (just doing remus & sirius or else this would be 5,000 words)

i feel like everyone has four phases of drunk. and every kind of drunk is different like wine drunk does not equal tequila drunk but for consistency’s sake let’s say this is a typical night out, we’re ordering an uber bc we’re all planning on getting fully drunk tn, we’re doing cocktails, we’re having fun

sirius is a party girl & has a pretty decent tolerance but once the third drink hits he’s on a downward spiral. he starts off very excitable—he’s happy to be here, he’s happy you’re here, he’s happy there’s a drink in everyone’s hand. phase two is the dancey phase. if the music is bad he’s just doing a little shimmy at the bar but if it’s good he’s physically dragging ppl onto the dance floor. if there’s not a dance floor he’s making one. remus hasn’t had anywhere close to enough to drink to dance by the time sirius is this phase of drunk so when sirius makes a beeline for him and pulls at his arm he’s all “oh my god sirius stop i’m not going to dance fuck off you’re so embarrassing” but sirius is like “SORRY CANT HEAR U OVER ALL THIS DANCING 🕺🕺🕺 GET UR ASS UP RN 💃💃💃” and sometimes remus gives in then but sometimes he has to be deeper into his own drunk journey to get anywhere near a dance floor.

sirius’ phase 3 is horny bc everyone has a horny phase when they’re drunk. this phase starts at the tail end of his fourth drink—he’s at the bar & takes that last little sip out of the tiny cocktail straw and then he’s getting tunnel vision going “remus remus remus where’s remus oh my god look at him he’s so fuckidnf sexy how does he do it get a load of that sweater holy shit 🫦👹👺🤭😛🥰 hot damn that’s my bb 🤩🥵😳🫠🥴😋.” and remus is only on his second phase of drunk right now & they’re rarely at their own respective horny phases at the same so sirius’ advances are brushed off a bit. like he’s sliding in behind remus & sticking his hands up his shirt and whispering all sorts of shit into his ear like “c’mon let’s go to the bathroom” and “wanna make u feel good” and “i’ll do anything u want pls pls pls need u so bad pls” but remus is very much not on the same planet and he’s like “we’re not gonna fuck in the bathroom u beautiful silly goose!! 😄 that’s crazy!! 😁 omg 😍 ur so so pretty!! 😄 ur my bf & we’re in love 🥰 can u believe it!!”

and sirius is pouty about it for a minute but by the time he finishes his next drink he’s officially in phase four which is the “life is so beautiful i love u all so much” phase. about 50% of the time this involves crying and the other 50% it involves going around the room hanging off everyone’s arm & giving a speech about “you’re all just my favorite people i can’t believe i get to know u all you’re so beautiful i love my life.” and by this point remus is in deep enough to give in when sirius throws himself into his arms and gives him a little smile & says “☺️ do u wanna dance w me 🙂🥰” so they have a song and a dance or four or five before it’s time to go home.

remus’ four phases of drunk are a little more subdued. phase one is the loosey goosey phase, he’s relaxed and not thinking ab all the things that are stressing him out and he’s less snippy after a couple drinks. but phase two is the loud talking phase. he’s feeling good he’s feeling chatty. he wants to tell u in depth all about this documentary he saw the other day about ancient global architecture designed around the summer solstice. he’s gesturing with his hands and his eyes are all big and he’s talking way too fucking loud. like…… way too fucking loud. people are starting to look over remus pls can u lower ur voice just a little this is getting weird

phase three is an extension of phase two. he’s still feeling good feeling chatty but now he’s getting all sappy and sweet and giddy. he’s looking at sirius across the room like 🤩❤️🫶💕🥹🥰💓😘💞✨😍💖💓 and going “oh my god……oh my god. look at him. stunning” and sighing and waxing poetic to whoever’s next to him but there’s a 75% chance that it’s just a stranger at the bar. and then sirius comes over and he’s throwing himself all over remus going “need u so bad bby can we go home” and “i’m wearing that thing u like under here wanna see” but remus is too starry-eyed to take him up on it. like he’s not even rly listening bc he's too busy touching sirius’ face and watching the clips in his hair sparkle under the lights to do anything but gasp and ooh and ahh and be like “wow!! wow!! look!! at you!! oh!! my god!!”

but one more drink in and he’s officially entered his final horny phase, which is definitely less in-your-face than sirius’ but it’s about a hundred times more intense. normally sirius has simmered down a bit by the time remus’ phase four rolls around, but now remus is in deep enough to watch him a little more intently. like he’s giving less 🥰🤩💞✨😍💕 and more 😶🤤😵‍💫🥴🥵😏. and he’s not going to do much other than stare until they’re home (bc he’s absolutely not afraid of some pda but he’s possessive down to his bones & doesn’t want to risk anyone else watching sirius like that) and he always says he’s going to play it cool & keep them both in line until they’re out of there, but a few more sips of the right kind of liquor and it’s game over. so when sirius asks him to dance they’re 100% doing more touching and ogling and grinding than actual dancing bc the second remus gets his hands on sirius’ skin it’s lights out for his big ole brain, he’s running on caveman brain cells & caveman brain cells are just saying “pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty”

they’re probably getting kicked out of the club/bar eventually but like good for them go gays go !!

[ozymandiasdirge]

okay now that i'm officially into fishman island time for Opinions™️ on post-timeskip strawhat design

luffy!!!

actually starting off very strong. i like that it's just a natural evolution of his og design but with some extra flourishes to show that he's matured w/ the scar on display. the cardigan is very cute and i like that they went with yellow for the sash for the tie-in to his ASL color. mwah. 10/10 no notes. oda cooked.

zoro

another one that i mostly really like. zoro is the most heavily japanese-coded of the strawhats it makes sense to lean more heavily into it with the cut of his coat and keeping his haramaki given how much wano-focus the second half of one piece has. i'm not gonna lie i think his silhoutte pre-timeskip was much cleaner and for a character like zoro i think simpler works better, but also.....i can see his tits out now......there are definitely things i liked about his pre-timeskip deisgn better but i still like this one nonetheless. and also i know his fit changes later so 8/10

nami

oh boy......well i will start with the positives. i actually do like the long hair. i don't like it better than her shag/cute pig tails but i do think it looks nice and i like the waves. i also like the jeans with the big fuck off heels because they scream 2011 to me <3 the bikini top is.....look if it was just a cute hanging out look i would love it i'm from california i know plenty of people who rock that look regularly but im sorry that combined with her going from like a b-cup to an e is deeply aggravating for reasons that have been discussed by plenty of other people. let her go back to her cute cotton t-shirts or her thriller bark sweaters. 6/10

usopp

my boy is jacked now!!!! good for him!!!! another kind of mixed bag. i like the colors but the design of the overalls feels a little busy to me personally. i love his hair being grown out but i miss the goggles being on top and i feel like you need to pick one or the other with the hat, again it's a little too busy between the hat and the goggles and the earphones. but there's nothing i actively dislike here i think it just needs a little fine-tuning 7/10

sanji

i'm going to keep it real with yall until oda said something in the SBS i thought the gag was that sanji's design hadn't changed at all 😭😭😭. also im actively having to suffer through his fishman island story-arc but there really isn't much for me to comment on. his facial hair hits the line-cook vibe im deeply surprised he can grow it and the suit is still a good design choice. nothing was gained and nothing was lost. so 8/10 i guess???

chopper

i know people have strong feelings about the kawaii-ification of chopper's design but i can't hate it because it's him and i love him to much. i do think it was a huge missed opportunity not to age him up a little because it's a little silly that he looks younger now than he did in drum island but as for the actual design itself it's not bad. i miss the style of his jamiroquai hat, but i like the fact that he wears cute little shirts now. 7/10

robin

SIGHHHHHH. i miss her bangs...i miss her melanin...i miss her goth swag. look this is mainly such a hit for me because 1) i saw all of oda's sketches and literally every other design he had for robin was better than the one he ended up going with. 2) between her alabasta, water 7/enies lobby, and thriller bark fits she reigned supreme among the fashionistas her drip was unparalleled. there isn't anything in her new design that screams robin to me. like if she was wearing the tied-up shirt with some capris i can see something but i don't know if this whole beachy look was because of fishman island or what but i just.....i'm not a fan. like they even could have tied in some of the aesthetics of the rest of the revolutionaries but this feels like just straight fanservice ove character design and im really not a fan. thankfully her dressrosa fit is completely gamechanging but that's not what we're ranking. im sorry queen. 3/10

franky

franky onepiece im so sorry but.....i really don't like this. his pre-timeskip design fucked SO HARD. the elvis motif. the speedo and hawaiian shirts. it was so silly and so memorable and i miss it!!!! i know he's trying to work the timeskip into the design like i just suggested he should have done with robin but it's just....it's a lot. feel like the gag would have been funnier if franky looks mostly the same and his body can just do all the stuff it can do now but what do i know. i do like the bit of his hairstyle changing every arc that's cute. 1/10

brook

thank god we're ending on a high note it was getting dire. i love this. he looks like the coolest grandpa at the club and it's so fun. the patterned pants with the still black suit jacket are so fun and i love some fun sunglasses. literally taking his pre-timeskip design and working his character growth into it, why did he not do this for everyone. anyway 10/10

[scratchwake]

oh @bunny-heels you are going to regret this

gonna put all of the story stuff and drawings under the cut because thisll be a very very long post

basically, the ocs name is Rosalind Carr! she/they pronouns. during the events of the game was currently staying with family in the Bright Falls/Watery area

her design isn't really small town looking, but that's because I wanted to give her a very fish out of water city girl feel, since she's originally from NYC, so I went for a lot of modern city fashion, like mesh shirts and such, I wanted to make sure she stuck out as someone who is very much not from the rural PNW

but enough about her and more about her silly little relationship(?) with scratch!casey (and also, actual alex casey)

starting with her relationship with casey, she was kinda like a rebound sort of thing after The Divorce (what can i say, im a slut for divorced men) and obviously because of that it ended poorly. (okay, well, Kind of a rebound, some of it did overlap with the marriage because I'm also a slut for affairs)

but, before it ended, she started staying in BF with some family, which is part of what got casey interested in the murders there, because he was kinda worried about her getting fucking murked

but of course, the break up happens and he cant just back out of the case (and he doesnt even want to, anyway), which creates some VEERY awkward interactions during the events of the game. hes still somewhat interested in her, and shes still quite pissed off at him

then, game shit happens, and scratch possesses casey. and its a bit like

scratch: "eugh, this new body is so clunky and weird. but that doesnt matter, as long as i make this ending happen, it'll be all good."

rosalind: *exists for over .5 seconds, literally just trying to not die, having been roped into all this by sheer circumstance*

scratch: *immediately becomes filled with insatiable lust because now that he occupies caseys body, he can feel every less than convinent urge casey gets (like fucking on the job) amplified tenfold*

so he just. starts annoying her. she KNOWS hes not casey, which is probably why she entertains it rather than hiding in a hole until everything is okay again

and without further ado: her design, and a doodle of her and scratch!casey based on my first post about them (disclaimer: im still learning how to draw sam lakes face so PLEASE gimme the benefit of the doubt here lol)

basically, though-out the whole deerfest section, you have this poor woman who knows she's forgetting something and KNOWS something is wrong and the whole time there is this fucked up version of her ex trying to get in her pants (and honestly? lowkey succeeding.)

imagine being her, laying in bed next to a fucked up and evil version of her ex boyfriend while he rambles about famous missing author Alan Wake and how they need to "become one"

it's kinda like a, me my boyfriend and my boyfriends giant plushie situation except none of them are together and scratch is just insane

if anyone wants to know some random facts about her, flick me an ask! she is my baby and i love her so much (i am cringe but i am free)

[arcadian-vampire]

Video Game Infodump... 3!! (Disgaea 4, Chapter One Pt. 1)

[LONG post, most of it under a 'readmore' link, RIP to y'all but it's real autism hours again]

There's this tactical rpg called Disgaea 4 that I've had my eye on for a while now, so when it ended up being 60% off on Steam for Black Friday, I snatched it up. Not five minutes into it I found that it 100% would've been worth the full price, I love it So Much. It's like,, Fire Emblem but silly

The protagonist is so, so beautifully stupid. He's a vampire, and he's introduced w a monologue abt drinking blood- or at least, that's what it seems like, until he reveals that his favorite thing in the world... is sardines.

