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#or am I too good at keeping my act up for your dense heads to even get anything
lxkeee · 2 months
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Hi, could I request a Lucifer morningstar x darkness demon overlord reader? She lurks in the shadows like a boogeyman, she acts like morticia adams from the adams family, how would he meet or act around the gothic queen👁👁✨
LUCIFER X OVERLORD! FEM! READER
Part two
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Lucifer was just wandering around hell, unknowingly entering a territory of an overlord.
He doesn't know okay? It's just a forest of dead wilted trees with ominous aura.
His first instinct is to investigate.
This is his first time coming here, he only discovered this area after flying by to return to the palace.
Lucifer was walking around the dense forest, with his guard up.
The forest was quiet. A little too quiet.
He isn't afraid, unfortunately. He knows he can kill any demon who would try to mess with him.
Crack. A twig snapped
His head whipped to the direction of the noise, “Who goes there? Show yourself!” he threatens, wings in full display.
Shadows moving around him and finally stopping in front of him, morphing into a figure.
Lucifer expected a lot of things, but this.
A very tall and gorgeous woman, large deer antlers on her head. Sultry eyes and a smirk on her face.
Oh fuck, she's beautiful. Dangerous. He can sense the power she has.
“Good evening your highness, I didn't expect to see you here wandering around my home.” the woman says with a chuckle, making the man become a little flustered.
“Your home...?” he asked hesitantly and the woman nodded.
“Yes, this is my home or rather my territory. My home is somewhere around here. I just sensed a presence around these grounds and decided to check. I didn't expect to see the king of hell to be here.”
“M-my apologies, my lady. I simply didn't know.” he stammers a bit. Ah, calm yourself Lucifer. You're more powerful so you shouldn't be intimidated, he says to himself internally.
“It is alright, if you don't mind. Do you want to join me for a cup of tea? I just so happen to have finished brewing some.”
Lucifer is cautious around sinners, especially her. He doesn't know why his heart is palpitating this much. The best reason he got is fear loud incorrect buzzer noise
“I don't want to intrud—”
“Nonsense! You're not intruding.”
“But—”
“Do not fret, I am not going to hurt you. I should be the scared one as you are much more powerful than me. I am sure you can obliterate my existence with a flick of your finger.” the woman laughs softly, a kind of laugh that reminds him of the books he's read. The kind of laugh that draws you in.
“How about this, how about we get acquainted with each other? So that you'll be more comfortable?”
Lucifer's eyes narrowed, “Why are you so insistent?”
“Well, I just love making friends and you my dear seem to be an interesting character that I don't mind befriending.”
Lucifer rolls his eyes but eventually nodded, “Fine, My name is Lucifer Morningstar.”
“Wonderful, then... It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Lucifer, my name is [y/n]” She says before gently holding his hand and placing a small kiss on his knuckles.
With a smirk on her face as her eyes looked at him as she did so.
Lucifer's cheeks reddened, quickly snatching his hand away from the demoness.
“So, about that tea?”
Lucifer is beginning to see a pattern.
A type even.
It's been a few months since he's met the deer demoness.
Surprisingly he managed to get along with her, despite her... Rather questionable actions.
He often visits her mansion at the middle of the forest where he met her or the other way around.
She often surprises him by popping out of the shadows with her presence concealed.
She's playful, mysterious, dangerous, beautiful.
And tall.
He likes his women tall okay?
And he likes them a little deranged.
Anyways.
She keeps teasing him.
Just like the other day, he came to visit at the wrong time and she forced him to help her get dressed.
It was inappropriate! She only asked him to zip the zipper of her dress.
Poor guy was blushing.
She didn't make fun of his obsession with rubber ducks.
She even made ducks out of shadows and made it swim around his room and of course, he made one too with his powers.
The shadows and gold dust ducks swimming around the room and in the air.
It was... Cute...
Lucifer has gotten to know the woman better too, he has gotten the chance to see many sides of her.
Lucifer isn't stupid, he can tell he's developing feelings for her.
He's afraid, he's afraid of getting hurt again or hurting her.
He has issues he needed to fix first.
Though, he is slightly a flustered mess around the woman.
Can you blame him? She calls him endearing nicknames! She calls him sweetheart and it just makes his heart flutter.
He is cautious around her not because he's afraid of her but because he fears his feelings for her would accidentally be known.
And she just appears out of nowhere!
It took awhile for him to sort his emotions and he thinks he is finally ready to confess.
But first, Lucifer needs to find hints if she feels the same way.
“Thanks for the coffee, [y/n]. It tastes amazing as always.” Lucifer says, admiring the duck shaped cream that is floating on his coffee.
“It is a pleasure, sweetheart. Drink to your heart's content. I know you've been stressed lately.” She says with a gentle voice.
“I have a question.” he started, already planning a discreet way to ask her.
“Hmm? Go ahead.”
“What if let's say... You have a close friend and you've only known him for a couple of months but they fell in love with you and now they're planning to confess to you? Would you date him?”
Don't mind him guys, he's trying his best.
[y/n] tilts her head slightly, confused before giggling.
She's not stupid but she kinda wants to tease him.
“Depending on who this friend is.”
“Just answer.” he deadpans.
“Yes, would you confess though?” she asked as she leans forward to reach him across the table, holding his chin. Lips just a few inches away from each other.
Lucifer.exe has stopped working.
“Y-yes...” he stammers, beginning to feel shy as his cheeks heat up.
“Do you want a kiss?” she asked teasingly.
“Please...?”
“Good boy.” she says before finally pressing her lips against his.
It was the most addicting kiss he ever experienced.
“I like you.”
“I like me too.”
“[y/n]!”
“I am just joking, I like you too.”
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Helpless part 7 (I'm in an airport rn lol)
The two stepped into a mall in New York that Nico could not bother to remember the name of, Piper grabbed his hand dragging him through the mall. Nico constantly reminded himself that human contact would not kill him and that it was probably a good thing Piper was dragging him along considering he had no idea where he was going.
"I still don't understand why I couldn't just shadow travel us here."
"Will threatend to kill me and Chiron if we let you shadow travel."
"Of course it was Solace, I would expect nothing less from him." The son of Hades said, rolling his eyes. The two demigods walked through the stores both trying on different clothes and Piper this time failing to convince Nico to get anything that wasn't black. All while Piper teased him about a certain son of Apollo,
"Be realistic Piper, he's probably straight anyways."
"No he's not actually, he's bi. Leo was going to tell you but he couldn't find you, apparently the rest of Camp knows." Nico's face lit up for a second before looking back down.
"There's still no chance. He is literally the embodiment of sunshine, I am the child of Hades, God of the fucking Underworld. There is no sunlight there."
"Nico he clearly cares about you."
"It's his job."
"But he checks in on you so much more than anyone else."
"Because he doesn't trust me to stay alive."
"If he didn't trust you to be alive he would have kept you in the infirmary."
"There's still no chance he likes me."
"You're the only one who thinks that Nico, he gave you a nickname for Aphrodite's sake. He doesn't do that with anyone else who is 'just a patient'"
"He did that to get on my nerve."
"Gods you're so dense, wanna go to McDonald's now?"
"Oh, sure." Nico said trying to hide the shake in his voice.
"Oh and di Angelo, Will threatened to kill me if I didn't make you eat a full meal so yeah."
"Of course he did."
***
They finished ordering, Piper had only gotten some fries and a drink because apparently the vegetarian options 'were so bad they tasted like grass'. Nico just nodded, not pointing out the fact that not ten minutes ago she was threatening him to eat a full meal today because Will would kill her if he didn't and here she was barely eating herself.
"Number 57!" Nico walked up and grabbed the tray, he breathed in deeply. He'll be okay, if he acted calm then he could play it off. He would just walk off for a bit, Piper didn't have to know. The two started to eat, it still tasted as good as Nico remember but he could barely get anything down his throat. He already felt sick but he knew he could withstand at least another five minutes without throwing up, he tried to keep conversation to a minimum putting all his energy into seeming fine. After another few minutes passed, then Nico muttered,
"Bathroom." Before walking away, he tried to keep his pace normal but already knew he was walking away too fast and Piper would know something was up. He quickly walked inside and was extremely thankful the bathroom was empty, he went into the stall furthest away from the door. He threw up everything he had eaten like countless other times, at that point he was just hoping no one would walk in. He cleaned himself up a bit and headed back towards Piper,
"Okay tell me. What happened?"
"What?"
"I know something happened, you're biting your nails and you looked sick before. Also you practically ran and you look nervous."
"Nothing happened."
"Nico don't lie, I know something happened. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Piper desperately wanted to know what had happened to the Hades boy but she knew when to stop pushing, she didn't want to charmspeak it out of him, that's purely invasive. He'll tell her when he's ready.
"Come on, I want to do something I'll regret in a week."
"Which is...?"
"I'm getting my ears pierced."
"Oh my Gods, yes. That is an amazing idea; if they say you look too young to do it without parents concent, I'll charmspeak them."
"Thanks McLean, didn't particularly like the plan of asking the God of the Underworld to come to a mall in New York." Nico was relieved Piper had either forgotten to continue interrogating him or was leaving the topic for now, he had been meaning to do this at some point either way and this seemed like a good occasion.
***
Piper had to do some charmspeaking, but finally Nico had gotten them done. He decided to get doubles since he was going to regret it anyway might as well go all out, he hadn't even flinched when it happened. After that they went to a few more stores and Piper finally convinced him to get something that wasn't black, instead a very dark blue.
"I would ask if you are actually allergic to bright colours except I've seen you in a bright red shirt so that clearly isn't the case."
"I just like black, is there a problem?"
"It makes you look like the Grim Reaper."
"I was hoping for that."
"You're hopeless di Angelo."
"Finally you're giving up, took you long enough."
"Nope, simply stating facts. If I can bring a metal dragon to life I can make you look less like a ghost without the use of charmspeaking." Turns out however that she could not, maybe some tasks really were impossible.
"I'll shadow travel us back, it's not that far."
"Nico, I would get killed by your loverboy if you did that. We'll just take the-"
"That is probably more dangerous if we're being perfectly honest, also shut up."
"Never. By the way not that many people died, it was-" but the daughter of Aphrodite didn't have time to finish. A wooden club hit her over the head, Nico cursed under his breath and pulled out the only weapon he had, a small pocket knife, he knew he couldn't do much against a fully grown cyclopes. He didn't know where it had come from but that wasn't important, the monster had probably found them because of his blood, children of the big three were the easiest to be tracked by monsters. He had skeletons but there is no way he could stab it with the celestial bronze blade, Piper had passed out and was bleeding on the floor. Meanwhile Nico was struggling to not get hit by the 15 foot cyclopes, he didn't know what everyone else had seen but they didn't pay much attention. He raised a few skeletons to try and keep it in place, he felt himself getting weaker. He knew he shouldn't be doing these things but he was fine for those years he was alone, he would survive now. Piper had lost a lot of blood, he didn't know how well this would go, he had some squares of ambrosia but couldn't get it to her without dying. There was nothing else he could do, he grabbed her wrist and shadow traveled back to camp, but still got hit with the club before he was gone. His head hurt and he tasted blood in his mouth, he collapsed as he showed up somewhere in front of cabin 13.
---
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uchihaharlot · 2 months
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I asked about Obito and Itachi’s crush offering a massage. And loved it. And now I am here to beg for a more…NSFW version? Please?
Consider your wish granted. 😈 I probably should have done that first time around, but sometimes I like writing fluffier cutesy things.
Also, my apologies nonny! I try to answer these in the order that was received, but there are often shorter drabbles I like to work with first. ❤️🫶
NSFW; dom-ish…Obi (wuuuuhhh??); assplay; penetration; soft/needy Itachi (🥹); soul sucking blow job; these men live the good life, I swear!! Someone come rub my busted ass hip!! 🥹😭😭
Obito:
His crush is a bit perturbed this time around. Why the hell didn’t he get the message the first time she took his damn shirt off?? He’s a bit…dense, ok? Obito is not stupid though, he definitely had a feeling she was up to something. Mm, still up to it this time too, man just didn’t want to get his hopes up. This time he doesn’t stop her when she rucks his shirt up, a little more rough than necessary. Her greedy hands mapping every small dip and minor scar on his back. Roaming down his hard muscles and up to his neck. Despite having small hands, his crush works out those tired muscles and soothes his aches.
‘Let me return the favor.’ It was bold, yes, and laced with a devious tone. Obito couldn’t think of a better way to make her squirt squirm than to return the gesture. ‘Finally.’ She thinks.
He does the same to her as she did him, removing her shirt and bra. Spinning her around pressing stomach flat to floor. Firmly dragging calloused hands over warm flesh. How soft and delicate she left in the hands of a man who has seen caused destruction. How he could destroy her with just a few thrusts. The first kiss on her shoulder has her heart racing. Obito’s warm breath was katon heat on her skin and caused goose flesh to break out. Searing smaller teasing kisses in his wake, Obito lifted her hips and pressed his severely aching girth to her and bent down to whisper in her ear.
‘Is this what you want?’ Dragging his lips down her backside again, lowering his briefs to let out cock and run it against her thigh until it pressed against her clothed heat.
‘..yes.’ Panting already, how badly this girl tried the first time around, she shouldn’t be this breathless. Obito didn’t want to make things any more tantalizing than they already were, but nonetheless, he pressed into those moist panties before slipping his arousal down between her thighs and shutting them.
Bodies pressed close, Obito gently rocked with her. Dragging his girth in and out of her thighs, the head of his cock was a great visual when she looked through her arms. Mimicking hard thrusts, she only imagined how full of him she would be. Why was he taking so long, ‘Obi..?’
‘Ask nicely.’ High on himself, Obito lowered the remaining barrier between them. Stuck his thumb in his mouth and ran it over the sensitive skin between her cunt before slipping it into her ass. The sound that ricocheted out the back of her throat made him press in further. Obito gently tugged her clit with his freehand, ‘or I’ll stop.’
‘No!’ Desperate, sheer lifted her head to look over her shoulder. ‘…please. Obito, gods please.’ He ran that hand to push her panties down to her knees and parted them a little, tracing her entrance.
‘Please. What?’
When her response was his fat cock, only then did Obito brazenly sheath himself to the hilt and slowly drag in and out. The loud mewl she let out told Obito he needn’t be too careful, if she was taking him this well. She could handle a little more. His thumb rocked in and out of her ass, hurried but precise. The way her soft but taut cunt sucked him in more as his thumb worked a different nerve, delivered coinciding sensations.
Her body quaked with his. Obito can only act tough for so long. The second her fluttering walls encapsulate his throbbing cock, its game, set and match. Neither one of them can keep quiet. Whispers of ‘I’m going to pump you full of my cum’ to ‘gonna put a baby in you’ seemingly come from a deep seated desire.
Her into reprieve is to thrust back into him with as much force, feeling the tip of his length kiss the spongey muscle of her cervix. Tap, tap and then the warmth of his loins spreads through her insides. Leaving a line of it down his shaft when he slips out.
They’ll lay on the floor in blissful silence, softly petting one another hair, face and body. Deep slow kisses until the euphoria has subsided.
Itachi:
Gurl is making Itachi flustered this time around. Two back rubs back to back, barely 24 hours apart. His genius didn’t leave room for debate, she was DTF. Just how far was this girl willing to go to please him? When she ran her hand over his abdomen, Itachi pulled her closer. There was no need to beat around the bush. If she really wanted it, just come out with it. Itachi was never one to mince words, he rather found being direct and concise yielded better results.
‘I know what your hands can do.’ He whispered, running a thumb down her palm. ‘I’m more curious about your mouth.’
Under the gaze of the sharingan, his crush drops to her knees. She’s gentle but eager with unfastening his slacks. Tracing the hair that peaks, he slouches in his chair. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. In the privacy of his own home he could give in to a prohibition or two. As his crush runs her hands over his briefs, both hands pulling down at the hem. He took himself in in hand and tapped the tip of his cock to her lips. She eagerly swiped up his shaft, Itachi growled lowly. Choked out when she sank the warmth of her mouth over his aching cock, to the base and back. Looked up at him and did it again. And again, taking the plunge over his aching head, and fully reaching the back of her throat. Gag reflex seemed nonexistent relatively quickly.
His eyes rolled shut when she tugged his testicles a little and took him in stride again. The urge to ram his cock in her mouth almost took precedence over the desire to last a little longer. Itachi was not virginal by any means, but goddamn his crush was making him feel like a half cocked 16 year old again. When she took him in both hands he went incoherent. Her breathy laugh and whispers fell on deaf ears, ‘does this feel good ‘Tachi?’ Followed the sounds of his low moans and pleas. Itachi gripped a hand at the back of her head to pull her off, but she neither yielded nor slowed down.
He wasn’t a push over, but that familiar itch of the floodgates opening up was the harbinger to the loud grunt that crawled out his throat. Her hands delicately worked his throbbing cock, the tingle scrunched up his balls and soothed the ailment for release. She drank him in full. Allowing the tip of his cock to ram the back of her throat once more as his creamy sperm coated and sloshed down her throat. Unfazed by the bitterness, and her little seductive pop off his cock. It drove him bonkers, Itachi bent down eagerly for a kiss. What was it about a woman drinking from your cock like a straw and swallowing it like the worlds freshest smoothie? Itachi gave two shits about the lingering flavor.
When she thinks he’s satisfied, he’ll bend her over and sweetly offer his gratitude…
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minniepetals · 2 years
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another part of e21 mafia au? Please?
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16
“Y/N?”
Watching you climb in through the window, Namjoon stands up with surprise as he’s quick to rush on over and give you a hand.
“Listen, you’re the only one I’m safe with right now so don’t say anything dumb.”
“Dumb?” He blinks.
You let out a grunt once you’re in his office and slump yourself right onto the sofa. “Men can be so dense sometimes.”
“Um…I’m a man too, if you haven’t realized.” When you don’t give him a reply but instead just sit there with an upset look on your face, he narrows his eyes of worry. His phone vibrates for a moment and one glance over at the text message Jimin has sent to him, asking for your whereabout and he gets a clue as to what happened. Namjoon lets out a sigh as he takes a seat across from you. “Is this about the kiss?”
You huff and he gets his answer.
“What is it? Why’re you upset?”
“It was just…” You look off to the side, lips pouting. “I needed time and I wanted to take things slow but…now that the beans are spilled, I feel like…like I now owe everyone else the same thing and I don’t…I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet but I also don’t want anyone to get upset because they know that I kissed both Jimin and Taehyung but it’s just…”
He takes in your words, nodding slowly. “Did you tell them that? Jimin and Taehyung?”
“No, but..” Maybe you should have. You can’t expect everyone to simply read your mind because you yourself aren’t good with words. How would they know what’s going on inside your head if you don’t explain? “Am I in the wrong?” You ask him as you look up, feeling conflicted now.
“Well…communication does help.” When you fall silent to his words, he leans his elbows against his thighs, watching you with an understanding gaze. “Y/N, if you aren’t ready for anything, no one’s going to force you to do anything. You don’t have to feel obligated to do anything.”
“I know but..” Brows furrowed, lips pursed together, you find it hard to convey your feelings. “I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone.”
Namjoon chuckles lightly. “How considerate of you. But I promise, we’re more understanding than you think.”
“You are?”
“Mmn.” He nods. “Whatever you want, whatever you don’t want, it’ll all be at your disposal.”
“But…now I kind of feel a little bad.”
“Why?”
“Jungkookie looked like he really wanted a kiss.”
Namjoon laughs. “He can wait. He’s been waiting for the past four years, what’s a few more waiting going to do to him?”
“Four years?” You eyes widen when you turn his way. “But we literally met four years ago, don’t tell me…” When he gives you a knowing gaze, you stare with disbelief. “He acted so hostile towards me…”
“The kid didn’t know how to act around a girl so he resorted to that.”
“Oh.” You laugh a little. “How cute.”
“How cute indeed,” the leader agrees.
“Ah! By the way,” you stand from your seat to walk on over and plop yourself right beside him. He straightens up, body turned your way as he rests a hand on your hip, giving you his full attention. “Okay, I know I should probably make up with Jimin and Taehyung and give them an explanation about why I had gotten upset in the first place but I feel like torturing them a little.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean it was their fault for running their mouths when they know I get flustered by the subject so wouldn’t it be just right?”
“So you’re not upset with them any longer?”
“Oh I’m still upset, just not as much anymore because I know I should have said something back at the library but it’s also like…it was a really special moment, you know? And I get it, in a relationship, secrets shouldn’t be kept from anyone but when you think about it, what I was planning on doing was withholding the truth — which is different from keeping a secret.”
“Is it?”
“I mean, you understand my point, don’t you?”
“Hm…do I?” He wonders, rubbing his chin a little.
You pout. “Oh come on, Joon, we literally had this talk just a few minutes ago about how I’m not ready for everyone to come at me just yet.”
“I don’t know…I do envy Jimin and Taehyung a bit.”
“And Yoongi.”
“Yoongi?” Your cheeks quickly flush when you realize what you had just blurted out. “Wait, Yoongi too?” Namjoon’s eyes are quick to narrow your way when your eyes avert from his, looking all suspicious.
“Yoongi…Yoongi, he-” You stutter. “He kissed me out of nowhere, okay? I-I wasn’t prepared for it and he just…in the middle of the street, he..”
“So you’re telling me if I kiss you right now, it wouldn’t really matter?”
