#of basics and casuals mixed with business style!

[crofter]

001: a (visual) study into lara croft.

[1800titz]

HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic. 

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second. 

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night. 

It’s a cute shop. 

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort. 

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery. 

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.  

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him. 

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue. 

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote. 

“Oh, I’m just looking.” 

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge. 

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples. 

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.” 

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.” 

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there. 

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.” 

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?” 

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.” 

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?” 

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.” 

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment. 

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.” 

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence. 

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.” 

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels. 

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“ 

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.” 

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink. 

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.” 

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space. 

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy. 

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.” 

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate. 

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.” 

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin. 

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.” 

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s. 

Yeah. 

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay. 

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work. 

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue. 

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs. 

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length. 

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt. 

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.” 

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me. 

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows. 

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off. 

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up. 

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again. 

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders. 

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more. 

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones. 

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior. 

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child. 

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.” 

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs. 

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together. 

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider. 

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it. 

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert. 

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top. 

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.” 

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together. 

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.” 

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.” 

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic. 

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.” 

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes. 

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things. 

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.” 

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?” 

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.” 

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece. 

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.” 

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?” 

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.” 

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin. 

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?” 

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.” 

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.” 

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.” 

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.” 

This is The Turning Point. 

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked. 

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.” 

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both. 

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash. 

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from. 

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.” 

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?” 

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?” 

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.” 

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling. 

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting. 

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.” 

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.” 

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.” 

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.” 

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her. 

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it. 

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?” 

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.” 

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights. 

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.” 

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time. 

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres. 

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay. 

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with. 

Christ. 

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands. 

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face. 

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.” 

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again. 

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.” 

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features. 

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.” 

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.” 

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation. 

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.” 

“Thank you. What now?” 

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.” 

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse. 

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?” 

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.” 

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?” 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet. 

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging. 

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?” 

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.” 

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.  

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

[mistressroxielove]

Hey everyone~ I'm back, and this time with a new fixation!

Long story short, I've discovered the new Fairly Oddparents reboot, absolutely loved it and was inspired to make this AU idea for the show! With a slight reimagine/redesign of the characters as well. And the first one I decided to do was Peri!

Here's some more info about my AU:

Fairly Odd Parents AU/Rewrite

Au Name: FairlyOdd Brother

Summary:

Perri (previously known as Poof) recently graduated from Fairy Godparents School and is eager to start granting Wishes for his very own godchild! Only problem is that with his lack of experience Jorgen is weary of giving him an assignment and keeps finding excuses/reasons to not give him a godkid. Realizing it might be a 1,000 years before they give him a chance to be a Fairy Godparent, Perri decides he needs to be a little bold and perhaps, bend Da Rules, to get his foot in the door so to speak. And his answer comes to him from a new neighbor in his human home, a family with a sweet shy 10 year old girl who is absolutely miserable. Perhaps Perri might be able to offer this girl a little comfort and fun as her new Fairy Godbrother!?

(Basically the same premise of the show, except Perri’s first godchild is Hazel, and through a technicality in the rule book, becomes her god brother instead of her godparent.)

ALSO please note this AU is more of a slight reimagine of the original show, meaning I did tweaked / changed some of the characters personality to match the new story I made for them. Nothing majorly different, but again just a heads up before you read on. Hope you like it~

Name: Perri Poof Fairywinkle Cosma (He goes by Perri now but still keeps Poof as a middle name to honor it)

Age: Human equivalent of 22 years old

-Usually it takes at least 1,000 years for a fairy to grow from a baby to an adult, however since Poof spent his first couple of years being raised alongside Timmy, his body magically enhanced itself to basically go through a growth spurt and age as a normal human. But now that he’s fully mature he won't physically age anymore and will stay a 22 year old for at least a couple hundred thousand years.

Sex: Male

Human Physical Description:

-Basically just did a mix between Wanda's and Cosmo human designs. Something simple and fun, I also added some blue to his color design just to make him stand out more.

-I also gave him crocs, I just found the idea cute and thought it would give him a more casual look for his human design

-I was originally gonna give him glasses similar to Cosmo but for the life of me I couldn't make the design work with his hair style, so I just gave him a earring with the same design his wand has

Personality:

-Similar to Cosmo Swavy car sale business man personality from the pilot.

-He’s a smooth talker with a deep rich voice to match, could sell a refrigerator to a eskimo

-Knows his way around rules and is always eager to grant wild and crazy wishes with the most imaginative interpretation possible, this eagerness to break rules can be a blessing and a curse, as this is what gets him in trouble the most

-Is a bit of a smart ass (But in a nice and lovable way), always has to have the last word, can be really petty when he’s mad

-Is really good a persuading people into doing things, though he doesn’t use this power to be malicious, only uses it to get small favors and mostly for Hazel to wish for crazy stuff, again it's never meant to be malicious

-Though he still has a lot to learn before becoming a godparent, he’s extremely sweet and caring to hazel and his friends, and will do anything to keep them safe and happy

-Is eager to proof himself to be useful and mature, is tired of every fairy treating him like a kid despite being older now

-Is a bit flamboyant and cares about his appearance, likes to paint his nails and wears earrings similar to his mother

-Though he does have a good head on his shoulders, he does have a tendency to interpret wishes in uniquely bizarre ways sometimes, something he inherited from his father.

Other fun facts:

-Peri really likes marine life/fishes, since he spent the first couple years of his life living as a fish, he has an appreciation for the creatures. And even has a pet goldfish!

-Despite being 22 years old, the fairy’s still treat him like a baby since a normal fairy baby would have taken at least 1,000 years to grow to maturity. This is what caused him to change his name, desperate to make the other fairy’s take him seriously and to not literally treat him like a baby

-Lives in an apartment building in the human world that is also connected to the fairy world, he’s the first of his kind to have a home like that. For most fairies it's extremely hard for them to ‘act human’ 24/7 which is why most prefer to turn themselves into childhood pets whenever they’re living with their god kid. As being human means they have to walk everywhere, not being able to use magic, and if they mess up once it could expose the existence of fairies and magical creatures in general. Peri however, once old enough to move out of his parents house was vocal that he wanted to live among the humans. He told Jorgen and the fairy council he wanted to live there to understand humans better to be a better godparent to them, but he mostly did it because he missed earth. Missed all the stuff that he grew accustomed to when he was a kid and also likes being able to find people ‘his own age’ to talk and relate to. After his endless demands and persuasion the council finally budge and allowed him to live on earth. But was warned if he was ever discovered to be a fairy, he would lose his godparents license and would never be allowed back on earth ever again.

-He wears a curler in his hair similar to Wanda when he sleeps, just a cute detail I wanted to mention

-Also just like his mother he has a tendency to call the kids/Hazel Buddy similarly to how Wanda likes to call people Sport but still has his own fraze, just a small detail that I thought would also be a cute nod to his parents

-He's also crazy for Chocolate, this is based off an episode in the original show where Wanda went insane just to eat some chocolate. It was just a one off gag but I really love that gag and decide to include it. He loves chocolate and has a dangerous addiction to it, but its still not as bad as Wanda's addiction to the stuff

Short summary of how he ended up with Hazel:

Peri has just recently graduated Fairy Godparent School and is eager to get a godkid, since his parents are still on their 10,000 year old trip he wanted to surprise them with the news of him having a godkid to make them proud of him. However Jorgen is extremely reluctant to give Peri a kid due to his extremely young age, inexperience, and his tendency to always try and bend ‘Da Rules’ as he pleases. So he puts Peri off again and sends him home, much to his annoyance. Irritated and now back at his human home in Dimmadelphia, Peri begins to hatch a plan to get himself a god kid since he knows it would take 1,000 years at least before Jorgen would finally give him a chance. But how could he possibly bend the rules to allow him to mentor a kid without Jorgen assigning him?

The answer comes to him from his new neighbors, a small family with a sweet but shy 10 year old girl who’s having a tough time adjusting to her new surroundings. Due to some hijinks Peri ends up babysitting for Hazel as her parents are now busier than ever with their new jobs and don’t have as much time to watch Hazel. They don’t mean to leave her alone so often, and actually apologize to her constantly for the unforeseen high work time. But it does little to help Hazel with her adjusting to her new environment. With the addition of her having a bad day in school and her brother, do to the storm, is unable to come up and visit until his next break (which is a few months away) Hazel, being miserable and finally had enough and in a fit of rage and desperation, wishes she could just fly to her brother. This wish for the first time activates Peri magic, before he can stop his wand appear and grants Hazel's wish, turning the girl into a fly.

The part of the episode happens similar to the original first episode, with Peri trying to get Hazel home before her parents come back from their work. He eventually does but again similar to the first episode Hazel gets stuck in a venus fly trap as Peri tries to get her to wish to turn back into her original form. After the talk with the ant Hazel realizes her mistake and finally wishes to become human again before her parents could discover what went wrong.

After the commotion, the next day Hazel goes to Peri’s apartment to question who he is and what the heck just happened. Peri tries to deny it but during their conversation he realizes that technically speaking…..Hazel did have good and caring parents. They weren’t the reason why she was sad and miserable, she was miserable because her brother wasn’t with her anymore and she desperately missed him. And technically speaking, there was no rule or need to ask Jorgen or the fairy console to become a kids Godbrother. He only needed their permission to be a Godparent. And besides……..he more than understood the feeling of missing a big brother.

Making his decision he officially introduces himself as Hazel Godbrother (In a similar manner to Dev introduction) and promises to bring a little magic to her life~ Much to Hazel shock and joy, as for the first time since moving to Dimmadelphia, she felt true joy and happiness.

Sooooo ya, tell me what you guys think! Any questions or suggestions for the AU I would love to hear, good to be back!

Previous - Next

[lord-aldhelm]

Get To Know Them Alphabet

Based on @sihtricfedaraaahvicius's template (original post here). Thank you for this! Sorry it has taken me so long to fill it out.

This is VERY long so it is under the cut. The questions seem geared towards a Modern AU so I am going to answer it like that.

Accessories: do they wear them and what kind? Aldhelm prefers to keep the accessories to a minimum. A wedding ring (if he is married of course) is all the jewelry he really cares to wear. He does wear a wristwatch, though, since he hates getting his phone out just to check the time. He is old fashioned like that.

Bad habits: do they have any? I honestly can't think of any! He does not really have any vices, believe it or not. He does not drink much except socially (which is rare since he is very introverted). He doesn't smoke or take drugs at all. He eats healthy foods in moderation and exercises regularly. He is always on time, or even early, and is not a procrastinator. He does not have an addictive personality at all, in fact. He doesn't even spend a lot of time on social media. The only thing I can think of is he has a bit of a sweet tooth and loves chocolate, but that hardly counts! (Edit: it was mentioned that "overthinking" is a bad mental habit so now that is included here! He is an overthinker for sure!!)

Clothing: what's their style and what do they wear at home/out and about? I know next to nothing about fashion aesthetics so I had to look this up to get an idea of what words to use. Basically I would think like a mix between smart-casual and sort-of business casual. Definitely not a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy for sure, except for maybe when he is just staying at home. He likes to look nice, but also be comfortable at the same time. Mostly earth-tones and black but he is not averse to color, especially forest greens and navy blues.

Date: what would their ideal first date look like? Do they enjoy datenights when in a relationship? A first date would be very laid back. A coffee shop where you can chat for a bit. A botanical garden, aquarium, or zoo if you are up for something more interactive. Honestly though, you probably already know each other well enough, before even the first date. He is a "get to know you as a friend first" take it slow kind of person and does not rush into a relationship. Once in a relationship, date-nights are a thing for sure. But not the dinner and a movie kind, unless you really want to. Going to a used bookstore, hiking in the forest, visiting a museum, or browsing an antique store is his idea of a good time.

Emotional: are they an emotional person? Yes, very much so, even though he often does not show it on the surface. He is usually very calm and soft-spoken, and rarely gets angry. But he does get frustrated easily, and is prone to bouts of melancholy. He just tries not to show it publicly.

Fears: what are they afraid of? Aldhelm's fears are not of tangible things; rather they are more abstract. He fears most of all losing the ones he loves. And he fears losing control over his life, and his independence (forced into being reliant on other people)

Gifts: what makes them happy? Aldhelm is not much into gift giving, as his love language is acts of service and quality time. Handmade or thoughtful gifts are appreciated, though!

Helpful: do they help others, or are they rather selfish? Aldhelm is one of the most selfless people on the entire planet. He will go out of his way to help others, especially those who he loves or is close to. He will not hesitate to help even total strangers.

Insecure: do they have any insecurities? Oh boy does he ever! He is a chronic overthinker, and will mill and mull about things for a very long time before coming to a decision. He may appear calm on the surface, but inside he is always racked with worry and anxiety over things he cannot control. He also worries entirely too much about not misinterpreting other’s actions; does this person like me or not? Does he hate me? Did I say the wrong thing? What is wrong with me? You know the thoughts…

Also he has attachment and abandonment issues. He clings hard to anyone who will pay him the slightest bit of attention, and won’t let go no matter what. This leads to him being taken advantage of, but any attention is good attention as far as he is concerned.

Jealous: are they of a jealous nature? He can be very jealous! He feels that the people he loves are "his" and wants them to spend their time with him only. However even though he is jealous he is not possessive or controlling, and keeps the jealous feelings (mostly) to himself.

Kitchen: can they cook? Do they have a signature dish? Aldhelm can cook well enough for himself, but does not really love cooking and baking.

Laugh: what makes them laugh? Aldhelm has a very dark and dry sense of humor, so sarcasm, hyperbole, and absurdities will make him laugh. You know, typical British humor.

Morning routine: what are they like in the morning? He is an early riser. He gets up early, eats his breakfast and has a morning jog before getting to work.

Night routine: how do they unwind before going to bed? He usually will read a book or listen to classical music to unwind.

Occupy: what does their home look like? Aldhelm’s home is classic and traditional, with a brick and stone exterior and clean, fairly minimalist interior. Everything is neat and tidy; he loves organizing and categorizing stuff so everything has a place. There are a few nice paintings hanging on the walls, originals not prints of course. For colors he prefers neutral natural tones overall, mostly warm browns and beige, but with pops of color here and there. He has a few houseplants, easy care pothos and orchids. In the living room/family room is an entire wall of bookshelves that are built into the wall, filled with books and a few modest collectables he has acquired over the years. And there is always a vase of fresh cut flowers from his garden on the dining room table.

Pet peeve: what are things they absolutely can't stand? Oh this will be a very long list... others being loud in public, littering, aggressive driving, people who are perpetually late, those who do not pick up after themselves (or their dogs!), not putting things back where they belong, poor grammar, doing gross things in public (spitting, picking nose, scratching themself, etc), and people who talk over you or ignore you in a conversation.

Quirky: what's their quirky trait? Probably that he fidgets all the time. He always has to be doing something with his hands.

Relax: are they easily stressed out or do they go with the flow? As someone who is low-key on the surface and does not like conflict, he will typically go with the flow but be stressed out internally.

Spontaneous: are they? Not at all!!! LOL! He has to plan ahead for everything. He has his own agenda, and sudden changes to that stress him out. He also likes to take his time to really evaluate a situation before making a decision, so he will never be the first to jump into anything.

Truthful: how much of the truth do they tell others? He is honest to a fault, and never lies. But he may not tell someone the entire truth depending on the circumstance.

Upset: are they upset easily? And what upsets them? He is typically very calm, and does not truly get upset easily. But he will get upset if he sees something disturbing, like someone hurting another person or animal.

Vain: how vain are they? Not at all. He takes good care of his appearance, but he is not conceited. He does not place a lot of weight in other people's appearances, and does not really care what others think of his.