This man has four (4) traits: being pretty, gullible, sardine-obsessed, and so dead set on keeping promises that it's absolutely absurd.

Oh and he's the instructor for the prisoners of Hades, known as 'prinnies'. They're penguins that apparently are human souls who, to carry out punishment for the crimes they committed while they were alive, have been tucked into the world's saddest fursuits (blubbersuits?)

Also, the voice acting in this?? Is SO fucking good. I'm usually not a huge fan of English dubs, but this one is fantastic. Valvatorez' VA's passion shines through in every line, and it really brings this character to life, it's so much fun to hear.

[The VA is Troy Baker, who is known for his work in anime and video games, including the second incarnation of Greed in FMA and Excalibur in Soul Eater!! I went to his wiki and there's a section on NFT drama though, sad clown honk]

The story really kicks off when Val's beloved class of prinnies are 'kidnapped' before he can fulfill his promise of one (1) sardine, and he ends up rebelling against authority just to get those penguins their fish. They're set to be exterminated to deal with overpopulation- a big huge Yikes- but he doesn't care about that. The prinnies can be killed AFTER he gives them each a sardine. They can't die before he's followed through on his word!

To go with goofy characters, there are goofy items: for healing, I've got a fuckton of sardines, the beginner armor is a garbage bag, and every item description is rather silly (pot lid shield that simply says 'it can protect your body but not your pride' my beloved)

There are also goofy names. I totally forgot to take screenshots, but my fighter's name is 'National Holiday', and at one point I fought a prinny named 'Contact Lenses'

Back to discussing the story bc I'm obsessed with it, the first antagonist, kidnapper of the prinnies, is the warden of Hades. He's sort of opposite of Val, and I don't think I'm ever going to get over his design- no shirt, the silliest coat ever, and his EYEBROWS... reminds me a little of Ralphie (ask me abt Ralphie ask me ask me I dare you)

Even after we kick his ass, he refuses to let Val feed the prinnies, boooo

The government of the Netherworld is called the 'corrupternment', which is. yeah.

And Val's loyal servant also does not wear a shirt. Low-rise jeans that expose a man's hip bones are The Trend in the Netherworld, I guess.

This artstyle makes it look like all these guys got grabbed by some giant hand and were squashed around the middle... it's so funky

The quest for the prinnies continues, with Fenrich pulling some political bullshit, but I am. nearly at the image limit and it probably isn't reasonable to just post most of the entire first chapter of this game, huh.

Anyway TLDR; this is my favorite game now, and I adore Val so so much, he's Pathetic <3

[duxwriter]

THE INCIDENT

Mega post below

TW//brief mention of SA, physical torture, mental anguish, and abuse

—

The space coated in shades of blue, Despoina shifts on the sturdy couch, able to look out the wide window of eternal night.

Below the building, the dead roam, the subjects of Hades wander below.

Before her sits Chiron, orange shades make up her body, clipboard in hand, held snug in her hands with a pen behind the ear.

Her own was in the shape of a carrot, how silly, maybe it was fitting for a centaur.

Being part horse and all.

Despoina looked down at her hands, the thick gloves her mother gave her would definitely get in the way of signing to the centaur

If she even knows sign

"Despoina?" Looking beyond her thin veil, Despoina sighed, sitting as straight as she remembers her mother teaching her over the years.

"Would you like an ice breaker?" Chiron offered, setting the clipboard down on the glass coffee table.

Despoina nodded, feeling old scars burn as she wished to croak out words and scream out her lungs in embarrassment for not being able to talk or sign.

"Well then, I'll go first! My name is Chiron, a physician from the old world, now dead and living here in the underworld, I'm currently a therapist for immortals and the dead alike" Chiron smiled at the end of her words.

"Now you, and take your time, your mother has informed me you don't talk, and while I'm not excellent in GSL, I am good at charades! Or if you want, I can get you a pen and paper," Despoina swallowed, tugging at the heavy garments for the winter on her body.

They were new, modern even.

A thick coat for winter snow, a thick woven long sleeve shirt the color of burgundy to balance out the deep green color of the coat, lined with faux fur.

Her denim pants were tucked into boots, and while she was warm, she would rather be cold, cold and feeling the winter air of the underworld like her mother did when she was brought here.

"I…..I can talk" Despoina croaked.

Sweet titans did her voice sound raw.

It was hardly above a whisper and it sounded scratchy and felt sore, unused for decades.

"Take your time," Chiron said, offering a smile.

Despoina sucked in air, looking up at the night sky, eternal stars and beauty above, reflecting on her veil, where everything was fuzzy purple, the only thing that gave her comfort, old and hemmed with beautiful designs that were long forgotten to time.

Things only her mother would remember from long before humans.

"My…..my name is Despoina, and I….I…am…" Despoina fiddled with her gloves, twiddling her thumbs like a child.

"I am a goddess of……of…"

What was she a goddess of? Certainly not nature, that was her mother's job, and her elder sister was that of spring.

But she was…..she was everything, like beautiful Gaia, she was everything, darkness and light, nature and earth, the seasons and time.

She was powerful, she was weak, educated and no longer naive.

"I…am a goddess of mystery, I have no title, not….not…anymore" She said, flexing her throat.

Chiron slowly stood up, making sure Despoina saw every movement as she got the young goddess a glass of water, setting it before her.

Despoina drank it down, soothing her burning throat only temporarily.

"Thank…you" she croaked, touching her throat to feel it move as she spoke.

"Of course," Chiron said with a smile.

Despoina looked down at her hands again, the cool glass hardly felt through the gloves.

She felt sweaty in her clothing, but feared removing any.

"Is…there anything specific you wanted to talk about?" Chiron asked, her voice even and yet, cautious.

Despoina nodded, setting down the glass.

"Go right ahead, I won't stop you, I promise"

Despoina tugged at her gloves, slowly removing them without shame, setting them in her lap.

She could practically hear herself right now.

Her own mind, her own thoughts, her old, childish self screaming at her to speak, to rage, to cry it out.

Just say it

Despoina hesitated

For the love of Gaia, say it, tell someone, tell them so they know! So they can help!

"I…I…" Despoina coughed, feeling it sting her throat.

"I…..was…. fifteen when it happened" Despoina shed the coat, setting it with her gloves, beside her as she stood up and began to wander around the room, the heavy clunk of the boots on the carpet floor.

Kept the hooves safe, she was sure

"I remember….it well, my mind often brings….it…it up in my nightmares" She managed to get her words out.

Even as the memories flooded her mind.

Being small and youthful, unscathed and able to show her face to the world.

"I don't know their name, but I know their face—"

Dark skin, red in color, dressed in deep woven purple linen, hair a lighter color, eyes rimmed in gold and rings.

"—their laugh—"

Deep and crazed, arrogant and powerful, maniac was the only word Despoina thought over and over again at the flashing memory

"—their…..teeth"

White teeth coated in gold from their blood, sinking in over and over again on their skin

Chiron, oh sweet Chiron, kept a stoic face, writing down occasionally things, and written in a way nobody but her could read.

"I remember their hands on my body and I remember the pain they brought me for those days they had me" Despoina said, finding her voice again, now standing in front of the couch again, her voice still raw, but the stutters less.

"I was so naive, thinking someone would save me" She went on, grabbing at her shirt, loose on her frail body, for days she hadn't eaten.

For days, she couldn't eat, having seen that face in her dreams.

"I was stupid, thinking that I was in the wrong at the time, that this was punishment for running off from momma, from her and her protection" Despoina said, feeling her throat wet as tears bubbled at her eyes.

She sat down, the heavy, thick tears rolling down her cheeks as she remembered even more.

"I….I know it's not my fault, I know that, but I can't help but feel it" she said, a feeling of flight in her chest, flight and weight and a wash and crash of waves.

"I tore myself up for years because of it, I hide my scars out of shame" she touched at her fingers, the faint scars hidden amongst the skin, at each knuckle of every other finger, a scar, and down her hand and hidden under the sleeve.

"I cover my face because I don't want to look at anyone, I hide myself so nobody can tell what's wrong with me" She explained, trying to hide behind a smile nobody could see.

Chiron slowly stood, slowly stepping around the coffee table and sitting beside Despoina.

"It's not your fault, none of that was your fault" Chiron offered her hand, and gently Despoina gave hers.

Chiron took it and held it gently.

"No matter what happened, it was not your fault, you were young, all those young are considered easy prey once they run from the nest" Chiron explained.

Despoina croaked out her sobs, hiccuping as she spoke.

"When….when I was fifteen, I was taken advantage of" She managed to say, offered a tissue as she rubbed at her face with her sleeve.

"It wasn't rape, I'll tell you that now" She went on, managing to swallow the lump of mucus in her throat.

The tears flowed down her face like a river, touching the ground they sounded like stones, blooming into flowers at her boots and growing through the carpet, crawling up her legs.

"It was torture, physical torment" She squeezed Chiron's hand, blowing her nose into the tissue before sniffling away the rest down her throat.

"My skin…. was…was cut, lashed, whipped" Despoina gave in and didn't stop the tears, didn't stop their nose from running anymore, tugging away the veil.

They held it tight in their hands, pulled off their face and gasped from the fresh air on their face now.

Chiron looked on at her face, but made sure not to look for too long, taking heed of Despoina's words and wants.

"My throat was squeezed so tight, I find it hard to talk now, this is the longest I ever had without needing a break"

Despoina touched at her throat, feeling those faint scars now, no longer snagged on the gloves' strange texture.

"I guess I can thank speech therapy for that, and the honey tea momma makes me" she joked, swallowing hard at the memory of an nymph, both young, showing her how to sign and encourage her to speak, Demeter right beside her, holding her hand and giving her tea when needed.

It was the first time her mother had cried from happiness, and not bitter sorrow.

"I know I'm not to blame for what that….woman did to me" Despoina continued, biting her lip.

She didn't even want to call that….thing, a woman.

It was not a woman, it was a monster, ungodly and everything against the claim, it did not glow and it did not show despair in her pain, it showed delight in it all.

Horrid, giddy joy.

"But I feel tied to them, I remember how they would take their teeth and tongue and…..and…." Despoina croaked once again, stuttering their words.

Remembering the monster so well, the beast hovering above her, that kept her locked down in a room of eternal darkness, no light to touch her eyes and skin ever again.

She remembers every cut of her skin, every tug of her joints.

The flair of pain, the screams from her throat that shook the room, her powers unable to work from the duress.

She laid on that cold ground, looking up at glowing eyes and in a pool of gold as the being laughed and sliced up her skin with claws and a knife.

"Oh sweet Gaia— it was horrid" she cried, her voice loud as she dove to hug her coat, wishing nothing more than her mother to be here to hold her.

She was only fifteen for gods sake.

"Hey"

Despoina looked up, feeling a hand on her shoulder as she twitched and shifted away from it.

Chiron gave her an apologetic look, settling her hands on the couch side.

"You don't have to keep telling me anything, I understand" Chiron went on, sighing as she looked at Despoina face

Despoina who was unscathed on the face, but scarred with a mirage of scars on the skin, hidden away under fabric and woven deep into old bones.

