#I didn’t even go to any meetings other than the original script reading | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chocosvt · 4 years

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love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you.

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not.

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes, as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[ 9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,” you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

#caratwritersclub #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #seventeen smut #jeonghan smut #seventeen jeonghan #svt smut #yoon jeonghan #svt x reader #jeonghan x reader

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uomo-accattivante · 3 years

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Excellent article about bringing a re-make of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage to fruition, and the twenty-year friendship that Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain share:

There were days on the shoot for “Scenes From a Marriage,” a five-episode limited series that premieres Sept. 12 on HBO, when Oscar Isaac resented the crew.

The problem wasn’t the crew members themselves, he told me on a video call in March. But the work required of him and his co-star, Jessica Chastain, was so unsparingly intimate — “And difficult!” Chastain added from a neighboring Zoom window — that every time a camera operator or a makeup artist appeared, it felt like an intrusion.

On his other projects, Isaac had felt comfortably distant from the characters and their circumstances — interplanetary intrigue, rogue A.I. But “Scenes” surveys monogamy and parenthood, familiar territory. Sometimes Isaac would film a bedtime scene with his onscreen child (Lily Jane) and then go home and tuck his own child into the same model of bed as the one used onset, accessorized with the same bunny lamp, and not know exactly where art ended and life began.

“It was just a lot,” he said.

Chastain agreed, though she put it more strongly. “I mean, I cried every day for four months,” she said.

Isaac, 42, and Chastain, 44, have known each other since their days at the Juilliard School. And they have channeled two decades of friendship, admiration and a shared and obsessional devotion to craft into what Michael Ellenberg, one of the series’s executive producers, called “five hours of naked, raw performance.” (That nudity is metaphorical, mostly.)

“For me it definitely felt incredibly personal,” Chastain said on the call in the spring, about a month after filming had ended. “That’s why I don’t know if I have another one like this in me. Yeah, I can’t decide that. I can’t even talk about it without. …” She turned away from the screen. (It was one of several times during the call that I felt as if I were intruding, too.)

The original “Scenes From a Marriage,” created by Ingmar Bergman, debuted on Swedish television in 1973. Bergman’s first television series, its six episodes trace the dissolution of a middle-class marriage. Starring Liv Ullmann, Bergman’s ex, it drew on his own past relationships, though not always directly.

“When it comes to Bergman, the relationship between autobiography and fiction is extremely complicated,” said Jan Holmberg, the chief executive of the Ingmar Bergman Foundation.

A sensation in Sweden, it was seen by most of the adult population. And yes, sure, correlation does not imply causation, but after its debut, Swedish divorce were rumored to have doubled. Holmberg remembers watching a rerun as a 10-year-old.

“It was a rude awakening to adult life,” he said.

The writer and director Hagai Levi saw it as a teenager, on Israeli public television, during a stint on a kibbutz. “I was shocked,” he said. The series taught him that a television series could be radical, that it could be art. When he created “BeTipul,” the Israeli precursor to “In Treatment,” he used “Scenes” as proof of the concept “that two people can talk for an hour and it can work,” Levi said. (Strangely, “Scenes” also inspired the prime-time soap “Dallas.”)

So when Daniel Bergman, Ingmar Bergman’s youngest son, approached Levi about a remake, he was immediately interested.

But the project languished, in part because loving a show isn’t reason enough to adapt it. Divorce is common now — in Sweden, and elsewhere — and the relationship politics of the original series, in which the male character deserts his wife and young children for an academic post, haven’t aged particularly well.

Then about two years ago, Levi had a revelation. He would swap the gender roles. A woman who leaves her marriage and child in pursuit of freedom (with a very hot Israeli entrepreneur in place of a visiting professorship) might still provoke conversation and interest.

So the Marianne and Johan of the original became Mira and Jonathan, with a Boston suburb (re-created in a warehouse just north of New York City), stepping in for the Stockholm of the original. Jonathan remains an academic though Mira, a lawyer in the original, is now a businesswoman who out-earns him.

Casting began in early 2020. After Isaac met with Levi, he wrote to Chastain to tell her about the project. She wasn’t available. The producers cast Michelle Williams. But the pandemic reshuffled everyone’s schedules. When production was ready to resume, Williams was no longer free. Chastain was. “That was for me the most amazing miracle,” Levi said.

Isaac and Chastain met in the early 2000s at Juilliard. He was in his first year; she, in her third. He first saw her in a scene from a classical tragedy, slapping men in the face as Helen of Troy. He was friendly with her then-boyfriend, and they soon became friends themselves, bonding through the shared trauma of an acting curriculum designed to break its students down and then build them back up again. Isaac remembered her as “a real force of nature and solid, completely solid, with an incredible amount of integrity,” he said.

In the next window, Chastain blushed. “He was super talented,” she said. “But talented in a way that wasn’t expected, that’s challenging and pushing against constructs and ideas.” She introduced him to her manager, and they celebrated each other’s early successes and went to each other’s premieres. (A few of those photos are used in “Scenes From a Marriage” as set dressing.)

In 2013, Chastain was cast in J.C. Chandor’s “A Most Violent Year,”opposite Javier Bardem. When Bardem dropped out, Chastain campaigned for Isaac to have the role. Weeks before shooting, they began to meet, fleshing out the back story of their characters — a husband and wife trying to corner the heating oil market in 1981 New York — the details of the marriage, business, life.

It was their first time working together, and each felt a bond that went deeper than a parallel education and approach. “Something connects us that’s stronger than any ideas of character or story or any of that,” Isaac said. “There’s something else that’s more about like, a shared existence.”

Chandor noticed how they would support each other on set, and challenge each other, too, giving each other the freedom to take the characters’ relationship to dark and dangerous places. “They have this innate trust with each other,” Chandor said.

That trust eliminated the need for actorly tricks or shortcuts, in part because they know each other’s tricks too well. Their motto, Isaac said, was, “Let’s figure this [expletive] out together and see what’s the most honest thing we can do.”

Moni Yakim, Juilliard’s celebrated movement instructor, has followed their careers closely and he noted what he called the “magnetism and spiritual connection” that they suggested onscreen in the film.

“It’s a kind of chemistry,” Yakim said. “They can read each other’s mind and you as an audience, you can sense it.”

Telepathy takes work. When they knew that shooting “Scenes From a Marriage” could begin, Chastain bought a copy of “All About Us,” a guided journal for couples, and filled in her sections in character as Mira. Isaac brought it home and showed it to his wife, the filmmaker Elvira Lind.

“She was like, ‘You finally found your match,’” Isaac recalled. “’Someone that is as big of a nerd as you are.’”

The actors rehearsed, with Levi and on their own, talking their way through each long scene, helping each other through the anguished parts. When production had to halt for two weeks, they rehearsed then, too.

Watching these actors work reminded Amy Herzog, a writer and executive producer on the series, of race horses in full gallop. “These are two people who have so much training and skill,” she said. “Because it’s an athletic feat, what they were being asked to do.”

But training and skill and the “All About Us” book hadn’t really prepared them for the emotional impact of actually shooting “Scenes From a Marriage.” Both actors normally compartmentalize when they work, putting up psychic partitions between their roles and themselves. But this time, the partitions weren’t up to code.

“I knew I was in trouble the very first week,” Chastain said.

She couldn’t hide how the scripts affected her, especially from someone who knows her as well as Isaac does. “I just felt so exposed,” she said. “This to me, more than anything I’ve ever worked on, was definitely the most open I’ve ever been.”

“It felt so dangerous,” she said.

I visited the set in February (after multiple Covid-19 tests and health screenings) during a final day of filming. It was the quietest set I had ever seen: The atmosphere was subdued, reverent almost, a crew and a studio space stripped down to only what two actors would need to do the most passionate and demanding work of their careers.

Isaac didn’t know if he would watch the completed series. “It really is the first time ever, where I’ve done something where I’m totally fine never seeing this thing,” he said. “Because I’ve really lived through it. And in some ways I don’t want whatever they decide to put together to change my experience of it, which was just so intense.”

The cameras captured that intensity. Though Chastain isn’t Mira and Isaac isn’t Jonathan, each drew on personal experience — their parents’ marriages, past relationships — in ways they never had. Sometimes work on the show felt like acting, and sometimes the work wasn’t even conscious. There’s a scene in the harrowing fourth episode in which they both lie crumpled on the floor, an identical stress vein bulging in each forehead.

“It’s my go-to move, the throbbing forehead vein,” Isaac said on a follow-up video call last month. Chastain riffed on the joke: “That was our third year at Juilliard, the throb.”

By then, it had been five months since the shoot wrapped. Life had returned to something like normal. Jokes were possible again. Both of them seemed looser, more relaxed. (Isaac had already poured himself one tequila shot and was ready for another.) No one cried.

Chastain had watched the show with her husband. And Isaac, despite his initial reluctance, had watched it, too. It didn’t seem to have changed his experience.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” he said. “And I can’t imagine doing anything like it again.”

###

#oscar isaac #jessica chastain #scenes from a marriage #hagai levi #michelle williams #elvira lind #behind the scenes #article

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aoitrinity · 4 years

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Why Do I Have to Feel Like a Fucking Conspiracy Theorist -- OR -- How I Find a Semblance of Peace on Sunday Night

I’m also going to start this out with a GIANT DISCLAIMER.

I am about to theorize about what may have happened to the SPN finale. I have absolutely no insider knowledge. I am merely speculating here based on the panels and a bunch of Twitter and Tumblr posts that I have been reading over the last few days. If you are not in a good place to read such things, TURN BACK PLEASE. Go take care of yourself and your mental health. You and your feelings are valid and deserve to be handled gently right now.

Additionally, if you are here to give me shit for being unhappy with the ending, please walk away as well. I am here to reach out and share my feelings with people who might be struggling to make sense of something that upset some of us in very deep-seated ways. I am not here to bother you or critique you or tell you that you’re lesser because you liked the ending. If you felt it was good, then go enjoy it.

Long-ass post beneath the cut, everyone.

Alrighty folks...I debated whether or not to do this because I have been spiraling down the hell that is the SPN finale since Thursday. The travesty of what happened to our show--to this beloved show that seemed to have been so perfectly and precisely written for at least four years that it had basically already paved its own tarmac on which to land its plane and we all thought we knew exactly what we were going to get. And then we didn’t. We had a nigh Cas-less and entirely Eileen-less ending. We had no goodbye between Cas and Jack. We had Dean dying young after finally finding his freedom, only to ascend to heaven with no one but Bobby. We had the weird, weird, weird incest-y death scene. We had the bridge crane shot thing because...sure. You do you, Robert Singer.

It was so terrible, so truly awful, and I couldn’t seem to square any of it with anything we had known going in. I tossed and turned and cried and didn’t eat or sleep all weekend. I spent hours just reloading tumblr and twitter, going to the Misha panel, reading and reading and listening and trying to figure out what the fucking hell is going on because I needed to know exactly where to direct my anger. And after a fuckton of talking with @winchester-reload, I think we have at least a very plausible theory about what happened here--I’m laying it out below as much for my own peace of mind as anything else, because otherwise all of these thoughts are going to continue to spin around in my head for weeks and I won’t be able to do jack shit.

Now to start off, unfortunately I do think Dean was slated to die from the beginning of this season. I don’t know WHY they thought that was the best way to go, and I wish they had listened to Jensen on this one. Part of me wonders if it was an order from on high based on the discussion between Becky and Chuck earlier this season--the writers knew it wasn’t a great choice, but they were trying to signal to us that we should feel free to write our own endings to the story because they’d be better (I can wax poetic on the signs of why many of the writers probably wanted Dean to live, but that’s another post). I’m not defending that choice by any means, just laying it out there that I think they didn’t necessarily all want to kill Dean like they did.

However, what I THINK I can explain now is what happened with Misha and why we got so jerked around with Cas’s story. Consider what we know (I can’t immediately source all of it, but I did my best):

At the end of episode 15x19, Lucifer has been returned to the Empty after being killed AGAIN. He talks with Cas. Maybe harasses him a bit about Dean, idk. But then...Jack shows up. New God Jack. And he picks up Cas and pulls him out of the Empty, leaving Lucifer behind, because seriously. Fuck that guy (also leaving behind his abusive father is character growth for Jack, so yay for that).

-Misha was contracted to film 15 episodes this season. He was only in 14.

-Misha told Michael Sheen he had to go back to film 1.5 episodes after the shutdown in March. (Starts at 6:13)

-Misha was in Vancouver during filming of the finale.

-Mark P said at Darklight Con that the last scene he filmed was with Alex and Misha (and Mark P was only in episode 19).

-Misha implied that he was present for various filming moments, including Dean’s death (start at 35:15), and said that it felt like a “mini-reunion.”

-Various sources have mentioned that Jimmy Novak was supposed to be in the finale.