“Well of course it would matter, it—”
“I think…” you feel his hand flick towards the side of your face, eyes watching you steadily as he tucks your hair behind your ear, “you might be more prepared than you think…don’t you think so?”
“N-Namjoon…”
“The longer you stall, babygirl, the harder it’ll be. But once you get the first move over with, the easier it’ll be to let yourself go.” Why does that sound so familiar? Ah, that’s right, Taehyung told you the same thing, didn’t he? Still, even though you know how right he is, it doesn’t make the first move any easier to make. “Hm…being as you’re unwilling to push me away, I guess you are more prepared than you initially thought, huh?”
“I-I…”
“I overheard something, Y/N.” You blink, wondering what he means. “Jimin said you were gushing over Seokjin and that you actually tried to make the first move with him.”
Crap. Did they tell Seokjin that too? You hope not. That would be quite embarrassing — but then again, this is Jimin and Taehyung you’re talking about, why wouldn’t they tell Seokjin?
“Since I’m here now, why don’t you practice it on me?”
“Huh?!” Totally flustered by the outcome of today, you feel your cheeks heating up so quickly you think you might be a little dizzy. “You’re kidding!”
Namjoon simply smirks your way with dangerous eyes staring right into your soul. “Why would I be kidding? It’d be a privilege to receive your kiss.”
“But…I..”
“Though, of course,” he backs off suddenly, “I don’t want to force you into anything you don’t—”
“N-No, I..!” You don’t know why but in just a split second you have him by his blazer and forcing him back to face you once more. Why did you do that? You aren’t sure. But you guess seeing him back off all of a sudden caught you off guard and now you’re in this position.
Do you hate it?
No.
No, you don’t.
Not at all.
Namjoon remains silent but you see the amusing glint in his eyes, the ones he always likes to use whenever you’re in a position to choose something you already know the answer to but hesitate to make a move. He stays there patiently waiting and press a hand over your slightly trembling one.
“You…you’re a real jerk.”
He chuckles. “Am I, darling? In the end, you’re making the decision.” He nuzzles his nose against yours and you grow even more flustered yet have no will to move away. You hate that he knows the effect he has on you and is using that to his advantage.
“Kiss me,” Namjoon dares.
And you flutter your eyes closed, listening to his demand.
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nelapanela94 · 2 years
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"You're not leaving, are you?"
Your hand tightens around the knob, your shoulders so tense a numbing fizz creeps along your arms to the tip of your fingers. You nudge your tongue against your teeth to keep from falling apart, as if it would ease the trembling. Sucking in a long breath, you curl your fingers around the handle of your case and look over your shoulder, your eyebrows plonking into a frown.
He mentally slaps himself at the dumbest thing he could blurt out, his hand curls taut around the grip of his walking aid.
“I am, Levi.” Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t crack; it steels, belying your break down, the dashed hopes roiling in your stomach. “Don't worry. I'll be at the tea shop first thing in the morning. I’m not quitting my job.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“Why?”
He scrapes his brain for an answer. The house is stuffy, the dense air is choking him. the clattering of his teeth nags him. He bites his lips to cut the quivering, then gulps.
“Just… you’re not married, you shouldn’t move in with him if you’re not married.”
You don’t know whether to laugh or cry at his pathetic response.
“Come on Levi.” Your eyes glisten. You drop your luggage and turn around, resting your back against the door. “You can do better than that.”
Is it to hard to accept you want me?
He gazes down, shifting his weight to his good leg.
“You said you l—“
“That was a mistake.” You close your eyes, boiling in rage and embarrassment, steam would seep out from your ears any time. Your nails sink in the tenderness of your thighs, resisting. “It was the alcohol. Please don’t—“
“You kissed me.”
“I didn’t mean it.” Motion pictures of that night reel at the edge of your memories, the clink of glasses, spills of wine, his flustered face, him pressing down on you, and those three fucking words you’ll always regret. The dam of tears is cracking, the heat seizes your heaving chest, you wipe off the sweat over your upper lip with the back of your hand.
“Then you’re a great actress.” He chews the inside of his cheek. “Do you love him?”
“I do.” You answer too fast. Not like I loved you. Never like that.
A jag through his heart.
His mouth parts as if to speak, but he can wrench out any word. Maybe is it to late to say it?
“I l—“
You shake your head. You don’t want to hear his desperate attempt. “Loving is a brave act, but it requires more courage to let oneself be loved wholeheartedly. Why are you so afraid to be loved?”
He only stares at you, the black of his eye gobbles up the bluish gray. Again, he pulls out that face you cannot read. You fight the urge to hit him and break the shell.
You wince and press your hands to your eyes, letting out a shuddering sigh. Then look back at him through the blur until his image whittle. “Most refuse to let themselves be loved out of cowardice, Levi. Ashamed that the other discovers the saddest of secrets: that you need a lot of tenderness, that you can't live without love. If you’re not willing, I’m not insisting, I’m not willing to wait all my life for something that might never be.” You stoop by a fraction and hoist your hefty suitcase. The knob clicks, the door creaks. A strained smile. “I did love you, Levi.”
A thud.
A dull clunk.
His knees buckle, a hot tingle crawls through his legs; he plummets and covers his ears as uncontrollable tears squeeze out through his lashes. The cacophony of his weeping is pricking, unbearable. Regret bangs in the back of his head like the percussion in a marching band. Dizzy.
The floor tips under him.
His racking breaths are deafening. The scars on his face itching.
It hurts too much, he swears his heart will give up right there.
And you, sitting in the back seat of the cab, pushing back your cuticles, still unsure whether you used the right tense.
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Not proofread, no edit. Just a quick little thing before going burrowing under my covers.
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fairytailbaddie · 2 years
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Nalu Fanfic
Wattpad name: thefairytalewhore
WIP
The Resort
PART TWO
Lucy’s POV
Natsu and I finished up breakfast and we headed to the guild. During our walk we were talking about what kind of job we wanted to go on together.
"So, Natsu. Where's happy at? Do you think he would want to go on the job with us?"
Natsu looks over at me and says, "Nah, he's been hanging with Carla. They are probably going to go on a job with Wendy today."
"Oh okay.. So what job do you want to go on?!" I ask enthusiastically. I have been wanting to go on a job with just Natsu since I met him. I have always had a crush on him, but he is just to dense to notice. I wish he liked me back. He is my best friend. Someone I would always get along with...
"Hmmm..," Natsu was contemplating. "I will have to look at the board when we get to the guild. Hopefully they will have something that will be a fun challenge for both of us!" 
"Yeah, sounds good to me. We don't want anything too easy that you do all the work and I just sit back and watch." I say with a wink at him. Natsu blushes and rubs at the back of his head.
"You're right. Sorry if I do that a lot. I just want to protect you from getting hurt. I know you can handle yourself, but I feel like that should be my job." Natsu was really blushing now. I have never seen him act this way.. Hmm.. 
I grab Natsu's hand holding it tight. He looks up at me with a look of shock on his face.
"It's okay. I like it when you protect me. It makes me feel safe. I know I can always count on you to save me when I need you to Natsu" 
Then, Natsu's face turns from shock to predatory.. oh no..
Natsu's POV
'Mavis help me.' I think to myself when Lucy says those words. There is a  tightening within me with her admission that she likes when I protect her. Something clicks into place and all I can do is let my instinct take over. 'Mine.'  Where that thought came from? I'm not sure. But everything in me is telling me that nobody else is allowed to touch her. Only me. 
Next thing I know I am picking up Lucy bridal style and running us to the guild.
"Ahhh! Natsu!" Lucy screams from the unexpected change. She buried her head into the crook of my neck, holding onto me tightly. It's all I could do to stop myself from growling in pleasure at how she feels this close to me. 
I run us to the guild kicking open the door with Lucy still in my arms. "WE'RE HERE!!" I yell out.  Everyone glances over to us, not really paying us any mind. Except for Mira. She is practically shaking with excitement. I can see the glee in her eyes and with my dragon slayer's hearing I can hear her squeal to herself,  "Ahhh! NaLu! Finally!" I just roll my eyes and walk me and Lucy over to the job board. 
"Natsu you can put me down now.." Lucy says with a blush staining her cheeks.
"Nah, I'm keeping you right here." I say with a wicked grin on my face. I change the way I am holding her so she has to wrap her legs around my waist. Her blush deepens and she gasps as she can feel my now very aroused member pushing up against her thigh. I can't help it. This position is sooo much better. I like the way she feels against me. Her large breasts pushing into my chest and her legs squeezing around my waist. I internally groan. 'Now if only we were laying down with nothing on...'  
As much as I want to keep daydreaming about those options I really do want to go on a job just the two of us. So I turn to the board to start looking. I know I want to change my original plan for a job. I need something that will bring Lucy and I closer together..I gaze around and my eyes snap to the perfect job. Snatching it off the board, I show Lucy and she giggles at the job I chose. 
"Really, Natsu?" she can't stop laughing at the absurdity of the job. But hey, I think it's perfect. "This is so not your style! You always want to do a job where we are fighting monsters and you can make a big mess of things! Not this... You want to go to a resort to test out their new opening?"
"Hey come on, we kinda need a break and it would be fun to get paid to test out a new resort. Come on Luce. I know it will be a good time.." I say in a husky tone adding a wink to try and persuade her.
She physically shivers against me and squeezes her legs tighter around my waist. 
"O-okay.." she nervously replied. 
I give her my signature grin.
"Alright! Let me talk to Master first, then we will go!"
Natsu is starting to make his feelings more known to Lucy. His urges getting stronger. What will happen when they go on their "job" together?  Will things heat up? To be continued..
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nomniki · 1 year
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disoriented ━━ kim seungmin ⟡ seungmin didn’t feel he was fit to be an outrider for the knights of favonius; you disagreed.
genre﹒fluff word count﹒933 warnings﹒none!
an﹒i was debating on whether to post these or not but…clearing out my drafts so i am! here is the first installation of my very short skz genshin au series 🙃
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to say you felt disoriented didn’t even begin to describe a fraction of how you were feeling. your bottom half was uncomfortably damp, dried only partially by the warm sun that shone high above your head. you didn’t have a clue how long you’d been walking, having been traipsing around in a fairly dense woodland since a little after you’d woken up.
quelling your worry over your missing sibling was difficult, aided only by the worries you had over the uncomfortable lack of awareness and knowledge about your surroundings. another cursory glance around you revealed nothing out of the ordinary, although, the large orange fruits you’d been seeing around were looking more and more appetising.
“uhm, hello.”
you yelled, undignified and shrill, throwing yourself backwards and away from the sudden voice. he, the voice was definitely a males, didn’t approach. you scrambled to your feet hastily.
“sorry. i’m seungmin, outrider for the knights of favonius.”
you weren’t listening, trying desperately to catch your breath after the fright he’d given you.
“sorry again. i’m not very good at this. i should’ve known better than to startle you like that.”
he didn’t seem to post much of a threat upon first glance, although you were still wary of the bow slung over his broad shoulders. in lieu of a response, you surveyed him. brown leather boots were laced up to his shins and long socks that reached to just below his scabby knees. around his middle was a maze of more leather, an intricate web of laces and the fastening of the cloak around his shoulders. under your scrutinising gaze, he fiddled with the goggles around his head, responsible for pushing back his tawny brown hair.
“you can come back with me to the city, or i can direct you to somewhere else, although you don’t look decked out for travel.”
he paused, seungmin, you reminded yourself, and you watched as his lip caught between his teeth, presumably a nervous habit employed in the face of your silence.
“uh, i’ll come with you, into the city.”
you spoke apprehensively, slow and wary. that all dissipated as he perked up, eyes wide and sparkling and smiling widely in a way that was frankly disarming. for all his awkwardness and the frightening beginning to your meeting, seungmin didn’t seem nearly as bad at his job as he was insisting.
“by the looks of it, you don’t know where we’re going. sorry for making all these assumptions based on your appearance, i know that’s kinda rude so, y’know, correct me if i’m wrong.”
you approached him with all the confidence of a baby deer, ready to bolt at the slightest inkling of danger. hesitantly, you fell into stride with him, appreciative of the careful distance he kept and training your eyes on his gloved hand, swinging between your bodies.
“you’re in mondstadt, the nation of freedom. we aren’t far from the city now. i know i’m not great at the whole introductory thing but chan insisted. he’s the acting grandmaster, which basically means that he’s in charge. he’s really nice, he isn’t from around here either, but everyone loves him, so you will too. where are you from? you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but i’ve never seen anyone who looks quite like you.”
he gave your clothing another curious glance and you frowned, unable to stop yourself from voicing the question plaguing your mind.
“…no one who looks like me?”
“nope,” clearly something in your demeanour gave away your disappointment, because he was quick to add, “wait, should i have? i didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”
you shrugged, “it’s fine, you don’t need to keep apologising. i just…”
seungmin offered you a soft little smile and inhibitions aside, you continued.
“my sibling. they were taken. i guess i was just hoping you might’ve seen them.”
it was clear that you were upset so seungmin began talking again, “just because i haven’t doesn’t mean nobody has. once we get to the city, i’ll take you to minho. he knows everybody, he’s sure to know something.”
you nodded along with his assurances, content to nurture the flame of hope flickering in your chest.
“normally i don’t talk this much, if it's bothering you, you can just say so. i guess i'm just used to being around loud people so the silence feels a little weird."
"i don't mind."
he seemed visibly relieved and you figured the least you could do was reciprocate his efforts to upkeep small talk with you.
"i'm normally not this quiet either, i'm just...disorientated. thank you for being so accommodating, seungmin."
he flushed at your earnest thanks, looking away with a shy smile.
"oh! you never told me your name! unless, that was on purpose and...you don't want to—"
"it's yn."
"...that's a really pretty name, it suits you."
"tell me more about those people you mentioned. the ones in the city."
you prompted, watching in abject fondness at the way his whole face was lit up by his smile alone. even with sand stuck in the creases of your clothes and the slightly damp material clinging to you. even disorientated, both by circumstance and the disarming nature of seungmin's puppy like personality, you couldn't imagine there to be anyone else in the world you would've preferred to run into than seungmin.
although seungmin seemed begrudging about his position as outrider for the knights of favonius, you were glad that chan, whoever that is, had appointed seungmin.
when you reached the city, you'd have to thank him.
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✦ to my masterlist
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mlmxreader · 2 years
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Possession Is Protection | Sierra Six x m!reader
@spicyveganfun asked: "Let me guess, you like it when I praise you"  and “Get over here and sit on my lap” with Sierra Six 🥺. I  am now like all the thirsty little gay people in my phone and there’s nothing I can do about it😭
summary: of all the things that Six is confident that he knows, it’s that possession can be protection. 
tws: swearing, possessiveness 
word count: 1112
If it had been a different point in time, Six doubted that he would care so much if someone was flirting with you; he knew that he could trust you, he knew that you were loyal to him and that you only had eyes for him, but when he had an uncountable amount of people on his ass wanting to take him down for cash or glory or both, being possessive started to become almost a second nature. A mere instinct. Little more a choice than breathing. Possession was protection, as Six knew that out of all those people, there was no doubt that at least three of them had the great idea of grabbing you and using you to get to Six; he had no doubt that there were probably enough that he wouldn’t be able to count them on his fingers. Possession was protection, that was all it was and all it ever would be; if he wanted to keep you safe, Six didn’t have a choice, he needed to get possessive over you, he needed to play dirty and he needed to act like all the douchebags in films who got possessive over their significant other for no fucking reason; he didn’t like it, but he had to do it. He couldn’t risk something happening to you, he couldn’t take the gamble of finding out what awful deeds would be done if you were taken away from him; his own boyfriend, the one and only man he ever loved, ripped from his grasp all because he tried to do the right thing for once. Possession was protection. That’s all it was at the end of the day, the possessive behaviour he would show in public or in crowded places, all it ever was, was just protection. Trying to protect you, to keep you out of harm’s way. 
He kept a close eye on you to begin with, agreeing to meet a British rogue in a densely packed club was suddenly looking like an awfully bad idea; but he needed the information, he needed an ally, and even though he kept getting distracted by you, he did his best to work out a deal with the other treasonous spy. They seemed to understand for the most part, telling Six that they had been through very much the same and were trying to escape their own government’s wrath, but when you started to walk over, they looked you up and down with an appreciative hum. Tilting their head to the side as they bit at their lip. 
Six brought out his phone, glaring at you before he sent the text; he watched you stop, getting your phone and looking at the message before smiling and doing as you were told. 
“Get over here and sit on my lap. Now.” 
You sat with your back against his chest, your legs spread a little as he kept his hand on the inside of your upper thigh, his other arm stretched out along the back of the booth as he dug his fingers into your flesh, making you shift your hips as you cleared your throat and tried not to act too excited; Six acted like it was nothing, continuing his conversation knowing fully well that the other rogue knew by now exactly who it was that you belonged to. When they finally left, no further information to  share, no extra words of alliance to give, Six pulled you a little closer, biting at your neck softly. 
“Mine.” 
“Yours,” you breathed out, moving to straddle him as you put your hands on his shoulders, your breathing a little heavy and excitement evident in how you looked at him, feral and lustful. “Only yours.” 
“Good boy,” he grumbled, putting one hand on your ass. He didn’t miss the way the words made you shiver and shake, he wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what those words did to you, he knew exactly which buttons they pushed and how hard. “Let me guess, you like it when I praise you.” 
You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip and pressing your forehead to that spot between his shoulder and his neck, making him smile as he kept you so close; sure, possession was protection, and sure he wasn’t exactly keen on it, but he always managed to find a way to make sure that you at least had fun, to make sure that you got something out of it even if he meant he got nothing. 
He wasn’t ignoring it, but when you asked if he would praise you again, Six said nothing; too busy with taking another look around the packed club as he tensed up a little and clenched his jaw. Now would be the time, he knew that, now would be the time that they would come for him if they were going to; he was as careful as he could be, especially when you joined him, but he still knew that the dogs on his trail had a set system, a set way of working, and he knew as well as they would when the perfect time to strike would be. He licked his lips, taking in a deep breath before he pushed you up so that he could look into your eyes. 
“You wanna leave?”
You nodded, smiling down at him. “How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess,” he grumbled, waiting for you to get off of his lap before he dragged you outside. His heart dropped when he saw the unmarked cars, but he was quick to think, dragging you into the nearest alleyway and pushing you up against the wall; trying not to moan when you tugged at his hair and pulled him in for a kiss, trying not to wince when he put his arms up against the wall either side of your head. Fuck, when he pushed his tongue past your lips you were done for, but you didn’t want him to stop; tugging at his hair again to keep him close, your other hand at the nape of his neck as you whimpered softly. 
Six listened out, the engines idled and he knew those heavy duty footsteps anywhere; standard issue, he thought, not even realising he had pulled away until you put your hand on his cheek and turned his head so that he had to look at you. He smiled, licking his lips. 
What the Hell? 
He went back in for another kiss, at the very least he figured that it was a fun distraction and it reduced the likelihood of either of you getting caught by anyone.
Besides, he missed being able to kiss you like that. 
if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG
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imperatorium · 1 year
Note
OK SO- i don’t know if you remember my ask but I’m the same anon from the ask about if it was ok if I wrote a very, and I mean very (I am so sorry this was so much longer then intended) long scenario between nihil and imperator based on the song somethin’ stupid and I finally stopped being lazy and wrote the rest of this, sorry for it taking so long (the ask was like 9-10 days ago I believe). 
I will say if this is too long (even with smaller text) then what you’re comfortable responding to then feel free to delete it and I’ll come back in like 2-3 days and split it up so it doesn’t fill up your blog too much. Anyway please enjoy:
2-4 months after nihil first meets imperator he becomes truly head-over-heels for her and genuinely loves everything about her (good and bad) to the point he doesn’t even know how to fully react to it because all he’s ever really had for relationships were short-term or didn’t last due to various reasons and he’s never felt like this for any of his partners 
But (in a rare moment of clarity and intelligence) nihil kinda realizes imperator thinks/sees their relationship as a longer fling but nothing more so he wants to try his best to woo her is the most romantic way possible and to talk about how he feels so maybe she’ll change her about how she sees them and they can be in a proper relationship, that always works right? (I did say a rare moment of intelligence)
So the man asks her out on a date when she’s free one day and she doesn’t think anything of it until he’s all like “ok so let’s make this 3 weeks away and also make sure to buy/plan to wear a nice dress because I’m going to make a reservation at [insert fancy, 5 star, insanely nice restaurant]” that she’s only ever been able to go once and absolutely loved it and mentioned that to him in, what she’s pretty sure was only once before, passing.
So she gets a little suspicious about any alterier motives he might have but she still agrees anyway. Keep in mind, imperator started this whole relationship with him to establish a connection and trust with him to later use to manipulate him to get what she wants (power and influence in the church), but at the same time has grown to genuinely care about him and enjoy his company (even though he can be a little too dense and stubborn for her to deal with sometimes). Basically, she IS under the impression that their little relationship is purely sexual but it doesn’t really bother her since she’s already done what she set out to do and their relationship will just make him easier to keep by her side until she needs him. But until they do break off why not have some fun and treat each other for a bit, ya know.
So my man’s over in his room planning for this thing, before and after as well, to make sure this entire thing goes really well if not perfectly. We’re talking he’s planning out what flirty things he should say and what compliments he should give out instead of just going with the flow, he’s basically devolved to a high school boy who’s asked out his crush out to a school dance instead of man who’s in his late 20s/early 30s.