"You went through something traumatic, and unfortunately, many do"

Some….sometimes….my scars hurt" Despoina confessed, a random bit of knowledge, of information, but prevalent to her story nonetheless.

"They…they…they hurt and i-i-i—" She sputtered her words, biting at her lip till she tasted the golden ichor and gasped from the pain.

"I have to muffle my screams so Hestia doesn't know, and I have to wear my veil so early because I—i was crying" she said so quickly, quick to confess all her sins.

"I feel so helpless!" She slammed her hands on the couch, grabbing at her gloves and twisting them tight into rope.

The vines curled up her legs, woven together as they died so easily, hardly able to live in the cold weather of the room.

She was sure Chiron didn't even notice, being dead.

"Despoina, you are not helpless, remember that" Chiron said with a heavy heart and sigh, offering her hand again, and Despoina did not take it.

She felt like she had enough with pity for now.

"You are strong, you are powerful" Chiron said, taking back her hand.

"But…but I didn't do anything! I haven't found them, I haven't even tried!" Despoina whirled back at Chiron, trying not to be bitter or resentful.

"And sometimes we don't need to do that," Chiron said, looking down at her hooves and body with a deep frown.

"I…I don't understand" Despoina managed to whisper, clutching at her shirt

Chiron sighed, doing her best not to shake her hand.

This poor girl, how long had she thought all this?

What did a monster weave into her mind and morph her into?

"Not everyone can find peace in revenge, not everyone needs it" Chiron went on, taking Despoina's other glove and offering to it, motioning for her to wear it.

Despoina slipped it on, and Chiron took the girl's hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Sometimes what we need is to heal, and healing often means not confronting what hurt us till we're ready," Chiron said, both hands holding one, cupped together to warm the glove, even with cold shade skin.

"Often when we are hurt, we seek to hurt back, when we haven't come to full terms with what happened to us just yet" Despoina looked over Chiron's face, large oval rimmed glasses high on her nose, freckles decorating her cheeks and bridge of her nose.

"But often enough, it doesn't help" Despoina frowned, looking away.

"I'm not here to tell you what you need, I'm here to offer guidance, to help, to assist" Chiron went on, standing up with the help of leaning on the couch.

"It's up to you to find the best way to heal from what I offer"

Despoina didn't look at her, guilt waking in her chest.

She knew that, but it still hurt to hear that it was up to her to figure out how to heal

"I can't say you will ever fully forget, nobody does, but I can help you manage it" Chiron offered, and Despoina nodded.

"It'll get easier, better, but never disappears" Chiron went on, sitting across the table now, and scribbling something on a sticky note.

"Often, when we feel these emotions you have, we have a sense of fake confidence with it, getting into your own head and thinking you can destroy and hurt what did the same to you" she pointed out, scribbling once again and setting aside her sticky notes before getting up again and offering it to Despoina.

"Did….you do that once?" Despoina asked, taking the note, crumpling it in her grip.

"I did, I thought of revenge when I was hurt, but I've come to terms with it, even if I still find myself angry at the outcome, I've found my peace" Chiron admitted, keeping the details vague.

Just enough for Despoina to feel comfort in those words.

"Will I ever find peace?" Despoina asked, slipping back on her gloves and coat, hesitating the veil.

"With time" Chiron said, smiling at her, giving comfort for the future.

[clarktooncrossing]

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK!

On New Year's 2024 I vowed to myself that I'd be more productive than ever, streamlining all of my ideas and making a decent living on commissions. While doing that I figured I'd keep my creative muscles limber by posting the occasional DUDEL or Sketch BOOM every now and again. Now chances are these won't be a daily thing. There'll be some days when I'm just feeling too bushed to scribble my silly ideas down on paper or I'll be too busy binging the likes of Steven Universe or Burn Notice. Yes, I am fully aware that those two shows make for a weird combination. Just imagine Michael Westen trying to help out the Crystal Gems, I'd totally watch that. Then again, I have a weird imagination as this DUDEL is about to illustrate.

Christopher Robin had many companions living in the Hundred Acre Woods. Though perhaps none plushy pal holds as special a place in his heart as his dear friend Edward Bear, or Pooh for short. Pooh was not a bright bear. Solving complex equations or discuss the philosophies of Plato were of little use to one who has fluff where his brains would be. Luckily brains aren't required to be intelligent. Old Edward more than made up for this when it came to his immensely large heart. Weather is was protecting his pal Piglet from Jagulars, helping his friend Eeyore find his tail, or simply bouncing around with Tigger, Eddy was the bear everybody turned to. Including Matt Whimsy, the animation magician of Hollywood responsible for Freddy and Fiona Fox. He and his animation team at Whimsy Studios adapted the classic tales of this lovable teddy bear into a series of movies over the years that have outlived A.A. Milne, Matt Whimsy, and even Christopher Robin himself. Now today fans of the characters can meet them at Whimsyland in California whenever not riding Edward's Excellent Expedition, helping the gang from the woods find the fabled North Pole!

Maybe I can help them find it after completing an entire Sketch BOOM. This was meant to be the start of one right up until Rosie Stardust foiled my plans. Dang that Cosmic Cutie and her alien design! Having said that, expect more from my multiversal adventurer later. For now I couldn't let a good design go to waste. What prompted me to draw this was Whimsyland, my answer to the question of what is Brooklyn Nine Nine took place at a theme park instead of a police precinct. Realizing I needed more recognizable characters for this fictional park, I decided to go with the ones that were thankfully in the public domain. Really the challenge was coming up with a design that wasn't similar to those used my a certain company, which I think I succeeded in doing. What helped was going back to the original designs by E.H. Shepard and keeping to the simplistic mindset. My biggest hurtle was Pooh's attire since, despite wearing one in the original freak'n book, I couldn't dress him in a tiny red shirt. So instead I settled on a scarf to fit with his adventurous life style. Here's hoping we'll see more of Old Eddy, Piglet, and Tigger in the future. For now-

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

PS: Oh, you noticed the logo on the bottom, did you? We'll talk about that later...

[wornoutmouse]

I don’t know how to ask you this bestie 😩… But if you write incest do you mind doing one where all might’s daughter has a crush on Endeavor? And they both smash her… Feel free to make it stepcest if that’s more comfortable 🥲

DON’T BESTIE ME YOU FREAK!!!!-

Anyways, congrats on being my FIRST controversial ask. That being said, it took me a while to figure out whether or not I would write this one 🤔. Of course, this will be one of the ones I won’t be able to post on Wattpad lmao, but I’ll give it a go!

If you didn’t already read the request, I will give you the necessary warnings again.

tw: incest….. never thought this day would come, dp

Author's annual moral PSA: I would hope I wouldn't have to tell yall I don't condone this irl. This is both illegal in many states, and in all ways an abuse of power and trust. Not to mention no one should look at their family members in this way and if it has happened to you don't be ashamed of it as it is not your fault but seek help because it is dangerous in the long run. This is for pure fantasy purposes

You are not underage in this fic. I never do underaged work.

There is way too much plot in this

Your cheeks were stretched wide enough to rival your fathers’ as you ran home. Your feet bounce and your pull at your braids nervously as you look out the window of the train, the excitement you felt made you restless to get home. Your neighbors watched you as you ran by, dents caused by your shoes hitting the pavement as your quirk flowed through your pumping blood. “Dad!”

You slam your front door open and scramble through the labyrinth of your rich home. Tossing open your father’s office door unaware of how your outburst startles All Might. “Y-Yes what is it?” Papers flutter all around as you carelessly glide through Toshinori’s neatly stacked papers. You slam the slightly crumpled papers onto his desk, ignoring how the sheer strength of your hand nearly causes his cold cup of coffee to fall. “Remember how 3rd years get the chance to have the first pick in finding the company they’ll sidekick for?!”

All Might watches you with fondness in his eyes as he cleans his glasses off. He was now far in his years, a healthy 82. His hair was now less of a golden yellow and more of beige as it silvered slowly. He was still his normal towering height, retained much of his muscles, and could periodically assume his big form now that he finally had the time to rest and heal properly. “You mean the program that you talked about every day because it was free.”

You roll your eyes, “Free for me, not for you. Anyways look, look, look!” You hold the paper in his face and he takes it from you, “I see you were accepted into your first choice at-” You snatch the paper from him and hop around excitedly, “-At Endevā Jimusho And that’s not even the best part!” All Might's contempt face drops, “All sidekicks get to stay in a guest house in close quarters with Endeavor himself!!"

Joy no longer existed in Toshinori's emotional library. "Absolutely not." Your face falls and your rant halts completely. "What?" Yagi puts his glasses on and shuffles through his papers stiffly, "I do not agree on Endeavors training methods." You raise an eyebrow, "Is this coming from the man that punched Pro-Hero Dynamite and Deku into buildings during an emergency villain drill? In front of everyone?"

Yagi hides his face behind a stapled packet, "I was giving them a taste of reality, a villain does not care for a hero's well-being." You sit down on his desk, legs crossed before curling your finger over his paper, your eyes miss how AllMight briefly glances down, “Yes, but isn’t it a job as a hero to protect people, even the students they train?” Yagi craned his neck until it makes a satisfying crack, a smirk adorning his lips. “I suppose you are right.”

He thinks for a moment before silently shuffling his papers before returning his gaze to your hopeful face, “Why should I assist you with your obvious little crush on my coworker?” You clearly stiffen “Well if it will make you happy-” You don’t allow him to finish before your arms around his shoulders squeezing his neck with most of your strength.

AllMight watches you leave his room slightly disheartened, reaching into his desk drawer he pulls out his phone and dials. “What do you want?” AllMight leans back in his chair pulling at his pants to loosen the tension in his groin, “A proposition.”

The next day Yagi is driving you to your new home for the next 6 months. Your eyes glaze over with futuristic thoughts on how your stay would be. “Everything is so shiny!” Yagi shrugs as he pulls into the parking lot. Enji was always minimalistic when it came to modern designs.” Your head snaps to Toshinori’s side of the car, “His name is Enji!?” Your question is laughed off as Toshinori shuts the car off.

Although your amazement is captured solely by the prospect of working with a pro-hero, the fact that your father is a pro-hero does not go unnoticed by the people around you. “Is that AllMight!” “Should I ask for his picture?!” Even with Yagi’s shadow enveloping your body your attention hones in on the automatic glass doors in front of you.

Inside there is a crowd of students experiencing orientation and getting assigned their respective dorm and possible roommate. You take your first steps in their direction before your arm is pulled and Yagi dawns a playful grin as he presses his finger to his lips. You follow him, eyebrows furrowed “You aren’t trying to change my mind are you?” You don’t get an answer as you are dragged along.

Stairs after stair you follow your father until you come to the very top, legs throbbing but interest peaked. Yagi opens two double doors as easily as breathing and your eyes go wide as the broad shoulders of a familiar hero come into view. “You’re finally here, took you long enough.” Your heart beats in your chest, auburn hair, broad shoulders, and a stoic face that you’d only seen on television, now present in front of you. Yagi shuts the door causing you to jump, “Oh um hi!” A large hand touches your shoulder making you jump” Calm down Y/n!” A cheerful exclamation rings out from above you as Yagi transforms into his larger form.

Heavy footsteps make the room shake wherever the two men walk around the room, “I heard you wanted to meet with me.” Your demeanor goes from uneasy to panicked giggling, “O-Oh really, who told you that!’ AllMight chuckles before patting your head, why don’t you ask him all the silly questions you want, I have to use the restroom.

Endeavor leans against his desk, arms crossed allowing his muscles to bulge through his white button-up shirt. “Yagi tells me a lot of good things about you.” Endeavor stands straighter, a ballpoint pen in hand before he gestures for you to take a seat. You settle in the seat glancing towards the door before looking up at Endeavor who settles on his desk. “What’s the matter, you seem nervous?” The deepness of his tone sends a shiver down your spine. Shifting your legs closer together you clear your throat, “I’m just not used to meeting my childhood hero in person.” Endeavor laughs in a way that sounds more like a bellow, “When you say it like that I feel old!”