-After episode 18, Stands tweeted a fan who was angered and hurt by Cas's death that they could talk about the “bury the gays” issue after the finale aired.

-In episode 19 we know there were takes of the parking lot scene where the only thing fans observing could hear was Dean yelling “CAS” at Chuck (fuck I can’t find this one right now, but it’s definitely out there)

-Also in episode 19, we had a very strange, awkward montage at the end of the episode.

-In episode 20, we know there were a FUCKTON of missing scenes

-We also had no opening montage, but three other separate montages.

-Carry on My Wayward Son was played TWICE, back-to-back at the end of the episode.

-Episode 20 was shorter than normal and had surprisingly little dialogue. The pacing was VERY strange.

-The cast and crew has been almost completely silent about the finale since it came out. When they have spoken, it has been with an awkward excuse of “Uh...COVID?”

-Samantha Ferris has specifically noted that, despite the Harvelle’s being back in play and a big heaven reunion having been planned pre-COVID, neither she nor Chad Lindberg received any such invitation to return.

-Cas and Dean POP Funko figures were pictured together in a replica of Harvelle’s in 15x04.

NOW with all of this in mind (and I’m probably missing some stuff too because there is so much--feel free to add on to that list), please bear with me because here is what I think we were SUPPOSED to get POST-COVID (after it was determined that the reunion couldn’t happen because of the virus):

In episode 20, we start with our NORMAL OPENING MONTAGE, like always. It traces everything that happened during the season. We are reminded of Cas. The confession. Rowena. Eileen. Jack. Billie, God, the Empty, all of it.

Things then follow along in the episode where they did up until Dean dies and wakes up in heaven. After his conversation with Bobby, he drives off to find Cas (who, in the script, was listed as “Jimmy Novak” in order to protect against script leaks--who wouldn’t want to do their best to avoid spoilers about the finale with the wrapping of a fifteen-year show?). He does indeed find Cas. We get Dean’s end of the confession. Hell, maybe we even get a kiss. And then Dean sets up his new heaven home in the recreated Harvelle’s. Maybe Cas even fucking moves in.

Years pass. We get Sam having his life on Earth (still can’t explain why they cut Eileen and couldn’t even have Sam signing vaguely to the blurry brunette in the background; if anyone wants to take that on, go for it). Eventually, Cas tells Dean that it’s almost Sam’s time. Dean takes Baby and goes to meet Sam at the bridge. The cover of Carry on My Wayward Son plays during this much shorter sequence. End of episode.

But that’s not what we got. Instead, much of what I just wrote about was excised from the episode. The remnants were stitched together after shooting had been wrapped. Filler was added in the form of montages and long, unnecessary extra shots to get the episode to something approaching a reasonable length.

But why? Why would they spend all that time and money and quarantining on Misha, only to almost completely cut him out of the finale? I struggled with why the fuck the CW would want this mammoth show to go down as the greatest queerbait in TV history when they had the chance to do something truly beautiful and monumental with it? It couldn’t just be sheer homophobia, right? Well, I think that factored into it, my friends, but here is where my head is at right now.

It was about cold, hard cash.

Now I could be wrong, but this is what I’m thinking at the moment: Supernatural is going off of the air. Supernatural, the CW’s cash cow for fifteen years. Sure there is still money to be made on blu-rays and merchandise and cons...but they need people watching their shows. They need that sweet advertising revenue. And you know what show they have about to premiere? A show that could, potentially, bring with it a chunk of that SPN revenue?

Walker.

And if any of you know anything about the original Walker Texas Ranger, you know that the show was predominantly a show about a very heterosexual white man being very excessively heterosexual. And for SOME REASON over the years, many of the execs at the CW still seem to think that this show, Supernatural, is really attractive to a lot of middle-American white men...whom they desperately want to watch this new show with this guy from Supernatural that they already know.

Now here’s where COVID fucked us. I think Destiel was greenlit by TPTB, at least in SOME form, before COVID. But then the pandemic happened, and they panicked. They got the cut of the last two episodes and watched them in their original, probably queer form. And then, the execs at CW looked at the economy. They looked at their cash cow, about to make its journey to the great beyond. And they looked at this new little calf Walker that they were so desperately worried about. And they made a choice.

They decided that it would be too risky to take the step with Destiel. They were worried about frightening off their ever-so-valuable hetero male demographic with the possibility that a traditionally masculine man in his 40s could be in love with another man in an overt way. It was homophobia mixed with greed, spun up by fear for their revenues because of COVID.

So they called in Singer, possibly Dabb, although I wouldn’t be surprised if they went straight to Singer. They told them that Destiel had to go: executive orders. And the only way to make it go in a way that removed any trace of what had been there was to rewrite what happened to Cas and cut him out from the last two episodes entirely. It was too late to reshoot anything. They had to just cut and stitch and fill with bullshit montages.

They removed the scene at the end of 19, probably because Cas and Lucifer discussed Dean. All that was left of Misha there was his voice on that fake phone call. They may have cut other things too, but I would bet my life that they cut a scene from the end of the episode and replaced it with that very strange montage. Then they moved onto 20. They cut out every scene with Cas. And left in only two platonic mentions of him, neither made by Dean. They tried to imply that Cas might show up in Dean’s heaven at some point, but that was as far as the editors could go in the time they had. They filled in with montages, awkwardly long shots, anything they could do to fill all of those missing scenes.

And they even had to take the opening montage, because literally everything in it pointed to Cas being there at the end of it all. They wouldn’t be able to leave out his scenes, they were too critical to the season. They couldn’t cut his confession without raising eyebrows. So they cut the whole thing and moved “Carry On My Wayward Son” to one of the newly-added driving montages at the end. Which is why we awkwardly had both songs play back-to-back--again, such a strange choice unless they were out of options and couldn’t exactly buy rights to a new track or compose anything else.

And so we were left with the shadow of the finale that we deserved, that Cas and Dean deserved. We were left without resolution or happiness or words. Bobo told us the most important thing about happiness is just “saying it” and our characters were silenced without anyone ever knowing the truth.

I think the writers might have known and been given the new party line that “Misha never filmed, he couldn’t, sorry, it was COVID, no one’s fault!” But I don’t think most of the cast even knew it had happened until they watched the finale on Thursday with us (though they might have been confused why the bit from 15x19 was sliced, they could reasonably have assumed it was a time thing and also BL episodes don’t make sense anyway). Why do I say that?

Well, first of all, Misha started sending out a bunch of excited texts to fans with some old BTS pictures about an hour before the show started airing on EST. He also wanted his children to see the episode, his YOUNG children. Why would he show them such a traumatic episode if their Dad wasn’t in it? What if it was because he wanted them to witness what was going to be a monumental moment in queer television history that their DAD got to be a part of? And then that was all dashed.

Which is why I think the cast and crew went almost completely radio silent the next day. I don’t think they knew. And based on how they have been acting on social media since then, I think many of them are absolutely furious, but they have been silenced because of NDAs, because they want to find work again in a cutthroat industry, because they don’t want to bring down the hellfire of Warner Brothers Entertainment upon themselves. So the most we have gotten is a little acknowledgement from the MERCHANDISING COMPANY trying to validate our pain (god bless Shirts, she is a LIFESAVER) and a response to my salty tweet about keeping good stuff in the closet from Adam Williams (the VFX coordinator) that seemed to acknowledge the validity of my complaint.

Then there was a scramble behind the scenes, I would bet my life. Talking points were fed to the boys who had panels today, to CE, to all the cast and crew:

Toe the party line. Misha never filmed. This was always about COVID. Do not mention Destiel. Do not mention Dean’s feelings for Cas. Do not promote the Castiel Project or anything that validates the idea that this was anything less than a superb ending.

And that is why we have heard so little from the cast on this front, and what we have heard has been muddled and contradictory. That is why the writers are saying nothing. That is why we have been left adrift.

Now before I close this out, I do want to say that I really, genuinely do not think this was on the writers at all. I feel like they tried to give us the best ending that they could, in a writers room that we know is notorious for splitting along party lines about the overall story (BL and Singer, who have always been about the brothers and their man-pain vs. Dabb and the rest who always seemed to want more for them and for Cas). I think they did everything in their power to at least end with Dean and Cas happy together. If they could give us nothing else, they wanted to give us that. And then the network took it from them. From us. From everyone.

For the sake of fucking money.

And the WORST PART OF IT ALL, for me, is that in the wake of this disaster, the fans have been left to try and figure out what happened. We have had to wade through a mire of conflicting information in the midst of all of our collective anger and grief over this garbage ending of a show many of us have loved and even relied on for YEARS, all the while wondering if we’re just fucking crazy, if we have all fallen collectively into the hole of conspiracy theories. That hurts ESPECIALLY badly because we have taken so many hits over the years from other groups on social media saying we were crazy for seeing things that weren’t there (especially Destiel), for writing meta and analyzing tropes and believing the evidence of our eyes and ears. The network has made us relive that entire nightmare WHILE processing our grief for a show we wanted so badly to celebrate and which instead we now have to mourn.

So again guys, I cannot prove that this is exactly what happened at all; this is simply my idea of what may have happened. But right now, it’s the most sense I can make from this mess, and to be honest, the act of typing it out has helped me enormously in my processing of it all. I feel like I can see more clearly, like I know where to target my outrage and where to direct empathy. I feel like just fucking maybe, I might be able to do my job tomorrow without bursting into tears at random moments.

I really hope that this post has helped some of you to, in some small way, process this too. We get through this the way that Misha told us at his panel this morning, the way the writers have told us to do all season long...we throw out the story God gave us and we make it better. We write our characters the happy endings they deserve.

We save them.

One last thing--if you have not already, please consider channeling your rage into a donation to one of the five causes our fandom has put together to pay tribute to our beloved show and to mourn the ending it should have had:

-The Castiel Project

-Dean Winchester is Love

-Sam Winchester Project

-The National Association of the Deaf

-The Jack Kline Project

#supernatural season 15 #spn finale #speculation #destiel #destielgate #the ending was not the ending #fuck the cw #trust the story #we were robbed

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sluttywonwoo · 3 years

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sunkissed || l.sk x reader

Summary: more like sunburned. on vacation with seokmin you lay out on the beach for a little too long, making for a very interesting night.

Warnings: swearing, smut

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

The sun was absolutely blinding and even though you were wearing sunglasses you couldn’t see anything. You knew your boyfriend was still stretched out in a lounge chair under the umbrella behind you, though, because you could hear him humming along to the music streaming from his phone, and that was all that mattered.

Last time you’d been able to see him he had been hiding a copy of his new Excalibur script behind a book and feigning reading. The two of you had agreed to a no work on vacation rule, and he’d been the first to break it, but you could tell he was just so excited about his new project that you let it slide.

It was your first vacation with Seokmin, and so far it had been wonderful. You’d checked in yesterday and done a little bit of the touristy thing, but today you were content to lie on the beach for hours with no intention of moving.

The sound of the crashing waves had lulled you to sleep a couple of times already, and you knew Seokmin would make fun of you for it later, but with the salty breeze and warm sand beneath you, you couldn’t help it.

The water was spotted with some swimmers and surfers, but the beach itself wasn’t very crowded. You and Seokmin had planned your trip so that you’d just miss the summer break rush so everything could be a little more peaceful.

You were pulled out of your half sleep when Seokmin’s humming stopped. You opened your eyes and tried to blink away the spots dancing at the edges of your vision when a weight dropped on top of you. You smirked as familiar lips planted a kiss to your cheek and tried to squirm away, but he had you pinned.

“Almost ready to go back up to the room, baby?” he murmured in your ear.

You nodded, and managed to twist your body underneath Seokmin to look up at him. Your eyes finally adjusted and you grinned lazily at the sight before you. His fair hair framed by the golden sunset behind him, brown eyes more dazzling than anything you’d ever seen, faint freckles starting to show on his cheeks from the sun. You consider yourself lucky that you didn’t need to leave home to see such a beautiful view.

You hadn’t been keeping track of the time, but now that you saw the sun setting over the water you realized how long you and Seokmin had been sitting out there.

“Are you hungry? Let’s get something to eat, babe.”

“I could eat.”

“So could I,” he whispered breathily, sending a shiver down your spine despite the heat.

You’d been teasing each other with the clichés all day: being a little more thorough than necessary with rubbing sunscreen on each other, you untying the back of your bikini to sunbathe, Seokmin running into the water for point two seconds just so you could see him soaking wet and admire the way the water glistened on his body. You were on vacation, and the hotel room was beautiful. It had tub on the balcony and a breathtaking view of the blue-roofed villas cascading down the cliffs as well as the water.

However, the bed had yet to be broken in, both of you had been exhausted after exploring Akrotiri and Pyrgos, but it was something you planned to remedy tonight.

