#only contacted the heating engineer yesterday

[itwasmagic]

genuinely wonder how i ever got a job when if i have to speak to anyone irl it takes me 3 months to work up the courage

[absolutebl]

Hi ABL! After watching episode 1 of Between Us, I was impressed with the level of "thirst" between Boun and Prem's characters in the last couple of scenes. Are there shows or scenes of shows, regardless of actual heat level, that you think did "thirst" well, regardless of how that's resolved at the time? Subjective, I know, but would love to get your take on this!

20 BLs with the BEST Thirst!

Thirst wants to slide a hand under his waistband right tf now and grind. Horny wants to rip his clothes off, and probably pop buttons and laugh about it. Yearning wants to run both hands up his back while they kiss deeply. Hunger wants to lift him by the ass and slam him against the wall.

Raise your glasses please, to THIRST.

I Cannot Reach You - Japan 2023

It's fresh in my mind, so first on this list.

Secret Crush on You - Thailand 2022

This scene in particular sprang next to mind, just because for me it kinda defined thirst in Thai BL. (Also see my #1 pick for sides at the end.)

Jun & Jun - Korea 2023

We Best Love: Fighting Mr 2nd - Taiwan 2021

2 Moons: Ambassador (AKA 2 Moons 3) - Thailand 2022

Eternal Yesterday - Japan 2022

Why R U? - Korea 2023

HIStory 3 - the BL that shall not be named - Taiwan 2019

Bed Friend - Thailand 2023

They sleeping together but King still thirsty af

Big Dragon - Thailand 2022

My Beautiful Man - Japan 2021

Between Us - Thailand 2022-23

Minato's Laundromat - Japan 2022

Ghost Host Ghost House - Thailand 2022

the infamous leg scene alone qualifies them, but they very mutually thirsty in general

My Personal Weatherman - Japan 2023

It's the point.

I Feel You Linger in the Air - Thailand 2023

The oil scene is a stroke of genius.

Well, several strokes.

Old Fashion Cupcake - Japan 2022

I Told Sunset About You - Thailand 2020

Love in Translation - Thailand 2023

Just because of that damn convenience store make-out scene.

Nitiman - Thailand 2021

I find thirst is often (although not always) the provenance of the seme character.

Mutual thirst is really rare.

Side dish gravy

Shorts, side couples, and so forth.

Oh My Sunshine Night - Thailand 2022

Noh appears 2x on this list. He's GREAT at thirst. Possibly the only Thai actor to give Japan real competition. GIVE HIM ANOTHER LEAD!

HIStory 4: Close To You - Taiwan 2021

Gen Y 2 - Thailand 2022

@heretherebedork and I call them PokeTongue for a reason.

Y-Destiny - Thailand 2021

kiss x kiss x kiss: Perfect Scandal - Japan 2022

No shocker that Japan is the only one to field a micro on this list. Usually thirst takes more build up.

Defining THIRST

I make a distinction between thirst and other types of physical desire. This is just me and language.

Thirst usually leaps off the screen and has an edge of danger to it. Like they gonna get caught, or go out of control just from wanting to touch. They gonna die without physical contact. It's pure survival need. Japan kinda specializes in this.

There's no humor to thirst, but horny can get kinda cheeky. It's more fun and mutual (ee.g. KinnPorsche). More want than need. So it's more Thailand and Taiwan.

There's also yearning (e.g. The 8th Sense), which has a more emotional soul tether to it. Korea in particular, but also like GMMTV and lower heat prestige stuff, high school things for example (My School President).

And finally hunger, which I tend to think of as desire but with a nourishment component. It's I want what's MINE. Like Taejung in Cherry Blossoms After Winter.

These aren't mutually exclusive, mind you.

I dithered but they didn't quite make the list

Irresistible Love - China 2016

Second Chance - Thailand 2021

Takara & Amagi - Japan 2022

Love Area - Thailand 2022

Takumi-kun - Japan 2007

Moonlight Chicken - Thailand 2023

My Engineer (RamKing) - Thailand 2020

It's why we're all still mad we never got full RamKing

(source)

This posted dated end of 2023. Not responsible for thirsty BL that happens after. Check the comments for additions and other's thoughts on the matter.

[dothemindything]

Nah it's your own you goofball. M!a: Rev up that engine because you're back to life for 24 hours!

==> The scent of the sun is still in your clothes, even after a thorough wash to remove the salts and sands that'd clung to the fabric like a million unwanted hitchhikers seeking deposit. It's a reminder that yesterday was a good day. Maybe one of your best.

==> The type of thing that can't be ruined, until it is.

==> It happened instantaneously. A catch in your lungs, abnormally irritated, as pressure replaced the comfortable stagnation of your respiratory organs. Combined with the jolt of your pusher, always forcibly stalled- it stole a gasp from you that couldn't be halted, burning in your throat, dried from lack of use. The rush of blood was almost ignored altogether as you focused on what few voluntary functions were left to control, clamping your jaw around the hold of your breath as if to force it back to nothing, because you never needed air before-

==> But too soon, it burns again, protesting, and the vacuum seal of your body is inflated once more, the taste of oxygen crammed into your mouth where it flutters and aggravates, triggering a coughing fit that's only worsening the rapid-fire of your heart, practically racing out of your chest with the growing realization-

==> For some ghosts, life was a gift. Something they'd lost, robbed of their destinies because of someone else's narrative going prioritized. To receive it once more.. would be righting the wrongs of this universe, so cruel to those who fought against it.

==> Except you've never been that type of ghost.

==> In the overstimulation, skin aflame with heat nearing feverish and clammy with the panic seeping from each pulse of your veins, you don't think to get help. All you want is for this to stop, stop, stop, STOP IT STOP IT

==> Thoughts are too vague to abide by. The itch in your claws to tear every piece of yourself out, to correct the mistake of your revival, requires a precision you cannot practice. Not yet. All that remains is animal instinct. The prey drive trained to react every other time you were spontaneously risen.

==> You bolt for it.

==> By the time you're on your way to the first floor, you only partially think to contact Dirk. Asmeir. Someone. But the shame of being seen like this (frightened and red and wrong and you're not MEANT to be alive) is a far stronger motivation to get the hell out of dodge, and ideally, get the hell out of life, stat.

[queenvidal]

The Girl Who Never Cries

Negan x Reader (Rick's Daughter)

(Not my gif - found it on pinterest. If it's urs, contact me for proper credit)

Chapter 7: Soft Spot, Boss? (END)

Chapter Summary: Alexandrias supplies are dwindling very fast, leaving you vulnerable to an offer Negan wants to make.

Wordcount: 2189

Notes: I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes or wrong spellings, English isn't my first language. - Part 1 of the The One And Only Series - Takes place during the beginning of season 7.

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

Next Part / Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

“Ah, shit!” You curse under your breath. Small droplets of blood are seeping through the cuts on your fingertips. Instinctively you lick the blood away before wiping them off on your jacket.

You're tinkering on an old and rusty piece of metal for the wall. The rain and summer heat weathered down some pieces that you and a few others are repairing now. Michael looks at you from over his shoulder and you cast him a warning glare.

He’s been one of the town's engineers, responsible for the maintenance and expansion of the wall. Your people were not thrilled about having him walking around, but you needed his expertise. While trying to concentrate on your tasks, you keep watching him ever so often from out of the corner of your eyes. Michonne is watching him as well, ready to take action at any moment, walking up and down behind him.

You try to return to your work, but your focus isn't where it should be. Michael is not the only thing disturbing you. Ever since the strange encounter with Negan and Dwight three weeks ago, you are struggling further and further to keep concentrated on the most mundane tasks.

Today it seems to be particularly bad. It’s pickup day again and the constant noise of Negan's minions only contributes to the problem. And the unsettling feeling of their bosses eyes on you doesn't help, either. 

Maybe you’re just being paranoid.

You took Negan's warning very seriously. For the last few weeks, you stood under the Saviors radar, being either on a run or staying in your room during their pickups. You figured not crossing paths with any of them would be for the best, knowing your tamper and how easy you are to wind up.

But you were needed today, so you joined the small group on the wall.

A plate with colorless peas and carrots appears to your left, tearing your mind away again. You turn your head to find Carl placing a fork on the wall piece as well.

You smile softly at him. "Thank you, but I've already eaten this morning."

"Lair," Carl scowls at you, however it's lighthearted. "Olivia said you were absent at the food distribution this morning."

You roll your eyes and whisper more to yourself than to him, "Such a telltale."

"Y/N, come on." Carl looks at you with pleading eyes. "You've already skipped meals yesterday."

You consider his request for a moment, before reaching for the plate and fork. "Fine." With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you pull Carl on his arm closer to you. Quickly, you plant a faint kiss on his cheek and he squeals.

“Ew!” Carl wipes his cheek with the sleeve of his pullover. Despite his display of irritation, you can’t keep from huffing a laugh. You’ll never stop annoying your little brother.

“Do you have guard shift later?” He asks you, still rubbing his cheek.

You nod at him. “Yeah, I took the night shift.”

Carl rolls his eyes at you. “That's gonna be the third night in a row.”

“I’m fine, Carl.” You quickly answer his unvoiced question.

“You’re bad at lying and you know that.” He sounds hurt, he hates being lied to and you wonder why you even tried, to him you’re like an open book. In the end, he is just concerned and you love him for that, but you don’t want him to worry.

He knows about your insomnia, but he also knows you well enough not to push it. If you wanted to talk, you would. But he doesn’t like you grinding until you eventually pass out from exhaustion. Wouldn't be the first time for you to do that. 

Annoyed, your little brother moves on and back to the pantry, leaving you to your work and late breakfast. After your first bite, you realize just how hungry you’ve been the whole day. With your thoughts all over the place and your hands always working, you simply didn’t notice.

Like on the last days, the ration is small and the food soon disappears from your plate. It’s tasting stale with a faint tang of iron. The can was most likely way past the best before date already. Once finished with your meal, you put the plate to the side again, returning to your work.

A long shadow casts over the metal, making you look up with a crooked eyebrow.

Negan. Of course.

“Uhm… hi?” You greet him with uncertainty in your tone.

The leader of the Saviors leans casually against the table, crossing his arms. “What was that about?”

Confused, you ask, “Sorry?”

He nods at your plate. “Already working on your beach body or why are you not eating?"

“I did eat,” you defend yourself, but Negan keeps looking at you, still waiting for an explanation. After a sigh of defeat, you explain, “We cut down our rations, the last run was pretty much fruitless.” 

Although you visited the place beforehand and took all necessary precautions, you could not predict the bad weather and the passing herd of walkers, when you sent a team to loot the area. 

“That so?” Negan asks and you nod in comirmation. “Rick didn't mention any shortage whatsoever.”

No shit, you want to say, but you manage to go for a more cautious response, “Of course not. He can’t just ask you to take less, can he?"

Negan lets out a breath through his teeth, “See, sunshine, I’m a reasonable man. You guys starving won’t benefit me in any way. How’s your food rationed at the moment?”

“The kids get two meals a day, adults one.”

The tone of his voice turns surprisingly soft. “And why is it that you don't even eat once a day?”

“So the kids can eat twice.”

Negan rolls his eyes at you. With his tongue between his teeth, he lets his eyes roam over the busy town before they find Michael tinkering at the wall. After a moment they return back to you. “When I ask you, how much the fucker in the cell gets to eat and you tell me it’s more than you do, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

You don’t respond right away, ducking your head. After a short moment, you tell him, “He gets a half ration and has to work if he wants more.”

Negan just shakes his head, muttering a quiet unbelievable under his breath while looking back at the street, “Why are you doing this to yourself, Y/N? For real now.”

“What do you mean?” You ask in confusion.

“You're running yourself to the ground for these useless shitheads here and for what? I can see the dark circles under your eyes from the other end of the town.”

Tiredly, you lean against the table as well. “Yeah, well…” You don’t know where to start and if you should be talking to him at all. But he seems genuinely pissed about your current situation. 

Eventually you tell him, “Let’s say the incident with Dwight had more repercussions than expected. Turns out people will assume you to be absolutely badshit, when being covered in blood ‘n gore and laughing, while being held at knifepoint.”

Negan has to chuckle at that, “Not gonna lie, I would have paid good money to see that. You actually scared the living shit out of some of my men.”

You can’t deny the feeling of pride blooming in your chest and you smile slightly at your boots. After a moment you look up at him again. “Well, Saviors and Alexandrians both."

Negan's smile vanishes, instead his brows move into a frown. "Are they giving you shit for it?" 

You shrugs with your shoulders before you explain the situation, "You know about the stupid interviews we had. Later that night, Alexandria held a trial, debating if and who could stay. Take a guess who they deemed too unstable to keep around. Long story short, I was allowed to stay, thanks to my pharmaceutical background. Many eventually came around but some never accepted me and remained wary. The thing with Dwight only reaffirmed their previous perception of me… lost a few nights over that.”

Insomnia has always been a constant travel companion, ever since the outbreak, but it’s nothing you can’t deal with, most of the time you find something to do, taking your mind off whatever was haunting you. But it still stinged having some Alexandrians going back to the old pattern of avoiding you.

“And you think starving will put you back in their good grace?” Negan asks.

You shrug your shoulders again, watching the activities at the pantry. “Honestly, I don’t care if people here like me or not, Negan. I just want my people and family safe.”

“Fine, let’s be honest for a second,” Negan's serious tone makes you look up at him again, “This here, what you are doing, that’s not being selfless or shit, that’s being stupid. Have they ever thanked you, acknowledged they only have food because of you?”

You cross your arms and look around the street. “Some…”

“Some,” He repeats with venom in his voice. “You’re the last person in this goddamn community who should deal with all this shit, yet you do the fucking most.”

It feels good to hear someone say that. Most of the time, it feels like the town takes you and your work for granted. But what’s the alternative, everyone starving, because you don’t feel like helping anymore? “It’s not like I have a choice.”

Negan looks at you with a lopsided grin, “And what if you had? Just sayin’, in The Sanctuary no one would ever dare to treat you like this.”

The what? Confused, you look up at him and open your mouth to ask what he’s talking about, but he continues, “Know what? Good thing we’re having this conversation, cause I’d like to propose something to you."

You look up at him, waiting for whatever he came up with now.

“I want you to work for me.”

You raise a brow in return, “Don’t I already?”

Negan’s grin splits wider, “As Alexandria's scout, sure, but I mean as a Savior.”

You blink at Negan a few times, your mouth agape and mind running wild. Unable to process what’s happening, you just stay silent, dumbfounded.

“These people might not notice your devotion but I sure as hell do.”

After another moment, you snap out of your shocked state. All you can do is to mumble, “Why?”

“Like I said, I like you. So much so that I offer you a way out of this sorry ass community, God knows you deserve a promotion for the fucking truck load of shit you gatherd for me.”

You can’t deny that you feel flattered. 

But you can’t bring yourself to take the offer. While Negan seems to be stable most of the time, you know his short temper and his men are not better in any way. You wanted to leave your group twice already and almost did once, but you just can’t leave them behind now. Not for them.

“I’m sorry, Negan, but I have to decline.” You tell him, nervous about how he’s gonna take your rejection.

“Too bad,” He sighs and you believe to catch disappointment flashing in his eyes. “I think the two of us would make a fucking awsome team.”

You smile slightly at him and when he meets your eyes, he does the same. “Think about it, sunshine, there is nothing for you to lose, only to gain.”

And with that he pushes himself from the table and makes his way towards the trucks at the gate. You look after him for a few moments, before turning back to your work.

Somehow you can't stop wondering whether he likes you as an asset, a minion. Or you as a person. It should be wrong to hope for it to be the latter, but you can’t help yourself. Negan can be charismatic if he wants to, something you actually like about him and that’s dangerous territory.

While interacting with him was creepy at first and to be fair, it still is kind of off putting most of the time, he actually does seem to care to some degree. He was definitely and genuinely pissed about your current situation. 

Maybe he isn’t as evil as we all think?

"Y/N, I could use a hand!" Michonne calls you, effectively pulling you away from your thoughts. Better not dwell on that, you think to yourself and get moving.

Negan walks over to his men to overlook this week's goods. Simon’s awaiting him with a knowing smile. “Got a soft spot for the crazy one, huh, boss?”

Negan narrows his eyes at him, “Another word and hang you on the fence by your dick.”

The boss didn’t expect you to actually say yes right away, he believes to able to predict you at least to some extent, but he wasn’t expecting such a quick no either.

But he is nothing if not determined and in the end Negan always gets what he wants.

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

Next Part / Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[im-in-vin-ci-ble]

Love Thy Neighbour, Ch. 2

A/N: finally got around to chapter 2!! sorry 4 the delay. also changing this to 2nd person lol

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Rating: E

Warnings: minor smut!! Mark’s still a bit of a perv. some swearing

Summary: Mark is now tasked to give his next door neighbour a tour of the city, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the hot summer day without acting on the tension between you two. 

As your family and the Graysons sat around their dining table, Mark tried his best not to make eye contact with you. You could, however, feel his eyes on you every now and again, but he would catch himself if he felt like he was being too obvious.  

