#i wish i could examine them under a microscope

[icriedforthemoon]

EXCUSE ME?!?

WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS MORE?

John: "my Cheri my pau pau... My pau Paul..."

Basically it's just John remembering the Paris trip and singing in French.

This is from his Dakota home recordings

[birdkittenn]

local girlboything just reread a sad fic

[twigg96]

Don’t Push It

Pairing: Daryl x GN! Reader

Era: Alexandria (Pre-Season 8)

Pronouns: You/They/Them

Warning: Crack, Eugene being a perv, Angy Daryl, Protective Daryl, insinuated spicy scene, forgiveness of Eugene

A/N:

Hello lovelies. I would like to state that I think Eugene is a very unique character and I adore him in a very special way. I have many HCs about him and might release them eventually but for now please enjoy this fic. I just wanted to state for the fact I do not hate Eugene even though I placed him in a not fantastic light here!

The warm summer air buzzed with excitement in the Alexandrian homestead. Gardens were planted in the early spring and only now were starting to begin to produce flowers and food that the community so desperately needed. The sweet smell of earth's nectarous vegetables and fruit mixed with that of fresh cut grass, a scent you had never known you would ever miss so much in the apocalypse. It was a smell so heavenly you wished you could bottle it up.

Sitting on the garden wall with one of your freshly picked winnings you perched your leg up, resting your elbow on your thigh to help stretch out your aching back.

“Hell of a harvest.” Abraham murmured wiping a thick layer of sweat from his brow.

“Might be too much to use at one time…” Sasha sighed shaking her head examining the bounty standing next to Abraham. She stared down at the bushels of veggies and fruits the community had grown counting out loud. "It would all go bad before we'd use it all..."

“Could can it. Could make good jam and preserves.” You suggested taking a bite of the veggie you held in your hand.

“Or dry ‘em out.” Daryl murmured popping out of the crops covered in soil as your boyfriend tossed another bushel of carrots onto the pile.

“Could rehydrate them in stews or jest eat them like jerky.” A hum of affirmation rolled through the group as you all eyed the feast sitting in front of you. No matter what you chose, Alexandria was going to be well fed for a long time.

Glancing over your shoulder at footsteps crunching down the gravel pathway towards the gardens toward you and your group, your first instinct was to tense and prepare yourself for the worst. This world had hardened you. Made you jumpy and pessimistic.

His eyes plastered to the rocks beneath his feet you felt your body recoil. Eugene had never been someone who made you feel comfortable to be around. He always eyed you a little too closely, analytically. And this time as you saw Eugene trudge in as if with a purpose and a mission not even bothering to acknowledge Abraham or Sasha as they greeted him, you felt more like prey in his sights in his eyes than ever before.

Your stomach sank as his intent gaze turned from the ground onto you. He eyed you as if you were a science project he was so desperately trying to get ready for a middle school science fair. Or maybe an ameba that he was studying under a microscope desperate to understand. Your breath felt heavy in your lungs when you looked at him, so you turned your gaze to your fresh breath of air. To Daryl who all but shot Eugene with his glare. The scientist pissed him off in a way way too many could. He made him feel dumb and insignificant. He asked him questions to deliberately make Daryl feel stupid and uneducated. A nerve that the Dixon was very sensitive with and thus you were very protective of.

You shifted where you sat on your perch upon the wall watching as Eugene took his place right in front of you, just a tad too close for comfort.

"Hello... I'd like to formally request a private audience with you." The doctor's thick southern accent did not accompany his attempt at "proper communication" well. Instead he just sounded like he was parodying Shakespeare to a point it was painful and inappropriate. But that was Eugene... and he was in fact inelegant in some aspects... but profoundly knowledgeable in most so you let it slide in some cases.

This one however had you cocking your head and raising your brow in a sort of amusement at him.

"Private audience? What do you think I am now Eugene?" You teased. The doctor nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly, staring at the ground in thought for a mere second before meeting your eyes once more.

"Someone worthy of it... a monarch... a deity even." He mused. Sitting up straight in surprise you glanced behind the portly man to see Abraham pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"God damn it Eugene..." The red head hummed with a giggle from Sasha by his side. Daryl however did not seem amused by any of what was going on. His glare planted firmly in the middle of Eugene's back.

"Shut up Abraham." Eugene bit out harshly.

"I said I wanted ta talk ta them in private... so get out." He ordered pointing down the path he just came up.

Abraham rolled his eyes and sighed his mustache fluttering with the act. But he didn't move. Instead he his hand wound tight around Sasha's, his eyes meeting yours, silently reading your face. He was friends with Eugene, yes. Best friends even. But that wouldn't stop him from kicking his shit in if he ever made someone uncomfortable, especially someone he considered a friend. But you just shrugged offering Abraham a little smile. It was Eugene... what's the worst that could happen?

Abraham didn't seem to like that answer.

"Nah... We're stayin'." He growled glaring at the back of Eugene's head.

"Can't fucking tell me what to god damn do." He hissed with Sasha nodding by his side.

"Damn right. We were here working..." She hissed crossing her arms over her chest. Rolling his eyes Eugene gestured for you to follow walking a few steps down the path.

"They ain't comin'." Daryl growled defensively, making Eugene jump nearly a foot in the air as he turned to stare wide eyed at the archer then back at you who hadn't moved an inch.

"Daryl's right Eugene..." You hummed sending your archer a loving look that only somewhat softened the bristles on the man.

"I'm here to work even if I'm here on break right now. I can't just walk away... and really whatever you have to say... you should be able to say to my face with everyone else around." You said more confidently than you currently felt.

Waffling on his feet for a moment Eugene murmurs soft and low to himself. So low in fact that you couldn't hear what he was saying beyond your name and privacy. You did however hear Abraham and Sasha murmur to themselves about finding some serious 'help' for the poor guy. Maybe medication or a trip to Dr. Denise later when the gnome of a man looked back up at you, determined once more.

"Fine." He stated walking to stand back in front of you. Somehow even closer this time so he was between your crisscrossed legs.

"I'll just condense what I had to say down to it's bare essentials, since we are in a public place. Much like how you would distil ingredients for some chemical bonds." He drawled. Closing your eyes you scrubbed your face but nodded.

"Sure Eugene..."

Whatever... You think.

"What's up?"

Taking a deep breath he steps closer so that he was pressed up against the wall which you sat, clearing his throat he met your eyes staring at you as if you were the cure for cancer.

"I just think yer the bee's knees." He mused.

Awe that's actually pretty sweet... You think, your shoulders relaxing and a soft smile gracing your lips.

"I'd very much like ta lay you out like a firm steak and pound you out on the counter top until your soft and tender." He said smirking up at you with all the confidence as if he had just solved world hunger... even going as far as to lay his hands on the wall on either side of your thighs.

You gasped completely appalled staring back down at him, completely shocked and mortified you blinked and shook your head. Truly you were not entirely certain you had just heard him correctly. And by the looks on friends' and more importantly boyfriend's faces it seemed they weren't sure about what they heard either.

"I want to split you open and eat you like Sunday dinner after church."

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Your mind defrosted. You'd definitely heard him right that time.

What the fuck? WHAT. THE. FUCK?! What gave him that idea?

One glance back you nearly broke into tears. With laughter and embarrassment. Abraham stood eyes wide, mouth agape staring at Eugene like he was the missing link. Beet red you couldn't tell if it was because he was royally pissed or if he was just as embarrassed as you felt.

Sasha glared. She glared hard with intent. You had a feeling if Abraham didn't have her wrist in his hand she might have slapped the ever loving shit out of Eugene.

But then Daryl... God Daryl was unreadable. He looked somewhere torn between murderous and betrayed. It had taken you months to get Daryl back out of his shell after everything on the road... after the prison. If it weren't for you and Rick... He might not be in Alexandria at all. Your heart broke. A cold fear fell upon your shoulders. Daryl could fall back into it. Retract. Leave.

In your thoughts you'd missed what Eugene had been saying. He just kept talking... and talking... and talking. He always did. But this time was different, it was vile, filthy degrading things coming from his mouth. Things that made you angry and sickened and embarrassed.

"-tell you about how I could use my knowledge of science in the bedroom. I am smarter than you in everyway which is a huge turn on."

Enough...

"Oh and don't get me started on-"

Shut up...

"You should let me-"

Glaring daggers at Eugene you stood on the edge of the wall, now a full body height taller than him. Not that he seemed to mind one bit. Creep.

"Shut the fuck up." You hissed, feeling dirty as he nodded greedily at you. Hopping off the wall you landed on your feet beside him. Grabbing him by the collar you shoved him hard into the wall knocking his head into the the rocks. The shiver of pleasure that ran through him made your skin crawl.

"Let me get this through your thick fucking skull." You hissed getting into his face. "I do not want to have sex with you. I will never want to have sex with you." You growled shoving against him. But instead of an immediate pleasured sound he seemed to just examine you once more.

That is until you felt the presence shift behind you from emptiness to tense and protective. A dirty calloused hand gripped your forearm pulling you back a step to stand behind the archer's back to see his wings.

"They ain't gonna repeat it... but I sure as fuck will." Daryl growled stepping up nose to nose with Eugene.

"Don’t fuckin’ push yer luck. Stay the fuck away from 'em. If I ever see you houndin' round them again... I'll beat yer ass." He hiss tilting his head threateningly.

Eugene shivered and shook. His eyes wide in terror searching for yours and Abraham's for what you could only assume was assistance. But as you stood there, feeling not a drop of empathy for him, Abraham and Sasha came to stand beside you. Slamming his hand into the wall beside Eugene's head Daryl huffed.