You followed Seokmin up to the room where you both got ready for dinner at a restaurant a friend had recommended to you. You wore a short, white, linen dress and Seokmin wore a similar white button-up that he left the top buttons undone on, so that he could show off his tan.

Dinner was much like the afternoon. The details were blurry, but there was a lot of alcohol and a lot of back and forth. By sheer luck the host had seated you at a tiny booth in the back of the restaurant where you could still see the cliffs, but also sit smushed next to each other. Seokmin kept one hand on your knee throughout the meal, and if asked later, he would deny moving it any further, but you recounted the events very differently. At one point, your lips were moving in a whisper against his ear and the base of his neck and you swore Seokmin’s grip on your leg got so tight you thought you might lose circulation.

“You want dessert, baby?” he asked when the waiter approached your table with the shiny silver menus.

“I’m good,” you managed to say, slowly, but steadily. “You?”

“What I want isn’t on the menu,” he replied in the same tone, looking directly into your eyes, ignoring how the waiter in front of your table pursed his lips.

He’d probably heard that line a thousand times, especially working in a vacation spot like this. His eyes screamed ‘just fucking say you want to eat her out and go’ but for what it was worth, the line worked on you.

“So I’ll bring the check then?” he asked when neither of you addressed him.

“Oh, yes please. Thanks.”

After fumbling with the key and stumbling into the room, you were beyond ready to be fucked senseless when Seokmin slapped your ass cheekily, making you cry out in pain.

“Ow, Seok,” you bit out, putting your hand where his had just been.

His face contorted with concern. “I’m so sorry, y/n! I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” you said, smoothing your dress out over your body.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

He leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed, watching you with pain in his eyes. You knew how bad he felt about hurting you, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Usually, there was pain mixed with pleasure, but this time was different. You could still feel the sting on your skin. Hesitantly, you lifted the edge of your dress and saw the unmistakable tint of a sunburn all down the back of your legs, complete with a still fading mark of a handprint on your ass.

Seokmin gasped. “Y/n.”

“What the fuck?”

“Baby, I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he apologized again.

“Neither did I,” you groaned, squinting your eyes down at your body.

“You put on sunscreen didn’t you?” he asked and you had to bite your tongue before you snapped at him.

“Of course I did!”

“Did you reapply?”

“Yeah, once I think.”

He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was judging you. “Here, I think we have some aloe,” Seokmin said and disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged moments later with the signature bottle of green gel in hand.

“Take your dress off, baby,” he instructed and carefully helped you lift your dress over your head, careful not to let the fabric touch your body.

With a sigh, you threw yourself on the bed on your stomach, only smiling when you heard Seokmin’s little chuckle from behind you. You felt the weight shift on the bed as he climbed up next to you, and sat cross legged beside you. He pushed some of the hair out of your face with a soft grin and popped the cap on the bottle of aloe.

You could tell he was trying his best not to come off as deflated, but you understood. You were disappointed too. You had been looking forward to getting good dick all day, and now every time you moved pain rippled through your body.

“This might be a bit cold,” Seokmin said as a disclaimer before rubbing the first bit of aloe onto your skin.

You sighed with relief as the gel instantly cooled your skin on impact. Seokmin was careful to rub it in gently, applying just enough so you wouldn’t be sticky later. He started with your calves and worked his way up, and you began to feel progressively better.

Once he reached your thighs you fought the urge to clench them together. You knew it wasn’t the time, but your body didn’t, and your boyfriend’s fingers on your inner thighs was basically code for it. All of the feelings from the beginning of the night came rushing back and his fingers were just so close to where you wanted them. You had to actively fight the urge to moan.

“Fuck, y/n,” he cleared his throat awkwardly as he continued to massage aloe onto your ass. “Are you, uh, wet?”

You only nodded in response, still not trusting yourself to open your mouth.

“Do you want me to...” he trailed off, but you got the idea.

“God yes,” you sighed out and let the tension evaporate from your body as you felt Seokmin’s fingers work their way back down to your thighs, right where they had been. He was just about to give you what you wanted when you stopped him. “Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist and he froze, afraid he had done something wrong. “Use your other hand,” you held up his right hand, covered with green goo for him to see. “I have a feeling aloe in my vagina won’t end well.”

He laughed and leaned down to kiss you. “Of course, whatever you want, baby.”

He started his ministrations again, continuing to rub aloe on your body with his right hand while he began to work two fingers inside of you. You moaned out, louder than expected at the combined relief from the gel and the pleasure from his fingers inside you.

“Feel good?”

“So good, Seok, baby,” you breathed.

“Let me hear you,” he encouraged, inserting another finger. You gasped in response and felt your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Fuck, y/n, you’re so good for me,” Seokmin praised eliciting another moan from you.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer, teetering on the edge, but it wasn’t quite enough. “Seokmin,” you pleaded and looked back at him, catching him licking his lips, eyes filled with lust in the dim lighting, making you swear. “Fuck, Seok, please.”

“Hm?” he asked, ripping his attention from between your legs and meeting your eyes.

“Fuck, I need more,” you gasped. “I need you.”

“Don’t worry, angel,” he said in a raspy voice with a glint in his eye and a smirk pulling at his lips, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

i didn’t go too in depth about what he sunburn looks like on the reader because…well, it’s different for everyone. like it’s a fucking tossup whether I’ll get sunburned or not because i’m hapa lol anyway lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

send me an ask to be added to my taglist

#sunkissed #seventeen smut #seokmin x reader #dk x reader #dokyeom x reader #lee seokmin x reader #lee dokyeom x reader #seokmin smut #seokmin x female reader

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heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic

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sevlgi · 3 years

Text

hit and run

requested: no

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: a shit ton of angst, some fluff

contents: idol!rosé, actress!y/n, closeted!rosé, costar!au, slight enemies-to-lovers, unhappy endings because i’m a bitch, a lot of attempted cinematic parallels, italicized dialogue is when they’re speaking as their characters

warnings: slight homophobia

synopsis: There’s absolutely no reason for you to get involved with a costar who you should hate by all accounts. But of course, you manage to forget that love is usually more like a hit-and-run than a cruise ship.

a/n: while i was writing this, i imagined this as what happened before rosie sang “gone”, so maybe you can think of it like that too? i’m honestly so terrified of this flopping lmao...

for a little background on the film: Y/N plays Luna, a pirate captain who unknowingly sacrificed her family in order to have the power to fight the regime that Rosé’s character Helen is a part of. Helen approaches Luna, determined to help her bring justice, but Helen is unable to choose between the benefits of staying with the regime, and following what she knows is right and destroying her life as a result.

word count: 6.8k

The last thing you want to hear on the morning of your first script reading is that the actress playing your love interest in the film has changed.

“What?” you say loudly, straightening in the backseat. Your manager frowns, and you sit obediently, but the scowl doesn’t leave your face. “What do you mean the actress changed?”

“Yeah. She had to leave the movie at the last minute,” he sighs.

Sooyoung was chosen alongside you, after lengthy interviews testing whether the two of you would be able to handle your characters’ dynamic. It took weeks for the director to decide that you were the pair that she wanted, so the news that you’ll be meeting your costar for the first time in front of paparazzi is quite the shock to your system. “Shit. Then who’s the replacement?”

Your manager presses his lips together firmly before answering, “Park Chaeyoung. She’s an idol.”

You groan and slump down again. “Great. Another idol actress? Please don’t tell me that this is her first role too. Oh god, is she straight?”

“Yes to all of the above,” Chan says tensely.

Maybe you’re being dramatic, but it’s honestly a big deal. It’s the first leading role you’ve bagged, especially in a mainstream LGBTQ+ movie, and Sooyoung was the best costar you could’ve picked. You’ve never met Park Chaeyoung before, and you already know that all your plans are going to be messed up.

Chan pulls the car into the parking lot, and you scowl when you realize that most of the paparazzi have arrived. “We’re going around the back. Y/N, promise me one thing: don’t make a scene, okay?” your manager pleads. “I’m not happy about it either, but Chaeyoung has a good reputation. You’ll just ruin yours if you blow up at her.”

“I promise,” you answer through gritted teeth. You slip through the open side door as soon as you get out of the car, ignoring Chan’s call after you to have a good time like you would’ve.

To make matters worse, you don’t even get a chance to talk to the director or Chaeyoung before you’re swarmed by a crowd of reporters, even if that ‘talk’ would’ve consisted of more yelling than anything. “Y/N, Y/N!”

“Okay, let her up!” Seulgi shouts, pushing her way through. She grips your arm to lead you towards the cast table, whispering under her breath, “I’ll explain later. But just run with it, okay?”

You have plenty of problems with idol actresses, but you’ve never been inclined to say all those problems to their faces. Until now, that is. Now, you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a girl you know has absolutely no credentials to be playing the other role in your upcoming movie, resisting the urge to ball your script up and throw it in her face.

There’s nothing wrong with Park Chaeyoung as a person-- she’s admittedly gorgeous, probably sweet, and you’re sure she isn’t a bad actress in any sense. The only thing wrong with the situation is that she’s painfully straight and auditioning to be your love interest in what might be Korea’s first mainstream lesbian film, and that you have never spoken to her before.

Chaeyoung avoids your stare with a clenched jaw, and in normal circumstances, you would already be apologizing profusely for making her uncomfortable. In this circumstance, though, your obvious grudge against her only contributes to the dynamic her character is supposed to have with yours.

“Miss Kang, is it true that the actors were only picked today?”

The director grimaces, and the both of you turn to look at the cameras flashing by the sides of the room. It was never the plan to allow paparazzi to sit in on the first reading that you and Chaeyoung would be doing together, especially since it’s true that Chaeyoung was only chosen hours ago, after the original actress bailed. Even though your grudge should be against the girl who left, it’s easier to glare at the one sitting next to you. “Not exactly. Y/N has been confirmed for the role of Luna for months, but we recently added Chaeyoung as Helen. But we can assure that their chemistry will be wonderful,” Seulgi reassures the audience. What a lie.

Yet another reporter calls out, “How much of the script will we be seeing today, and when will the trailer be released?”

“Since the casting was changed today, the trailer has been delayed,” Seulgi says. You can hear the panic in her voice, and clear your throat. “As for the script… we’re only doing part of one scene that will show up in the trailer today, so we’ll just let them begin. Y/N?”

As you take a sip of water to prepare yourself, you almost hope that Chaeyoung messes up her part. It would be bad press, sure, and it would only contribute to Seulgi’s stress, but it would be satisfying for her to realize that she doesn’t deserve her part. She’s just an idol, after all, and she’s taking away representation from the people who need it.

“Are you saying you’re better than me?” you begin, your voice ice-cold.

You watch Chaeyoung’s throat bob, but her voice is steady and clear when she says her line. “No! I’m not saying that I’m better than you… but by all accounts, there’s no way you should have this power.”

“Would you be less scared then?” You pause, watch as Chaeyoung’s expression changes to the panic that her character’s would. “I’m kidding, Helen. I did things to get these powers, things that I’m not proud of.”

“Why would you do that? You’re strong… you don’t need them.”

“I’ve never been-- shit.” The tips of your ears start to burn, and suddenly, your lines are swimming before your eyes. Maybe all your hoping and wishing that Chaeyoung messes up has reflected onto you instead.

She attempts to remind you, “I haven’t always--”

“I know,” you hiss, but your voice is too loud in the silent room. Chaeyoung turns bright pink, too, but you still can’t seem to say your lines out loud. Shit, shit, shit--

“I’m just trying to help,” she sighs.

You whip your head to glare at her, and she winces at the daggers you send in her direction. “Shut the hell up--”

“Okay, the script reading will end here,” Seulgi announces loudly, and you bite down hard on your tongue. You don’t dare to look at the other cast members, don’t dare to think about how they must be guilting you for cutting their PR short. “Thank you everyone, please leave with security.”

You stay in your seat, staring at your script with burning eyes until you feel a hand on your shoulder and jolt. “Hey,” Chaeyoung reminds you, “we can leave.”

“Don’t touch me” is your only answer, and you storm out of the room. Alone.

The next time you see Chaeyoung is the next day, at a script-reading that the paparazzi knows nothing about. (You do see a friend request from a Park Chaeyoung the night before, but you ignore it.)

Seulgi attempts a smile, but it doesn’t hide the bags under her eyes. She claps and raises her voice to get the cast’s attention. “Okay, everyone. We didn’t get what we wanted yesterday, but that’s fine. Um… let’s try yesterday’s scene from Chaeyoung’s part, okay? From ‘you don’t need them’.”

Chaeyoung nods. “You’re strong… you don’t need them,” she starts, worry tinging into her voice.

“I haven’t always been strong,” you reply, your voice harsher than it should be just to stop yourself from messing up again.