The time comes for the date, they go to eat and everything is going well and nihil is dropping the most absolutely STUPID compliments and flirty lines ever. Think “are you from Tennessee” or “did it hurt when you fell from heaven crawled out of hell” kinda stuff. Imperator thinks it’s the funniest crap though, it’s just so bad she can’t not laugh because she can’t remember a time she’s heard lines this horrible but still endearing and plays along with him because it’s fun.
The dinner finishes and they go on a small walk down the street in the older and nicer part of town where some musicians are playing (they’re playing the instrumental to Somethin Stupid because ofc they are) and find a little alcove with some vines and plants to hide away in and start slow dancing to it (and imperator is acting like she didn’t know musicians liked to play here early in the night for nihil’s sake pffff-). 
As the music slows down and ends he pulls her close and just gets this dopey smile on his face  and puts his fore head on her and just says that he loves her. Imperator is like “sure yeah, I know”, but nihil’s like “no no no no no I LOVE love you, as in I want to seriously be with you”. Imperator looks just about as shocked as he’s ever seen her, which granted, isn’t much, but it still kinda looks like the internet dial up noise is going on in her head. This does hurt his feelings slightly but he’s not very shocked considering what their relationship has been like up until this point.
Meanwhile, imperator is having the biggest oh no moment of her life. Like, she’s been pretty jaded by the world and has been a lone wolf all her life and knows how to use her looks to get what she wants. But like actual romance? Hell no. On the outside she seems mostly fine if a bit conflicted but on the inside she’s about ready to freak out entirely and loose her composure because ACTUAL FEELINGS?????? IN HER MANIPULATIVE GRAND PLAN????? It can muddy up a lot of stuff. The worst of it is that she actually can’t bring herself to reject or be mean to him about it, she doesn’t know why but she just can’t. 
After composing herself, imperator simply responds by saying something along the lines of “look we’ve both had a few drinks, I now you want to talk about this now but it probably isn’t a good time to, especially in public.” Nihil’s a little dejected by the response but it’s something and she’s unfortunately right about this so they head back to the car and drive back to the abbey (cue the most awkward silent car ride of the decade).
They say their goodbyes and she does hug him before they go to their separate rooms (there’s hope for him!). Problem is that imperator can’t go to sleep. She her mind keeps on going over the events of the night and eventually just keeps on replaying the moment when he said he loved her, why couldn’t she turn him down? Why couldn’t she simply say what their relationship was, allies with benefits? It just didn’t make sense. 
She does eventually go to sleep, but in the wonderful ways of late-night, anxiety inducing thoughts, she wakes up in the middle of the night in a sweat realizing “oh shit, maybe I do love him back”. She spends a good hour if not more, early in the morning recontextualizing their relationship and interacts. How long has she been like this? When did it start? It just didn’t make sense and it also didn’t bode well for her. Getting genuine feelings mixed up wasn’t good especially if she needed to help the clergy get rid of him if he were to be an unideal papa. There’s also the fact that after this self-realization that every memory or though of him started to make her heart flutter more little by little. She was one of the most powerful people in the entire church, not some lovesick schoolgirl. So, she decides to go on a walk to clear her head for a bit 
[enter a scenario of her singing Jhonathan Young’s cover of I Won’t Say I’m in Love while walking around with the ghouls as backup vocals and instrumentals because I’m a complete freak with impure thoughts]
(As you can tell I’m a sucker for the incredibly fluffy trope of “tough and scary person experiences feelings and love for someone and they are in denial about it”. Also I would write a whole fic for this if I knew how oof-) 
ANON THIS IS VERY CUTE. I'm sorry it took me a couple days to respond - Halloween is a busy time here at ya Sister's ministry - but I am very grateful for you having sent this to me. ♥
I always think of Sister as having been 100% in love from the (very long) get-go (see: the "Cirice" music vid), BUT between her ambitions for Church/World Takeover and her tendency to smother any and all messy emotions, I could absolutely see a version of her bottling all of that up in one small container with a lid so painfully tight that every time she sees Nihil beforehand, she's just like, "Gross, when did I develop acid reflux?"
And honestly, since I do always think of her as being the one who makes all the grand efforts for Nihil, the idea of him GOIN THROUGH IT just to impress her and give her a holiday that she absolutely deserves is making me swoon. And no matter what the circumstances, she deserves to hear someone say "I love you," to her and mean it. That's true in all scenarios!
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thelemoncoffee · 2 years
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LISTEN. ITS 🎲 ANON HERE, LISTEN TO THAT PREV ANON. DON'T TEMPT ME LMAO, i already have a sideblog that's filled to the brim with planned oneshots.
but okay, so here's more thought about werewolf Kokichi BC WHEN I TELL YOU IM OBSESSED WITH WOLVES, I AM OBSESSED, anyways here's the thing about werewolves.
there's surprisingly a lot of them, mostly bc of accidents and whatnot but the thing about Kokichi's pack is that, while most of the other packs are family with a few non related members, Kokichi's pack is filled with the outcasts, the ones who got bitten by accident but didn't want to enter the pack where said werewolf bit them (it's an unspoken rule that the pack of the one who bit you is required to accommodate for your sudden world being upturned) and let me tell you, his pack has Grown.
Lycanthropy isn't usually so contagious actually, it's just that the population in the city is so dense, along with crime rates, there's bound to be people accidentally mugging a werewolf desperately trying to head home and lashing out in defense. with their teeth. because most that get mugged are the inexperienced ones, the veteran werewolves have a natural dont mess with me aura.
anyways, to tweak prev anon of Kokichi trying to hide his condition, he's actually pretty careful about it! the only issue comes when the full moon is close, that's when it gets fun.
because DICE starts preparation for a whole pack bonding sessions, and the way they communicate the plans? Howling. except, with the full moon close, they tend to forget their Alpha isn't supposed to answer them bc he is currently in the dorms of Hope's Peak academy.
so there's no tails popping up, but we do have Kokichi rubbing his ears and keeping his jaw clenched so he doesn't reflexively howl back at the call of his packmates.
he'll also be seen more frequently trying to gnaw on the chain on his usual garb, teeth unusually sharp, that and carrying a file around to keep his nails from growing too long.
so Kokichi is actually doing pretty good! IT'S WHEN SOME OF DICE COMES WALKING IN AS BIG BOY WOLVES TRYING TO ACT LIKE DOGS IN HOPE'S PEAK WHERE THINGS GET COMPLICATED
oh my god big puppies on the loose in the school!
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calypso-finale · 1 year
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Forty Two.
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“Imani commented and said what about me, like she hasn’t got school, I refuse to hear mother about it too. I’ll comment back and say don’t worry during school holiday we will go” laughing to myself, I barely posted the picture of Ti and I and Imani jumped in the comment with a quickness, that is hilarious to me. Ti and I decided to go to Mexico for a few days, I’m child free of course, I left Aziel in the UK with his father. I didn’t want to leave him but then again I don’t want to be chasing him, it was hard to leave my son behind. He didn’t understand really, he waved me goodbye not knowing I ain’t picking him up “I posted that we got her next time” locking my phone “I knew she would hate us, I knew she would be saying something. I feel like mom is trying to keep Imani away from us, she said something like I made mistakes with us two, but Imani won’t go through that. I felt like saying Imani is crying on the phone to get to us, we aren’t the bad ones here, I mean ok. I fucked up, you fucked up. It happens, I think mom is being dense” rolling my eyes, I am glad Ti has said that and not me because she has been always acting dense towards me “you know she said that I gave Rylee her money, but with me she wants to wait more time or whatever. She said she gave yours because you’re a mother now, you have your own thing” I huffed out “I feel like my mom is acting like Rihanna, she isn’t being a mother. I should have said no to her when she told me to do that with Brian” Ti pulled a face “I’m in shock that she actually told you to do that, like what is wrong with her” I shrugged “she hates me, this is why I ignore the group chat, fuck that. I am ok about it though, I am not running to mom and dad anymore” Ti laughed picking her cocktail up “dad doesn’t do anything, he doesn’t know a thing. Let’s go and get another drink” nodding my head as I pushed myself away from the side, swimming across to the bar in the pool “back?” The guy at the bar said “we don’t want to remember tomorrow” I said laughing sitting on the bar stool, this water bar is cute, I like it “I can make it happen” I pointed laughing, I won’t be getting drunk “I’ll pass on that offer” I refuse, I rather just know what I’m doing with myself.
Looking over at my sister’ phone as she took the picture “this is like kind of the first time I’ve revealed myself in this manner you know, publicly anyways, just after Aziel I didn’t exactly want to show myself” Ti turned her phone to me “thank you, I look good” Ti pulled a face “hold on, you saying you can’t show your body off but yet you out here fucking these men” waving her off “in the dark yeah” Ti is side eyeing me “Brian was in the dark though” picking my glass up “how did that happen? I’m still confused because like I get mom set it up but why and how did you sleep with him?” Sipping my drink “it happened, I was drunk. But not drunk enough to not know what was happening, I fully knew it did but it was boring, I regretted straight off Ti, with Oakley it happened and lights were on. Like he saw it all, because I have that scar there, he saw it and he didn’t care like that. But I’m telling you now, these skinny niggas have the most lethal dick” Ti yelped out “you’re so right, they do. Like why though? You skinny as shit, fully expect their dick to be skinny too. I don’t know why but these men have big ones, I’m done with skinny guys, ugh. You know those gym freaks have trash dick too” I chuckled “how many gym freaks have you had Ti?” This bitch talking about gyn freaks, how many has she had “a few, but I’m a changed person now” raising an eyebrow “least you ain’t get pregnant” I kissed my teeth “you was caught lacking Rylee, but he’s here now so whatever but one thing I always check is that dick is covered” I huffed out, I was caught lacking “so how is celibacy going?” I chuckled “fucking boring!” She spat; I snorted laughing.
Holding my phone in hand waiting on Oakley to bring Aziel to the phone “mommy” hearing Aziel say “yeah, come. She’s there, look then” Oakley shouted him over, I guess this is Oakley new crib, it looks nice actually. Looks big, I chuckled seeing Aziel with his chain on and hair out “mommy!” I cooed out “hey baby, I miss you already and it’s only been one night, I miss my baby so much” he looks so confused, he’s confused on why I’m not close, he looked at Oakley “what’s up? You not going to talk?” He said, he is ever so quiet now and I feel bad “mommy” he just said, poking my bottom lip out “is this your new home?” I said, he didn’t react or say anything “not talking to me now?” Oakley leaned down “huh?” He said, “is this your new home?” He shook his head “my mom place, she did this room up” letting out an oh “but I do have a new place though, just bought him here. Don’t worry I’ll be taking him home” nodding my head “your mom did the home up after I left? New beginnings” Oakley laughed “you made that up now, you know that ain’t true, how is Mexico? Peeped the bikini picture” I grinned “peeped or stared?” I questioned “peeped big head, first I was like ass on my timeline then I peeped the mark on the hip” I gasped “no way!” We both laughed out “how you remember that? You fancy me too much” I shook my head “nah, nah. See you just being jarring, Aziel. Talk to your mom, I’m going to sit down” I sighed out “Aziel, why are you confused? What’s wrong? Tell mommy what you doing” he pointed behind him “daddy” nodding my head, he started speaking his nonsense words as he does “oh really, you slept in your big boy bed?” He shook his head “no big boy, why not baby?” I told Oakley he will want to sleep in the bed with him “I miss you son” smiling at him, he looks so confused, he doesn’t understand why I’m not there.
Blowing air kisses as Ti took a video “better be cute bitch” picking my drink up “it is whore, my sister looks beautiful” I need to stop drinking actually, this is my last cocktail “I was going to say, I heard your little conversation. Not with my nephew but with the baby father” placing my drink down “mhmm?” I said confused “just you both sound cute, like you was anyways. I just want to ask, are you both just going to co-parent or are you going to get back together?” Ti asking the hard questions now “I don’t know about that; I just think we need to reconnect in a way. I don’t know, I love him, and I can’t really be comfortable with others, I don’t know” I really can’t predict it “I think maybe I should let things just you know be as they are, I’m not chasing him, if he calls me, he does. Speak of the devil, weird” Oakley messaging me, it’s late in the UK, I know “messaged you?” She asked “he has” opening the message and it’s a selfie of him and Aziel “why is he even awake” tapping int he voice note that just came through “yo, yo, yo. Tell me why this child woke me up by climbing on me and then sitting on my face? He nearly stopped my breathing, anyways come home quickly. I think the kids, well not kids, I mean the one child. We need you back, well he needs you back. I need to sleep but this child is weird bro, moving mad for no reason too” he stifled out a yawn “right, bye” I can’t help but smile he sounds so cute “I want him back so badly” I admitted “I know you do but I want you to let him do it, listen to me Rylee. I think you should allow yourself to be open to it but let him do all the running, all the things. Just you relax, he misses you too” she is right, nodding my head slowly “I will” I breathed out.
I did say to myself that I wouldn’t drink much but I feel tipsy “you know what gets me, didn’t you ever have a scare, like a pregnancy scare? It can’t be just me that was dumb enough to get caught?” Ti is hiding it but I feel she might have “a scare, yes I did go through a scare but Rylee I acted on it, I made sure I had something always. I wasn’t going to be a mother at this age, I refuse to be that. I don’t think I ever want to be a young mother, I want to be in my thirties at least, I want to live, I want try, I want to have fun. I love my nephew but no” I snorted laughing “yeah well I took one for the team” I cringed “I feel like if, I mean if. IF you both make it, I feel like you’re going to be like mom, you’re going to have more kids, I see you with three. I think Oakley seems like a guy that would want more too, so I see it. You will be married too, even though he said he doesn’t do any of that, I feel like you are going to have that family, I think that clearly you found the one. You just got to hold it down, I think yeah, maybe if I found the right one I would but I am over that part. Also I feel like I don’t want to love” tilting my head to the side “what? Why?” that is weird “I don’t want to be hurt Rylee, when you give that away, you open yourself up to be hurt, I don’t want it, sorry” she has a point “true” I mumbled.
Eyeing up the waiter, he is cute “mhmm how is the Fenty empire?” I asked “water for me, please” I said to the waiter “good, you know how mother is but it’s hard work. When I think about it, now I am going through this, I am thinking how did mom do it. I get why she was tired; I get why she was away for so long too, she worked hard for it. For me to get in the zone I have to live and breathe Fenty, like being off work right now I am still getting emails, I am trying to not look but it’s hard. I feel like one small wrong move then I have made her business go bad, so I do try and talk to mom but then when I do she butts in and tells me I am doing this and this wrong, and that I need to fix this so I tend to not ask her a thing. But I have been busy really, Australia is another life wow. Like it’s better than America, I have met friends. Like the group chat we have, I told them that I am with my sister on holiday, and they all want to meet you, but they are good people. I have been drunk on my days off, out clubbing but guess what? Nobody knows, so yeah. Life is better, did I show you this” Ti showed me her lock screen “awww the first time you held Aziel, that makes me happy. I love that, I love that he adores his aunties and uncles, he adores dad, but mom doesn’t spend time with him since having the baby” I said “I think we both know what mom is like, she is upset with you so yeah. Also mom is annoying, what she did with you, like she didn’t need to get involved but she did” taking in a deep breath “yep” I swear I wish I never did that with Brian; I was so stupid.
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writingandmore · 2 years
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Hello! :3 I was wondering if i could get a homestuck matchup?? If it’s not an issue of course. I’d prefer Red roms specifically but if you decide on any black roms to add on i wouldn’t mind, i like seeing how people perceive me and who they’d match me with and why lol.
I use She/They pronouns, bisexual, and am an INFP. My big three are Leo Sun, Aquarius moon, and Libra rising. Im 5’4 with a smaller frame, but i work out so i have a little bit of a muscular build. My style is super grunge, fairy/gremlincore esc, the whole forestry and muted colors type of aesthetic ya know? I have brown eyes and messy, wavy, brown hair that’s in a wolfcut to my shoulders. I love wearing chunky eyeliner, i’m covered head to toe in freckles, and I have a plethora of tattoos. (and plan on getting more lol) I’m a Nepeta Kinnie if that’s any consolation!!
Although I might describe my appearance as a bit overwhelming and potentially intimidating, i’m anything but lol. I try to keep a good minded, optimistic mindset. I’m also a fairly quiet individual, which doesn’t really compliment my RBF when meeting new people. For the most part, I tend to be the mom friend, making sure no one gets hurt and jumping in to help whenever asked. I bring the snacks and essentials to hang outs just to be prepared. I try my best to make sure my friends are comfortable. When not in mom-friend mode I try to go out and adventure as often as possible. Though ‘adventuring’ could range from a trip to the store to a full day of hiking in the woods. I’m usually pretty lax and tend to not hold grudges, usually is a keyword. I can be pretty dense at times and accidentally have a record for being the ‘airhead’. I’m curious about most things and like to learn new things often. I’m also super stubborn and have an issue asking for help when doing things, i have a hard time trying to prove that i’m independent. As much i do most of the caring for, deep down i want to be the one to be taken care of.
My hobbies tend to lie in the realm of art, anything artistic i’m capable of doing in some capacity. I grew up drawing and painting, lately i’ve been meddling with charcoal and the such. I read quite a lot, my bedroom is basically a library at this point. I also play guitar and write on occasion. Some things I like are the smell of vanilla, the forest, rainy days, adventure time, summer nights, ACNH, coffee, listening to podcasts, anything vintage or antique, and my cat!
I’d say that i really like acts of service as a love language for both giving and receiving! That’s all i really have to say for now! Please take your time!! :3
I pair you with Dave!
Dave has seen quite a lot, so he probably won't be too intimidated by your appearance when first meeting-if anything, he'd think you look really cool. He tries his best to not judge his friends too harshly, especially when it comes to actually serious topics, so he'd like your open-mindedness as well. It takes him a bit to be open with other people-he needs to trust them first, and that can take some time. Your caring and open nature would definitely help him to confide in you sooner than normal for him, though.
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davekitties · 27 days
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oops I got high and rambled about gender my b
ironic that I only wear black (mainly) and my top 3 favorite pokemon are sylveon, skitty, and shiny virizion. the color pink, a longstanding enemy of mine, yet I still have a rather soft spot for it. to me, pink is defiant, but idk if others see it that way. a color chosen to represent women in today's society, scorn upon those who wear it "wrong," praise to those who do it "right." growing up, I always hated pink: it represented everything I never wanted to be. I never wanted to be a home maker and cook and clean and also work 40+ hours a week and take care of children. this terrified me as a child, and I grew to detest anything that would link me and femininity, ie., the color pink. I can't explain the rage my mother unleashed upon finding all the baby dolls I hadn't been playing with under my bed (re: at least a dozen). there were also unopened barbies and other baby/doll related toys and my mom grabbed one she'd gotten me recently and said, angrily, "come on, we are going to Walmart to exchange this for something you'd actually want." I, naively believed that I had finally gotten it to her, as I clutched my new giant stuffed orca plush I had found on clearance for $9 (she had spent like $40 on the gift we returned and I told her to keep the rest to make her feel better). but it was just one battle in the war to "make me a woman," something I never wanted to be.
eventually I would end up conforming to their ideals and standards (loosely) of how I was "supposed" to act and behave. I was too broken down, depressed, and tired of fighting. it was easier (on the surface level) to conform than it was to continue to fight. even still, though I tried my hardest to fill this role imposed upon me, I still loathed pink. anything but pink. pink was the personification of womanhood and why I hated living my life like this.
I was 17 when I first heard the term transgender. at first, I didn't get it (I'm a little dense sometimes), but then I kept reading the definition on that computer in the GT room that was being used to host the first ever meeting of the school's first ever GSA club. when I thought I finally understood it, my first thought was "yeah, makes sense," and then I moved on. I liked my skirts and my dresses, I liked to put on makeup every day, I liked to cook dinner every night, I didn't mind bending over backwards for everyone in my life.
when I was 19, it was a like a slap in the face one day. talking with a friend, it finally dawned upon me I didn't have to do this; I didn't have to *be* like this. I was... distraught, to say the least. a lot of things clicked into place for me (being a "tomboy," not liking "girly" toys or shows, always wearing "boys" clothes, having the feeling like there's something missing), and it *hurt*. what do you *mean* that I don't have be a woman if I don't want to be? this thought kept running through my head, along with the anger of everyone who forced me into being more feminine than I ever wanted to be.
I wanted to scream. I was so angry that it took 19 years of my life to find out that I didn't have to be a woman, that I could be literally *anything* else. it wasn't pink's fault. pink was whay I imagined was oppressing me, but it wasn't a simple color, it was society at large.
I'm older now, not as angry any more, but still sad. its not good to imagine how your life would have turned out if you had known information sooner, there's no use in speculating. I am what I am, neither man nor woman, and it's because of that that I feel comfortable enough to embrace pink again. pink has been a constant throughout my life, and I kind of hope that never goes away.