Your face hadn’t stopped burning since you entered the room but the joke forced a chuckle through your lips allowing you to relax just a little bit. Calculating eyes narrow, making you feel even smaller than you already did in the hero’s presence. “Now, come on. I’m sure you have something you’d always wanted to do if you met your hero.” Endeavor’s happy-go-lucky attitude catches you off guard as it juxtaposes the hardened persona he had cultivated over the years. “Well, I suppose a picture would be a start if you don’t mind?”

Seconds later you somehow find yourself in Endeavor's lap as he holds the camera up for a picture. His body is unpainted hot but you assume that was simply just a side effect of his quirk. “Um, are you sure you’re okay with this?” Endeavor hums in acceptance. A heavy arm loops around your waist pulling you closer, close enough to become aware of a problem pressed gently against your ass. “Oh!” Endeavor’s fingers slipped pressing the capture button, “What’s wrong did I do it wrong?” You shake your head becoming embarrassed for the both of you, “Nothing!” Enji’s voice lowers into a mumble that reverberated against the back of your neck, “Good.”

Enji straightens his arm once more to retake the picture and you awkwardly smile into the camera, grin becoming strained when he had yet to snap the photo. You shuffle the slightest bit to get a more comfortable position and a guttural groan is released from Enji’s lips. "Are you alright, Endeavor?" Your question is ignored and your phone is put down on the table. Large hands contrasting unbridled power is your stomach delicately as though you were made of porcelain. "Are you sure there is nothing else you'd like to do with your hero?"

Endeavors face nudges away your braids allowing him to press his heated mouth against your skin. "Nothing that would help you get to know them better?" You don't get to respond, your body is hoisted around to face Endeavor. Why nervousness clearly painting itself on your features before being overcome with confused pleasure as Endeavor pressed his lips against your own.

You moan against his lips, hips grinding against each other, the thought of where you are slipped past your mind and to your pussy. Endeavors hands down your body, pinching and pulling before sighing with his calloused fingernails. You couldn't believe this was happening, you feel your pants being pulled off. Just yesterday you believed that you would only be able to meet your hero in passing. Your bra is on the floor and your pussy weeps against his slacks.

The motions are fast-paced and you feel his thumb pressing against your clit. “Yes!” Endeavor kisses your lips, his stubble scratching your cheeks slightly as his tongue explores your mouth. Confidence floods your body as you hop off of Endeavor's lap and quickly undo the buttons of his slacks, he watches you out of breath in the best way.

Thick in your hands, the veins twitch to the tune of his blood. The clear stickiness of pre-cum coats the underside and you use it to stroke his length. "Please fuck me Endeavor!" You look up at him, face contorted with desperate thoughts as you angle your body towards his cock, the tip of it rubbing against your folds. You were wet, so wet making the fuchsia tip of his cock feel more engorged.

"Don't regret this. "You’re pulled back into his lap with ease, pussy trembling from the display of strength. With Endeavor holding your weight and your hand positioning his length below you, the slide down was easy as it could be. Your legs wrap around his waist as you adjust to him. “We have to be quick.” Endeavor rolls your hips when your breathing becomes even again, “We have all the time in the world.” You smirk trailing your finger up Enji’s chest, “What, you have a thing for getting caught?”

Your cheeks are spread apart by Endeavor’s fingers as he hooks one into the small slit left remaining in your pussy. “Something like that.” From behind you the sound of the door shutting makes your neck quickly craned around to look back. Standing with his arms behind his back and an unreadable expression stood Yagi, “Am I missing the party?” Ashamed excuses leave your mouth, tearful and panicked you squeal when Endeavor raises your hips before sliding you down his cock. “No, you are just in time.”

Yagi slowly removes the suit he wore, shrugging off his suit jacket as the sound of your muffled whimpers filter through his ears. You hide your face, curling into Endeavor’s form but a hand stops you, gripping your face, “Don’t be shy, it was his idea after all.” AllMight chuckled, “Yeah, it took a lot of convincing on my part.”Long fingers wrapped around the base of your skull where your braids connect before yanking your head back.

Toshinori looked down at you, face stoic and mockingly disappointed, "I thought it would take a lot more convincing but look at you. " Yagi dragged the back of his hand around your jaw and down your chest ripping the fabric with ease. Your tits bounced on every thrust that Endeavor continued to make, wordless moans and drool leaving your moan as your pussy clenched around the cock inside you.

"Such a little whore for him aren't you?" You shake your head in protest before your eyes widen as chapped but soft lips are placed over yours. He was kissing you, your brain short circuits as his tongue forces its way past your lips. It's wrong, you know that. Hell, this whole situation is wrong. You should be downstairs with the others doing orientation, not upstairs riding the cock of a pro-hero and french kissing the other. You knew it was wrong, but why did it feel so good?

Endeavor groans at how sloppy you were becoming. The sound of your pussy squelching as cream gathered around Endeavor's cock before being pushed back inside of you. "So both of you are twisted in the head." A large thumb presses down on your clit making your pussy spasm as you cum from the heightened stimulation. Endeavor keeps thrusting, his libido unmatched and energy pent up.

Yagi reaches in between the two of you pressing his palm against your pussy as his fingertips graze Enji’s dick on every upstroke. “Are you getting wetter sweetheart? He feels so good doesn't he?" Your mouth is agape and your weak hands Endeavor's shoulder is the only thing keeping you upright when your eyes roll back. "Y-Yes daddy!" Yagi wheezes before he's fiddling with his suit pants and pulling you back by your hair.

It was a strange display of balance on your end. Endeavor’s arms hold your legs tightly in order to keep you on his lap and on his cock meanwhile you are as your father slaps his hardened cock against your cheek, splashing his precum onto your chin. "I got you this far dear, why don't you return the favor?"

Whether it was diluted senses or your subconscious coming forward, you open your mouth for him, moaning as he invades every crevice of your jaw. Your throat constricts and you retch around the warm heat. Yagi is unapologetic and downright brutal as he pulls back before bringing his hips forward again.

The two men's moans empty into the office room and your garbled cooking is ignored as they both have their fill, leaving you to wonder if this really was for you. Numbness invaded your senses as you come again on Endeavor's cock with him not that far behind as he blows his load into your pussy. "It's been a while I will admit." Endeavor slaps your pussy once, then twice just to feel you squeeze down on him every time your hips jerked.

Tears and drool running down your face the faster your father fucks your throat and you knew you'd be sore the next day. "My turn." All Might pulls out and walks away not even showing you a glance as you choke from the lack of oxygen. Enji helps you sit up and wipes your face before Toshinori is pulling you away from Endeavor showing no care that his cock was still in you. He sits down and pulls you onto his own lap ignoring your dazed look as your brain struggles with the various changes of attitude.

"You gotta thank daddy for helping you meet your hero, don't you think?” His hand cups your round cheeks before the other slams down on the other one. Overestimated tears tremble down your brown skin as you hiccup, "Yes daddy." You rock against his cock, both your saliva and his own precum staining your stomach and public hair.

He fills you, even better than Endeavor did, and begins his onslaught of thrusts. You scream, the sound no doubt traveling outside the room, "Daddy please fuck me!!!" The speed at which you were moving was one that could only be done by a hero and it was more pain than pleasure. The constant pounding of your cervix makes your teeth clench together each time his mushroom head punches it.

"Yes, give daddy this sloppy pussy, squeeze down for me-oh fuck!" Lewd words you never even believed Yagi was capable of saying leave his lips. Your shoulder is bit by the redheaded man behind you as he cups your breasts together, tugging on your nipple before rubbing the nubbed patterns on your areolas. "I can't take it any more daddy please!" Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he causes your pussy to queen and cream, balls slapping the underside of your ass, sticky with Endeavor’s cum.

"This is what you raised Yagi? A little whore?" Yagi chuckles, "I'm just as surprised as you are Enji, say why don't you join? You aren't one and done are you?" Endeavor scoffs, you wish that upon me don't you?"

Your mind, altered with lust, does not understand the hidden meaning behind the word "join" but you soon realize it when fat fingers are pushing their way in the same hole Toshinori occupied. "E-Endeavor?" You're shushed as his fingers pump inside you with Yagi’s cock, curling and prodding your walls at every turn. You feel fuller than you ever thought you could and the pressure only continued.

"Look at my pretty little girl taking her daddy's cock, so fucking tight for me. Can you do this for Endeavor too? Fit both our fat cocks in your hero guzzling hole?" You nod at the degradation and feel the warmth from Endeavor envelope your back. His tip massages the stretched opening as Yagi stops thrusting for a moment.

There is silence, and then there is pain. You hardly feel the initial penetration of Enji’s cock, but you do feel it when Yagi tries to move again. You can hardly breathe between the sandwich the 3 of you created and your comfort is practically ignored as they both begin to move at opposite tempos. “O-oh god!” With your eyes screwed shut and mouth agape the two men grunt against your ears.

Your g-spot and cervix are both pushed against as their thrusts become more impersonal. Endeavor grabs your arms from around Yagi’s neck before pulling them behind your back. Your legs tremble uselessly around Toshinori’s thighs. His breath huffing the more he exerted himself steam easily slipping from his lips the faster he went. “I’m gonna cum!” Endeavor grunts, pistoning out of you even faster than he was before. A hand rests on his shoulder and he’s shoved back making you whimper from the partial emptiness. “Not inside bastard.”

Yagi becomes his gental self again as his still hard cock slips from your entrance. He places you on the ground giving you time to prop yourself up before grabiing his dick and stroking it infront of your face. You are to fucked out to do anything but present yourself as a pretty little canvas as his cum paints your face. You lick the small drops painting your chin before flashing a coy smile, “Thank you Daddy!”

[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.

[feelingofcontent]

DNP Rewatch: DAN AND PHIL BLINDFOLDED MAKEUP CHALLENGE

Date video was published: 03/12/2015 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 262

I love Dan doing something silly for charity! Also his promo tweet for this was one of his (several) uses for the gay couple emoji to represent him and Phil, so there’s that.

0:28 - ahahaha, “no interest” but the format of this makes it obvious he’s at least watched some other videos of this challenge

0:38 - “I’ve only got one” ...of course if it’s something strange/out of his comfort zone for his channel, it’s got to be Phil. Also Dan calling him his “designated friend” in the description is great.

0:40 - love the matching t-shirts. love the expression on Phil’s face as he says he’s not ready. Love Dan’s soft smile as he listens to Phil.

0:48 - wtf is Phil’s little eyebrow-flick and smirk after the jump cut here

0:51 - shocked Dan went to shop for this in person actually, instead of online. also YES at the annotation

0:56 - Phil is not paying enough attention to the difference between the eyeshadow and the blush here...that will become an issue, lol

1:00 - Phil’s face while staring at the blindfold is something. Also “that’s going to be difficult” burn. 😂

1:05 - why is he acting surprised at what the material is made of? They’ve had that at least since THE WARDROBE when Phil ties it around his head. Also Dan with the gentle helping. And that annotation. 😳 This is a moment.

1:22 - yep, there we go. I love that Dan doesn’t tell him, but let’s the audience know.

1:25 - of course Dan didn’t think to get brushes or anything. Just going straight in with the fingers and face-touching. Dan is immediately amused.

1:35 - the fact that the one makeup term they seem to really know is “contour” is hilarious to me

1:45 - so soft at Phil testing how sharp it is on his own hand first before putting it on Dan 🥺 Although they already did eyeliner somewhat recently in Dan and Phil PUNK EDITS IN REAL LIFE!