Work: what kind of job do they have/would they like? I can imagine him in some sort of high level professional career field. He is a politician first and foremost, and would excel at being a congressman or working for the FBI or CIA. But maybe he would not really be happy doing those kinds of jobs. I could see him as a university professor or a museum curator. Maybe a librarian or bookstore owner. Or even perhaps an attorney or working for a court in some manner. Or even working for a humanitarian organization (like an NGO) that helps people. Somewhere he could feel fulfilled and use his skills, but not feel like millions of people's lives were on the line if he makes the wrong decision.

X-factor: do they have a talent for something? He is artistic and very creative! He hides it well from others since he does not like being judged. In his free time he loves to draw and paint. He also loves writing stories and even dabbles in poetry although he does not think he is very good.

Yield: how easily do they give in to something/someone? It depends. For someone he loves, he will give in very easily. But others? Not without a huge amount of pushback. And if he feels like he is right about something, he will never relent. Typical Capricorn lol!

Zealous: what are they enthusiastic and passionate about? When it boils down, he is passionate about helping people. Whether it is doing nice things for the people he loves, serving in a good cause, or working for a company whose mission is to make other people's lives better. He lives to serve others, in any capacity.

[yetanothersparrowofthedawn]

The Way I Loved You

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 9k

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt, ex!Jake

Context: YN has some big news. Chaos ensues, as per usual.

Disclaimer: THIS IS UNEDITED, this chapter has been driving me insane and I just wanted to get it out of my drafts. Also, English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance for mistakes and awkward wordings to come. Also, I guess this fic could be triggering for some because it’s kind of sad and angsty.

Previous Track: Style

Chapter soundtrack: That’s the way I loved you – Taylor Swift

(By the way, for every ‘Chapter Soundtrack’, basically the idea is that it’s a song that YN eventually wrote with that chapter of her life in mind)

He is sensible and so incredible

He opens up my door and I get into his car

And he says, "You look beautiful tonight"

And I feel perfectly fine.

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain,

And It's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name.

So in love that you act insane,

And that's the way I loved you.

Breaking down and coming undone,

It's a roller coaster kind of rush.

I never knew I could feel that much

And that's the way I loved you.

Alright, let’s get into this.

The plane cut through the clouds, having left the US behind as YN and the band embarked on a journey together. YN couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia mixed with anticipation as the Paris skyline unfolded beneath them.

The past six months had been quite a personal success. A mosaic of regular shared experiences had broken down any residual tension that might’ve lingered between her and Jake. Their casual encounters at shows, festivals, and birthdays-alike had served as genuine moments of connection, reforging the group dynamic they had all missed.

YN’s relationship with Harry, on the other hand, had blossomed into a real spectacle that constantly adorned the front pages of tabloids. This, of course, earned her a lot of suffocating attention, but amidst the whirlwind of it all, she managed to find refuge in the simplicity of the few moments she spent with the band.

The purpose of their Parisian escapade was twofold — YN was set to attend the art exhibit opening of an old friend of hers, while the band sought out some specific piece of music equipment that Sam had simply refused to order online.

It was a perfect opportunity to blend business with pleasure.

The jet touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport and as they stepped onto the tarmac, the crisp Parisian air infused the atmosphere with a sense of adventure.

As the day unfolded, the city of lights revealed its magic. Goofing around in a place where no one paid attention to them was exactly what they’d needed. It felt just like old times.

They explored hidden corners and indulged in local delicacies until the jet lag simply became too much to bear. With tired but cheerful eyes, they returned to the hotel as the city lights began to shimmer.

__________

The lobby buzzed with the chatter of a day well-spent. YN got off the elevator on her floor, wishing the boys a good night with a smile.

As she stepped into her hotel room, her gaze wandered across the space. The muted ambiance contrasted sharply with the vibrant memories of the day.

The blinking light on the telephone caught her attention, and curiosity compelled her to check the answering machine.

With the press of a button, none other than her fiancé's voice resonated in the room, a familiar warmth despite the miles that separated them.

"Hi, love, hope you're havin' a good time with the guys. Wish I could be there with you, but I'm still in London.” She smiled softly as his words wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

“Listen, I just wanted to let you know I just got off the phone with the jeweler,” a pause hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the unspoken, “they said they're done."

 YN fell back onto the bed with a huff, the mattress embracing her in its soft contours.  Stretched out on the bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, the weight of the secret she’d been keeping pressed on her conscience.

Harry’s voice, a distant echo, continued to fill the room, “The ring should fit perfectly now."

The next day arrived, and jet lag had firmly taken hold, but YN shook off its drowsy grip to join Josh, Jake, and Danny in the hotel's dining room for some brunch.

The fatigue was evident on everyone's faces. She inquired about their plans for the day.

 "Well, we have an appointment at the music store in an hour," Danny replied.

Josh scoffed, "If Sam ever decides to—"

"If Sam ever decides to what?" Sam's challenging voice cut in as he strolled over, taking a seat at their table.

"Samuel, how nice of you to join us," Jake teased.

"You know I need my beauty sleep, brother. Don't be jealous," Sam retorted. YN chuckled at the banter, enjoying the familiar dynamic.

As the conversation continued, Danny, with a raised eyebrow, steered the discussion back to the important topic, “As I was saying,” he resumed, “we have an appointment at the music store in an hour. How long do you reckon that will last?” he asked.

 Sam, with his typical nonchalance, replied, “Not sure; the call was all in French. Might be ten minutes, could also be ten hours.”

The eye rolls from Josh and Jake were nearly audible, a synchronized response to their younger brother’s signature unpreparedness.

“Alright, we should probably head out right about now,” Jake declared, scanning the surroundings. He sighed in anticipation, “For all we know Sam may have gotten the address wrong as well.”

The youngest, catching wind of the ribbing, protested with a whine, “Hey now, that’s not fair,” as the group headed out through the bustling lobby.

__________

Once they stood outside the hotel, Danny turned to YN, “Are you heading to your friend’s thing?”

One of YN’s old friends was having the opening night of her new art exhibit, an event which they were all planning on attending later that evening, and YN had mentioned the possibility of going early to lend a hand.

“Yeah,” she replied absent-mindedly, “I’ll see if she needs anything.” She looked away in apprehension.

“Alright then,” Sam said, “we’ll see you later.”

As they were about to part ways, YN nervously blurted out, “Do you all need to be at that appointment thing?” She paused, turning to Josh, “I mean… the equipment is just for the players, isn’t it?”

Josh instantly scoffed, feigning an offended expression, “Well, I happen to play something called the vocals, YN, thank you very much.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” she insisted, an unusually tense expression on her face, “please?”

Sam was about to retort with a whole bunch of technical issues but Josh, catching on to his friend’s unspoken plea, quickly intervened, "Uh, you know what, guys? I think I'll stick around with YN for a bit. I can catch up with you later."

The others, slightly taken aback, glanced at each other, then at Josh and YN.

“Sure, no problem,” Danny smiled.

YN grabbed Josh and the pair strode away, arm in arm, leaving the others slightly dumbfounded.

Josh couldn't help but shoot YN a puzzled look, to which she responded with a silent gratitude that spoke volumes.

The rhythm of their footsteps echoed a subtle tension in the air. After twenty minutes, Josh, usually the easygoing one, couldn't help but enquire, "So, what was that about?"

She glanced at him, her expression a mix of urgency and hesitation. "It’s nothing, let’s keep going we’re almost there.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, “come on, there clearly is something,” he stated, crossing his arms, “and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

She stared at him, tempted to call out his bluff, but decided against it, knowing it was only a matter of minutes anyway.

 “Alright,” she sighed nervously, “I have some news.”

___________

The air hung heavy with the weight of revelation. YN's eyes, now wide with anticipation, searched Josh's face for a reaction, a sign that he had processed the bombshell she had just dropped. The silence echoed like a distant melody, the street a quiet stage for the unfolding drama.

YN finally broke through the deafening quiet. "Aren’t you going to say anything?" her voice carried a mix of vulnerability and desperation, a plea for connection.

Josh, still processing, stared into the distance as if searching for answers among the unseen horizons. The creases on his forehead deepened, and the corners of his lips twitched with unspoken thoughts. "I just—” he finally uttered, “this- it’s is a lot to take in."

 "I know, I'm sorry to spring this on you like that," YN said, her words softening the room's tension. She continued, "I've been dying to tell you- or anyone for that matter, but- with the boys and other people always around, I was afraid it would turn into a big thing, and the news would get out."

Josh remained silent; his eyes still locked on some distant point.

"So..?" YN pressed on. She needed a reaction, a response, anything to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

"So..." Josh hesitated, choosing his words with measured precision, "we're not heading to your friend's exhibit, are we?" he finally inquired, his question cutting through the haze with unexpected clarity.

"Well,” YN couldn't help but let a smirk play on her lips, “remember we always said you'd have dibs on giving your- style opinion if I ever tied the knot?" she teased, the corners of her lips curling with a hint of mischief.

Josh’s eyes widened with surprise, "Hold on, what?" he exclaimed. The tempo of the conversation had, once again, caught him off guard. "Didn't you just get engaged?"

"I know, it's all going a bit fast," she admitted with an excited sigh. "But Harry and I were at this Westwood show a week ago and the bridal look was just exquisite," she paused, “one thing led to another and we just- booked an appointment.”

Josh returned to his silence; surprise still etched on his face.

"Come on, don't be mad," she implored, her tone softening. "You know you love a private fitting," she added, attempting to inject a bit of lightness into the atmosphere, to soften the edges of the unexpected news.

 After a while, Josh looked up, meeting her eyes. "There’d better be a lot of champagne involved," he finally quipped.

She smirked, a sense of relief washing over her. Finally, a normal reaction from her friend. "And only the best,” she assured, “this is Paris, after all."

_____________

The boutique, nestled in the heart of the 7th arrondissement, exuded an air of exclusivity that transcended the ordinary. As YN and Josh stepped into its realm, they were greeted by the hushed whispers of luxury. The walls, adorned with mirrors, reflected the rare creations that hung elegantly on display.

An impeccably dressed man emerged to welcome them with a pronounced French accent. Every detail of his attire spoke of an innate understanding of elegance, a testament to the boutique's commitment to excellence.

It was the kind of boutique that dealt exclusively in one-of-a-kind couture looks, each piece meticulously curated through age-old relationships with some of the most illustrious maisons in the world. It housed creations that transcended mere garments; they were wearable art, destined for the most exclusive clientele.

 Led by the man, Josh and YN were ushered into a private fitting room. A sanctuary of privacy, it was adorned with soft, indirect lighting and the air was filled with a faint scent of peonies.

With a polite nod, the man assured them that he would return shortly with the dress YN had come to try on. As he exited the room, Josh couldn't resist calling after him, sending a playful reminder to bring in the champagne.

The leather sofa cradled them in its plush embrace as a delicate silence lingered, both YN and Josh settling into a cocoon of thoughts.

Josh, breaking the quietude, voiced the question that hovered between them. "So, you're really engaged, then?" His words hung in the air.

“Yeah,” a wistful smile played on YN's lips at the surreal nature of her situation. "I guess I am."

"How did it happen?" Josh asked, the question laced with genuine curiosity and a hint of brotherly concern. Her eyes sparkled as she recounted the proposal.

Josh listened attentively, a complex array of emotions crossing his features. He wanted to be solely happy for her, to share in the joy of her new life, but the reality of the situation still needed time to settle.

"It's all moving so fast, isn't it?" he mused, a thoughtful expression clouding his features. YN nodded in acknowledgement.

The atmosphere shifted as Josh leaned back against the velvety cushions, his eyes fixed on a distant point. "On the bright side of things,” he suddenly stated, “Sam owes everyone twenty bucks.”

She looked at him with a confused smile, “What?”

Josh sighed, memories flashing through his eyes. “About four years ago, the guys and I made this whole wedding bet thing” he giggled, “Sam, of course, bet the first marriage among all of us would be him and Carole King,” they both laughed, “guess that’s not happening.”

 “Did you bet on anyone?” YN asked playfully.

Josh nodded silently, a serious expression quietly returning to his face. “Yeah," he finally admitted, a veil of nostalgia covering his eyes. YN's smile softened, a hint of understanding in her eyes. Of course, Josh would’ve bet on her and Jake.

"Life takes unexpected turns," she gently stated as she leaned back into the sofa. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Yep,” he mirrored her words, “who would’ve thought?”

 As the minutes passed, the pair found solace in the shared silence.

The man finally returned with a garment bag that made YN’s eyes sparkle in excitement. Josh, taking charge of the celebratory mood, promptly popped the bottle of champagne, the effervescent bubbles escaping with a soft hiss.

He poured the bubbly liquid into two crystal flutes, the delicate clink resonating in the air as a toast to the unfolding moment.  

_____________

As YN disappeared into the changing area, Josh took a seat, sipping the effervescent liquid and allowing its crisp taste to dance on his palate.

Amid the subtle symphony of sips and the rustle of fabric, Josh suddenly heard some noise emanating from the main area of the boutique. Curiosity piqued, Josh set down his glass and ventured toward the source of the commotion.

“I don’t think this is the place, it’s all clothes in here.”

Josh closed his eyes as he recognized the all too familiar voice. Sammy. He sighed, recognizing the imminent chaos that his baby brother, in all his oblivious glory, was probably about to unleash upon the sophisticated boutique.

 Josh let out an exasperated breath, mentally preparing for hurricane Sammy. As the chaos drew nearer, he glanced toward the main area.

 « Puis-je vous aider? » the owner inquired, attempting to bring order to the unfolding comedy.

“Oh, um, oui, oui, oui, Bonjourrrr Monsieurrrrr, ” Sam stammered in response, « nous, uh- ouch! Daniel, my foot!” he whined.

Danny interrupted, mercifully ending the linguistic massacre, “I’m sorry, do you speak English?” The owner nodded in response. “Great, um, I don’t suppose this building is also an art gallery by any chance? We’re looking for our friends.”

“I’m afraid not. Who are your—” the manager began before being cut off.

“It’s okay,” Josh interjected, stepping out from the doorway to the fitting room with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation, “they’re mine.”

“There he is!” Sam exclaimed before turning back to the owner, “merci very much, pal,” he said, tapping the flabbergasted-looking man on the shoulder.

As Sam and Danny approached, Josh wasted no time addressing the impending chaos. "How did you even find us her—” he interrupted himself, “Danny, how many times do I have to tell you to stop tracking my phone?"

Danny, caught off guard, stammered, his ears turning red, "I don’t know what you’re talking ab—"

"I swear to G—" Josh began, frustration evident in his tone.

 “It doesn’t matter,” Sammy interjected, nonchalantly dismissing the potential drama. “Weren’t you going to some gallery?”

“It’s- a long story, not really mine to tell,” Josh replied, visibly nervous, “weren’t you going to the music store?”

 “Well, we did go,” Danny rolled his eyes, “only someone apparently booked an appointment for the year 2032-”

“Here we go again!” Sam groaned, throwing his arms up, in the air “I already said it was my bad, what more do you want from m-”

“Alright,” Josh sighed, his patience wearing thin, “you guys should head out, like, right now. Where’s Jake?”

“Jesus, chill out, he’s just outside, on the phone with Ma’,” Sam informed, attempting to diffuse the tension.

Danny, with his signature grin, couldn’t resist adding his two cents. "You know," he said, "if you guys wanted to go shopping, you could’ve just said so."

"That’s- not it," Josh retorted, his tone carrying a mix of irritation and urgency. "Will you please just listen to me and go before—"

“Hey!” Jake suddenly appeared from behind the other two, “Ma’ says hello,” he slowly looked up from his phone. “What are we doing here?” He took a moment to assess his surroundings, “Are we going shopping?”

“No, we were just about to leave, actually,” Josh replied nervously, his words rushing out. “Y/N will meet us later.” The air seemed to tense with an unspoken secret, the ambiance of the couture boutique now a battleground for conflicting interests.

"Is she not here?" Sam asked, glancing around the shop.

"No, she’s—" Josh began, but he was suddenly cut off by a voice from behind him.

“Alright, I’m coming out…” a voice range out.

Lord, help us all.

