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lilpunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) — iii

Summary: The Dream Lord receives a lesson in love (and your reliance on caffeinated beverages).

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.9k+

AN: Originally posted on my main account, @alittlepunkrock, I'm now uploading to my second blog because my main is having issues. RIP. We're looking at a good 15-20 parter, so I hope you'll all come along on this journey with me! I hope you enjoy!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . .

“Running like a river trying to find the ocean,

flowers in the concrete;

Climbing over fences, blooming in the shadows,

Places that you can’t see;

Combing through the melody when the night bird sings,

Love is a wild thing.”

- Love is a Wild Thing, Kacey Musgraves

. . .

Part iii.

Dirt digs under your fingernails as you crawl towards the hearth. Your fingertips brush the metal rod of the fire iron. You swear you laugh with relief, though all that reaches your ears is a broken croak. Your fingers tighten around the rod. Maker, that burning in your chest is all consuming–

A bright burst of pain explodes in the side of your head. You feel your grip on the rod slip. The room spins as your thoughts tumble and turn, incoherent. You’re a bird with a clipped wing, an acrobat in freefall. Where the ceiling of your hut once was, a sky full of stars now glistens. Dazed and confused, you slowly blink them away.

When the room rights itself, you find yourself on your back, your face mere inches from the flickering hearth. There’s a crushing weight in your chest as your love climbs atop you once more. Any residual air that might have been left in your lungs deflates at the pressure. Your spirit slips away with it.

He holds the fire iron in his hands now. His face is impassive and hollow, a mere husk of the man you know. The man you love. Looming above you, his eyes seem dark as night. Gripping the fire iron tightly on either end, he brings it to your throat and presses down. The agony is bright and burning at first. Then the numbness starts to creep in.

Your eyes sting with hot tears. Please, you mouth silently. What are you supposed to do when the person you desperately want to rescue you is the one inflicting the pain?

“You are bringing this upon yourself,” he whispers. His voice sends a chill up your spine. You remember the stories and sweet adorations that voice once whispered to you. Now it is cold, impassive, devoid of feeling. “Why can’t you just let me go? Let go.”

. . .

The soft sounds of morning birds and passing cars slowly coax you back into consciousness. Though you know you’ve just gotten a full night’s rest, you can’t help but groan at the emptiness you feel. It grows so tiresome to wake up this way. Always recharged, but never feeling rested. True rest aches within the back of your mind like a phantom limb, something that has been cruelly robbed from you. Though you haven’t slept or dreamt in ages, you still long for it. You suppose old habits die hard.

As your mind fully returns to itself, you do register one other sound. The fluttering of pages. It sounds so close–

You sit up swiftly. Of all the things you could have possibly seen, you definitely did not expect to find your gaze settling on the face of a certain Endless.

“For the love of– Dream Lord?” You’re dumbfounded. You blink, rub the residual grog from your eyes, and blink again, sure that your brain must be malfunctioning. No, he’s still there. “Why do you Endless insist on popping up in my bedroom unannounced?”

Dream of the Endless cocks an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, the movement so subtle you nearly mistake it for a twitch. He continues to thumb through the fantasy novel at your bedside, pages fluttering between his fingers. “Is this a frequent occurrence of yours?”

Realizing how that sounds, you shake your head hastily. “I– No– Yes– Maybe? I mean, if I had a nickel for every time an Endless showed up in my bedroom unannounced, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice in the past two weeks.” The Dream Lord gives no apparent reaction to your attempt at an icebreaker. Tough crowd. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself. “What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Were you dreaming just now?” he deflects.

The question takes you aback. You eye him carefully. “No, of course not. Deities don’t dream. I should think you would know all about that.”

“I am well aware of the limitations on the resting capabilities of divine beings. You are also the first deity I have encountered who was once mortal. I only wondered if the case might be different for you.” You swear that pensive gaze could pin you straight to your headboard.

“You could have just gone into my head to find out,” you point out. Though you’re glad he didn’t.

From beneath his tousled black hair, the Dream Lord’s blue eyes appraise you thoughtfully. “I considered as much, then came to the conclusion that it might be viewed as intrusive of me to do so if we are to be considering a collaboration.”

You almost laugh at that, then think better of it. Well, he has morals, at least. Shaking your head incredulously, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Dream Lord?”

“I seem to recall you extending an invitation for me to observe your function in the Realm of Attachment.” Your fantasy novel makes a quiet thud as he closes it swiftly, laying it back on your nightstand. “That invitation will be coming to fruition today.”

. . .

“Is this your messenger or emissary?”

Your eyes fix on the Dream Lord as you walk into your living room, fully dressed with daily assignments in hand. He stands by the front door with his hands in his coat pockets, staring down at Theo, who sits proudly at his feet.

“Uh, neither. And he’s not my royal librarian, either. He’s my foster dog.” You dip to rub Theo between the ears. “I don’t have assistants. I typically work alone. Though I’m hoping that’s about to change.” You offer him a small smile.