“Still. Powers aren’t everything, Luna, it’s too hard to have them.”

You sigh. “Newsflash, princess. It’s harder not to.”

“But--” Chaeyoung interjects.

“Did you ever think,” you cut her off, “that I didn’t care that it’d be hard? Did you ever think that the rest of us are tired of you abusing the thing that you’re given, but we have to fight for?”

You look right to Seulgi once you finish, ignoring the part underneath that says you should look to Chaeyoung at the end of the scene. The director smiles anyway. “That was great, you two. I think you capture the tension perfectly, which is a relief.”

You fight the urge to laugh. “I know that changing our main cast so close to the actual production is really difficult,” Seulgi sighs. “And I’m really sorry to inconvenience you all. The schedule is really squished now, and we just have to work through it. Chaeyoung, Y/N, all I ask is that you try to work together, okay? I know you’ll be amazing together.”

Chaeyoung speaks, possibly for the first time besides her lines. “Of course, Ms. Bae. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure. We have to cut this short, again, but we’re scheduled for costume fitting right now,” Seulgi groans. “We have to at least get the outfits for the trailer to fit. Sorry, everyone. Down the hall, okay?”

Of course, you and Chaeyoung have to get fit together. The only sound in the hallway is that of her heels clicking on the wood, and you resist the urge to shout at her to stop. Luckily, you arrive in the fitting room before you can.

Your eyes widen at the dress hanging there. It’s incredible, even without the layers that would support the skirt-- you can’t even imagine how the beading and pink silk would look on Chaeyoung. Ethereal, probably. “Y/N, yours is here,” the costume director laughs, beckoning you over.

Even though your own outfit isn’t nearly as opulent, you can’t help but admire the gold detailing on the cuffs and the tailoring. “Thank god yours doesn’t take so much sewing,” the director grunts, pinning the side. “You know, the two of you are going to look fantastic in these, even if we have to spill all that blood on them to shoot the trailer.”

“Sooyoung would’ve looked better.” It’s mean, and it’s a low blow, but the director doesn’t take your bait.

She pokes her head out to where Chaeyoung’s being fitted. “Now? Okay, Y/N, go out there. We need to take a look at the two of you together.”

You can’t stop your jaw from dropping when you see Chaeyoung. She’s all candyfloss hair and gold adorning her tiny waist, and in all her glory, you can’t stop yourself from thinking that maybe she was made for the role. “You look really good,” she compliments softly.

Nodding stiffly, you turn for the seamstresses. Chaeyoung moves to fiddle with her gloves when she realizes that you have absolutely no interest in continuing the conversation.

Well, if there’s one thing you can nitpick about her, it isn’t how she looks; she looks absolutely perfect for the role of Princess Helen, maybe even more perfect than Sooyoung.

One of the costume directors steps in. “Okay, you can get changed out, but you have to come back in a few hours,” she tells you. “We have to make a lot of changes, then fit you again.”

You step down from the podium, going towards your dressing room without a second thought until Chaeyoung calls for you. “Y/N? Do you want to have lunch later? In your trailer or something?”

“Sure,” you answer, barely glancing back. When you do, all you see is her with shiny puppy eyes, and in her giant gown, it’s eerily similar to the role she’s supposed to be playing.

“It’s nice. You’ve decorated it?”

You nod absentmindedly, clearing the narrow couch off for yourself to sit on, since Chaeyoung has taken the only chair that could fit in the trailer. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve had it for a few months, so.”

She winces. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you frown. Chaeyoung apologizes too much, but at least she’s upfront about whatever she has to say.

Your costar sighs, “For usurping the role? You must’ve gotten attached to Sooyoung, and it’s got to be horrible for me to just… arrive like this.”

“You know… that’s part of it.” You can’t lie; a big part of the resentment you hold against Chaeyoung is the fact that she took a role meant for someone else, someone you were friends with. “The other thing… I don’t like idol actresses,” you tell her.

Chaeyoung’s brows furrow, and she leans forward. “Why? I mean, why don’t you?”

You pause to think about it. “Well… I mean, think about it like this. Sooyoung and my auditions went for weeks before we were chosen, as a pair. Didn’t you get this role because you were an idol? You had to audition, sure, but I bet you just flashed a few smiles and read the script and got chosen. How is that fair?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but you hold your hand up and continue, “And the other thing. You’re straight.”

Chaeyoung chokes on air at that, spluttering, “What? You hate me because I’m straight?”

“No,” you say incredulously, “Well, I don’t hate you. But you being straight, and landing the lead role in a film like this… you’re taking away representation. And that’s kind of shitty of you.”

The air inside the trailer becomes suffocating, and Chaeyoung’s fiddling with the jacket in her lap finally stops when she throws it aside and stands up. She sounds like she’s about to cry when she says quietly, “Have you ever considered that I’m not straight? It’s not… it’s not that easy to be out about it--”

“Oh, cry me a river,” you groan. “Look, I apologize for assuming, but if you want to act in lesbian roles, you can’t pretend to be straight. It’s all for your fans, isn’t it? Another part of being an idol--”

She stands up, then storms right out of the trailer without another word, the door banging closed. The only thing you can do in response is sigh and utter a quiet, “Shit”.

Perhaps it’s just your luck that the first proper scene you have to film with Chaeyoung is your culminating kiss scene.

It shouldn’t be in the trailer at all-- according to the scene schedule, the two of you would’ve filmed your scenes together in chronological order, and the kiss would’ve been at the end, hopefully after a reconciliation between the two of you. However, for some inexplicable reason, it’s going to be the first one you do, without a single second of rehearsal.

You’re a one-take wonder, and you always have been, but you can’t help but think about how impossible it’s going to be to pull off such an intense scene with someone you just fought with. Sighing, you lean over to fiddle with your hair; it’s slightly tangled now, and there’s a fake scrape on the side of your cheek.

At a side, Chaeyoung is similarly beat up, fake blood smeared on the left side of her face. Her long hair has been put in an updo and then taken down, and parts of her dress are ripped; to you, she looks more like Helen than herself now.

“Okay, everyone, are we ready? Positions, please!”

You arrange yourself on the ground where you should be, holding a handkerchief to your cheek like instructed as Chaeyoung stands by the camera to run to you. Exhaling sharply, your eyes meet hers for the first time in days. “Action!”

Chaeyoung sprints to you as soon as she’s cued, falling in front of you in a heap. “Luna,” she gasps, reaching a gloved hand out to the ‘injured’ half of your face.

“I’m fine,” you smile weakly. The camera hovers by Chaeyoung’s shoulder, and you soften your gaze as much as possible as your hand comes up to hers.

The other girl only moves closer, her eyes scanning yours and her dress surrounding the both of you like a sea of gauze. Her nose is almost brushing up against yours, and you mutter softly, “Be careful. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want.”

“Well, what do you want?” Chaeyoung implores, almost inaudible. Her breath quivers, and you feel it when you reach forward to cup her jaw. “Luna, what do you want right now?”

“I’m not making a move until you tell me to,” you shake your head.

The blonde’s hands slip off your face, and she braces herself on your thighs instead. She laughs breathily, “Coward.”

“Your coward, huh?”

Chaeyoung pauses, scraping her teeth across her bottom lip. It’s so quiet that you think you could hear a pin drop, and the torches held up by the crew flicker across her face so naturally. “If you want to be.”

There’s probably another line that comes after, but with Chaeyoung so close to you, it swims blurrily in your mind. So instead, you just lean up, pull her down, and connect your lips.

She plays along, thankfully, stumbling slightly in her character’s eagerness to get a little closer. The only thing you can hear is Chaeyoung’s slight gasp when you let your hands wander down to her waist, and it’s almost scary how absorbed you are in the scene.

“Okay, cut!” Seulgi’s shout breaks you from your trance, and you hold your hands up as if in surrounder. Chaeyoung’s cheeks are red yet again when she sits up, staring anywhere other than you.

Your director hops off her chair to run towards you, a huge grin on her face. “That was perfect,” she shouts. “Y/N, I think you forgot a line? But it worked out amazingly. The one-take wonder, right?”

You grin when she pats you on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. Apparently, all your worries were for nothing, as you and Chaeyoung stand to monitor your own shot in the screen next to Joohyun.

You can’t even hear all the praise she showers on the two of you, and you pay no attention to all the details she points out that apparently showcase your perfect chemistry with your costar. All you feel is a slight squeeze on your hand, hidden in the mess of fabric by your side.

You jolt awake at the sound of your phone ringing loudly by your side, finding an unknown number as the caller ID. Accepting hesitantly, you greet, “Hello?”

“Y/N? Did Chan give me the right number?”

Oh. It’s Chaeyoung. “Yeah.” You clear your throat in an attempt to sound a little less drowsy, then repeat, “Right number. Why’d you ask Chan?”

“Well, it’s kinda hard to find you when you never accepted my request,” she laughs quietly. “Um, I have to record the OST today, and I was wondering whether you’d want to come watch? Chan said you didn’t really have any scenes later today.”

“Um. Okay. I’ll ask Chan to bring me,” you answer, then hang up. Your head swims slightly, partially due to the fact that you woke up to the piercing sound of your ringtone and partially because you just don’t understand why Chaeyoung’s reaching out again. You should be the one apologizing, after the tangent you went off on, and you highly doubt that your kiss scene doubled as an apology. Of course, you’ll take it.

Your manager is more than pleased to pick you up this time, but thankfully, he doesn’t question you. If he did, he’d probably be the one you shouted at.

The studio is honestly too small for two people, probably hastily set up, but you recognize the recording equipment from a video of Chaeyoung recording one of her group’s songs. And you recognize the girl already standing in the recording booth, waving you over. “Hi,” she smiles, and for all you try, you don’t see a hint of malice.

“Hey,” you mumble, taking a seat. “Uh… I’m sorry.”

“Wow, straightforward,” she tries to joke. “What for?”

You scratch the back of your neck, sighing, “For assuming, for blowing up on you, for… I don’t know, kind of everything. I’m an asshole, even if what I said wasn’t wrong.”

Chaeyoung chuckles, fiddling with the mic. “I mean, I appreciate the apology, but I wasn’t great either. You definitely had some truth behind what you said, even if it was kind of too to the point.”

“I know. You were just trying to apologize and help us become civil, and I kind of ruined it,” you hum. The other girl adjusts the lyric stand as you continue, “But I’m hoping you understand why I had to say what I did?”

“I do,” she agrees. “You’re definitely right that it’s not good representation at all, I just wish you had heard me out.”

You nod uncomfortably, changing the way you sit on the couch just to distract yourself. “So… you’re gay? I’m just asking because I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about it, and I’ve seen plenty of your interviews.”

“So you watch my interviews?” Chaeyoung teases. When you scowl, she just smiles, “I can’t say specifically, but I am confused. You said last time that it’s just another part of being an idol, and you’re… you’re right. It’s taboo for idols to be gay, even though Korea’s opening up to it a bit more now. So even though I want to, I don’t think I can ever be out about it.”

“I understand. And I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

She swallows, throat bobbing. “Thank you. Hey, Y/N… would you mind singing with me?”

“What?” You stare up at her incredulously; it’s not like your singing would make the other girl faint on the spot, but you definitely don’t possess an angelic voice like hers, either.

But maybe it’s an olive branch. “Just… can you match this note?” She hums, and you attempt to create the same pitch. “Okay. Can you do the chorus part in that key, while I do it in the main one? We’ll sound better like that,” Chaeyoung offers.

Against your better judgement, you stand, and shuffle into the recording booth next to her. “If this sounds bad, you’re taking the blame,” you warn, and she giggles while twisting the stand so you can see.

You do sound good together, maybe to a level that you would’ve never anticipated.

You know that something’s off when Chan doesn’t wake you up bright and early on your birthday, even if Seulgi already promised that you wouldn’t have to go to work on the day of. After spending many a birthday with him, you’ve already gotten used to him tugging you up just to take you outside and celebrate somehow.

You know something’s especially off when you hear a female voice cursing from your kitchen, and smell something burning.

“Who the shit-- Chaeyoung?”

The girl turns in surprise, caught red-handed with a piece of burnt toast pinched between her fingers. “Um. Hi?” she offers weakly.

Suddenly self-conscious, you cross your arms over the faded sweatshirt you wear. In your own apartment, Chaeyoung is leagues more put-together in the summery dress she wears, her dyed hair tossed in a braid and glitter shining at the corners of her eyes. “Hello?”

“Chan said you wouldn’t be awake for a few hours,” she sighs, shaking her head as she tosses the toast in the trash. “And I wasn’t supposed to burn the toast.”

“What were you supposed to do?” you question, stepping closer. There’s a cake box on the counter, as well as a couple suspicious tubes of icing right by it, and you think you know what’s going on.