“…but I swear to God if you start crying, I will kick your—" YN’s figure materialized from the fitting room, and instantly froze. Her eyes widened, and her words hung in the air as she recognized the crumpling faces in front of her.

The four guys, equally dumbfounded, if not more so, slowly took in the sight of their friend wearing, what very much appeared to be a wedding gown.

Sammy was the first to break the silence, “What the—”

Fuck.

___________

"So… now you know," Josh announced, absurdly loud, attempting to divert attention, "This year’s MET Gala theme is all-things-white, I know, I know, controversial, but, uh—"

“Josh,” YN cut in. She was thankful for her friend’s futile attempt to cover for her, but it was time to be honest. She turned to the boys.

“So…” She sighed hesitantly, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, then. I’m kind of—" she paused, the word struggling to come out, “engaged?”

“You’re joking,” Sam blurted out.

“I don’t have my ring,” she clarified, “It’s getting resized, but—”

“Are you for real?” Danny interrupted.

There was a moment of palpable silence, and then YN timidly confirmed, “Y-yeah.” She wore a shy smile, and they scanned her face for any sign of dishonesty, finding nothing but sincerity. The realization hit them like a freight train.

“When’s the due date?” Sam couldn't resist adding.

“I’m not pregnant, Sam,” she snapped back, her eyes rolling with annoyance.

“Holy shit,” Danny exclaimed, rushing towards her and spinning her around. She laughed, feeling the tension dissipate.

“Someone’s making an honest woman out of YN, that certainly wasn’t on my bingo card” Sam teased, earning a look from YN, a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Alright, come here,” he opened his arms, and she gladly stepped into the embrace. “Congrats, superstar,” he mumbled into her scalp.

YN’s eyes finally landed on the one person who had yet to say a word.

Jake stood there, completely still. His gaze remained fixed on YN, an array of emotions flickering across his face. Surprise, disbelief, and perhaps a touch of realization danced in his eyes as he took in the sight of YN in a wedding dress.

 In that moment of stillness, Jake's mind raced. The news of YN's engagement hit him with an unexpected force. Despite knowing that they had both moved on, seeing his ex-girlfriend on the verge of marriage obviously stirred something within.

He watched as YN stood before him. She radiated excitement, yet looked at him with nervous doe eyes, as though seeking approval. Jake's features softened into a faint smile and he finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so happy for you.”

She instinctively wrapped him in a soft embrace. Taken aback, he eventually wrapped his arms around her waist. “Thank you” she mumbled against his chest, “that means the world.”

“Okay,” Sam’s voice interrupted the moment of tenderness, “now that this is out of the way, let’s talk about this” he said, motioning to the dress she was wearing with an expression of disgust.

The atmosphere lightened as the group transitioned seamlessly from the weight of the revelation to their usual playful banter. "You don't like it?" YN inquired with genuine surprise, her eyes flickering from Sam to Josh, seeking confirmation.

Josh’s mirrored expression conveyed that his baby brother may have had a point, the unison hinting at a rare consensus. YN sighed with playful resignation, a mischievous grin creeping across her face as she hatched a plan to address the situation.

"Alright,” she announced, the glint of mischief in her eyes, “you know what we have to do, then." The boys, catching on to her playful intent, mirrored her smirk in anticipation.

"Fitting Frenzy!" they chanted with a jump, as Danny and Jake shook their head with both amusement and despair. The impromptu decision dispelling any lingering tension as they embraced the whimsical spirit of the moment.

____________

The boutique transformed into a whirlwind of shades, fabrics, and laughter as said fitting frenzy ensued. Each member of the group contributed their unique flair to the impromptu dress-hunt, turning what was initially a stressful situation into a memorable experience.

"Eggshell, Daniel?" Josh's voice echoed through the boutique, a mock sense of outrage coloring his words. "Have you gone mad? Do you think our Y/N will have some barn wedding?"

Danny, unfazed, shot back with playful defiance, "Well, I'd rather have her in an eggshell gown than that horrendous bedazzled mess you suggested." Their banter echoed through the fitting rooms, punctuated by bursts of laughter that drew bewildered glances from the boutique staff.

YN, caught in the middle of the sartorial crossfire, couldn't help but chuckle at the playful antics of her friends.

Amidst the banter, Sam emerged from a changing room, strutting down the shop in a princess ballgown layered over his shirt. "You know, this is actually much more fun than what we had planned for today," he declared, twirling around.

The boutique's managing director, growing increasingly concerned with the boys' chaotic energy which clashed with the usual etiquette of his establishment, observed the spectacle with a mix of confusion and disapproval.

As the afternoon continued, YN found herself submerged in a sea of fabrics and styles. The excitement that had initially fueled the endeavor was now tinged with a hint of desperation as she tried on dress after dress, searching for the perfect one. Despite the growing frustration, she maintained a sense of fun, laughing at the playful banter of her friends.

 Throughout the disorder, Jake moved around the boutique, occasionally offering suggestions but seemingly preoccupied with his own thoughts. His attention wavered here and there.

“Hey how about this one?” Sam interrupted his brother’s train of thoughts holding up a dress to him, but Jake wasn’t paying attention, his gaze seemingly stuck on something. “Jake?” Sam inquired.

 Breaking from his distracted reverie, Jake finally voiced his suggestion, pointing at the specific garment that had captured his attention. "No," he said definitively, "She should try this one."

The owner's enthusiasm echoed through the opulent boutique, his thick French accent lending an air of sophistication to his words. "Aaaah, I see you have the American eye, don't you? We curate very few pieces of American design, but this one," he declared, his fingers delicately grazing the luxurious fabric of the dress in contemplation, "yes, it is… quite delectable, is it not? Tom Ford, 1986. A good year."

As he held the dress with a certain reverence, Sam eagerly announced, "We'll take it," seizing the hanger from the poor man's hands and dashing toward the fitting room. "YN, look what we found!" he gleefully shouted through the boutique, the proclamation carrying a hint of mischief that made the owner flinch.

Apologizing once again for his brother's exuberance, Jake offered a sincere "Sorry about that" to the slightly rattled proprietor. The old man, despite the chaos Sam had caused, chuckled halfheartedly as he returned to the meticulous task of sorting the upscale garments.

After a pause, he turned back to Jake, his eyes holding a glint of appreciation. "If I may," he said with a knowing smile, "you have a good eye. She will look exquisite in it."

Jake nodded in acknowledgment, a sense of satisfaction warming his chest.

__________

As he headed back towards the fitting room. A chorus of oohs and aahs reached Jake’s ears.

There she was, YN, adorned in the dress he had chosen just moments ago, the sleek and elegant silk hugging her frame in a way that seemed tailor-made for her. The dress accentuated YN's beauty in a way that left him momentarily breathless.

Caught in the moment, YN looked around the room and inquired, "What do you think?" A chorus of enthusiastic responses filled the air.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Sam chimed in, eliciting a genuine smile from YN.

Turning to Josh for his opinion, YN received a heartfelt compliment that seemed to catch her off guard. "You look really beautiful," Josh admitted, his voice slightly breaking with emotion.

"Gosh, stop it,” she playfully remarked, attempting to lighten the mood, “You're going to make me cry, and I haven't even seen it."

“Well go on, then,” with a helpful hand from Danny, YN was guided onto the small platform, facing the grand mirror. Taking a deep breath, she finally looked up at her reflection, and the room held its breath in anticipation.

Her eyes began to glisten as she took in her own reflection. The dress reflected Jake’s taste for the understated, emphasizing the beauty of simplicity and allowing YN's natural grace to shine through. It was a creation of plain elegance, a sleek masterpiece crafted from immaculate porcelain silk that draped effortlessly on her frame.

A soft smile played on YN's lips as she stood there, momentarily rendered speechless by the sight before her. "It's-” she eventually said struggling to find the right words as emotions bubbled to the surface. “It’s so…"

"…you," Josh finished the sentence for her, “it’s so you.”  The collective affirmation in the room conveyed a shared understanding—the dress wasn't just an exquisite garment; it seemed to be an embodiment of YN's essence, a celebration of her being.

The owner, with an air of grace, stepped forward, breaking the tender moment. He inquired, "Now, what are we thinking in terms of hair?"

 "Up," Jake and Josh said in unison. Jake glanced down, slight embarrassment coloring his expression.

YN nodded with a radiant smile, "Up it is."

"Would you like to see our collection of hair accessories? Just to get an idea." the owner offered, leading to an affirmative nod from YN. A skilled stylist promptly approached, delicately crafting an elegant updo, revealing YN's delicate collarbones.

As she perused the display case of accessories, YN settled on a sophisticated white gold pin adorned a single pearl. The owner, appreciating her choice, carefully retrieved the accessory.

However, the pin slipped through the owner's fingers, hitting the floor with a delicate clink. Before anyone registered the mishap, Jake had descended to one knee. He delicately picked it up, his movements fluid and confident, as if the gesture had been rehearsed a thousand times before. The boutique seemed to hold its breath as Jake rose to his feet. Sam and Danny exchanged a knowing glance.

The clearing of Jake's throat pierced through the stillness, drawing attention from the clandestine intensity of the scene. His eyes met YN’s through the mirror, seeking permission.

A nod from her, gentle yet affirmative, signaled her consent, along with a soft flutter of her eyelashes. With a deliberate step, Jake closed the distance between them, the air charged with unspoken anticipation.

He extended his hand, gently placing the pin in her hair. In a moment suspended in time, his fingertips accidentally brushed against the nape of her neck. A feathery touch that let an electric current pass between them.

As the two stood side by side, the lavish Parisian boutique provided a glamorous backdrop to a silent interlude. YN, adorned in the white gown, and Jake beside her, found themselves momentarily immersed in the alternate reality painted in the mirrors. The soft ambient lights seemed to cast an otherworldly glow.

In that suspended moment, their reflection seemed to carry whispers of the 'what-ifs' and the divergent narratives that fate had penned for them.

As their gazes met in the mirrored picture, an unspoken understanding lingered in the air—a shared acknowledgment of a parallel universe where the threads of destiny had woven a different tapestry.

The boutique owner, sensing the shift in dynamics, played the role of an artful conductor, steering the ensemble away from treacherous territories. "Beautiful!" he exclaimed, his voice serving as a gentle reminder of the present moment. “Isn’t it?”

The spell broken, Jake and YN found themselves back in the shared reality of the Parisian boutique. The moment dissipated, leaving behind a trace of wistfulness and a shared understanding that some paths, no matter how enticing, were to remain veiled in the realm of what might have been.

In that fleeting moment, Josh and Sam exchanged another knowing look. They understood the silent undercurrents that had rippled through the room, visible only to those attuned to the intricacies of their story.

 "Yeah,” echoed Jake softly, a touch of unease in his voice “Beautiful."

Suddenly, a voice breaks the contemplative atmosphere, announcing, "Hope I’m not interrupting." To everyone's surprise, the figure standing at the door is none other than that of YN’s fiancé.

Harry’s entrance cut through the atmosphere like a gentle disruption, eliciting a swift reaction from the gathered ensemble. In the blink of an eye, Jake stepped away from YN, creating a visible distance as the unexpected visitor approached.

The shift in dynamics was palpable, the subtle recalibration of postures a silent acknowledgment of unspoken boundaries.

"Oh my god,” the surprise painted across YN's face turned into sheer joy as she hopped off the platform, and sprinted towards Harry, her hand tenderly finding its place on his neck. In an impulsive burst of delight, she planted a kiss on his lips, an expression of unrestrained affection that spoke volumes to those around. “What are you doing here?" she exclaimed in disbelief.

 Harry, with a casual charm, explained, "Just landed an hour ago, thought I’d surprise you." His eyes then shifted to greet the boys, who still bore the remnants of surprise on their faces. As the initial shock settled, YN, still wrapped in the delight of the moment, turned to Harry with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

 "Are you coming to the opening tonight?" she asked, anticipation of his response lingering in the air.

“No, I’m flying back as soon as I’m done with my interview,” he said, “Actually, I have to run right now, I’ll make sure to send Camille flowers though, tell her congrats for me, will you?”

Camille, Jake thought reluctantly. Harry knew YN’s other friends. How come Harry already knew her other friends? How come he’d never heard of Camille before?”

“Are you sure you can’t stay just a little while longer?” she pleaded.

“Sorry, my manager’s expecting me back in London by tonight,” he said, prompting a subtle pout from YN. “Aw, come on, don’t make that face, love. Here, I have something that’ll cheer you up.” He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather box and Josh cast a quick glance at his twin brother, who observed the scene. “I swung by Cartier on the way here,” Harry opened it to reveal a dazzling engagement ring. “There,” with gentle precision, he slid the ring onto YN's finger, “fits like a glove.”

"Thank you," YN smiled, her words accompanied by a tender kiss Harry planted on her hand.

“I left a little something at your hotel as well” he murmured, and she smirked sheepishly in response. She, by nature, may not have been driven by material gifts, but she knew how excited Harry always got.

“You’re the sweetest” she said softly.

“You are,” he retorted, “and would you look at you!” he exclaimed, eyes dancing with admiration as he twirled his fiancée around, reveling in the enchanting vision she presented. The moment, however, took an unexpected turn as he took a closer look at what she was wearing, “Hey, this isn’t the dress we’d talked about,” he questioned.

“Yeah, the Westwood didn’t exactly pan out,” Sam interjected, before YN could respond “that’s on us, mate.”

“Is this the one, then?” he said, gesturing to the gown she had on.

The room seemed to hold its breath as his question lingered. A wave of discomfort washed over YN. The very thought of walking down the aisle to Harry in the dress felt terribly inadequate for some reason.

“Uh, no,” she gently admitted after a pause, "I think I'll keep looking,” she shrugged. Her words prompted groans of disapproval from Sam and Danny. "It should be perfect for us," she insisted with a smile, though in truth, she was uncertain whose feelings she was trying to spare.

"Whatever feels right for you," Harry said, "I’ve got to run. It was nice seeing you all," and with one last peck on her lips, he exited the room.

Harry's departure left the boutique enveloped in a subtle sense of relief as Jake grappled with an internal turmoil that mirrored the brewing storm outside.

Irritation, disguised beneath a veneer of nonchalance, slowly began seeping through his veins.

 Suppressing the inconvenient truth that lay dormant within him, Jake found himself grappling with an internal struggle between acknowledging the depth of his feelings and maintaining the carefully constructed walls he had erected around his heart.

YN silently turned back to the boys, casting a quick glance at Jake. The subtle creases of his brow, a silent acknowledgment of a storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I think we’re done for today,” she declared, as she fumbled with the ring on her finger. “We don’t want be late.”

______________

As the day melted into the evening, YN's wardrobe transitioned from the sleek ivory gowns of the boutique to a fun silver dress that shimmered with each step she took. The metallic fabric reflected the neon lights that illuminated the night, outside of the art gallery they were heading towards.

Adorning her ears were emerald earrings, thoughtful gift left by Harry at the hotel, glinting subtly as they caught the sporadic flashes of the vibrant light.

The anticipation of the evening's celebration seemed to clash with the subdued mood that had settled among the group as they approached the venue,

YN, still tense after the afternoon's emotional rollercoaster, maintained a dignified composure, though the echoes of her emotional turmoil lingered beneath the surface.

Jake, who hadn't uttered a word, let alone glanced in YN’s direction since their departure from the boutique, appeared increasingly tired as resentment simmered beneath the surface.

The vibrant energy that had characterized their friendship now hung in a delicate balance, disrupted by the unexpected currents set in motion. YN, though saddened and upset by the palpable shift in dynamics, chose to endure the silent treatment. It was true that she could have handled things with more thoughtfulness earlier.

They were welcomed into the space by the sound of music and sight of a decent crowd, a mix of art enthusiasts and socialites, swirling around the vibrant works of art.