"Hell if I even get wind of you comin' near them again and it's not for somethin' life or death. I'll beat your ass." Shoving away from the wall Daryl eyed Eugene with a shake of his head, distaste dripping from his expression.

"Ya think yer such a big man. Can do whatever the hell ya like jest cause ya can throw a few big words round... ya ain't shit. Now fuck off." He hissed walking over to you wrapping his arm around your waist. A dark angry look filled Eugene's eyes. One that sent shivers down your spine and creep to hide behind Daryl once more.

"You think just because you have strength that they are attracted to you. But you are an ignoramus a-" His rant was short lived. Daryl only had to move slightly, pretending to pull back in preparation to punch Eugene before the doctor was scurrying down the path faster than anyone had ever seen him move before.

"I'm gonna have a real stern talk with him... Excuse me" Abraham sighed scrubbing his hand down his face as he followed down the path to follow his friend. Sasha however waffled her feet her eyes flicking between Daryl and you.

"I'm going to just... go harvest... over there if you need me." She said awkwardly moving to the other side of the garden where she could very much still hear and see you both.

Slowly Daryl turned to face you his eyes glimmering with something dark and dangerous.

"Daryl..." You whispered shaking your head softly a pout playing on your lips. Slowly Daryl's fingers curled and unfurled around the nothingness that was the air. His piercing blues scanned down your body sending a shiver down your spine. You opened your mouth a breath was all you could take before his hand shot out and gripped your neck backing you into the wall he looked down at you with an intensity that brought goosebumps to your skin.

"He do this before? He hurt you?" Daryl growled protectively. His grip on your skin wasn't tight. But inviting and comforting. Reaching up to his wrist you felt him release his hold. Bringing his hand up to your lips slowly you kiss his knuckles then the palm of his hand.

"My love..." You whispered. "I would have told you in a heartbeat if anyone came near me."

Daryl watched you. Studied your actions. His hand relaxing against your lips. Fingers unfurling to take up your cheek and hold it as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Fuckin better have.” He whispered softly. His eyes meeting yours. A deep yearning sucking you in as he met your lips, wrapping his arm around your waist possessively. Pulling you tight to his body you felt his need press into your hip. His tongue tangling with yours before trailing down your lips and jaw to the soft spot on your neck.

His breath caught in his throat. Words going unsaid Daryl pulled away glancing down the path Eugene and Abraham had just walked down. The soft glint in his eyes melting back into a hateful tone.

“Hey…” You whisper. “how about we go for a ride?” You ask interlocking your fingers in his. Cocking a brow Daryl simply blinked at you.

“Yeah. Why not?” You ask smiling up at him. “We can. Grab our gear from the house. Go to Aaron’s get some supplies. Tell Rick and make a week of it. How’s that sound. Just us outside the walls for a week?”

Lifting the side of his thumb to his mouth Daryl chewed and picked at it for several minutes, glancing over to where Sasha had wandered off to.

“Would you like that?” You whisper stepping forward slowly. Reaching up you wrapped your fingers around his wrist gently caressing your thumb across his skin, gentling his hand back to your side away from his mouth. Blue eyes met yours and you couldn’t help but swallow the thick nothing that got caught in your throat.

“Yeah…” He murmured. “Yeah let’s get the hell outta here.”

The ride to no where was soothing for the both of you. The rumble of the bike both lulled you into calm and ushered in a heat neither of you could ignore. Holding tight to Daryl’s middle your hands roaming did nothing to help the situation. The first safe place you found became the loudest once secured.

Scratch marks adorned your back. Sweat dripped down both your skin as you pressed your lips together. Murmuring of I love yous all throughout the night.

When you both returned a week later. Throughly happy, pleasured, relaxed and with treasures a plenty for Alexandria; Eugene, Abraham, and Sasha stood alongside Rick at the entrance. Daryl looked back at you. Waiting for your blessing before turning off the bike. Patting his side you nodded. You’d hear them out.

“I… would like to throughly express my apologies.” Eugene said softly, waffling his feet. “I acted irrationally and inappropriately. That was completely unacceptable. I hope we can continue to be friends.” He finished, glancing to Sasha and Abraham.

Sighing you glanced to Daryl. The murderous glint and anger was gone. Though he was waiting. Watching. He was watching you. Waiting on your reaction as much as you were watching his.

“I forgive you.” You say turning to Eugene, hugging Daryl tight around his middle. “I forgive you but I’m not happy with you.” A relief washed over Eugene though he nodded a serious look to his face.

“Understood. I have crossed a line I should never have crossed. It will not happen again.” He murmured. Hugging Daryl softly as if soothing a growling guard dog you smiled. “Good.”

[maniacwatchestheworld]

Man... I just LOVE watching the DPxDC community do their thing. I like them and just want to examine you all under a microscope because I find you all so very interesting! It's just absolutely TRAGIC that I have yet to find any storyline or AU that tickles my specific fancy, personally...

I acknowledge that this is purely a me problem and not a community problem 120%! The stuff that I just enjoy about Batman and Danny Phantom are just not things that the community are interested in as a whole and that's perfectly fine! But it does make me feel like a pure outsider when I wish that I could actually more earnestly engage with the community itself from within. Just... Siiiiiigh! And I just have not been able to think up anything to make the two verses blend together in a way that would be personally satisfying to me specifically!

Have some of my personal winging under the cut! No hate. Just explaining my tastes and yearning.

Absolutely no shade! All the more power to you for writing stories with these tropes and features! But I personally am not particularly interested in batfamily drama, and I see the kids in the batfamily as the children that they used to be in many ways. So stories about the batfamily don't interest me a whole lot, and I'm just not invested in shipping them with anyone (I'm also ace, so I really don't get pretty much anything out of batfamily romance) as a whole. What I like about Batman is that his stories are largely mysteries. I like the atmosphere and I absolutely ADORE the rogues! I like seeing the crimes and Batman clashing with his rogues, and most of all I LOVE the heart-wrenching DRAMA between Bruce and Harvey as Bruce DESPERATELY does everything he possibly can to save his best friend, while Harvey slips further and further into a hell that he wishes that he could climb out of but is just unable to alone! Harvey is just my absolute favorite and the sheer tragedy of his character has a tight grip around my heart that will not let go! Meanwhile with Danny Phantom, what I like about it... Well... I just think that Vlad is neat! There is also a certain tragedy to him as well, but he's also just a pathetic loser which is hilarious to me! Like, so often he comes off as so slick and cool and threatening... But also he's a loser and a goober. I also just love seeing how much of a simp Jack is for him. And I just like how redemption is always just barely in sight for Vlad... He just has to honestly reach out and grab it, but he just isn't willing to right now. Also ghost powers are neat and unique and I enjoy the unique possibilities and aesthetics of it. But sadly for me, these just aren't things that the DPxDC community is interested in. And that's perfectly fine, but it does make me yearn. Like there are interesting parallels to explore between Harvey and Vlad for sure! But I have no idea how to explore them in any interesting ways at all! Also I am just the kind of person who very much dislikes stories about destiny and stuff like that. So AUs like the twin demons or Ghost King!Danny just have absolutely no appeal to me. I'm just not interested in the inevitability that a lot of storytellers in this space have that Danny WILL join the batfamily. Also it feels disappointing to me whenever a writer just doesn't give the DC the credit that they deserve. It feels like people just want Danny to be super ultra overpowered, even more so than the super ultra overpowered characters that DC already has without exploring how these different things interact. Feels like people are more interested in erasing DC canon to make way for their Danny Phantom fanon instead of letting both things be true as is the usual DC way. Again, there's nothing wrong with doing that, but it just leaves me wanting. Also I really don't particularly like nor care about Ra's or Talia as far a rogues go, so only seeing them getting included in these things is just disappointing.

Lays down. Like, I don't want to sound like I'm hating on the community. I honestly am not. I'm just bellyaching because I am in this enclosure and am not receiving good enough stimulation in this space. It just feels like... It's a hot day, and I am REALLY craving some ice cream right now! But this ice cream shop only has 4 flavors and I quite dislike them all. I'm not angry at people for liking these 4 flavors. And this place is just SO CLOSE to being something I like! I enjoy the decor, the location is really nice and convenient for me. But alls I can do in just stare in the window and watch everyone else enjoying themselves while I bake in the sun. I admit that this is purely a me problem and not a community problem but it's just a bummer, y'know? Flops.

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

Incoherent Renfield meta I guess???

So in terms of what Stoker wanted to convey, I don't think he was quite aware of the extent of awfulness and psychiatric abuse Seward was dealing out to Renfield (although you cannot convince me that he was unaware that Seward was a bit of a little freak like that's just characterization how could he have done such a thorough job of creating such a pathetic little man by accident)- however there definitely is this story of idk. growth that comes from compassion, and I wish I could hear from Stoker himself what he was going for with it.

We all want to root for Renfield bc god anyone that goes through Victorian lunatic asylum trauma you immediately want to see win- but when we do see Renfield use his limited agency to do things, they are often selfish and violent things. He very much does want to join the Count, and wants to gain that immortality and power that the Count has. I don't know that there's evidence Renfield wants to dominate the way the Count does but Renfield believes that blood will strengthen him and he for sure is all in on taking human life and feeding on human blood. He does attack Seward and also those guys who were moving the Count and I fully believe that he would have killed them if left to his own devices. He has no power and has been systemically abused... but he's also dangerous.

However, the more I examine his actions... why would he be anything other than selfish and dangerous. Who does he have in life that would cause him to bother with empathy? We know so little about who he was before being admitted. He almost killed two people in the course of this novel- but before that did he try anything violent or was it just the consuming animals thing that got him locked up? Did he have people he cared about? We just don't know.