There were a million things running through Mark’s head at the second, and thoughts were mostly disbelief that you, the girl he saw from across his window, were now sitting across him. He secretly revelled at the sight of your form in that tight top tank — a form he almost familiarized himself with yesterday. His eyes would then move up to your gorgeous face, noticing how you only offered small smiles during the conversation, or how you licked your lips when you were asked question.

“I’m still trying to get used to the weather,” you told Debbie and Nolan, who asked you if you were adjusting well. “I didn’t know it could get so hot in the city,” you added, subtly emphasizing on “hot” just to get a reaction from Mark who just could not sit still. 

During the conversation, the Graysons found out that your mom was a doctor and your dad was a nurse — an explanation as to why they were barely at home. Mark also excitingly found out that you’ll be attending the same school and the same grade in the fall, and that you haven’t had the chance to explore the city because your parents were so busy at the hospital. 

“Mark has some free days while he’s on break,” Nolan said, turning his attention to his son. “I’m sure you can show Y/N around, right?”

Snapping out of the trance you unintentionally put him in, Mark sat up and mumbled a soft “Huh?” in return. 

“I said you can show Y/N around the city on your free days this summer,” Nolan repeated.

“That sounds like a great offer, Mr. Grayson,” you began, “but I wouldn’t want to impose.” You looked over at Mark who was slowly turning red and added, “I don’t want to ruin your plans with your friends.”

“No plans!” he quickly replied in a high-pitched voice before clearing his throat. He continued, “I mean... I don’t really have... a lot of plans this summer. I can— I can definitely give you a tour.”

“There you go, honey, now you don’t have to wait around for us,” your dad said. “Thank you Mark, we really appreciate it.”

“For sure,” Mark responded. “I’m actually free tomorrow if... you are,” he told you.

You nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”

— — —

While Mark prepared for bed, he happened to look up at what was now his favorite window. He put on a clean white T-shirt and moved closer, waiting to see if you would make an appearance. As the curtains in your room swayed with the gust of wind from your fan, he looked on as you entered your room with the same terrycloth towel from yesterday afternoon. The routine was similar, except he found the courage to keep his eyes open the whole time. Mark watched the silhouette of your bare body walk to one end of the room then the other, before putting on a shirt and underwear and closing your closet. He stepped back as he saw you move closer to your open window, but he wasn’t prepared for what came next — you slightly drew your curtains open and looked straight at him, offering a wink as you shut your window, drew your curtains closed, and turned off your lights.

This sent the teenage boy into a panic of both excitement and anxiety as he thought of what could possibly happen tomorrow. Turning off his lights, he practically crawled over to his bed and laid there for 10 minutes, thinking of whether or not he should bring this up with you tomorrow. Every time he came up with ways to do so, though, his mind drifted off to the sight of your body and the suggestive wink you threw his way. He could feel the blood rush to his body, and even though he felt like it was wrong, he eventually caved in to his own desires. Mark reached over to his bedside table and pulled out a box of tissues and a bottle of lotion, removed his boxer shorts and pumped a handful of lotion on his dominant hand. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and began sloppily working his erection to the thought of you and the thought of what he wants to happen tomorrow. He squirmed as he imagined you under his blanket, his hand holding on to your hair as he guides you up and down. Mark lowly grumbled your name as he quickly finished on his stomach, but the anxiety of tomorrow entered his mind almost immediately.

“I’m so fucked,” he whispered to himself.

— — —

You woke up the next day bright and early, but not bright enough to say goodbye to your parents who had already left for the hospital. You comfortably stretched on your bed and took a look at the sunlight entering your room from one of the windows, determined to make this day interesting for you and Mark.

Once you were ready, you knocked on the Graysons’ front door and were immediately greeted by Mark. 

“Hey, hi!” he said excitedly as he closed and locked the door behind him. He let out an awkward chuckle and shoved his hands in his pocket, “You uh... ready?” 

“More than ever,” you assured him with a smile as you walked ahead of him and back to your house. 

Watching you walk him him to your house absolutely thrilled Mark. Shit, is this it? Are we really doing this? he said to himself. His confidence and teenage libido shot through the roof as you both walked along the paved ground that lead to your home, quietly hyping himself for what was about to come.

He stopped on his tracks and cleared his throat, garnering your attention. “Are we really doing this?” he asked you with a cheeky smile. 

You shot him a confused look, “I thought we agreed on this yesterday?”

“I know, I know, I just wanna double check,” he replied, gradually walking closer until he was mere inches away from you, “because we’re only gonna do this if you wanna do this.”

You bit your lower lip and closed the gap between your bodies that were baking in the summer heat. Looking straight into his eyes with sensual motive, you slowly moved your hand down to your shorts and watched as Mark’s eyes grew wide in anticipation. Finally, you fished out a set of keys from your pocket and handed them over to him.

“You drive.”

The exhilarated look on Mark’s face quickly dissipitated as you walked around him and over to the driver’s seat of the sedan parked outside the garage. His eyes, accented by the crossed brows, followed your trail that was now waiting for the car door to open.

“What?” he asked in bewilderment.

“You’re 17 too, so I can assume you drive?” you hit back, waiting for him to press the unlock button on the car key.

He shut his eyes tight and shook his head in an attempt to snap out of it yet again. “I can, yeah,” he answered, “sorry I thought—”

“Thought what?” you cut him off, your eyes playfully teasing him.

Mark let out a sigh of disappointment and shook his head again. “Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he said, making his way to the car and unlocking the doors for you.”

“Great,” you replied, opening the door of the passenger seat. “Let’s get this show on the road,” you said, throwing a wink his way before you entering the sedan.

A slight chuckle, which was almost mixed with a sigh of relief, escaped Mark’s lips as he momentarily stared the car. He nodded to himself and entered the car, but looked at you with a mischievous grin before starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway.  

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Hello Sorrow [Chapter Nineteen] No Hope [Karl Heisenberg]

Tag list: @courtenbae, @unlikelyllamanerd, @mylani3110, @imtherain, @wrr000, @frostbez

Someone was in excruciating pain. Their screams met Irina’s ears the moment she came to; it impacted her tremendously. So much so that she lay frozen in fear on an old feather-stuffed bed, listening to them. She was aware that she was locked in a damp and icy dungeon beneath the village, and that no one knew she was alive. But why? She didn’t understand the extent of the situation. What did Miranda want with her? Irina was no more than a human; an unfortunate woman who made the mistake of daring to hope for a better life. She wasn’t at all special, not like Miranda or her motley crew of monsters. No, she had no advantage in this dreary little village. So perhaps her fate from the start was set in stone; she was meant to be a test subject; one of those hair-covered Lycans with a taste for tearing apart everything it came into contact with, like her roommate, the poor being screaming its voice out.

I’m going to die here.

Warm tears stung her eyes. Irina tried to ignore the thoughts in her head; the static in her ears, and go back to sleep, but her effort was unsuccessful. She had enough. Covering her ears, she let out a horrified scream. Her heart pounded in her chest as a surge of adrenaline coursed through her.

Irina felt better, but her situation was still the same; bleak and hopeless. At least it was quiet now. She sat for what felt like hours in a sad heap on the bed before she heard a noise; the soft patter of footsteps outside her cell.

“At last, she awakens,” someone hummed.

Irina recognized the voice. She watched with a heated look as Miranda stood in front of the barred door. The lamp behind the said woman cast an eerie shadow over Irina. It was almost biblical, if not for the fact Miranda was anything but a prophet – a bitch most of all.

“Kill me already,” Irina uttered.

She was tired of trying.

Miranda hummed.

“Perhaps, but not just yet.”

She unbolted the door, much to Irina’s surprise, and motioned for her to come out. Irina was hesitant, but stood and walked out of the cell. She was curious about what the goddess wanted from her. As she neared one of the tables, Miranda took a scalpel and cut her. Irina hissed in pain, recoiling away from her.

“Give me your arm,” Miranda ordered.

Irina offered it to her and watched as she took a sample, dropping her blood onto a slide beneath the lens of a microscope. As Miranda checked the sample, Irina looked around the room for a second time. She didn’t see the second cell or the person she heard screaming as she woke, but she knew someone was there. Or had she imagined it?

“How unfortunate for you,” Miranda said with a hum.

Irina eased a brow in question.

“It seems that you have become infected,” she uttered.

Infected by what? Irina was confused.

“Don’t look too baffled, child. You had sex with Heisenberg, did you not?” She asked.

Irina’s face heated up. How did she know?

“I reckon there’s no reason to lie about it,” she answered back.

“The Cadou I engineered were exposed to the Mold, then implanted into live subjects; the Lords were the only ones to survive, and you had sexual relations with one of them. In terms, you have the Mold in you now,” Miranda explained.

What in the hell does that mean?

“What does that mean for me?” Irina asked.

Was she going to die?

“I think you know,” Miranda answered with a grin.

Tears burned her eyes. She knew it; she was fated to die.

“Is there a cure?”

Why was she still grasping for straws? There was no hope for Irina.

Miranda hummed.

“Perhaps, but there are tests I’d have to run. I have to determine how far the Mold has spread and how much of your mind it has control over.”

It made sense now; the voices Irina heard and the quick healing. Heisenberg infected her.

“I hear screaming; a child. He sounds in pain and outraged,” Irina informed her.

Miranda hummed.

“The fungal root you saw yesterday can store the consciousness of those it consumes via DNA, so some of Heisenberg’s awareness may be inside of you. How entertaining; the idea. Though it means you are only steps away from becoming one with it.”

Irina felt weak. She wanted to lie down, but she had to know what more Miranda had in store for her. What did she want? This was already too much to manage.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

Miranda grinned, tossing Irina her mask and cloak. She chose not to wait on her, motioning for the other woman to follow before she walked towards the door. Irina complied, having nothing more to do besides feel bad for herself in her cell. Miranda led her from the cave – passed the pulsing root that reminded Irina too much of an infant – back to the lift, then to the surface. Irina shivered as the cool afternoon air touched her heated skin. It felt so nice to be outside again.

Before her eyes, she watched Miranda take the appearance of the Hag, then trailed close behind her as the aged woman led her from the altar, and into the village from which Irina used to live. The said woman kept her eyes averted as she passed through the area, avoiding the curious eyes of the residence as they watched them trudge through the mud-caked streets towards the castle gate, an enormous doorway with an angel and a demon etched into it.

Why was Miranda taking her towards the castle?

As they walked through a hallway filled with wooden vats and wicker baskets overflowing with wheat, Irina made note of a door she had not seen before. Her time at the castle with the Duke was short, but she had never seen the way to or from due to being in the wagon the entire time. Even so, Irina doubted that the Duke took this direction. She pondered over what strange secrets he kept from her; about the village. She put the thought in the back of her mind and turned her focus on the direction she was being led in.

The castle loomed over Irina as Miranda brought her to its massive doors. She opened them without a knock and led her into the entrance hall, passed the room she and the Duke often occupied, and into the foyer. Maids ran around cleaning the marble floor and dusting the furniture. One, in particular, came up to them; a nasty cut across her face concerned Irina, but she seemed not to care as she smiled at them.

“Lady Dimitrescu extends her hospitality to you both. She is in her room, and asked for me to escort the elder to her,” she spoke.

Her eyes turned to Irina.

“Please wait here. You will be attended to.”

Irina sat on a plush love seat in front of the fireplace as Miranda followed the maid up the stairs and out of her sight. Irina took a deep uneven breath and tightened her shaking hands into a fist; she was terrified. What was she doing here? Was she right to be concerned about dying? Miranda gave her no hint as to what she wanted from her. But perhaps it meant she could keep her head for a bit longer. Or so she hoped.

It felt like hours to Irina as she waited, staring into the flames of the open hearth. Her mind was void of thought, so much so that she barely heard the voice of a maid calling out to her. Irina turned her eyes towards the woman and noticed a tray in her hand. On it was a tea set; the porcelain was decorated in floral print.

“Perhaps some tea to warm you, Cornută.”

Irina puckered a brow. How did the maid come to know that name?

“You’ve heard of me?” She asked.

The maid nodded.

“Everyone in the village knows of you. Some say you are a protector; a warder of evil,” she answered back.

What lie was this?

Before Irina could ask, the maid shoved the tray at her.

“Please drink it,” she begged.

In a hurry she rushed off, leaving Irina alone. The said woman stared in confusion, then looked down at the tray. Beneath the teacup was a scrap of paper. Reading it, Irina widened her eyes.

Help us, it read.

What was going on here? Irina was so confused.

“Do you find yourself entertained by something?” a voice asked.

Lady Dimitrescu.

Irina crunched the note into her hand and hummed. The woman in question walked from the stairs over to her in a few quick strides. Mother Miranda was not with her.

“Just by the castle, my lady. It’s gorgeous.”

Dimitrescu hummed.

“It’s a breath of fresh air compared to that cesspit of a factory you occupied your time in,” she sneered.

Irina agreed to sate her.

“It certainly is.”

“Consider yourself lucky then, because Mother Miranda has put you in my care from this point on,” Dimitrescu mentioned.

She did what? Her eyes widened in fear, an action that didn’t go unnoticed.

“What she has in store for you is beyond me, but she tasked me with making sure you are looked after as you perform your new duties,” she explained.

“And those duties are?”

This was news to Irina.

“You are an errand runner for the Lords; the four of us. But that will be explained on a later day. For now, you need a bath. Heisenberg’s stink is all over you,” Lady Dimitrescu said with a grin.

She reached down and clutched Irina’s hand, making her gasp and drop the note on her lap.

“And despite what Mother Miranda told me to do, if you disobey me, I will tear you apart. There will be no pests in my castle.”

She snatched the note from Irina and stormed away; her footsteps receded down the hall towards the entrance hall as Irina sat and listened. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

What in the hell was happening? She was to run errands for the Lords. What did that mean?

There truly is no hope for me.  

[edie-baby]

Les Fleurs du Mal Chapter 2 | Pierre Gasly

Summary: Sava Dvorakova had big dreams for Formula One. An opportunity of a lifetime comes around, so she takes it and runs. She proved just about everyone wrong, and is awarded a very controversial seat on the F1 grid. There’s smiles and grins, hugs and kisses, love and laughter. There’s tears and sobs, fights and break ups. There’s evil where you least expect it, hidden in the garden of eden. The Flowers of Evil.

Warnings: a lot of swearing, shitty parents (they’re a recurring theme), sexism, i ignored a lot of actual f1 rules because i couldn’t be bothered writing it into the story tbh, yuki is fcking adorable, a lot of smut eventually, like a lot.

Sava woke up on Friday with no intention of getting out of bed before noon. And then realised that she wasn’t in her bed, it was a hotel room. The memories and realities of her current situation made her head spin, and with a shit eating grin on her face, she jumped out of bed and into the shower. Feeling as though she should stay on brand, Sava pulled on a white pleated skirt and tucked the oversized Carlin shirt into the waistband. She braided her hair while it was still a little wet, knowing it would be easier than the kerfuffle she had yesterday trying to walk, carry a helmet, and braid at the same time. Combat boots, a phone, and paddock pass later and Sava was leaving the hotel room to meet Amelia in the cafeteria-like space on the ground floor to have breakfast and chat about the agenda for the day before they headed to the track.

Unbeknownst to Sava, a number of the F1 drivers were staying at the same hotel, and when she stepped into the room, eyes focused on finding other Carlin shirts, many heads turned her way. Obviously, news about a girl in a Carlin race suit with pink hair had spread into the formula one paddock quite quickly. Sava gave up on trying to find her assistant when she had no luck, preferring to make her way to the coffee bench to make herself a very sweet black coffee over ice. While the coffee began brewing, she turned her back to the bench, taking another look out over the crowds of people at tables to try and find her friends again, only to see that 75% of the room was already looking at her, and those that weren’t were whispering to the people that were. The poor girl looked like a deer in the headlights, and apparently one man couldn’t see her like that, as he stood from his table and walked toward her. He was still metres away and Sava was already having to strain her neck to look up at him.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bombard you like this while you’re already quite overwhelmed. But I can tell you’re a bit lost. Would you like to come and sit with me until you find your team?” The man asked, his accent was distinctly French, and Sava kicked herself for not instantly recognising the man as Esteban Ocon.

“Oh my, yes please! This is my first time outside of karting, let alone in the actual F2 paddock, so I’m so lost and don’t know anyone.” Sava giggled, finishing up making her super sweet coffee and following Esteban’s stride toward a table of black and yellow clad people, along with the unmistakable grin of Daniel Ricciardo.

“I’m Esteban, by the way. I think I heard your name was Dvarokova?” The Frenchman questioned after a few beats of silence, realising that the 5’1 woman couldn’t walk as quickly as he.

“Ah, Dvorakova. Don’t worry about messing up the pronunciation, I misspell it sometimes. My name is Sava, but pretty much everyone calls me Bunny.” Sava replied with a giggle at the butchering of her surname. She couldn’t blame anyone, it was a hard enough name to most Eastern Europeans, she couldn’t even imagine how some of the nationalities in the paddock would pronounce it.

“Bunny. That’s quite cute.” Esteban mused, and they finally reached the rowdy table of Renault employees.

“Guys, this is Bunny. She’s going to sit with us cause she’s new and can’t find anyone from Carlin.” Esteban introduced, and a round of wolf whistles sounded as she threw up a peace sign, then took the seat next to Esteban, across from Daniel.