Camille, with cheeks flushed and a self-soothed confidence fueled by a few drinks, spotted YN from across the room. "Oh my God, you're here!" she exclaimed, rushing towards her old friend with genuine excitement. She enveloped YN in a warm hug, her voice reflecting both joy and intoxication. "How have you been?" The two of them chatted for a minute.

The attention then shifted to the Greta boys, looking as handsome as ever. Camille, her eyes gleaming with mischief, greeted the boys with a seductive charm. "Well, bonsoir, gentlemen," she cooed, extending her hand with theatrical elegance, "Enchantée."

Seizing the opportunity for a flirtatious exchange, Sam pushed his brothers aside, positioning himself at the forefront. With a confident flair, he lay a delicate kiss on Camille's hand. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, prompting the others to roll their eyes.

________

As the evening unfolded within the pulsating confines of the neon-lit gallery, Jake sought refuge at the bar, carefully avoiding any contact with YN like a sailor steering clear of a storm. His deliberate avoidance, a self-imposed exile, left her feeling adrift amidst the swirling currents of tension.

Distressed by the unspoken chasm between them, YN ended up seeking solace on the terrace, where the crisp night air provided a temporary respite from the stifling atmosphere inside. Her eyes were fixed on the ring on her finger, it glistened delicately in the light, yet felt heavier than ever on her finger.

“What are you doing out here?” Danny's voice interrupted the solitude, breaking the quietude of the night. He approached YN, his breath forming visible puffs in the chilly air.

"Is that a cigarette I see in your hand?" he asked, genuine surprise coloring his words.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," YN responded with a wry smirk. She wasn’t a regular smoker, but when days were high in stress, she sometimes found comfort in the smell and taste of tobacco, a weakness from years past. She took one last drag before moving to put out the cigarette.

"No need to put it out," Danny reassured her.

"It's okay, I don't mind," YN replied, extinguishing the cigarette with a flick of her fingers. The cool night air seemed to match the tense atmosphere lingering between them. Danny, breaking the silence, finally broached the sensitive topic that loomed over the night like a specter.

"So…" he began, his words hesitant.

"So…" she echoed, her eyes teasing him.

"Marriage, huh?" Danny eventually voiced, the question lingering in the air like an uncharted path in the dark.

"Yep," she replied, a soft smile playing on her lips. Danny and YN shared a glance that conveyed an unspoken acknowledgment — a few years back, the notion of YN embracing matrimony was nothing short of an absurdity. She and Jake had broached the topic once or twice, but it simply wasn’t her style. Not at the time, at least.

As her short response hung in the cold night air, Danny's eyes held a mix of curiosity and concern. "Are you happy?" he gently probed.

"You know…?" she paused, the words carrying the weight of introspection, "I think I am." As she spoke, the echoes of her own journey reverberated through her voice.

There was a time, not too long ago, when the prospect of happiness felt elusive, hidden in the shadows of heartbreak. After Jake, she had wandered through life with difficulty. The idea of happy-ever-after had seemed like a distant dream, an illusion shattered by the echoes of what had been.

Yet, Harry had entered her life like a gentle force, a subtle breeze that whispered promises of new beginnings. It wasn't the same love, nor did it intend to be. The edges were softer, the hues more muted, but it felt right, it felt- sensible.

She had once believed that devotion could only wear the guise of what she had known with Jake, but life had a way of rewriting its own narratives.

Danny, leaning against the cold metal railing of the terrace, absorbed YN's words with a thoughtful expression.  "You've come a long way," he remarked, his voice gentle, “Both of you.”

"Yeah," YN responded, her gaze momentarily drifting to the city skyline. “He hasn’t said a word to me all afternoon, though.”

Danny nodded, understanding the weight of unspoken words. "You know him, better than most. It doesn't mean he's not happy for you; he’s just never good with change."

Amid the day's tumultuous atmosphere, Danny once again stepped into his role as the voice of reason. His words carried a soothing reassurance, a balm to the unease that had settled over YN.

She sighed, the night air carrying a hint of hesitation, "I hope so.”

 A gust of wind swept through, eliciting a shiver from YN.

“You should go back inside,” Danny said with a gentle nudge, “Wouldn’t want you to catch death before you make it down the aisle.”

 “Yeah,” YN chuckled back, “that would not be a good look.”

_______

As YN walked back inside, her eyes locked onto Jake, who, upon meeting her gaze, promptly diverted his course, striding purposefully in the opposite direction and disappearing into the men's room. The continuous avoidance and unspoken tension had reached its breaking point, and Danny’s reasonable words seemed like no more than a distant echo.

Fuck it.

Fed up with the unspoken rift, YN briskly followed the guitarist, determined to confront the lingering unease that had shadowed them throughout the day. With each step, her resolve strengthened. The hallway echoed with the clicking of her heels, a stark contrast to the lively hum emanating from the exhibit area behind her.

The door to the men's room swung open, revealing the dimly lit space within, and YN was met with the sight of Jake standing near the row of sinks. His posture, while seemingly casual, hinted at an anticipation that sent a ripple through the charged atmosphere.

She tried to hold onto her tenacity before it inevitably slipped away. "Can we talk?" she ventured, unnecessary loudly.

A flicker of discomfort crossed Jake's downturned gaze as he replied, "This is hardly the place."

"Since when has that been a problem?" she retorted, frustration seeping into the words. Jake's silence, an unnerving response, hung between them like an unspoken challenge. "We need to talk; you've been avoiding me all day," she continued, the weight of the unsaid pressing down on the confined space. “See? You won’t even look at me.”

"Alright," Jake finally shrugged, looking up at her, "Get on with it."

Caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze, YN hesitated for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked, concern evident in the furrow of her brow and the subtle quiver in her voice.

Jake scoffed, turning away. "What do you think?" he spat, his words cutting through the air with a sharp edge.

"You said you were happy for me," she countered, a flicker of hurt in her eyes.

"Yeah, well, what the hell d'you expect me to do?” he shot back, “I wasn't exactly about to make a scene in front of everyone."

"Jake,” she sighed, her voice softening in the face of his evident frustration, “I'm sor—"

"And to find out about it like that?" he interrupted, hurt evident in his eyes. "I mean, I know we've had our ups and downs, but Jesus, I thought we still had some respect for each other."

"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely, "this— it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I wasn't—"

"Sure,” he pressed, his voice carrying a bitter edge, “and when exactly were you going to tell me, huh?"

"I— I don't know—" she stammered, her words an acknowledgment of the disarray surrounding the situation, a vulnerability laid bare.

"Were you just going to wait until paps got a shot of that huge rock you carry on your finger?" he continued, and YN wished she could sink into the ground.  The rapid clenching and unclenching of Jake’s fists revealed the intensity of his emotional turmoil. "Or better yet, wait for me to see photos of your fucking honeymoon in the press—"

"Stop it, you know I'd never do that," she interjected defensively.

"Actually, I'm not sure I know anything about you right now," he retorted.

"And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?" she demanded, her voice tinged with defiance.

Jake looked at her for a moment, his own frustration simmering beneath the surface. "You're seriously going to make me say it?" he shot back.

"Well, I'm not a fucking mind-reader!" she roared.

"Come on, YN” he rolled his eyes, “Marriage? Mrs. Styles?" he mocked, his words carrying a weight of disbelief as if grappling with an inconceivable reality.

"Yeah, well, what about it?" she spat, attempting to conceal the hurt that flickered in her eyes.

"Please," he shook his head dismissively, as if challenging the very essence of the decision she'd made. “That's not you."

"And what do you know, huh?" she said, the echoes of her frustration reverberating off the restroom walls. "We haven't been together in years; what makes you think you know what I want for my life?"

"Because I know you!" he yelled, the force behind his words revealing a desperation to be understood. Silence hung in the air, a palpable tension between them before Jake pressed on, "and better than that jackass does, apparently,"

"You don't even know him!" she shot back, her defenses rising.

"See, that's the thing," he scoffed, a bitterness underlying his tone, "I don't need to know him. I know your taste in men."

Her eyes flickered with pain, a wounded expression betraying the impact of his words. "That's a low blow," she eventually said, a mix of hurt and indignation coloring her response, "even from you."

"Yeah, well, only the truth hurts, I guess," he mumbled, a bitter acknowledgment hanging in the air as he walked past her and headed towards the exit.

"So what?" she called out, the desperation evident in her voice. "Was I supposed to stay single for the rest of my life?" He turned around, his heart breaking as he met her sad eyes. She continued, "I—After everything- do I not deserve a chance?"

"No, that’s not-" an instinctive pull drawing him closer to her. His hand gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You know all I want is for you to be happy."

"Well, I am. For maybe the first time in years, I am," she whispered, nuzzling her cheek into the palm of his hand. "Harry, he's good, he makes me feel- safe."

He felt a pang in his chest at her words. "I'm sure he does," he said sadly, his words weighted with an unspoken ache. "That— that's not the problem."

"Well, then, what is it?" she searched his eyes, desperate for understanding.

"It's just— " he hesitated, the words burning in his throat, unwilling to ever come out. His fingers delicately brushed her hair behind her ear, and his gaze lingered on the emerald earring that dangled from her lobe. "He’s-” Jake continued, his eyelids flickering, “he's got good taste."

 With those words, he walked out, leaving YN behind, paralyzed, the weight of the unspoken lingering in the air.

________

YN found herself back in the exhibition area, but the vibrant artwork was a blur as her mind wrestled with her recent exchange with Jake. The odd thrill of their heated encounter served as an unsettling reminder of what she’d left behind.

She’d messed up and he’d messed up, a pattern that seemed to keep on haunting the both of them, even in friendship.

Truth was, he’d probably been right. She wouldn’t have had the guts to tell him about her engagement.

Why, though, was a question she couldn’t quite answer. Perhaps she’d enjoyed that in-between. On some level. Perhaps she’d wanted to witness his unfiltered reaction, or she’d been curious as to what might happen if she let the news come out on its own. Perhaps she’d simply been bored out of her mind.

Her songwriting had seemed to have run dry recently. The more time passed, the more she found that ‘happiness’, whatever that was, presented a ridiculously uneventful subject. After all, there would be no grand choirs to sing, no chorus could come in about two people sitting doing nothing.

Perhaps Patty had been right when she’d said YN had always needed to go to war to find material to sing. But it was a dangerous game, one she’d renounced a long time ago. Too much of her blood had been shed. She had let the sword fall to the floor, only to be replaced by the ring on her finger.

Immobilized by a sea of emotion, YN suddenly felt a comforting presence beside her. Josh's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Don't worry about him,” he offered, “he'll come around eventually. It's just a lot to process."

"I know," she replied with uncertainty, her eyes still fixed on the artwork as if seeking solace in its silent forms.

"One of you was gonna end up getting married someday," Josh continued, "you just happened to be the first. That's nothing to apologize for." His hand found hers, the silent gesture conveying a silent promise of support.

_________

The following day unfurled with an air of quiet tension. It was YN’s turn to deliberately avoid Jake as they moved through the day's activities. However, the serendipity of travel arrangements had a laid out different plans for them.

As they boarded the plane, YN's eyes darted across the cabin in search of her seat, her desire to maintain distance palpable. Yet, the universe seemed intent on weaving a narrative of its own.

There, in the vast expanse of plane seats, she had apparently been expected to sit next to none other than the very person she’d been trying to avoid.

A flicker of reluctance crossed YN's face as she hesitated near the row, contemplating her options.

Just as she decided to retreat, Jake's hand gently reached out, “YN, come on,” a silent plea evident in his touch, "please?" His words hung in the air, soft yet compelling. It seemed he had renounced his fighting mood from the day before. She relented, sinking into the seat beside him.

The hum of the plane engines served as the backdrop to a charged silence, unspoken tension echoing in the space that stretched between their bodies.

Once takeoff was done, Jake hesitated, glancing towards YN with a contemplative expression. Breaking the uneasy silence, he began, "About yesterday..."

She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions, a silent invitation for him to continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," Jake admitted, his voice carrying a blend of regret and vulnerability. " It's just... it all caught me off guard."

YN, too, felt the weight of remorse settling in. "I should've told you. I should've found a way to tell you before,” she looked down at her hands, “but everything happened so fast, and I-I didn't know how…"

He nodded, a mix of regret and understanding in his eyes. "Still, I was an ass.”

"I get it," YN replied softly, meeting his gaze. "It's a big change. I never intended for you to feel blindsided."

He sighed in acknowledgment, "I guess we both have a lot to process. I never expected- I mean, I didn't think it would hit me that hard."

She met his gaze, a shared understanding passing between them. "To be fair, I never expected to find myself here either," she admitted, her voice soft. "But things change, I suppose."

"Yeah," he whispered, "they do."

The tension that had gripped the air between them began to slowly dissipate as YN chose to inject a much-needed dose of levity into the confined space of the plane.

"If that makes you feel better," she remarked with a gentle smile, "I’ll make sure to have a full-on meltdown when you get married, that way we’re even."

“Deal,” Jake chuckled, a warmth spreading through him, "just make it memorable, okay? Maybe hire a choir or something."

"Oh, absolutely," she nodded with mock seriousness, "I'm thinking fireworks, synchronized swimmers, the whole shebang. It's going to be an event."

“And of course, you'll need a soundtrack.” He mused, “Maybe something like ‘I Will Survive’ or ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’?"

"Solid choices," she laughed, "but I was thinking more along the lines of Cryingby Aerosmith. Really amp it up, you know?"

"Ah, a woman of refined taste," he quipped, "I'll be sure to add it to the playlist.”

She nodded, playing along, "And a fog machine as well, for my dramatic entrance.

"Well, naturally," Jake responded, “Can't forget the fog.”

The banter continued, a familiar cadence of playful exchanges that danced on the edge of shared memories. YN, feeling a sense of relief, leaned into the easy camaraderie they had always shared.

"So," Jake eventually needled, a curious glint dancing in his eyes, "have you set a date?"

“No, not yet" she responded with a casual shrug. "But knowing us, it's probably going to be a while. We're constantly swamped with work. You know how it is.”

“Too busy to plan your special day?” he smirked, “I don’t believe it, you were already picking your dress, weren’t you?”

“Well, I do have my priorities straight,” YN laughed. “But seriously, though,” she insisted, “I swear you might end up tying the knot before I do.”

Jake chuckled in response.

__________

He would contemplate the conversation in the following weeks, assuming the wedding talk had merely been banter. The idea of YN getting married seemed like a distant future, perhaps years away.

Little did he know that merely a month later, a small, elegant envelope would arrive in the mail, bearing news that would unknowingly alter the course of their fate.

Miss YN YLN and Mr Harry Styles Request the pleasure of your company at their Wedding Save the Date

Next Track : St Jude

Series Masterlist

Hope you liked it! Once again, I am begging you all to interact and leave comments it makes me so happy to get feedback and reactions xxx

Also, this is only the beginning lol. I have a billion drafts for other chapters so stay tuned, peaceful army.

Taglist

@aintthatapity

@sinarainbows

@vanfleeter 

[barbiebutgayer]

Rating Talia al Ghul’s Outfits:

*disclaimer this is just my personal opinion based on my style/taste and everyone style’s different so take this with a grain a salt*

1. Starting out LOVE the Matcha green color on her and we already know this girly can rock a skin tight leather anything at this point. Personally, wouldn’t have added a belt but we know if miss girl can incorporate an accessory to her look she will take the opportunity. It does bring more attention to her shape because it hits right under her natural waistline that, mixed with how the neckline hits, creates a nice harmony that compliments her figure well. I’ll give the nails a bonus point as well. My only downside is that while cute it would be a headache to wear with that fabric all day. I know queen is picking the wedgies out left and right when she wears this. Also she only has a front zipper which means she has to peel off that entire suit just to use the bathroom especially when it’s hot outside. With all that being said I’ll give it 6/10. The color of the suit with the nails is to die for but while it’s aesthetically is cute it’s a little underwhelming. Also the idea of trying to peel that off at the end of a long day is a no for me.