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dropsofletters · 3 years
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runaway silhouette [jjh]
—summary: no one asks about that polaroid picture of a woman yoonoh keeps in the depths of his wallet.
lace, measurements, models—jung yoonoh has worked for the world of fashion for a little too long, but he’s as unknown as the person next door. with his inspiration dying down and his designs getting cheaper by the day, yoonoh has changed his ways. no longer is he the best lingerie designer in ‘silhouette’, the company he works for, neither is he the playboy he used to be and the dulcet-mouthed man that got his way through success.
bad luck has settled in his life, much like it has done on hers. the manager of a hotel that slipped his fingertips when one night she denied him all—the world, her hold, her smile, and just left him with a picture on his wallet.
only when he has to prepare one of the biggest fashion showcases of his life does he meet her again, and he realizes things could never be easy between them.
why is he, a man of fashion, infatuated with such a lovesick, monotone, blazer-sporting hotel manager? no one will ever know.
a runaway has captured him, and he’s not sure how to get his heart back.
maybe, he should start by forgetting that night.
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—title: runaway silhouette  —pairing: jung yoonoh x reader  —genre: lingerie designer!au ; hotel manager!au ; strangers to lovers to enemies!au ; slowburn!au ; slice of life!au  —type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; drama ; suggestive —word count: 19,326 (i said slowburn and i meant it) —warnings: mentions of sex (the act is never on paper or narrative)
Jung Yoonoh is dressed to succeed.
With folded white sleeves and a black vest that becomes a second skin, he merges into the office like it belongs to him. It might, at some point in time; an associate after a few years and then, onto another business that was his own—vision, designs, everything. That’s the plan. His suitcase hangs, paces back and forth in the hook of his fist while all eyes cast on him while walking through the cubicles.
Today, Yoonoh is becoming the one in charge.
Silhouette is the lingerie line everyone wants to have cladding their skin. Expensive, intricate and elegant. It’s one of those things people put on when they need to feel their best while also being comfortable. Garments that enamor the buyer and the people who see them. His home for the past two years, Yoonoh has broken his ass to get to the manager position in the design department.
When settling his suitcase on his cubicle, he shares a smile with his neighbor. Johnny, part of the social media team, with his long-curled hair framing his rounded face. Fixing the collar of his shirt, Johnny interrupts him to say.
“Big day today, aye?”
Redemption, he likes to call this day. The payment for the parties he didn’t go to and the obnoxious nagging he stood from his boss, Mrs. Kang. This tall woman with atrocious so-last-season fluffed out coats in bright pink who screams at the mere sight of beige underwear. As she says, it’s tacky and simple, the kind of clothing you’d want to wear when un-turning someone on.
Yoonoh can’t wait until he can make decisions, organize collections, make bigger and better options for Silhouette to expand.
“You see, John, once I become your boss…I’m making you the leader of the PR and Social Media Team.” This place is a nest of snakes. One bite on his first day and he already became smarter. “Can’t be trusting anyone else with these babies.” With that, he opens his suitcase, sketchbook pressed to his chest just as Johnny claps his hands.
“Better position means better salary.” Johnny conquers, as casual as ever in his baby blue sweater
There are a few rules to Silhouette. To any workplace, really, and Yoonoh thinks about this just as he swings his long legs with Johnny following after him like a dog and his tail.
He had written them down in a portion of his brain that keeps his coffee order and his mom’s birthday. He’ll never forget them.
1)     Never trust nobody—never say where you come from in business, where you’re headed, what your dreams and aspirations are. Copycats exist everywhere, and they’ll do anything to follow your track if you’re doing good.
2)    Say goodbye to friendships but hello to hypocrisy. A smile is needed, but is it real? Not at all.
3)    Differentiate your works from others. Being special is the only way you’ll stand out.
One push of the door spreads a smile on his face, brown hair pushed back to showcase his plush, rosy lips and his gleaming eyes. What’s rule number four, you may ask?
Don’t let them see how tired you are.
Mrs. Kang sits at the very end of the meeting table. Always early, never late. Her face is dense with makeup, each wrinkle becoming more apparent as she applies a third layer of bright pink lipstick. Yoonoh knows Mrs. Kang has been the biggest dictator of all—giving him more work hours, destroying the designs she didn’t like from him, and making him get jittery fingers from how much he had to sew and unsew with the sewing machine to show her what his mind had captured. Now that she had found a way younger boyfriend that is eager to give a trip to the entirety of Asia, he’s over the moon.
Because that means old and grumpy Mrs. Kang will be gone for a while, and whoever becomes manager will be, then, the one in charge.
“Mrs. Kang!” Yoonoh greets in a tone that is much too faux, his dimple becoming apparent by the second. The woman looks up and away from her compact, stopping the conversation he is having with his biggest rival in the office. Not worth even thinking about. “Classic always goes best. You look beautiful today.”
She can barely even move her features in a smile. That’s how obstinate this woman is, but one of her wrinkly hands comes up to hold Yoonoh’s bicep when he leans down to press two kisses on each of her cheeks. The old European greeting. “I know, Yoonoh.” She adds, extending her hand towards him. “May you show me your designs? I got here earlier than expected and I have something to do right now so—”
That makes Yoonoh’s smile falter the slightest, just as he opens his sketchbook and splays it in front of Mrs. Kang. “Well, Mrs. Kang, if you let me have a few of your minutes, I prepared a PowerPoint presentation and a video for the collection I have in mind as my desire to become head of the designing team—”
“Silence, Yoonoh.” Mrs. Kang interrupts, going through his lingerie designs for both men and women. It’s not the kind of job people think about when designing, but there is something about seduction and comfort that just works well for him. ���I’m in the midst of planning my engagement and I don’t have the time for whatever extra thing you have in mind.”
The room is silent, but if features could talk, the woman seated next to Mrs. Kang would have burst out in laughter. Siyeon is a 4’11 piece of shit that dared steal one of his designs when in his beginnings in Silhouette.  A fuchsia baby-doll that turned viral in the blink of an eye once it appeared in runways. Comfortable, sexy, with the right number of straps and the comfort of wearing it at any occasion, companion or not.
Yoonoh had left his sketch at his desk, only to find it gone the next morning. Mrs. Kang was over the moon, both from the money she got and about the audacity of the design. Siyeon had turned it in as hers.
No wonder her husband doesn’t stand her. She’s the devil reincarnate, and slips in Johnny’s DM’s every once in a while.
Yoonoh can’t say he doesn’t have some screenshots saved on his phone just in case he needs to blackmail her. This is the kind of man he has become.
“Done before.” Mrs. Kang flips onto another one of his designs. “Done before.” And then, she continues with the rest. “Vulgar. Boring. Ugly. Done before. Jesus, Yoonoh, did you even try to do anything?”
Yoonoh is used to praise. He has got it from women, throughout his time in college and even at his previous jobs. As an intern, he was refreshing and a nice sight in the designer area. Now, he is the floor Mrs. Kang steps on with her Louis Vuitton’s.
“I—” The meeting room is silent, everyone in the designer team trying to peek at his sketches. A short laugh leaves his lips, though awkward in tone. “We’ll compete against brands like Savage with designs like this. They’re brave and fitted and—”
“Boring.” Mrs. Kang completes, and Siyeon actually laughs at that moment, playing with one of her curled bright red strands of hair. “Yoonoh, I’m being serious. If the women you’re sleeping with are wearing lingerie like this…I’m worried about your sexual health.”
More laughter, and his jaw finally tightens. He tries to tell himself to smile, but he doesn’t, instead, snatching the sketchbook from her.
Mrs. Kang notices this, pushing her reading glasses down her nose before sighing. “Yoonoh, you need to learn how to take constructive criticism. You’re not perfect and I’m here to make you grow.” Says the woman that steps on him each time she can. At this point, he’s practically plastered on the floor. “I’m sure you’ll get to divert these boring ideas into something creative once Siyeon becomes the head of the department. You two have been so close since the beginning and I am sure she will work magic on you.”
“No.” Yoonoh shakes his head just as he plasters a faux smile on his features. “Ah, I—Well, I won’t—”
Siyeon stands up from her seat, fixing the sleeves of her white dress before clearing her throat. “I’m glad of getting the position and being the one, remotely, in charge of Silhouette as Mrs. Kang goes find true love.” This is not happening. Yoonoh rubs at his eyes in case he is dreaming. He has been preparing for this presentation for five months— “All I have to say is…I wouldn’t have been able to do this without the support of everyone here. My team. My heart. I have grown to have a family with you, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re together and…of course, it’s nice to continue down this path.” She hums. “A woman in charge and then, another woman. Isn’t that the whole point of Silhouette?”
His tongue scalds his palette when he takes a seat next to Mrs. Kang, closing his sketchbook with a harsh slap of his hand. Siyeon’s eyes connect to his own, fluttering her dense mascara-coated lashes before sighing.
“I had the pleasure of seeing Yoonoh in his first few days here and he has lost that spark, but I’m sure we’ll find it again.” Oh, everyone gets roses but he gets a few, too. For his social funeral, that is. He really wants to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m thankful.”
There go the tears, and Siyeon covering her face with her hand, a smile hidden behind the action.
…Has he ever said he hates working in Silhouette?
“You’re going to make me cry, too.” One of the members of the manufacturing team says in between big sobs and Yoonoh can’t help but roll his eyes.
Fuck this place.
After an elongated meeting with tearful hugs and looks thrown his way, Yoonoh is ready to find somewhere else to work in. Keep to himself until he dares get his curriculum somewhere else and stab this company straight in the back. Not because he didn’t get the job…but…
Let’s be honest, it’s because he didn’t get the job and he lost it to Siyeon.
Johnny slips around a few hours later with some cheeseburgers in a plastic bag, dense in cheese and stinking the two conjoined cubicles before he says:
“She’s the devil.”
“An exorcism wouldn’t be enough for her.” Yoonoh replies, tongue itching to say something when he unleashes the cheeseburgers from their confines. He’s only five minutes away from lunchtime, after all. “I can’t believe they gave it to her. Her designs are…I don’t know, like lace over lace. That’s not elegant, that’s not what Silhouette stands for—”
“Here’s the thing,” Johnny says, smacking his lips as he speaks with a mouthful of burger in his mouth. “You never had a chance.”
A pang rests in the pit of his heart when he scoffs. “Yes, I did.”
“No, you don’t.” His friend replies. “Everyone in this office hates you but me. I believe it is a Freudian theory. The Jung Yoonoh Effect.” Voiced out like a movie trailer, Johnny extends one of his hands in the air.
“Sorry for not caring about anything but business. Everyone here are suck-asses and crybabies. Why should I care?”
“Because people feel disconnected to you. They don’t to Siyeon.” Johnny conquers. “The Jung Yoonoh Effect is simple.”
“Stop it. You don’t even know who Freud is.”
“That one psychologist that compared everything to sex. That’s who he is. Hence, why you’re there.”
Yoonoh quirks an eyebrow, playing with a slice of meat that had gotten out of his burger. “What are you even talking about?”
“Interns always thirst over you. At least, five out of every nine people in this office has had a wet dream about you, liked enough of your Instagram pics to look like a freak, or would have your dick in a second if the second step of your effect wouldn’t come around.”
“…I’m not that bad of a guy.”
“But you’re bland. Work. Work. Work.” Johnny moves his hand as if it’s talking. Now he’s playing marionettes. Great. “We’re selling lingerie, and you are always about competition and work. We need you to be passionate.”
“Passionately suck up to people?” Yoonoh shakes his head, huffing in the process. “No thanks, man. I’m not going to lower myself to Siyeon’s standards. Not sure I want to get pink eye from kissing so much ass.”
“Been there, done that.” Johnny sighs, a smile displayed on his features. “I’m just saying, bro. Maybe, change the game—”
Something Yoonoh is…stubborn. He’d die with that title, and it is only enhanced when he feels a long nail tapping on his shoulder, making him turn around. He expects to see one of those interns that try to stumble out words when asking him for his e-mail to send him the summaries or designs they have worked on, but this time around, he is met with Siyeon’s face.
“No eating until lunchtime.” She tuts, shaking her finger in the air.
This means war.
Yoonoh points at the clock on his wrist, showing it to her. Rolex, maybe, he’s spoiling himself with the benefit of showing her he has also earned some money, designs mediocre or not. “It’s already my lunchtime.”
“Not to me.” Siyeon answers, straightening her back. “Maybe, you’d like to listen to me before I kick you out of the team, don’t you, Yoonoh?”
With that, he pushes the burger onto his desk, covering it just as Siyeon smiles.
“Good boy.” She coos, laughing when she turns around and returns to giving a run-around the office.
“That’s it.” Yoonoh whispers, running his hands through his hair, not caring if he messes it up in the process. “I’m designing the best fucking collection one could ever find and showing everyone in this goddamned office that I have talent.”
“Ooh, and where do you think you’ll get inspiration from?” Johnny tries to gossip, and Siyeon’s soft touch for him is shown when she doesn’t even spare him a glance as he munches on his burger.
“I think I have someone in mind.”
###
She’d color-code her life if she could. Hence, it’s still a mess, and while she is as organized as she could be, her mind is still trying to process how to keep the hotel she works in safe and sound and quiet.
One would think that being the manager of a hotel would be easy. A three-star-hotel, no celebrities, no paparazzi’s, definitely not enough rich people who care about their environment. As long as she made it homely, clean, and nice to stay in, it wouldn’t be much of an issue.
The problem is…everything is a mess.
For one, her boss, Sachiko, has not appeared in the last two days into the hotel. None of her well-prepared summaries, in Times New Roman twelve, with enough punctuation to make it look like a contract, have been read. The maids keep talking amongst themselves, gossiping instead of cleaning. They got a bad review on their restaurant because the head of the cooking team had decided to shout to one of the clients about how ‘they didn’t have an ounce of taste’ because they disliked the taste of his Ratatouille and oh, how to forget? The fact that her duties as a manager transcend to something else.
She rushes through the kitchen, heat and smoke accompanied by the sizzling of veggies and meat. She doesn’t care that there are flames around her, or that she bumps into one of the cooks in the process.
Sachiko has a mini version of herself, gift of a getaway with her ex-husband to try to make her marriage work. Then, came the five-year-old that had slipped her hold as she was attending one of the residents in their hotel at the entrance, granting them information about the type of rooms they offered. Erika, in all her round-faced glory with grabby hands and too much energy, had slipped from her line of sight and her hold.
She has roamed the entire hotel and she can’t find her.
Oh, then, she should change her statement that she hasn’t seen Sachiko in two days. She has. Sachiko’s heels have clicked against the tiles of this hotel. Only to leave Erika with her, spitting out excuses about having to get on another meeting for the expansion of the hotel, before she’s off the hook of being a full-time mother.
She doesn’t even get more payment for this.
“Have you seen Erika?!” She asks out loud, voice strained from so much shouting, only to watch the head chef speak, his moustache moving with each word he says.
“Oh, little Erika?” Well, seems like he has a soft spot for someone. His eyes glimmer, just as he wraps his hand around his mouth, as if to utter a secret. “She’s in one of the tables. She asked for two milkshakes already. Oreo milkshakes. She’s starting to jitter.”
“Mr. Oh!” She whines, throwing her head back with a groan before splaying her hands on her hips. Navy blue uniform as a simple suit giving her the most boring yet comforting outfit she could come up with. “I am the one that has to get her to sleep, and if she has sugar before bed, she won’t even close an eye—”
Mr. Oh shrugs. “What am I supposed to say? She’s my boss’ daughter.”
“I am your boss as well.”
“You’re getting me fired?”
She can’t even answer to him, hearing the Baby Shark song spoken at the top of someone’s little lungs. Her feet are rushing out of the kitchen by the time she notices it, blazer opening up when she gets to the table Erika is in. Red walls and marble tables don’t scare her, playing with the straw of her drink and grabbing someone’s phone to listen to that fucking song again.
“Erika…” She tuts, voice stern, hands spread out on her knees. This cardio routine has been enough to make her burn all she has eaten this month. The little girl’s short hair caresses her cheeks when she turns towards her, a mischievous smile on her face.
“Yes?”
“Let’s go to your room and wait for mommy to get here.”
“Nope.”
“Yes, Erika. I am not playing.” Her voice levels itself, only to have Erika staring back at her. Big brown eyes blinking, playing with the edge of her pretty pink dress before sighing.
“But you won’t let me…let me watch my shows.” She takes in a breath, shuddering it out as a pout splays on her lips. “Y—You…mommy said you’d be with me, but you aren’t with me at all—”
Tears wield her eyes and she has to rush to cage her in her hold, hoisting her up before a big wail left her lips and she lost her job. “I’m sorry, Erika. I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t realized.” She mumbles out, pressing her cheek to the top of her head before sighing. “Do you want to give a walk around the hotel and go back to your room to watch as many shows as you want?”
She has to play good cards here. She’s not raising this child, after all, so if the long hours of TV-watching make her turn out bad when she’s a teen…that’s not her business.
Erika nods continuously, engulfing her arms around her shoulders. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
At least, she has found Erika before Sachiko arrives the next morning, but her body practically glues itself to the floor in tiredness by the time she slips out of the restaurant.
The best part of being a manager is when she gets back home.
###
“So, you’re saying you practically lost your job?”
Yoonoh’s life revolves one thing. Those four walls of his cubicles, the connections he has gotten from his workplace and his elongated list of explanations that always go unheard. In any other occasion, he would have been delighted of being given the benefit of lying. Casual relationships are more of his thing and explaining his every insecurity, recollection of time or worry isn’t part of the plan. Carnalities? Sure thing.
A hook-up turned friend with benefits pushing him by the chest and practically gasping when he sighs? He didn’t think it’d end this way.
“Mia,” His voice rasps out, leaning back on his calves while hovering over her. Her bed is as pristine as always, the rosy satin sheets from last week turned into beige, deep fibers that do sound too elegant for them to do whatever they are thinking of in the bed. “I didn’t lose my job, I just didn’t become the head of my department, okay?”
He’s trying to spell it out, but the model is just as confused. Mia had modelled for Silhouette a bunch of times in the last two years, and that’s how he met her. Fitting one of his designs to her will had led him to be asked out on a date and then, the contract came about. Just sex, nothing more.
Mia scrambles away from underneath him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if repulsed. As if she had kissed an ogre itself. “Yoonoh, you’re practically jobless—!”
“I am not.” He sighs out, trying his hardest to concentrate on anything around the room. The tall ceilings, the conversation at hand, anything but the obvious problem in his boxers right now. “I swear, I will just be working for Siyeon but it’s for a period of time. I’m sure I’ll get her position soon enough.”
“Oh my God,” Mia pushes her long brown hair away from her shoulders, widening those innocent eyes of hers, sharp cheekbones lifting in distaste—not even a smile of comprehension. “I can’t believe I almost slept with a good for nothing. You told me you’d get that job and now you didn’t?”
“A good for nothing?” Yoonoh stands up from that bed, hands on his hips when Mia nods, once and then twice.
“Your dick is good, but not that good.”
Is this the day Yoonoh’s ego gets bruised to shattered little pieces that poke at his feet like glass? Perhaps.
Is this the day Yoonoh lets that pang of pain in his chest become visible? Not at all.
“Were you just with me because I was probably going to be a manager?”
“Silhouette is—listen, they are established, but it’s not what I had in mind.” Mia puts on her robe, covering her Goddess-crafted body before picking up a glass of the wine they had been sharing. “If you became manager, I’d have more connections with other teams. I would probably be in better runways and—”
“I’m not your manager or your little linking buddy, Mia.” Yoonoh complains, chest flushed when he seethes, pushing the strands of his dark hair away from his face. “We’re just having fun. I wasn’t going to bring you as my plus one when we had already established—”
“I don’t know if you notice,” She starts, licking her lips in elegance. “But you’re…you’re going to end up alone, Yoonoh. All you do is work, you’re always tense and silent and…a little bit boring, if I’m being honest. I am definitely the closest thing you’ll ever have to a relationship.”
Oh, no. That’s the thing he hates the most. How the world has been divided in romanticists and hard-workers. You’re one of the other, can’t ever be both, and sometimes, he feeds into that stereotype. He knows he doesn’t have time to fully sit down and talk to someone about his interests, let his heart be wandered about like a museum, but somehow…hearing anyone tell him that he’s tense, silent, boring…doesn’t sit well with him.
He shrugs, eager to poke just like done to him. “Good thing I never wanted a relationship with you to start with.”
Mia gasps at that, plush lips parted before she’s opening the window of her one-floor home. Elegant, but still not the grandest thing out there. “Oh, is that so?”
“You happen to be presumptuous, superficial and now, a complete opportunist—” He says, walking behind her until she turns around, her robe falling off one shoulder when she points at the window, crisp air whisking the tension around.
“Then, leave.”
“Okay.” He’s about to turn around and grab his clothing, when he feels her tugging at his taut forearm.
“Not through the door. You don’t get the benefit to do that.” Once again, Mia is pointing at the window and that catches a chuckle out of Yoonoh, that rises and rises in tone.
“I won’t get out through there.”
“I didn’t ask you. I told you to.” With that, she’s pushing at his chest, trying to get him out as he scrambles to get a hold of her.
“Mia! Are you fucking insane?!”
“Tired of your bullshit, Yoonoh. That’s it.”
Mia is, perhaps, not stronger than him, but for someone who walks on runways…she’s mad strong. Maybe, it’s the necessity to get him out of her home or the flying atrocity of her train of thought that has him stumbling backwards in one of those moments. In just his boxers, the prickling of the grass and the flowers in Mia’s garden caress and poke at his skin, tickling in enormous amounts just as he falls into the most embarrassing position he has been in.