“Hi, I’m Danny. You’re such a little cutie.” Daniel introduced, leaning his arm over to poke at Sava’s cheeks that immediately heated up in a flaming blush. Another round of oohs and ahs went through the table and Sava giggled again.

“Pipe down, I’m only 17.” In immediate reaction to her statement, Daniel threw his hands up in surrender, his eyes connecting with a few guys nearby who all laughed at his expression.

“Way to make a man feel like a pedo.” Daniel mumbled, and more chuckles reverberated around the group who heard. The team all spoke to Sava with interest and respect, something she didn’t expect she would be getting before she had even gotten into a car. After about fifteen minutes, she spotted Yuki walking through the door with Amelia, and excused herself quickly, exchanging fist bumps with everyone she passed along the Renault table. When she got to the end, she met Yuki and Amelia with surprised looks on their faces before the three found a small table by the window to finally sit down and eat.

“How ready are you Bunny?” Yuki asked later on that morning while the two pulled their race suits up and made final preparations. Sava looked over at him nervously as she tucked her pink braids into the suit.

“Considering I’ve only ever driven a go-kart or a Hyundai I-20, I’m shitting myself. But I’m confident enough in my karting ability to do well-enough here. How about you? Amelia told me you have a seat at Alpha Tauri next season, are you still nervous about these races or are you a cool guy about it?” Sava hit back, smiling at her first friend in serious motorsport, who she could tell she would miss if she made it into F2 next year like Dr Marko had suggested.

“I still want to do well so that they don’t think they’ve made a mistake. But I’m not as nervous as I was when I didn’t know if I’d have a seat.” The Japanese man replied, and pulled on his balaclava, Sava following shortly after. They made eye contact, their mouths obscured by the fabric, and burst out laughing. Amelia guided Sava away so that she could get her helmet on and have one final chat with the engineer she would be hearing in her ears for the weekend. Yuki ran over just before Sava jumped in the car and slapped the top of her helmet, just like her uncle Sebastian had done before every race and she smiled the biggest she probably ever has. With a quick hug to Yuki and another scolding glance from Amelia, Sava climbed into her car for her first ever free practice in a single seater.

“Radio check.” Sava spoke, her voice wobbling slightly as she felt the rumble of the car beneath her.

“Confirm, Bunny. Hop to it.” Her engineer, Marcus, stated with amusement in his voice. Sava audibly laughed as she stepped on the accelerator, rolling out of the garage when she got the signal. Driving through the pitlane was surreal, and Sava knew she’d be feeling that a lot throughout the weekend. She ran two warm-up laps, getting acquainted with the car and testing the responsiveness of the brakes and the throttle. Once her tyres were at the right temperature, she got a radio message to give it hell, and so she did.

It was complete radio silence in the Carlin garage as everyone, including Yuki, sat and watched the rookie on her first hot-lap. She got a purple first sector, green second sector, and purple third sector, putting herself at the very top of the timing tower. While the practice session had only been active for around eight minutes, she had already beat two other drivers who had put in preliminary hot laps. Marcus relayed the time to Sava, and when she asked for the fastest time out of a qualifying session from the year prior, she groaned in frustration.

“Can I run a few more out laps and get comfortable with the responsiveness? I know I can do better.” Sava pleaded, and Marcus quickly agreed. If she thought she could get a better time than the one she had already given them, then hell they’d let her run all day. After four out-laps, she was brought in for a quick refuel and to look over the data of her hot-lap in comparison to Yuki’s. He was braking later, but Sava was getting better acceleration out of the corners. She knew now just how good the brakes were and considering she was known throughout the European karting scene for braking extremely late, she knew she could get better times, and maybe knock a few tenths off her entire lap. By the time she was finished looking at the data, everyone on the grid had put in multiple flying laps, and she was confident that whatever she pulled out now would be a decent comparison of her speed to the rest of the grid. With two more out-laps to get her tyres and brakes at the perfect temperature, she was off again.

Purple first sector, purple second sector, purple third sector.

As her name flew up the timing table, the Carlin garage waited with baited breath, to finally see Sava Dvorakova land at P1, four tenths quicker than the next fastest, Juri Vips.

“No fucking way.” Amelia mumbled, her eyes trained on the initials of the girl she had been following around for the past two days. Similar reactions were happening over in the Renault garage, many of the team who spoke with the girl earlier that morning tuned in to catch the first performance.

Qualifying later that day followed a very similar pattern. Finishing P2 behind Juri Vips, their times separated by one one-thousandth of a second. The real test was to see if the Czech could keep up the pace in their sprint and feature races over the next two days.

Those boys had hell to pay, and sure as shit, Sava was gonna come collect.

[phoenixblack89]

Fera Ingris

Chapter 1 - Dealing with Dixons

It's finally here people! Eekkk! It'll be up on A03 later when I turned my laptop on. Been teasing this for soooo long.

My wonderful tag list:

@lilythemadqueen @boondoctorwho @darylsgirl @autocon23 @browneyes528 @fandomsaremykryponite @writingdeadangel

"Yer take care of yourself lass, don't worry about us."

Phoenix sighed at the man on the other end of the phone, twisting the silver rosary he had given her for her birthday many years ago. The world had changed dramatically for them all since that day. Their history bloody and violent and God sent. 

"Are ye listening lass?" 

"Of course, I'm listening! It's you who isn't! I'm on the way to Atlanta now!  As in I'm already in Georgia! I can't let you three rot in there when we've got things to do!" 

"Lass, we can take care of ourselves. Connor wants to know if ye got our package?" He asked, she stifled a laugh at the noise of the pair fighting over the phone she could hear. 

"Yea I got it. Haven't opened it yet though" she replied, the bike's engine growing colder under her. "What's in it? You guys shouldn't be sending anything. You're lucky Duffy and Dolly got it t' me before I left Boston."

"I know lass but ye need t' keep those safe fer us." She smiled hearing her other friend's voice, clearly having won the battle for the phone. "Look things are getting bad here. You're safe now but things are gettin' weird, we'd never forgive ourselves if anything happened to ye. I love ye too much" 

"I love ya too, you idiot! I'm gonna get you all out. We have a mission! I've got a bag full of your stuff right here on my bike, your clothes, coats, guns." 

"Aye. What?! No? Yea. Let me say goodbye a' least?" Phoenix knitted her eyebrows, hearing the man talking to someone else. A prison guard maybe. "Lass we have t' go. I'll call ye back when things settle aye?" 

"Yea. Just tell me where you are at least?" 

"Sorry lass I got to -" 

The line suddenly died on her and she frowned, shaking the phone and seeing no signal. She ran her hand through her short dark red hair and started the bike up, speeding quickly towards Atlanta and her boys. 

                                                      **********

The sun shined through the thin, flimsy material of the tent, shining directly down into the sleeping pairs eyes. The short, spiky, dyed haired young woman groaned and threw her arm over her face. She sat slowly and yawned. She'd had that dream for weeks, wondering what had happened to her friends. 

Had the prison been overrun by the monsters that lurked in every corner? Were they dead? Or worse... Had they become one of those things? 

She'd slept after her watch shift, which surprised the girl as she had been having a bad bout of insomnia for the last two weeks. Ever since... 

No, she thought don't think about it. 

She glanced at the young boy laid next to her and smiled. When Carl asked if he could sleep in her tent with her the night before she had been hesitant (mainly because Lori rarely let him out her sight) but Lori had said it was okay and she was not going to fight against the long-haired beauty. 

Lori had also said it would be good for her, get her to trust others again. And honestly the boy reminded her so much of her old friend with his boundless energy and smiles. 

A gentle tap to the roof of her tent set her senses on guard. She grabbed her long calf length boots and her Bowie knife and slowly pulled the zipper up. A sigh released from her throat as she squinted up at the crossbow welding man in front of her. 

"We goin' hunting or what?" He snarled at her, obviously still mad at the woman from their disagreement yesterday. It wasn't her fault. He had spooked her... 

Merle approached the dark red haired girl sat by the quarry lake silently. Something was up with her and he was determined to find out what. The sight in front of him worried him slightly, she was nervous and kept flicking her head around. Had she been bit? He was thankful the darkness of the twilight hid him somewhat as he watched. She hissed as she pulled the bloody bandage off her left hand, flexing it and hissing through her teeth. The soft sound of something hitting the surface of the water, made his heart thump. It wasn't raining so why did it sound like it was? 

He came right behind her and watched as she rubbed at the wound, it oozed blood and yellowish white pus as she gritted her teeth. Infection was setting in. Daryl called out his name from camp and the girl spun and noticed him there. 

"Ya shouldn't be down 'ere by herself girlie." He whispered, kneeling and gently taking her hand, examining the injury intently. "Now wha' we gonna do abou' yer hand? Yer can't take what I offered yer."

"Burn it again. Only thing we can do. Not like we can wander to nearest pharmacy, throw my hand on the counter and say fix it, is it?" She hissed as he prodded a sensitive spot, Merle chuckled slightly and helped her to her feet. 

"Nah but China is headed t' the city tomorrow. I'ma go too. I know my meds and I'll get yer what yer need t' be right as rain again, Lil sis." He said with a smirk as they climbed back up the slope to the camp. Daryl and Shane spun round at their footsteps and Merle smirked. Officer ass-hat was on one about something. 

"Phoenix! Where have you been?! We told you to stay in camp until you could fight!" Shane whisper-yelled in her face. 

"Easy there officer. Girl just needed a second by 'erself... Gets a bit loud round here." Merle defended her, placing himself between the well musculared man and the girl who seemed to shrink into herself. "She's fine. I was a watchin' her." 

"I bet you were Dixon." Lori said under her breath. Phoenix glanced at the woman with eyes narrowed. The majority of the camp thought the Dixons were rude, brash and shouldn't be there. Only Phoenix, Glenn, Andrea and Shane knew of the incident that had cemented the brothers in the camp's good graces, well in their good graces. 

Phoenix sat down at the small fire infront of her tent and sighed, her ears picking up on raised voices coming from the Dixon tent. It sounded like Daryl was majorly pissed about something and Merle was defending himself.

Isn't any of your business she thought ignore them.

She gazed deep into the fire, the heat warming her frozen limbs nicely. She hated the cold, not that it was cold but she felt like she was sat on a box of ice in just her underwear. She had experienced working in much colder situations, hell the Irish rain was colder than this. The sweat on her brow made her eyes ache and she closed them, leaning her head back.

"Ahh!" She shrieked, jumping up and thrusting her knife backwards towards whatever had grabbed her shoulder. A deep grunt sounded and her hand was twisted, causing her to release her grip of the blade's handle. 

"Ain't no need t' try t' gut me girl." Daryl growled, his gruff voice instantly calming the nervous woman. She sighed and held her hand out, Daryl raised his chin and regarded whether to return her knife or not for a moment. He relented at her raised eyebrow and dropped it into her left hand. She hissed in pain and clutched at her wrist. Quicker than she could pull away, he'd wrapped his hand around her wrist yanking her closer and pulling the bandage off her injury. He could see how raised and angry it look, grimacing slightly as it oozed at his poking. Tears of pain welled in her eyes as she grit her teeth, he grumbled under his breath and glanced over his shoulder at his older brother. Merle nodded and raised the half empty bottle of whiskey in a salute. "This why Merle is leavin' right?"

"Yea, told him he didn't have to." She whispered as he released her arm, her skin tingled at the lose of contact. Daryl ran his hand over his neck and bit his lip. 

"Ye need meds. Ain't happy a' him, riskin' his neck fer someone like ya." He groaned under his breath. Her mood soured and she shoved him away. He stumbled for a second and threw her a glare. "What the hell is ya problem girl?"

"Someone like me Dixon? Huh? What exactly do you mean by that?!" She folded her arms across her chest. Daryl's eyes flickered downwards for a second to how her arms pushed her breasts higher and more together. 

God she's gorgeous when she's mad he thought, his cock twitching in his jeans. He ducked his head and scoffed.

"Ya know what I mean, can't even hunt without hurtin' yaself." 

"Go away Dixon." She turned on her heel and stormed off up the bank, and climbing up the RV ladder to take watch. Daryl sighed and slopped off back to his brother, who was laughing, finding the whole scene hilarious.

                                                    **********

Phoenix nodded up at the hunter and pulled on her boots and grabbed her bow. She followed Daryl over to his tent where his brother was preparing to go into the city. Merle gave her a once over as she approached, his eyes narrowed at the bow across her back and the stains on the bandage around her left hand.

"Mornin' Firebug." He drawled as the pair stopped. She nodded and heaved her backpack tighter to her shoulder beside her quiver of arrows. "Y'all gonna be alright t' hunt wit' tha' hand?" He questioned, giving his brother a glance. Daryl gave Merle a hooded lidded look and nodded his head up. "Don't wanna waste my time if ya gonna drop down dead on poor Darlena 'ere."

The girl smirked and shoved the older man's shoulder playfully before flipping him off, striding towards the treeline.

"You watch 'er baby brother. She's one of us now."

"Hmm" Daryl said, glancing at the girl as she waited just under the cover of the trees for him. Merle gave a low chuckle and Daryl glared at him. "Stop."

"Come on baby brother, don't be like that." Merle stood and patted him on the shoulder. "Ya been pining after 'er for weeks now. Just give her some of the ol' Dixon charm. If ya even have any!" He barked out a laugh as his brother scoffed and walked away, joining the girl and disappearing into the woods.

                                                    **********

A low whistle drew her attention and she glanced in the direction of it. Daryl raised his hand and pointed off towards the copse of trees in front of him. Keeping her body low to the ground and her steps feather light she approached him. Her eyes darting out at the small herd of deer in front of them, they'd finally found them after two days in the woods. She raised her hand and pointed to the smaller of the two bucks. Daryl nodded and gestured he was going to try and get around them so if they darted he could take a shot. She nodded and crouched lower, using the shrubs to hide her. Daryl wandered away silently as she waited for his signal. 

A loud shriek pierced the air and the deer scattered. Daryl swore and took off after the smaller buck, Phoenix following him at a distance. 

                                                    **********

They stopped by a small creak, Phoenix dipping her hand into it and running it over the back of her neck. She felt like she was on fire, yet icy cold at the same time. The infection in her hand had well and truly set in, she needed to be careful or she'd drop and not get back up.

"We go a littl' further then stop fer the night." Daryl mummered beside her, wiping his soaked red rag over the back of his neck and down his face. She nodded, eyes staring off into the stream. He watched her carefully, the way her hair at the back of her neck was slightly curly, the way her ears twitched as if she was a rabbit or a deer hearing a predator. He found her beautiful and mysterious. A riddle he wanted to solve. He couldn't help his attraction to her physique either, the woman was beautiful. Not perhaps every man's wet dream but he found her incredibly sexy. 

He admired how she wore gothic, all black, metal studded and chained clothes despite the heat, her short dyed dark red hair, the regrowth hinting at sandy blond, spiked with sweat these days that cried out to be tugged as she was kissed, the slight thicker set of her thighs, buttocks and stomach, he much preferred a girl with a bit of weight than the skinny, almost starved look some of the women up at camp had; the ink he could spy under her clothes was calling out for him to discover exactly how many tattoos she had and why she'd chosen them. He had seen a glimpse of the tattoos on her by accident when he'd stumbled upon her at the lake having a quick swim and also when he'd found her in the woods. She kept herself well covered normally, she said she got sunburn easily. He could spy an interesting shaped scar across her collar bone when she wore lower cut shirts, not that she did very much now. 

Not since he'd saved her in the woods a week or so ago. 

He loved how well they worked as hunters together. She knew enough to track decently and was surprisingly quiet on her feet, despite the heavy metal covered, thick platform soled boots she chose to wear. They're only issue seemed to be that they butted heads constantly when not hunting, both taking verbal swipes at each other whenever they tried to have a conversation, sometimes she'd slap him on the arm; Merle finding it hilarious and entertaining to join in. Damn Merle, was his fault she got hurt in the first place. If he hadn't egged her on about her lack of hunting abilities, she wouldn't have been out in the woods by herself in the first place. 

He sighed quietly as she raised to her feet and moved away, eyes scanning the forest floor for the deer's tracks, finding them and leading the way.

                                                    **********

Daryl grunted as he lowered himself down beside the girl, who was turning a stick through the weak fire in front of her. The night was silent except for the light wind. He silently settled down against the log and took out of one of the squirrel for the pair to eat. Daryl made quick work of gutting and skinning the small rodent and shoved it on a stick to slowly roast over the flames. The girl's eyes drifting upwards towards the stars. She looked so peaceful that he didn't want to disturb her. 

"We gotta head back in the morning if we don't find the deer." She nodded and pulled her arms around her own shoulders, shivering slightly. "Come 'ere." He said, holding his arms open for her to settle beside him. Daryl usually hated touching others and being touched was a rarity for him but he'd made the exception for her while they hunted. It was simply for survival he told himself. If she got too cold she'd get sick and then the group wouldn't have a hunter when he and Merle left. And he'd feel that guilt all his life, the kids needed fresh meat so he was doing something for the group. Nothing to do with his stupid little crush. Nope, he was doing it for the group. She shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. Her head found his chest and she sighed, feeling the heat from Daryl seep into her cold bones. Daryl frowned, she felt hot yet she was shivering like crazy. 