2. Love Love Lovveeee this one!! Her in vibrant pinks slay every time it’s always a vibe like you go you dramatic lil groovy barbiecore gal 💞 Anyways getting onto the look the waistline is gorgeous it looks like either gold boning or fabric draped down along the body whatever it is it’s stunning and adds a dramatic yet dainty detail. I’m also loving the pleats on the skirt and the sleek sophisticated yet playful feel the fabric and sleeves gives her. I know this one is a specific type of taste but personally it’s a yes for me I’d give this one an 10/10 Ik Ik it’s only the 2nd one I’ve rated but I’m a big fan of this look and am always here for a good high neck moment also feeling the slit yes queen get the airflow. That is one downside of the dress is the slit fairly high so prone it accidentally flashing and some people could find the high neck stiff and restricting but overall with the shape, color, fabric, the gold on the dress paired with matching gold bracelets the look gives a very feminine elegance that while soft makes a powerful statement.

3. …..total early 2010s vibes with the chunky bracelet paired with the even chunkier necklace. It’s perfect for the era of when this comic came out but I’m sorry it’s not the vibe personally. Love the shoes and the blouse but just maybe not with that skirt paired together. Or you know what the outfit is do able I take that back the combo isn’t too bad. It’s just not the best for what she’s trying to do like I’m sorry this doesn’t scream “I’m the woman who’s going to world dominate and take your business” she’s still girl bossing and dominating yes, but in a Vegas Nightclub Receptionist way. Which isn’t a bad thing I say that as someone from there. It’s just idk something about it ain’t hitting. My baby is always pretty and her hair flows gorgeously in harmony with her blouse maybe it’s her stance the photo but idk I’d give it a 3.5/10. 🤷‍♀️

4. A simple look but she does her job bringing back the hot pink in the form of cargo pants. It’s Talia’s world and everyone else just lives in to when she walks around in pink. Her blouse is super cute and length of her sleeves give her a “let’s get down to business” energy. It’s not her most over the top and flashier moments but it’s giving effortless intelligent beauty who might or might not be some sort of doctor/professor. I’d give it a 7/10 nothing bad aesthetic wise and comfort wise you’re pretty set. A little bit on the basic side for someone like Talia but for someone who constantly wears statement pieces. A casual civilian moment is refreshing to see on someone like her. Definitely a perfect outfit to for a cute hiking date or mission with Bruce. Not high enough to be a 10 but too cute of an outfit to be a 5.

5. Yeah you know not really feeling this one either. I know different artist have done variants of this suit but no matter the art style it just doesn’t do any thing for me aesthetic wise. Like idk what it is about it because I ofc love white on her and I can appreciate the symbolism behind the suit but idk i feel like they could of gone different directions. The suit just is a little stiff looking. Which I know that is the point of the look but I’m sure she definitely not comfortable imagine getting a back itch in this outfit not the vibe. The gloves are little too medical feeling especially with the straight jacket looking bands. I know I’m tearing into this one but a positive of the look is the texture of the suit I do like that added detailing gives her a bite of a regal white knight in shining armor feel. Overall would give it only a 3/10.

6. Idk about y’all but I’m feeling the long slit midi skirt with the black garter or weapon giving a free little show. The whole ensemble all together gave camp steampunk pirate feel in the best way. What I’ve learned making this post is that our girl loves a good blouse and any outfit she pair with it. The sleeves on this one is a lot more of a puffier bishop than the ones she’d d normally wear. I also really like the little belt she has sitting at her natural waist with the gold in the center. It’s a tiny detail but the gold on the belt pick up on the gold rose on her skirt. I’d rate this one a solid 8/10 maybe that’s too high of a rating but it’s different it’s dramatic without it being too over the top. Very Talia as well. 🏴‍☠️

7. It’s iconic, it’s an OG style on the queen we all know and love just with added accessories. Always the moment whenever she wears this type of style dress and she knows it. It’s a 9.5/10 ofccc! Love the plunging neckline again personally wouldn’t of done a belt if so maybe a gold one to pair with the gold jewelry but maybe that would of been too much gold and draw too much attention. Her shoes are so cute and look comfy which is a plus. Her cape piece and how the fabric falls gives her such an ethereal but modern essence when she walks through the door.

8. -10000/10 Love an orange moment on her just not when it’s a prison uniform…. #freemygirl

9. Another iconic look from an iconic moment. She reminds me of the blue fairy from Pinocchio. The twinkle in the night serving femme fatale but also girl next door at the same time with the pink dainty shoes. A simple but timeless dress comfortable enough to tend to Bruce’s wounds while also looking good. Some people might say it give night gown vibes but in a 13 going on 30 way. I’d give it a 7/10

10. Basically her high neck pink dress but in a sun-kissed orange and more gold accents with a ruby gem draped over her waistline with a slit. My god and though SLEEVES giving Shakespearean vibes ! 😍 Since it’s a version of the other one ofc I’m going to give it a 10/10 🧡

But yeah that’s it maybe I’ll make a part 2

[happyinjection]

♠️♥️High Card Short Story 6 “An Afternoon with Finn and Chris” (1/3)♦️♣️

What do car dealers do on their lunch break? Finn, for one, took Chris out to the backyard of the store...

Original: https://twitter.com/highcard_pj/status/1540170704884072448

Author: https://twitter.com/poipheno

Artist: https://twitter.com/ebimoji3

Lunch break. I stuffed a sandwich into my mouth and dragged Chris out through the backdoor by his arm. 

“Finn~ I was planning to eat dessert after my lunch, you know~”

“You’ve promised to do it today, remember? Come on, let’s go.”

The backyard was bathed in soft sunlight, and purple flowers were blooming from the plants tended by Bernard-ojiichan and Vijay.

“What a pushy kid. Fine, just give a moment.”

Chris, who appeared reluctant, didn’t move from his spot as he shoved a spoonful of pudding from the jar into his mouth.

“Hurry up. We don’t have much time.”

“Okay, okay. I got it.”

Previously, I had gotten Chris to promise that he would teach me martial arts. Long story short, we had been busy with our job as car dealers, and thus our plan had been postponed several times, but today both of us could finally make it.

“I’m not a fan of getting all sweaty with men, though.”

“Stop saying disgusting stuff so often. Come on, hurry up and teach me already!”

“I don’t think it’s anything worth teaching.”

I took off my suit jacket, pulled my necktie off, then draped them over a garden bench. I also took off my watch and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt.

“I mean, Finn, you’re already pretty good at fighting. Surely you have no need for extra training?”

“No problem, just teach me what you know!”

Before I joined High Card, I used to do boxing casually with my friends. However, after going on several missions with Chris, I learned that people who have been through intense training are on an entirely different level compared to those who don’t.

According to what he told me, it seemed that Chris had been trained in martial arts by his father when he was young. His basic skills laid in muay thai and MMA—mixed martial arts. In short, he could do anything in terms of full body combat.

“Very well, for the sake of my cute junior, I guess I can afford to take off a layer or two. One thrust at a time, maybe something more would come out of this, yeah?[*]”

I had no idea what he meant by that, but Chris simply chuckled at me.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

“’Kay.”

I took a shoulder-width stance by putting my left foot forward, then held up both of my fists to the height of my cheeks.

“My style is kind of like boxing. Here it comes, shadow.”

Shadow is a term for when one attacks or dodges while imagining their opponent in their head.

One-two, hook, uppercut, body-ducking, and swayback, I alternated between hitting and dodging.

The cobblestones on the ground rubbed against my leather soles, producing a crisp sound.

“So, how was it? What should I change to improve?”

I panted heavily through my nose.

“Isn’t that already good enough the way it is?”

“What the hell, there’s no way that’s true! Tell me your actual thoughts!”

“No, no, I’m serious. You did good enough. To be fair, on our missions, we don’t usually get into situations where we must go wild in a fistfight, anyway.”

“It did happen last time, though.”

“Finn has sharp eyesight, so you’ll be just fine. Besides, this place is not ideal for training to begin with. MMA especially requires us to work as a pair and involves a lot of getting thrown down. If you’ll follow me to my bed, perhaps then I would reconsider.”

Ignoring his joke, I turned on my heels.

“Alright then! I’m just gonna ask Wendy to teach me.”

In an instant Chris was grabbing on my arm.

“Stop right there! Wendy doesn’t know how to take it easy when giving a lesson, she will definitely break you!”

“So hurry up and teach me instead.”

“Okay, okay. So eager to get back together after breaking up with me, huh.”

Chris took off his suit jacket and threw it over the garden bench. Following that he pulled his necktie off and undid his first button. He took off his dark green watch, then finally rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Due to his tall height, he might seem slender at a glance, but his arms were strong with visible blue veins running all the way down to his wrists.

“Here we go, let’s get into position one more time.”

As I was getting ready, Chris walked around behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders, rubbing on them.

“Hmm, nice frame.”

“Don’t get too handsy with me.”

“No, I’m just stating the truth? Not only you have good eyesight, but you also have a strong body, and you’re surprisingly flexible. Alright, go ahead and start with another one-two.”

I gave him a one-two.

“There’s an opening on your side. Also, your left side isn’t extended wide enough. Since Finn is ambidextrous, if closely observed, your balance when throwing a hit is better than most people.”

While saying that, Chris kept his hands on my hip bones the entire time. It bugged me, but I held on.

“Leave yourself to me, and relax.”

“No need to say unnecessary stuff.”

“Now, pay attention on how you rotate your left hip.”

“Like this?”

“Pull your shoulders in a bit more. Don’t tuck your chin.”

“So, like this?”

“Don’t let your body get carried away. Plant your feet firmly on the ground.”

“Then how about this—!”

Suddenly, whoosh, a faint sound of my fist cutting through the air could be heard.

“Woah! That sound just now, did you catch that?!?! That’s one hell of a punch!”

“Well, you pretty much got it. However, sports and an actual combat are two different things. If you stick to your own rules you will lose, such is the theory of fighting. Thankfully Finn is already good at making things up on the spot, so why not trust your own eyes and intuition?”

“If you say so..... but first, get your hands off my waist.”

With a grin tugging on his lips, Chris held up both of his hands comically.

♠️♥️♦️♣️

TL notes: Chris “sexual innuendo” Redgrave, everyone. [*] This is not exactly what he says but you get the idea. Also, this is the best pun I can come up with at the moment. Once again I’m not posting this one in the correct order but I feel like this must be done before episode 9! As usual, let’s enjoy High Card together~

[shikonstar]

Here’s a snippet from The Fixer. I posted a bit from this story here, and this scene comes soon (but not directly) after that one.

Professional relationship guru and relationship fixer Kagome Higurashi is at the peak of her game, but everything threatens to come crashing down when she runs into an old flame. What’s worse than setting up the love of your life with someone else?

Having to do it twice.

@heynikkiyousofine @elkonigin @mustardyellowsunshine @lavendertwilight89 @hahaalaine @ruddcatha @liz8080 @kawaiichan67

Inuyasha paused in the entryway, surprised by the interior. From the outside, the building appeared to be a large warehouse, but inside it was more like an upscale department store. There were clothes and accessories everywhere, and his nose scrunched at the mixed scents of makeup and hair products that hung in the air. Kagome didn’t bat an eye and instead strolled in like this was a second home.

“Jakotsu! I need you to work your magic!” She called out, craning her neck to see if she had missed him behind any of the displays.

“Kagome! My light, my treasure—please tell me you’ve come to relieve my boredom!”

Inuyasha hung back, watching as Kagome trotted forward to meet a man scurrying from the back room. He was slim but well-muscled, his crimped hair tossed up in a calculatedly messy bun. He wore a loose lavender linen jacket with the sleeves rolled up to display his forearms. On the right was a delicate tattoo of a cherry blossom branch, although Inuyasha’s keen eyesight picked up the droplets of blood sprinkled throughout the flowers. 

Kagome exchanged air kisses with Jakotsu, allowing his excitable energy to dispel some of her low mood. “We’ve got a job—this one will be a difficult sell, so I’ll need you to pull out all the stops.”

“Oh, honey, you know I love a challenge!” Jakotsu laughed before catching sight of Inuyasha over Kagome’s shoulder. “Oooooh, it looks like this is going to be a delicious assignment,” he crooned, his smokey eyes dragging up and down the hanyou’s form. 

Inuyasha shot Kagome a helpless glance as Jakotsu glided up to him and took his hand. “Hello, gorgeous. The pleasure is all mine, but I might be willing to send some your way with the proper motivation.”

“What, I—waitaminute—” Inuyasha spluttered, flushing a deep red. He had never been comfortable with people coming onto him.

“Down, boy,” Kagome teased, snapping her fingers at Jakotsu to get his attention. “This is a client, so let’s pretend to be professional.”

Jakotsu cast a critical eye over Inuyasha, looking for the catch. Finding none, he turned his attention back to Kagome. “He’s having trouble getting attention? Is the woman dead?” 

Kagome had spotted several outfits on a nearby rack that seemed to call to her, but she steeled herself to ignore them. They were nothing like the wardrobe she would have to wear for the foreseeable future, so she might as well not even bother. With a small pout, she tried to focus on what Jakotsu was saying.

“It’s....complicated,” she said evasively, not really wanting to explain the whole situation with Inuyasha standing there--his ears were pricked forward in a way she knew meant he wouldn't miss any detail. “Just start pulling together a type 3, with occasional warm accents.”

Distaste curdled Jakotsu’s face. “Ugh. Not my favorite way to style you, but I suppose you know what you’re doing. Do you have time to start on your hair? It’s grown out a bit since last time,” he asked her, getting down to business. 

“Yeah, just something basic for today--I don't plan on going back out. And can you pull an outfit? I’d like to wear one home to start getting the feel for it. The last job was more casual.”

Jakotsu was already rifling through the racks and gave her a wave that was both acknowledgment and dismissal. 

“Let me get you to fill out some paperwork while you wait,” Kagome said to Inuyasha, who had been staring at them both like they were speaking in an unfamiliar language. 

“What kind of paperwork?” He asked as he followed her to a desk in a tucked-away nook. “Wasn't the payment all you needed?”

Reaching into the middle drawer, Kagome pulled out a small stack of papers that had been stapled together. “This will help me do my job more effectively. Just fill out the questions referring to Kikyo--I still remember all of your information,” she told him, keeping her voice cheerful as she shoved the papers and a pen in his direction. “How’s it going over there, Jakotsu?” Kagome called, ignoring how her heart clenched at Inuyasha’s puppylike expression.

Keep it together. This is just a job.

“I think I--hold on, let me check this,” Jakotsu said from behind one of the counters, pulling his phone out of his slacks. 

“Uh, Kagome? I don't think I’m gonna be able to answer about half of these,” Inuyasha muttered, skimming through the pages.

She gave a short huff of exasperation. “How long did you two date? Good grief, Inuyasha! Just answer as best as you can--if I have to do some online stalking later, I will.”

Jakotsu, who had been smiling down at his phone, suddenly began to frown--an expression that became darker at the same pace as his eyes following the words that rapidly appeared on the screen. By the time he was done, he was practically radiating a negative aura.

He looked up, a sharp smile cutting across his face. “That was Sango. She had a veeeeerry interesting story to tell. Care to guess what it was about?”

Kagome’s spine stiffened, but she didn't dare glance at Inuyasha, who had come to stand close behind her at Jakotsu’s tone.

“It’s not a big deal. You know how she can exaggerate.”

“Oh, no, Boss Lady. This is a very, very big deal,” Jakotsu said, the softness of his voice in no way matching his eyes. “And we’re going to have a long, long talk about this later. I’m not going to sit back and watch you end up like--”

“It’s not going to be like that!” Kagome cut in, jerking her eyes to the side to let Jakotsu know that now was not the time. “I promise. Look, we can discuss this at our Tuesday brunch, okay?”

For several long, tense moments, the room was silent. Inuyasha had no idea what was going on or how a guy in a lavender suit and teal eyeliner could scream yakuza, but he was poised to fling himself into the situation if things went sideways. Why the hell did Kagome have a guy like this working for her?