What's interesting to me is he seems to be on this track of enthusiastically aiding and abetting the Count in his efforts to kill others (and the Count is for sure manipulating him and it's not an equal relationship, but I do think that Renfield understands that the Count does hurt and kill people, and accepts this at the beginning of the novel) but the moment Mina speaks to him and seems decent and kind he immediately has a fit of conscience. There's this implicit understanding "oh she will be hurt, I like her, she doesn't deserve to be hurt." It's more than just an immediate change though. He begs Seward to not let him be alone at night bc he knows that he's not going to be equal to resisting the temptation to let the Count in- and he's super not. And the Count may have been doing vampire mind powers on him, but I don't think that's the full story. The Count tempts him with life. and Renfield despite understanding that Mina is going to be hurt, still wants that life and that immortality enough to let him in. He has a developed dream and he has the desire to do right by Mina and they're at odds.

His ensuing conversation with Seward about souls is so interesting because it's this conflict put under a microscope. He is pleased and excited at the thought he's going to finally get to consume life and be immortal, and he's seemed to make the decision to just ignore the part of it he knows is wrong, but Seward presses the fuck out of the idea that every life he takes means that he is responsible for the soul of the organism as well and this just. Undoes Renfield. When treated like an adult Renfield is capable of engaging with morality and finding his own moral code of right and wrong, and this combined with the fact that he has a face for Mina in the way he never had a face for Lucy is what causes him to give up everything trying to right his mistake.

I think he could have gotten there much sooner than he did. But he lives in an asylum and the person he talks to the most is a doctor who is obsessed with studying him like a lab rat and who does not think about Renfield as a human being who might be able to function in society again after treatment. Isolated and friendless as Renfield was he could ignore the morality of his actions and pursue his own ends. The moment Mina treats him normally that worldview becomes untenable and he begins a slow days long process of accepting that he cannot go on helping the Count. It's a very thought out decision for him. He is giving up his life's work because he realized his life's work was wrong. That's a lot.

This seems like a cautionary tale to treat people like people honestly. Even when they have severe and rather unpleasant mental illnesses that make then kill and consume animals raw. In the end Renfield was perfectly capable of understanding that he didn't have the right to fuck with the lives of others to suit his own ends. He learned that lesson. I bet he could have learned that lesson without so much bloodshed if anyone had cared to reach out to him earlier.

[cordeliawhohung]

From My Corner of the Universe: Blue

Chapter Three: Blue

Find Chapter One Here

Warnings: nothing, really. language, no violence in this one. chill chapter.

wc: 5517

Waking up in a different world was not how you intended on starting your day. But wow, you can't deny that view.

On the nights when the orphanage felt suffocating, you would always find Avi on the roof. She would sit among the half broken playground equipment with her knees pulled to her chest, head tilted back to look at the sky. Her hair was much shorter back then; completely shaved and missing her classic, white bleached look. She didn’t have her optics back then, either, just the pure blue color of her eyes. 

“I can almost see them,” she would say, eyes blinking slowly.

You’d look up at the sky too and know she was lying. At most there was the dim glow of the red moon, suffocating on the smoke that haunted the skies long before you two were even brought into that world. Every now and then there would be the shining, sparkling lights of an airliner taking someone far more well off than you to places you could only ever dream of seeing, but even that was snuffed out too. Her lies weren’t malicious. They never were. If anything, they were just a little sad. 

“I’m going to see them one day. For real,” she would say, turning to look over her shoulder. “I mean it.” 

And you would giggle as you sat next to her, staring up at the sky with her. The dull blue neon lights would mix with the blood red moon, forming a pale purple that was almost pretty. Pretty in a sad way. Your eyes would scan the area, straining to look at the stars Avi so avidly wanted to see. 

You were met with no such wonder. 

“I don’t think the smoke will ever clear out in our lifetime,” you’d say. “I think we’re going to have this view for the rest of our lives.” 

“Well, I know that,” Avi would say, matter-of-fact. “I mean, I’m going to go to Mars. They say they want to start sending people there, you know? Soon even Olympus will be empty. There won’t be any fires there, and I can see as many stars as I want.” 

It was wishful thinking, really. They wouldn’t be sending people to space any time soon, despite how often the scientists talked about it. Too much trash orbiting the earth to safely send a ship out. Perhaps in a millenia when both you and the trash rotted away. At that point the fires might even die out and you and Avi could look at the stars from your graves.

“I’m going to take you with me,” Avi would claim triumphantly, as if she were some sort of hero. 

And you would smile, and it would hurt, and it would hurt Avi too. But you both would ignore it as your eyes were glued to the empty sky above you. There were no stars to comfort you, only the moon, just as lonely as you. 

“Or maybe Io… I think Io would be nice, too.” 

Earth-928

“You are a scientist, aren’t you? So you know what a diaphragm is, right?” an annoyed female voice asked, coaxing you from your slumber. 

“I don’t want to have this conversation,” a new, equally annoyed voice spoke up, this time male. 

“If you inject too much paralytic into someone, you know, the kind that paralyzes muscles, all of their muscles will become paralyzed. Including the diaphragm, which is sort of important for breathing.” 

“If you had heard what Stryker sounded like on the coms, you would have used a decent amount of venom, too!” the man retorted. “It sounded like an explosion had gone off!”

Their voices sounded far away and fuzzy, and you had to strain just to be able to hear them properly. Opening your eyes was even more difficult as you found yourself blinded by a terrible white light. You had never seen or felt a light as bright as that, not even in Olympus. It was as if you were being examined under a microscope; some specimen for someone to gawk at. 

“Don’t even get me started on the bruises on her neck. Between that and your venom, I’m surprised the poor thing even lived!” the woman continued chastising the stranger. 

“Don’t blame that on me,” the man warned, frustrated. 

“I never said you were the one who did it. What, guilty conscience much?” 

Eventually your eyes adjusted to the terrible light around you. The scent of alcohol stung your nose, but not the kind that you served at The Koi. It was stronger, more sterile smelling, a scent you caught off of Nova often after she got a new implant, or fitted one in someone else. Each breath you took was labored, as if you had to think about every single movement just to get any air in your lungs. 

And god, your body ached. Your throat felt even more swollen than it had earlier, and there was a terrible throbbing pain in your left shoulder. It was as if your entire body had been shoved into some terrible, cramped space for hours on end; like your muscles had been sapped of any strength you had. 

You forced your eyes to focus on your surroundings. First you were met with the lamp shining down on you. It reminded you of the lamps you’d see in movies when a doctor was operating on a patient. Large, blinding, and very much in your face. Saving your eyesight, you turned your head to the right and you saw a woman in a white lab coat. Her greying blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, and her arms were firmly crossed in front of her chest as she glared at something on your left. 

The woman, who you assumed was a doctor of sorts, stared daggers into the man on your left. He was much taller than you were anticipating, and you found your head leaning back some just to get a good look at his face. His clothes were odd, even by your standards. A dark blue, nearly black, suit covered his body completely, except for his face. Red markings lined his torso and arms, and there seemed to be a graphic of a skull-like spider on his chest. A strange glow seemed to be coming from the fabric, almost as if it wasn’t really there on his body in a way. His face was strong and angular, with a square set chin and cheeks that were rather gaunt. 

What really caught you off guard was the tone of his skin. Unless otherwise born that way, most citizens of Digi York had pale or ashen skin. It was impossible to really tan with the smoke blocking out the sun, and if you lived in the lower levels of the city, you were lucky to even see the sun at all. Unless you lived in Olympus, and were rich enough to use a tanning bed of sorts, you’d live most of your life with skin that would never be kissed by the sun, even of a synthetic kind. 

So that meant there was only one place you could be. 

“Am I in Olympus?” you asked, your voice more hoarse than you were expecting it to be. 

Any bickering in the room ceased, and the silence that ensued made you wish you had never even spoken in the first place. Both the man and woman on either side of you stared down at you, their expressions hard to read with the blinding light above your head. 

“Oh great,” the woman said, raising her head to look back up at the man, “now she thinks you’re a god or something.”

“Trust me,” a new voice spoke, “it’s not supposed to be a compliment.” 

This new voice caused you to freeze. It was familiar, but not in a good way. It wasn’t like the voice of an old friend, or something that sparked warmth. All you felt was a terrible pit in your stomach, and you found your head raising up until your eyes landed on him. He stood towards the end of your bed, arms crossed as he leaned with his back to the wall. Those eight lenses were still focused on you.

Spider-Man. 

Your head slammed back on the table as you relaxed your muscles. It took everything in you to even move that much, and you found yourself out of breath from just the effort alone. 

“Oh, fucking christ,” you breathed, closing your eyes. “No way. There’s no fucking way you caught me.” 

“I told you already, it’s nothing personal,” Spider-Man said, bored. 

“Fuck you.” 

The doctor blinked a few times as she looked back and forth between you and Spider-Man. Her arms relaxed to her sides as she moved closer to your bed and began to fiddle with something on your arm. Following the movement of her hands, you realized you had an I.V. in your arm with some clear liquid being pumped into your veins via some tubing. You tried to pull your arm away from her but you realized that you couldn’t. Both your wrists and ankles were strapped to the side of the bed you were in, holding you there. You also were no longer wearing whatever clothes you had been when you were at The Koi, and instead had on a hospital gown.

“Relax,” the doctor said, her voice much more kind and soothing to you than it had been to the man she was speaking with. “You’re out of saline solution. You need more before we can get you home.” 

You scoffed as the doctor began to unhook you from the bag. “You think I believe that? Saline my ass. I bet you’re going to give me another dose of whatever the fuck that drug was that knocked me out. It’s always easier to transport an unconscious prisoner, right?” 

Straining, you picked your head up off the bed again as you started up at Spider-Man. From what little you could see of his face, he seemed bored, as if he was being held there against his will. 