That damn hand. 

He pulled her closer and ran his hand cautiously up and down her arm. She flinched at first then relaxed into his embrace. 

"Ya alright?" 

"Yea. Just cold." She whispered, her warm breath causing goose bumps across Daryl's chest. She blinked slowly, feeling sleep call her. The smell of Daryl's warm body lulling her, she had missed falling asleep in a man's arms. It was familiar and comforting. She felt safe, warm and protected despite the dead walking. 

                                                    **********

The sharp whistle drew her attention to the left. She nocked her arrow and let it fly, hitting the deer in the hind leg causing it to run. The two hunters had caught up to the deer earlier and were driving it towards camp. Daryl was in the rear urging it forward, while she made it turn in the right direction when it veered too far to the left. 

She spotted the steep banks that marked the outer edges of the quarry and smiled. 

Almost home.

Taking another shot to steer the deer towards the lower bank she smiled. The group would eat well tonight. She stumbled and shot at the hind leg again. The deer in one last desperate burst of energy slipped out of her sight but it was very close to camp. Wouldn't take long for them to catch up.

                                                          **********

Phoenix paused and braced her arms on her knees, Daryl whistled in question, asking if she was alright as he walked by her. She held up a hand in reply. He grumbled and walked away. She could hear yells and the sounds of stomping as she neared the rocks that hid camp. 

Daryl was knelt on the ground and looking over the deer. 

"Think we could cut around the chewed up part?" He said looking up at Dale and the others. Phoenix's eyes narrowed as she spotted a new face amongst the men. The group of men didn't seem to notice her as she joined Daryl at his side, subconsciously seeking his protection from the stranger. Fear made her heart pound loudly in her ears as Daryl stood. 

"I wouldn't risk that" Shane said quietly, Daryl sighed dejectedly frustrated he hadn't been able to feed the group more. 

"That's a damn shame. We got us some squirrels... About a dozen or so. That'll have to do."

"Oh my god!" Amy gasped as the head of the walker suddenly began to gnash its teeth. 

"Come on people! What the hell?!" Daryl exclaims as he releases a bolt through its undead head. "It's gotta be the brain! Don't y'all know nothin'?!" 

Phoenix smirked, shouldering her bow as she followed Daryl back into camp. She gave a glance over her shoulder at the group behind her, noticing the exchange of looks between them. 

"MERLE! MERLE! Get ya ugly ass out here! Got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up!" Daryl calls out, Phoenix swivelling her head to see where the elder Dixon was.

"Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you." Shane called, his hands on his hips as the group avoids Daryl and Phoenix's eyes. 

"About what?" Daryl queries, pausing his march around the camp. Phoenix, instinctively, taking Daryl's back with a bad feeling in her gut. 

"DD... Hear him out." She whispers as Daryl narrows his eyes in suspicion. Daryl glances at her briefly before turning back to Shane. 

"About Merle... There was a... There was a problem in Atlanta." The former officer sighs, his hand reaching out as if to pacify the man. Phoenix grits her teeth and reaches for the gun hidden behind her shirt slowly, sensing this was not going to end well. 

"He dead? "

"We're not sure..."

OH shitttt Phoenix thought, slipping the brace of squirrels and her bow off her shoulder. 

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl stated, his voice raising in anger as his face grew more dark. 

"No easy way to say this so I'll just say it." The newcomer said quietly, stepping into the discussion. 

"Who are you?!" Daryl asked, confused slightly as to what this stranger had to do with his brother's disappearance. 

"Rick Grimes." 

"Rick Grimes?!" Daryl spat aggressively, his face a mask to the hurt and anger underneath. "You got summit ya want t' tell me?" 

"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I... I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal... He's still there." 

"What the fuck!?" Phoenix snarled as her eyes narrowed at the newcomer. Her stance widening, readying herself for a fight. Daryl began pacing, his eyes meeting hers, she gave a barely there nod in agreement with him. 

"Hold on... Let me process this. You're sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there!?" Daryl growled as he paced, the woman edging towards Shane, out of Daryl's path to Rick. 

"Yeah." 

Daryl growls loudly as he throws his rope of squirrels at Rick, who dodges them easily. 

"Hey! Watch the knife!" T-Dog yells as Daryl pulls his knife. Shane dodges Phoenix and gets behind Daryl, quickly putting him into a chokehold. Phoenix steps up behind Shane, her own knife slipping into her grip, her gun giving a low click as she removed the safety and pointed it at the curls of Shane's hair. 

"Okay... Okay..." Shane whispers, lowering Daryl and himself to the ground. 

"You'd best let me go!" Daryl gasped, struggling to free himself. 

"Do as he says!" Phoenix snarls, her Beretta a mere breath away from Shane's skull. 

"Chokehold's illegal!" Daryl grunts, thrashing his legs. Phoenix lowers her gun to Shane's shoulder, ready to pull the trigger if needed. 

"You can file a complaint!" Shane laughs weakly. "Come on man. We'll keep this up all day."

"Like shite we will. I'll shoot ya first mate!" The red head growled as Rick kneels in front of Daryl and Shane, his head tilting to the side. 

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that? Do you think we can manage that?" 

Daryl grunts, ceasing to struggle, slapping his hand out to the side of him; silently signalling to the woman to stand down as Shane hums in question. 

"Mmm...Yeah." Daryl replies. 

Shane releases him quickly and steps away as the younger man raises himself to his feet. Shane's eyebrows raised as Phoenix pulls herself to her full height, him and Rick giving her a worried glance. She smirks and makes a show of putting her knife and gun back into their places. Rick turns to Daryl and rubs the back of his neck slowly. 

"What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work or play well with others."

"It’s not Rick's fault!" T-Dog interrupted, the large man stepping closer. "I had the key... I dropped it!"

Phoenix scoffed, glaring at the man. 

"Ya couldn't pick it up?!" Daryl questioned, his anger disappearing and being replaced by worry and anxiety. 

"Well, I dropped it in a drain."

"If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it don't." Daryl snapped as he shook his head, pacing in a small circle. Phoenix joining him at his side and glaring daggers at T-Dog. 

"Maybe this will... Look, I chained the door to the roof... So geeks couldn't get at him... With a big ass chain and padlock. Its got to count for something!"

"Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is... So that I can go get him." Daryl choked out, his voice cracking with tears as Phoenix gently placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"So we can go get him." She declared, daring anyone to argue with her. Daryl gave her a tiny up nod at her and squeezed her hand on his shoulder lightly. 

"He'll show you. Isn't that right?" Lori spoke up from the door of the RV, she looked to Rick quietly awaiting his reply. 

"I'm going back." He stated quietly. Lori sighed and walked into the RV. 

                                                   *********

Phoenix pulled on her long studded leather jacket and secured her axe into the specialised holster on her back. Daryl stood beside her silently, chewing his lip. The Brit have a slight wobble as she got lighter headed and Daryl's mind came to only one solution to a major issue between the pair.  

"Hey." 

"Hey DD. You ready to go get Merle?" She asked, bending to tie her boot laces.  "Yea... Ya not comin' though."  

"What!? You can't be serious DD! You need me with you so those picks don't leave you there as well!" She snapped back as he turned to walk away. 

"Daryl!" 

"Nah. Ya hurt. Too many geeks in the city fer ya axe. Stay here. Keep safe." He argued back, she growled in her throat and pushed by him. His hand wrapped around her arm in a bruising grip.  

"Dixon..."  

"Listen... Stay here. I don't... Just... Fuck." He hissed. "Merle will be pissed. Real pissed." 

"He'll of been baked in the sun ya mean! He is gonna be stir fried from the heat! He's gonna need someone to calm him down. He ain't gonna hurt me DD... He wouldn't hurt me." She sighed, her head beginning to throb. "I have to Daryl. I owe him one!"  

"Nah ya don't!" 

"Yes I fucking do!"  

"No. Ya stayin' here!" 

 "I'm going!" She yelled, hands on her hips.  

"No!" 

"Yes!" 

"NO! And that's final!"  

The pair continued to argue for several more minutes until Shane interrupted them, the pair literally chest to chest and needing to be pulled apart before fists began to fly. Phoenix huffed and stormed away into the woods as the man agreed with Daryl. Daryl glared after the fiery woman before stomping off to the truck, missing her turning back towards the camp and leaning against a tree with her arm crossed against her chest.    

Phoenix glanced at the truck Daryl stood in. She wanted to wish them luck but knew Daryl was still angry with her. He looked in her direction and nodded his head, a small smile gracing the corner of his mouth. She sighed and walked towards him, he knelt down at the open shutter and tilted his head towards her.  "Keep safe in the city DD." She whispered, gazing upwards into the man's sky blue eyes. He nodded and chewed his thumb. "Bring Merle back. Wouldn't be the same round here without that dickhead." 

"Yea. Be quieter fer sure." He chuckled, smiling fondly at the girl. Phoenix reached up and pulled at Daryl, forcing him to brace himself against the ledge as she hugged him with one arm against her chest. Daryl slowly relaxed enough to enjoy her closeness and leaned his head on top of hers.  

"Please come back." She whispered into his ear as he pulled back slightly, his eyes flitting around camp to make sure no one was witnessing the exchange.  He nodded lightly into her neck, his arm coming to loosely hold her waist. He breathed in her soothing subtle scent and closed his eyes to help him memorise thee moment, just in case. He cleared his throat and pulled away, feeling a certain part of his anatomy starting to stir. She smiled weakly at him with teary eyes and walked away.  

"Hey!"  

Phoenix turned slightly, the breeze making her hair wave over her face softly. Thee sun shining behind her making her hair look like flames licking across the crown of her head. The bruises and cuts across her face hidden in the shadows of her face and hair.  So beautiful Daryl thought, smiling slightly. His mind locking the sight into his memory as he stood and waved to her.  

"Stay safe!" He called to her, she nodded and waved back. Her cheeks tinting pink at his loud show of concern as she smiled softly.   

NEXT

[hisunshiine]

—trade secrets |myg|

⟢ pairing: CEO!Yoongi x Assistant!Reader 

⟢ word count: 3.4k 

⟢ genre + warnings: coworkers to lovers au || nsfw 18+ some angast, smut, & fluff: 𝘴𝘮𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧™️; explicit sex: kissing, oral f. receiving, fingering, spanking, unprotected vaginal penetration, creampie, semi-public sex (office, bathroom)  

⟢ summary: you’ve been pining over your boss forever, but when you and he finally cross that line, it’s not exactly all hearts and rainbows. 

⟢ authors note: originally posted to twitter, i hope you enjoy!

Sat at your desk, you shuffled the papers neatly in order to staple them at the top left hand corner. The finished report was for the 2:30 PM meeting, and your boss would be needing it by 1 PM to review it for his presentation. Out of all of the assistants for the department, he trusted you the most. After several years of working for the company, you were basically Min Yoongi’s personal assistant, despite there being 3 of you to serve the 3 project managers. 

This had been a foreign concept when you had first joined the company, used to being assigned to a specific manager at your old job, but you enjoyed this set up so much more. It allowed you to help each other handle all of the tasks as a group, being more efficient. It also helped with having days off, without it impacting work since there were still 2 assistants who knew what was going on no matter what projects were being handled. But for Min Yoongi, you were his favorite. 

Of course, out of the other 2 project managers, Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok, you felt like Yoongi was your favorite too. Ever since starting, you had just gravitated towards him. He was the complete opposite of his coworkers, who were both loud and rambunctious. This didn’t mean Yoongi didn’t also get loud, on the contrary, he could definitely raise his voice, but he was typically calm and quiet, often sitting back and listening before speaking. 

You on the other hand, were definitely more like Jimin and Hoseok. You supposed this was why you liked Yoongi so much. He balanced out your wild nature, the calming flower to settle your fluttering butterfly wings on and just… rest. Not that he knew any of this. Yoongi was blind to the way that you pined after him.

“Y/N, do you have that report ready?” Yoongi’s voice, a honeyed, low sound reverberated in the space above your head, and you looked up, startled. So caught up in the daydream that always took over when you were fresh from the carbload of lunch, you felt yourself heat up as the star of the very daydream held his calloused hand out to you.

“Oh, y-yes, Yoongi-ssi, right here.”

You gathered up the report you had recently stapled and placed it in his waiting hand as he cleared his throat, nimble fingers straightening his tie. How one subtle movement could send your body into overdrive made no sense to you, but his eye contact conveyed so much more than just a look. It filled you with a heat that had nothing to do with the summer temperatures.

“Thank you… I’ll get you when it’s time for the meeting.” His free hand lightly brushed your forearm, lingering, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. You wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his touch, a fire spreading across your body.

The meeting went off without a hitch, as you knew it would, and slowly you packed up the conference room of the equipment that had been used for the presentation. As the assistant to the project managers, you were privy to all the plans, and knew that you would be working non-stop the next few weeks to help get everything done for the managers. Their project was approved by their CEO, and you knew starting tomorrow, it would be all engines go.

Pushing the cart with the projector and company laptop back out into the hallway, you watched as the managers walked off ahead of you, headed to their separate offices—located next to each other—as you wheeled the tech cart back to the IT wing.

“Thank you so much Jungkook!” You smiled at your best friend of 8 years, who had helped you and one of the other assistants, set up the presentation slides on the new system Jimin had wanted to utilize. A tall, muscular nerd, (who also happened to be dating the other said assistant) your best friend pushed his glasses a little higher up his nose as he took the cart from you.

“Not a problem, babe. Hey.. what did Yoongi think of your skirt?” He whispered, winking at you.

“He didn’t even bat an eye. It’s pointless, Kook. He’s never gonna notice me.” You sigh, bending at the waist to lean against his desk. Your elbows braced your weight as you wiggled your hips.

“Well maybe if you did this little dance for him, he would.”

You laugh.

“No way, so I can get sent to HR for sexual harassment training? Please. That retraining video is a snooze fest.” You continue swaying side to side, more so to stretch out the kink in your lower back from sitting so long working on the presentation than anything, when Jungkook’s eyes grow impossibly bigger. He said nothing though; you assumed he’s reacting to your words about the harassment video. That is, until a voice cut through the silence.

“Y/N, u-uhm.. When you’re done with IT, can you—actually, I can, uhm, I can handle it myself.”

You had just managed to take in the sight of a shocked Min Yoongi, eyes focused on your ass as you put it on display, before he was whirling from the room, his pale porcelain skin a blotchy red.

Jungkook’s laughter cut through the embarrassed silence as you stand up, hands covering your face as you cringe internally at what had just happened. Leaving Jungkook’s office a few minutes later, you couldn’t help but smile a little bit through the mortification at the way Yoongi stuttered as he stared at your ass.

-

“Y/N, can you email me over the notes from the meeting yesterday?” 

Yoongi paused on his way out of the office at your desk, several days after the mishap in Jungkook’s IT department. He hadn’t appeared to be affected when you had seen him back on your side of the building not even 10 minutes after the incident, and had seemed rather nonplussed once you had made it back to your desk and began sorting through your tasks. Now that several days had passed, you had also gone back to acting normal. If normal consisted of the secret pining over your boss and complaining to your best friend and his girlfriend at happy hour that yet again another ploy to catch Yoongi’s eye had failed. 

“I’ll have the info emailed over to you now.”

“Thanks; I’m headed out to grab lunch, do you want anything?”

You smiled at him, shaking your head no. 

“I brought something to eat, but thank you Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi began to walk away towards the elevators when he stopped and turned to face you.

“Can you stay late tonight? We have our first deadline for the project and the other two girls can’t stay.” 

You felt your heart—the very one in your chest that had just started to beat faster—slow it’s rate. He had asked the other girls first, and you felt disappointment at being a last minute ask. You were confused at first as to why the other girls couldn’t stay, until you remembered that there were only two of you today anyways; the third being Jungkook’s girlfriend, and they were gone on a “baecation” to Jeju Island for the weekend.

“No problem, boss. Um, actually, can I change my mind about lunch then? I can save this for dinner.”

He nodded and you texted him your order as he walked off.

-

Time seemed to be moving so slowly, but it was already close to 11 PM. The finishing touches on the first assignment were nearly completed, and if anyone were to walk into his office, they would be able to see that it indeed appeared as if work had been happening. Your lunch turned dinner had been eaten around 6, and Yoongi had ordered takeout around 9, of which empty containers now lay abandoned on surfaces, wooden chopsticks haphazardly positioned in them. 

Papers were strewn along the mahogany desk, laid on the floor as well, and you were ready to be done with this task. Leaning over Yoongi’s shoulder, your eyes were narrow as you scanned the final document for mistakes. You braced yourself with your right forearm, left hand on the back of his computer chair. 

This close to him, you could smell his cologne, a deep musk scent with hints of a sweet vanilla like essence. His hair, ruffled by his hands so many times, looked fucked out with sprouts sticking each way. Your eyes drifted to those hands, handling the mouse and resting on the keyboard, and you licked your lips slowly. 