Chaeyoung huffs out an exasperated breath. “I was supposed to surprise you. Chan has something going on at home, so he sent me to supervise your birthday instead. Obviously, I messed that up.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, taking a seat at the counter and reaching for the icing. “I’ve always wanted to decorate a cake anyway.”

She looks surprised at that, but a smile breaks out across her face. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm. It’s partially a lie, but you’re decently sure that Chaeyoung will refuse to let you do most of the work anyways. “Uh. I’ll just change first, and then we can get that going?”

“Yeah,” she grins, and you take it as your cue to scurry off to the bedroom.

By the time you come back, there’s a plate of not-burnt toast on your counter, and Chaeyoung’s pouring out two glasses of the juice that you can never bring yourself to buy because of the price tag. “I hope you like it, this is one of my favorites.”

“Like it? I love this,” you gasp, surging forward to pick up one of the glasses. “It’s expensive as hell, though.”

“Well, I couldn’t get you a gift, so I thought a nice morning would suffice,” Chaeyoung laughs. She unties the bow on the cake box to reveal a completely bare vanilla cake, a few packets of sprinkles that you hadn’t noticed now lying next to it. “Do you want to start?”

“Oh, sure.” You choose the blue icing after a bit of debating, and pick up the spatula that your costar offers you. “You didn’t have to, though, I would’ve been okay on my own today.”

Chaeyoung shrugs, “I mean, I didn’t have anything else to do, and I wouldn’t like to be alone on my birthday.”

“How do you usually celebrate?” you question, glancing up at her.

She pauses to think, then answers, “Well, I do live with my members, so we’ll get something to eat. Sometimes, we’re on vacation, so we just do what we can, but I like staying in the dorm to receive the things that their families send me.”

“It sounds sweet.”

“It is,” she grins. “I honestly don’t know what I would do on my own, it seems lonely-- Oh. I’m sorry.”

“What for? It is kind of lonely,” you admit, squeezing a glob of icing out. It’s definitely not as graceful as you would’ve appreciated, and you catch Chaeyoung stifling a laugh. “Chan lived with me at the beginning, but he eventually moved out when I got a girlfriend. Obviously, that didn’t laugh.”

“Sorry,” the other girl repeats again, and you wave a hand out. “When was that?”

“She moved out two years ago,” you answer. “And I’ve been alone since. Or, lonely, not always alone.”

Chaeyoung nods just so that you know she heard you. She accepts the icing tube when you hand it to her, making a spiral that’s infuriatingly better than yours. “How about you? I know you said you aren’t out, but have you dated yet?” you question.

She shakes her head, admitting, “Not yet. I don’t really know how to, you know? You assumed I was straight when you first saw me, so I think everyone else does too.”

“Sorry,” you say, an echo of her.

Your costar doesn’t respond, only setting the spatula down once the basic blue icing is smooth. “I think we’re supposed to refrigerate this before decorating, right?”

You grimace. “Well, I don’t know. I stopped watching cake videos years ago, so I’ll just listen to you.”

Chaeyoung hums and ties the box back up. “Okay, then I’ll just do it. Um, do you mind ordering chicken or something while we wait?”

“Sure.” Reaching for your phone, you ask, “Would you be opposed to romcoms?”

“I’m never opposed to romcoms,” the other girl answers.

You have to remind yourself to order two servings of chicken, something that you haven’t done in a while. But it’s comforting, in a way, to not be alone again.

“Can you believe we’ve only got a week left of filming? I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”

You wince guiltily, even though you know that Yerim doesn’t mean it. Acting with your friend was originally a huge incentive for you to accept the film’s role, but the two of you quickly discovered that you had almost no scenes together, and with your push-and-pull with Chaeyoung, you forgot all about it. “Sorry, Yerim.”

She makes an incredulous expression, swatting your arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I’m happy you’re pursuing love and all that, and besides, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to act together.”

Blinking, you set your cup down on the counter. “Pursuing love?”

Yerim raises her eyebrow and says, “Yeah. Aren’t you and Chaeyoung together yet? We’ve been filming for two months, I’ll be shocked if you still haven't kissed and made up.”

“Uh. Well, we’ve kissed, but I don’t think it counted,” you frown.

Your friend sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s all too used to how dense you are, and apparently, she’s finally gotten tired of it. “You’re an idiot. You literally met the morning of your first script reading, and you knew each other for… what, a week before you had your kiss scene? There’s got to be something there.”

“No.”

Right on cue, a few of the other cast members arrive, Chaeyoung sandwiched between them. “Have you seen the articles?” Nayeon grins, waving her phone around in the air. She’s drunk, obviously, but you have to indulge her.

“Which articles?”

She shoves the screen in your face as an answer, and you cringe when you find a screencap of you and Chaeyoung. “You won’t believe the chemistry-- nope, I’m not reading that.” You hand the phone back to Nayeon, then press it in her hand when she doesn’t take it. Yerim sends you a knowing expression, one that you definitely don’t like.

“Aw, come on! It’s good press,” Nayeon whines. “And a great kiss scene.”

“Don’t be weird,” Chaeyoung warns. She doesn’t seem to be drunk at all, though she does look fantastic in the silver dress that she wears. Your eyes linger on her for an embarrassing amount of time.

Nayeon pouts. She’s bubbly-- you’ve learned that much through acting alongside her in a total of three productions so far. You note that your costar doesn’t seem to be so accustomed to her temperament yet. “You’re no fun, Chaeng. We all know you enjoyed it.”

She goes bright pink at that amidst Yerim’s joking coos. “The token straight, converted?” your friend gasps, and you elbow her to stop her from going too far.

Apparently, it already has. “I didn’t!” Chaeyoung defends herself.

“Prove it,” Nayeon demands, slipping when she attempts to lean on the counter next to you.

Chaeyoung goes silent at that, apparently unable to find a way to ‘prove it’. You finally sigh, “Okay, I think that’s enough teas--”

If it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve long since memorized your entire script book, you would almost think that Chaeyoung reaching forward to tug on the front of your shirt is a scene between your two characters. After all, it’s perfectly in character for your eyes to widen comically as the other girl kisses you right on the lips.

It’s also in character for Nayeon to start whooping next to you when your hands wrap around Chaeyoung’s waist to pull her in closer. You part at the noise. “You certainly look like you liked it,” Nayeon grins.

“Yeah, get a room,” Yerim follows, and you shove her.

“You know what? Maybe we will.” Ignoring your friends’ jeering, you grab Chaeyoung’s wrist and lead her down the hallway, though not to a bedroom like you joked you would. “Hey. You okay? I didn’t know if that teasing crossed a line,” you whisper worriedly.

She bites down on her lip, but instead of answering you, Chaeyoung tilts your face up and leans closer, only stopped by your hand on her wrist. “Chae…”

“I’m sorry, this… this isn’t what you want, is it?” She steps back, mouth already opening to apologize, but you stop her from leaving you alone in the hallway.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” With the flashing neon lights echoing in her eyes, you can’t tell what Chaeyoung’s feeling, and you can’t tell if she’s willing to answer you properly at all. “I’m not making a move until you tell me to.”

Still, you don’t hear her say a word, until your grip starts to loosen on her wrist. “Did you drive here yourself?” she finally asks, barely audible. You nod hesitantly, and Chaeyoung’s voice grows firmer when she says, “I’m telling you to make a move.”

“I thought you were questioning?”

She swallows hard and takes your hand. “Not anymore.”

You don’t taste any alcohol when you lick your lower lip, and so, you nod. It’s stupid, especially considering how quickly your time together is about to end.

But for once, you know what you want.

“Good luck out there, Chae,” you smile, arms wrapped around the girl’s waist.

“Thanks,” she hums, adjusting her hair yet again in the mirror. “We’re almost done filming, I have to promote us well so that we have enough money to at least put the damn film out.”

“Mm.” Your thumb smooths over the sliver of skin exposed by her top, and you place your chin on her shoulder to look at the two of you together.

She glances down at you. “What? Are you thinking about something?”

“Sort of,” you shrug. “I just can’t believe we’re almost done, but we… we just started this. You know, this thing between us.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a thing. But it doesn’t have to stop with filming,” Chaeyoung says offhandedly.

Raising an eyebrow, you question, “Doesn’t it? It’s going to be suspicious for us to constantly be seen together after filming together, I’ve seen the way your fans behave. Especially while you’re not out.”

“I think I can negotiate that with my company,” the other girl shakes her head.

You joke, “What, you release another two albums if you get to come out about having a girlfriend?”

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Chaeyoung responds immediately. Her ears pink endearingly, and you wait for her to clarify, “In secret for now, obviously. But… one day, I’ll be out about it. I promise.”

“Don’t make empty promises, okay?” You press a kiss to her bare shoulder and let her go when you hear a knock at the dressing room door. “Do good!”

“Alright, Chaeyoung, it’s about time that we ask you some questions about your upcoming film, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” your costar smiles, and you raise your head from your phone to watch the screen. She’s sitting cross-legged across from some of the most famous idol interviewers in Korea, absolutely poised and natural even in front of the crowd that cheers over the interview.

The woman behind the podium clears her throat. “A huge talking point in Korea right now is your chemistry with your costar, Y/N. How exactly do you pull that off, since you’ve never experienced a relation like that?”

Chaeyoung laughs nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Oh. Well, um, I don’t have much experience with relationships at all, so--”

“Really? A pretty girl like you must have had a boyfriend or two before.” You despise the way that the interviewer leans in conspiratorially, as if the prying questions weren’t completely scripted. “But you seem a little to pretty to have experienced that, am I right?”

The crowd laughs with her, but Chaeyoung glances behind the scenes, probably to where her own staff sits. “You know, you can tell me if you ever felt… uncomfortable during filming,” the interviewer continues on. “Y/N has been out for years, hasn’t she?”

“Oh, she has…” You’re practically fuming, but you also can’t seem to pry your eyes away from the screen. All of Chaeyoung’s practiced idol-charm has seemed to dissipate into thin air, and she’s practically blending into the wall as she sits there.

The Chaeyoung you know-- no, the Chaeyoung that you’ve come to know, wouldn’t stand to hear something like that. You’ve watched her argue with a scriptwriter, and you’ve watched him get fired because he said something incredibly offensive, even though it wasn’t about you. But here, she sits still and just listens to the interviewer discuss you behind your back, and she says nothing about all the disgustingly backhanded comments.

The thing is, you don’t care about Chaeyoung not being out. You were closeted for enough time yourself, and you know how hard it is, so you’d never wish it on her; but watching her completely let go of all her personal principles just for a stupid interview is just another reminder that you’re letting go of your own. Chaeyoung won’t ever speak up, you realize, because her career comes before anything else. And you can’t stand for that.

“I’m leaving,” you tell the guard standing outside of your door. Only increasing your anger, tears start to burn in your eyes, and you scrape your sleeve across your face as roughly as you can. Chan picks up on one dial, and you say furiously, “Pick me up. It’s over.” In more ways than one.

Chaeyoung shivers at the top of the hill, where she’s supposed to be filming her closing scene with you. She hasn’t seen you for the past week, and after how disastrous her interview was, she’s pretty sure she knows why.

“Where’s Y/N?” she finally asks her makeup artist, giving in to her own curiosity.

Felix shrugs, reaching to mess with the blood on her hairline. “I have no idea, honestly, I haven’t seen her yet. She’s never late, though, you don’t have to worry. You’ll get your scene done.”

“That’s…” Chaeyoung sighs. That’s why she should be worried. “Right.”

“Okay, can we start?” Seulgi shouts. It’s started to rain, but with the excited look on the director’s face, Chaeyoung figures that it suits the scene even better than the gray clouds that had been planned. “Great. Chaeyoung, Y/N!”

Your hair is plastered to your forehead with the rain, and water makes your blouse cling to your curves; with the grim expression on your face, Chaeyoung could easily just mistake you for your character. “Hi,” you mutter, taking a seat on the grass right next to your costar. You say nothing else.

When cued, Chaeyoung takes a deep breath before her line. “Luna. I love you.”

For a second, Chaeyoung thinks you won’t respond, but the rasp to your voice proves her wrong. “No. No, you don’t.”

“I think I’m the one who should be deciding that, don’t you?” The blonde raises her eyebrows, reaching forward hesitantly for your shoulder.

Of course, you dodge it. Blinking the rain out of your eyes, you’re resigned when you ask, “You have your birthday gala tonight, don’t you?”

“Yes, but--” Chaeyoung swallows, lets her hand make contact, then continues, “I’m spending as much time as I can with you, aren’t I with you right now?”

“But you’re going.” It feels like you’re staring right into Chaeyoung’s soul when you speak, as despondent as your voice is. She nods, and you stand, her hand slipping off of your shoulder and into her lap. “Then go. You’re still a princess at the end of the day, aren’t you?”

“At the end of the day, yes…”

“You can’t do that. You sneak out onto my ships, get my people to love you and protect you, and then turn right back to your family to stay safe while we die for you. You can’t say you support our cause and then go back on it when it’s inconvenient for you, it doesn’t work like that!” Chaeyoung flinches at how intense you sound; at this point, she barely knows if it’s still acting. She can only hear her own heart in her ears, can only see your chest heaving from how quickly you spoke, and it all feels too real.

“What, do you want me to get found out?” Chaeyoung demands, getting to her feet as well. The rain becomes harsher, angled so that it perfectly blurs her vision of you. “I’ve saved your ass just as many times too, don’t pretend like I’m not a valuable part of your ship!”

“You’re still pretending.” Realizing that it’s not the right line, Chaeyoung opens her mouth to stop you, but your voice chills her into silence when you speak again. “You’ll always pretend, as long as it benefits you, won’t you? You can’t do that, Helen, not if you ‘love me’. Putting a crown on your head doesn’t mean that you’re a princess. Until you realize that, and until you’re willing to embrace it, you don’t love me. and I don’t love you.”

None of it is the script. None of it is the scene that you rehearsed a thousand times together in your trailer, but somehow, it makes Chaeyoung’s heart quaver in her throat so much more than the original lines ever did.

And when you drop your gaze to the ground, turning to walk off into the rain alone, she knows that to you, your entire relationship is already done.

#blackpink #blackpink x reader #rosé x reader #rosé imagines #rosé scenarios #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #blackpink reactions #blackpink rosé #blackpink chaeyoung #park chaeyoung #park chaeyoung x reader #park chaeyoung imagines #blackpink is the revolution #blackpink in your area #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios

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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years

Text

Where There Is Change

Last Name Wayne

@maribat-bdbwm

First *** Previous *** Next

Okay so I know I diverged from cannon, but I think you’ll all like this.

~~~~~~~~~~

The moment that Damian agreed, they left.

She immediately placed their phones and electronics into storage, so this game would be a little more fun.

Mari "chose" the first place that they teleported to was Paris. The irony was not lost on her.

The place that kicked her out was the first place that would open up to her. But then again most of the city adored Marinette they loved Lady Scarlet even more, but that wasn't general knowledge.

She and Damian know it is a matter of time before B figures they left the country, but hey. They mostly stuck to going between super cities in the U.S. before. But right now, it mostly was her showing him around the city the museums and then getting really inspired by the scenery.

If she was prepared with several different sketch books and pencils for both of them it was an added bonus.

She knows she subconsciously picked Paris and after a few hours it might be smart to jump again. So, she let Damian decide on a place where he wanted to go. He did warn her that if they were spotted, they need to leave immediately, but she didn’t really see a problem with it.

Because granted they’re both Wayne's, and Wayne's if you know them well enough, they will be able to hand your ass back to you on a silver platter smiling as if it was the greatest thing in the world.

So, they jumped again.

This time it was her turn to be awed by what they saw.

They were in a small alcove completely hidden; in the cave they were in the face of it was covered by bushes. But looking out she saw the mountains in the far distance it appeared to be a lake no it was larger maybe it was the ocean. Right below her was a lush courtyard filled with plant she's only seen and one other place, but the heat here was tremendous, and the sea that she could see was in the wrong direction. Apart from being far, far, far too close to where she originally thought they were.

She was going to lean forward a bit and completely break through the bushes that were covering them when a hand pulled her back. She looks back and sees her little brother holding onto her.

"We have to stay hidden Nettie, are above the League of Assassins." He whispered so quiet she could barely hear him about ten inches away, so she’s not taking this lightly.

She nodded, and they stayed there, silent. The only sound was of graphite on paper.

Then everything changed.

On instinct Marinette shot out her arm, a wooden imperial yo-yo appeared in her hand, with a quick flick of her wrist she stopped the projectile, lodging it within the wood. A quick glance at her brother and she opened up portal behind him and pushed him through without a word, closing it behind him.

She knows that it’s more dangerous if they find him here than her, so she stayed behind.

She removed the projectile and examined it, a blow dart likely with poison, seeing as a liquid was seeping into the wood of the yo-yo. She created a replica of the dart and stored the poisonous one and her yo-yo back in storage.

She took a quick breath and punctured her arm where the dart should have originally landed. And fell to the ground, slumped down.

She kept her face relaxed her body limp and she felt three, four, five separate sickly deathly auras around her. She kept her breathing at minimum, light, almost as if she was asleep. They picked her up and moved her. She realized immediately that she was being taken down the mountain, taken deeper into the League of Assassins.

Five assassins she can take them. But the one thing repeatedly crossing her mind was one phrase.

'How dare these assholes mess with her family! Her little brother! They are going to pay!'

Because she is a Wayne, and Wayne’s protect their own.

She was eventually dropped in a large room, from what she can tell, if the echoes were any indication to what she was thinking the size of the room could be. There were three more auras in this room, aside from the ones she passed to get here. What surprised her was she recognized all three.

Still acting unconscious, she heard a woman’s voice, Talia Al Ghul, speak. "What business do you have to bring this child here?" It was phrased as a question but seemed more like a snarl or demand than anything else.

"She was captured on the grounds. She’s an unknown." Was what was reported by one of the people in who had dragged her down here.

Then she heard a chuckle.

"She’s awake." That voice, she recognizes that voice. Her entire previous plan was now completely out the window. So, she lazily pushes herself up, pulling out the dart once she was on her feet.

"Damn, I thought that would last a little longer." She finally looked up and saw Damian's clone, Heretic, Talia, and Al Ghul. But something was wrong, it was bothering her. Al Ghul, he, he… he wasn’t Demon, he wasn’t her Demon anymore. All she recognized now is his voice, at least that’s what she told herself, nothing else was the same as a person she once knew. The question now is why. "I really shouldn’t have introduced you to the Order, if the result would have been this?" A smirk on her lips and now standing cocky in the middle of a room full of assassins, she is stalling. He is acting like he knows her, but his aura is indecipherable, familiar, but not.

"You should not have, but then I wouldn’t be here today, to thank you, would I? After all you allowed our family to find these pits." ‘Our Family’ she dove into her memories, but now that she needed them, they were far away and fuzzy, God damn it.

"Hmmm, I suppose not. Right now, I really wish I had turned you into a cat permanently. I found the correct spell, so I actually can now." This elicited yet another chuckle from Al Ghul which had everyone else in the room on edge.

"Really now I love to see it, after all I wasn’t able to experience it before you vanished." She quirked an eyebrow at this response, but she didn’t care about his mind games, she was stalling, trying to find out what caused this change. All her mind supplied were the plants outside. Demon wasn’t good with plants, but he was with animals, so how.

"Really you don’t wanna know why am actually here?" She asked, looking so innocent, one might believe that she was there merely an accident or coincidence.

She then turned towards Heretic, death in her blue eyes was all anyone could see, but she didn’t kill him. No, she couldn't bring herself to kill him. He may have killed her baby brother, but he is

Damian’s clone, but that clone was nothing but a poor imitation of her brother. With a snap of her fingers, he transformed into a statue of a panther, mouth opening for a roar. In all accounts looking intimidating, but there’s no way to be scared of a statue.

"That was for killing my little brother." She crossed her arms now glaring daggers towards Talia.

"I wasn’t aware you had a little brother, Lady Cheng." Demon never called her Lady Cheng, no to him she was Malak (Angel), but…

That was when the pieces fell into place. That’s why the older Damian looks like a cross between Demon and Bruce. That’s why Damian turned into a panther cub. Damian is Amir’s reincarnation, the true soul of the black cat. That means, in front of her stood Ra’s, Amir’s older twin brother. That’s why he could read the journal, he is a miraculous soul. And only miraculous souls know the language of miracles, without decades of studying the script. It’s ingrained in them but only accessible after coming in contact with old magic, miraculous magic.

"One, the name is Wayne. Two that’s because at the time that I met the both of you 600 years ago, I didn’t even know I had siblings. So, get this through your head, I don’t care that he is your son or your grandson. He is my little brother. Nothing will stop me from making sure my family is safe." Her voice stayed level, emotion flitted in and out of it, in such a way that it almost seemed inhuman. For more reasons than one, she just sensed one of the Lazarus Pits.

"Scarlet." She heard gasped by the woman next to Ra’s.

"Correct." She glared at them walking closer as she said so. "My name is Marinette Wayne, and you best remember to never mess with creation. I would have thought you would remember that little Lǎohǔ (Tiger)."

By her walk over a sword had appeared in each hand, which she was now holding up to Lǎohǔ‘s neck, while the second was held right at the base of Talia's spine, almost daring her to move. The threat hung in the air, and both knew she was capable of following through.

"Well, I do believe it’s best to catch up over some tea." Lǎohǔ offered, many would have taken his offer. Because if the Demon’s head offers it, it would be your funeral if you refused, but she wasn’t just anyone. "After all we haven’t seen each other, in nearly 600 years, now have we, much must’ve happened to you."

"Hmmm... not really you’d be surprised. By what has become of my life been since meeting you." She decided to put away her blades, for the time being. Seeing as she couldn’t leave without destroying the Pits. The only surviving consequence of the Miraculous wish, cast ages ago. Now time to come up with a plan.

---

"Are you sure about this Pigtails?" Plagg spoke up.

"Ancient magic like this calls for a price." She sighed.

"We know, Marinette, but your little brother." Tikki voiced.

"I'll do everything I can to keep all of them safe." She spoke resolutely.

"But can you live with this?" Tikki asked.

"I have to be able to. Besides I'm pretty sure he is your true kitten, Plagg." She reassured.

Tikki and Plagg united their powers, and were able to destroy the pit, and every other one on Earth. Then disappeared. She opened a gate knowing what is coming.

---

Somewhere in the league of Assassins was the Demon's head and his daughter, looking royally pissed as they watch a timer tick down. Seeing as Marinette decided to freeze them with venom, so she could destroy the Lazarus Pits.

~~~~~~~~~~

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genshin-obsessed · 4 years

Text

My (f/n) | Zhongli x Reader

Hello! This was originally a collab idea from a friend between like 5 people. The friend who suggested the collab pulled out and idk about others lmao so it might just be me. BUT I COMMITED AND DELIVERED SO! Cuz I’m responsible and amazing💖 anyway. It’s a reincarnation AU! Banner made by 🎭 anon! Thanks to @squeaky-ducky and @solies-scripts for helping me edit this💖

Extra sidenotes: Your previous self’s vision is pyro but you can choose whatever for the reincarnated version even tho it’s not mentioned. Also, Yehara and Lilith are my OCs (yes... more)

Length: 2.1k Summary: Zhongli loves and cherishes you above all else. One day, you’re snatched away from him and the world turns black for him. Yet somehow, a thousand years later, he sees you again.

The bright sun beamed down at the land below, illuminating everything in a golden glow. Zhongli stepped out into the light and closed his eyes, inhaling the fresh air.

Days like these were beautiful but they became a blessing all thanks to one person. A smile graced Zhongli’s beautiful features at the thought of them. His hand found its way onto his chest and he felt it steadily beat. He felt an overwhelming sense of serenity and it was all thanks to this person. You.

You, yourself, were a blessing in this archon’s life. He never thought he would ever feel like this. That he would ever feel love. What was love to archons? They usually loved the lands they resided over. The original archons held love for humanity and guided them.

For Zhongli, love was something of a general term. He loved the sun, the lands… today. But his love for you was something he couldn’t describe. Something the man of wondrous knowledge couldn’t understand.

Zhongli came to realize that love wasn’t something that could be easily explained nor did it need to be. Love gave him overwhelming happiness, so why bother trying to understand every aspect of such a beautiful idea.

The Geo archon walked through the city of Liyue and although he felt great joy, there was also a certain uneasiness. He paused and touched his chest once more as the anxiety grew.

Ultimately, the man ignored it, unable to find the root cause of such dread. He instead opted to find you, so you could settle his nerves a little.

***

“Zhongli!” You beamed once you saw him. He chuckled as you ran to him and wrapped your arms around his slim figure.

“You’re rather excited today,” he commented as he hugged back, “what brought on such elation?”

“Hmm, a very pretty man.” You said, cheekily. There it was, that smile of yours washed away any and all discomfort he felt.

“Oh, is that so? I’m quite jealous.”

“I wouldn’t be.” Zhongli chuckled once more as you leaned in and gave him a kiss. The sensation of your soft lips remained on his even after you’d pulled away. “What brings you here today?”

“I was thinking we could spend some time together. We could go for a walk, maybe set up a picnic since that’s what you wanted to do last time.”

“Really!? You’ll go on a picnic with me?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Your radiant smile was contagious as he found himself smiling in return.