1:52 - wtf happened during this jump cut that Dan ended up with it on his glabella and nowhere near the other eye?!

2:07 - love Dan’s amusement here and the teasing with the fast-forwarded editing, planned in the moment

2:27 - “illuminating” lol, the words/phrases they’ve picked up from whatever tutorials they’ve watched before amuse me

2:37 - and now we have Phil going into “I’m a little shit” mode, which is great. He is bored with actually trying, apparently. Also “to make up for the droop” what.

2:52 - yep, now he’s just trying to mess with Dan 😂

3:00 - putting the lipstick out that far, I can’t believe it didn’t break immediately

3:20 - I love this so much. I’m sure this is something Phil saw his mum doing and remembered!

3:31 - “enjoying this power too much” ...yep

3:39 - only Phil would think of this at that point, especially with the lipstick. “This is what you signed up to.”  😂😂

3:48 - Dan actually sounds somewhat sincere with that compliment. And psychic Phil here, when putting highlighter on your ears (though not lipstick, lol) will become a thing in the next couple years 😲

4:08 - Phil is me when put under pressure to think of a word I should know

4:17 - honestly, Dan is brave letting Phil near his eyes with all of this with Phil’s clumsy track record. The trust is there. Also, what is this face from Phil. 😳

4:31 - out of everything, Phil somehow had the best aim when going for his eyebrows. This is now his third use of “contour.”

4:45 - the reveal moment is great. And Phil tongue-thing!

4:56 - ooo, yikes, just finger marks down his face lol

5:08 - sure, Phil “fairly” maybe for the first couple of things... Dan apparently doesn’t need help with the blindfold.

5:18 - Phil has to test that of course

5:26 - #spon lol. I do love that they make it obvious that they know exactly how ridiculous it is sometimes, which means I somehow never get annoyed with them spon-ing their merch.

5:50 - why does Phil continue to face straight forward; he is not making it easier for Dan even a little bit

5:57 - Dan is doing a lot more touching with both hands to try to get things in the right place

6:02 - unnecessary zoom-in on Dan’s “shhhhh”...

6:04 - he really does stick two fingers right in Phil’s mouth 😳 And very over-the-top reactions. I apologize for this screenshot.

6:14 - and the little nose boop here. Phil is right about the open-mouth eye makeup.

6:30 - oh, Dan is actually attempting to use the eyeshadow applicator here

6:45 - love Phil’s reaction to how he looks already

7:02 - again, wtf happened during the jump cut here. Suddenly Phil has much much more on his cheek.

7:08 - seems to be some sort of little check-in tap here from Dan after Phil says “oh my god.” They are constantly making sure the other person is okay, even in the midst of filming.

7:15 - Phil is so disappointed, lol at the side-eye and Dan’s smug face even with the blindfold

7:22 - why would Phil even ask that?! what even is this conversation.

7:35 - pretty sure Dan knows perfectly well what he’s doing here too. Payback for some of what Phil did.

7:53 - love that Phil didn’t correct him here either

8:07 - yeah, waaaaaay to much lipstick up out of the tube

8:25 - this whole lipstick part is so messy in every way

8:36 - Dan is much quicker with ripping the blindfold off than Phil was. The reveal parts of this video are my favorite.

8:42 - “I look like I just ate someone’s neck” ...of course, Phil. I get more The Joker than a vampire.

8:47 - the synchronized lean-in

8:53 - love that Phil did a pout. Love that Dan noticed in the viewfinder and called him out on it.

9:02 - Phil with the burns in this video

9:08 - they seem to be having such a good time filming this one too

9:11 - until this moment, maybe

9:20 - I want to know if they actually phoned a friend or just googled everything. That is a mess.

9:27 - Phil panic-cleaning the carpet (which is what he included in his promo tweet). With a cleaver. 😂 Yeah, definitely some Google-ing going on. 

9:39 - Phil with that makeup holding the cleaver is terrifying, actually.

9:53 - love the behind-the-scenes of the selfie-taking. Dan posted the selfie on his Instagram.

10:03 - hahahaha, poor Kath. Dan found that hilarious.

10:37 - Phil’s deadpan “I’m really glad this will be on the internet forever” is great

I love this video a lot, if that wasn’t obvious, lol. Sometimes I forget about it in favor of more recent videos, but it’s such a good one.

[eremiie]

Hiya! I saw that you followed me so I wanted to be nice and send a lovely request :>

I am sending this for Eren since we have good taste 😌 and so here’s your prompt—

Prompt; Reader is wearing baggy clothes (just cause that’s my thing, you don’t have to include it if you don’t want to) while blasting music and dancing; just having a fun time, not paying mind to the fact Eren is watching everything, occasionally recording and taking pictures, that is until he gets caught by the reader and attempts to share those visuals. It’s preferably fluffy, but I don’t mind having some or twist. Run wild!😉

delete it!;

❥ eren x reader | 1.3k words | fluff

❥ thank you so much for being nice & sending in a request i appreciate you sm!! & yes we both do have some immaculate taste i see😏. i also love baggy clothes so i love that we are alike in that aspect hehe i hope you enjoy🤲.

❥ in which eren jaeger is a sneaky thing, and takes pictures of you while you dance your heart out.

“i’m going back to 505!” you were prancing around your bedroom listening to your playlist for the first time in a while. it had been so long since you last listened to your favorite tunes and it was a shame since the last time you clicked on your spotify you added a lot of new songs to your playlist and then blatantly abandoned it for a few weeks.

eren had took you thrifting earlier and here you were, trying on some of the clothes for the umpteenth time making sure everything was to your liking and deciphering if you had to tailor anything or if you could revamp some of the shirts and jeans you bought. he rested on your bed scrolling through his phone, throwing you quick glances as you danced a little bit before throwing one of your shirts onto the bed and bending down to pick up another one and putting it on.

“it seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye!” you giggled while you turned around in your full body mirror making sure the current outfit you had on was cute, your jeans were baggy with ripped in the knees, the bottom overlapping your feet in the slightest while your shirt hung loosely around your waists, a graphic design detailing the front. “eren, is this cute?”

he looked your way his eyes lingering for a second too long on your frame. he absolutely adored the way you dressed and thought it was the cutest thing ever, how you dressed so comfortably and made everything look so good. he especially loved when you adorned your body with jewelry, pretty necklaces, rings and bracelets; but one thing he never understood was your infatuation with expensive sneakers. he watched you shake your hips and use your fist as a microphone while singing to yourself in the mirror and voicing the lyrics. he couldn’t help but smile at his girlfriend’s antics and chuckled. “yeah, i told you i like all your outfits.”

eren went to his snapchat on his phone, making sure his ringer was off before pressing down on the white rimmed button down near his home button, recording you singing to yourself in the mirror grinning stupidly at you. when you bent down to pull off the pants you were wearing eren immediately stopped recording, wanting to get more photos and videos of you to embarrass you later first. he saved the video to his snapchat memories.

“okay well i’m gonna put on these sweatpants since we’re not going out again.” you said while standing up to pull the sweats over your legs. “this shirt is cute though so i’m keeping it on.” eren hummed in response, now on his camera to wait until you did something ridiculous to take more photos.

the song switched and your hand slapped over your mouth, smiling underneath it. “eren, baby this is my song!” you bounced on the balls of your feet and went over to grab the hairbrush from your dresser beside your mirror, turning towards eren to give him a show. “eren, watch.” you said, snapping your fingers to draw his attention, little did you know it was already on you the entire time.

you stuck your leg out, stuttering your hip and grinding in mid air with your hands covering your face and eren immediately went to snapchat to begin to record again, you beginning to sing. “you got more than 20-20, babe. made of glass the way you see through me...” you started to laugh at yourself as eren’s smile got bigger and he began to laugh as well. you pointed at the brunette directing the next verses towards him with the brush up to your mouth.

“i wanna love me, the way that you love me! oooh, for all of my pretty, and all of my ugly too,” you stepped towards eren dragging your feet behind you singing dramatically while he snapped more photos of you acting silly, absolutely in awe with you, his girlfriend. “i’d love to see me from your point of view.” and with every word of that line you twisted each leg back and forth with your hands on your hips before busting out into laughter at how stupid you looked, eren joining in again.

“did you like my performance?” you asked him goofily heading over to straddle his legs on the bed.

“the song isn’t over, keep going.”

“so you do like it?” you poked at his chest right underneath where his phone was propped up by his arms before smoothing your hands over his shirt in adoration at the man in front of you.

“of course, now keep going!” he insisted and you huffed stretching your arms out.

“i couldn't believe it or see it for myself, boy, i be impatient, but now i’m out here

falling, falling, frozen, slowly, falling got me right,” you pumped your fist with every drag of the last couple words oblivious to the fact that eren was recording you from down below once again until the chorus came back around and you leaned down. “you’re not even paying attention to me you’re staring at your phone!” you whined flipping the device back with your hand and eren grabbed it hastily.

“baby i was paying attention.” it took you a second to process that was you who he was staring at on his phone, as a matter of fact it was a whole video of you singing to him, moving aimlessly sat on top of him, and you began to get flustered.

“eren! was that me on the phone? were you recording me? oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing, delete it!” you groaned reaching for his phone while he laughed at your despair.

“noo, you looked so cute and good and pretty.” he continued adding on words to butter you up, he didn’t want to delete the photos.

“eren!” your tone came out whiny. he grabbed your wrists and pulled you forward against his chest wrapping a secure arm around you and trapping your arms on either side of him so it would be hard for you to reach up and grab his phone which he kept at a distance.

“______, just look,” he went to his camera roll and went to the first photo he took of you and you narrowed your eyes, realizing it was when you had the jeans on and we’re dancing in the front of your mirror. he then swiped and the next one was you turned towards him with the same jeans on, the photo slightly blurry but you seemed to be about to sit on the floor.

“eren, this is embarassing, oh my gosh stop.” you were restrained from reaching for his phone and pouted against his chest, your cheek smushed.

“no it’s not. you’re so gorgeous baby, look,” you looked up at the phone again and he was now on snapchat, attempting to show you videos of you dancing without a care in the world, you using your hand as a microphone.

“i bet you’re gonna post these on my birthday, you’re so annoying.”

eren kissed your forehead and rubbed your shoulder with the arm wrapped around you. “i could post them now if you want.”

your body tensed up and you began flailing in eren’s arms causing more laughter to leave his throat. “eren stop! give me your phone!”

he flipped the two of you over so he was now on top of you, cooing you with soft ‘shh’s. “i’m just kidding, i’m just kidding.” you pouted again, but you were secretly relishing in the feeling of your sweet boyfriend on top of you, basking in his warmth as he closed his eyes. “just cuddle with me for a little bit babe.”

another huff of annoyance came from you, but you secretly too didn’t mind cuddling with him; no matter how many embarrassing photos or videos he had of you, and no matter how annoying he was.

[bts-reveries]

expect the unexpected |15

The Kim family had just finished dinner and were having family time in the living room!

Minseok played with his siblings on the coffee table. He was teaching his younger brother and sister how to share their toys as they often fought with each other. The two youngest’s personalities often clashed as Soojin and Haneul were both chaotic in their own ways.

“Soojinie,” Minseok calls, he notices that his brother was pouting next to his sister. “Let Haneul borrow that.” He points to the car Soojin was playing with. “You’ve been holding onto that this whole time, Haneul’s been wanting to play with it too.” 

“But it’s mine,” Soojin says, holding it close to her chest. 

“I know, but Haneul just wants to play with it. It will still be yours,” Minseok says, holding his arm out for the toy. Soojin hesitates, but gives it to him anyway.

“Here Han-Han,” Minseok says, acting cute when he gives the toy to Haneul. He only calls Haneul that when Haneul’s sad. 

Haneul immediately lights up when the toy car is given to him. 