Everything about him was arousing you at this hour, and you wished that he would take notice of the way your blouse had appeared to unbutton more and more as time had crept by tonight. If he would just turn his head slightly to you... the way you were leaning had your breasts dangerously close to making an appearance. Your thoughts of how hot it would be for him to take you on this desk had your arousal leaking, your panties embarrassingly wet as they clung to your skin.

Letting out an intentionally soft sigh, you adjust your hand on the edge of his desk and form your lips to ask a random made up question, anything to get him to look at you, when he does exactly as you had hoped. His face, close to yours, turns to speak, but the words die in his throat as he takes you in. 

“Yoongi?” Your voice is soft, and you end his name with a bite to your bottom lip, a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. You take a deep breath, knowing how your chest must look from his angle, hoping that the rise and fall would push them forward just the right amount.   

“You..” he clears his throat, eyes on your cleavage shamelessly, “—do you know what you do to me when you tease me like this?”

His eyes snap to yours, pulling a startled gasp from your throat and you stutter a response.

“T-Tease you? I—” Yoongi turned in his chair and his fingers gripped your waist as you stood abruptly.

“Yes.” 

That one word was uttered with a growl before he pulled your lips to his. The kiss was sloppy, a mess of lips fervently moving as tongues sought out the taste of each other. You were on fire, his grip pulling you down onto his lap so that you straddled him. His length strained against his pants, the feel of it twitching in time to your moans against your core. You grinded against him as your lips traveled to his neck, and he tilted his head to give you better access. 

“Do you know—fuck—just how badly you drive me crazy. These skirts, unbuttoned shirts, that fucking display in IT the other day..” his low voice panting out that you had successfully gotten to him. You pulled back, lips glossy and pupils dilated, taking in the red across his cheeks.

“That was an accident, I wasn’t trying to tease you then.”

“Just all the other times.” His eyes glinted.

“I..”

“If you wanted me to fuck you, you should’ve just asked.”

He leaned in again, arms wrapped around you as he connected your lips again. You knew you had to be messing up his pants, but neither of you seemed to care. He groaned, lifting you to stand. 

“I need to be inside of you..” He flipped you, so you faced the desk and folded you at the waist. Chest to the desk, he lifted your skirt up. “I’m over you teasing me, babe. Your turn.”

Yoongi eyed your clothed core, taking note of the wetness that clung to it, running his index finger along your slit until he found your swollen nub. Pressing on it, he traced circles, causing you to squirm. He loved seeing you like this, finally, after all the wet dreams of you, he had you like this: a sopping mess on his desk, whining for more.

He kneels, fingers gripping the edge of your panties and in a swift motion he exposes you.

“Fuck, babe, I can’t wait to fill this cunt...”

You flinch as his warm tongue glides from clit to opening, tasting you, leaving you with an unsuspecting smack to your asscheek. You wiggle, more turned on then you imagined you could be and when he groans in appreciation, you clench, needy.

“Please Yoongi, p-please fuck me.”

You hear him stand and undo his pants, whine when he dips two fingers into you and begins to fuck you with them.

“Not what I want,” you complain like the brat you are, and he chuckles darkly.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be glad I prepped you.” He scissors his fingers, stretching you as your natural lubricant slickens his fingers. The sound of finger fucking would usually make you blush, but you’re too aroused by the naughtiness of it. Your boss, knuckle deep into your throbbing cunt, his handprint on your ass. 

He spits, and you hear his left hand slide up and down his hardened shaft, the sound intertwined with the squelching between your legs. 

“Fuck me, p-please,” you’re begging now, hands gripping the edge of the desk, and you push back into him when you feel the head of his cock line up with your opening.

“Patience, baby.” Yoongi dips just the tip in, shallow fucking you until you’re practically crying from the taunting stimulation.

“Yoongi, I swear to G—oh!”

Yoongi thrusts into you, and your walls suck him in, sliding him in until he bottoms out, his pelvis snug to your ass, and he groans loudly. His hands knead at your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can inch deeper, watching the way you wrap around him so nicely, like you were made to take his cock. He pulls out slowly before slamming his hips back into you, enjoying the way you mewl from his cock kissing your cervix. 

It’s like Yoongi transforms into a feral animal, one stroke inside of you and he’s laying on your back, arms wrapping around you to clutch at your breasts as he pistons his hips, fucking into you with all of the strength his ex-basketball playing thighs carry. You feel him bite your back, your shirt softening the blow, but you clench regardless.

“D-Do that again, sweetheart, fuck that felt so good..”

You clench repeatedly, tightening your grip on him, and he feels so good inside of you, your toes are curling, loud exhalations with every thrust; you’re so close.

“Where, uh, where can I—I’m gonna—”

“Inside me, Yoongi, fuck, fill me up, please Daddy,  I want to be full of you..”

He can feel your legs trembling, but Yoongi wants you to break first.

“Cum on my cock, baby.” Yoongi’s hand drops from your chest and it takes only a few figure eights of his finger on your cllit and you’re bursting, white behind your eyelids as you squeeze them shut. Your body tremors, euphoric sensations traveling to every inch of your body as your muscles spaz, and he’s filling you, his thick seed spurting out and overflowing from your swollen core, running down both of your thighs.

-

You and Yoongi ended up back at his place that night, fucking until Saturday afternoon. Sunday night, you checked your phone and saw a text from Yoongi.

[Yoongi-ssi]

Y/N, please don’t think I didn’t enjoy myself… but it can’t happen again. I’m sorry.

You sat there, staring at your phone rereading the message over and over. He was… rejecting you? You hadn’t even voiced to him your feelings. It wasn’t just sexual attraction to him, but after these years with him, you couldn’t help but to have fallen for him. And now that you’d had him, you were head over heels in love with him, all of him. But clearly he didn’t feel the same.

Monday at work, you were quiet, so unlike your usual self. Listening to Jungkook’s girlfriend talk about their trip to Jeju Island, you felt yourself ruminating on the text Yoongi had sent you. Like you had been all night.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” 

You turn quickly, eyes meeting the worried look of your coworker, nodding as you schooled your facial expressions into something more neutral.

“Yea, I just have a migraine. I’m gonna go talk to Yoongi, see if I can go home early.”

You made your way to Yoongi’s office. Knocking gently, his quiet voice beckoned you into the room.

“Hey, um… I think I need to go home early.”

Yoongi, who had his eyes trained on the computer monitor, looked up at you abruptly.

“Are you.. Is everything okay?” his voice was tinged with concern.

“I just.. I think I need a few days off… away from here.” Away from you. 

“Look, Y/N..” Yoongi stood up, coming over to you. He stood there, quiet, eyes taking you in. “Fuck.”

Yoongi kissed you, and you melted into his hold. His hands grasped your forearms, pulling you closer in to him.

‘This can’t happen again’, happened again. And again, and again.

Secret sex with your boss every so often became an almost everyday occurrence, in his office, in his car, in the morning before work when you woke up in his bed, and now, currently pushed up against the wall of the stall in the men’s bathroom.

Yoongi had your legs around his waist, fucking his cock up into you, one hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds escaping your mouth. He had pulled you in here after the last meeting for the project, a celebratory fuck to commence the end of this very time consuming project. Yoongi walked you towards the stall, wanting to brace you against something so he could chase his high. 

As you came, velvety walls pulsing as you rode out your high, the door to the men’s room swung open, and Yoongi disappeared into the stall just in time. He turned and sat on the lid of the toilet, still holding you tightly to him. Shuddering, the orgasm wracked your body as you could hear two guys talking faintly through the hazy post climax glow. 

“God, she’s so hot, maybe I’ll ask her out..” a voice declared, the sound of pissing filling the room. 

“Y/N would never date you,” the other voice laughed, “she’s way out of your league.” Yoongi’s arms tightened imperceptibly around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. He grips your thighs and continues to thrust into you, close to erupting.

“You know that SooHyun is thinking of asking her out. He’s way more her type than you are.” The sound of zippers quickly sounded before the rush of water as the two men washed their hands.

“Fuck, he totally has a better chance than me. Damn, he’s gonna be clapping her cheeks in no time. Guess I’ll stick to jerking it to pics of her from the Christmas party last year.” The door shut and Yoongi sped up his movements until he came, cock emptying his sticky cum inside of you.

You melt your lips with his, lazily kissing him as you settled from your orgasm.

“You and Soohyun hyung?” Yoongi asked, a twinge of jealousy coming through in his moment of weakness. 

“Hmm, I heard some of the girls saying he was thinking of asking me on a date.” You nuzzled into his neck, kissing soft pecks as he softened inside of you.

“I don’t want you to go.” His voice was barely a whisper, a gravely plea.

You sat up, facing him with a serious look on your face. 

“I mean, is there something holding me back? A reason to say no?”

“Do you, uh, do you want there to be?”

His deep Americano eyes meet yours, and you nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Then let me be the reason. Go out with me.”

You smile softly threading your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and causing him to shiver.

“Okay.”

-

You walk back to your office area, fingers intertwined with Yoongi’s, no longer a secret between the two of you as the office gawks at their very quiet and calm boss with the office babe, Soohyun looking a little put out that you were no longer available.

[gojos-sidepiece-69]

Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 4

How was it only Tuesday? You groaned and put your hands over your eyes, slowly sitting up in your bed. You had just had a nice, dreamless sleep: no blindfolds, no stupid jokes, no stupidly moisturized lips (that belonged to a certain man whore) anywhere to be seen. You racked your brain trying to figure out how any of this could have possibly happened within the span of your first four days in the Jujutsu world. The whiplash from the most eventful weekend of your life started to kick in, heavily.

Your feet dangled over the edge of your bed, and you sighed deeply, touching at the bruised flesh on your hips. You pulled the band of your pajama pants down slightly, gaping at the state of your thighs. You couldn’t tell whether the crescent-shaped indents and the violent branding of love bites were from Gojo or...Sukuna. You let out a small laugh at the insanity of the situation.

To your luck and great relief, the higher-ups had ordered a restful “team-bonding” day. From what you had heard, Megumi and Nobara had taken quite the beating as well. Their mission with Nanami to exorcise a certain high-grade curse with patchwork skin proved to be unsuccessful, as the evil thing escaped without a trace into the sewer systems. You pushed your door open and joined your fellow first-years in the hallway. There was a certain comfort in seeing the four of you together, all tired and scarred and bruised, but still smiling nonetheless (except for the ever-deadpanned Megumi). “Hey, I know what we can do today!” Nobara suggested excitedly. “Let’s go movie-hopping!”

Yuji started jumping up and down quickly. “Yes, yes, let’s do it! What movies are they showing today?! Hopefully something with Jennifer Lawrence in it,” he drooled. Megumi rolled his eyes, but nodded. “If I see any curses, though, I’m going to be upset. This was our day to recover.” You agreed with the movie-hopping idea, glad that you could have just one more day to yourselves, doing normal teenager things.

Half an hour later, you met up with your classmates at the front gates of Tokyo Tech, and started on your stroll downtown. “Hey, Y/n, what’s with the limp?” Nobara chuckled as she took in your pathetic attempt to walk straight. “The curse get you that badly?” You nodded at her, sheepishly thinking about how the damage from that curse was the least of your concerns. Yuji immediately patted himself. “Hop on,” he told you, signaling you to jump onto his back. “You want to give me a piggy back ride?” You smiled and teased him; his sincerity and concern was genuine, and it made your heart warmer.

You climbed onto his back and he continued walking as though he was weightless. Damn, you thought enviously. How did he recover so quickly? Yuji animatedly and dramatically described yesterday’s encounter to his friends. He was talking so fast you could barely keep up: “...and there were spikes, and the finger was caged between the teeth, and ... and, then I had to switch with Sukuna or we would’ve died! !! !!! And I can’t remember a thing after that. Oh, did you guys like your Mickey Mouse keychains?” Nobara gushed about how cute the souvenir was, and the two of you discussed how much you loved being in Tokyo. You took in the street vendors around you, the big flashing, neon lights, and the vibrant storefronts. Everything you laid your eyes on was so interesting and new, but couldn’t help but find yourself thinking about the view from above...38 floors above.

You shook your head and tried to forget about him. Why did your mind always have to wander back to him? No, you still didn’t care. “We’re here!!” Yuji shook you out of your intrusive thoughts as he announced your arrival in front of the Toho Cinema. You gaped at the marvelous glass building, serotonin boosting by the minute. “What are we watching?” You asked after you all pushed inside. Of course, it only took a second for the three get into a heated argument about which movie they would see first.

“We’re watching the showing of Back to the Future!” Yuji pouted, and Nobara was quick to yell, “Hell no! The freaky old man scares me!” Then Megumi suggested, “How about Fight Club?” and Nobara stamped her foot. “No violence today. I don’t need to see a skinny Brad Pitt with blood spurting out of his nostrils for two hours straight,” and you nodded in accord. After two more minutes of heated debate, you settled on Fast and Furious, because of its perfect blend of early-2000s tomfoolery, corny dialogue, and sexy (but ridiculous) car chases.

You sat sandwiched between Nobara and Itadori, and made the regrettable decision of holding the food tray in your lap. You could barely hear the furious engines revving over the sound of Yuji and Nobara greedily scooping popcorn and dropping sour gummy worms everywhere. Yuji repeatedly slurped his coke (which he for some reason preferred watered down) at maximum volume. Megumi was intently staring at the screen, and you made eye contact with him a few times and exchanged friendly eye rolls. The four of you exited the theater after the movie, and were about to commence your second round of argument for the next choice when your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Sukuna’s devilish mouth made an appearance on Yuji’s right cheek. This couldn’t be good.

Before Yuji could slap it away, it spoke. “Y/n has a little secret to tell you guys. Go on, tell them,” he provoked you. The three turned to you, looking slightly confused. “Huh? I-I have no idea what he’s talking about,” you rushed. “Come on, you don’t want them to know how much fun we had together yesterday? Oh, maybe your friends don’t know that side of you yet; surprising, because I could tell just from the redness of your cheeks how much you enjoyed being called a slut. Anyways, if you don’t tell them, I will,” Sukuna’s mouth continued in a bored tone. You went to sharply slap your hand right across Yuji’s face, but his reflexes were too fast.

“He’s talking nonsense, guys,” you pleaded with their eyes. Before any of them could speak, Sukuna laughed and yelled, “I fucked her! And she was screaming and arching her back for me like she’d been deprived of dick her whole life! Don’t let her innocence fool you, she’s nothing but a whore!” He laughed once more and retreated back into Yuji’s skin.

You were so shocked that you couldn’t move. “What the fuck,” Megumi said, his usually half-lidded eyes widening. “Is it true?” Nobara asked. “Is that why you could barely walk today? Was it that big?” While those two were quietly asking questions in shock and utter disbelief, your pink-haired companion went completely ballistic. “I CAN’T REMEMBER ANY OF THIS. WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?!!! I DON’T UNDERSTAND...I’M NEVER SWITCHING WITH THAT IDIOT AGAIN!” He continued to have a system malfunction and babble, but your shame and embarrassment grew. You felt a slight pinch of anger forming as you realized that Gojo hadn’t explained anything to Yuji yet, even though he said he would. Yuji didn’t know about Sukuna’s deal yet.

“Was it...did you want to do it? I have to make sure. Because if you didn’t, I’ll kill that bastard right now with my own two hands” Nobara said. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat and nodded shamefully. “I wanted to.” “He’s taken so many innocent lives,” Megumi said quietly, and looked away. “Who’s side are you on?” Your shoes began to look really interesting, and you managed a weak, “I...didn’t want you guys to find out. It’s okay, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s extremely hard to explain, but I-you’re just going to have to trust me when I say I’ll be okay. There’s a...a reason I’m doing it.” Even saying it out loud sounded ridiculous. You had no guarantee that you would leave this arrangement unscathed, no guarantee except for...whatever Gojo’s protection had to offer.

There was no guarantee, either, that keeping up your end of the bargain would even save lives. “DID HE HURT YOU? DID I HURT YOU?” Yuji grabbed your shoulders and forced you to look up. “No, no. I’m good,” you answered. You were glad that your friends had your back, but extremely ashamed that you had let all of them down for your own selfish reasons. To play a game and keep a certain person jealous. What made you feel even worse, though, was the fact that you secretly didn’t want that game to end.

Yuji, sensing the tension, broke the silence. “All right, no more arguing. We’re going to go watch World War Z and forget that ever happened.” You were so grateful when him and Nobara took you by the arms and dragged you into another theater, Megumi following behind. Even if it was a zombie apocalypse movie, you needed the escape. “And more popcorn!” Yuji enthusiastically suggested, bolting to get another large bucket and then coming back within two seconds.

You tried, again, to focus on the movie but this time you weren’t distracted by you’re friends’ prodding elbows and crunching noises. It was the looming fear of what Sukuna was going to do to you day after tomorrow. The thought of his evil grin and sheer strength sent chills down your spine, and you sat up straight. You looked at Yuji for a minute, wondering if the king of curses was watching you writhe with nervousness right now. He was probably enjoying feeding off of your fear, you thought. And you were right. He was.