After having worked with her for so long, Jakotsu knew exactly how stubborn Kagome could be. He agreed with Sango; this was a bad fucking idea. Like, tequila on an empty stomach after a devastating breakup level of bad. Unfortunately, he didn't think Kagome was going to be able to puke this out of her system. He couldn't stop her from doing this, but he would be watching. Watching very closely. 

He had been such a good boy....it would be a shame if he were forced to revert back to his old, wicked ways. 

“Fine. We can bitch about it over mimosas,” he said with a half smile. “Now, come on, I need to see if I’m going to have to make any alterations to this dress.”

Although she knew she wasn't off the hook completely, she was relieved that Jakotsu was at least going to keep his mouth shut while Inuyasha was around. Which was good because a quick look told her that he was starting to think of Jakotsu as a threat to her and was getting into what she referred to as his Classic Alpha Protective pose. 

Which she considered utterly unfair and damned misleading, but at least this time, she knew better than to read anything into it. 

“Go ahead and finish that up--there’s a couch where you can wait,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading back to the changing room.

Jakotsu paused at the concerned expression that flitted over the hanyou’s face, and he didn't miss the way his hand had reached for Kagome’s shoulder as she turned away, only to let it fall to his side. Hm. If he hadn't gotten that text, he would think.....he made a few mental calculations and came to a very interesting conclusion, one that he would keep to himself for the time being. He turned to follow Kagome.

Mama was right. The hot and stupid ones are too much damn trouble.

[bxtxnx]

hii i wanted to join your astro fashion game if that's possible!! my question is: what kind of clothing/aesthetic and makeup style will suit me well? this is my natal chart: https://imgur.com/R2KCZ8X

also thank you for your timee i've been following your blog for a while now and i rlly love the content you post, keep it going!! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

Hi!

Thank you!

With your Libra Venus and Virgo Sun, you need to wear outfits and makeup that are soft, feminine and minimalistic. With Libra, you need to stick to a particular aesthetic or style - if it's casual, keep it casual, if you wear some business attire, keep it sophisticated. This combo that you have is not one that can work well with combining and mixing up different styles and aesthetics. Stick to styles that are polished and a little on the fancier and bougier side - wear stuff like buttoned shirts and blouses.

Avoid pieces that have big logos, patterns or graphics on them. Stick to wearing colors that aren't too contrasting.

With your Pisces ascendant, you can also go for a bit of a fairy-like aesthetic and wear pastel colors.

As for makeup, I suggest something lighter and minimalistic - it's a requirement for Virgo placements. Since your Venus is in one of the signs associated with beauty - Libra - wear makeup that accenuates your best features, instead of trying to create an optical illusion with your makeup that will alter the way your face looks.

You can easily go for simple makeup looks that consist of just the basics - foundation, mascara and lipgloss, for example. With your Pisces ascendant however, you can add some light color to your makeup in the form of some blush or a little bit of colorful eyeshadow. ☽

[skzhocomments]

Hello can i request one where the reader and Taemin casually meet eachother in Paris, and they have flashbacks because the city was their last trip together before breakup? Thanks:)))

Hello! TYSM for submitting a request. I know it took some time, but I got to writing it, and I hope you will enjoy it!

Rencontre moi à Paris (Lee Taemin)

Pairing: Lee Taemin (of SHINee) x Reader / OC (story is written in first person and no name is mentioned)

Genre: angst, romance, mature

Word Count: ~3.8k

Warnings: mature, swearing, angst, explicit sexual content.

This is just a story that doesn’t describe Taemin's true character in any way. It’s just a product of my imagination and should be treated as such.

This story is also on Wattpad (click here) and AO3 (click here)

A/N: As any other writer out there, I would appreciate reblogs and your comments on this story. Please let me know if you enjoyed it, and most importantly, have fun!

Summary: basically the request

---

Mature content ahead.

18+

©storminsidemycore All Rights Reserved

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Rencontre moi à Paris (Lee Taemin)

Paris.

Bustling cafés, crowded streets, and people rushing either to their jobs, or to the newest art gallery with temporary exhibitions opened in town.

The rampant palaces, domes and monuments built in a Gothic style contrast the tall buildings with intricate sculpted designs, making the city the perfect mix between modern and traditional, between functional and pleasant to look at.

It's already been 5 years since I've last been here, and walking through these busy streets again feels simply surreal. Many memories I tried to forget about are resurfacing, and even though I enjoy seeing this city again, my mind wanders off to that time, and it feels bittersweet.

I breathe in the November air and continue walking, the familiar unfamiliarity somewhat comforting, and after 20 minutes of going through narrow passages in-between boulevards, I finally reach my destination, and I'm glad to see it's still here, opened, despite the unappealing area that's surely deprived of tourists to keep it alive.

Rencontre moi à Paris – or 'Meet me in Paris', a café I accidentally stumbled upon last time I came here after getting lost with my then-boyfriend.

The weather that time was similar as it is now, and I, too, am similar, even if it's been 5 years since then. The only difference is that now I have an umbrella, whereas then we stumbled upon this café soaked wet and dripping from the merciless rain outside, both of us unequipped and powerless against the black November clouds. That was nothing new, though, as we almost always ventured into things unprepared, head-first as if we were invincible, and our relationship was no different.

Maybe that's why it all went down in flames, leaving me this acidic feeling in my stomach.

It's funny, really. I haven't thought about him in years, but being here, all of the sudden I'm the same 25-year old girl with hopes and dreams, madly in love with him, and heartbroken by his absence, to the point of no return. This truly makes me realise that I never got over him, and I probably never will. It's just that the gaps between thinking about him got longer, they became years instead of seconds, and I somehow turned 30 and haven't seen or spoken to him in 5 years.

After standing like an idiot in front of the café in the pouring rain, I realise that it's best to walk in. The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans immediately invades my nostrils, and I smile to myself noticing the décor is still the same, with vintage round metal tables and matching slightly rusted chairs in front of the large arched windows viewing the street.

I head to the table I once shared with him, displeased to notice a half drunk coffee cup with steam still coming out of it, and a discarded coat on the back of the chair.

Tsk. I utter to myself and sit down at the next table, my back turned to that space filled with good memories and laughter.

I lazily grab the menu and skim through it, pondering between a hot tea and a coffee. On one hand, I'm feeling pretty tired and could use the caffeine, but on the other, bad weather is most enjoyable with a cup of warm tea, so I settle for some green tea, the perfect mix.

Looking outside absent-mindedly, I follow the raindrops fallen on the large glass windows. There is no sign of anyone brave enough to set out in this weather. I don't hear the person behind me returning to their seat, and I get startled when they tap me two times on the shoulder.

I turn around, and my eyes can't believe what I'm seeing. I must've gone as white as a ghost, because he starts chuckling immediately, his warm smile sending alarm bells to my poor heart, that started beating faster.

There he is, dressed in black trousers and a black fitted turtleneck, with his brown hair and perfect pearly whites, looking at me with surprise in his eyes.

"It's really you! How weird to meet you here!" He exclaims with a soft chuckle, and I stand up, shocked.

"Taemin...?" His name plays on my lips, burning my tongue. I haven't said it out loud in years. In fact, I avoided it like the plague, afraid of what saying it would make me think about, but now that I said it, it felt like it was the most natural word that ever came out of my mouth, like my lips missed it, and they wanted me to shout it out all this time I've stayed silent.

All of a sudden, his arms encircle my body and he pulls me in for a hug, and my body reacts unconsciously, grabbing onto his waist and holding tightly, not wanting to let go.

However, we let go, as we can't possibly stay embraced in the middle of a café. I'm not sure he wanted to, anyway.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him, feeling my eyes swell up with tears that I try to swallow back. He looks like he's moved on, and his life looks amazing, and everything is fine, but I... don't really want him to know about mine. I tried so hard to stay away from him, but now...

"I should be asking you the same thing." He chuckles. "Would you join me for a cup of coffee? Or a warm tea, since I know it's your favourite drink when it rains."

I smile, remembering how attentive he's always been about my likes and dislikes. Even when we accidentally found this café 5 years ago, we got caught up in the rain because I mentioned in passing that I'd love to see an unknown painter's works and he found an exhibition in some obscure museum with 15 reviews on Maps. With his bad sense of direction and both our phones discharged, we unsurprisingly got lost, and ended up finding this place to take shelter in from the rain.

I nod and sit down at his table, in my exact same spot from the past, just as the waitress brings me my green tea, her eyes scanning the familiarity between me and the man in front of me.

"Being here, I kept thinking about us. What have you been up to?" He asks me with curiosity, slightly leaning in, as if he would hear me better. He always used to do that in the past, which I loved. It felt like being listened to, being heard.

"Oh, you know... just the usual. Work, chill in bed with Kkoong, meeting up with friends. Nothing much, and certainly not as interesting as what you've been doing." I smile, pointing at his successful career.

"Mhm. Even if my work took off, I truly am the same simple guy I was when we used to-" He abruptly stops and scans my face, before changing the subject. "Anyway, is Kkoong good? Ddaeng misses you two."

"I miss you- I mean, I miss Ddaeng as well." I correct quickly, mentally slapping myself for letting my heart take the lead.

Of course I missed him. So many years have passed, and I am still stuck in a state of inertia. Being with him here again, at this same café, feels like we are still the same clueless 25-year-olds, visiting Paris for the first time, full of hopes and dreams that would only end up crashing and burning in front of our eyes as the weight of the world got too much for us to bear, and love doesn't conquer all.

Taemin doesn't seem to mind my little slip-up. He knows how I've always worn my heart on my sleeve. After all, we've been together for many years, before ultimately breaking up. He knows me the best, and I know him like the back of my hand, still.

"The name of this café is pretty ironic." He says, and I raise an eyebrow.

"Ironic? How so?"

"I mean, Meet me in Paris? Isn't it funny that I've searched for you everywhere in Seoul, but I ended up finding you here, in a café lost in time on the outskirts of Paris?" He looks at his coffee cup, now empty.

Perhaps as empty as the two of us.

Taemin has always been like this, expressing himself in cryptic ways, especially when it comes to feelings that don't easily lend themselves to words.

He searched for me? I wouldn't have known.

When we broke up, I decided to let go of everything I once knew, and left my life with him behind. I took Daeng and I left, I changed my number, deleted my socials, and did everything to stay out of radar, while Taemin did the exact opposite, being everywhere: on billboards, in magazines, on TV...

We were simply too different from each other. We lived in incompatible worlds.

"I also didn't expect you to be here." I smile. "Isn't a star like you too busy to waste his time in a deserted café?" I mock his fame, and he blushes. "Also, I assume the drinks are on you."

"Of course they are!" He exclaimed quickly.

"I don't know, you used to be pretty stingy with money." I shrug playfully, and his cheeks only grow redder. He gets embarrassed and avoids my gaze, before scratching his nape and starting apologetically.

"I was kind of an ass, wasn't I?"

We both laugh, and we talk about anything and everything, watching as day turns to night and noticing the exasperated gaze of our waitress.

"The poor girl wants to go home." I say after a while, noticing her sighing for the 10th time in the past 3 minutes. We've been her only clients today, and she probably hated us for spending so many hours and ordering drinks one after another.

"Would it be so inappropriate of me... to invite you back to my hotel?" Taemin asks hesitantly, and I so desperately wished I had the power to refuse him.

But I don't refuse him, because I missed him, and I want him so much still, and just for these few hours spent talking to him, I felt like breaking up with him might've been a mistake, because I was so painfully still in love with him.

He is perhaps but a guilty pleasure.

We walk out of the café at the end of the world and begin walking slowly next to each other. The rain has stopped, and even if the ground is still wet, Paris stays pretty.

The way we are quietly walking next to each other is in such a stark contrast to how we left the café 5-years ago, embraced, and in love, and loud, that it's almost funny. Maybe we've matured in the meantime, or maybe we just aren't brave enough to grab onto each other so openly in the street anymore.

Maybe we simply aren't as happy. Taemin used to smile so much more brightly, being able to light up any room he was in with his cheerfulness. I've never been that joyful, except for when we were together, because he used to bring out the best in me, until he didn't.

Actually, thinking about it, Paris was not only our last trip together, but also the last time I recall being happy next to him. We broke up not even one month after, and it felt so life-altering in that moment, that it's funny to think that it was simply a regular Wednesday morning. Caught in the moment, he said things he regretted, and I paid him back in the same coin, and it was just the last drop that filled the glass of on-going arguments and differences between our life choices.

I know that we didn't work out because we wanted different things from life, but at the end of the day, it's just water under the bridge.

We continue walking to the hotel without saying much, and I wonder how people see us. In the past, they would be looking at us and chuckling to themselves seeing two dumb idiots in love, but now, there was a palpable tension in the distance between our bodies, that wanted nothing more than to touch each other again.

Of course, his hotel is 5 stars in a good area, and his room is on the last floor. We hop on the elevator and wait and wait and wait, and it's moving so slow, it's eating at me and making me reconsider if this really is a good idea.

Last time we were together, we made out everywhere. On the street, on empty hallways, under the burning eyes of the paintings at the museum – but now?

I turn around with determination and watch how awestruck he is still looking at me, 5 years later, and I wrap my arms around his neck and let my body take the lead, remembering his. Our lips brush against each other shily, but after a few seconds, automatism kicked in.

It's way too easy to fall back into each other's arms.

We start kissing passionately, his hands holding onto my hips so tightly, it might bruise, as if he were afraid I would disappear if he didn't hold onto me, and he pins me up against one of the walls and sticks his tongue down my throat. It's so obvious that my mouth missed him, as they sync perfectly, and it feels as good as it feels bad, like we're eating popping candy each time our tongues touch.

Thankfully no one joins us in the elevator, and Taemin keeps grabbing onto me as we make our way towards his room, that's so large it's ridiculous.

We had limited financial resources back then, so our rooms when travelling were always small and cramped, but we were in love, and it didn't matter. A room this large must've felt cold, when he was here alone.

My back finds the mattress of his king size bed quickly as he undresses me hungrily, and soon enough I am naked waist-down and he is towering over me with a look of raw desire in his eyes.

He presses small pecks on my abdomen and kisses downwards slowly and sloppily, until his mouth makes contact with my thigh, and he spreads my legs apart. I let him do whatever he wants, I just revel in the feeling and let my body remember how he felt like on top of me.

When his mouth connects to my core, tongue licking stripes up and down, I roll my head back and put my hand in his hair, caressing him gently, letting him know what a good job he's doing. He's always loved praise, especially in bed. I wonder if his partners after me knew how to praise him; these small gestures and touches that make him feel appreciated.

His tongue continues working on my clit for a bit, before he moves it down, teasing my entrance, just as he knows I like it.

"You taste so good, baby." He says, letting his tongue enter me, and I moan.

"Taemin, please." I whine, impatient to feel him more.

"Please what?" He chuckles, and I playfully slap him on the head, when he looks at me, a dumb smirk playing on his lips.

"I want you so bad." I whimper, and his smirk drops. He immediately gets on top of me, pressing his body against mine, as if he were my knight and I, his Queen, and I've commanded him something.

There is no time to think anything through with the urgency he's undoing his belt, and the feeling of fullness is quick to overcome me as he slips his dick in me, thrusting mercilessly as if it's the last time we're ever going to be together.

And it might be.

The room is filled with moans and whimpers, and we hang onto each other desperately, our bodies remembering each other perfectly. Our clothes are quick to disappear completely. He slips my blouse off and clasps off my bra, his mouth instantly connecting to my nipples, and I, with the same neediness, grab on his turtleneck and help him take it off. Seeing his naked body, I involuntarily clench around him, and the way he moans sends shivers down my spine.

"I missed you so fucking much." He says, voice full of painful beauty as he kisses my collarbones and nibbling on the sweet spot between them and my neck, and I melt once again against his touch, and I know that I'm going to get my heart broken again, but once you start something and the lines start blurring, it's already too late to stop, for you get greedy and you want more.