The moonlight seeps over his skin, a groan ripping from the depths of his soul at the ache on his back when he hears the window closing, not without a few words from Mia: “And don’t you dare call me again, asshole.” And maybe, he would have laughed at the stupidity of the statement, because throwing someone out of a window is definitely not a reason to call someone back, but now, he’s much too surprised and in pain.
### 
She wishes she was back to being a kid.
It’s a thought she has when the days are tough and uncertainty fills her, like a vase that is neither half full or half empty, but just stuck. In this town, with a job that she had wished for years ago, that takes away every ounce of will and thrive that she ever had. Days are tiring, nights even more so, and sometimes, she wishes the lake would stop being so calm. For it to be some movement, some waves, some dance of life that tells her: ‘this is something new and I give it to you because you deserve it’.
Instead, she’s walking alongside Erika, whose little feet in her elegant tiny boots are kicking a rock on the sidewalk. They had decided to walk for another block near the hotel, houses scattered in their glow in this enchanting night. It’s a moment of quiet, and she relishes on it, sending a look to the rock and to the little girl, just in case she’s not warm enough or she’s tired.
Oh, how she wishes she was tired.
Erika calls out her name, soft and through a pout, in a way that makes her sound like her age. Very much little a baby. “…Why do…why do girls your age never like boys?”
“What do you mean?” She questions, a smile on her face when sparing Erika a glance. A shrug is given. “I think boys are cool. Not all boys, but some are.”
“Mom doesn’t like my dad, and he’s a boy.” That must be the way she explains her parents’ divorce, but how she’s involved in that? She has no idea. “You…you don’t have a boy. I never hear you talk about boys.”
You see, she hasn’t dated in a while. A while as in…years. Comes to be, building trust into someone after having another person shatter it for you is not only difficult, but somehow near impossible. A plane ticket had said farewell to her in-person relationship and she had embarked in this immense long-distance relationship with too many tears and too much longing. He was distant after a while, and she blamed it on time differences…
Time differences that were proven to be someone else when she called him to tell him she had saved money for seven months just to visit him, only to hear him with another woman.
Another woman who claimed to be his girlfriend of four years.
Not one. Not two. Not three. Not even three and a half. Four.
“I don’t know.” She starts, trying to find the best way to say this. “We don’t always need a boy, Erika. Us girls, we don’t. The only people we need are our family, our friends and ourselves. Princesses can still be pretty and have a lot of people looking up to them without a prince.”
“Like Moana?”
“And Merida.” She completes, a smile on her face when she tugs the little girl up to scoop her in her hold. “Your mom has a hotel and she takes care of it very well without a boy. That doesn’t mean your daddy is not important, but they are happy even when he doesn’t have a girl and she doesn’t have a boy.”
“Then,” Erika plays with the collar of her white button-down. “We all have to be in pairs?” She stops.
“You mean couples?” Erika nods. “Oh no, honey, not all of us have to be in pairs or be part of a couple.” She chuckles at Erika’s innocence. She must be a bit insufferable, but still a kid. With the nightly air blowing at her face, she sighs. “We can all be with anybody, depending on who we like, girls…boys…your mom has told you that, right?”
Humming, Erika opens her mouth to speak up. “Yep.”
“Good girl.” She coos, smiling in the process. “Do you know what decision means?”
“Yes.” Erika conquers. “Carrots or potatoes, like that.”
“Exactly. What you choose is your decision.” She’s trying to make this easy for her. “Your mom doesn’t have to love a man, because that is her decision. As long as she loves herself and you, she’s already complete.”
“And you?” Erika questions.
She hadn’t thought about it in years. It didn’t feel right to be next to someone else, and she doesn’t know if that falls on her a little bit. Loneliness is inherent, this wandering thought that comes to her when she stops and wonders if there is someone out there. Not to complete her, because she’s already full by being on her own, but to support her.
“I am complete, too.” The answer is simple, tucking a strand of Erika’s hair behind her curved little ear. “So are you.”
“I am complete!”
“Yes, you are.”
Something interrupts them just as they pass by a cream-colored house. A groan comes from the flowers planted in the front-yard, and that has her stopping. Flowers don’t talk, obviously, but if someone is hurt—a dog or a human, she has to check.
More groaning and then, she sees a peak of milky skin under the moonlight, paired with tousled black hair. A man is standing in between the bushes, with his lower half thankfully covered by the plants, a short small nose, decently sized lips and a face that speaks anything but a good time.
And he’s half-naked. Only in boxers.
Her hand comes upwards to cover Erika’s eyes just as a loud gasp leaves her lips and she screeches: “Pervert!”
“No, no, no!” The man in question shushes her, lowering his body until even his taut chest and abdomen are covered. His eyes widen comically, and she has to shut her mouth to hear him speak. “I’m not a pervert, I promise! I know this looks wrong but—”
“You’re hiding in the bushes without clothes on, sir. This is definitely something illegal—”
“I was with a woman,” He sends a look towards Erika, levelling his words just because a kid is there, trying to snatch her hand away, but its grip is tight like iron. “And she threw me out because we had a break-up. Kind of. Not serious enough to call it a break up but…my clothes are inside and she won’t let me in. I’ve tried for such a long time. I was hiding until someone passed by but…no one did.”
Still far away from him, she quirks an eyebrow. This relatively, conventionally handsome man had been kicked out by a woman…almost ass-naked?
Talk about an attitude.
“Well, I’ll call someone over to help you out—” She’s about to move again, not completely trusting the man in the bushes when he calls her over with a hiss from his lips. A mix of ‘psst!’ and ‘hey!’ that obnoxiously makes her stop to turn around, still covering Erika’s eyes. “What?”
His eyes glisten when he says: “Help me.” He must be some kind of boss. The stranger says these two words like she has to do it, and she would have turned around again had it not been for those plush lips saying: “Please.”
“What do you want?” She questions, only to have him smiling.
Oh, there is a dimple there. A very profound and albeit, a bit attractive, dimple.
“Clothes.” The stranger adds. “Can you buy me some clothes? I promise I’ll pay you. I just need to get out of here. I think a cockroach bit me in the ass.”
“Language.” She spits out, just as Erika tries to wiggle away from her hold and repeats:
“Ass!”
“Erika!”
“Sorry.” He says again, bringing his hands together in a plea before sighing out: “I need them right now.”
She fixes Erika’s hold around her body, before rolling her eyes hard enough so she cans see the back of her head. “Fine. I’ll find you some clothes.”
###
Erika won’t take care of the family business. She’ll be a stylist, for sure. 
The only thing opened at this hour of the night that doesn’t cost her a big portion of her salary is the thrift store and after endlessly explaining the situation to a very eager Erika, she is watching the little girl moving around the store as if she owns it, grabbing clothes here and there in a hassle.
“Erika, be careful. We can only pick three pieces of clothing!” Not that the teenager by the counter cares, popping his bubblegum in between his thin lips, looking down at his phone and tapping on it with a speed that a piano player would envy.
“We have to make him look cute.” Erika tries to say in her most professional voice, and she has to sigh. She will definitely not become a mother anytime soon.
“Yes, but we also have to make it cheap. I don’t have much money in this suit.”
“Yes, yes.” Somehow, she feels like Erika is not listening, pulling at a t-shirt on a table nearby, only to unfold it and give it to her. Her body is so small that she couldn’t see the imprint on the front. As her babysitter of the night, she expands it over her chest, only to watch something within Erika lighting up. “I like it!”
“Good,” She checks the price after muffling a laugh at the words written at the front. “It’s cheap. We can get it.”
Small steps patter against the tiles of the grand store before she’s tugging at the leg of a pair of pants she found on a rack, too tall for her to grab.
“This, this, this, I want this!”
Those ones are a little bit pricier, but when she gets them out of the rack, a smile finally spreads through her features. She has to get it. “You have a gut for styling, little one.”
Erika straightens her back in pride, fisting her small hands before nodding. “Thank you. Want me to buy one for you?”
She chuckles at her words. Definitely not, but she masks it by saying. “We don’t have enough money tonight. Another time.”
### 
Props to the man whom now she knows is called Jung Yoonoh…he doesn’t look half as bad in those clothes as anyone else would.
The milky way spreads on Erika’s pupils when she leans on the table that she had taken up in the hotel’s restaurant a little bit over an hour ago. Her line of sight is filled with none other than Yoonoh, whom she had practically cried to just to invite him to have dinner with the two of them. Erika has practically eaten her weight in Oreo milkshakes, but she can’t quite say she is not starving by the time she slips into the leather seats and she smells the delicious cooking from the kitchen.
Compare that to the bland sandwich she has in her locker.
The little girl talks even out of her elbows. Yoonoh, however, patiently listens, trying to keep up with the grand story she has for the outfit she had picked for him. That explains why people take second-glances towards him. Not that he is not handsome enough; the lighting at that house his girl had kicked him out of did not do justice to his chiseled, quite carved face, but there is something about his clothing that captures most of the attention.
A pair of pink flip flops that Erika had picked up at last after they both forgot about shoes. Tight red leather pants that showcase the strength and curve of his thighs, quite lean, elongated legs that she had taken a second look at when seeing him out of the bushes with some clothes on. And, how to forget the old, quite used black tank top that reads: ‘With a body like this, who needs a personality?’.
She had laughed when she saw him.
Her fingers dip her fries on some ketchup by the time Yoonoh does so, sparing her a glance over Erika’s shoulder when the little girl says:
“My friend doesn’t need boys.” The girl adds, wrapping her hands around her mouth before saying. “But don’t feel offended, she still finds boys cool.”
“Some of them.” She corrects, connecting her gaze with Yoonoh’s just as the man leans back on his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Oh, words from a broken heart. Who hurt you?” He questions, quirking one of his eyebrows before taking a bite of the fried chicken he had insisted on getting. Something about those brown eyes seem to capture her perfectly, as if reading her like a book…and she doesn’t like it.
“I’m just too busy to care.” Her voice wavers the slightest when letting out her excuse and then, she scoffs. “You know, that happens when you’re the manager of a hotel.”
“Understandable.” Yoonoh nods a few times before that dimple appears again. “Too busy to care or too busy to date?”
Her face burns by the time Yoonoh asks that question, pleased with the way she widens her eyes. “When did we decide to make me the subject of our conversation?”
“You saw me half-naked, I get to know something about you other than the pressed suits and the obvious distrust issues.” Yoonoh’s tone is playful, that smile never erased from his features, while her frown deepens. She can’t say he’s not correct, but he’s also poking at her nerves with his words.
“I don’t have trust issues.”
He hums. “Your first reaction is to say no to everything. You deny every word that is thrown your way.”
“Because I happen to think guys like you just feel like they know it all.” She comments, taking the same position as him while crossing one leg over the other. Erika just looks between the two, trying to understand this conversation to no avail. “You read and read people, but I can read you well, Yoonoh.”
He expands his arms, showing that ridiculous shirt. May be half true, his body is great, and his personality may be a little bit insufferable. “Read me.”
“Bachelor with a good job who has that ‘rise and grind’ mentality. Don’t take relationships seriously. Can’t look past what’s in front of him and oh, trust issues, too.” She relishes on leaning over the table, watching as his eyes concern the rest of her face, taking in her every feature before his gaze delves down to the fold of her shirt, no buttons opened, but he’s trying to see something there.
“You want me to look at what’s in front of me?” He questions. “It’s you. Didn’t know that was your way of flirting with me. Guess I really do have to thank you for the…outfit.”
“And me!” Erika raises her hand, waiving it in the air happily.
His tutting tone changes when smiling at her. “Thank you, Erika.”
“Who hurt you, Jung Yoonoh?” She questions, mocking the tone he had used on her and trying to stop a smile from appearing on her lips. So, playing around with him is fun, as it seems.
He stops for a moment, as if thinking. The curve of his mouth falls down the slightest and she hears a breath-in that she overthinks about, noticing that there is pain in even the brightest of people. Instead, he shrugs. “I haven’t gotten my heart broken.” Yoonoh says, playing with the strands of his hair, curves of his arms contorting. “Want to be the first to break it, sweetheart?”
“You wish.” She scoffs, only to have Yoonoh dipping more of his fries in ketchup.
“You wouldn’t even kill an ant.” Yoonoh swats without importance. “I doubt you’d break my heart.”
“I wouldn’t want to break your heart, and that’s what differentiates us.” She points between them. “Good cop, bad cop.”
“Excuse me.” A tender voice cuts through the air around us, a young-looking guy with innocent features and glasses too big for his face waves a Polaroid camera in his hold when nearing them. “May I take a picture of you? I have a photography project for a class I’m taking in college and I need to take pictures that bring nostalgia and warmth. I happened to think your little family could be the perfect subject.”
Before she could fully deny they are a family, Erika is wrapping both her little arms around their shoulders as she settles at the center of the table, smiling at the camera. “Cheese!”
Two pictures are taken before she could fully bring a smile to her face, her eyes connecting to Yoonoh’s over the table in a look that she can’t quite recognize. His smile has erased but still, he’s the one to take the picture when the college student says:
“One for you, one for me.” He says, bowing slightly. “Thank you.”
With that, he is gone, but the effect of his picture lingers when she realizes where she is. A complete stranger sits at the same table as her, trying to figure each other our while she should have put Erika to bed long ago, continue with her job and not even look to the sides to see whose lives are coexisting while she’s just working.
“Sorry.” She stands up, shaking her head at her own antics. Helped him, she had already done, and now she has no business to sit with him, grab a bite and just pretend that she doesn’t have things to do. Yoonoh looks up from the picture, eyebrows furrowed when she grabs Erika by the arms and hoists her up. “I—I have to work. I don’t…I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t be here with you.”
“Why?” Yoonoh questions, voice softened when she shakes her head.
“I just shouldn’t.” She finishes, not knowing quite well what this feels like. Casually flirting with a man like him means trouble. “Goodbye, Yoonoh.”
She says those words with the harshest weight of the world, turning around and rushing out of the restaurant while Erika screams out Yoonoh’s name in need for more fun in the night. Nonetheless, she feels someone’s eyes trailing after her, but she knows one look over her shoulder would only bring more questions to her head.
What was the universe trying to do when putting him on her road?
###
There is a picture in his wallet that doesn’t even begin to answer the questions roaming his head. As confused as in the beginning, Yoonoh remains.
He doesn’t know why he stares at it after finishing his meal during lunchtime, the office emptied out of people, flicking at the corner of the Polaroid he would not show anyone even if they paid him a billion won. He just wouldn’t. That ridiculous shirt and those obnoxiously tight pants that definitely gave him a carpet burn that he’s still feeling two days later, should have been enough of a reason not to wonder about the sudden change of mind the hotel manager had. 
Maybe, he had offended her. Though, she had kept on playing his game—and he half meant what he said. People like her are easy to read. Definitely an organization freak, perhaps a bit nerdy, with enough worries in her mind to fill an entire book. She wasn’t wrong about his trust issues either, but as he splays his fingertips on top of her placement in the picture, the only one who is not fully smiling, he ponders…
What’s about this girl that has his mind bringing her back all the time?
He closes his wallet just as he opens his sketchbook. A new one, because in his hassle, he had ripped the other that he had filled with all his dreams and hopes. He had crafted bodies, all in different sizes, to design something…and nothing had come to mind, not until he saw her again. That treasure hidden under baggy suits and clothes that he would have never looked at twice if only he hadn’t been captured by the naïve elegance in her face.
His eyes had tried to look, capture a glimpse of the curves around her body, and his imagination gave him more than what he could actually perceive. Yet, it had been enough. Flipping through his color scheme cards, he compares it to the vision he had inside his brain. Conservative, but still enough to feel powerful…
Violet. He doesn’t know why he picks it, but he does.
His fingers can’t stop sketching over the model he has on his sketchbook. He imagines lace and stain, draped thin pieces of clothing over the shoulders. Enough coverage for a one piece…and it comes to him in the form of a muse he would have never imagined. Someone who did not even show him anything, never gave him a chance to talk or fly, because that’s what he had never tried. What Silhouette had never stood for.
The people who are too shy to wear something like what they design.
Attractiveness is a feeling most people should get used to. Being looked at in an adoring light or have a flower thrown their way in the form of a compliment is desired, but has been lost in the eye of lust. Every word of adoration these days has been related to something—the imminent stoppage of the moment for the promise of sex. Never had Yoonoh thought of his designs as something more than a form of self-seduction, with the portrayal of self-love as a higher force for lust, but now, he sees it again.
Lingerie shouldn’t be seducing. It should be a weapon of beauty; a piece of clothing to be taken into consideration, colors that merge well with one’s personality. Not everyone is ready to fully unveil themselves in the light of the sexualized society we live in. Sometimes, people just want to feel nice fabrics against their skin or a glimmer of gorgeousness without showing everything.
The magic of designing is in delicacy.
The ideas come to him then. What was once a two piece for Yoonoh, now is one. What was once see-through, now makes up for riskiness in designs and curves, fabrics added to give more structure, instead of more nudity. Lingerie doesn’t have to be a thin layer of clothing—it can be beautiful, crafted and built.
His e-mail dings with a new entrance, stopping him on his third design as he envisions what must be under that suit—what would fit her and other working people for needing a boost, without actually showing the clothing to anyone but themselves, but soon enough, his face falls at Siyeon’s e-mail.
Subject: The Boss Wants You to Work.
Greetings, my beloved Yoonoh,
Silhouette has been known for its strong stance in the fashion community, and I have been pleased to land a runway show for us in, specifically, twenty-nine (29) days. In light of this, I send you the list of things you have to do:
1)   Design a set for the main male model of the runway, Kim Jungwoo. It has to be a showstopper if you want to keep working with him. I need this to be sent in 6 days.
2)   Find a nice and not as expensive place for the publicity photoshoot to take part on. I don’t want simple. I need ravishing visuals.
3)   Talk to the newbie models and make sure that said day, the stylists don’t screw up.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Jeon Siyeon.
Yoonoh rolls his eyes before starting to type a reply. The devil must be in front of her computer.
Subject: [RE]: The Boss Wants You to Work.
Hello,
I had already started working on a female set. I’m a female lingerie designer. I think I am not the one in charge of Jungwoo’s outfit.
Sincerely,
Jung Yoonoh.
The response comes just as he begins scrabbling his ideas into paper once again.
Subject: Who asked?
I want you to work on Jungwoo’s outfit. See if you get better while working on boxers instead of bras.
Not as sincerely,
Jeon Siyeon.
Spreading one hand on top of his sketchbook, he rubs the bridge of his nose before he breathes in deeply. Okay, now it seems like he has to craft something for a model that he doesn’t even know about, as well as finding the place for a photoshoot. An assistant, he seems to be now, and Siyeon’s, nonetheless.
But a place comes to mind, soon enough.
###
Devastation comes short to the wails that leave the kid’s lips. That speaks of pleas and pain.
Over a week of Sachiko coming up with different meetings had led up to an expected, yet somewhat uncalculated, road trip to where she hopes to build her second hotel. That said, she won’t stay for a day or two, but for the entirety of two weeks away from Erika. The daughter that now clings onto Sachiko like a koala, hiding her face in the crook of her neck, black hair matching her own as she cries uncontrollably.
Sachiko is at her apartment’s doorstep, luggage by the side of her elongated legs, as she shushes her daughter with a worried gaze. “You’re going to be okay, baby.” Then, she calls out her name, trying to wipe the tears in her eyes with just one hand. “You’ll be taken care of…and I will be back before you know it.”
“Why do you leave?!” Erika screeches, and Sachiko tries her best to reason with her, but her own whines are stopping her.
So, with her pajamas and tiredness lingering within her, she places a hand on top of Erika’s back. “Because your mom wants you to have a great life, Erika. She wants to buy you all you need and for you to have dreams as big as hers.” Maybe, she won’t get it now, but it’s the best she can do to explain the situation.
It manages to make Erika turn around, blinking her tears onto her cheeks. “I don’t want her to go.”
“We’ll mark the calendar…and she’ll come soon enough.” She whispers out, and it’s at this moment that she regrets saying yes to Sachiko when she asked her to take care of her daughter for a little while longer.
A little while longer shouldn’t mean two weeks.
Still, Erika doesn’t let go of her mom. She’s glued to her.
“I made you some hot chocolate, and I have some pudding that I prepared for me earlier.” Because sugary sweet meals seem to make her feel better in these days of uncertainty. This makes Erika widen her eyes, looking back at her mom before questioning her with a small smile.
“There you go, there’s my smiling baby.” Sachiko finishes, putting her daughter down before looking down at her watch. “My taxi is waiting for me. You can call me tomorrow, Erika, okay?”
“Yes, mommy!” But Erika is already moving towards the kitchen to grab a mug of that sweet, sweet hot chocolate.
She knows sweets are her weak point.
The only weak point she has.
“Make sure she sleeps early, okay?” Sachiko says, and all she can do is nod.
“Sure thing.” I can’t promise a thing, she thinks.
“And that she doesn’t eat too many sweets. I’ll let this one slide.”
“Only veggies.” She says as she grabs her doorframe in between her hold. Only to give her something sweet after she throws the veggies at my face, her mind replies.
“Thank you.” Sachiko adds over her shoulder, a smile to her face. “I know it’s difficult, but I really don’t have any family to take care of her and I really do trust you. I promise to pay you well after all this.”
That’s a nice start.
“Don’t worry. Me and Erika get along well.” That’s not a lie, but taking care of a kid is extremely tiring. “Just get in your taxi. We’ll be fine.”