🌹

[silvercrystalwhump]

Silence and Milkshakes

TW: dehumanizing whumpee, General bbu warning, implied past noncon, tired and stressed boy

The engine of the old, filthy truck hums with a low drone; something clicks around in the hood. It could be nothing, or it could be something terrible. Flynn isn’t planning on checking it now. It is a nice distraction from the aching throb in his side. Silently, he rubs his fingers on the worn leather steering wheel, just barely cooler than the surface of the sun. When he first bought this car, he hated the way the leather stuck to his hands and made driving a lifetime commitment, but now it only resonates warmth through the calluses of his fingers.

The radio is turned down; it broke and is now stuck on an old jazz station saturated in static. Flynn can tell what the artist is through the grinding of the static, he thinks it’s Miles Davis, but Flynn was more likely to guess the winning lottery numbers than guess the song currently playing. Flynn taps lightly on the brake as he approaches a light. Yellow lights glare down at him from its pole. As the car rolls to a stop, Flynn glances at his passenger seat.

Kai is sitting there. Yesterday, Flynn gave him one of his hoodies for comfort while he was at school. Unfortunately, the high school hoodie permanently acquired the faint smell of cigarette smoke years ago. Kai sits as straight as a nail, eyes at his feet. His hands are perfectly still on his lap.

Position 3.

Flynn presses on the gas, and the car lurches forward. His eyes go back to the road, but his thoughts stay on the box boy. He had read up on some information about box boys from WRU’s website. They are people who signed over their rights to get better, happier lives. Flynn keeps himself from scoffing at the thought. Happier lives, Kai looks like he’s seen some horrible stuff. Hell, he’s been traumatized to the point of muteness. Flynn had triple-checked his medical records for anything that would render him mute, but he found nothing.

Why willingly put yourself through that?

Flynn pulls into a small section of town, and he drives the car into a Chick-fa-la drive-through. He wants something in his stomach before he goes and lifts bricks all day from some rich guy. His eyes trail back to Kai, “Do you want anything bud?”

Kai’s bright green eyes look at him. For a moment, Flynn thinks that he’s not going to respond. But, instead, Kai tilts his head slightly, strands of silky red hair fall across his face. Some deep inside Flynn, a side of him twisted by the horror he lives with every day, understands why someone would buy a little box boy like Kai.

So tiny, adorable.

Flynn curses himself and says, "Do you want a milkshake?"

Kai nods silently. His thin fingers pull at the shorts Flynn gave him a week ago. Flynn pretends not to notice; Kai seems to panic when he does.

"Wjat flavor?"

Kai blanks again. Green eyes looking wide at the menus that glow in the early morning light. His eyes grow distant, and he just looks back at Flynn.

Flynn sights and raises a hand. Kai flinches, Flynn pretends to ignore it. Then, he holds up a finger, "Can you hold up fingers?"

Kai nods. The tiny box boy is as tense as hardwood cut against the grain.

"Okay, one for vanilla, two for chocolate, and three for cookies and cream."

Flynn watches the gears turn in Kai’s head. Three pale fingers raise for a second before shooting back to his thigh. Flynn gives Kai a warm smile as he pulls around to the speaker.

As Flynn orders, he sees Kai shift in his seat. Kai pulls his knees into the hoodie and tries to hide his nose in his knees. Flynn notices the boy shivering, and once he finishes ordering, he leans into the partial backseat and pulls out an old quilt.

"I know it's chilly bud, the heat doesn't work in this car," Flynn says as he wraps the quilt around Kai's body. Kai looks with wide eyes at Flynn. He seems to lean into Flynn's touch, no matter how brief the contact.

The drive over, and Flynn hands the woman cash and grabs the food. He sets in it the cup holder area and pulls out. As he drives, he gives the milkshake to Kai. The box boy gingerly takes the cup and holds it. His eyes on Flynn, the entire time, waiting in his eyes.

"That's yours Kai, you can drink it."

Kai instantly puts the straw in his mouth and tries to suck down all of the liquid. Almost immediately, he regrets it. Flynn holds back a chuckle, "You can't drink it so fast Kai you'll get a brain freeze."

Kai blinks at the drink and puts the straw back in his mouth, this time drinking slower. Flynn tosses a chicken mini into his mouth, and he keeps driving.

He drives mindlessly for a few lights until Kai sneezes, ripping him back to reality.

At a red light, Flynn looks over at Kai. He put the milkshake into a cup holder and is now quietly sleeping against the seat belt. Flynn smiles subconsciously and then memories of a few nights ago.

He had awoken to Kai sleeping against his chest. Flynn shoved him aside in a panic and freaked the little guy out. Guilt gnawed at his throat all day after that.

Kai has not tried to touch him since.

Flynn swears under his breath. Why did he put him? There were so many ways to handle that, and you chose aggression.

Why am I so much like my father?

Flynn shoves those thoughts aside. Now wasn't the time for self-loathing; he had the stuff to do. He needs to drop Kai off at Chloe’s and get to work. Gritting his teeth, Flynn pulls through onto one of the highways near his home.

Usually, he wouldn't mind leaving Kai home by himself. Since he got home before his Father, Kai stayed in his room, so even if he did, he would be fine. Not today.

His Dad will have his drinking buddies over to watch the game tonight. Flynn rubs his thumbs across the leather of the steering wheel, anxiety crawling up his spine.

Dad expects him to cater to his friends.

One of those friends is Morrie Mitchell.

Flynn holds back a gag as he pulls into the shopping district of the town. A small bakery with its backlights on sits off to the right. Flynn, with white knuckles, pulls into the back parking.

Putting the car in park, Flynn sets his head on the steering wheel. Bile rises in his throat, but Flynn bites it back.

Hands, he can feel ghost and across his back. The man's voice is a specter across his mind, whispering twisted sweet nothings. He wants to hide away from a voice and hands that are not there.

Tap tap.

Flynn rips his head up and locks eyes with Worried dark eyes. He sighs and opens the door; Chloe stands out in the dawn light. The golden light crosses her face and makes her skin look like golden chocolate.

"Sorry," Flynn says, "I'm just out of it this morning."

Chloe smiles, "Not an issue, I have coffee inside if you want some."

Flynn nods, "Yeah, thanks."

Hopping out of the car, he walks over to the car’s passenger side and opens the door.

Kai stirs. He wakes up and looks at Flynn, confusion and worry across his face.

"Hey bud," Flynn says calmly, "Chloes going to watch you while I'm at work today."

Chloe walks up behind him and wakes at Kai. Flynn guides Kai out by the hand. Kai hops out of the car and lands next to Flynn. Chloe looks down at Kai’s hands and says, "Hd drew on his hands."

Kai freezes and starts to shake. Flynn mentally curses and tries to soothe him, "Its alright bud, it's okay."

Flynn reaches into the car and grabs Kai’s milkshake. Then, leaning into the back of the truck, his fingers wrap around an old math notebook. He hands both to Kai and says, "How about the draw in here okay?"

Kai nods profusely, his eyes begging out apologies. Flynn guides Kai towards the bakery.

Chloe trots out in front of them and opens the door. She steps into a sitting area in the back for the staff that's linked to the pantry.

"I explained the situation to Ma as you explained to me and she's perfectly fine with him staying here."

"Thank you Chloe," Flynn yawns, "I seriously cant thank you enough."

Chloe smiles, "Dont mention it."

She turns to Kai, who holds his things in a death grip, "How are you Kai."

Kai just steps behind Flynn and inches as close to him as possible.

"He doesn't speak," Flynn says softly as he leads Kai over to the worn couch, "He'll listen to you though."

"Mute or nonverbal?"

"I don't know, he just doesn't talk."

Kai sips on his milkshake and bundles in both the quilt and the jacket.

Flynn walks towards the door and pulls out his wallet. Before he can pull out a twenty, Chloe shakes her head, "Flynn, you and I both know you need every penny, see this as a favor from a friend."

"Are you sure, I really don't want to put a burden on you all."

Chloe gives Flynn a look worth an entire essay; we both know you'll need it to escape.

Flynn pierces his lips and nods. He turns back to Kai and says gently, "You can draw back here; let Chloe know if you need anything.

Kai nods sleepily.

Flynn turns to Chloe, "Just remember to give him lunch around noonish and check on on him every so often, if you show him where stuff is hell usually take care of himself."

"Aye aye captian."

Flynn chuckles and waves to Kai. Kai blinks back at him and continues drinking his milkshake.

Flynn hops in his car and drives off to work. But, he still could not stop thinking about Kai.

[halpertstuna]

must have been the wind - jj maybank

A/N: this imagine is inspired by the song “must have been the wind” by alec benjamin. i wrote this imagine listening to the slowed version of the song. i highly recommend you listen to it whilst/before/after reading this(:

pairing: jj x reader

word count: 2,874

warnings: mentions of domestic violence, some angst, some fluff, ya know, all that jazz. and probably typos (this isn’t really edited, pls forgive me)

-> masterlist <-

(gif credit: @jjbanks )

It was 1:28AM, you gazed out the window of the moving car, your elbow was placed on the door panel whilst your head rested in the palm of your hand, the dark navy blue moonlit water in the ocean outside was being reflected in your eyes.

You were currently sat in the backseat of a white Honda lost in your thoughts. Your dad got transferred to North Carolina due to him getting a promotion at work, which was a big deal, especially since your mum wasn’t working and so he jumped on the opportunity right away, moving the two of you with him.

Obviously you were happy for him, but you were also kind of glum since it meant packing up your entire life back in Miami and leaving all of your friends behind with everything else that was familiar, warm and felt like home.

You were being pulled out of your thoughts by the car coming to a stop.

You exited the car taking your bag and suitcase with you to the front porch, then retuned to help your exhausted parents with theirs, once you acknowledged they were struggling to keep their eyes open.

The movers were supposed to come in the morning at about 8AM to unload the rest of your belongings.

You had entered the house and your dad lead you to your room, your mum following not far behind, not wanting to be alone in the foreign, empty house.

You set your bags down next to the bedroom door and kissed both your parents goodnight. They went to their room shortly after and fell into a deep asleep right away.

You changed into pyjamas and laid down in bed staring at the ceiling, you were tired but you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep.

After about an hour of just gazing at the fan spinning above your head, your eyes started to flutter shut, and just as you were about to drift off to sleep the sound of glass shattering startled you, making your heart race as the sound echoed through your ears.

You jumped out of bed and ran to your parents room worried, only to find out they were fast asleep.

Where did the sound come from then? And how come your parents didn’t hear anything? Is the tiredness starting to affect your hearing? Did you just imagine it?

You walked back to your room confused and curious as to where the sound came from.

you laid back in bed and quickly fell asleep assuming what you heard was caused by your sleep deprived state, your ears playing tricks on you.

You managed to fall asleep pretty quickly but you were pulled out of your dreams by the sound of two male voices, screaming at the top of their lungs, shooting at each other vitriolic comments.

Now you were sure, you weren’t just imagining it earlier.

You walked towards your bedroom window, peeking out in hopes of seeing something, anything that could give you a clue to whatever the hell is going on at almost four in the morning.

After about five minutes of hearing despicable words roll off someone’s tongue, muffled by the walls yet clear as day the second you let them sink in, you decided to go back to sleep since it’s really not your place, and just as you were about to walk back to your bed, you noticed a tall figure exit the house in a hurry while someone from behind it kept roaring in a resentful tone vile words.

You quickly turned your attention back to the view your window had to offer, watching as what looked like a teenage boy, put a helmet on his disheveled hair, get on a bike and ride off.

And with that, the noise stopped.

You were stood by your window as the quiet night swallowed you whole, the only sound audible now was your breathing.

You laid back in your bed taking in what you had just witnessed.

Who was that boy? Who was the mysterious, scary voice behind the door? why was he yelling such dreadful things at him? And what more was he capable of?

The questions were endless, they haunted your thoughts, knowing you had to find out what was going on, if that boy was okay.

You dozed off not long after, given the fact that you were after a flight and it was really late.

The next morning you were woken up by the rays of sunlight breaking through the glass of your window, resting on your closed eyelids. The realisation that you forgot to shut the curtains last night before you went to bed suddenly hitting you.

It was almost eight. You let out a loud groan and flipped so you were facing the wall, desperate for more sleep.

You barely had time to even try before your mum knocked on your door, your eyes fluttered open, she smiled at you greeting you good morning.

You let out a sigh and sat up, mumbling under your breath “it could be better”.

You got up and brushed your teeth, then went back to your room to get changed. You wore blue jean shorts, a black oversized band tee and white slip-on vans.

you entered the kitchen and noticed your dad making coffee, he handed you a mug filled with the warm liquid, you quickly drank it and set the mug down in the sink, realising he had started unpacking the “fragile - kitchen” box, meaning the mover’s loading truck was already outside.

You got out of the hous and your dad followed, your mum was already helping with the boxes and the two of you joined her and the movers helping them unload the truck.

It was almost nine and you were down to your last boxes, when you heard what sounded like the engine of a motorcycle.

Your head shot in the direction of the house next to yours as you noticed the same bike from yesterday come to a stop at the front porch, a blonde mop of hair was the first thing you noticed once the boy took off the helmet he had on, running his fingers through his hair.

He started making his way into the house, not giving you a single look.

When you finished unloading and unpacking your parents asked you to take out the trash.

You held two big, black garbage bags in your petite hands and started making your way to the bin.

You threw the content in, and just as you turned around the boy exited his house.

The two of you made eye contact and you offered him a kind smile which he mirrored without hesitation.

You started walking towards your house but stopped in your tracks at the memories of last night.

He was sat on his doorstep, a juul in his hand, as he hit it repeatedly.

You started walking towards him.

“Hey” he greeted sending you a smirk.

“Hi” you replied grinning.

As you got closer to him, you were met with the prettiest pair of blue eyes you’d ever seen.

“I’m JJ” he introduced himself taking another hit

“I’m Y/N, I’m new here” you stated suddenly shy under his gaze, taking in how attractive he is from up close.

“Yeah, i kinda figured, I saw the truck here earlier, plus I’ve never seen you around before” he affirmed

You nodded, a comfortable silence fell upon you two.

You were looking him up and down, he was wearing a grey tank top that revived his biceps and kaki shorts with a pair of black boots.

You then looked at the juul he was holding and noticed his knuckles looked slightly bruised, painted in this violet colour. You studied his features slowly before breaking the silence.

“Hey, um I actually wanted to ask you a question” He looked up at you signalling you to continue. “Last night, when I was trying to sleep, I heard glass shattering and other noises, d- did you hear anything?” He averted his gaze from you to the dock in front of him shaking his head no.

You knew he was lying. But you didn’t push him any further, knowing that if he wanted to talk about it he would.

You quickly changed the subject which he was highly grateful for.

The two of you sat there talking for a few hours, you told him about your life back home and he told you about the pogues, the two of you found out you actually have a lot in common, you share the same love for the ocean and surfing, you both would do anything for your loved ones and you both want to travel the world and explore it.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been sat with JJ, talking, until the two of you noticed the sun starting to set in the horizon, painting the sky in the most beautiful shades of yellowish-red slowly followed by shades of violet and blue.

You darted your gaze over to JJ, only to discover his was already on you. You smiled up at him, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, you whispered a “hi” to which he chuckled and shook his head, smiling at how cute he found your softness.

And for the first time since you moved, you felt welcome. And even though it started getting chilly, you felt warm inside, thanks to the humorous boy beside you.

You could hear your name being called from inside the house, telling you dinner’s ready.

You bid your goodbyes and walked back to your house.

You ate dinner with your family then went to bed, this time falling asleep easily since you were exhausted from that day.

At about two in the morning, you had to pee, so you walked to the bathroom half asleep but were quickly snapped back to reality when you heard “I’ll fucking kill you!” bawled with rage.

Your eyes were shot open at the sound of that and you started freaking out a bit. You were really worried but you didn’t want to stick your nose where it didn’t belong, so you decided to let it go.

When you laid back in bed you heard someone ignite a motorcycle and take off, you assumed it was JJ, and again, with that, just like the night before, the noise stopped.

The next day you didn’t see him. You were worried something might have happened but you reassured yourself, assuming he was probably with the pogues. That day was dedicated to helping your parents unpack furniture, cutlery etc.

You went to sleep pretty early given you were in desperate need of it.

You were abruptly woken up by the sound of loud thuds and the words “worthless piece of shit” ringing in your ears as they were being yelled at someone.

You quickly got up and looked out your window, you were concerned about JJ’s well being, assuming he got back home while you were sleeping.

This time you just couldn’t shake the feeling something’s seriously wrong, with that you slipped on your shoes and quickly ran to his house in a panic.

You knocked on the door firmly.

Once it was swung open and you were met with the same pair of blue eyes you saw yesterday, but this time with a bruise under one and a cut under the other.

His eyes softened at the sight of your worried state and you drank him in, searching his face for more bruises.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked now angry “what’s all that noise?!”

JJ looked at you then down at his feet and said “I wish I could tell you but I didn’t hear anything” you were taken aback by his words.

You knew he was playing dumb, and usually you won’t want to intrude but you were far too worried about him.

“Are you serious?” You asked him with wide eyes. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. It must’ve been the wind.” you were dumbfounded by his statement, speechless.

“Thanks for caring, but I have to go back inside, good night.” Your eyes swam with concern as he closed the door. You walked back to your house not wanting to pressure him any further into talking about it since he looked like he was on the verge of breaking.