"I missed you too." I cry out and indulge myself in his touch.

The way he caressed my body was still the most intimate someone touched me. I've had my fair share of partners before him, and many others after, and this still hasn't changed. Taemin's body and mine are made for each other, and this fact gives my heart a sharp pang.

"My love, ever since I lost you, I searched for you in every woman I've been with. I am no longer creative, and I so desperately want it all back, the way it was. I want us back." He confesses while he's thrusting in me.

But what point is there in wanting? I think, but it's so hard to stay focused, with his dick grazing against my sweet spot over and over, when I'm almost seeing stars.

My toes become a curling mess and I wrap around him, and oh, how well he knows me, for he realises I'm so close, and knows exactly how to move his hips right, and I reach my high and hold him so tight, our shadows become one, completely indistinguishable. It's so good that I start getting ashamed of the loud sounds I'm making. Taemin, however, doesn't seem to mind, it even seems to send him over the edge, because his thrusts become sloppy, and his eyes are closed tightly; he looks focused, faint lines on his forehead giving him away.

I am moaning his name, and he is moaning mine, and dancing the Devil's tango has never felt so right, but in the end, if what we're doing is a sin, then we should just be sinners.

He presses his plum lips on mine, muffling both our moans, and he comes inside me, cupping my face with his hands.

"My muse, please don't leave me again... I promise you I won't make the same mistakes..." He kisses me hard, and if until now I was able to control my tears, they are now breaking my wall of strength, and he wipes them off my cheeks with his thumbs and kisses them away.

"Taemin... empty promises will wear..." I say, and he shakes his head.

"Please... don't leave me again... I've just found you..." He insists, sounding so needy, I melt. But how can I go back to how we were in the past? What if what he's feeling for me is not love, but limerence?

I no longer want to make any mistakes. We were so wrong for each other; what guarantee is there that this time we'll get it right?

At the end of the day, we are still different people, living our lives in different ways, so...

He guides me to the bathroom and we wash each other, just as we used to do. Five years ago, when we came here, we had such a small bathroom, we barely had space to shower at the same time. This bathroom now, however, is so much bigger, it's almost uncomfortable.

There's too much space between us we simply can't fill.

We then head to bed and fall asleep embraced, but as I always used to, I wake up way too early, and being tangled up in his sheets like this makes me think that maybe giving us another chance wouldn't be so bad. However, even if we share the same bed, we still have different dreams, and that's not something that can get changed easily. If it were, we would've never broken up in the first place.

I get up, careful not to wake him up, and get dressed slowly, thinking thinking thinking thinking.

I could get out and make sure he'll never see me again.

But... is that what I really want?

~

~one year later~

Paris is still the same bustling city I remembered it to be, but my safe corner is as quiet as usual.

Rencontre moi à Paris still smells of coffee beans, the chairs are still rusted, and not much has changed in a year, except for the wallpaper on the wall that's slightly ripped around the corners.

I slowly head to my table, occupied by a brunette man in a black fitted turtleneck, who sits with his back turned.

I don't say anything, I simply walk over and sit right in front of him, in my empty chair, and he raises his gaze from the cup, his eyes glimmering in the soft lights.

"Taemin." I smile. "You really came."

"You're fucking crazy." He shakes his head in disapproval. "Who leaves like that?"

"Like what?" I chuckle and play dumb.

"Like what?" He imitates me, and I stick out my tongue at him. "Normal people leave their phone numbers at least, but you?! You fucking- who the hell leaves a note like this?!" He angrily takes out a napkin carefully folded and throws it on the table in front of me.

Rencontre moi à Paris, 18 November, 15:00. Is what is written in pen in my handwriting.

Seeing it, I chuckle.

"You kept it!"

"What if I wouldn't have been able to change my schedule and come here?" He scolds me, but I just shrug.

"That would've meant nothing's changed, and that I made the right choice to not give you my number last year."

"I told you, didn't I? I won't make the same mistakes again. I really want to make us work."

"Then... shall we go back to your hotel? I really missed you. Besides, we don't want the waitress to stare daggers at us again, do we?" I whisper with a slight laugh and stand up, giving him my hand, and he takes it quickly and kisses it tenderly.

"I missed you too, my love. Please never disappear on me again..."

I smile and nod, and we get out of the café hand in hand. His thumb slowly brushes against the back of my hand, and I smile, because I truly missed him, and I was glad he actually listened to the stupid note I left on the napkin and came here.

Perhaps we won't fuck it up this time around, and we will finally be happy together, for we are already in madly love, and time apart hasn't changed that.

After all, two negative signs added together make a positive, right?

~The End~

[silent-raven13]

Sunflower, will you...

Miles turns his body on his seat wearing all white since him and are friends celebrating him and Hobie's anniversary. They decided to do a beach party with at Miguel's private beach house in 928 world.

Everyone is always impressed how much money Miguel has, even when it comes to owning HQ and multiple houses- probably Lyla is able to make him rich quick with her skills.

Anyway, everyone was out wearing nice beach dresses and outfits to fit the warm Spring celebration. There was games, drinks, food and music on the large patio. Peter 616 working with Miguel on the grill, since he claims his burgers are amazing, while Miguel claims his carne asada is better than Peter's basic burgers.

"Oh come on, Miggy. My burgers are true! You can't have a beach party without burgers?" Peter said out loud wearing an apron that said 'The Grillfather', while bits of his gray hair fell over his head.

Miguel scoffs, "Pfft, una carne asada is the best way to good. Así!" He flip a large piece of steak on the other part of the grill while he wore 'Kiss the Chef' apron. He ran his mix of brown and gray hairs back with his hand feeling the windy sea salt breeze. "Gabriella, tráeme una cerveza!" He needed a cold one for today's perfect weather.

"Yeah,. Mayday! Get me one too!" Peter shouted.

Jess stood with MJ with a chuckle, "Men and their grills."

"Tell me, about it. Peter bought so many BBQ books to make the perfect burger." MJ giggles.

"OKay. Okay!" Gabriella said out loud with Mayday follow her as the two were busy playing Volleyball with Gerald and Billie.

Miles chuckles watch those two old Spider-men never stop bickering at each other. Gwen came by wearing a white tank top wearing flowy linen skirt, she had her long blond hair still dyed in rainbow colors underweight style, she still had her shave side with long side bangs , "Ohh, looks like your bae is coming this way."

"Hahaha, of course." Miles faces his partner, seeing Hobie walking over wearing loose linen casual short sleeve button up shirt, and some shorts with flip flops. Of course, he's wearing in black with some Hobie's punk touches to remain true to his fashion aesthetics. His button up shirt wide open to reveal his bare chest.

Unlike Miles, he wore all white with a bit of yellow flowers and cute designs and long cotton mix linen pants with flip flops. Pavtri stood with his wavy long hair tied into a man bun, then grins showing a bit of wrinkle smile, "Ohhh, what's he up too?"

Hobie came up to his partner with a smile on his face seeing his old Spider band friends around them. "Sunflower..."

"Bae." Miles smiles at him, showing the same love as they were sixteen. Nothing has change. Hobie had his longer thick wicks and grew out a goatee, which looks so handsome on him.

The tall man got down on one knee making everyone looking over with snickering and smiles. "Sunflower, will you marry me?" He grins widely with a playful smile, he reveals a box with a simple ring.

"Awee!" The women were awed at the romantic gesture while the men were chuckling.

Miles couldn't help letting out a shrill of giggles, "Hobie, we been married for thirty years now. You don't need to ask me every year to marry you."

Gwen and Pavtri laughs out loud. Hobie gave a puppy pout with his eyes going big like a teary Precious Moment character, "So, is that a no?"

"Aye, este chico." Miguel commented at this ridiculous proposal. The Spider Punker always do this since those two married.

Gabriella, a woman laughs at her dad's words as she passed him a beer, "Papá, you shouldn't be drinking so much. The doctor said you need to watch your intake."

"Ah, that doctor can go kiss my ass. I work too damn hard as Spider-man." He took a cold beer.

Mayday giggles, "I think it's cute. Hobie really loves Miles." A young Spider-woman with long wavy red hair as she handed a beer to her dad.

Miles cup his husband's face with his thumb gently massaging Hobie's cheek, his big doe eyes staring deep at his Punker's eyes, "Hobie, mi amor. No matter how many times you ask me, I will always say yes! I love you. So, yes, I will marry you." He gave him a peck on the lips.

Hobie happily took the kiss as the two been happily together in their fifties. He hugs his husband, "That's what I like to hear." Hobie put the ring in his husband's ring finger which made Miles giggles.

"Bae, you gotta chill with the rings. I don't have enough fingers for all the rings you give me." Miles kisses his husband again.

"I can't help myself, luv. This one is special, I made it mi-self, darling." The punker saw his husband's smiles widen showing more of his wrinkle smile. Even though, they were older they still look good for their age. His heart melts still seeing his Sunflower's big honey-brown eyes as if they first dated.

"Mm, then I'll have to wear this everyday then." Miles admire the gift, "I love it, bae. Thank you."

"Anything for you."

Billie already a grown woman happily went over to hug her big brother, "Awe, so cute. Hobie, how long your gonna do this? Don't you think proposing him every year is a bit much?"

"He loves me, boo-boo." Miles hugs his little sister. She grown to be a Detective in helping him solve cases on the Justice System and him being Spiderman.

"I will always show my Sunflower's my dying love, right luv." Hobie's one arm wraps on his husband's shoulders.

"I say keep going. It's so cute!" Pavtri said happily.

"For real, it's not hurting anybody." Gwen added.

Gabriella went over being so happy, "I wish I can find someone like you two! Ugh, but the dating community is sooo toxic right now."

"Your world, too!" Mayday gasps in shock, "Same!"

"Yeah, me too!" Billie let go of her brother to talk to the other women. "Like it's so shitty even when you try to get a good sneaky link."

"Aye, language!" Miles said, even though his sister is a grown woman, he always see her as his little boo-boo.

"Awe, what did I do?" Billie pouts.

Mayday giggles, "Come on, Miles! We're grown. We like having sex and meeting random guys on-" Gabriella roughly nudges her as she spotted their dad's glaring over. "Aye May, sshhhh! Our dads are listening!"

"Opps!"

"What was that May?" Peter asked in a serious tone.

"Nothing!" Mayday quickly said.

Miguel arched over to his daughter, "Hija, who are you seeing?"

"No one, papá!"

"Lyla!"

"No, papá! You can't make me be your little girl forever!"

"Like hell I can!" Miguel huffs.

Miles and Hobie chuckles as they got up to walk along the beach with their hands together, They tightly held each other, "Happy 30th anniversary, luv." Hobie felt Miles' head laying his head on his shoulder as they found a spot to watch the sunset.

"Mmm, happy anniversary, mi amor." Miles kisses his husband cheek. "I love you so much."

"Me too, darling. Me too." They nose nuzzle as the sunset and they kiss as a way to complete their perfect day. The party continues on with the craziness of their friends and families.

[eqgsocials]

Headcanons on what outfits the rainbooms would wear?

based on things from my own pinterest board, i've come prepared with photos as well!!! :D

sunset shimmer

(before the demon, sunset gets sent to the human world to equestria girls)

(post demon, before rainbow rocks to present)

heavily inspired by techwear, sunset's style in my mind has a lot of leather, a lot of chains, and LOADS of band tees

after the first movie, sunset's closet touches into much more color and life. she owns a lot of boots and beat up sneakers that she finds comfort in wearing

ps: i also headcanon she started seeing a therapist after the first eqg movie and her depression medication gave her weight gain!!! she's stunning through and through

fluttershy

very inspired by cottage core and fairycore lolita, fluttershy fits into this very floral cutesy aesthetic very well! she wears

rainbow dash

baggy clothes rainbow? baggy clothes rainbow. rainbow's style is very casual and very relaxed. i imagine them having tons of sweats and tons of sneakers with basic crop tops/hoodies, with the occasional letterman jacket completing the look.

rarity

despite following current trends often and applying it to her wardrobe, i feel like rarity's style is also a mix of rich new york city girl. i feel like her style combines a lot of tweed, a lot of blazers and heels, and very heavily inspired by old money preppy style

applejack

applejack's style.... woo. this one was the hardest one for me to do. her style has a mix of a TON of elements, such as plaid, zip up jackets, a load of denim, and a bit of beat up converse and durable cowboy boots

i didnt want to make her a sterotypical cowgirl in her style, but i imagine her closet holds a lot of hand me downs and items that remind her of her parents :,D

pinkie pie

kidcore!!! literally the definition of kidcore :D!!! she owns a lot of bright colors, a lot of overalls, and many bracelets/necklaces that she's made herself

twilight sparkle

twilight will wear outfits for comfort over ANYTHING else, with the most dressiest she'll go in dress pants. they are a business casual icon on the best days and a sweats and a hoodie person when studying for final exams

[chrome1234]

Elevate Your Look: The Ultimate Guide to Men's Street Style

Street style is more than a fashion trend; it's a dynamic form of self-expression that merge comfort, freedom and high style as a vital component of modern men's fashion, street style reflects both personal taste and current trends. This guide is judge to help you master the art of men's street style, cover key elements, necessary pieces, and stylish tips. Let's get on on this journey to promote your look and hold your special style.

Thoughtful Men's Street Style

chrome heart Street styles blend the best of calm and high fashion, follow-on in a look that is both trendy and personal. It represents a textbook addition of different styles, from physical wear to comfort fashion. The heart of street style lies in the ability to mix and match pieces to create a business that is exclusively yours. Confidence and individuality are the cornerstones of this fashion approach, allow you to express your personality through your fashion choices.

Key basics of Street Style

Some key basics define street style. These include fit, fabric, colors. The fit of your clothes is principal; opt for well-modified pieces that improve your build without being very tight or greatly loose. Quality fabric is necessary for both comfort and strength ensure your outfits look good and feel great. Colors play a major role in street styles, given that and chance to research and express your character. While neutrals form a solid base, don't shy away from bold colors that can make your business crack

Essential clothes Pieces

House a street style clothes starts with essential pieces that form the moral fiber of your outfits. Invest in handy basics such as plain T-shirts, well-fitted jeans, and classic sneakers. These substance are timeless and can be easily mixed and in time to create a selection of looks. A few high-quality basics can serve as the basis for few stylish outfits, making them necessary in any clothes

The import of Outerwear

Outerwear is a grave part of street style, able of transform a simple outfit into a standout looks. Bomber jackets, denim jacket, and parkas are handy choices that can be clothed up or down. A well-fixed jacket not only adds an extra layer of style but also provides practical benefits like warmth and protection from the basics When select outerwear, make sure it complement the rest of your clothes and reflect your private style.

The function of Footwear

Footwear is often the important point of street style. Value sneakers and boots are vital money that can elevate your complete look. White sneakers, in picky are very handy and can be opposite with almost any outfit. Boots, on the other hand, add a rocky touch that is perfect for a tenser look. Despite of the type, keep your footwear clean and well-maintain to ensure it always enhance your team

Accessorizing Your Look

Frills play a vital role in attractive street style. Watches, hats, and bag are all brilliant additions that can add star and flair to your look. A stylish watch brings a touch of dress while a hat can provide a casual, cool vibe. Bags are not only useful but also a great way to make a fashion speech. Choose frills that complement your outfit and mirror your personal style.

Integration High and Low Fashion

One of the important characters of street style is the ability to mix high-end and reasonable pieces. This blend creates a fair stylish look that is both nearby and fashionable. Pairing stylish items with basic pieces allow you to create single clothes without breaking the bank. This approach not only makes fashion more possible but also supports creativity in how you style your clothes

Layering technique

Layering is techniques that add depth and usefulness to your outfit. By combine different texture and colors, you can create a look that is both attractive and useful Start with a basic film such as a T-shirt, and build on it with a shirt and a cover this method allows you to settle in your outfit to change weather conditions and ensure you always look stylish. Study with diverse combination to find the perfect coated look.