With that, minutes pass by of complete silence, Erika’s eyes trained on her phone, blasting Peppa Pig, with one or two hiccups escaping here and there as she drinks her first mug of chocolate. She joins her, slicing another bit of cake and shrugging off whatever thought appears inside her brain.
The chocolate merges on the roof of her mouth, warming her to the tip of her toes, each aching muscle after hours of working relaxing, even a bit entranced by the show she’s not watching, but might be brain-washing her just like the rest of the kids.
“Another one, please.” Erika says after finishing her episode, extending her mug of chocolate towards her before she smiles sweetly.
She shakes her head. “Mom said no sweets.”
“Please?” The little girl drags with dulcetness in her tone, but she repeats the previous action.
“Nope.”
Erika places the mug down, head laying low before she repeats: “Chocolate, please!”
“I said nope.”
The kid stops for a moment, thinking as the sound of the dishwasher starting up as she cleans the mugs and the plates, and just then, her small voice is heard again:
“You don’t give me chocolates because you’re sad about Yoonoh?”
That makes her halter all steps. Yoonoh. The man that she had met days ago. Adonis without a shirt on, and then some weird 2011 wannabe that happened to have dinner with her and Erika. The lingering flirtations between the two had not been forgotten, those pair of eyes that somehow seemed to want to strip her of her utmost secrets, only for her to back away.
Yoonoh means trouble.
“I am not sad about Yoonoh.” She adds, turning around with her damp hands ending up over her waist. “Why do you think I’m sad about him?”
“Because he’s your boy!” Erika screeches as if it’s the most obvious thing, and she’s starting to get tired of the kid’s insane romanticism mixed with optimism. Sure, she’s a kid, but Disney should start making less princesses with a prince. “Mommy explained it to me.”
“What did she explain?” Not that she’s understanding a thing, but please, she does need to be enlightened.
“I asked mommy how people acted when they were in pairs.”
“When they are couples.”
“Yep!” The grin on her chubby cheeks is enchanting, but by what she’s saying, she’s about to ask Sachiko to pick her up again. The love talk is not her thing. “And she said boys smile a lot and they speak weirdly, like things I can’t understand.” That is a way to put it. “And the girl looks down a lot…and I don’t remember what else she said, but you did all those things with Yoonoh. He is your boy!”
“Boyfriend, not boy.” She corrects, turning around to continue to wash the dishes. Was he smiling at her? She had seen the dimple, but she hadn’t thought that he had beamed around like a madman. “And he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have one.”
“But why?” Erika drags her voice.
“We already had the talk of Moana and Merida.”
“I get that. I’m like them. I don’t want to be with boys.” She utters innocently, standing up to tug at her sleeve. “But you are with Yoonoh.”
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, laughter escaping her lips. “You hit your head, Erika.”
“I didn’t!” The little girl says, scratching her head just in case. “You’re a princess. He’s a prince—”
“Erika!” She stops her, interrupting her with ease before sighing. “I met Yoonoh the day we saw him, and I didn’t like him that way. We aren’t even friends.”
She juts out her lip. “I wasn’t friends with Mina either.” That’s Erika’s best friend from school. “But we became friends in a day. She put a worm in the teacher’s sandwich…” Her voice becomes soft, a blush appearing on her face. “It was awesome.”
“It’s different for adults.” That’s the best way to put it. She shakes the water away from her hands after closing the faucet before patting them dry on a towel. “What would you do if I said I disliked Yoonoh?”
“Nothing.” She adds. “You said you liked cool boys, and he’s a cool boy.”
He’s an overachieving asshole with a nice smile that could potentially enter her heart if she let him, but that should and would never happen. That’s who he is.
“Erika, I’ll tell your mom to ground you if we keep this conversation up.”
That seems to make her stop, grabbing her phone once again—and she knows the password, which is even worse, kids in this generation are geniuses—, before adding: “Does Peppa have a boy?”
“Oh my God, no!”
This will definitely be a long night.
###  
His mind is blank. Absolutely blank. Lingerie for men is even more difficult than lingerie for women. 
Jungwoo gives another walk on the stage, bleached blonde hair barely moving with each step he takes. He’s in the simple designs, the first launch of Silhouette, as bland as bland can get, and while his strut is fine, he can’t think of anything. Nothing that couldn’t be just a simple pair of boxer briefs thrown on a model. He could do that, but that’s so common, so plastered on paper. He wants to do something else, and yet, in the day of the photoshoot, he can’t think of anything.
“Why are you making me do this?” He met Jungwoo a few days ago, and he was actually quite surprised to recognize who he is. A runway model that has been around the world and all over fashion weeks. His dulcet personality and tall frame have gotten him somewhere, that’s for sure. “I should be already in my clothes and ready to take pictures.”
“I have nothing.” In the middle of the hotel’s ballroom, Jungwoo stops walking at the sound of Yoonoh’s voice. The designer looks down at his sketchbook, where he had made the drawing of a body similar to Jungwoo’s and still, nothing came to mind.
“…You have to have something.”
“A pair of black boxers.” He turns the sketchbook around just as Jungwoo slips a robe over his body and ties it securely. “Better than white boxer briefs, sexier, too. All the women I’ve been with likes them.”
“I won’t model that.” Jungwoo conquers, a lightweight laugh following after. “Those look like plain cotton boxers.”
“Well, I just don’t know what to design. Either I make you look tacky or I make you look bland. There is no in-between.”
“That bad?” Jungwoo questions, taking a seat next to him before grabbing a water bottle. “People are going to be here any minute. Everyone has decorated and I’m not sure my manager will be happy to hear that I came here just for nothing.”
A look is spared to the model, with Yoonoh shaking his head softly. He has to think of something. He can’t give Siyeon the benefit of seeing him tuck with a simple design.
His pencil taps against the drawing for a few seconds before he breathes out a few words: “You’re okay with being more covered?”
Conservative and elegant is more of what he has been aspiring for, with that peek of skin that makes the world go around. It’s what he has been drawing these days, but mostly with a muse in mind.
“Sure. I wasn’t over the moon thinking my ass was going to be out in the world.”
Yoonoh chuckles at that, turning the page around from the plain black boxers before sketching something else. “How about a crop top? With a fabric similar to a bralette, and you look better in red than you do in black.” He draws a diagonal line across the ribcage, making slitted long sleeves to showcase pieces of biceps, filling it up with the color red in a quick hassled manner that he will fix later. “Maybe some chains and garments around that wrap up to your waist.”
“I like that.” Jungwoo announces when looking over his shoulder.
“I’ll keep the black boxers. I still think they are classics, and I can talk to the management team to make them more than just cotton.” Yoonoh announces, soon after looking at the picture before clicking his tongue. “I think there’s something lacking.”
“Dunno. You’re the designer, but I’d wear this out of the runway.”
That’s something good, but Yoonoh is thinking of something else. People in real life transcending into their own confident version. That’s what he wants to portray. He draws a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, falling onto his long legs until it reaches midway through his calves, before sketching a pair of pants on the side. Loose, simple, highlighted in the waist.
“We could connect do something like…like suspenders. Office guy turns into midnight God.” Once again, he’s sketching. “You’d wear this, the crop top underneath but I have no idea how you’d show the boxers.”
“Make them low cut.” Jungwoo suggests, eyes trained on his phone momentarily when he crosses one leg over the other. “That way, the boxer’s band will be showing, and it will have Silhouette’s name there. I’d take off the jacket to show the statement piece.”
Yoonoh thinks about it, erasing the line at the waist before drawing the band, and his eyes glimmer at the image underneath him. Not as bad as he imagined it.
“Your ideas are good.”
“Thanks, I’m not just a pretty face.” Jungwoo jokes around, only standing up when the doors of the ballroom come open.
The theme of the photoshoot is simple. A party at the eighties, with beaming colors and disco balls. Darkened walls, confetti, everything has been added to highlight the idea Yoonoh had come up with. Nonetheless, his team is not the one barging in the room when the doors open, instead, he’s met with another darkened suit and a serious face that stares down at her agenda.
“Morning, people. I’m sorry I’m late. I was figuring out an issue at the penthouse, but I am here to help you with any form of decoration or with any question you may have.” The hotel manager stands there. Not that Yoonoh ever pondered they could not meet each other when he had specifically picked her hotel—he had walked through when entering the restaurant, and the three-stars help with the price, but the decorations are immaculate. Architecture its utmost beauty.
Now that he sees her, a smile spreads across his features. Maybe, a bit too soon—in a way that has him pushing it down because it is not possible to get that reaction out of him when it’s not faux. That woman had stood him up without even much of a reason, in the literal sense of the word, took those pretty legs away from the seat and walked away after they had been having fun.
He wore those leather pants. She owed him not leaving him in the middle of a restaurant with her meal and his to pay.
When she looks up at him, a few sentiments flash before her eyes, but he can’t guess any of them. He breathes out her name, capturing her off guard when she questions:
“You remember me?” Her voice is levelled as she moves forward, with a tinge of curiousness.
Yoonoh shrugs his shoulders in his fitted black sweater, paired with dark ripped jeans. “I wasn’t shitfaced. Just half-naked.”
That makes her frown deeply when she looks up at him again. “Don’t you dare say that out loud in front of anyone.” Soon after, she’s talking to Jungwoo. “I—Don’t listen to him. I’m the manager of this hotel and I have no business with this man.”
Jungwoo lifts his hands in the air. “None of my business, but please, do let me hear.”
He doesn’t know why it surprises him that Jungwoo likes gossip. “Why? You’re embarrassed of helping me out?”
“You’re saying it with double intentions.”
Yoonoh chuckles. “I wasn’t intending on anything the night we met.”
“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes, making him raise his eyebrows. That cynic voice in her is not something he expected. “We both know what kind of intentions you have with everyone. It seeps from you.”
“Seeps from me?”
“You had no issue going with some stranger after being kicked out of your…your hook up’s house and you were smiling and using those eyes on me and buddy,” She stops, a short laugh leaving her lips. Her index finger extends to point at him. “I’m not a charity case. I’m not in need of a man. I don’t need you to come around and cause me trouble, okay? If you’re here just to tease me instead of letting me do my job, then we’re off to a bad start.”
Offended is short for what he feels. Sure, he may not make a big deal out of hook ups, but it’s not like he’s the easiest man in the world. And if he was, why does she care?
“You’re the one talking about my eyes. I never made eyes at you.”
That makes her stop, holding her agenda to her chest before patting her ponytail in place. “Okay. Fine.”
“You just think you’re so much better than you, don’t you?” Yoonoh spites, crossing his arms across his chest, never once raising his voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, yes, you take care of your boss’ child. You’re so sweet and kind. So in synch with yourself you need no one’s company…” He trails off, pointing them out with the sharpness of his words. “That’s fine, but it’s not fine when you point fingers at people for being with other people. The twenty-first century is calling, they are here to say you can show someone your ankles without losing all sense of rightfulness.”
Scoffing, she shakes her head, a sarcastic smile appearing on her features. “Yoonoh, I know men like you.” She starts. The typical stance people have of him. Men like him. “You’re a…around with a bunch of women, and you use your good looks to your advantage, never care about anybody but you, never take anyone out on a date—”
He gets closer at that moment, lowering his eyes onto her lips before connecting them with hers. “…You wanted me to take you out on a date and that’s why you’re mad about me being a thot?”
“No!”
His hand reaches for one of her ears, laughing when he feels the heat. “Your ears are hot. Have something to tell me?”
“Where’s the person in charge of this photoshoot?” She slaps his hand away, turning to Jungwoo who has the biggest grin on his features.
“Oh, it’s him. The asshole Jung Yoonoh.” Jungwoo conquers with a flick of his finger before he expands his hands in front of them. “But please do continue. I love a good drama.”
“You?!” She gasps that word out as if it’s venom, a sharp intake coming after.
“Me.” Yoonoh retorts, a smirk appearing on his face. “And I happen to have lots of questions about this ballroom.”
He doesn’t, but he enjoys his next thirty minutes, trying to get the offense out of his body by having her carrying boxes—not heavy, but definitely bothersome when ordered by him—and giving her his phone number wrongly three times as she finished up the contract and the bill for the rent of the ballroom. Exasperation is short for what she feels, but as she’s working on that bill, he realizes something.
The shirt underneath her suit is a sunshine yellow, and he may change violet from the position of his desired color on her, because yellow makes her beam like never before. It gives her a powerful stance, standing out even in between seas of models posing around.
Though what she thinks of him has been a repetition of what he has heard before, somehow, he cares a little bit more when it comes from the one woman that has inspired him to do better with his designs. Not that she even cares about his position as a designer.
For her, he’s only another asshole who uses people to his will, and that’s only half correct.
###  
“The sexual tension was so thick I had a hard time breathing. Seriously, it was like when I used to steal rated magazines when I was young!”
The maids cheer and giggle to themselves when Blue spits out another version of the story that she and Yoonoh supposedly wrote yesterday afternoon in the ballroom. She has to play with the lettuce of her sandwich, cheek squished against her palm as she watches Erika stare in between the seas of women, following after every reaction even when she doesn’t understand them.
“Blue, don’t say such words in front of Erika.” She tells them, biting on her densely sauce-coated sandwich, before breathing out softly. How could they think of Yoonoh as a dream when he’s obviously a womanizer dressed in sheep’s clothing?
Or the devil. He’s definitely the devil.
“Whatever.” Blue, in her eighties, moves the skirt of her gray uniform before picking up one of the maids. One of the youngest and the tallest, with a long black fringe and moon-bathed features. Chaewon, she thinks her name is. “He told her: ‘Need help with those boxes’?” She lowers her voice to be a faux deep vibrato. “And she said: ‘No, I can do it myself. Thank you.’” That time around, her voice lifts up.
“I don’t speak like that.”
“And then, he retorted by saying: ‘I know, but my arms are waiting to hold something. I think you’d rather it be boxes.’”
More screeches and giggles follow after that statement, and she rolls her eyes because he did say that.
Chaewon ends up being swooped over, rolled around in Blue’s hold before she’s cooing. “I was expecting him to lower her down and give her that kiss that she was definitely asking for with her gaze,” She imitates the actions by looking down at Chaewon. She’s an actress, even at such an old age. “She kept looking at his lips before she cut him off, and you had to say the way his eyes lingered on her…”
“Where was he looking?” One of the maids asks, organizing the towels in their little eating room when Blue lets of Chaewon to let her sit somewhere else.
“He wasn’t looking.” The manager defends, ears heated up…but because of the golden lights here, definitely.
“Everywhere! There was not a portion of her that he simply did not worship with his gaze alone. He wanted to ravish her like—”
More heat, and maybe, summer is coming around earlier than expected. “Blue, stop reading those romance books with naked men on the cover. They’re getting to you.”
Blue laughs at her antics, her curled gray hair jumping around when she takes a seat in front of her. She continues to bite on her sandwich. “Aw, come on, boss. You can’t expect us not to want to see you with that man.” She covers her mouth to lower her voice before whispering: “He’s sexy.”
“Jung Yoonoh is anything but that!” She defends, leaning back on her seat and trashing the last bit that was left of her sandwich. She opens her water bottle and gulps it quickly.
“Look at that heat!” One of the maids adds, and Chaewon nods in return. “How does he look like, Blue? He sounds like a dream.”
“Pecs over pecs over pecs. He had…” The oldest woman curves her hands in the air and the manager has to scoff.
“Stop thirsting over him.”
“His girlfriend over there will get jealous but you had to see that sweater on him. That man is lean and had the sweetest, prince-like face. But not the kind of prince that wants you for his kingdom, having you wearing proper dresses and greeting the crowd.” She stops for a second, thick silence lingering in the air before she adds. “But the kind of prince that sneaks you into the castle to show you ever room—”
“More sexualization, great.” Her knees buckle when she picks Erika up from her spot in between the maids. “I have a meeting with the valet team. You better stop talking about this if you don’t want me to talk with Sachiko about your disrespect towards our clients.”
She opens the door when Erika wraps her arms around her neck, turning around to wave to the maids. “Bye!”
“Bye-bye, honey!” Blue waves back, returning to the crowd to say: “And his hair—”
She has to close the door with a bang as a huff leaves her lips. Everything has been about Jung Yoonoh these days, but what is the sudden obsession to have her paired up with someone who will definitely shatter her to pieces?
Every thought about him shall be erased as soon as possible now that he has finished with his photoshoot. She won’t hear about Jung Yoonoh ever again.
###
“And then, she went on to call me a man-whore or something. Practically drawing me as the biggest scumbag to ever exist.”
It’s way over nine at night when he finally has the time to check over what the manufacturing team had done with the design that he had sketched for Jungwoo. He still needed to take his pictures for the event, asking the graphic design team to help him out with the deadline, but that’s the least of his worries. Johnny is by his side, lost in his phone as he listened to his story, being his support for another all-nighter.
He unfolds the blood red fabric of the crop top and smiles in delight. Fitted, with slits that could pierce well into the subject of edge, and some chains dangling in elegant curves towards the waist, with Swarovski diamonds in between. He continues to look through the pieces, pants and jacket as well, when he hears Johnny speaking up.
“She’s not wrong.” He says, still engraved on his phone. “You’re a bit of an ass and you haven’t been in a serious relationship ever since I met you. Even before that, you have been single and into hook-ups. Why are you bothered?”
“Because I am not like that. I don’t have the time to embark in a relationship, okay?” Yoonoh mutters out, placing the jacket down on the table to look at it more precisely. “She has this…this air of arrogance of thinking she’s better than me. I don’t know, like…she just thinks I am some kind of douchebag that gets to her nerves—”
“Yet, still you sketch her.” That is the moment he hears the pages of his sketchbook being flickered at. Yoonoh widens his eyes, turning around to close it just as he says:
“Let go of that!”
“They’re pretty. Don’t be a nerd about it.” Once again, Johnny has taken the sketchbook, turning around to keep it away from his hold. “Are you into BDSM or something? People talking down on you? Women hating you so badly that they are kinda into you?”
Hate. That word is enormous, and he wouldn’t like to use it when plotting what she feels for him. Strong dislike, let’s go with that. “I’m not.” He denies all allegations. “…You just have to see her.”
“Ass or tits?”
“Not that.” Yoonoh feels his own cheeks heating up as a smile takes over his features. Not that he had gotten to see a lot with how baggy her suits are, but attractive is short for how he would describe her. “It’s in the way she holds herself. She’s the quiet kind of powerful. With everyone, she is kind and understanding, and yet, her action speak louder than she does. She’s independent and doesn’t let anyone else help her, even if she’s over the top with assignments and—”
“And it kind of sounds like you’re paying a little too much attention to her.” Johnny closes the sketchbook at that moment, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. “What’s with you, Yoonoh?”
The man scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just saying. I’m so angry that she’s like that, I just—”
“No, you’re not angry. Real angry Yoonoh? It’s the kind of Yoonoh we see with Siyeon. Not this one, talking about how he loves someone’s kindness.” His eyes trail over to his sketchbook, then to the design for Jungwoo before he’s ripping one page out and jotting down a message for the manufacturing team. It’s alright, he just wants a few more diamonds. “Come on, man. Talk about it. Mama Seo used to say there are no secrets in this household.”
“What do you want me to say?” Annoyance seeps from his voice when he looks over his shoulder. “Yes, I was interested. Yes, I guess we kind of flirted. Yes, she still ran away and yes, she absolutely despises my guts?”
“…She blew you off.” Johnny says that as if it’s the biggest announcement in the world.
Yoonoh shrugs. “Yeah, so what? It’s not like I asked her or made it known—”
“For the first time in his life, Jung Yoonoh didn’t get blown, he got blown off!”
“Johnny, it’s not funny—”
“I have to see who this woman is.” Johnny gets his phone out of his pocket, opening his Instagram app before he’s lurking for her. “What’s her name?”
Maybe, curiousness got the best of him when he stands behind Johnny, looking over his shoulder when he rasps out her name.
“There we have her.” His friend announces just as he clicks on the first account. “Private. I can’t really see her face in the profile picture.” It’s the silhouette of a woman, most likely her, in a sunset. Her hands are fisted deep in her pockets and she must be looking at the sun. “Should I message her? Something like: ‘Hi, if you don’t want to date Yoonoh, I’m single and the second-best option’?”
He’s joking around, yet, Yoonoh stares longingly at that picture. Something about her is so lukewarm that he finds himself at peace. He has always liked everything scalding hot—his relationships, his hook-ups, his meals, even the days that he spends at the beach, but now, he is interested in silence and tranquilness. In that lukewarm nature that comes within her, never too cold, never too hot.
“No.” His voice sounds unused when he finally speaks up. “Leave her be.”
Johnny’s eyes inspect his features. “Dude…there is really something about her, isn’t it?”
“I’ll never know, I guess.” Yoonoh finalizes, shrugging his shoulders before moving towards the edge of the room and turning off the lights. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”
###
“I won’t take a bath! I don’t want to!”
Five days from Sachiko’s arrival and she already feels like breaking. Breaking down or breaking out of her home, one or the other. Erika screams at the top of her lungs while rushing out of the bathroom, still very much in her pajamas, to sit down in front of her TV and watch another cartoon.
She throws the towel over her shoulder, eyes half-closing from tiredness when she breathes out softly and approaches her again. “Erika, get in the bath. It’ll be quick.”