The next day you went to the beach with your surfboard. You ran into the water, eager to catch some waves when you were met with none other than the “surfing legend” himself, as he liked to say, JJ Maybank.

He was on his surfboard riding a wave as you watched in awe.

Once he saw you he started paddling on his board in your direction.

“Well hello there, how are you enjoying the waters of the Outer Banks so far?” he greeted authoritatively and you giggled at that. “I actually just got here, didn’t really get the chance to ride any waves. But I can’t say the same about you. You’re really good” you commented and a grin spread across his face. “Thanks” he replied.

He sat straddling his surfboard and as he got closer you noticed a giant bruise on his stomach, you gasped at the sight, he didn’t understand at first, then followed your gaze. “What happened?” You asked faintly, reaching out and tenderly tracing the bruise with your fingertips. “It’s nothing,” he scoffed “you should see the other guy” he chuckled awkwardly, but you weren’t buying it.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it,” you started “but just know my door is always open, you can come whenever you’d like for as long as you desire if you ever need a friend” he shot you a watery smile at that invitation and a comforting silence fell upon the two of you.

You broke it by saying “I bet I can catch that wave before you Maybank!” Then started steering away towards the giant wave that was heading your way, “Oh! Bring it on Y/L/N!” He retorted following not far behind.

That day was fun for the both of you, sun, surf and no worries.

When you got home you took a shower and put on a pair of grey sweatpants and a white oversized shirt.

It was getting late and you were beat from surfing and being in the sun all day, you had no trouble drowsing off.

You were sound asleep until you were alarmed by the sound of knocking on your window. You shifted the blanket off your body and got up, your warm feet made contact with the cold wooden floor, waking you up a bit as you approached your window.

You rubbed your eyes trying to make out the face of the blurry figure on the other side of the glass. You quickly picked up that it was JJ and opened the window, letting him climb in.

He didn’t need to say anything, knowing you already knew why he was there. You turned on the the table lamp, then noticed he had a busted lip, and a fresh cut on his cheek.

You were quick to wrap him in your embrace, hugging him dangerously close. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and started crying, tears slid down his cheeks, making the collar of your shirt wet and see through, but you didn’t care. He buried his face in your chest and you held him as tight as possible until he managed to steady his breathing.

You held his hand and intertwined your fingers, leading him to the bathroom without a single word being passed between the two of you. You signaled him to sit in the counter and he obeyed. You started cleaning up his bruises and cuts, bandaging what you could.

After you finished you told him to go back to your room. You went to the kitchen and quickly returned, plopping down on the bed beside him, handing him ice cream, knowing it’s the most comforting thing you could give, other than a hug which followed the deed.

You put on “Iron Man”, trying to lighten the mood with Tony Stark’s humour.

As the credits rolled he opened his mouth “I’m sorry,” he mumbled “for bothering you like this it’s just- I mean- I-“ you cut him off by caressing his cheek with your hand, he leaned into your touch. “It’s okay.” you cooed, a single tear slid down his cheek and you wiped it away with your thumb, smiling weakly at him “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready, and until you are, we can say ‘it must have been the wind’” you quoted what he’d told you the other day, gaining a smile from him, a real smile, eyes full of adoration.

You pulled the blanket on the two of you up to your chin.

You shut off the light and muttered a “Good night” before drifting off.

He kissed your forehead, lingering for a bit longer than he should’ve.

He murmured a good night before falling asleep as well beside you.

[one-boring-person]

Expletive.

T-800 (Terminator: Judgement Day version) x reader

Warnings: swearing, implied sexual themes

Context: The T-800 is curious about a certain word and its meaning.

A/N: yeah, this is a straight shitshow of a fic, so enjoy😅

Masterlist

"Oh, jeez." John groans as we walk back to the car, food held in hand, the boy's eyes squeezing shut as he looks away from the car his eyes were trained on before.

"What's wrong?" I cut in before the terminator following us can, giving my friend an odd look.

"There's two people fucking in that car next to ours." He clarifies, sounding appropriately grossed out by it.

"Oh." I pull a face, trying to ignore the car in question as we approach ours.

"That's disgusting." John mutters, before he climbs into the backseat, offering Sarah some food as I accompany the T-800 around to the bonnet of the car, which he lifts with ease. Pulling out some food, I begin to eat as I watch the muscular cyborg work, quietly admiring his body whilst his attention is averted from me, though my eyes do snap up to the car beside us as a particularly violent jolt moves the vehicle slightly.

"What is "fucking"?" The Terminator suddenly questions me, his gaze also drawn to the neighbouring car, his movements halted.

At his words, I nearly choke on the half-chewed food in my mouth, staring at him for a moment before I remind myself that the term is unlikely to be part of his available lexicon yet. Awkwardly, I swallow and frown, trying to think about how best to describe it.

"Er, well, the word "fucking" or "fuck" is generally used as a swear word, you know, like an expletive, but in this context it means something else. When used in this context, "to fuck" means "to have sex"." I explain, watching him as he turns his eyes back to me.

"Understood." Is all he says, having absorbed the information he seems necessary, going back to the task at hand.

Curious, I watch him work, looking up again as John steps back out of the car and comes over to us, followed by Sarah. Licking my lips out of habit, I eat some more and listen into their conversation, slowly zoning out of it as I watch the two boys a little way away from us messing around with plastic pistols, wondering what the logic behind giving a kid a toy like that was, eyeing the mother as she comes over to them and ushers them off of the road. Watching after them, I catch the last part of the conversation behind me, my head turning as I hear what is being said.

"It is in your nature to destroy yourselves." The T-800 says it so bluntly, the harsh truth resonating deep within me as I look up at the cyborg, making eye contact with him momentarily. Under his carefull gaze, I feel a shudder run through me, his features somehow caught in a flattering light, proving to me just how attached to the robot I have become in such a short space of time. Tearing my eyes away from him, I finish my food and crumple the wrapper in my hand.

"I'm gonna find somewhere to dump this. I'll be right back." I mutter, hastily stepping away from them as I locate what I'm looking for and aim for it, doing what I need to before going back to the car, climbing into the backseat with John, Sarah now having taken his place in the passenger seat. Buckling myself in, I turn my gaze out of the window as the T-800 drives off, talking with Sarah.

*

I do my best to stifle a yawn as I lean back against the truck, failing completely as I feel my exhaustion starting to catch up with me again, having slept very badly the night before. A few muscles ache from the exertion yesterday, but it's nothing I haven't felt before, so I simply ignore it, pulling my dad's old butterfly knife from my pocket, flicking out the blade and starting to twist and flip it over the back of my hand, a skill I've learned over the years. Repeating the action, I allow myself to lapse into this small rhythm, using it to calm my somewhat nervous disposition. The movement is familiar and practised, something that seems to comfort me, my hand moving deftly to avoid the sharp blade. I've only ever cut myself a few times, thankfully, but I know full well how sharp it is, and how much it hurts sometimes.

I am so enraptured by this action that I fail to notice the hulking T-800, who John has now named Uncle Bob, stepping up to me, a tool box in hand, the terminator's passive expression unchanging as always.

"You are very skilled in your actions." He suddenly comments, accented voice interrupting the trance-like state I've entered.

"Huh? Oh!" I start a little, losing concentration, the knife slipping through my fingers.

As it falls, the blade catches on the skin between my fore- and middle fingers, slicing clean through with very little give, blood quickly pouring out from the new wound. Cursing, I inspect the new wound carefully, muttering to myself.

"Oh, fuck me." I bite out, scolding myself for being careless as I bend to retrieve the knife, flicking it together again as I slip it into my pocket. Righting myself, I grunt as I suddenly find myself pushed over the bonnet of the car, a pair of strong hands gripping my waist, lips attaching themselves to mine. Surprised, I feel my eyes widen, any protests I want to make swallowed by the insistent lips, a muscular body pressing itself against mine, one of his hands moving to push up underneath my shirt. Heat rushes through me at this new development, my hands going up to grip the terminator's hair, though whether it is to pull him closer or push him away is unclear, a muffled grunt escaping me as he unexpectedly rocks his hips into mine. Taking advantage of my hesitant pleasure, the T-800 slips his tongue into my mouth, exploring and battling with mine as his kisses become more and more heated, his roaming hands pushing my shirt up my stomach, calloused palms leaving shivers in their wakes. Pushing himself closer, he rocks his hips again, one hand coming down to grasp my thigh, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist, his grip moving to my ass as I do what he says, relishing in the proximity. 

It's only when he moves to kiss and suck down my neck that I realise exactly what's happening, my eyes snapping open as I remember where we are, and why we're here. Immediately, though very reluctantly, I move my hands to the cyborg's toned chest, pushing gently on it at first, though I decide to use more force as his hand suddenly slides back down my stomach to my flies. 

"S-stop, please…" I manage to groan out through the pleasure he's somehow supplying, fighting to keep my hips from jerking into his insistent touch.

Thankfully, he pulls away almost instantly.

"What is wrong?" He questions, looking me in the eye with a near-dead stare, reminding me exactly of why this is wrong.

"We can't...we shouldn't…" I stutter, trying to regain composure, "It's wrong…"

"I am following your orders, how is that wrong?" He questions, extricating himself from me, somewhat reluctantly almost, his hands lingering on my skin as he eyes me.

I do a double take.

"My orders? When did I order you to do...that?"

"When I approached you, you became momentarily distracted and dropped your knife. As you retrieved it, you issued the command "fuck me" which I was inclined to act upon." He recites, giving my exact words.

"Oh god…" I groan, realising the error of my ways, cursing my inadvertent slip of the tongue, "I didn't mean it like that. In that context, it was just an expletive! Not a command! Though it wasn't exactly...unwelcome...but we can't do it. It's not right. Not now."

"Not right?" 

As I struggle for words, I find myself immensely grateful when John interrupts us, hoping to help the T-800 with the car engine. Smiling tightly, I turn and leave, trying to ignore the longing racing through my body.

[phalene33]

I wanted to do something nice for myself so I'm going to write a Choptop X my oc Kat short story. If people enjoy it I'll make a Part 2.

After a long battle with dealing with my abusive father, and taking care of my younger sister, I finally saved enough money to move away. I wanted to stay far away from my home state Kansas, and have settled on moving to a small town called Newt in Texas. I don't know much about Texas, or even the town itself, but from the few times I've been there it reminded me of my home town. So Newt was probably the best choice I had.

Checking how much gas I had left in my tank I drive over to a nearby gas station. It looked very run down. I assumed that the place was abandoned, so I was sorta surprised that a man came over to greet me. "Hello there ma'am, never seen you around these parts. You aren't around here are you?" "No sir, I used to live in Kansas but I just moved in. My name is Kat Valentine." "I'm Drayton Sawyer, I hope your move wasn't too difficult." "I had some problems arrive along the way but nothing I couldn't deal with. Do you have any gas?" "No ma'am, but show up tomorrow and we'll have some ready for ya." I nod and drive off to my new home hoping that by tomorrow I could fill up my car.

The next day I drove back to the gas station and to my luck they had some gas for me. After the man called Drayton filled up my car I gave him $20 and a tip. Driving off I set off to the nearest big city, wanting to get some things for myself. After driving for a few miles I finally entered one of the big cities. I drove around looking at all the businesses noticing a music store. I pulled into the parking lot and went inside. There was tons of albums from different artists of all genres. I immediately started looking for Plastic Beach a Gorrilaz album. Looking all over I noticed a odd looking man holding it. The man seemed to be a hippy, and he had pale skin, along with a birth mark going across his face. He also had the prettiest blue eye's I've ever seen which wasn't surprising considering most of the people in my hometown had brown eyes.

Despite hating public social interaction I decided to ask him where he found that album. Approaching him, I try to look slightly above his eyes so I didn't have to make eye contact. "Hello sir, I was looking for that same album you had in your hand. Could you tell me where you found it." I struggle to put on a natural looking smile, and mentally cussed myself out for sounding so strange. "Ah th-this one?" The man waves it in front of my face almost as if to brag about having it. "I-It's the last one h-honey, you'll have t-to come back n-next time!" He gives me a smile mocking me. Not wanting to deal with this I grab it out of his hand and starts running. "I'll let you have it back if you can catch me!"

The guy got down on his hands and knees and crawled after me like some kind of animal. But that was his first mistake. All I did was simply sit on him and raised the album high above me. He tried grabbing it, not realizing I weighed 115 pounds, and he could have simply just wrestled me for it and win. "G-Give it to me! I f-found it fair and s-square!" "Don't care, could have just gave it to me, but now you get to look like an idiot infront of everybody." The man gave me a look then pushed me off of him. I look up at him with the album close to my chest. "What? You didn't like me riding you or something? Wanted to be on top huh?" I hoped my flirting tactics would fluster him, so I could make my escape, but he just slightly blushed and looked down at me and laughed. "A-Arent you such a t-tease!" He grabbed the album from me with force. "Give it back fucker!"

He looked at me with excitement. "O-Or what?" I just stared at him not sure of what to say. "What's your name fucker?" Is all I could think to say. If I knew a little bit about this man I could possibly come up with a good threat. "B-Bobby Sawyer but everyone c-calls me Choptop!" He takes out a clothing hanger and scratched his head with it. "Wh-what yours?" "Kat Valentines..." I thought for a minute and remembered the name of the man who worked at the gas station. " I'm going to tell Drayton that you stole from me!" Yes I technically stole from him, but I wanted this album and I was willing to lie for it. He looked at me nervous for a second before speaking. "H-How do you know m-my brother?" "I met him yesterday, I was going to get gas for my car and we had a nice conversation." He stands up. "W-Well if you tell him anything, y-you'll regret it!" He then runs out of the store with the album.

All that work for nothing. I thought to myself before leaving to go back home. On my way home I decide to stop at the gas station again to talk to "Choptops" brother. That's right, I'm not giving up that easily. I want that damn album. I walked into the gas station and over to Drayton.

"Hello Miss Valentine, good seeing you again." He was holding a broom but didn't seem to be using it to sweep. "Hello Mr. Sawyer." I replied to him. "Haha please Mr. Sawyer was my grandfather." I give him a warm smile. "And Miss Valentine was my mother." We both chuckle lightly. "Just call me Kat." "Alright Kat, did you want to talk to me for a reason?" Thinking back at the album I nod to myself. "In fact I do, your brother has stolen something of mine." He gave me a frown and looked troubled. "I-I see." he thinks for a moment. "How about you come over for dinner tomorrow, and I'll have him return it to you then." I think about what's being said for a second. "For dinner? Oh you don't have to, I would just like him to return it." "Nonsense, you are new here, it would only be polite to to have you over for dinner." He kept insisting I stay for dinner so eventually I gave in and agreed.

The next day I didn't feel like getting out of bed, but in my search for that album I got up anyways and drove around town. Looking for the man who had what I so desperately desired, and after searching every small business I finally found who I was looking for..... On the side of the road waving at me to try and get my attention. I parked my car and got out walking over to him. "Got sum trouble with your truck here?" "D-Damn thing broke d-down on m-me." He started cussing in frustration. "Okay okay calm down, let me look at it." "You can't fix it, just drive me home!" I look at him annoyed. "Don't tell me what to do or I'll leave you here album stealer!" He replied with a tired sigh. I look at the engine to quickly learn that it over heated. "Good luck getting that fixed buddy." I set my arm on his shoulder. "Pl-please just take me home." He whined. "Give me that album and I will gladly do that." "Never!" "Okay..." I walk over to my car and get in. Choptop got into the passenger seat next to me. "I'm not taking you home until you give me that album." I stick out my tongue teasingly, only to be met with him pushing his lips against mine, and his tongue aggressively pushing against my own. Shocked I just sat there frozen until the kiss was over with. "L-Looks like I'll get to spend the d-day with you then." I keep quiet and drive off.

Though the drive was long it wasn't in silence. Choptop almost immediately turned on the radio and started talking to me. Telling me about his family and his interests. I would be lying if I told you I didn't find it cute whenever he talked about something he liked. His eyes would get big, and so would his smile. He would do hand gestures only stopping to scratch himself with the clothing hanger.

"K-Kat do you l-love music as m-much as I-I do?" I turn to look at him. "Mhm, my mother was a music prodigy before she died, so I grew up with different kinds of music." Mentioning that made him way more excited then before. He was practically vibrating like a woman's sex toy. "R-Really? D-Did she teach y-you how to p-play any i-instruments?!" I nodded and proceeded to name off a few that I knew how to play. He quickly cut me off tho. "Y-You should be the lead f-female singer in my b-band Cornbugs!" I was about to agree to it before realizing something.

"Hey you dirty thief, you need to give me back that damn album!" I hit him lightly in the arm. "I-I will, just agree t-to be the l-lead female singer i-in my band!" I sigh and give him a look. "Fine..." Choptop screams in excitement and gave me a kiss on my lips before pulling me into a hug.