Live with pattern

Patterns are a big way to make your outfit stand out stripe, checks, and prints can add visual interest and personality to your look. When incorporate pattern balance bold pieces with on the fence ones to avoid great your business This balance ensure that your look remainder stylish and solid Don't be afraid to research with different patterns to realize what works best for you.

The contact of in shape

Fit is one of the most key aspect of street style. Well-fixed clothes improve your general look and boost your poise Avoid overly tight or shapeless pieces, as they can detract from your look. In its place opt for clothes that complement your body type and allows for happy movement. A good fit not only looks great but also feels easy making it easier to carry yourself with self-belief

Incorporate Street wear brand

Street wear brands offer a excess of stylish options that can improve your clothes Brands like best Off-White, and A swim Ape are known for their in and super pieces. Integrating these brand into your clothes can add a current edge to your look. Mix these items with normal pieces to keep your clothes fresh and current. This advance allows you to stay on-trend while maintain your single style.

Regular consideration

Adapt your clothes to each season is important for both relieve and style. In summer, opt for lighter fabric like cotton and linen to stay cool. In winter, layer with heater pieces such as sweaters, jackets, and scarves. Seasonal adjustment ensures that you remain comfortable while still looking stylish. Planning your wardrobe according to the seasons also allows you to experiment with different looks throughout the year.

Sustainable style choice

Sustainability is suitable more and more important in the fashion business opt for eco-friendly brand and materials supports ethical fashion practice and reduce your green impact. Brands like Patagonia and Everlane offer stylish, sustainable options that align with modern street style. By make aware fashion choices, you can donate to a more sustainable outlook without compromise on style.

Personalizing your fashion

Your road style should be a sign of your star addition personal touch to your clothes can make a significant diversity. This could be a sole partner, a name color, or a exact way of layering. Personalization sets you distant and makes your style truthfully yours. It also improves your self-belief, as you are more likely to feel comfortable and true in your personalize look.

Structure coolness during method

Coolness is the basis of street style. Wearing your outfits with pleasure enhance your in general look and makes any outfit more attractive. Coolness comes from sense good in what you wear and meaningful that your business represents your personal style. By focus on elements that make you feel happy and stylish, you can build the coolness to carry any look with alleviate

Charge Up with trend

Stay well-run with fashion trends ensure that your clothes remainder modern Follow fashion blogs, magazine and social media influencers to keep side by side of the latest trend. However, it's key just before priorities your personal style over fetes trends. Use trends as idea but always adapt them to fit your single style. This approach allows you to stay stylish while maintain your independence

[dcvenport]

maurice davenport. the bulletin broadcasting company ceo.

( written by ade ; he&him )

[ ! ] — it seems that [ maurice davenport ] has entered the scene ! he looks exactly like [ michael ealy ]. this [ 50-year-old ] is the [ ceo ] of [ the bulletin broadcasting company ]. it’s a small wonder since he is known for being [ ambitious and confident ] and [ two-faced and obnoxious ]. he has been involved with the company for [ TEN ] years.

intro under the cut / musings / threads

BASICS.

full name: maurice lyle davenport age: 50 date of birth: july 31st, 1973 place of birth: new york city, usa current location: london, england gender: cis man pronouns: he&him sexuality: gay occupation: ceo of the bulleting broadcasting company education level: english & business degrees from oxford ; has a background in journalism living arrangements: loft financial status: wealthy spoken languages: english, french, german

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

faceclaim: michael ealy hair color and style: black, cut short eye color: blue eyesight: wears contacts height: 5′11 body and build: muscular, lean tattoos: none piercings: none clothing style: business casual but more on the business side; loves a well-tailored suit

PERSONALITY.

positive traits:  ambitious, confident, witty, charming negative traits: disloyal, bossy, impulsive, two-faced, obnoxious

maurice is generally very full of himself, thinking he’s the most important person in the room; charismatic and charming, always getting what he wants and when he doesn’t, it means war; enjoys spending money, shit talking and causing drama. don’t invite him to a dinner party, he’ll ruin it.

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS.

mother: ava davenport father:  theodore osborne significant other:  husband exes:  ex-husband sibling(s):  half-sister and half-brother children:  — extended family: — pet(s):  —

BACKGROUND.

maurice’s father, theo, walks out on him and his mother, ava, soon after he's born; with the man being a high-profile figure in media it's clear that he isn't going to acknowledge a child that came out of an affair with a woman ten years his junior.  ava decides she isn't going to try and change theo’s mind. she eventually decides to stay in london (chosen over both ava’s and maurice’s place of birth, nyc) with one of her brothers; maurice is two so he knows england as his only home

his mom never really mentions his father and maurice doesn't make a fuss about it; he goes on to have a pretty comfortable life, both because he’s always been hardworking and because his uncle and his mother know the right people that manage to set him up with plenty of opportunities; his uncle married rich and maurice got to take advantage of it—private school and university are all paid for and maurice gets set up with a job right after graduation.

he goes into journalism; low-ranking at first but slowly and surely he builds up towards an editor at the guardian. would have been a deputy editor, for sure, if it weren't for a snitch and a couple complaints about journalistic misconduct. a few years into an impressive(ish) career, he gets demoted, fired eventually, an expensive divorce gets thrown into the mix as well, which sends maurice into an insane mid-life crisis at 37.

the divorce takes forever and drains maurice's account; he gets a settlement and some assets eventually but by the time he signs the last piece of paper, he's kind of broke. he never learned how to dial down and stop living beyond his means and it gets so bad he becomes desperate. if anyone asks, it's a different davenport editing those shit, waste-of-paper tabloids. that's not him. definitely not him. he's a serious person. but money is money, right?

the cherry on top of maurice's life trials and turbulations is the sudden desire to reconnect with his birth-father. he's only ever got bits and pieces, his mother always refused to share and so he hired someone to get the truth for him. a father, a half-sister and a half-brother, the files he receives tell him. maurice never expected to get this far when he decided to search for his birth-father, he expected a few conversations, maybe an apology and that was about it. instead, he gets a personalised invitation to the world he once upon a time has been desperately trying to claw into. things find you when you stop running after them.

writing for shitty tabloids and gossip columns is no more and maurice’s ability to spin stories is finally being taken seriously. not everyone, obviously; maurice is a wild card pulled out of thin air who only has the freshly-formed relationship with his father to back him up. it was a controversial decision to give him some elaborate, six-figure title the second he showed up at the company but the ceo does what the ceo wants. maurice really won the daddy issues lottery here. abandoned as a child? don’t worry, you’ll get the company as a big i’m sorry gift when you grow up.

he works alongside his father and his half-siblings. eventually theo announces he's stepping down and needs a new ceo—shocks many people with his choice. the decision to appoint maurice as the ceo was a surprise to many, especially his half-siblings; he wasn’t the one who grew up with the company, he wasn't the one who experienced the quote-unquote family business,  he was a bastard child who showed up out of the blue a decade ago, smiled, sold everyone on his bullshit and cemented himself as the guy who gets things done. that’s also why his taking over made perfect sense; his father needed maurice for the charisma, the charm, the wit—and the guts to be able to sacrifice anything and sell out anyone to get ahead. 

it’s only the beginning of maurice’s reign, just a little over two years of him acting as the ceo, but he feels secure—almost too secure—in his position as the head of the company. are there people who would like to dethrone him? absolutely. does he care? not at all<3 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

tba.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Feeling restless today, so I thought I'd puzzle out a few more sheet garments for wifey before bed. The items I already planned out are individual flair pieces. So the shirt will dress up jeans nicely (good for wifey because she works in a business casual setting, and the matching pullover and bonnet will help her doll up if/when she wants to for an evening out with her union buddies ifn she likes). The slacks are gonna be a nice wine color, and they'll be gorgeous, and I can make her a nice lil pocket square to doll up a shirt to go with it (I'm thinking florals, or a nice print design for that).

But I want these other pieces to come in matched outfits, basically mix and match sets that she can wear together as she likes. I'm thinking two pairs of pants, a long sleeve, and a short sleeve blouse for each, and of course removable underpinning layers that can be washed separately. Oooh, I should set snaps for those into all of her blouses and slacks and make her two weeks of underpinnings, one week short sleeve, one week long sleeve, and two weeks of knee length blooomers, that way she can wear her blouses and slacks multiple days and just change out the underpinnings each day.

So what I was thinking is I would pick out fitted and flat sheet sets as best I could from the thrift store, that way I can make the slacks from the flat sheet, and the two shirts from the fitted sheet. I would want to pair the sheet sets to each other so that it could either be worn as a full matched outfit or as a complementary one matched across patterns. Although the matched outfits might be an overwhelming amount of one pattern for wifey, she tends to like variety in her outfits. Maybe worth snagging three complementary sheet sets? Make the six garments all fully complentary and then have extra fabric left over for flair pieces or underpinnings? I think I like that idea better. Might even just plan to snag as much variety of sheets as I like and can find since the underpinnings won't be seen and can be all kinds of dramatic and fun. Wifey likes color, even if she's not always comfy wearing it loudly, so colorful underpinnings might be just the way to go.

The question is style. I should have wifey look at cuts she likes with me Monday at the tailor's website, and then I can make some sketches in my draftbook of what we might put together. That way I'm not guessing or just putting her in what I think makes her look hot lol. I have a few ideas already from what I've seen her look at in the past and there's one thing I really want to do because I think it would be gorgeous. I want to knit her some trim for that shirt to match wifey's wine colored slacks. I have the PERFECT yarn for it, and I already know exactly what neckline I want to give her for the trim to go on. It's the sleeves and body I haven't settled on yet. I feel like I want to make it a long sleeve and make or buy a pair of sleeve garters to go with it? Some kind of decent cuff for sure, but nothing too fancy, something that still speaks "getting your hands dirty." A peasant blouse in the body then, I think, but with a knitted belt to match the trim that can be adjusted to any point wifey likes to alter her silhouette. I'm picturing one of those old-school sort of golden cream colored sheets with the little pink and purple flowers printed on them for this, but I can be flexible about it as long as it's in warm tones.

The rest of the patterns, I'll let wifey pick when we're at the thrift store, or I may pick a couple if there are some I really like since I should probably start upcycling my own wardrobe once we're done with wifey's, and anyway underpinnings can be anything. I wonder what I could do with that old red dress, that's a MOUNTAIN of fabric that definitely no longer fits me. Hmm. I could probably make some decent shorts from that. I would say underpinnings, but man that fabric would show through ANYTHING. I mean I might honestly turn it into a blouse for me. I'd love another button up, especially a red one. I always loved red button ups actually. I could probably make a couple shirts for me with that. Maybe a button up and a Titty SuperMax. I could probably turn the bodice into a real punkass vest too. Fuck yeah never mind I'm doing that with it.

Okay, so let's make it a half dozen sheet sets over the next few weeks of thrifting, a button jar, some snaps, replacement sewing scissors, and a grommet kit. Some may need to be purchased new, but ideally as little as possible. And just like that I have a handcraft again, and wifey will have a VERY nice tailored new wardrobe with a bit of time added. I think I can make a piece a week. Major drafting, draping, and initial construction of the garment over the weekend, fiddly details in the evenings after work during the week. That's for the fancy outer layer clothes, though, underpinnings will be easier. I actually think I was wrong about "oh just make a bunch of short and long sleeve blah blah" but still it should be fine to make three copies of the same undershirt for a uniquely cut blouse the same week in a way that making three unique outerwear garments in that same week would not be.

The bloomers are LITERALLY all going to be copy paste so I think I will at some point just set myself to speed running bloomers to see how quickly I can get through 14 pairs lmao.

As far as unique outerwear garments go, wifey is getting 10 pieces, 3 pants, 6 tops, and 1 pullover. Give myself some leeway and say that I'll have wifey's wardrobe done by Spooky month. Obvi it's a process so she will have more and more of her pieces as time goes on,and while we're thrifting we'll be on the lookout for whole garments as well. So it's not like she'll be clothes'less until then (damn) but I do still kinda wish I could just take two weeks off work and DO this for her. It frustrates me that working takes up so much of me. But that's for a different kind of post!

Anyway, 3 months is a pretty solid timeline for churning out garments ifn I do say so myself, and I'm not gonna spit on my own hard work here, theoretical though it may yet be. I'm kinda looking forward to it. Especially because I'm also planning in my head a little cloth "tag" on each garment and its respective underpinnings that's marked with a little embroidered symbol. Not sure which underpinning is which because everyone here has ADHD and just shoved shit in a drawer? (*through gritted teeth* working on it) Just match the tags and off you trot! Ideally, garments will be stored in a cubby with only their respective underpinnings and nothing else.

That reminds me, I'm going to need a label maker.

[bookmarksandblog]

Elevate Your Style: Exploring Men's Fashion Trends and Accessories

Fashion is a dynamic realm that continuously evolves, offering new trends and styles. Men's fashion, in particular, has witnessed a transformation in recent years, embracing a blend of classic elegance and modern flair. The power of accessories cannot be underestimated when it comes to adding that extra touch of personality and charm to an outfit. In this blog, we will explore some of the latest men's fashion trends and highlight how accessories can elevate your style game.

1. Tailoring is Timeless

Tailored clothing never goes out of style, and it remains a cornerstone of men's fashion. Whether it's a perfectly fitted suit or a well-tailored blazer, investing in quality tailoring is a surefire way to exude sophistication and confidence. Classic colors like navy, charcoal, and black are versatile options for various occasions.

2. Embrace Casual Elegance

Casual wear has evolved far beyond sweatpants and t-shirts. Today's men's fashion trends embrace casual elegance, combining comfort and style effortlessly. Think slim-fitting chinos, well-fitted jeans, and high-quality knitwear. The key is to opt for well-crafted basics that can be easily mixed and matched.

3. Statement Outerwear

A statement piece of outerwear can instantly elevate your look. Consider investing in a stylish leather jacket, a classic trench coat, or a timeless overcoat. These pieces not only keep you warm but also make a powerful fashion statement.

4. Sneakers Are a Must-Have

Sneakers have transitioned from athletic wear to a fashion staple. Classic white sneakers, in particular, are incredibly versatile and can be paired with everything from jeans to suits. They offer both style and comfort, making them a go-to choice for many men.

5. Accessorize with Watches

Watches are more than just timekeepers; they are fashion statements. A well-chosen watch can add a touch of elegance and personality to any outfit. Whether it's a classic, minimalistic design or a bold, sporty timepiece, there's a watch for every style.

6. Smart Eyewear

A good pair of eyeglasses or sunglasses can significantly enhance your overall look. Opt for frames that complement your face shape and personal style. Today, there's a vast array of options, from classic aviators to bold, statement frames.

7. Leather Accessories

Leather accessories are timeless, and they can add a touch of sophistication to any outfit. A quality leather belt, wallet, or even a leather bracelet can be a stylish addition. Don't forget the importance of a well-crafted leather bag or briefcase for a polished and professional look.

8. Statement Ties and Pocket Squares

For formal occasions or adding flair to a business outfit, statement ties and pocket squares are your go-to accessories. They allow you to inject personality into a more structured ensemble.

9. Scarves and Beanies

Scarves and beanies are not just functional for keeping warm; they're also fantastic style enhancers. Choose scarves in various textures and colors to complement your outfits. Beanies can add a casual, laid-back vibe to your look.

10. Mix and Match Textures

Experimenting with different textures is a trend that's gaining momentum. Pair a textured blazer with a smooth cotton shirt or combine a chunky knit sweater with a tailored pair of trousers. This adds depth and visual interest to your outfit.

Conclusion

Men's fashion has evolved into a diverse and exciting landscape. The key to staying stylish is to balance classic elements with contemporary trends and embrace accessories that reflect your personality. Whether it's through a well-tailored suit, statement outerwear, or carefully selected accessories, men have endless opportunities to express themselves and create their signature style. So, elevate your wardrobe, incorporate these trends and accessories, and let your fashion sense shine.