“And you,” you seethed. “I can’t believe I trusted you!”

“Oh great. You bonded with the anomaly,” the man on your left sighed, placing his hands on his hips. 

“I’m not a fucking anomaly!” you protested.

Ignoring you, Spider-Man continued, talking over you. “I saved your life! And now I’m trying to help get your ungrateful ass home. A thank you would be nice.” 

“I was already home you sick freak!” you spat. “I certainly didn’t need your help to get there!” 

Spider-Man made a motion with his head that looked as if he was rolling his eyes. “Oh sure, because a dense bitch like you could definitely figure out interdimensional travel.” 

“What the actual fuck are you on about?” you asked, your eyes narrowing, somewhat in confusion, somewhat in anger. 

“No puedo más…” the man on your left sighed. 

You turned your attention away from Spider-Man and you found your eyes landing on the strange man to your left. His fingers were pinching the bridge of his nose as he stepped away from the side of the bed. He began to meander towards the exit of the room, but not before giving a glare at Spider-Man. 

“Come on, Stryker,” he huffed, giving Spider-Man a firm shove on the shoulder, leading him towards the exit. “I’ve had enough of your complaining for the day.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Spider-Man scoffed, following the man out the door. “You would have been complaining too if you had gotten caught in her EMP. Woulda been butt ass naked, too.” 

The rest of their conversation was cut off by the door closing behind them. 

With a sigh, the doctor continued messing with the various tubes that you were hooked up to, and at that point you didn’t have the energy to argue with her anymore. In a way, she appeared to be just as tired and frustrated as you were. After a few minutes of silence, and realizing that you were in fact not being drugged like she had promised, you finally decided to ask some questions. 

“So, are we in Olympus then? This place looks too nice to be part of The Blue or in the Hitsugi,” you spoke up, glancing around the room as best as you can. You weren’t really sure if she would answer you, especially if they were attempting to do something heinous with you like Cronus had mentioned. “Why would Spider-Man take me here?”

The woman pulled up one of those round, backless rolling stools that most doctors used in offices and sat down next to you. Reaching an arm up, she pushed away the light that was somewhat blinding you, and it was at that moment you were able to get a good look at her. 

Her name tag read “Elizabeth Anderson,” and it was clipped to her coat with a clip that had some sort of cartoon character on it that you didn’t recognize. She looked to be maybe fifty at most, and she had a kinder face than most people you ran into in Digi York. Yet, there was something off about her. Her eyes were a brilliant green color, but she had no optics. In fact, she didn’t seem to have any augmentations on her body at all, which was especially strange for an Olympian doctor. 

“You’re in Nueva York, here on Earth-928,” she said simply. 

You paused for a moment, and suddenly you became slightly concerned about the woman who was apparently taking care of you. 

“Nueva York?” you repeated. “As in New York? The city name was changed to Digital York in like, 2098 or something. You know, Digi York? Because of the Alchemax advancements?” 

The doctor tilted her head at you. “You know an awful lot about Earth-1717 for an anomaly.”

There it was again, that term. They spoke to you as if you were stupid, or like you didn’t belong. Just some mistake they were trying to fix. You were tempted to correct her, like you had the last few times someone used that term with you, but you bit your tongue. 

“So, what is your home like?” she then asked. 

The simplicity of her question really threw you off. Was she asking you what it was like in The Blue? Everyone already knew what that place was like, even if you lived in Olympus. Maybe she was patronizing you, or maybe this was just her poor attempt at small talk. 

“Oh, you know,” you said with a huff, “living the dream. If you would be so kind as to drop me off by the tram, I think I can get home by myself just fine.” 

Elizabeth let out a chuckle as she turned to type at some computer system on the desk behind her. You craned your head, attempting to get a view of what she was typing, but it was too difficult to make out. 

“I think you’re going to need a little more help than that,” she laughed. 

Her tone was comforting, but you felt the opposite. Something about that place, and those people, felt off. There was this nagging feeling in the back of your mind that you were really in the wrong place, and the way everyone had been speaking to you didn’t help to ease that feeling. It made you feel small, like you were a child again. 

After about an hour of tests in awkward silence, Elizabeth seemed to be happy with where you were health wise. Your body certainly felt better, even in the short amount of time you had been awake your body didn’t feel nearly as tired and sapped of energy as when you first woke up. She pulled the tubes out of your arm and wrapped it to catch the blood that dripped from your vein.

“Your system should be flushed out, now. If you were staying here longer, I’d grab you a snack, but I think we should get you home as quickly as possible,” she said as she started to fumble with the straps holding you to the bed. 

“Sure you’re not wanting to sell me for parts?” you asked as you pulled your wrists to your chest the very moment they were free from the restraints. 

In an instant you recognized something was on your wrist, something that shouldn’t be. It was a bracelet of sorts, and an ugly one at that. It was rigid, almost like a bangle, and was mostly a dark blue with some red markings. Confused, you went to pull it off of your hand, unsure what it was doing there in the first place. 

“Don’t!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she grabbed your wrist. “Don’t take that off. It’s the only thing keeping you from glitching.” 

You had no idea what she was talking about, but the tone of her voice made it seem like you should listen to her. At least she had managed to convince herself it was important, anyway.  Really, there was no harm in keeping it on, but it was annoying. 

“Fine, I’ll keep your shitty fucking jewelry on,” you muttered, pulling your arm out of her grasp. 

Seemingly upset with your choice of words, Elizabeth stood from the stool and began to rummage through some cabinets behind you. Sitting up wasn’t as difficult as you thought it was going to be, and you managed to even swing your legs over the side of the bed. The doctor turned back to face you with a pair of maroon clothes, which she quickly held out for you to take. 

“Change into these. Alan should be here in a few minutes to pick you up,” she explained. 

Confused on who she was talking about when she mentioned Alan, and not really caring to begin with, you stood from the bed, your feet hitting the cold tile underneath you. The clothes she handed you were very plain, and rather poorly sewn together. They were all a solid color without any sort of pattern, and looked similar to a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt. It reminded you of something prisoners would wear. 

You began to change into the new clothes, not really caring that Elizabeth was in the room with you. Having grown up in an overflowing orphanage, constantly surrounded by other people, you weren’t exactly self conscious when it came to changing around people. And as a doctor, she didn’t seem to mind all tha tmuch either.

Eventually you were in those terrible, yet clean, clothes and you were only kept waiting for a little bit longer before a sharp knock sounded at the door. It opened shortly after, and Spider-Man once more entered the room, appearing as if he had calmed down some from your argument earlier. 

“Alan,” Elizabeth greeted, though her tone didn’t seem very enthused to see him. “She’s good to go now.” 

The man looked at you and crossed his arms, or what you assumed was him looking at you since it was difficult to tell through his lenses. A part of you had hoped that you wouldn’t have to deal with him much more, and though the temptation to cause trouble for him was strong, you decided to play it cool and do what they wanted you to do. You still weren’t completely convinced that they didn’t have some sort of underlying plans for you that they weren’t sharing, but for the time being they were being civil. Maybe they really were just trying to get you home. 

“Come on, Miguel’s waiting,” Spider-Man, or Alan, said. 

You followed him out of the room and into a mostly empty hallway that looked like it was part of some hospital. As you walked behind him, you couldn’t help but scan your eyes over the ground in front of you, worried you would step on broken glass, or something worse. Couldn’t have killed them to give you a pair of socks, at least. 

As you neared the end of the hallway, the unmistakable sound of chatter could be heard from beyond a set of double doors. Long, rectangular windows allowed you to peek behind the doors where you saw a crowd of people walking in various directions. The sound of them grew louder and louder until you were finally through the doors, and the scene in front of you shocked you.

Dozens of people all dressed in various shades of reds and blues weaved through the bustling hall in front of you. Each and every one of them was remarkably different, yet each of them all sported some form of spider insignia. You were starting to wonder if you had just walked into some convention. 

But that was the least eye catching thing about everything in front of you. On the other side of the hall was a wall lining the hallway consisting of nothing but floor to ceiling windows, similar to the dining room in Cronus’s apartment. The view beyond those windows was something you had never seen before in your life. You were very obviously in some sort of tower, high up in the sky, but it wasn’t like the ones you were used to back in Digi York. This high rise was separated from what appeared to be the rest of the city, and you noted just how flat everything seemed, how much open space was available and less compact everything was. 

And then there was the sky. There was no smog, or smoke to choke out the sun; in fact, the sun was a brilliant yellow color, its true colors able to shine. You could make out the individual rays that beamed down on the area around you, lining the streets and sidewalks in a warm gold. The sky was completely cloudless, save for a few wispy strings of clouds that dotted the area here and there. Without the smoke, or the smog, or anything else in the way, you were finally able to make out the real color of the sky. 

It was blue. A pale, almost white, blue. 

A part of you couldn’t help but feel a little sad at that revelation. It was the color that your home was named after, the shade that drowned your streets, the pigment that trapped you, and it made up the very color of the sky itself. You had always dreamed of escaping The Blue, but no matter where you went it was always going to be above you. 

Still, it was a big change in pace from what you were used to seeing, and you found your hand reaching out to rest on the window in front of you. The glass was warm, the exposed sun no doubt heating it up nicely throughout the day. 

“Get your hands off, you’re going to leave fingerprints,” Alan snapped. 

“It’s blue,” you said quietly. Refusing to take your hand off the window, you quickly turned around to face him. “Where the hell did you take me?” 

He took a step back away from the window, almost as if trying to get you to follow him. “Nueva York. Earth-928. I know interdimensional travel might be a bit much for you to comprehend, but we are very far away from Digi York. We’re not even in the same universe.” 