[samanthadalton]

Star crossed lovers (au)

pairings: poppy x mc (bea) 

warnings: throughout this fic (there will be a bunch of parts to it) there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide 

reader discretion is advised

(this chapter is more about setting up the basis of the story so is more context than anything else, part 2 will be more interesting I swear 😭, also it’s like 4am so if there’s any gramatical mistakes I’ll fix it later) 

taglist: @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @cloud9in @simpforpoppy @ognenniyvolk (I’m pretty sure this is my tag list if you wanna be added or taken off for future chapters just ask 😊) 

word count: 3.6k 

Part 1: The introduction

As the sun began to set, the houses along the street began to bask in its warm glow. The neighbourhood is quiet, like always, excluding the occasional car engine rumbling through the roads until they disappear into the distance and once again the silence is deafening. This neighbourhood was your typical suburban type, their structures stood tall and bold. Looking from an aerial point of view, one could argue that it’s almost like the houses have been copied and pasted along the street, they almost look perfect. One theory is that they were purposely made to look like they're perfect because they don’t want anyone to find out their secrets. It’s harder to catch a true glimpse when everything looks flawless.

If you compare the northside and the southside of Greensburg, it makes it seem like they’re living in two different worlds and maybe they are. The polarisation between the rich and the poor only becomes bigger, demonstrated by the high socio-economic backgrounds of those who lived in the north who go to the best schools, have the best jobs and sometimes own more than one house. Compared to those in a low socio economic background in the south, who usually have to work two jobs just to feel some sort of financial stability in their lives or have no choice but to indulge in illegal jobs just so they can feel some sort of power and superiority and have money of course. Only a few in the south are able to lead a straight and narrow life and successfully do it without having to engage in the culture of illegal activities. 

Bea Hughes, a girl who lives in Greensburg is someone who managed to immerse herself in both worlds. She used to be part of the upper class lifestyle but after life fucked her and her family over at the tender age of 8 years old, she was pulled into another world, one that she quickly had to acquaint herself with, because in the south, survival matters. The luxuries she once knew as a kid had disappeared and she constantly lived in a fight or flight situation. Now as her senior year of high school looms ahead, she finds herself still living in a similar situation, but instead of dealing with gangs or her addict of a mother, she had to deal with stuck up rich kids in Greensburg’s most prestigious school, Belvoire, which may have been her toughest obstacle of all. Against all odds, Bea managed to earn a scholarship at this private school when she was 15, and in order to keep her place, she has to maintain a 4.0 GPA, join at least one extra curricular activity and immerse herself into the culture of the school (whatever that meant). 

Even though life managed to be shitty most of the time, there was one constant, one thing that made life worth living, one thing that made her the happiest…

“Crap”, the brunette clung onto the branch of the tree trying to regain her footing after narrowly avoiding her death (or more likely a trip to the hospital). After recovering from her mild slip, she rapped on the window beside her and a few seconds later the window slides open and as she enters the room she trips up on her own feet landing face down on the floor. 

“Real smooth”

Bea chuckles at the snark comment as she looks up and as the sunlight shines through the window, it highlights all the features of the other girl. She was shorter than Bea (although not in this moment since Bea was practically laying on the floor), her facial features were sharp and her strawberry blonde hair fell perfectly around her shoulders. Her plush pink lips were curled up in a small smile as she offered a hand to the girl to help her up. 

“I totally meant to do that” Bea takes her hand and lifts herself off the floor, and after she quickly dusts herself off and grabs the blonde’s wrist pulling her towards her while her other hand settles on her waist. “So how much time do we have?”

The petite girl wounds her arms around the taller girl’s neck and slightly tip toes to whisper, “my dad has dinner with a bunch of investors so he’s not going to be back until midnight”. A huge smile appears on her face as she leans back slightly taking in the appraising look of the brunette. 

“Perfect”. 

Bea moves in to kiss the blonde, passion already igniting as their tongues tangle in a fight for dominance until Bea suddenly pulls away, foreheads touching, eyes blazing with desire as she whispers against the other girl’s lips, “I missed you Pops”. 

The other girl rolls her eyes and unwinds her arms from Bea’s neck, slightly pushing her back and while maintaining eye contact she walks backwards towards the bed and sits on the edge, “shuttup, you literally saw me yesterday” her tone attempting to come across as catty but instead comes out in a more playful manner. 

Bea raises an eyebrow as she saunters to where the girl is sitting and places two fingers under the girl’s chin lifting her face until their eyes meet, “so? I’m suddenly not allowed to miss my girlfriend?” She leans in, her lips ghosts around the blonde’s lips. 

“You talk too much, come on we’re wasting daylight” the blonde grabs Bea’s shirt and pulls her down onto the bed with her as they tussle in the sheets, lips crashing against one another reigniting the same passion from the kiss before. 

“Poppy..” Bea all but moans when Poppy places wet kisses along her jawline and begins biting at her neck. Not wanting her to have all the fun, Bea suddenly flips Poppy over pressing her deeper into the mattress as she ravenously kisses her, as if Poppy is the only one who can satiate her desire, and honestly speaking? She probably is. 

“No more foreplay, I want you now” Poppy breathlessly says, breaking the heated kiss. Bea sits up to straddle Poppy, intertwining both hands with hers and places it above the blonde’s head and grinds on her hips earning a low groan from Poppy. 

“Ask and you shall receive my queen”

In response, Poppy rolls her eyes and her tongue darts out of her mouth, teasingly moving against her own soft lips and as Bea leans in for another kiss her slender fingers move lightly above Poppy’s inner thigh, touching everywhere except where Poppy wanted her the most. After a few pleads from the blonde, Bea finally indulges her desires and they moved in perfect syncopation. 

….. 

After a while, Bea and Poppy collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied recovering from their physically demanding rendezvous. Bea lays on her back with one arm behind her head and one arm wrapped around the petite girl who fit perfectly in her larger frame. Poppy relaxes her head on Bea’s chest, feeling lulled by her heartbeat which brings her a sense of calm and security. Bea softly kisses her forehead and looks down at the girl, entranced by her beauty, enrapturing the way her breaths are slightly longer and deeper than usual, the way her hair falls around her face and how her fingers subconsciously ghost around Bea’s stomach drawing lazy shapes. 

Poppy Min Sinclair, a 5’2 blonde beauty who is Bea’s entire world. Everything about her screams perfection in Bea’s eyes. She’s a straight A student, captain of the cheerleading team, and likes to spend time volunteering at her local animal shelter and is secretly an amazing artist. Though her family was one of the richest families in Greensburg, Poppy wasn’t your average highschool rich girl. Though she would often go on regular shopping sprees and refuse to wear anything that wasn’t designer (unless it was Bea’s clothes), she never treated Bea any differently than how others would. She was a bright girl, who was loving, friendly, fierce when she needed to be and extremely loyal. When it was just her and Bea she could show her true self, not pretend to be someone she’s not or play a certain role, she could just simply be Poppy instead of Poppy Min Sinclair. Poppy often felt the gravity that came with her name, especially since that’s all her father pressured her to be, a Min Sinclair. 

Hayden Min Sinclair, Poppy’s father, owned an entire empire of companies, differentiating from technology based businesses to architecture and finance. To say he was a businessman was putting it lightly, he was almost like a god or at least someone who was highly worshipped by business moguls. He built up his family’s name and within a decade he was a force to be reckoned with. Hayden Min Sinclair worked his ass off to lift his companies off the ground because as a person of colour he knew he would have to work 10x harder to get what he wanted. All he ever wants is life for his daughter to be easy, the irony is, that he’s one of the main reasons why it’s so hard. 

He’s a man of honour and pride and has never expected anything less from his daughter, hoping she would keep the dignity attached to the Min Sinclair name and bring it to new heights. So his traditionalist and conservative views means that he’s expecting Poppy to marry a man, who’s also an aristocrat, in which Bea is 0 for 2 for Poppy’s father’s expectations. Hence, Bea and Poppy have to keep their relationship a secret, a way to protect both Poppy and her future but also Bea from Mr Min Sinclair’s wrath. Reputation means everything to the Min Sinclairs and to Mr Min Sinclair specifically, especially after Poppy’s mother passed away when Poppy was 10 after an unfortunate incident of a drunken hit and run which left Poppy permanently broken from the loss of her mother but had all the socialites gossiping about the tragedy for months. To this day Poppy and her father still mourn her loss and Poppy often turns to Bea for comfort, for her companionship could provide the means of making her forget the empty presence of her mother that was left behind. 

They’d known each other since they were 7, when Bea used to live in the very same neighbourhood after the Min Sinclair’s moved into the neighbourhood, and they spent almost every waking hour together, attached by the hip. They were the best of friends and almost nothing could get in their way. Emphasis on the ‘almost’. 

When Bea’s father left Bea’s mother, Isabella when Bea was 8 and her sister Aria was 2, after finding out that Aria wasn’t his child as a result of a one night stand Isabella had, Bea’s family struggled to afford to live in the neighborhood especially since Bea’s father was the breadwinner of the house and their main source of income. After a series of bad decisions resulting in Bea’s mother losing her job as a banker, the 3 girls were forced to move to the south of Greensburg since it was the only thing they could afford. 

Bea and Poppy were still inseparable at this point, either Bea would take 2 buses to go to Poppy’s house or Poppy would call the family’s driver so she could go over the Bea’s. The breaking point for their friendship was the day when Bea’s mother once took the girls to the park when they were 11 and after she had gotten so intoxicated to the point she threw up in front of all the children, and Poppy’s father prohibited Poppy from seeing Bea again. 

“That girl and her family will bring shame to our family’s name, imagine what your mother would say” Poppy can still hear her father’s words ringing in her head from time to time, but everytime she looks at Bea, all her expectations would disappear and she would just simply be happy.

They began dating when they were 14, after Poppy had managed to scrounge up all her courage to kiss Bea on valentine’s day, after the two girls had snuck away to a diner to hang out like they would usually do. Poppy looked as if she was going to pass out from embarrassment when Bea didn’t reciprocate the kiss at first, however in Bea’s defence she was more startled than anything else. When Poppy was about to apologise Bea moved in and gave Poppy a sweet and chaste kiss on the lips and from then they decided they would be together. Bea couldn’t believe her luck when she was able to call Poppy hers, she felt like she didn’t have much to offer Poppy as she had yet to have earned the scholarship to Belvoire, the same school that Poppy had been attending. As well as coming from a troubled family life she didn’t want to implicate Poppy in any way but staying away from her had proven to be too difficult. 

The consequences of their forbidden love was much harder on her than it was on Poppy, still nevertheless she would do anything for Poppy, which was proven time and time again when they have to act like strangers at school. In spite of that, the stolen glances, the stolen moments, the stolen kisses, it made it all worth it. 

“Are you ready for school tomorrow” Poppy’s soft voice vibrated against Bea’s chest. 

Bea lets out a soft chuckle, “What do you think Pops? I’m the school’s lonely girl”

Bea’s reputation at Belvoire could not be worse, in a school filled with entitled brats, it was difficult for her to make any friends considering her economic background. She also couldn’t rely on Poppy and her popularity since she couldn’t be within any vicinity of the girl she loves. Bea and Poppy’s friends had a history of not getting along, and since Poppy couldn’t allow the true nature of her relationship with Bea to come to light, Bea had to deal with all sorts of harassment and bullying from them. Bea often had to remind herself that she was only a target because with money comes a lot of entitlement, especially from snobby teenagers. Moreover, the consequences of her mother’s actions also didn’t help Bea as the stories followed her everywhere, causing all sorts of rumours to spread like wildfire. 

Poppy lifted her head slightly to look into Bea’s eyes, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant it’s the last year of highschool, that means one last chance for us to win nationals and for you to come on top for volleyball.”

As mentioned beforehand, the extra curricular Bea chose to partake in was volleyball, not only did being part of a winning sports team look good on a college application, it also helped Bea with releasing her pent up anger and dominating her competition. Her favourite thing in particular was the smaller group of cheerleaders, including Poppy, who were at every game after Poppy made a compelling argument to the principle about the importance of raising school spirit in all sport related inquiries. Bea would often steal a glimpse at Poppy, who always came up with extra dance moves and cheers, sending secret messages that she was rooting for her girlfriend. 

“One more year of highschool, do you know what that means Pops?” Bea smiled devilishly at Poppy who returned the smile and leaned her face in, lips ghosting around Bea’s. 

“Why don’t you remind me?”

Bea grabbed the blonde’s waist and stole a quick kiss, “One more year means that next year we’ll both be in New York, and we can finally be together for real”. 

“I can’t wait to live off campus with you, we should start looking at places now so we can get ahead and find a good place sin-” Bea cuts her off with a kiss while Poppy smiles, “I hate when you interrupt me with kisses”

“No you don’t”

“You’re right I don’t, but you better not slack this year Bea Hughes otherwise I’ll beat your ass if you don’t get into Columbia”

“I would never, I’m literally a better student than you babe. I would say you shouldn’t slack either but we all know daddy’s going to help you get into NYU.”

Poppy playfully slaps Bea on the arm who just laughs, “hey, no way in hell am I going to use the Min Sinclair name like that, when” (she made sure to put extra emphasis as she spoke) “I get into NYU it will be because of how amazing and talented I am” 

“Not to mention damn right gorgeous and smart and incredibly flexible”

Poppy moves to straddle Bea, hands on either side of her head and she leans in, “hmm, you think the admission office will be looking at those particular things?” her tone teasing and inviting. 

Bea attempts to move her head up only for Poppy to quickly place her perfectly manicured hand around her neck and push her down, Bea’s eyes flash as her voice pulsates with desire, “well I’ll definitely be looking, for educational reasons of course”

Poppy breaks out into a wide grin as the girls share a passionate kiss, tongues tangled together as they fight for dominance, Bea tries to envelop Poppy’s entire mouth with her kiss but Poppy’s unrelenting perseverance pushes through as she tightens the grip around Bea’s neck, pushing her deeper into the mattress. Bea succumbs to Poppy’s kisses and allows the blonde’s tongue to explore the inside of her mouth, getting lost in the wave of pleasure that emanates from Poppy’s lips. 

After a few more kisses, Bea looks at the digital clock sitting on top of Poppy’s dresser, “damn it’s getting late I should go”

“Wha- it’s barely 10 o’clock”, Poppy pouts as her eyebrows furrow slightly. 

“I know” Bea places a hand on Poppy’s face gently brushing against her cheekbone, “but you need your 8 hours of sleep and I gotta make sure everything is ready for Aria tomorrow”. 

Poppy sighs defeatedly as she knows how important Bea’s half sister is to her, she’s practically an older sister to Aria and is also incredibly protective of her too. “Well tell Aria I said hi”

Bea moves to stand and Poppy grabs her hand, “wait, you didn’t tell me, how’s your mom?”

Bea nonchalantly shrugged and gazed at the floor, “same old, same old, she drinks herself into oblivion not giving a shit about the rest of us” 

Poppy rubbed comforting circles on Bea’s hand, “don’t worry Bea one day it will get better” 

Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “I’ve been saying that for almost 10 years”

She stalks over to the window and lets half of her body hang out ready to reach out to the tree, Poppy moves over and gives Bea one last lingering kiss, “You know you can use the front door, my dad’s not here”

“Yeah I know but it’s always so awkward when I run into Rita at this time because she knows that I’m screwing you”, Bea smiles while Poppy raises an eyebrow

“Screwing me?”

“Sorry I meant making love to you” she gives Poppy a quick kiss 

“Much better, and anyways Rita doesn’t care, she’s been rooting for us this entire time”

“It’s okay, don’t worry P, I’ve been climbing in and out of these windows and over that gate for years, how else do you think I got these muscles”, she flexes her toned arms while Poppy runs a hand over them, “I love you”

“I love you too”, Poppy watches as Bea moves out of the window, gripping the tree and making her descent, “wait” she shouts down, “where did you leave your bike?”

Bea smiles up at her, “I parked it a couple of blocks away from here it’s fine, I’ll text you when I get home” she blows a kiss to Poppy and begins making her way over the gate and into the street which shone bright from the lampposts. Poppy sighs and closes her window and begins getting ready for bed until a knock at her door catches her attention. Rita, her nanny and keeper enters the room and looks at Poppy with a knowing glance, ‘Bea didn’t want to stay for dinner?’ 

Poppy laughs slightly and shakes her head, “no she had to get home to make sure her sister is okay”

Rita leaves a plate with a few cucumber and cheese sandwiches on the dresser, “don’t stay up too late Miss Min Sinclair,” and with that she gives a little wave and leaves the room closing the door behind her. After eating half of her sandwich and going through her extensive nighttime routine, she receives a text from Bea

💖 B

Just got home now 

Love you and goodnight my love

Poppy smiles at her phone and then sets her phone on her dresser, not before putting it on charge, and drifts off to sleep. 

Bea on the other hand was wide awake. When she safely parked her motorbike near her house and texted Poppy as she entered the house. She looked up from her phone into the dark room to see the tv quietly playing while her mother was passed out on the couch with a half drunk bottle of vodka on the table. She moved towards the couch covering her mom with a blanket and then went into her bedroom to check on her sister who was soundly sleeping in her bed. Bea headed into the kitchen took some cold pizza from the fridge and did some last minutes checks to make sure both her and her sister were equipped and ready for school tomorrow. She settled in her bed, her mind racing with thoughts about school and how challenging the first day back will be. 

read part 2: