Im Going To SOB. This Was So Cute Im Gonna Combust

im going to SOB. this was so cute im gonna combust

the language of hate

title: the language of hate pairing: dong sicheng/reader genre: designer!au/assistant!au/enemies to lovers!au summary: dong sicheng wants to work in the fashion industry, so when he sees the opportunity to get hired as the assistant of one of the most respected young women in the business, more specifically a designer, he takes the chance. once he gets to know her, however, he realizes just how much he hates her. little does he know that he would be the one capable of changing that egotistic, narcissistic and stereotypical rich kid into a nice person. genre: fluff/angst. note: you can find the creator of this gif here!

It feels good to be looked at, the wary eyes of people casted over her the moment she steps inside a room, expensive high heels clicking against the marble floor with squeaky clean surfaces that still don’t make her falter her step, always an air of arrogance filling the air with the tilt of her head upwards and a quirk of an eyebrow at most times. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t proud that her name could be found easily in the headlines of news, for it was a memory of how much wealthier she had gotten with her real job, but her family name will always be a boost for her in every situation, yet, she likes to believe that her own independence since her teenage years had brought her to be the woman that she was today…

A little bit over the legal age and ready to take over the world.

She also has a nice ear for rumors, she bathes on them as if they were champagne and she laughs at them like the sound effect of a sitcom, simply because the noise of chatter around her feels like the right amount of attention. Another word, another headline, another zero in her bank account. She wins, even when people want her to lose. It feels vaguely empty to sit late at night without friends as she watches her favorite shows or works on a newest project for her fashion company, but she doesn’t linger too much on that. Call her narcissistic, maybe, but she has learned that her success and her growth as a person is more important than a few friends here and there.

She has had plentiful of assistants, of all genres, races, and sexualities—what’s important is their capability of working well, of course, but the latest one had been lucky enough that she did not take him to jail, considering the numbers in her checks weren’t really correct, and she ended up filling a report on her jewelry that was stolen as she was taken a shower, but she had luckily discovered the man that had robbed from her. She is having a bit of a hard time organizing herself but she manages, assisting to red carpets and fashion shows as much as she can, but also preparing meetings with her staff and working on her newest opening of a store in Los Angeles, which becomes harder as time passes by without an assistant. She keeps a leather covered agenda in her hands as she walks through the seas of people and people wonder why she, out of all people, was alone…but she couldn’t find an assistant that would keep up with her exquisite and picky needs.

She doesn’t mind, maybe not having an assistant will totally ground her and keep her humble, but she, you know, absolutely minds. She doesn’t like the stress that has her constantly living with migraines and now the sound of the lonely mornings at her office or her own sports car (after all, she had grown a bit tired of being driven around by someone since she was a kid) becomes a dull silence that she doesn’t want to stand. No one would believe that the ever-so-known woman would have lonely nights, for everyone would think that she had a few men that she maintained just to fuck her and leave, but she rarely ever likes trusting people too much—let alone lovers. Assistants were the closest people she had to friends but she always cut them off, after all, people only love rich individuals because they are supposedly airheads with too many problems that make them ungrateful.

Surprisingly enough, she can’t live without an assistant and that means she has to host a few interviews to get the perfect individual to work by her side at all times; she’s conceited, barely looking up from the folders that hold their curriculums before swatting her hand as a way of sending them off because they are not even close to what she wants. She needs someone who is able to follow after every single one of her instructions completely and she is very specific about things, like how she likes her coffee and how many clients they had to call in order to have features designers in her fashion shows. All of that without stealing from her, of course.

The sound of someone’s shoes clicking against the floors of her office doesn’t catch her attention, although she recalls the way said person closes the door in a soft thud before returning to their trip towards the seat in front of her. She fixes the pearls that are wrapped around her neck, the sunlight seeping through the spacious windows of her office and casting over the gray, white and black decorations. Once she reads the name of the man she was interviewing, she says it out loud. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dong Sicheng.” She had learnt how to be both charming and scary when speaking. It started out when she got classes when she was a teenager on how to portray charisma and professionalism at the same time, then it delved into her personality. It felt as if she had all the power in the world in the palm of her hands when she did.

Keep reading