“Thanks hyungie~”

“At least we raised one nice one,” Jin says, watching his three kids. The two of you were sitting on the couch. Well, you were sitting on the couch. Jin was laying down, facing up, with his feet on the arm of the couch and his head on your lap.

He turns his head to look up at you, snuggling his head on your lap. 

“They’re all sweet in their own way,” you respond, watching Soojin finally play with Haneul and Minseok smiling as he watches them two. “Look at them.” You gesture to the kids, watching them laugh with each other. 

“Yeah, if only it was like this all the time,” Jin sighs. Nowadays, he’s been busier and has been out of the house often. When he is with the kids, they’re often in bad moods, or he’s had a stressful day. Sometimes they're all in bad moods which makes it all just stressful for one another. If only it was like this all the time. When everyone’s happy~ 

He turns his head to look up at you. 

“Can you believe it’s almost been a month since our trip?” Jin says. Your anniversary trip was almost a month ago. Which is crazy to think. Time goes by fast doesn’t it? 

The two of you have been busy, with work and with the kids. Sometimes together, sometimes individually. There’s been long nights and long days. But it’s all worth it in the end. For nights like this.

“I miss Jeju,” Jin pouts, closing his eyes. You giggle, poking his round cheeks. “I wanna go on anodo twip~~” he whines, talking in aegyo. You roll your eyes, cupping his cheeks and shaking his head from side to side. 

“My baby wants to go on anodo twip?” you repeat, jutting out your bottom lip. Right when the word baby leaves your mouth, you see Haneul’s head whip towards you from your peripheral vision. You look up at him and he’s frowning.

“I’m the baby,” he says, pointing to himself. Jin turns to look at him and shakes his head.

“I’m mommy’s baby,” Jin says, turning his head toward your stomach, looking away from his kids. You look up at Haneul and you can tell that he’s mad. Minseok starts to giggle as Haneul starts walking up to his dad. 

“No! Me!” Haneul yells as he stands in front of his dad. “I’m baby!” With that came a smack to Jin’s shoulder. Jin’s head whips toward him so fast and his eyes are wide.

“Did you just hit me?”

Haneul hits him again. “I’m mommy’s baby,” he says, smacking Jin’s chest. 

“Stop hitting my daddy!” Soojin yells, running towards her brother. She pushes him to the side and hugs Jin. Of course this made Haneul scream. 

A quiet household doesn’t last long for you five. 

“Soojinah,” Jin whines, holding onto his chest. Acting as if he was so hurt. “Haneul hurt daddy.” 

“See you hurt my daddy!” Soojin yells, pushing Haneul back down as he finally gets up on his feet. 

“Yah--” You say, putting an arm on her shoulder. Let’s not take this too far.

“That’s my daddy too!” Haneul yells out. This whole time Minseok was just leaning over the coffee table, watching everything unfold before him.

“No he’s mine!” Soojin yells. 

“No, daddy is mine,” you say, making both of them turn to you. You lean down and hug Jin’s head, pressing his cheek against yours. “And I have known daddy for longer.”

You give Jin a kiss on the cheek, he already had a cheeky smile on his face. You turn to look back up at Soojin and her lips are quivering and her eyebrows were already turned upwards. 

“Soojinah--” You say, right before the floodgates have opened. 

Now you had two screaming and crying children as Haneul started crying right after his sister did. You froze, looking up at your last, quiet child. You and Minseok made eye contact and he let out a little smile, making you laugh. Your laughing only made Soojin cry louder. 

“Alright alright, daddy is yours, come here,” Jin says, sitting up and opening his arms. Soojin is still crying as she walks into her dad’s embrace. Jin picks her up, placing her on his lap. Soojin tucks her arms under herself, sandwiched between hers and Jin’s chest. Jin rubs her back, saying “it’s okay, no need to cry.”

“Haneul come to mommy?” You say, opening your arms as well. Haneul stands up and runs into your arms, crying into your chest. 

“How’d it turn out like this?” You say to Jin, letting out a small laugh. He shrugs his shoulders, smiling at you. 

You both are rubbing the two youngest’s backs, trying to calm them down. 

“Look at Minseok,” Jin tells you. You look up at your oldest and see him just awkwardly looking at you two. 

“What about you? Who’s your favorite?” You ask him. Clearly Soojin was more of a daddy’s girl and Haneul was more of a mommy’s boy, even though he was fighting over Jin.

“I love both of you equally,” Minseok answers. Jin nodded in approval, he said the right answer. 

“Oh! But hey, Haneul looks like you’re winning him over,” you tell Jin. Haneul often liked to be trouble with his dad, as if he hated him. But of course he was always sweet with you.

“Is that true Haneul-ah?~” Jin says, lowering his head down and looking at Haneul. He’s calmed down now, both him and his sister. “Do you like daddy more now?” 

Haneul looks up at Jin and looks back down, ignoring his answer. 

He definitely loves his dad.

“Can you two make up now?” You say, referring to Haneul and Soojin. You and Jin pulled away from the little ones for them to sit up and look at one another.

“Make up so we can play already,” Minseok says, walking towards his siblings. 

“Han-Han~” Minseok says, putting a hand on Haneul’s back. “Jinie-Jinie-Soojinie~” He says in a sing-songy voice, turning to his sister and putting a hand on her back. 

Haneul slides off of you and hugs Minseok, looking up at his sister. 

“Go say sorry to Haneul,” Jin tells Soojin. She frowns, sliding off of him and walking towards Minseok.

“Sorry Haneul,” she says, pulling and tugging onto Minseok’s shirt, trying to avoid eye contact. 

“Haneul say sorry to noona too,” you say. 

“Sorry~” He says, looking up at his sister.

“Okay~ Let’s play now,” Minseok says, patting Haneul’s back. 

With that, the three turned around and began playing as if nothing had just happened. Jin sighs, going back to his previous position and laying back into your lap.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes closed and all. “I want to go back to Jeju.” 

You laugh, patting his cheeks. 

“We can go,” you say, his eyes opened so quickly. As if they were saying ‘really??’ 

You nod, “but with the kids this time.” He whines, dropping his head down and shutting his eyes. You laugh at his reaction, squishing his cheeks once again. 

*ring ring*

You turn to the sound. “Is that mine?” You say. You and Jin have the same ringtones. 

“I think so, my phone is in our room,” Jin responds. Eyes still closed, not budging one bit. 

“Well can you get off of me so I can get it?” 

Jin shakes his head no. You sigh.

“I’ll get it mommy,” Minseok says, running to your phone. 

“Thanks sweetie,” you say, watching your oldest run and get your phone. He gives it back to you quickly and returns back to his siblings.

“Oh it’s my dad,” you say, answering the call.

“Hello?” You say. “Dad, is everything okay?” Your eyes widen as he explains the unexpected call. You didn’t have much to say but ‘Yes-- What?-- When?-- Wait-- Why?-- Tomorrow?-- Okay.. I’ll be there.’

You ended the call after what seemed like forever. 

It was mostly you listening while your dad talked. Jin looks up at you, he couldn’t hear much of the conversation.

“What did he say?” he asks.

“My mom’s sick,” you say, feeling uneasy. “I have to leave tomorrow.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

expect the unexpected

♡ part fifteen: im baby ♡ 

pairings: ceo, dad!jin x interior designer, mom!reader

a/n: okay i feel like i’ve been saying this, but nOw we’re getting somewhere

also, i know i haven’t been constant as i used to be and that’s more of a part of me not being in the mood to post much, which is also on the fact that i don’t think much people (at least compared to the previous member’s au), are reading this one? i have new readers everyday for the other au’s and although a lot of people love this series and were anticipating this au, this has been the au with the least feedback/readers which make me wonder if it’s boring or what haha ahh.. i don’t want to be that person who’s looking for likes or anything but in the bts tumblr fanfic community idk if everyone’s aware of this, but jin’s au tend to be the ones with the least amount of readers etc. which is why there isn’t much fics on him, a lot of writers gets unmotivated to write for him when they know it doesn’t get as much as tae’s and jungkook’s. and im starting to feel that way, just because for previous au’s i’d constantly post because i’d always get feedback on every update and it motivates me to write more but this au has been the driest au ever lol which is sad because a lot of people were asking to be added to the taglist and i have no idea what happened to them now but i just hope everyone’s okay! i know none of us are obligated to be on top of reading updates but i just wanted to say how i felt. the only thing keeping me going on this au is jin. haha, as silly as that sounds, i don’t want more au’s on him to discontinue because of things like this. im ot7, this whole au is for all of the members so i hope my followers and fellow tmbmil fam continue to read till the end because i did had something planned for the ending, which might just not happen depending on how this au ends. but also the others that keep me going is my sister, a fellow jin bias, and the handful of readers who comment on my updates haha but yeah, this is just how im feeling. i don’t want anyone to think im just not in the mood to do this thing anymore. i really did enjoy this

this was an unexpectedly long a/n, im sure only a few will read this actually, but to those 3 or 5 people who see this, i hope you have a lovely day/night! thank you for reading this, you have my love 💜

taglist: @silentlyimpractical @jillianmarie @waddlebby @cecedrake2217 @ddofa @samros95 @sope-and-shine @joonjoonsmiles @codeinebelle @aianloveseven @Chamchamcham @princessjazzyjazz @notvantaes @casspirit0705 @ramyagovindraj @brinnalaine @ephyra1230 @betysotelo18 @thoughtfultaledreamer @salty-for-suga @cosmicdaylight @dreamcatcherjiah @kookoo-kachoo @justinetingball  @josierosie @jayhope88 @butterflylion @hobiismyhopeu @momma-said-that-it-was-oke @shinyplaidbagellamp @catspancake @somewhereofftheglobe @strawberryforever25 @rjsmochii @prdshobi @beeeb05 @eatjeanjin @taekookcaneatme @Cheeely14 @kookietsukkie @anpanman-sonyeondan @glitteringcoffeefreak @chocobetterknot @alpaca1612 @ohmy-fandoms @liljooniecutie @Jikachoo @preciouschimine @fan-ati--c @Joondala @httpmuffin @dammit-jjk @jikooksgirl19

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

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[another-fantasy-world]

Theirs, In Every Way Possible

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Pairing: Jemily x Fem! Reader, JJ x Reader x Emily

Summary: JJ and Emily thought that their life couldn’t get any better, until they met you. However, what happens when you aren’t completely truthful to them and the team who was already a family to you? 

Warnings: Canon Violence, Reader came from a serial killer family, Reader has so many traumas, Homophobia, Reader has trust issues and is very indecisive. Y/N might frustrate you. Major Character Injuries.

Word Count: 3816 words

GIF isn’t mine

This case is completely made up from the top of my head, so if there are any similarities in the episodes in CM, they were probably just carved in my brain. Also, this might be a little ooc because I can’t just seem to tap into their personalities just yet

I’m sorry, I tried making this as angsty as I possibly could, I’m still working on my angst.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were fairly new to the BAU, only working there for about 6 months, and yet you fit in really easily. It definitely helped that you were the sunshine- Penelope Garcia’s bestfriend and that Erin Strauss couldn’t bring herself to dislike you. But what matters the most to them is that fact that you were a genius. No, not like Dr. Reid genius. You understood the serial killers in a personal level, and you would often coax the weapon out of their hand and get them to submit and surrender. Of course, when they confronted you about it, you easily lied and they somehow accepted that. So much for being profilers.

You never really did know when you first started seeing the couple in a new light. Yes you liked them both. It never really mattered since you just knew that it would just fade away. It was already embedded in your brain that everyone eventually leaves and that being too close to anyone would only get them killed. You learned that the hard way. But that didn’t stop you from admiring them from the shadows. It didn’t stop you from smiling whenever they talk, it didn’t stop you from memorizing their features like they were about to vanish into thin air, it didn’t stop you from admiring how JJ controlled the media, or how Emily used that voice when she’s speaking to the unsub and it didn’t stop you from admiring how well they fit each other, how their hands fit like puzzle pieces, and how your heart clenches in awe when you see them cuddled up with each other. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself, you desperately needed to get away from them, but you also wanted and needed to be around them. God, you knew you sounded like a hormonal teenager. 