“I’ll set it up!! It can be a late night picnic or- oh! Oh! Let’s watch the sunset! Then we can have our picnic. I’ll set up candles!” Your enthusiasm was always something Zhongli loved. It benefited him more than he could admit.

“Alright then. Where?”

“Our spot!” Zhongli teasingly tilted his head making you pout.

“What spot? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Yes you do! Come on, Zhongli!” Zhongli leaned in and pecked your pouty lips before nodding.

“I do. Then I’ll meet you there?” You nodded with a bright smile.

“Yes! Exactly! I’ll have everything set up and I want it to be a surprise.”

Zhongli spent a little more time with you before he left, since you needed to prepare for the date. Only a few minutes after he’d left you, the anxiety returned. He touched his chest once more with furrowed brows. What was this?

***

You smiled as you started to place the items down onto the blanket. You’d been planning this picnic for weeks now and you finally had the chance to do it.

You set the cushions and small table you had brought, placing the candles and wine bottle. The food would remain in the basket to keep it safe from bugs since you had to wait quite a while. Hopefully your pyro vision was enough to keep it warm.

“Hello, are you (y/f/n)?” A soft voice called from behind. You turned around and saw a shy, but beautiful woman with long pink hair. The clothes she wore indicated she clearly wasn’t from here. She fidgeted with her hand, showing she was nervous.

“Um… who’s asking?”

“Ah, sorry! My name is Lilith but you can call me Lily. I was told you knew where I could find a um… Mr. Zhongli?”

Zhongli? Why was she looking for him? Finding her safe enough, you opted to direct her to your boyfriend rather than giving information about yourself.

“Oh, yes I do! He’s back in Liyue but you’ll find him at Wangshen Funeral Parlor.”

“Thank you so much!” But she didn’t leave. A giggle escaped her lips and she met your eyes, giving you a dreadful feeling.

“Y-yes?”

“So he’s not here with you… good.” In the blink of an eye, Lilith was in front of you. She threw you back causing you to fly into a tree. You let out a scream as your weakened body hit the ground. Pain shot through you and you weakly looked up at her.

“Wh-why…”

“Pitiful. You’d think he’d choose someone of his caliber but no. He chose someone weak and pathetic like you. Your pyro vision was wasted on you.” Woah, where did her soft voice and shy demeanor go?

“Zh-Zhongli…” you called out as Lilith picked you up and slammed you into the tree once more.

“Call him all you want. But he won’t get here in time.” Lilith repeatedly slammed you into the tree before a sickening crack was heard.

A weak whimper escaped your bloodied lips as the light faded from your eyes.

“H-help m-me… Zh… Zhong… li…” Lilith caught your limp body and picked you up. A wicked smile played on her lips as she walked to her destination.

***

It had happened all so suddenly. Zhongli was meeting an acquaintance to talk about his work at the funeral parlor when he felt a sharp, intense pain in his chest and back. He just knew.

He threw everything away, apologizing to his friend and practically sprinting to where you two were supposed to meet. There he was met with a grim sight.

The picnic had been set up almost completely, but the large tree behind it was covered in blood. The Geo Archon knew exactly who it belonged to. He finally noticed the letter sitting on the table.

Once he read it, he ran to the nearest Statue of the Seven in hopes of finding you and whoever took you. But it was too late. When he finally reached the statue, his heart shattered.

Your body was on top of the statue, laying across the lap of the stone man. Blood trailed down your arm that hung over the edge and dripped from your finger. Your lifeless eyes stared into nothingness, the final sign of your death.

A large pillar solidified in front of him and he quickly climbed up to get to you. Zhongli’s shaky hand slowly and hesitantly touched yours. Cold. You were so cold. Where was your usual warmth? Where was that dazzling smile that often chased away his sorrows? Where was the light in your eyes? Where was the joy you brought him?

“M-my… (f/n)...” he murmured in a sorrowful tone, “what’s… no. No, this isn’t happening.” He pulled you down and into his arms, wincing at how lifeless you were.

You couldn’t be dead, you couldn’t have left him. He jumped down to the ground with you tightly in his arms. His eyes stung and his vision started to get blurry. Crying? An archon, crying? The tears slowly slid down his pale cheeks. His voice cracked when he spoke up.

“Wake up, my love. Please wake up.” He begged looking down at you. The blood trickled down your mouth, a clear sign you’d been killed recently. Within the hour, actually. “P-please blink… please wake up. Please come back to m-me. I just… I can’t do this without you. I…” what could he say? What could he do?

Zhongli had failed. He’d failed to keep you safe and alive. He’d vowed to always protect you and he vowed to never let you get hurt.

The tears spilled down his cheeks and the pain in his heart grew. He took your face in his free hand and took a good look at his consequence. At his failure.

“Tell m-me this is just s-some cruel joke, w-wake up and tell me this isn’t real. I-it’s just a n-nightmare, right? Right?” Zhongli held you tightly with his head pressed against your chest. Nothing. He heard nothing.

You never blinked, you never looked up at him with that adorable giggle, and you never exclaimed it was a joke.

You really were gone.

***

How many years ago was that now? Almost a thousand? Zhongli had never gotten over your death and how could he? His first and only lover had been ripped away from him and he still hadn’t found the murderer.

There had been a significant change in Zhongli since then. He was much more reserved and defensive but he was also very protective of anyone he came to call a friend. Ever since losing you, he found it hard to love and care for people the same way.

There was a constant emptiness, a loneliness that never left. No matter how many friends surrounded him, he always felt empty. Food and drinks were tasteless and the world lacked color. No smile matched yours, no warmth matched yours, and he never found a pair of dazzling eyes such as yours. And he was sure he’d never see them again… or so he thought.

“Zhongli! Are you coming?” Yehara asked, making the man look toward her.

“Oh, sure. Let’s go.” Zhongli had met Yehara a few years ago and had helped her during a commission. She hadn’t been doing so well and he’d practically saved her. Ever since then, she stuck to him like glue. Although he wasn’t terribly fond of her from the beginning, he grew to like her. Once they were close enough, Zhongli finally opened up about you and your death.

Yehara swore she’d help solve the murder and wouldn’t rest until he knew. Zhongli had grown much closer to her than he anticipated. The relationship gave him complicated feelings, ones he didn't want to even deal with.

At first, he wondered if he had feelings for Yehara or else why did he feel so comfortable with her? Why did he feel so safe? Why did he often find himself seeking her out when he felt alone? He was scared because you were long gone but for him it was just yesterday. Zhongli didn't want to move on, no matter how healthy it was. He only wanted you, nobody else. Not Yehara, not another archon, no one but you.

There were many things he felt with you that he didn’t with Yehara. Her smile didn’t light up his world, her laughter didn’t echo in his ears, her hugs didn’t leave him tingling, and her words never stayed with him for more than a minute.

There were many nights he spent thinking about himself and Yehara. Was he in love with her? It took some time, but he eventually came to the conclusion that didn’t. He hoped she didn’t either.

“Zhongli! Stop dozing off!” Yehara said, making him look down. He chuckled and patted her head, before looking away.

“Sorry, sorry. It won’t happen ag-” Zhongli stopped abruptly, his golden-orange eyes widened. No…

“Oh come on Zhongli, you just said this wouldn’t happen again.” Yehara huffed and followed his gaze. He was looking into a group of people but after a few moments, her red eyes widened as well.

A person, looking EXACTLY like you was smelling some flowers at a stall. You smiled and Zhongli’s heart sped up immediately.

“It’s them… that’s my (f/n)... I know it.” The archon whispered.

“That can’t be… I thought…” Yehara looked at Zhongli only to look back at you. The duo watched as you nodded and purchased the flowers and turned towards them. When your eyes landed on them you froze, almost as if you’d seen a ghost.

“They saw us.” Yehara gasped, bringing Zhongli out of his trance. You did. You were looking directly at him with the same look of shock. Without wasting any more time, you ran towards him and stopped right in front of them. Zhongli’s heart was beating out of his chest and he clenched his hands. Why were you looking at him like that?

“You’re… Zhongli, right? I’m (y/f/n)... I know you from my dreams.”

“Dreams?” Yehara asked and you nodded, giving her a soft smile. You were more beautiful than Zhongli had described. She could see why he was so infatuated.

“I began dreaming about you when I turned 20.” That was an odd coincidence, since you were 20 when he first asked you to be his.

“You… know me?”

“I do. I only know things from dreams and as dreams not memories… but since you’re here in front of me, there has to be some truth to them. So will you tell me more?” A smile of relief appeared on his lips and he nodded.

“Of course, anything for you… my (f/n).”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli imagines #reincarnation au

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thevibraniumveterans · 3 years

Text

Tony Leung: “[Wenwu] isn’t a villain at all!”

On September 6, 2021, Tony Leung sat down with Hong Kong actress Carol “Dodo” Cheng for an interview about life, sports, and of course, his latest Hollywood outing as a widower who grieved the death of his beloved wife and a father who “didn’t know how to love [his children]” in Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.

Interview is originally in Cantonese, and has been translated into English.

FULL TRANSCRIPT BELOW:

Today I'm really pleased to interview Tony Leung Chiu-Wai. The last time I really chatted with you in earnest was... Do you remember? In 2013.

I think that time I was with...

We were on a plane together.

At the mall? On a plane?

We arrived in Hong Kong, and went to some awards ceremony. We were waiting for our luggage, exchanged a few words. That was 2013, and we haven’t met since. Where did we meet up next? I’m sure you won’t remember. It was here in Hong Kong. I was surprised by you. I usually go to the supermarket, very early in the morning. Because there's no-one there.

Yeah.

I saw you there.

I think that was probably it. Not too crowded in the morning.

You too. Why so early in the morning?

To... buy food. I usually wake up at 6am. I’d exercise until about 10am-ish, and then I’d…

Go for a walk.

Shower, then shop for food. I usually eat quite simply— it’s either salad, or buckwheat noodles. Salad doesn't stay fresh very well. So I’d get up early in the morning, shop for what I like, and prepare it at home.

Have you been eating healthy all this time?

I’m not doing this particularly for my health. I get an upset stomach easily. I get food poisoning very easily. And it’s miserable having food poisoning! When you’re at work, others don’t know how bad you’re having it. But you can’t tell-- you can’t convey that.

Alright, at this point it’s time for a nostalgia trip. We used to be colleagues, and we’ve shot TV series together. At that time, did you feel that you could eat whenever and not have to sleep… When did you start prioritising your health?

When did it start? I think it would have been… at least 20 years ago. Because it’s miserable being sick while on set. You’ve got to keep working. Even when I had a fever, (producer) Wong Kar-Wai would say, “No, it’s the last day, you’ve got to make it.” So I would work with a fever!

It’s good that everyone's health-conscious now, and wants to avoid falling ill. So when I was preparing for this interview, some friends told me, They’d seen you and me do an interview, from many years ago. I don’t think you’d remember. We’re talking many years ago - decades here! You were really young at the time. At the TV station you were a rising star, a top male lead actor. So I interviewed you. I asked you a question, and I don’t know if you remember how you answered. I asked, “Have you thought about retirement?” You did give me an answer at the time. Do you remember at what age you said you’d retire?

I really don’t remember. I’m sure retirement was always on my mind then.

You were in your 20s then, not quite 30. You told me— “I will definitely retire at 36!”

[laughter]

What changed your mind?

I believe that when I started out as an actor, it was certainly hard work when I was just starting out. But I thought, I wouldn’t get to where I am today without going through tough times. But as I slowly grew as a person, my perspectives and values have changed. I feel more at ease. So I wouldn’t think in extremes like I did before. I think that in the past 10, 20… 10 years? I've become a more relaxed person. I wouldn’t just say, “now I’ll retire.” If I want to keep going, I will.

This is your favourite line of work, isn’t it?

Except sport.

Could you imagine yourself in any other career? I can’t.

I’d be a sportsperson.

A sportsperson, playing what?

I play a lot of sports. I like mountain biking, sailing, water skiing, surfing… I’m up for anything.

You really like water sports, don’t you?

It’s hot in Hong Kong, and summer takes up most of the year. What’s more refreshing than being in the water?

How about in winter?

I’d still be in the water, wearing long sleeves.

You wouldn’t take up running?

I don’t particularly like it… I can’t seem to find much variety in running. I like to interact with nature directly. There’s something new every day. Take sailing, for example. Every day is different, the weather changes.

Your body is in a different condition every day.

You're working with the changing conditions. You end up building up a lot of knowledge. You learn about nature, the weather, changes in conditions. The water, currents, what do you call it... Hot weather warms the ocean and you’ll have gusts of wind. I didn’t know all this. But the more I sailed, the more I thought,“This is great!”

You’ve got a real passion for this.

I do.

What have you been up to during the pandemic? It’s been 1— almost 2 years, hasn't it?