A part of you wanted to call him out on his bullshit. Hell, ten minutes ago you certainly would have. But that view just beyond your fingertips told you otherwise. There was not a single place in the world that had a sky as clear as that. And really, it all started to make sense. The swirling circle of light that had emitted from seemingly nowhere wasn’t just a trick of the light, it was a portal, just like something you’d find in an old sci-fi movie. 

You had been taken from your home and brought to a completely different place. 

“Take in the view while you can,” Alan sighed as he turned to continue leading you through the hall, “you’ll be home soon enough.”

Huffing, you followed behind the man while you kept your gaze on the window to your side. “And where exactly is my home, then? I told you all I was already there, but you seem to be convinced otherwise.” 

“Hell if I know,” he responded with a shrug. “You seem to be pretty knowledgeable about Digi York, but you obviously didn’t belong on Earth-1717. I’m guessing you’re from somewhere that’s only marginally different from 1717, but I’m no scientist. Well, I am, but not the kind whose job it is to fix your problems.” 

The more he opened his mouth, the more you wished you could get him to shut it. Always with the snarky or rude comments, and that temper was too short for his own good. You could still feel his grip digging into the freshly formed bruises on your arm back at The Koi. 

He hadn’t even thanked you for the free drink you tried to offer him. 

The two of you continued down several halls and up an elevator, and with each step you took you passed by a handful of different spider people. Some wore suits sporting the red and blue, others wore black, some wore masks, and others maybe just glasses. Each of them were similar, yet remarkable in their own way. 

“How many spider people are there?” you asked, moving so you were walking side by side with Alan rather than behind him. 

“As many as there are universes,” he responded with a shrug. “Each earth has their own Spider-Man. Or woman. None of the people you see around here really belong here, they’re just visiting, or helping to complete assignments. We donate most of our time to help catch anomalies like you so we can send them home, back where they belong.” 

At that point, it had become instinct to roll your eyes every time someone said that stupid fucking word. 

“Oh great, my heroes,” you mumbled sarcastically. 

You and Alan turned down a dark hallway that led into a wide, open room. Compared to the rest of the building, the place was basically abandoned except for one figure. It was the stranger you had seen earlier when you had first woken up. He was taller than you had realized he was, and much broader. His suit seemed to be glowing in the dim lighting of the room, exaggerating the well defined segments of muscle that covered his body. You refused to believe that someone could be built of that much muscle naturally, or without some sort of augmentation. What the hell were they feeding people on that earth? 

“Careful,” Alan whispered in a joking tone as he leaned down a little, “if you make him angry, he might just bite you again.” 

“Bite me?” you repeated, your eyebrows drawing together. 

“It’s how he paralyzed you earlier.”

You threw a cautious glance back at the man in front of you. Suddenly, his abnormal size was the least concerning thing about him. Elizabeth mentioning his venom earlier suddenly made sense.

“Can all spider people do that?” you asked. 

Alan chuckled. “No, Miguel’s just a freak.” 

“You know, I can hear you, right?” 

The man in front of you slowly turned around to face both you and Alan, and he didn’t seem entirely enthusiastic to see either of you. He placed his hands on his hips, which only aided in making his shoulders look broader, his hips tapering narrowly in comparison. 

“Miguel,” Alan greeted the man as if he hadn’t just been insulting him moments before, “we’re all set.” 

Miguel’s eyes flickered back and forth between you and Alan, and eventually they landed on your throat for longer than what felt comfortable. You had suddenly become self conscious about your appearance, between your bruising, the clothes you were wearing, and the makeup that was no doubt smudged all over your face, you were certain you looked like a mess. His gaze certainly didn’t help, either. There was something off about him. Maybe it was the way his suit was glowing from his body, but his eyes almost seemed to have this red tinge to them. 

“Put her in,” Miguel said simply as he turned his back towards you again. 

“Put me in?” you repeated. “Put me in what?”

Alan continued to walk forward, and you knew that you didn’t really have any other choice but to follow him deeper into the room. Several computers and workstations lit up with glowing orange screens as you walked by, and you realized that Miguel was hard at work typing something up on the system in front of him, not even bothering with a glance as the two of you walked by.

In front of you sat a small platform with a large machine hanging from the ceiling. It was quiet, and unmoving but even in sleep that beast was intimidating. Several, spider-like legs protruded from the device, and it seemed like it would sooner impale you than do anything else. Still, Alan led you closer and closer to the machine until he pointed at the platform under it. 

“Stand here, and don’t move,” he ordered. “You’ll be home before you know it.” 

For a moment your eyes were glued up on the machine and you couldn’t help but feel as if you were an insect about to walk into a sticky trap. There was no way in hell that machine was safe to stand under, and you certainly didn’t want to find out the hard way. 

However, you weren’t really given a choice. Alan seemed to be quickly impatient with your hesitation and gave you a firm shove to your back, sending you stumbling forward onto the platform. 

“Hey! Watch your augs, man, that shit hurts,” you snapped, catching your balance. 

“Whoops,” Alan said with an insincere shrug. 

You turned to face the two men, and you could feel your heart begin to throb in your throat. The pressure in your body was building, and you could feel the sweat beginning to line your palms as you watched as Miguel typed away at the computer in front of him. His face was lit with a soft orange glow, causing his features to look more sharp, yet it also made him appear angry. 

They had you stand there for what felt like forever as they both leaned over to look at the screen, muttering to each other. The longer it took, the more anxious you became. You had no idea what to expect from that machine, you weren’t sure if it would hurt, or make you feel sick, or what, but neither of them seemed all that willing to explain it to you. 

Suddenly, Miguel’s face was casted in a red light and he let out a deep sigh. The light flashed orange once more quickly after he started messing with a few keys and buttons in front of him, but it only turned red shortly after. 

“Stryker, go stand up there for a second,” Miguel said, nodding to the platform you were standing on. 

Alan walked out from behind the computer and lazily made his way to you. He waved his hand to the side, motioning for you to step off, which you gladly complied with. He stopped on the platform and began to slowly spin, his arms out to the side as if he were addressing a crowd of people around him. You heard a few more clacks on the keyboard from where Miguel continued to type things in, and then the screen lit up green, reflecting off of his face.

“Okay, now put her back on,” Miguel said, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the screen. 

“What’s going on?” you asked as Alan led you back up on the platform. 

Anxiety was really taking a hold in your chest at that point. Those two were too cryptic for their own good, and leaving you in the dark only made you more uneasy about the whole situation. And the fact that neither of them answered your question helped either. 

Once more, red flashed across Miguel’s face, and he let out a frustrated groan as he pushed himself back away from the system. “Lyla, what’s going on here?”

An orange tinted holographic figure suddenly manifested in the air next to Miguel’s shoulder. The figure was of a woman with short hair, a fluffy white coat, and heart shaped pink sunglasses. She seemed to be one of the most lively things in that place, despite being completely fake.

“It recognized Stryker’s home world just fine, why is it popping up with an error for her?” Miguel asked the hologram. 

Lyla made a few motions, which were blocky and sort of uneven, as if she were typing on the system herself. The screen in front of them flashed red a few more times, before finally popping up a dark blue color. 

“The system is operating fine,” she said carefully. Even from a distance you could see that her holographic eyes were trained on you. “It’s her… Her DNA it’s… unrecognizable.”

Read more on my AO3

Masterlist

[maribel-bat]

1, , 3, 4, 14, 20, 23, 24, 25

Pimmo

ah yes. the peem...primo... yes absolutely

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

I like him because he's cringe. No I mean like I like him because he's like a failboy. Complete disrespect in a positive loving way.

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

That he doesn't get more chances to fuck around and find out tbh.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

Complete and utter bullshit but just picture him as a Pikmin protagonist. It'd be really funny he'd be so mad about it.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

I kinda want to put him in like casual clothes. I like the idea of him in shitty graphic tees.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

Uhh...Fuck idk if he has any ideal best friends that aren't self indulgent bullshit I've already mentioned somewhere else. Best I got is I wish him and Dark Signer Kalin got to meet and bark at each other like dogs.

23. Favorite picture of this character?

Literally we all know the answer is this

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Bat from Digital Devil Saga! I would love to introduce them through a door.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

I kinda thought he was stupid tbh. Like idk I didn't really like get it. Now? Now I love him I wanna examine him under a microscope.

[real-time-twilight]

Twilight vs. Life and Death #26

🍏Life and Death🍏

Breakfast with Charlie was quiet. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was a waste of time. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and stared at the familiar kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mom had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago trying to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining, microscopic family room was a row of pictures. First was a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by a procession of my school pictures up to this year's. Those were embarrassing to look at--the bad haircuts, the braces years, the acne that had finally cleared up. I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

🍎Twilight🍎

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining, handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First was a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by a procession of my school pictures up to this year's. Those were embarrassing to look at--I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

This is one of those paragraphs with lots of tiny annoying changes.

"Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event >> was quiet". This is another toss up between Personality Differences and Second Editing. It's a simpler statement, whereas Bella's has that attempt at jaded wit which we're used to seeing with her. Or the turn of phrase could have just been bugging Smeyer as being pretentious for ten years. She'd be kind of right, if that were the case, but for myself I prefer the original. I don't think it was worth changing.

"Knowing his hope was wasted >> a waste of time". Catch-All. This time Beau is the wordy one. I see no logic in this change.

"Examined his small kitchen >> stared at the familiar kitchen" I don't know what category to put this under, honestly. There's a bit of Personality Differences here: Bella again is using her more sophisticated vocab, though it sounds oddly clinical. Beau's phrasing emphasizes the sense he has of the room (it is familiar), whereas Bella's focuses only on the size.