“This is Daryln Garcia, Ahron Balydyn, Abbey Banagher and Jehoushua Castiel. Their names are on top of the list of the recent chain of murders all over each state.” Garcia winced at the pictures that she had to present to the whole team, she never did seem to get used to it

“Some of these are from waaaaay long before, why only now?” Emily asks from her seat , which was coincidentally next to yours

 “The M.O’s are all over the place, which is why they didn’t connect the murders until now. The only thing connecting them are black sticky notes that are posted on the wall and on their body.” Rossi reads out.

“Where’s the latest one?” You ask, sipping your coffee

“...Los Angeles, California.” 

“Wheels up in Five.” Hotch concludes, as everyone gets up to gather themselves. 

After talking and discussing the case a bit more, You all decide to calm down for a few hours, and each and everyone of you set off to do your own things.

“Uh-huh, you’re staring at them again huh.” Garcia teased you through the screen.

Spencer was memorizing and rereading the case files,

Hotch was talking with Rossi, probably discussing the case,

Morgan has his headphones clogging his ears,

JJ and Emily were cuddling with each other as JJ munched on her cheetos.

You were currently seated away from the team, just out of earshot because you knew that Garcia would begin spouting non-sense. 

“Shut up...” You blushed bright red. “...I told you this once, while I was drunk and now you bring it up in every conversation that we have. It’s just a silly little crush, sunshine. It’ll pass.” You told her, playfully glaring at the screen, to which she laughed

“Sure, Gummy Bear. Keep telling yourself that.” She grinned.

When you were about to land, you hung up on your bestfriend before steeling yourself, You didn’t need to acknowledge the gut feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you most certainly ignored the growing headache that you have. 

 JJ and Emily certainly noticed you right from the start. The woman who had no experience in the field whatsoever is suddenly the finest one they ever seen. (or maybe that’s just because they were so attracted to you that they happen to pay too much attention) That wasn’t the only thing they noticed though: They also noticed the tiny change in tone when you talk to either or both of them at the same time, or the way that your head would be the first to turn when they walk in the bullpen, or the way that your eyes would quickly scan them from head to toe before you bury your face into the paperwork that Hotch gave you, just a slight hint of embarrassment in your eyes peeking out from the cover or maybe it was the way that you would breathe a little heavier and talk a little faster when you discussed the case with them. You weren’t painfully obvious, but they were profilers for God’s sake, they notice everything, especially if it’s about you. There was just something so painfully attractive about you that interests them so much. The way your hair flowed as it dances with the wind, The way you licked your lips since they were dry (They tried to get you to use a lip gloss or a lip balm but you fought them, real hard.), The way your body tackled unsubs who got into your nerves (They always had to change clothes after that...), The way your eyes shined when you successfully return and reunite families, The way your mind worked: How you analyze quick, How you look at things in all angles, How you tried to put yourself in the very scene, How you work so well with Spencer and How you always seem to know what to say, every damn time. Maybe it was the way you broke social construct just by wearing a suit everytime you go to work, or it’s probably the smirks you give them when you’re right about something and they were in the wrong. (It makes them want to pounce on you, but they restrain themselves, taking their frustrations out on each other in the privacy of their own home.) But what they hate the most, it how dense you are. At this point, JJ could send you a love letter and you would think that it’s a recent case evidence. 

"...This is Dr. Reid, SSA Prentiss, Y/LN, Morgan, Jareau, and Rossi."

“Right this way, we have arrested a prime suspect this morning.” 

“How?” You ask, lifting two duffle bags and setting them down to your designated table

“She was found lurking around the crime scene and a bloody shirt matching one of the latest victims in his backpack.” 

“Can we have her bag?” Emily asks, approaching the officer

“Yeah sure. Right this way Agent.” He leads her to somewhere while you trail Hotch to the interrogation room, only to freeze in your tracks.

“What the hell” you whispered under your breath, feeling the same suffocating aura when you felt like your past is catching up to you. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You hear Derek ask you.

“I can’t do this. I need to call Garcia. Excuse me.” You replied with a look in your eyes. Derek recognized that same look with Emily when she ran away, pursuing Doyle to protect the team, and he’ll be damned if he let’s history repeat itself.

“Nuh-uh sweetcheeks. I know that look. Tell me.” Derek grips your forearm gently.

“Derek. I promise I won’t run away. And if I’m not back within an hour, track my phone and my ring.” you assured him, pulling your phone out and hurrying outside.

“Garcia. Please tell me that my identity is still concealed.” You begged Penelope while you were stress smoking at the back of the precinct. 

“It is! I promise! There’s no way they would find you! through technology at least.” she ranted. You see, Penelope Garcia doesn’t do well with secrets, but you really needed her, and she understood that. Which is why your secret is the best kept secret she has, she hid your secret for a year now.

“Then tell me why my aunt, who might I add is an absolute psychopath, is in our major suspect list right now?” you panicked, knowing that your “family” has somehow tracked you

“It might be a coincidence, Gummy Bear. But I will look into it! I promise.” 

“Garcia. One more favor. Back up all my files, all of it. From my work laptop, my FBI files, my personal devices, all of it. Then delete them all. I’m going to use a disposable starting now. Pull up the GPS service for my ring, keep an eye on me at all times. I’ll be damned if I see more of my family.” You spat out, stomping out the light of your cigarette, before popping a mint.

“Consider it done. Don’t you think it’s time to tell them?” she carefully asks, knowing how sensitive you are.

“Thank you Garcia, And I will. Once the time is right.” You grumbled, knowing that it’ll be sooner than later.

“Y/N. Tell them before it’s too late. Please, for your sake and for ours too.” 

“I will short stuff. I will.” 

For days you successfully evaded interrogating your aunt, subtly helping them as much as you can without raising suspicion. You knew that this secrecy is going to be revealed soon

“Y/N. We picked up coffee for you.” You suddenly hear JJ behind you, Emily’s hand gently placing the coffee in front of you, her eyes filled with concern

“You didn’t go to your hotel room did you?” Emily accused

“...No” You dropped your head onto the files in front of you

“You need your sleep Y/N. You’re no use when your brain can’t even function.” JJ retorted, taking a seat beside you, with Emily by her side.

“...Fine. A nap on that sofa. That’s it.” You bargained, determination shines in your eyes

“Okay. Go.”

And then, the moment your head hits the arm rest, you blacked out. Only waking up to Derek’s frantic shaking of your body

“Y/N! Get up!” It was rare for Derek to be this panicked and scared, and that gave you anxiety

“What? What is it?!” You stood up, feeling yourself get dizzy my how fast you got up.

“JJ and Emily are gone.”

What?

“Wait- What do you mean- How long was I asleep?” You blinked

“Precisely 4 hours, 36 minutes and 56 seconds.” Reid blurts out from infront the whiteboard.

“What happened for fuck’s sake?” You sat back down, rubbling your head

“Hotch was about to send you in on a lead, but they both volunteered instead.” Rossi explained

“And no one sent backup?” You were angry, barely keeping it in, you were slowly regretting keeping your secret now

“No one knew until now, when JJ and Emily didn’t come back after an hour, Derek went after them, only to find this.” Rossi lifts up the black sticky note.

“Family for Family, Blood for Blood”

“Is it possible that Rayna Torres, is their relative?”

“ Call and Tell Penelope I said Yes.” You point to Derek, knowing that Garcia will know what to do. You’ll let your bestfriend explain, she’ll explain it better since your mind is fogged

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your face hardened, clenching your jaw. You rarely showed anger, or annoyance for that matter, so they didn’t know what to do when you stormed off in pursuit of Hotch.

You found Hotch in the interrogation room, silently observing your Aunt

“Let me talk to her.” You say, earning a nod from him

You stormed in, slamming the door behind you.

“Listen here, you little psychopath. Where are they.” His eyes widened slightly, Hotch didn’t expect you to be so hostile

“There you are. I was beginning to think that we got the wrong team.” She grinned, intertwining her fingers, her wrists still bound to the table by a handcuff.

“I am not in the mood for your games.” You deadpanned, gripping the table to conceal your anger

“Hmmn. You always did have your father’s temper.”

“WHERE. ARE. THEY.” You slammed your palms on the metal table, making a slight dent on it. Ignoring the pain, you glared at her hard

“You know where they are child. I know that you know where they are.” The devilish grin once again appeared on her face.

“If I step foot inside that warehouse, and they are not there, I can’t guarantee your head will still be attached to your shoulders when they prepare you for your casket. Auntie.” At that statement, you walked away with a surprised Hotch on your trail.

He treated you like his very own ever since you knocked on his door, crying your eyes out, ranting about your family. Of course he noticed the small slip-ups you accidentally let out especially when you’re drunk. But it was never enough to completely put the picture together. He knows that you treat him as a father figure. Which is why he can’t let you go in there alone.

“No. Absolutely not. You might die Y/N!” You raised your brow at him, the bulletproof vest never felt as heavy as it is now

“You’ve known me for 6 months, you’ve known them for years. Why are you picking me over them? You know that I’m what they want. You or any other person steps in though that door, they’re all going to be dead before they see JJ and Emily. Not to mention they might kill JJ and Emily too. Please Hotch. This is my battle. If I die, I die. I don’t want to live knowing I could’ve done something.” Those were your last words before you slowly walked to the warehouse door after getting wired.

“This really isn’t the best first impressions you could make on your future daughters-in-law. Father.” You spoke as you saw him pointing a revolver at her, at your Emily.

You almost collapse at their state. JJ’s beautiful blonde hair caked with dirt and blood, she was staring at you, shaking her head, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip is swollen and you could see multiple bruises forming. 

However, Emily’s state was much worse. Her eyebrow was bleeding, her knuckles are bruised, she has small cuts everywhere and you could see that she was struggling to stand up despite being tied by her hands to the ceiling

“This one has a sharp tongue daughter. i don’t appreciate it.” He snarled, now pointing his gun at you

“Last one who said that exact words to had his dick cut in half. Where’s my jerkwad of a brother anyways? How’s his dick? Still has my bite marks? Scars maybe?” You smirked, hearing your “mother” load her gun

“Disrespectful Bitch. Don’t talk to your brother like that, he’s better than you ever will be” She snarled, firing at your feet, slashing through your pants, making you bleed slightly, making JJ scream through her gag.

“Your aim’s getting rusty.” You pulled out both your guns, pointing them at you biological “parents” 

“And you’re wearing a bulletproof vest. Take it off and kick your guns to us. You know what’ll happen if you don’t” you gritted your teeth, taking off the vest despite the protests of Hotch and the rest of the team

“Happy?”  “Very.”

“Now let them go.” You frowned

“No. You see, since you do love them right?” Your father smirked, making you frown

“Yes. I do. I’m in the same team as them for fuck’s sake!” 

“No. No. That’s not just it. You love them in a different way as well. Say it.”

“...” Your mother rolled her eyes at your silence and fired two bullets to Emily and JJ, scraping Emily’s cheek and JJ’s shoulder.

You flinched, you knew not to show emotion, but it’s painful to see the women you love get hurt. 

“Okay! Fine! You want me to say that I love them? I will.” You gritted out

“Go on then, you know how I love my drama shows.” You glared at them, taking a deep breath in, watching them walk out of the room, a bright spotlight aligns itself on the three of you, It really is a sick TV show that your parents would love to watch.