The little girl shakes her head, hugging her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to.”
“Sometimes, I don’t want to either, but you have to.” She announces, taking a seat next to her to run her fingers through her hair. “Come on, Eri, it’s just a bath.”
“Nope.” The little girl mumbles, growing more annoyed by the second.
“You’ll stink. You don’t want anyone to smell your scent if it’s bad.”
“It’s okay.”
“Someone will come visit us.” She doesn’t know why that’s the first excuse she comes up with. Truth be told, none of her friends live in this city, and her family are nowhere near either. Loneliness is something she is used to, and she doesn’t like being the house’s host all that much, either. “And you really like them, so we need to bathe you before they come.”
Erika raises her eyebrows, a big smile appearing on her face: “Peppa?”
“No, not Peppa.” From the back of her mind, she can’t think of anybody who will come here that Erika really likes. She’s not entirely obsessed with Blue, and the woman is too old to take a taxi here. She is not sure who Erika likes apart from her…and Sachiko is not here. “Ah…” Think, think, think. “Yoonoh, my…uh…my boyfriend. He’s coming over.” 
The title makes her cringe, but Erika stands up in her couch, hair wild and little fists connecting to her shirt when she says: “He’s coming! You didn’t tell me!”
“Oh, I was just waiting for you to take a bath first.” She tries to sound smart, but this is the worst idea she could have. Sure, she saved his number when she was making that bill for the rented ballroom, but that has been about it. Never texted him, never planned to, much less to tell him to come over and pretend to be her boyfriend just so Erika takes a goddamned shower.
“I will! Hurray!” Erika moves away from the couch, rushing over to take off her clothes.
“I’ll go fill up the bathtub in a sec, okay?”
“Yes!”
This is the worst idea she has ever had.
By the time she hears the door to the guest room closing, she sighs deeply, going over to the kitchen to unplug her phone and look down at her contact list. Her heart is racing, eyebrows frowned in worry when she sees it in glimmering lights:
Jung Yoonoh (Never Respond. Not Even If You’re Dying).
She’s not dying, but she definitely feels like it.
Whenever she got a cut as a kid and she put a band-aid on it, she took the band-aid off in one harsh tug. It’d rip some hairs apart, but it wouldn’t hurt—it wouldn’t make her hesitate as much as she did. This is one of those decisions that need to be done that way; as if she’s drunk and she needs to call her ex, or as if buying that dress that she’ll never wear sounds like a good idea today.
The phone rings a few times and she paces back and forth in the kitchen, giving a few puffs out and jumping in place before she hears it.
“Hello?”
His voice is to die for. One of those melodies that anyone wants to hear when they are waking up, mumbling sweet nothings, promising whatever the hell sounds great at the time, and it’s so dangerous that it has her closing her eyes, trying to fight a shiver and not exactly of anxiousness.
“Yoonoh, I need your help.”
A bead of silence follows soon after, and it comes as a surprise when he mumbles her name. She hums in return. “Why are you calling me? How do you have my phone?”
“Don’t ask.” She tells him, about to start her rant when Yoonoh cuts her off with a deep chuckle.
“You stole it from my bill.”
Caught, yet, she places a hand on her waist. “I wanted to save it just in case you decided to call me and make my day more difficult.”
“Oh, if I called you, it’d be to ease any kind of stress.” He purrs out, making her groan out loud when a lighter laugh from him comes about. “What can I help you with, ice princess?”
“Stop it with the names.”
“Boss?”
“I said—”
“Stop it with the names, I know. I will.”
When there is another pause, she knows she can speak, so she does. “…Erika believes we are in a relationship.” He doesn’t scream at the idea or laugh straight at her face, so she sighs. “And she’s also like madly connected to you. Seriously, she never stops talking about you and how you were so cool and whatnot. She only agreed to bathing now that I told her my…” She clears her throat. Shit, this is awkward. “My boyfriend is coming to visit, but you’re my supposed boyfriend and you’re nowhere around. I was wondering if you could come over, I don’t know, for like thirty minutes and then leave, just to fulfill that promise.”
Another elongated silence comes soon after, but it’s followed by a hum from Yoonoh.
“You didn’t say we were friends,” He teases, and she rolls her eyes at his antics. “You still went on with the boyfriend thing. Something you want to tell me?”
“Erika thinks we are together.”
“Erika meaning you.”
“I would personally sew my lips if we were to be in a relationship, Yoonoh.”
He chuckles, though she hears some moving. “Why? You’d want to make out with me so badly that you would want to stop yourself?”
“You wish.”
“Kinda.” Yoonoh confesses and it sounds like a pin falling to the floor. It makes her anxious, because the idea of being trapped in his arms, mouths molding into each other, breaths mixing, tongue intertwining is not so bad when in theory. “So, where do you live?”
“You’re coming?”
“Yeah, but in like forty-five.”
With that, she gives him the address, only to hear Yoonoh breathing into the microphone.
“So, my dear girlfriend, my beloved future wife,” Those dramatics that come with him make her want to slice him in half, but she keeps on just for Erika. “…How long have we been together, exactly?”
“…Since my headaches started coming daily.” She responds, hearing pattering in the hallway. “Call me when you’re here, okay?”
Once she hangs up, she sees Erika ready for a bath by the kitchen’s door, waving her hands in the air.
“Let’s go!”
Kids are nightmares.
###
Epoch hats don’t fit him well, Yoonoh realizes as he sits on a little stool that barely can hold his weight, knees practically touching his chest as he plays tea-house with Erika and her babysitter. Or well, her mom’s worker that happens not to know how to say no.
Erika had gone over the top to make this a grand event, the Peppa Pig plushie he had brought with him when entering the apartment seated in front of Erika, while he stares ahead at the woman that has his mind a complete mess. She is wearing a pair of wings on her shoulders, and her clothing is different, still not letting him see much, but the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants still fit her nicely.
The roles are simple. Erika is the princess, and they are their Aunt and Uncle. Peppa Pig is her sister, and that’s about as much as he knows as he sips on the two-point-five milliliters of water with lemon that Erika dares call tea.
“More tea, please.” Yoonoh says when placing the small cup down and looking at the woman ahead of him. She is the one serving the tea, yet, she quirks an eyebrow at him.
“That’s your fourth cup.” She explains, shaking her head when he tries to reach for the tea. “You’ve already had enough. You’re doing it just to see me serving you.”
“While the sight is adorable, beautiful, this cup is the size of my pinky. I can’t even feel it going down my throat.” He waves the little cup in his pinky before trying to reach for the tea again. “I’ll serve myself if it makes you feel better.”
“You’re too sweet-mouthed…” She looks over at Erika, inspecting them with interest. “Sugarplum.”
“Sugarplum?” Yoonoh questions the nickname, pouring himself a cup of tea when snatching it from her hands before leaning his weight forward, taking a sip that has him downing the entire drink. “I’m not sweet, don’t know if you’re noticed.”
“Quite clearly.”
“May change my ways for you if you stop judging me.” His eyes trail over her features, the culprit of his playfulness spreading across his face.
“Oh, I happen to be very judgmental.”
“Get to know me,” He waves his finger on top of the cup, tracing the outline only to see her gulp soon after. “…I promise the last thing you’ll end up doing is hating me.”
Erika stands up in between the two, her little hands spreading on their chests when she says: “Princes and princesses don’t fight.”
“We’re not fighting, Eri.” She tells her, though she sends a glare his way. “Right, sugarplum?”
“Of course, beautiful.” He uses that same nickname, relishing on the way she seems to be seething at the name. Truth be told, he knows that she’s, at least, a bit attracted to him…but whatever is stopping her must be strong enough to have her stopping on her tracks that first night. His lips wrap up in a kiss he sends flying in the air before adding: “We actually love each other. My kingdom is now better because I have found my truest love.”
“Yeah…” She trails, looking over to the side before she takes a sip of her own tea. “How’s the collection going?”
That question surprises him. She must have supposed he was a designer, much more after all he did in her hotel, but he didn’t think she was paying attention from up close.
“It’s not a collection.” Sweetly, he corrects, voice lowered when he puts the cup down. “I—I’m only working on this one fit. An outfit. We design lingerie, as you could see. I’m normally in the women design department, but my boss which is an absolute…” He stops, looking at Erika. “Witch, changed me to the men’s department just to freak up my head.”
A small chuckle trips out of her lips at the choices of his cusses. “So, you were designing Jungwoo’s fit?”
“Precisely.” Yoonoh takes his phone out of his pocket before displaying something only for her to see. “Erika, you can’t see this. It’s…it’s not something you should be seeing, okay?”
And actually, she listens. Yoonoh can’t understand why she says that Erika never listens to anybody. Her eyes trail over to Jungwoo, and the way they scan up and down have something within him tugging his phone away.
“That’s my design.”
“You’re talented.” Those words shouldn’t weight as much as they do, but he hasn’t heard them in a while. Perhaps, in two years. “If only you weren’t so much of a butt-face whenever we speak, I’m sure that part of you would show through.”
“What part of me?”
“The part that doesn’t try to hide that you care.”
That’s the moment Yoonoh backs away, because he shouldn’t care. It’s easier to go through life without caring about the people around you. The small stool falls behind him just as he stands up, clearing his throat after a harsh swallow.
“I have to go.”
Erika stands up as well, eyes widened. “Is it because she called you butt-face?”
Yoonoh chuckles, ruffling her hair with one hand. “No, I—I think I left my stove on at home.”
He hears the sound of her picking up her keys, nodding in the process. “I’ll walk you there. Don’t worry. Erika, stay here.”
The hallway that leads to her door is far too cramped for the two of them, his shoulders brushing with hers as they walk alongside each other. The part of you that doesn’t try to hide that you care; it’s not like he cares about her past the normalcy of two people who happen to be attracted towards each other buy deny it—
He turns around, his chest expanding with each breath that she takes, oxygens mingling when he looks down at her features, those lips that he would have kissed if granted the permission, but instead he asks:
“Is that why you hate me?”
She doesn’t listen, a deer caught in the headlights when she questions: “What?”
“Because you think I don’t care. Is that why you hate me?” He questions, only to have her shaking her head. His fingers hook a strand of her hair behind her ear, feeling the heat of her skin, much like that one time he had touched it.
“I don’t hate you.” She confesses, honest and yet surprising, before she breathes out in a shudder. “…Sometimes, it’s better to not wonder, Yoonoh. Not be curious about people like you. Not because you’re bad, but because you’re not right, either.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Stop looking at my lips, it distracts me.”
Yoonoh trails his eyes up before engulfing the words in his plush lips. “And what about you?” He questions. “If I’m all types of wrong, what are you?”
“All the different types of wrong that aren’t yours.” She says, just as his chest brushes with her own again, her stomach extending, back bending, body molding closer to his just because of electricity and gravity, she opens the door, releasing a breath that feels like a million pounds of weight. “Good night, Yoonoh, and thank you.”
He nods, and while he wants to return the words, he can’t.
###  
Four Years Ago.
She never came back.
Sometimes, Yoonoh felt stupid for believing that there was someone in the other side of the computer. That said chatroom that had once started as complete curiousness had now turned into something else, tangible, present in his every day. He was young, his eyes wandered, his mind stopped thinking about the importance of his future and he thought that Dami was it. The woman of his dreams, the picture that he couldn’t take out of his head when he laid still at night and looked at his ceiling.
His friends made fun of him, because this is not the Jung Yoonoh that had gotten secret notes during Valentine’s Day in high school with love confessions and promises of marriage. This was a young man, seated in front of a computer, waiting for an answer. Waiting for the day she returned, after she said that she’d come back. It was only supposed to be a lunch break, but with no contact other than this chatroom, than what they had in social media, how was he supposed to get in touch with her?
JJH1997: Hey, did I do something wrong? (Three weeks ago.)
JJH1997: Hello! How are you doing? Are you okay? (Three weeks ago.)
JJH1997: I bought that one record you told me about. (One day and a half ago.)
JJH1997: [Picture Attached]. (One day and a half ago.)
JJH1997: Are you mad? (Thirteen hours ago.)
JJH1997: I’m sorry if I offended you. (One hour ago.)
The reply he got soon after, as he was studying for one of his finals, had him widening his eyes. She had not answered in weeks, this was the best news he could hear—
DAMISONG96: This is her husband. Who are you? (Just Now).
His hands shook, trying to find the words to say. Husband. All this time, he had been talking about a future with someone with a husband…
DAMISONG96: I’ve just read your messages. Stop talking to my wife, you fucking kid.
[This contact has blocked you].
The worst part was that he could never know if it was a catfish, if the person he talked about was real…or, actually, that he could never apologize, perhaps for ruining a marriage that he never knew of.
Love doesn’t come easy when you don’t know how to trust. 
### 
The reason why he became a lingerie designer instead of any other kind of designer is because of the subtlety. His friends think that it is because of the obvious love Yoonoh has for the human body, but as he sits on the front row of his own show, staring at the Silhouette designs his team had worked on, with harsh white lights matching the upbeat and bass-boosted songs that have models swinging their hips from side to side, he feels proud and more.
Jungwoo is the next one to come, and all signs of his beam is long forgotten as he struts down that runway. At first, he does it simply, how he’s taught, the buttons of his jacket are done, undoing them as he walks to showcase the crop top underneath, only pulling it down and turning around to throw the jacket aside and show the top and the chains, along with Silhouette’s name on the band of his boxers. It’s perhaps something not seen in the streets, but he can imagine celebrities falling in love with the design.
He’s concentrated on the faces of the people ahead of him, cheers resounding around the air as Jungwoo finishes off his catwalk. The invitees seem to be overjoyed, and just when a smile creeps up his features, fixing his stance in his tailored black suit, he feels a hand spreading on his thigh, a chuckle being breath out in his ear.
“You’ve done a great job, Yoonoh.” Siyeon speaks with certainty, and to anyone, they are just two friends congratulating each other. He does great work in feigning a smile when turning to her, but what he says is not so kind.
“Thank you. I’m known for that.”
“I know…if we don’t compare that to your organization problems and your endless witty mouth.” Siyeon starts clapping when another model comes around before a beam appears on her features.
Something doesn’t feel right.
“…And what about it?”
Siyeon’s long silver earrings move when she turns to him, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Well, you see, Yoonoh, the reason why I wanted you to craft a showstopper and to leave with a bang is because…” The acids in his stomach go up, nervousness creeping up on him, trying to keep the dimples there to no avail. “You’re no longer going to be part of our team. Out of all the designs you’ve done, this is your best, but you proved yourself right a little too late. Sorry.”
She’s not sorry, and he knows this. The smile that he has fought so hard to keep there is no longer of his interest as he stands up, pointing at her while scowling.
“You can’t do that.”
“Yoonoh, you’re making a scene.” She tries to chuckle through her words.
“I’ve been working for this fucking company for two years and I haven’t slacked once.”
“Says you,” Siyeon shrugs. “I’m in charge, Yoonoh, and I saw you’re slacking.”
“Fuck you.”
“Have heard that before.”
The air around him engulfs him in a way that almost makes him feel like he’s trapped. He’s out of the expensive hotel Siyeon had found in seconds, but yet, he feels like he has run a marathon. His eyes concentrate anywhere, hand coming up to his chest, his dream shattered when trying to give this company another chance—
The night whisks him in the face as he runs, not caring to grab a taxi, not minding that he feels like his life is falling down…because this is stupid. Life is so fucking ironic that he hates it. He trusts people? He ends up losing. He doesn’t trust them? They never believe him.
What’s the realest way to get a happy ending? He’ll never know.
### 
Eight hours of sleep feel marvelous once she gets them back.
Not only has she gotten to return her calls, but it doesn’t smell like baby food in her apartment and she gets to take a break from Peppa Pig. Erika had been sad when letting go of her, pressing her face to her stomach in a hug before she was off to holding onto her mother for dear life. Her paycheck came around, life was good, and this night was excellent with the bag of savory chips she had just opened.
The crunch is the only thing that can be heard, mingling with the noise of the romantic movie she is watching, tears wielding her vision and yet, she pushes them away. Tragedies are the best form of romance—when both characters have gone through so much that finding happiness in each other feels a thousand times more personal. Perfect, even. It’s a nice chance for her romantic comedy binge from earlier.
The air is interrupted when she hears someone ringing her doorbell, and that brings a frown to her features. First, she’s not waiting for anybody. Secondly, she had been crying just now. Grabbing a napkin, she taps it against her ears and waltzes over to the door to see who is standing by the door through the peephole.
And if there was a sight that could capture her breath away just as much as it could make her be excited about something, it’s this.
Yoonoh stands outside her door, with the buttons of his shirt half-opened, a peak of his shirt showing, his jacket thrown haphazardly over one forearm, and if only this peephole let her see lower, she would relish on the strength of his thighs. Confusing or not, as well as a bit annoying, one can’t deny that Yoonoh is extremely handsome. Taken out of a magazine, even.
She opens the door softly, unaware of why he is there. Today, the runway for Silhouette should be happening and yet, he’s here, at 10:45 at night, with his hair made a mess and his eyes trailing on her.
“Yoonoh,” He doesn’t stop looking at her eyes, a frown in his features. “Hi…uh…may I help you with something?”
“You’re right.” He starts, entering her house just as she moves to the side. He must be in a rush. The door closes behind her. “I try not to care about things. I don’t take relationships seriously. I’m an asshole at most times. I’m fake and boring and quite clearly, all kinds of wrong.” Well, that is a statement. She knows there is some good for Yoonoh. He’s always one call away, he’s organized, he’s given. He’s strong and rampant and fiery, in that way that have people shuddering in their spots.
“So?”
“So, yes, I’m fucking tired of being that because it doesn’t work.” He stands in front of her now, in that same hallway that had trapped them weeks ago and had managed to make her even more confused. “I just lost my job and I don’t know what the hell I am going to do with my life. I was used and—fuck!”
Her heart weights down when he admits that. “Why would you lose your job? That outfit you designed for Jungwoo is amazing…”
“Because my new boss hates me, just like you do.”
“I said I didn’t hate you.”
“Then why?” Yoonoh questions. “Why did you run away that night? What about me is so repulsive that you can’t even look my way without frowning when all I have been thinking about since that moment I saw you in the restaurant, in nice light, after getting me some clothes, is that you’re the kindest and most humble woman I have ever met and I would do my fucking best to kiss away every fucking insecurity you have about me?”
Silence comes to be awkward around them. Or, well, filled with tension. But this silence is of understanding. Yoonoh’s eyes that night, that had scanned her with such intricacy, had thought about the same things that she did. And yet, she had let it slide—because it’s easier to fear than to try, to run away than to stay.
“Because…you’re difficult, Yoonoh.” She states. “And I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just know…I know I would like you.” That makes her ego blot down the slightest. “And then, when you realize that kissing me is not enough, that waking up to me is not enough, that I won’t give you whatever interesting shit you were doing when I found you outside that house, you’ll leave…and I’m not at an age or time in my life where I want to see you leave without an explanation. I don’t.”
He finally reconnects his gaze with her eyes. “The explanation here is simple,” He conquers. “You’re beautiful. Each part of you I get to see and each part I don’t. Every bit of my imagination can only think about you, so much that everything I design is everything my mind gushes about and can only perceive on you. It’s stupid enough that…” He chuckles at his own antics, leaning his head back on the wall. “That I think about what color fits you best and I am certain it’s not the navy blue you like to use. It’s yellow, because you’re so bright it practically burns my fucking eyes. You’re so smart and given and you don’t even let me tell you that, because you’re always…pushing me away.”
“Yoonoh—” Her heart flutters at his words, but he doesn’t stop talking.
“And you’re your own kind of goddess and it drives me insane, because I was the type of dumbass that didn’t like the chase, but each and every time I hear you speak, I just want to tease you more and…” He stops for a second, finally fixing his position to look at her. “I just wanted you to know, because if I’ll never get a chance, at least I want to say I—”
Silences are what made them. It’s what she likes the most about him, when he’s silent and concentrated, when all his might goes to one thing and one thing only. She doesn’t know what overtakes her at that moment, when her lips clash against his in a dance that it’s much too passionate. She can’t keep up with whatever she wants to do, her hands hooked around his waist to mold him against the wall, his abdomen carved against hers when a groan traps itself on the back of his throat and he grabs the back of her head, taking more of her in, granting himself entrance, rubbing his lips in a tempting touch before he’s diving in for air…and she’s his oxygen.
Yoonoh’s hold is not strong, overly passionate, tumbling. In his own way, Yoonoh is delicate. It’s just when she kisses him that she realizes there is a beautiful thing to Jung Yoonoh. The delicacy he portrays in lingerie, that translate into his utter fears. The pristine glass he is when she caresses his neck with a touch of her mouth and he shudders while grasping the back of her shirt, asking to see her—to be seen.
When heartbreak happens, there is always a dot. That one finalization of a chapter in your heart that aches insufferably. Her dots connected to him, in one way or another, in the moles in his face or the way he begs to connect to her lips again when she pulls away. He’s gravity when she asks to be taken to her room in one simplistic glance and he’s smiling by the time he puts her down on the sheets.
Over all, Yoonoh is a lover of beauty, and maybe, for once in her life, she feels like art, just when he throws her shirt over her head, staring down at small portions of her body being shown before showing that dimple that she had trained herself to hate.
But who is she kidding? She didn’t hate it at all.