"My mother >> My mom" We're back with this again. Beau almost always talks more casually about Renee than Bella does. Probably because he's a boy

"In an attempt to >> trying to" him teenage boy speak simple. Or this turn of phrase also bugged Smeyer for ten years

"Handkerchief-sized family room >> microscopic family room" ??? CatchAll?

And finally we have an addition: Beau elaborates why he finds the photographs of his early adolescence embarrassing, Bella does not. Classic Second Editing Run.

[elementalladymallorie]

Small Moments and Small Gestures that Make a Home

The Scent You Wish You Could Put in a Candle

It's time for Chopper's little moments to follow after Robin and Nami.

This time I went off of the SBS answers mentioning what each member smells like, because it was honestly the easiest and most obvious for Chopper.

Word Count: 1K

AO3 link

Scent is one of the strongest things tied to memory. Sometimes all you need is to catch a whiff of something you haven't smelled in a long time, and then your transported back into nostalgia and days gone past.

It was always easy to get lost in work, Chopper was no stranger to that. He’d been really focused on the batch of slides he was examining, to the point that he’d almost missed lunch. Which would not have flown on the Thousand Sunny, and apparently someone other than Sanji was elected to come get him.  

The footsteps had been too light, and when the door opened it was the scent of flowers that followed. 

 Chopper pulled back from his microscope he moves to set the slide back into their place, not looking in the direction of the door as he asks “Robin! Can I help you with something?” 

“Robin?” The question is not at all in Robin’s voice, and this caused Chopper to blink as he turned in his chair to look and see Nami standing in the doorway, confusion evident on her face. 

A look that was mirrored on the reindeer’s face as he sniffed the air again. There was still a floral scent coming through the doorway, from Nami even, but underneath that was the familiar citrus scent he’d come to know.  

Both stared at each other a moment more. 

“You changed your scent!” Chopper’s surprise was probably unwarranted, but he’d blame it on just how focused he’d been mere moments ago.  

“My scent?” Nami only looked more confused, hands coming to rest on her hips as she eyed the little reindeer.  

“You smelled like Robin!” It’s his only defense and he’s sure he looks flustered, but he’s already moving to get out of his chair, knowing exactly what she was sent here to get him for and wanting to hurry out before he embarrasses himself further.  

“Like Robin?” Nami moves just enough to let him past her and out to the dining area. She stands there a moment longer before her face lights up in understanding “Oh! You must mean my perfume!” 

“Perfume? What are you talking about perfume for?” The conversation has now moved into the main room and Franky is leaning back against his chair to look at them curiously. 

“Chopper thought I was Robin. He says I smell like her right now.” Nami shuts the door behind them, moving to take her seat while Sanji starts to lay out their lunch for the day. 

“You do kind of! When I realized it though I can still smell your scent underneath it!” Chopper’s hopping up into his chair, trying to not look embarrassed at the mistake. 

“And Nami’s perfume makes her smell like me?” Robin asks, curious as always but voice still kind in a way that’s reserved mostly for Chopper. 

He nods, fiddling his hooves together a little “Yeah. It smelled like flowers, and you always smell like flowers. Nami smells mostly like mikan, but kind of like money too. I can still smell it under the perfume when I focus.” 

“Wait, you can smell stuff like that?” Usopp’s looking between Nami and Robin, “I didn’t even notice Nami’s perfume until she showed it to me earlier.” 

“Of course, I can! I’m a reindeer! I know what all of you smell like!” Chopper’s reaching for food, which prompts the others too as well as if they don’t then Luffy’s gonna eat everything. 

“Even me?” It’s Brook that asks, sincerely curious due to his odd state of being. And this was a fair question since bones likely wouldn’t give much of a scent beyond likely decay. 

“Yup! You smell like tea!” Chopper chirps, smiling brightly at the skeleton. “I don’t really know how it works, but you do.”  

That sends Brook into a round of laughter, and Usopp grins, propping his chin on his hand as he asks “Brook smells like tea, Nami like mikan and money, and Robin like flowers. What about the rest of us?” 

Chopper looks around at the rest of his friends, and they all look curious enough so he thinks about it. He’s got their scents memorized to the point that he recognizes them right away most of the time, so he actually has to think to name them. 

“U-um, w-well you smell like gunpowder.” That doesn’t really seem to surprise Usopp, likely because he’s always working with it. “Zoro smells like steel.” A fitting smell for a swordsman if you asked Chopper, it’s a strong scent just like their swordsman who shrugs. 

“Luffy smells like meat.” That gets everyone to laugh, because it’s not even a specific type of meat, he just smells like meat. “Sanji smells like cigarettes and seafood.” Sanji makes a gesture with the cigarette he's currently smoking, like he can accept and live with that scent. 

“Franky smells like cola.” Which is entirely fair considering the cyborg runs off of it. “And Jinbei smells like the sea. Sometimes it hard to tell him a part from the actual sea.” Jinbei shrugs off the sheepish admission, and it’s not really that surprising a scent itself. 

“What about you?” Usopp prompts, brow quirked and waiting.  

“How should I know what I smell like?!” Chopper yelled, indignation clear in both his voice and face as he snapped. “I can’t smell myself!” 

Usopp holds his hand up in surrender, and a few others laugh. “Sorry! I was just curious because you know what the rest of us smell like!”  

Chopper has an argument ready, but it’s cut off when he feels a pair of rubbery limbs wrap around him. He has a chance to yelp before Luffy’s face is being shoved into his fur and the rubber man is taking a deep breath. 

There a few protests at the action, mostly said with fond exasperation that is common when dealing with Luffy, but it doesn’t deter their captain in the least.  

Luffy just grins, looking down at Chopper when he pulls back. He laughs when Chopper tilts his head in confusion and proudly declares “Chopper smells like a reindeer and the ani-skeptic stuff.” 

“Of course, he smells like a reindeer. He is a reindeer.” Sanji says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which it honestly probably is. 

“Ani-skeptic?” It’s Jinbei that asks that, looking around at their crew to get clarification.  

“ Antiseptic. It’s called antiseptic, Luffy.” Chopper clarifies for both of them. 

“That’s what I said.” 

“It’s really not.” Nami sound very done at the moment and returns her attention to her meal. 

“Well, I guess that means we know what everyone smells like now.”  Zoro looks like he’s only been paying half attention to what’s been going on, and gives his full attention back to his meal as well. 

It works in effectively having everyone return to their lunch, and Luffy sets Chopper gently before hurrying back to his own seat, stealing bits of food as he does. 

Chopper sits there for a moment, thinking over what Luffy said, and burying his face in his hooves for a moment. He thinks of the missing scents of cactus flowers and sand and the wood of a caravel that had been born in the East Blue. How he didn’t quite realize that carved woods had different scents until he had to adjust to the Adam wood of their new lion. It didn’t make him happy to have a scent to be included with his crew, with the smells that mixed to make their home, and brought them all comfort when they were finally home together where it was safe. 

It absolutely did not, and anyone who said otherwise was a lying bastard. 

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Hello, this is your Santa here :) Hope your week is going well and that you are staying safe :))

In terms of my progress, I've drafted up some ideas and a general plan of how to go about doing justice to your likes :))

I do happen to have some questions for you and I hope you can answer them :))

1. Do you have any OUAT characters that you dislike? If so why?

2. What is your favorite OUAT season?

3. Do you have any favorite artists? Both in music and art?

I do happen to wanna ask a couple more questions but in a more relaxed form :)

Did you have any favorite Christmas growing up? Like any one experience that just stood out to you....cause if you did I would love to hear off it. Alsooo, have you ever build a ginger bread house? I rewarched shrek and ginger bread man reminded me of ginger bread houses and cookies.....why does shrek remind me of Christmas?

All rambles aside, I do have quite some questions but I shall reign them in until next time. Looking forward to your response.. have a great rest of the week and stay safe :))

My week's off to a great start; I hope yours is too!

I'm so excited to see what you've got cooking up :D

1.. Tbh I'm not a huge fan of Mr. Gold. He's just a lil toxic towards Belle- outside of the context of their relationship he isn't bad though.

However, I also hate Gothel/Eloise Gardner- not in a "I hate seeing her onscreen" way, but in a "I love seeing her onscreen because that way I can actively continue to hate her this is fun" like I utterly despise her but she's so interesting I wanna examine her under a microscope and also watch her die but I'll look away when she does, ya know?

My reasons for dislike of her are her abuse and manipulation of Wish!Killian and Alice. Like. We've got a technical count of assault, and then she holds that over his head every time she sees him after that just to get inside his head and then she basically casts this big dark curse (like it was Drizella's curse, sure, but Gothel was pulling the strings too) and she could've been anyone she wanted in this new curse world- and she created the persona of Eloise Gardner- a runaway nobody- specifically so she could play the role of the damsel in distress in Wish!Killian's life, specifically so she could continue to use and manipulate him- I want to commit acts of violence anytime Eloise is within three feet of Rogers- but at the same time, I love watching and anaylsing her.

Sorry that was long winded 😅

2. This is a hard choice, because I love them all (except maybe season 1, but that's just for lack of a certain pirate) but I'm gonna go with Season 4. A lot of media tends to focus on watching the characters fall in love like falling in love is the climax, but they neglect to show all the work and time put into the relationship after it's started- so I love how season 4 shows you the little glimpses into Killian and Emma not just falling in love with each other, but living in love with each other- we get to see their first date and watch Killian step up as a father figure for Henry and see how they handle conflict together and just those quiet moments where they're there for each other.

Season 4 has a lot of other good stuff too- development of Killian and Belle's friendship, the return of August, Belle's mom (however briefly we had her!,) Emma's outfit in the alternate universe, ext. I also really liked the emotion in the Belle leaving Rumple at the town line scene.