I was filming in 2 movies… And... flying here and there.

Do you need to quarantine?

Quarantine! Countless times.

We’ve talked for so long, let’s come back to this film, Shang-Chi. I believe Tony has received endless invitations to appear in overseas films. Why did you choose this film?

I didn't really... I believe it’s fate to be involved in certain films. I can’t just want to act in some type of film, then get it. An opportunity comes up, but sometimes the director might not like me, or I might not like the screenplay. Or I might like the director, but I don’t like the character. So you can’t just make this sort of thing happen. I think sometimes the time will be just right and things will happen. The director may like me, and I like the project, or I like the director. Or I might want to try something in particular. It takes a lot, a combination of factors, for something to happen.

It's like a piece of furniture, isn't it? The pieces need to be joined precisely.

Yes.

How were you scouted for this movie? How were you approached?

The director approached me, wanted to have a chat with me. So I...

What's your requirements for taking on a film? Do you need to read through the whole screenplay?

That would be best. It would.

You would've been in many films without a solid screenplay, wouldn't you?

There would still be an idea.

An overview of sorts.

But this movie... You know Marvel is very secretive. At the beginning, I was in a video conference call with the director. What he could tell me at the time was, "You're going to be the main villain. Your character has many layers." Then I asked, "do I need to fight?" "No, because you have those rings." So I said, "then I'll definitely be fine." That was all.

What about that drew you in? Being the main villain?

That was one of the draws. In the past few years, I wanted to try characters different to those I'd played previously.

Why do all actors who have played male leads want to go off and play villains?

Actually... there's more complexity to them. I feel like there's a different mindset between playing a protagonist and an antagonist. I've acted for 30-something years. It's about time I did something different.

So you're in, you're headed to the shoot, and you're now the main villain! What's the mindset behind this?

Oh, not for this film. I thought I was the villain at first. A month before the shoot, I read the script. I didn't think this character was a villain at all. There was a real human side to this villain. Perhaps Marvel was hoping to portray a villain from a different angle this time around. So I was puzzled. Initially I was expecting, "Ooh, a villain, this will be fun", but when I looked at the script, "no, this isn't a villain at all!"

Very sentimental?

Yes, and a lot of humanity.

You thought it would be easy playing a villain.

I didn't think it would be easy.

You didn't think there would be so much emotion.

I didn't think it would be easy. I thought there would be more evil in him. I read the script and thought, "oh no, he's not evil at all", And that's difficult to portray. How would you let the audience... and I thought, "wow it's as if he's a good guy?" I read through the script and couldn't find the evil in this character.

How would you portray this character? Was the director able to help you?

The director...

Or did he put a lot of trust in you?

I rarely... He put a lot of trust in me, and I don't discuss with the director often. I thought, what's the use of discussing? I could just act it out. You can be really idealistic when you discuss. I would rather do more... When I arrived, Destin would ask me, "Do you want to talk it out?" and I would say no.

Was there a read-through?

No, no read-through.

You went straight to shooting?

Yes, straight to the shoot.

Then it would be like, "Tony, stand here, in this shot do this and that, and you'd do it?

Yeah. It was kind of like that. We filmed the action scenes first. So there was time to warm up. Then the dramatic parts. I like the drama most. I felt the most excited during these parts. The action scenes were particularly tough, because it was summer in Australia then.

Did you need to train?

I did. At first I was told I didn't need to fight. Then when I got there— wow, there's so many action scenes! So I scrambled and...

But you've got those rings. You can just throw the rings.

Sure, but there's still some action involved. Because I didn't physically prepare beforehand, it was rather tough at first. I got used to it as the shoot went on, but the weather was still hot. And there were period costumes, so it was tough at first.

So there was a sequence, they filmed all the action scenes first, and then scenes with dialogue afterwards, is that right?

I think they deliberately scheduled this so I could warm up a little. So I wouldn't need to dive straight into very intense dialogue.

There are a lot of actors involved, right? Your character has a son, too. Is this the first time you're portraying a dad?

Would it be my first time...

Or you have, but not for a much older son?

Yes, not for a much older son. I had a child in “The Grandmaster” as well. But not that old, no.

How would you portray the emotions of a father-son relationship? Because your character didn't know his son.

It was manageable. In this movie, the father-- not that he didn't love his children. He didn't know how to love them. This character doesn't even know how to love himself. The love was from his wife, portrayed by Fala Chen, He found love in this woman. But he doesn't know how to love others. So he was very distant from his children, his sons— his daughters were pretty much ignored. He was a father figure who preferred sons over daughters, a rather... traditional father archetype. Almost the old-fashioned type.

In shooting this movie, what was most difficult for you?

The action scenes.

Do you do all these scenes yourself?

I try to, but they wouldn't let us do the really dangerous ones. If you're injured, who's going to replace you?

Sure.

But I try to do as much as I'm able.

You'd need to rehearse the scenes with everyone.

Of course. Once we arrived, they arranged for Fala, my son, played by Simu, and my daughter... like you and I used to, we would all practice in the studio.

How long were the working hours?

It was 10 working hours a day, but we went all the way through that. There was no break in between.

Really? I thought you would be sitting comfortably in your trailer?

No! We filmed a lot every day! You know how that made me felt? It felt like I was in my TV days again.

Really?

You'll think, "will we get through this much filming today?" And by the end of the day, you would. But it was very intense. Perhaps they didn't want us to have a break, because we'd have to disperse and regroup. So we went all the way through. Once we arrived in the studio, it was full steam ahead. There was no meal break, because there was always...

No meal break?

No.

I've never heard of a Hollywood film shoot without meal breaks.

There's food throughout the day. Catering comes around, and we'd just eat.

But there wouldn't be an hour for a meal break.

No.

How long was shooting in total?

I was involved for about... 4 months.

Was that long or short timeframe, in your experience?

I felt like it was short, because they were very efficient and organised. They planned it really well. So every you'd head in and whoosh,

It flowed well.

Yes, very professional.

In your opinion, are there particular scenes you're in that the audience should pay attention to?

I think... I wouldn't say particular scenes, but the film as a whole. I don't think you've all seen me in this get-up before.

We could tell from the promos.

Very different to what I've played before.

Did you stay in one place for four months, or did you have to fly around?

We were only in Sydney, because we were in a studio. It was all green screen. There were a lot of special effects, so we only had to construct part of a set, And the rest was green screen, so it was mostly shot in the studio. Only the opening and ending were elsewhere, in a park, and in a village on a set they'd constructed. So I was there for... I was in Sydney the whole time. But because of the pandemic, I left for a few months in the middle, and returned when were were able to shoot again.

How did you feel about your experiences after the shoot? It's a Marvel movie, very different from the dramas and other films you've been in. How would you sum up your experiences?

Very stressed, very frustrated.

Really?

Because I'm the type of person who stays in their comfort zone. I filmed with familiar directors, and familiar crew.

You've really leapt out of your zone there.

I really stepped out of this comfort zone, working with strangers. The only person I could trust in was the director. I didn't know anyone else there. And when I got a copy of the screenplay, like I mentioned, I realised, "Wow, a villain that doesn't feel like a villain, what do I do?" I'd only received the script a month before the shoot. And when I got there, I had to work with the dialect coaches on delivery. I was filming, I was thinking... it was stressful. But we got through in the end.

Where were the costumes done?

In Tokyo. I was there at the time, and our costume designer kindly flew over to dress and fit me. At the time I didn't know what was in the script, I didn't know the story. But the costumes helped me a lot at the time. The movie's costumes were made beautifully. I thought they had good design sense. So when I was dressed for the first time, I was able to feel...

That you were the character.

Yes, roughly. I had an initial feeling for it. And then I would turn up in person, and get a better feel as I played the character.

So the shoot is over, it's about to be released. What plans do you have next, Tony?

Well when I came back to Hong Kong, I took part in a local film. Then I might shoot one in Shanghai, and then a TV series in Vancouver.

So you've done a complete turn-around since I last interviewed you. You were thinking of retiring at 36, do you not plan to retire now?

Not that I haven't thought about it... I'll stop when I feel tired. Then I'll go back to playing sports. If I feel like I've taken too long a break, and go "no, I need to do something," and there's something I'm really interested in, I'll do it. I don't need to come to a complete stop. It's something I like, after all.

So when you film in future, you wouldn't be thinking, "oh, I've been in a Hollywood production, "I will only appear in productions at that tier.” You'll be happy with a good screenplay.

Yes.

You might be asked to shoot drama films again. You would still take that on?

Well, I haven't given myself...

You've already left your comfort zone.

Yes, but I haven't really limited myself to what I think I should film. If there's a good film, I'll shoot in it. If there's something I like, I'll do it.

Well Tony, surely a typical day in Hong Kong for you wouldn't be on the water all day. What's a typical day like for you without shoots?

Well I'd get up, and there would be at least 2 hours of exercise.

Every day?

Yes.

Monday through Sunday?

Maybe one, half day's rest. You've got to let your body recover.

How about when you're shooting in Hollywood?

Not during filming, I'd save up my energy for that. Shooting takes 10 hours a day, but hair and makeup could take 2 hours. That's 12 hours, and it was tiring.

That's true.

I needed the energy for filming. But in Hong Kong, without a shoot, I'd have 2 hours exercise in the morning, make lunch, I might do some sports, like sailing, or water skiing. I'll come home, maybe watch a movie, or read a book. That's it. Maybe I'll have dinner.

I wouldn't exactly call that exciting. [Laughter]

It's pretty exciting!

For you, at least.

If the weather's good and I spend the day out sailing, I'd feel really happy about that. But not every day's a good day. I might capsize, and it would feel wrong. But it's not all that bad.

Why don't you enter competitions?

I have entered competitions.

Have you placed in these competitions?

Well... I have placed before.

What did you place?

I think second.

Oh, that's quite good. If you competed in the Olympics in sailing, there's no age limit there right?

Yes, there's no limit. But you don't necessarily have to compete in the Olympics. I could...

But we would all be happier for it, Tony. Imagine, Tony Leung Chiu-Wai representing Hong Kong and winning a medal! You've seen how happy the medalists have been this year.

It's really hard! It's really hard!

Why is that?

You're not as fit as younger people. It's hard. I play sports purely for enjoyment. I feel like it's an experience.

Fair enough.

It's... I'm not the type to want first place or something.

You're not a competitive person.

Yes. I don't want to experience a sport in that way. I'm there for my own enjoyment, not to win.

Let's say in future... since I last saw you in 2013— that wasn't even an interview, and now I've met you after all this time. Let's say in 5 years. What would you be doing in 5 years' time?

Maybe I...

Back then you said you'd retire at 36. I'll ask you again now, let's not dredge up the past. What do you think you'd be doing?

In 5 years' time, I think I would have more time for sports. [laughter]

Still on the water?

Yeah. Well, not necessarily, but a lot of different sports. I do want to try some—

Try running! I've seen Kar Ling (Carina Lau) run before!

Yes, she likes running, and hiking too.

Why don't you run with her?

I don't really like running.

Hiking?

Hiking, I'd rather... well when I'm skiing, I'd walk in the back country, in good weather, carrying my skis and wearing my cleats, it's the same thing. I'd hike up and ski down. But not that kind of hiking. Well sometimes... when in summer, in Hokkaido, I can't ski. I would still hike, but I wouldn't really like it. But it would be better with friends.

But you don't like being around too many people.

I sometimes like being with family. But my family... not everyone can hike. One might cramp up halfway.

Since you like being on the water so much, how many people does it take to do that?

One.

Just you?

Yeah.

Just someone to steer the boat.

Uhh... yeah.

It doesn't matter if there's a boat?

I do a lot of different water sports. I have those... electric boards, the type that shoot up like a magic carpet on the water, I have a stand up paddleboard, I can surf by myself too, that's doable. A lot of the sports I do can be done solo. I don't need a lot of people around.

You've really changed from before. You used to like to... go out at night?

Yeah.

That's all gone?

It has for a while. I haven't been in the nightlife for 20, 30 years. I'd eat out for dinner at most. Then I'd go straight home.

I remember I used to shoot TV dramas with you, you surprised me— We've filmed one or two series together, I would go straight home to bed afterwards, because I've always been a morning person. You could still say, "I'm going to go out for a bit." Yet the next day — our call sheets had us in very early — you were still able to make it in on time. Back then…it was a rite of passage.

Because I was young. Yes, and it was life experience. There are things you should do at that age.

Sure. Well, I hope to see you in another production soon. If this series were really successful, would you continue in any sequels?

[laughter] I really don't know, I can't say.

Why's that?

I feel like... as I've mentioned, there's fate involved in shooting a particular film. We'll see where...

…where fate takes you.

...where fate takes me.

Thank you Tony Leung Chiu-Wai for being with us today.

You're welcome.

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