“What they say is true. I don’t know if you noticed it yet. But I do love you, both of you. I really hoped that I could tell you over dinner, or a cup of coffee, but I guess life has other plans. Loving the both of you seems so weird, and unconventional, but who wants to be normal and boring am I right?” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, which they didn’t appreciate.

You moved your hand to their gags slowly, listening for complains from your parents, hearing none, your grabbed their gags and pull them down.

“Y/N-” They both started

“Shhh. Let me speak, you know I don’t have much time.” You smiled, implying that you wouldn’t get out of this alive.

“I notice everything. I do. I’m not as dense as you think I am. I just... I didn’t like the thought of you both getting attached to me. I love you both so much that I knew that if they catch up to me, I could die, or you could get hurt. And now this happened.” JJ shook her head as if to say it isn’t your fault.

“I love you both so much, I love the way you look at each other, often wished I could look at you both like that. I love the way you both force me to sleep then give me coffee in the morning. I love the way your brow furrows when you see a detail in the reports that displeases you, and then you’ll playfully glare at JJ and I when you notice that we’re laughing at you. There’s a lot more that I want to say to you, but I don’t have enough time.” you say, moving closer to them, tears staining their bruised cheek.

“I’ll see you in our usual spot in the coffee shop across the street?” You whisper to JJ, kissing her cheek

“I’ll be copying your move now.” You chuckle lightly, kissing her cheek

A slow clap rang throughout the room.

“Now that is a perfect drama and revenge.” You whipped your head around, only seeing your father. Pulling out your knife from your thigh, you run towards him recklessly, the screams of JJ and Emily’s pleads piercing your ears.

And then three gunshots rang throughout the warehouse, Derek kicked the door down, chasing after your laughing family. Your ears were ringing, you didn’t even notice that you collapsed from the impact. You couldn’t believe it actually worked. You could feel the sticky, red colored cornstarch mixture on your abdomen. However the growing pain on your shoulders prevented you from celebrating.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, the impact of the bullets on your abdomen radiating throughout your body, yet you can also feel the bullet that’s still in your shoulder.

“Y/N. Stay with us come on” Emily whispered, despite her being in a worse condition that you, She still has your hand in a death grip.

“I’ll be fine Em.” You reassure her through jagged breaths, JJ’s crying face invading your view made you smile too. 

The moment that Emily and JJ were free from their binds, they immediately limped towards you as fast as they can, both of them on each of your side, silently wishing that they had more time

“They only managed to shoot me on my shoulder okay? I’ll be fine.” You could see the confusion in their faces, which faded when the paramedics unbuttoned your stained white shirts, only to find another bulletproof vest and an empty plastic bag, previously filled with what they can assume was fake blood. 

Emily’s eyes widen, what you did was dangerous, and extremely risky. You gambled on a unpredictable mess and she wondered how you got Hotch to approve of what you did, only to find out later that Hotch didn’t know either.

You could only smile at them, feeling the drugs the paramedics injected take effect, slowly drowsing off. You were happy they were somewhat safe. You were also happy that you managed to stab your father in his arm. Even if your brother did shoot your shoulder from behind, you were still happy with how things turned out.

Almost regretting what you did when you woke up to a staring Emily, JJ quietly handing you water, before they both scolded you like there’s no tomorrow. 

However, after what seemed like ages of reprimanding from the older women, they both pecked your lips before asking you out on a date.

I guess it all worked out in the end.

[curioskitty]

THE・Rarest Bakugou

Given Bakugou-kun's description as a "juvenile delinquent" (Horikoshi sensei uses the term 不良少年, or furyou shounen, meaning juvenile delinquent boy), it's expected that he wouldn't conform to standard. So obviously, it's not possible to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie properly................

What is up with this perfectly tied nonsense right here?!

Bakugou-kun, I thought I knew you!!! THE LIES! THE BETRAYAL!!!

But, it's probably just a fluke. You didn't mean it, right Horikoshi-sensei?

WTF?! WHY?!!! Horikoshi-sensei?!

Yep. Contrary to expectations, Bakugou-kun wearing a tie correctly only ranks at Ultra Rare status: difficult to find, but not impossible.

So, what's rarer than a tie-wearing Bakugou-kun? Go Beyond, Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In fact, it's even harder to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie improperly. Given proto-Bakugou's loose tie design, I would have expected that to be the likelier delinquent-esque tie option. But I've only seen Horikoshi-sensei draw him like this once:

(Horikoshi-sensei's one year celebration illustration. This is still fairly early in the publication.)

On top of that, Bakugou-kun consistently wears his uniform tie-less and with at least one button undone on his shirt collar. His pants are always slung low on his hips and legs bunching up at his feet (except when he had to wear jeans for Best Jeanist). You can even see panels where Horikoshi-sensei drew in the rips at the hems near the heel where they drag on the ground.

So why the inconsistency, Horikoshi-sensei? I see you over there, stop pretending you didn't notice. I know you're paying attention.

Horikoshi-sensei gave proto-Bakugou a loosened tie, so what is the reasoning for taking Bakugou-kun's tie away?

Some No-Tie Theories

Fan Theory #1: HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW

//Like Midoriya-kun, Bakugou-kun came from a middle school with gakuran uniforms. They never learned how to tie them. Midoriya-kun messes up his tie, while Bakugou-kun doesn't even bother to try.//

I actually think this is the least likely reason. Bakugou-kun was designed to be a naturally talented genius. I think this applies to anything he wants to do. If he does something, it's always perfectly done.

Bakugou-kun can (and does if you look above) tie it perfectly when necessary.

CONCLUSION: If Bakugou-kun doesn't do something, it's completely out of personal preference or because he doesn't see a reason to.

Fan Theory #2: REBELLIOUS NATURE

//Bakugou-kun is a delinquent and maintains that image because he thinks it looks cool. Or maybe he is rebelling against fashion designer parents. Either way, because of his family background he knows how to tie a tie, but wants to be a rebel.//

I'd give partial points for this one. I'm pretty sure he wears his pants loose at least partially because he thinks it looks cool. However, Bakugou-kun's parents were noted to be designers and not specifically fashion designers.

Despite appearances, this is the kid that sleeps at 8:30pm, doesn't break school rules, and yells at his friends for smoking.

He zips up the collar on his gym track suit all the way. Both the summer and winter versions get the same treatment. He doesn't feel the need to "make a statement" by wearing his track uniform incorrectly. Outside of class, he can and does sometimes wear his track jacket unzipped, but during class he always wears it properly.

So then why does Bakugou-kun refuse to wear the band T-shirt and Christmas party Santa outfit? Because he isn't cooperative. In Ultra Analysis, his Cooperativeness Stat was the lowest rank: E.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun may be non-conformist and uncooperative, but he isn't a rebel.

Fan Theory #3: TRAUMA/PTSD

//This is one of the more popular theories. Between Dabi grabbing his neck, the Sludge Villain and being restrained at the School Festival, our boy has been through the wringer. As a result, he just doesn't like stuff around his neck because it gives him anxiety.//

The Western Fandom is definitely concerned about the mental health of the kids. But I don't actually think this is the reason. Not that I don't think they all need some therapy and self care, especially right now, but there just isn't evidence for this specific trauma in Bakugou-kun.

He wears scarves and even turtle necks without a problem.

On top of that, Bakugou-kun ALSO unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and gakuran in middle school; even from before the Sludge Villain incident. There isn't any evidence Bakugou-kun changed his dressing habits due to trauma. He wore a scarf to the entrance exam for UA, too.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun has ALWAYS worn his shirts with the top button unbuttoned.

These 3 theories are inadequate, too. Even if they did explain the reasons Bakugou-kun doesn't wear a uniform tie, they don't factor in the reasoning for why he DOES wear his other ties properly sometimes.

HC#1: Bakugou-kun's preference

Bakugou-kun doesn't seem to care about his image and how "extras" see him. Even during the press interviews after his hero debut, he wore the same style of open collar look. He's not shy about being nude or taking his shirt off.

But what he hates is being uncomfortable.

He is "explosively brawny". Just look at how thick Bakugou-kun's neck is when compared to Midoriya-kun's. It isn't just that Midoriya-kun is supposed to be scrawny, but also that Bakugou-kun has a thicker than average neck.

Bakugou-kun doesn't like to button up his shirts all the way because it's uncomfortable. It's reasonable that he zips his track suit and everything else up because those are looser at the neck or made of stretchier materials.

As for why he doesn't wear the uniform tie at all... Don't forget Bakugou-kun is a perfectionist and a bit of a neat freak.

He always tucks his shirt in. For the band performance he wore a collared black dress shirt. From what we saw of his room, it's minimalist and clean. I don't see him wanting to look like a slob.

A sloppy loose tie would probably irritate him more than just not wearing it (which is even funnier when you think about Midoriya-kun's chonk tie. It probably makes him want to strangle Midoriya-kun, or maybe just tie it himself...)

Bakugou-kun has difficulties compromising when it comes to his high standards. So if he has to wear it, it's going to be either 0% or 100%.

HC#2: Explosiveness

Why draw Bakugou-kun with either 0% tie or 100% tie? If Horikoshi-sensei is going for a delinquent image, wouldn't the 50% tie option make more sense?

Taking a look again at Bakugou-kun's profile page, Horikoshi-sensei describes him to be explosive in every way. That includes his whole body being "explosively brawny", but also adds a note that he looks slender in clothes.

Horikoshi-sensei put an effort to make every element of Bakugou-kun's character in some state of either fully compressed or explosive.

His slimming clothes, general appearance and even his speech patterns are highly compressed (blunt/terse) and loud. The extremes of his attitude are compressed too; if Bakugou-kun is not loudly raging, then he's quietly observing.

This contrast is key to his character. You can't explode if you aren't compressed first. It's supposed to be shocking to see how brawny he actually is under his slenderizing clothes. And I always feel shocked whenever I see this kid compressed into a tie.

HC#3: Deku & Kacchan

These two are set apart from the class by design and very much on purpose. Horikoshi-sensei designed them to be at opposite ends of the same spectrum.

If Bakugou-kun has muscular arms, then Midoriya-kun needs muscular legs. If Midoriya-kun buttons up his shirt all the way to the collar, then Bakugou-kun's collar has to be loose. Their designs reflect their connection.

So if Midoriya-kun has a poorly tied tie, the opposite of that is either non-existant or perfectly tied. If it's perfectly tied, he'd just blend in with the class.

The no-tie option just makes more sense.

Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou

Horikoshi-sensei only ever draws Bakugou-kun with a tie in specific scenarios. Costume events that require the neck tie as part of the costume or "fancy" events where everyone is in formal wear. And even in those, Bakugou-kun manages to not wear his tie 90% of the time.

So, I just imagine that when Horikoshi-sensei makes Bakugou-kun wear his tie, he's super grumpy! Just look at his face in every illustration he's wearing a tie in. He's probably hot, uncomfortable, and really not enjoying himself at all.

Ultimately, the "Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou" is a Bakugou-kun who wears the tie and SMILES while doing it.

(Yes, I know that's NOT actually a tie. Shut up Bakugou-kun. You're only smirking in this one because you won the Popularity Poll for the 5th time in a row...)

(Well that's random, you say? Welcome to my blog. Considering the stuff going down on canon, I figured I should give fans, and myself, a break from angst to talk about something silly.

Please note that this applies only to the manga. I've found that the anime isn't quite so strict about how Bakugou-kun looks.

Regarding the headcanons, I just want to clarify that everyone is free to think whatever they like. I enjoy all headcanons and support your right to have them.

I wrote this a while ago and then debated posting it because it's such a huge meta about... Bakugou-kun's tie. I had regrets. But now it's become my new years post. Regrets were for 2020, it's already 2021!

Demons out, fortune in!!! I know it's not setsubun for another month, but 2020 was such a demon.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!)