3. Obscurely enough, I love listening to Ben Fankhauser and also Ephie Aardema, despite the fact that they aren't actually all that popular (especially outside of Broadway circles.) I also like Ben Platt and Jonas Brothers and (more recently) Taylor Swift. And Jeremy Jordan! (I also listen to the musical episode of ouat a lot.) Annapantsu is really good too!

As far as art artists, I can't think of any off the top of my head ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I definitely remember a lot of magical Christmas moments. One time my sister and I really wanted snow on Christmas and it hadn't snowed much at all- until it started snowing on Christmas Eve as my dad read our traditional Christmas storybook to us. I remember getting a unicorn pillow pet which I had really wanted one year, and another year when I got my first ukulele (I straight up cried.)

I've done a few gingerbread houses over the years, yes! I love artsy stuff as well as baking and using the resources I have on hand in the kitchen to make masterpieces!

Here's a pic of one of my favorites that I did (with help from my little brother!)

So long, friend! Remember to stay hydrated!

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Devil part 2

read fic under the keep reading or here

Daniel wakes in a damp, cold cellar. It's too dark to see anything, no source of natural light in the room. But he can feel something—someone—watching him.

“Hello?”

No response. He gropes blindly in the dark. He doesn't know how long he's been here, but he's hungry and thirsty and has to piss like a motherfucker. There's a window that's been bricked up, and a door that's plated with steel. No way out.

For the first time, Daniel realizes he may die here. Why isn't he already dead? What whim is keeping him alive?

“Armand?”

There's a movement from the shadows, then a flash of light—from his flashlight, Daniel recognizes. It illuminates an angular face, features sharp and pretty. Unnatural red eyes look at him, head tilted to the side in contemplation. He is immaculately dressed in a black suit, the cut classic but timeless. In the darkness, he looks like an angel.

There's a bag slung over his shoulder. Daniel's bag, full of his tapes from the interview with Louis. Louis, who had attacked him, he remembers. Armand had saved him. Armand is the sensible one. He saved his life once, he wouldn't kill him now.

“Is that what you think?” Armand says, eyeing him head to foot. He takes a step closer and Daniel instinctively takes a step back. Armand smiles, and Daniel remembers reading somewhere that in the animal kingdom, showing teeth is a sign of aggression. “I've listened to your tapes; no will one believe you. Take them and get out.”

He drops the bag at Daniel's feet.

“So you're not going to kill me?” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why can't he just keep his mouth shut?

He wishes he had found Lestat; Lestat would have turned him. Louis won't; Armand won't. But maybe he could convince him? It's a desperate thought, one he can't help but think.

Armand laughs, low and full of contempt. “Turn you into one of us? Why would I do that? You're a fool.”

A fool, yes. But a fool who wanted to be with him and Louis. Oh, how he wanted it, more than he had ever wanted anything before. He had seen behind the curtain, he had glimpsed into the dark world. How now could be just walk away?

Daniel takes a step closer to Armand. “If I'm a fool then teach me; make me into one of you. I want it. I want to live forever.”

Armand's laugh is gentle, but no less capricious. “I can see why Louis chose you. You're a fool, but a handsome fool. No, I wouldn't turn someone I detest, why would I turn you?”

“Because I want it; I want to be immortal.”

I want to be with Louis and you. He doesn't say it out loud, that would be too embarrassing. After all, they had only just met. But weren't they both so beautiful and strange? So otherworldly; Daniel wants to be part of that world.

“You don't know what you're asking,” Armand says, but he's speaking without anger. He almost sounds sad.

“I do; I do. Give it to me!”

“You are strangely defiant and beseeching at the same time,” Armand says, sounding almost amused. “What Louis told you about us is true; but no one will ever believe you. You'll go mad from the knowledge; they always do. But not yet.”

Armand looks him over as though he were inspecting a bug under a microscope. “No, not mad yet.”

“No, you're Armand and you're real and you saved my life.”

Armand barks out a laugh and he sounds nearly human. In his head, Daniel hears: “Naive boy! Did you think that was for your benefit?”

Aloud, Armand says “You know my name. I usually kill them after they learn my name. It's...fascinating. I find you fascinating.”

That sends a jolt of pleasure down Daniel's spine. Yes, yes, he wanted to be interesting. Wanted to be enough to be turned, to be made into this nocturnal monster.

Armand steps closer and reaches out a hand, takes his chin between his fingers. His touch is cool and arresting. He examines Daniel closely and says “I don't think I'll kill you just yet.”

For the first time, Daniel felt a surge of fear. He gets caught up sometimes, so focused on what he wants that he forgets to use plain sense. This man is a creature of the night, a vampire, a nosferatu. He could break him in half without effort. It was so obvious with this one, so different to Louis. He seemed both ghastly and beautiful, both terrifying and enthralling.

Armand drops his hand. Daniel misses it at once. “I'm letting you leave,” he says softly, so softly Daniel has to lean forward. “I'll let you run, and I'll chase you. I want to follow you, see where you go, what you do. So long as you fascinate me, I won't kill you.”

His fiery eyes burn into Daniel' as he speaks and Daniel shivers, fear and arousal battling inside him. He suspects Armand knows, from the amused little smirk that quickly passes over his mouth. The he shrugs. “I may get bored of you and forget about you altogether. You can keep hope in that.”

Daniel suspects Armand would like that, knowing Daniel had hope only to play with him like a cat with a mouse. He seems that sort of creature. Daniel wants to say something, to plead for his life, but he can't find his voice. He's scared speechless. A first, for him.

“Perhaps you'll get lucky. You can travel by day. I may lose track of you,” Armand says simply. He speaks as conversationally as if they were discussing the latest sports game, not Daniel's very life. “Let's see what you are, Mr. Molloy.”

In a flash he moves, and Daniel feels him a breath away from his back. His mouth moves next to his ear and Armand whispers, “Run.”

And so, the chase begins.

[anthonybialy]

Another Chance to Boo the Buffalo Sabres

The Sabres lose.  It’s who they are.  They’re furious you’re aware.  Reports that players are ticked at fans who offer accurate criticism of emblematically atrocious performances somehow make the experience of following them even more unfulfilling.  I’m almost impressed they find new ways to insult.  Athletes are not going to win by bickering with fans, which with this club is the normal result.

Those poor millionaires on the verge of extending the league-record playoff drought are very upset those they’ve wronged by not completing job tasks possess the insolence to react appropriately.  You know a locker room emanates a bad vibe when fans get blamed.  I have a related update about the Sabres.

Competing for the draft lottery offers a thrill unappreciative types don’t cherish.  An eternal exile from the playoff race is the only thing more irritating than lame excuses from well-paid athletes who don’t know how to properly manipulate a puck.  The team in question sucks at a historical rate.  Rare wins are accompanied by a lack of caring about frequent shortcomings.  Can you believe the crowd doesn’t cry with joy?

I just wish there were a way to prevent a fanbase from getting cranky like not missing the freaking playoffs yet again.  Roster members focusing understandable frustration on job performance isn’t as easy as condemning anyone with the nerve to buy a ticket.  Cognizance of the investment’s foolishness does not justify annoyance in those who ultimately receive a portion of gate receipts.  They should be infinitely more ticked at how close a Buffalonian born on the last day the Sabres won a series is to voting.

Technical players are allegedly particularly upset that followers are familiar with the flailing failing coach.  Of course Sabres players like Don Granato: he doesn’t hold them accountable when they underachieve.  The owner likes him as well because he’s cheaper than someone skilled.  The only problem is that bit where his squad is supposed to win games regularly.  Dwindling backers have the audacity to notice.

Keep flipping off those you’ve disappointed: it’s the surest way to express shame.  Ingratitude is particularly super when aimed at those who pay to watch you work in the hope you can bring them a little joy.  Attending a professional hockey game is an investment.  Going to a Sabres game costs nearly as much.

Optimists in spite of it all who spend a considerable sum hoping to vainly see success are crushed by the exact opposite.  Players get mad… at the honest summary of their ineptitude.  Their setbacks somehow get even more infuriating. 

Bickering with those ultimately funding your career is a guaranteed defeat like the Sabres after a win.  I’m shocked sportsbooks take bets on a lock like the inevitable letdown.

Perspective makes matters worse if you follow this team.  It’s easy to examine each result under a microscope.  But step back to see how distressing an activity that’s supposed to be a merry diversion has been over a way too long time.  Hissing is a natural reply.

Why are you not cheering with delight for a ceaseless desert exile?  The fact anyone keeps showing up at all is testament to loyalty.  The devotion may not be rational under the best of conditions, and hockey’s Washington Generals have created less than pleasant ones.

Catharsis is necessary when coping with a team that’s been this lousy for this long.  The Sabres are the worst franchise in the NHL.  There are others with fewer points this season, but nobody has been more consistently woeful over time.  They may be the worst of any North American pro outfit.  Debate enthusiasts might suggest similarly dreadful entries like the New Jersey Jets, but the fact that the Sabres are a plausible candidate is sufficiently depressing.  And they could be the worst globally unless there’s a Romanian handball team that runs to the town square and pummels anyone they find wearing team gear after each thrashing.  

Fans are actually too nice.  Mild jeering is the nicest possible feedback regarding an unprecedented run of losing.  The Sabres are lucky they don’t play in the Vaudeville era.  The concession stands don’t sell rotten vegetables for a reason.

It’s preposterous even having to note cause and effect.  Entertain your customers.  The product has been rotten on a semipermanent basis with no relief in sight.  Since there seems to be confusion, I’ll point out that’s the fault of those inside the dasher, specifically the ones on skates wearing home jerseys.  The Sabres think you’re not allowed to dislike a movie because it’ll irk the director.  And it’s your job to make Coldplay not suck by being supportive at concerts.  Get back here and attend.