“…You were forbidding me of this.” He points at her body, earning laughter from her, ears heated up under his gaze. “And for that, I’ll never forgive you.”
That night, it’s not a promise of love—it’s lust mixed with something else, that fluttering feeling of having a crush, maybe, or the start of something…how he calls it…beautiful.
###
Normally, Yoonoh doesn’t text. He hooks up with someone, leaves it in the air, then moves on to working. Awakening in his lover’s bed, having breakfast with her, arguing in that way that only they know how to do—playfully, of course—and then having to see him himself off just so she can go to work, however, is completely different.
Just as he lays on his bed midway through the day, he looks at her contact. Missing her would be a statement, and it would be absolutely correct. His gut twists, not knowing exactly what to say—new and yet old in this dating thing.
Uh, can he call it that? They haven’t even gotten out on a date.
Yoonoh: We haven’t gotten out on a date.
Yoonoh: Do you want to?
She must be near the phone, because she replies quickly.
Beautiful: If I slept with you, I obviously want to go on a date with you.
Beautiful: Duh.
There is the bite that he likes, enough to bring a smile to his face before he’s biting down on his lip.
Yoonoh: You didn’t sleep with me when I was employed, wearing suits, confident and flirty. Your standards? Very low.
Beautiful: You’re complaining? Because I could not do it again.
Yoonoh: Who said I was complaining? I was trying the whole time and just when I’m a huge loser, I get the girl.
His life seems to be twisted in circles, cycles that he don’t know how to stop, but a text from her gives him hope that he’ll figure it out.
Beautiful: You’re not a loser. I don’t date losers.
Beautiful: Dinner tonight? I brought a sandwich, but that’s bland.
Yoonoh: It’s a date.
A few seconds pass by before he’s typing again.
Yoonoh: Wait, how do you have me saved in your phone?
A screenshot comes soon after, and he doubles over in laughter when he sees ‘Sugarplum (DNI)’.
###
She has forgotten how to say it, and it’s not like it’s another language, but nervousness clads her every pore just as she sits down by a table at Erika’s seventh birthday party.
Five months into this dating thing, and she doesn’t understand most of it. What she knows is that it feels great. Waking up next to Yoonoh—her place or his—, being kissed on the cheeks, on her forehead, only to be ravished by one of those kisses that he only knows how to give. To watch him grow away from his fears and create his own lingerie line, obviously with the support of his model friends that were eager to take pictures with his pieces and make do with what they have.
It’s difficult, but just as Yoonoh lowers Erika after hoisting her up in the air, always charming with her and with anyone, she doesn’t know how to say it. You know, those three words that have captured her ever since Yoonoh smiled at all her baby pictures, or when he spends some extra time in the kitchen making her favorite meal just because he feels like pampering her.
Three words that she has said before, even jokingly, and yet, she’s petrified.
The trees are tall in the backyard of Sachiko’s home, yellows and reds contrasting the feeling in her heart. It’s pure pink, just like the glow on Yoonoh’s cheeks or that set he had once sewed himself just for her, the one that he never gets enough of and still groans at. Childish music and cake should be enough to calm her down, but just as Yoonoh plops himself alongside her, resting his head on his forearm on the picnic table she’s by, all words she had practiced are lost.
How does he have that effect after five months?
“Erika loved the gift.” Even their gifts had been united. From Uncle Prince and Aunt Princess, they had written on the note. A doll that she had been screaming about months ago when they had visited her.
That word, even he is saying it. If Jung Yoonoh is capable of spitting it out, why couldn’t she—?
“You look like you’re sick.”
That makes her sigh. “Thanks. I don’t see you complaining.”
Yoonoh’s smile grows wider at that, rolling a piece of her hair in between his index finger. “I like the sick look.” He replies. “Something about the sight of a girl who wants to throw up on me. So sexy I could take you to a bathroom right now and just—”
“Yoonoh!”
“There it is, not so sick anymore. Now you’re angry.” He has his ways, she has to admit, and even when finds herself laughing when he changes that glimmer of his eyes that always gets him what he wants. “What’s with you?”
She opens her mouth, placing a piece of cake inside of it—just a little bit too big—when she says: “I love you.”
Or whatever can be understood in between a mouthful of cake.
Yoonoh quirks a perfectly styled brow. “You what?”
“I love you.” She utters out, swallowing soon after before giving him a smile. “Okay, alright, I’m done here—”
His hands gravitate to her hips before she could stand up, sitting her down on his thigh and bringing her face to his by her chin before asking, much too close and too softly for her to ever resist him. “You what?” He repeats, much more delicately, and finally, she finds the reason to stop being nervous.
Those brown eyes look from her eyes to her lips, never getting enough of her, never knowing how to battle the thoughts that show on his features. That kind of adoration she has never gotten before, and that is worth trying for.
She hides her face in his neck, breathing in his scent before spitting out: “I love you.”
It brushes against his skin, tickles him in a way that has him tightening his hold before he replies: “Sounds so good when someone means it.” And that confession is only meant for her to be understood, before he’s pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, too.”
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scuttling · 3 years
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Lavender
Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.
There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.
Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.
You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.
The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.
“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.
“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.
“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.
“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.
“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.
“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.
“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.
By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.
“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”
“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”
As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.
“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.
“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.
You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.
Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.
You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.
You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.
“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.
“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.
“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.
“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.
“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”
“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.
“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.
“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.
“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.
“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.
“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.
“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.
You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.
It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.
At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.
If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.
“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.
“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.
“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.
“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.
“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.
“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”
“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”
You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.
“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.
“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.
“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.
“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.
“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.
“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.
“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.
“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.
“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.
“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.
“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.
“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.
“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.
“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.
“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.
“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.
“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.
“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.
“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”
Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.
“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”
That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.
“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”
He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.
“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.
“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.
“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.
“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.
“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”
You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.
“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”
He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.
“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.
“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.
“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”
“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.
“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.
“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.
“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.
“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”
“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”
“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”
“Right. Please continue.”
“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.
“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”
“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”
“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.
You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.
“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.
“I shouldn’t.”
“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.
It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.
“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.
Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.
“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.
“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”
He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.
“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.
“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.
When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.
“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”
“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”
He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.
Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.
It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.
He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.
“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.
His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.
“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.
You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.
He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.
“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.
You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.
He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.
“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.
“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.
You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.
With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.
You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.
“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.
“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.
“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.
He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.
The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.
Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.
You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.
“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.
“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.
“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.
“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”
You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.
“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.
“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”
God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.
“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.
“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.
“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.
“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”
You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.
“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”
“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”
He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.
“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.
“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”
He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.
“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.
“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”
You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.
“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.
“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.
He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.
“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.
As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.
He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.
“Aaron!”
Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.
“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.
“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”
“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.
“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”
“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.
“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”
“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”
“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.
“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”
“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.
“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.
“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.
“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.
He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.
“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.
“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.
You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.
“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.
“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.
“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.
“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”
You groan, roll your eyes.
“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.
“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.
“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.
“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.
“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.
“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.
He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.
You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.
“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”
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leviiattacks · 3 years
Note
CASHIER LEVI AND LIKE THE READER IS THE CUSTOMER AND IT’S LIKE THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON EACHTOHER
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author note :: honestly not my best at all..... like at all..... this was actually pretty good but the entire draft got deleted and i just lost all my effort but i felt bad for starting it and not completing it for anon so you may take whatever i have managed to salvage. i hope u enjoy it :’( i am extremely sick rn and yeah writing is the only break i am currently getting from anything :-) SO AGAIN I’ M SORRY ANON..... i may write a 10k + word fic on this though so i can redeem myself bc this is just disappointing 😭
word count :: 3.3k
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every single thursday you stop by ackermart. maybe it’s because the day is convenient for you or perhaps it’s because of a certain cashier that works the evenings...
HAHA it’s got nothing to do with a cashier why would it have anything to do with a cashier? :-)
today is like any other. you walk through the fresh produce aisle then proceed to make your way towards the bakery section picking up a loaf of bread
it’s stupid, you know it is but... you think you’ve worked up enough courage to speak to him today!!
and who is him you may ask?
levi at till number four. his tired eyes always happen to pierce into yours and his calloused thumbs brush past your skin when you hand him your rewards card
levi is what his bright red name tag says and although he doesn’t look like a levi you’d like to think your crush isn’t stealing someone’s identity so you believe that it’s his real name
anxiously fiddling with your basket you’re beginning to think this was a horrible idea
the girl ahead of you is flirting up a storm with him and although he’s not reciprocating it by any means you still feel deterred
levi bags the last of her groceries and looks up at her when she asks for a way to contact him. he doesn’t look mad... just bored?
“ma’am. this is an ackermart i don’t think it’s appropriate you ask me for my number. the customer service line is listed on our website.”
the woman raises a brow looking completely flabbergasted. okay, if everything before this wasn’t a warning THIS sure was
she stomps off when she realises levi isn’t kidding and you think you’d feel bad for her maybe if she was more respectful about it
“next customer.” levi calls over his shoulder and you shuffle forward pretending to be engrossed in your phone
“cash or card?” he asks plainly.
you hear the BEEP of your groceries being scanned and think on it for a while before replying with “cash”
you’re clearly pretty good at your pretend to be totally into your phone act because levi tries to get your attention but you don’t hear what he has to say till the third time he repeats himself
but even then you’re still unsure what it is he’s said????
looking down you see his hand is stuck out in front of you and now you’re even more confused
faltering for a second you look at his palm and then speak
“um, i guess your hand is nice? it’s pretty big compared to the rest of you actually.”
“i was asking for your cash?” he says and now you look at his palms in mortification
gasping you yANK your hand into your purse as you laugh awkwardly fishing around to find your money
“oh, OH i knew that. just kidding!! i mean- i meant that thing about your hand?? but i thought it was- i funny? yes the joke funny? i’m-”
he leans back into his spinning chair and sighs contently. “you’re not making much sense peaches.”
“pe- peaches??” you repeat. no way you’ve heard that correct
levi lazily points at the abundance of the aforementioned fruit in your grocery bags
“you must love em.”
“i, well yeah i do like peaches but i also like...” um??? what food would make you look sophisticated and professional?
OH YEAH
“FRENCH CUISINE :-)!!!!” you say rather proudly
“...cool. i guess.” levi hands you your grocery bag which is basically an invitation asking for you to get out
he doesn’t seem mad but he’s definitely going to look back at this encounter and laugh his ass off at how stupid you are
hanging your head down low in embarrassment you make your way out towards your car
there’s always next time!! maybe you can practice in the mirror yeah that does sound like it would help!!!
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okay so.
it is officially next time.
actually you never got the opportunity to practice in front of the mirror because you chickened out of looking like an idiot even if it was in the privacy of your own home
but!!! you did try to practice some cool pick up lines because who doesn’t like a good pickup line or two??
the two mini milk cartons in your hand and the pack of doughnuts you have tucked under your arm aren’t too heavy so you aren’t too worried about having to wait in the line
for some reason the guy in front of you keeps turning around and glancing at you as if you don’t even exist
you are not casper the ghost
also casper is a little boy and you definitely aren’t a little boy
finally after a good five minutes the man ahead of you is having his stuff scanned but he’s STILL doing it. even levi notices and gives him an odd look which borders annoyance and anger.
“can i pay for your groceries? maybe walk you to your car?” the stranger asks suddenly
so that’s what this is, he’s simply taken an interest in you
my god this is new but it is uncomfortable and you’d rather say no
“oh, i actually walked here and no thanks i can pay for my own. enjoy the rest of your day!!” you hope your white lie is enough to fool the man but instead of agreeing as any other person would he looks majorly deceived
“i saw you in the parking lot.” ok this is getting a bit too uncomfortable for your liking
“c’mon i’m offering to buy your shit too?”
his voice is raising and you’re not sure what exactly you can do but thankfully for you the manager steps in and takes him away before any more threats can be made
the man had taken up so much of your attention you almost forgot levi was even there until you turned back around
“do you want a member of staff to accompany you to your car? it’s getting dark out.” levi’s comment helps ease your nerves and you try to laugh off what just happened
“i’m good :-)” you say shaking a little. you’re unsure if it’s the cold or the fact you still haven’t completely calmed down
“you sure peaches?”
“i haven’t bought any peaches this time.”
“you’re still peaches to me.” your cheeks flush at his confidence
wait, maybe this is your chance. you’re the last person in his line and they’re closing up for the day so...
“could you walk me to my car?”
and to your surprise even before you can take back what you’ve said levi agrees
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it stays like that for a while.
every thursday levi walks you to your car by the end of his shift, all the while the two of you exchange a few words together
like last week you asked him what his favourite colour was (he said purple) you’ve learnt about his hobbies (he’s a decent cook), you’ve even found out about some of his own personal problems. he had mentioned suffering with insomnia in passing.
to be honest each and every time he walks you to your car he has to notice that you begin to park further and further away from the front entrance. but if he does notice he doesn’t say a word about it
“is that all you’re checking out?” you ask with a cheeky grin plastered across your face
looking down at your new dress your lopsided grin is far from fading away any time soon. you especially picked this one out after asking levi what his favourite colour was last week
god. this is so embarrassing but never actually have you had a crush this huge
levi who’s sat behind the counter shoots you a look which almost seems to be on the verge of uninterested. he isn’t entertaining this at all or this is just his typical bored face, you can’t really tell
BUT..... you still have a huge crush on him and you aren’t one to give up this easily
for the record you don’t harass him or anything, just the occasional hint is thrown around but he’s either really dense or doesn’t care
his expression does you no favours, you can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time
“you’re always buying energy drinks... might want to cut down on those they’re no good for you.”
warmth blooms in your chest. he’s just saying it to make small talk but the fact he even thinks to bring that up has your heart fluttering
“i- well- yeah i will!! just have a few overdue essays to get over with :-)” twiddling your thumbs together you think that makes your nerves too obvious so you begin to scratch at the back of your neck
if anything is a dead give away it’s your constant neck scratching, thankfully levi hasn’t picked up on it
“so you wore purple today?” his eyes linger on the thin straps of your dress and you feel the goosebumps rise up onto your skin immediately
“oh yeahhhh-”
“did i tell you yellow was my favourite colour last week?” he asks holding up a neon yellow pack of crisps and for the first time you see him smile
he looks so ?!|>\€|^ pretty ?!/)/&
wait?? yellow??
“didn’t you say purple?”
“no?” he crosses his arms playfully over his chest thinking for a bit
“maybe i did but no it’s really yellow.” he says as he hands you your bag
nodding your head you smile “yeahhhh sure it is.”
damn, now you’re going to have to find a yellow dress just to make him revert back to purple because who even likes yellow?? that’s a deal breaker right there??
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update
it’s been two weeks!!
and a yellow dress has been found and secured B-)
it’s been a pretty rough day at work and you need to desperately collect a pack of green tea and get going
you don’t know when exactly being a secretary meant you had to babysit your boss’ children but that’s what the last week has entailed
being made to work overtime to this extent has had an effect on you and you’re ready to head home as soon as you swing by ackermart
not seeing levi for a week made you a little :-( because to be honest he’s the highlight of your thursday evening BUT!! you’ll be able to see him today at least
walking in through the entrance you’re met with connie smiling right at you, he holds the door open for you and smile back greeting him
“so you didn’t come last week...?”
it’s weird for him to ask that, after all you don’t really speak to anyone here apart from levi, you’re surprised you’re enough of a regular to be known by name
“oh i didn’t think anyone would notice? but yeah i had to work overtime you know what boss’ are like.” groaning you crouch down and look at the pot noodles on display
“i didn’t notice it. boss man did.”
“boss man?” you ask feeling out of loop
“levi.” connie answers as he hops into the backroom
????
isn’t he just a cashier??
“you still look confused.” connie remarks as he heads back out with a cardboard box full of pringle’s tubes
“levi’s the boss man, this is his store. he literally only ever mans the cash register on thursday evening because of you.”
at that you start laughing because it makes no sense at all to you
there’s no way connie is being serious
“good one.” you say as you stand up with a chicken flavored noodle in your hand
“i’m not kidding?”
turning around you give him a skeptical look
he sighs and shakes his head.
“listen. me and the part timers are tired of making bets on when he’ll give you his number and i bet that it would happen today so if you could confess to each other that would be perfect!!!”
“who said i like-”
“anyone with a brain can tell you both like each other.” he’s rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head you begin to take him a little more seriously now
“i... did i make it that obvious??” you’re directly facing him trying to get out as much information as you can
“yeah. very. at least levi wasn’t as bold.”
“i think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick he definitely doesn’t like me.”
connie gives you an “are you fucking with me?” look and you look away trying to distract yourself with the the canned goods lining the shelves
“he was worried sick when you didn’t come in for the entire week. he even asked me if he scared you away.”
“maybe i’m just his favourite customer?”
“favourite customer my ass he has a crush on YOU. confess.”
playing around with the ends of your sleeves connie sees he’s fighting a losing battle unless he gives you definitive solid proof
“please... i’ll get free barbecue if i win the bet and i’m kinda broke rn :-(” okay, you do want connie to eat well and be treated and maybe this is a good thing. if levi doesn’t like you then you can move on!!
“i’ll think about it.”
before connie can continue talking you make a beeline towards the tea aisle whilst throwing a “see you next time!” over your shoulder.
by the time you’ve gathered all of your groceries your basket is full to the brim. you’ve been lingering as much as you can out of fear but you think you’ve collected just enough courage to ask for his number
looking at the cash register levi is sat there and your shoulders slump. he’s probably going to say no and you’re going to look like a huge loser.
right as you’re about to take a step towards him levi finally spots you and gives you one look before standing up from his seat
“hi!” you wave at him
“...hey!” he smiles wide but he bites it back pretending it was never there in the first place
placing your basket in front of him he eyes what you’ve got
“hm... lots of peaches as per usual peaches.” the nickname that rolls of his tongue makes you tremble a little. will he call you that after you fuck everything up with this stupid confession?
his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek when he gets to the heart shaped box of chocolates
“a gift for a friend? didn’t know you had those?” he teases as he scans the barcode
“gift for a crush!” you reply back enthusiastically as you dig through your wallet looking for your card
levi doesn’t respond for a few seconds and an awkward silence fills the air. you glance up to see him looking at you open mouthed in shock
“good luck.” he murmurs under his breath he’s not even returning your gaze at this point and is hurriedly scanning through your barcodes
“you okay?” you ask worrying about his mood
“yeah, yeah. great.” he’s quieter than usual.
the rest of your encounter is the same, levi silently bags your groceries and you can’t tell if this is a good or bad response.
just as he’s about to place the heart shaped box into your plastic bag you lunge forward holding his wrist to stop him
“no i don’t need those.”
he cocks his eyebrow upwards trying to analyse your expression and gain an understanding of your thoughts
“don’t tell me you’re chickening out. whoever it is will say yes.” he scoffs as he places the chocolates into the bag handing them over to you with a warm smile
there it is again. the fear returns and you swipe your tongue over your slightly dry lips.
no way.
is he telling you to confess to someone now? so he must not like you?
taking the bag away from him you scratch your neck out of habit and huff feeling frustrated
“he keeps giving me mixed signals.” you say hoping he catches your drift
“give him the chocolates and let him put two and two together. don’t even say anything.” his advice would be great if he weren’t the guy you were trying to confess to in real time
nodding you reach into the bag and bring the box back out before gently placing it in front of levi
“are you serious?” he asks and your face drops seeing the possible displeasure in his eyes
great, connie and the part timers just over analysed he doesn’t like you, obviously he doesn’t like you, why would he like you?
without looking back you hurry out, the embarrassment is eating you away now and the thought of ever returning to ackermart isn’t even feasible in your mind
at this point you may as well change your name, identity, dye your hair, have a few children and wear sunglasses the next time you come back so you look like a soccer mum and not the foolish y/n who thought they had a chance with their cute CASHIER???
god, you probably look like a creep
the sound of footsteps can be heard behind you and labored breaths follow before levi calls out for you
“please wait up.” he grumbles. slowing down your pace you let him catch up to you. he grabs at your wrist and sighs in relief
turning you see him savour the air
is this the part where he confesses he likes you too or—
“your receipt you forgot it.” he gasps as he opens your hand for you and places it into your palm
oh.
fingers clasping shut onto the paper you feel the humiliation seep into your pores
this.
is.
the.
worst.
moment.
of.
your.
life.
“open it.” he offer you a boyish smile and your nerves don’t let you find comfort in it
you grimace as you fold it open, you’re imagining he’s charged you an extra £100 for having unwanted feelings for him and if that’s the case you’ll die on the spot
but instead your eyes light up in joy. you’re pleasantly surprised
...
inside of the receipt is his phone number haphazardly sprawled across in black biro - you even double check by comparing it to the number for the customer service helpline
hello??
HELLO.?.!/)£ HIS NUMBER???
“if you just wanted to return the chocolate this is embarrassing.” he’s the one who’s now scratching at his neck and you find that he’s endearing this way
the streetlight from above illuminates him, the shadows cast over his face and his brows aren’t furrowed as they usually are
you open your mouth to reply but connie cuts you off unintentionally. he can be heard YELLING into his phone ecstatic that his plan has worked out
“I WIN!!! HA BBQ’S ON YOU JEAN!! MUST SUCK TO BE YOU.”
you and levi look at each other and laugh, reassuring the other of what has just happened.
well...
you guess this is the start of something new? maybe??
:-)
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