“Of course they’re booing.  They have the right at any time and especially when we don’t meet expectation.  We’re here to entertain those who treat us as heroes and have come up short.  We understand and respect their dissatisfaction and hope it will disappear once we start competing at a suitable level.”  There: I wrote an apology for them.  You have to do everything for this team.  Wear a jersey to games because you might be called upon to join the third defensive pair.

True pros would be begging for forgiveness.  But this team doesn’t qualify.  Uninspired play is just the start.  The Sabres are not just generating garbage but treating their admirers the same way.  They deserve more booing.  I hope the fact nobody but Hans Moleman is saying “Boo-ryson” hurts their feelings, as they’re getting off easy compared to the devastated congregation generating the most genuine response.

[numou]

SCREAM (1996) 

[dreamofjoys]

mafia!rook hunt / interest

genre: fluff,  gender neutral reader

summary: the hunt family is one of the most famous mafia in twisted wonderland. known for their hunting hobbies, they hunt down exotic animals such as lions, tigers, and whatever animals that people can think of. among the hunt family, rook hunt stood out the most. despite being the middle child, his hunting skills surpasses his siblings and parents, and is most likely the next candidate to be the head of the family. and this candidate has taken an interest on the magicless prefect of the ramshackle dorm.

tw: just rook being rook, stalking and staring at you 

“oh my my~” rook smiled, watching you interacting with the adeuce duo in the cafeteria. the duo were cracking some lame jokes, causing you to snort and laugh at them. rook rest his chin on the palm of his hand and stares at you dreamily. the way your lips curl up, the way your eyes twinkles.. ah,  are you by chance a cupid? you must have used a cupid bow to shoot him cause you had rook falling head over heels for you. 

the pomofiere dorm leader who was sitting beside rook narrows his eyes at him. it was a little too obvious to his peers that he is oogling over you... 

“rook,” vil’s stern voice snapped the hunter back to his senses. “yes, roi du poison?~” “whatever you do, don’t ruin pomofiere’s reputation.” 

that itself was a clear warning to the hunter that no matter what he do, he should never cross the line that vil sets for him. rook only hums in reply while continuing to look at you interacting with your friends. oh, how he wish that he was the one that you are talking to right now! 

vil could only sigh at the hunter’s antics, but did nothing about it. after all, he does not want to mess with the mafia. 

~ 

rook was strolling around the botanical garden, looking for herbs that is needed for the science club when he spotted you alone, doing your work on potionology. 

a voice inside rook screamed at him to approach you right now, and who is he to deny his instinct? 

with a slow and steady approach, rook greeted you from behind, causing you to let out an “eep!” sound. you were surprised to see rook greeting you. you knew that he is the vice dorm leader of pomofiere and have some really… weird habits, but you never had any interactions with him, so it makes no sense why he is approaching you.

“ah forgive me, my habit of concealing my foot steps is hard to change, so it might have been surprising. my name is rook hunt, nice to meet you, ma cherie.”

rook took one of your hand and kissed the back of it while you look at him with the classic shocked pikachu face.

this man greets people by using that old fashion way of kissing someone’s hand??? DAYUM..

“my name is y/n,” you choked out a reply, trying to conceal your shock. “is there anything that i can do for you?”

“ah yes, you can! let’s be friends!” rook only smiles at your confused expression, but made no move explaining his motives.

his motive is really just to court you..

from that day onwards, you would always find an arrow flying through the air and landing beside you, with many handwritten notes and poems. mostly just him complimenting your beauty and asking you how was your day.

sometimes, the arrow would be tied with little gifts, like a small box of expensive chocolates, some rare gem and bracelet, he even tied a tiara on the arrow and shoot it to you.

you were confused at his gestures but brush it off as something that friends would do. examining the tiara that rook gave you, the diamond on it was finely cut and radiates brightly under the microscope. it was also made up of what you presume to be…. gold….

“what is your job?” you asked rook one day as you pointed to the tiara that he gives you. “why the question?” “i am just curious.. and that thing looks expensive. nah, everything that you gave me is expensive. do money drop from the sky for you or something?”

rook laughs, loud, at your comment. he took the tiara and merely placed it on your head, examining how the piece looks like on you.

“you look as beautiful as ever. but if this is not enough…… i can always give you more.”

[chocosvt]

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!!

[witch-hazels-musings]

firsts

Warning -> NOTSFW (18+) (sex -> penetration, fingering, touching, groping)

character X FM reader   |   Anthology

synopsis: first time with albedo

There is a vulnerability of being completely alone with another person. A soft promise you share with one another to do no harm, to respect and cherish the fragility of the silence. There was that here, in this bedroom of mutual respect, and the unspoken desire to dive into that vulnerability just to see what was underneath it all. 

Albedo holds you in his arms as you rest your head on his chest. His hands moving up and down your back in a gentle rhythm. He was starting to get just how overwhelming it was to connect with someone like this. The smell of them, the sound of them. Everything fills up one's senses bit by bit. 

To Albedo though, there was always another answer to uncover, more to explore and decipher in this world, and to him you were right in the center of everything. 

Being physical like this was something he never thought he would have. Relationships are much too challenging to maintain, and since he never invested the time in others, they never invested the time in him 

Still, there is something about you which drew him in and to places he’s never dared venture - and the intrigue of what could be on the other side drives him forever onward 

His kisses are simple. He’s still getting a handle on it all. How much pressure to use, how long to keep his lips against yours. There is little confidence between each connection, and you find it endearing. You demonstrate the technique and he quickly picks it up, he is a fast learner after all. 

Soon, he is kissing you deeply. The sensation of you locked to his lips, the way your tongue feels in his mouth, the breathless replies you give him as he breaks away. He gets enjoyment from being good at something; by finding out the right answer so he can log it away in his many, ever growing files.

When he sees you, your hair a mess, cheeks the deep pink like the petals of a silk flower, and lips glistening in the light, he wishes there were more ways to capture the moment in his memory. When you open your eyes and he sees the rich color of your eagerness, he returns to feed that desire. 

He’s so observant; no gesture, no reaction, no sound that you make would fall to the waves with him, he would catch them all and tune his measurements to better fit where they needed to be 

His hands, now emboldened by the reactions of your body, begin to wander on their own. They test different spots as if you were one of the many thousands of research subjects he spent examining day after day. 

You feel so exposed under him. His eyes are transfixed on your face, on the movement of your chest, on your shifting body as he plays with you. You knew he was curious, but you never imagined his curiosity to be so unreserved. You wondered if everything he put under his microscope squirmed the way you were now. 

He slips his hand under your shirt and the breath in your lungs stall. His fingers find their way to your breast and you let out a moan at the contact. 

“What an interesting reaction.” He observes with a coy smile.  

He finds the sounds you make to be encouraging, as if they let him know just where to go and how long to be there; he listens to you intently and adjusts as needed 

His fingers are slipping in and out of you, and you wonder just how much longer you’ll be able to last. 

You aren’t sure when he slipped you out of your clothes, or when he had removed some of his own either. You just stared at the little golden star on his throat and tried to breathe against the pleasure.

He’s tried a couple of different things already, but he’s found that lying at your side while he reaches down in between your legs and slides his fingers into you has given him the best results. So far. 

“Your body is telling me it feels good when I do this.” he pulls his finger from you and feels how wet you’ve made him. “Tell me,” he leans down and places his forehead against your ear, his breath hot against your neck, “what will it say when I do this?”

When he inserts two fingers into you and you let out a lewd cry he smiles to himself. 

“Another interesting result.” He pumps into you, his fingers finding just the right spot, just the right angle to send you over the edge. 

There is something about your face when he is inside of you, moving in and out at a rhythmic pace, that constricts his heart and urges him onward, he wants to know just how much it will change - and what he has to do to make do so 

You’re heaving after the last orgasm he brought you to. Your legs are still shaking and your hips moving on their own as you ride out the wave. In the moments when your vision turned fuzzy and back to normal again he has repositioned himself between your legs. His eyes seem a deeper shade of blue than normal. 

He kisses up your stomach, through the valley between your breasts, and up your neck until he reaches your gasping mouth.  He kisses you before solidifying that you are ready. He is a knight after all, he would never continue if you didn’t give him permission. 

He receives your permission when you reach down and grab him. Your hand wrapping around his hard shaft and practically begging him to enter you. He’s a smart man, he knows exactly what you are ready for. He lets you guide him in and after a few slow pushes to make sure you are ready for him, he sheaths himself inside of you. 

He wishes there was a way to record this moment forever, minds are so bad at remember the things we yearn to keep - but there is something about you in this moment which he’s sure will last a lifetime 

If others knew that the reserved Chief Alchemist was capable of being so sexual, well, they might not believe it. You were sure you’d forever remember the way his muscles moved in his chest, the way they flexed in his arms, and how his eyes closed when he experienced unbelievable pleasure. 

He had been looking at you this whole time, and there was something irritating about his eyes being closed. You wanted them back. 

You pushed yourself up from the bed, your breathing slowing for just a minute. His eyes opened in confusion and soon replaced by shock as you pushed him over and repositioned yourself to straddle him. As you lowered yourself onto him he released a sound that shot through your heart. Even this way, he felt incredible.

As you rode him, you relished the he looked at you: his eyes captivated by you, his face painted with red, his hands grabbing onto your waist and digging into your skin. 

Your moans drifted down to him and he felt like he was going to break. This was such a different sensation than before, and he was starting to lose all reasoning. He watched as your head tilted back, your arms grasping onto his wrists which were digging into your hips. There was a moment when your voice changed and he knew. 

“Albedo…” as soon as you call his name the dam of his resistance breaks. His eyes close, he calls out to you and lets himself go.

MASTER