The Dream Lord gives only a low hum in response. His gaze slowly sweeps across the rest of your home. It’s certainly no palace with towers and spires. You can’t help but feel like he’s not really looking at your decor, though, but rather trying to read you. Acutely self-conscious, you change the subject. “Speaking of work, what were you hoping to observe today? I’m not sure how much time you have…”

“You are seeking my blessing to form a collaboration with you in which I will be interfering with the machinations of my mischievous sibling,” he replies, eyes continuing to study your humble townhome. His blue gaze finally comes to land on you. “I would suggest you give me the full breadth of experience, Deity of Love.”

Your heart stutters with a mix of nerves and excitement. Intrigued to let someone else have a small glimpse into your world, to actually share with someone for once. But terrified that it won’t be enough. Not just enough to get him to help you, but that the first person you truly open up to won’t see your work the way you do.

You swallow, pushing away those anxious thoughts. “Well, I suppose we’ll just start from the beginning. Each day starts with checking my list of assignments.” You extend the stack of papers to him, watch as his eyes flicker over the names there. “My daily assignments come from the Fates, who in turn base their assignments on information from your brother, Destiny.”

“Destiny,” Dream of the Endless breathes. His cool gaze settles on you. “My brother has never spoken of you before.”

You’re not sure if that should offend you or not. You decide to let it roll off. “That doesn’t surprise me. We’ve never actually met in person. And I don’t do much associating with other deities or Endless. I tend to keep to myself.” As you fish for your house keys in your pocket, you guide the Dream Lord out the front door. “So, that’s step one: Check my list for the day.”

“And what is next?”

You grin at him as the front door lock slides into place. “I get coffee.”

The Dream Lord’s face draws a blank. “Coffee,” he echoes back to you, clearly trying to connect the dots on how this is relevant.

“Indeed, Dream Lord. You said you wanted the full ‘Deity of Love experience,’ didn’t you?” The sidewalk is quiet and mostly empty this morning as you begin walking toward Cliff’s coffee shop. The golden autumn sunlight seems to endow his pale skin with a slightly warmer glow. You suddenly realize that he’s swapped his regal floor-length cloak for a more casual knee-length wool coat in an attempt to look more human. Something about that thought sticks out to you. You smile, slipping that thought in your pocket for another time.

As you approach the coffee shop, you turn to him and say, “Thank you again for accepting my invitation to come here. For giving my proposition a chance. I truly can’t tell you what it means to me.”

The Dream Lord glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his face stony and serious. “There was a time when I would have banished you to the Darkness for pulling such a stunt in my throne room. Deity or not.” He holds your gaze sternly for several seconds, then looks away. “But recent events have made me more….amiable.” He swallows, pink lips pursing. “Lucienne and I have discussed trying to be a more…adept listener.”

You gulp. If his reaction from the other day was his definition of “amiable,” you shudder to think of how he might have reacted before “recent events.” You had heard whispers of the Dream Lord throughout the ages, tales of a cruel prince who would unmake dreams and nightmares without a second thought, who sent a lover to rot in hell for breaking his heart, who doomed mortals to nightmare realms from which they’d never wake up. Keeping to yourself as you did, you’d never been able to judge the truth of those whispers, and you’d never felt comfortable asking Death about them. While the Endless beside you now would not be considered friendly, he seemed to be more reserved than unfeeling. Closed-off, rather than devoid.

“Well, I think being an amiable listener is something that each of us can always grow more adept at,” you concede. You pull open the coffee shop door with a wide grin. “Hey, Cliff!” you call as you enter, your broody guest trailing behind you. “I’m here for the usual.”

“Of course, Miss Love.” He’s already slipping the coffee into your hand as he speaks. Cliff affixes you with a tender smile, then eyes the Dream Lord with something toeing the line between intrigue and confusion. “And this is your…friend?”

“Ah, yes.” You turn to the tall, dark Endless at your side, who gazes at Cliff with interest. “This is my friend…”

“Morpheus,” the Dream Lord answers, giving the shop owner a polite nod. Not the most incongruous of names, you supposed, but it worked.

“Ah,” Cliff says, unsure of how to respond to that. “And your friend would like…?”

You expect him to decline or ask for something tall, black, and bitter, which is why you’re all the more pleasantly surprised when he rasps, “Earl grey.” Your hand finds the change in your pocket as Cliff prepares the blend and hands it to Morpheus. “Have a good one, Cliff,” you smile as the two of you turn and head back toward the door.

“You do realize that Endless and deities do not require food or drink, don’t you?” he mumbles lowly as you walk out the door.

“I do. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t still enjoy them, does it?” you offer with a smile. He doesn’t return it. Maker, it was going to be hard to open him up. You pause on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. “Anyway, our next step is to go to the Realm of Attachment itself.” You look around for a mortal to pass through. With it being a weekend, the streets are much less crowded than normal. However, just a block away, you do spot a small flower stand with a few patrons milling about. You beckon Morpheus in that direction. As you walk, he takes a tentative sip from his to-go cup. A small, human-like gesture. If it weren’t for his wild mop of hair and the strange air about him, a mortal almost wouldn’t pay him a second glance. Almost.

As you draw near the flower stand, you lean toward him slightly. “I’ve never actually taken someone with me before, but based on the laws as I know them, I think we’ll need to be touching.” You offer him your elbow politely. His gaze flickers from your outstretched arm, to your face, then back to your elbow. Finally, his long fingers wrap lightly around your forearm. “Are you ready?” you ask him.

“I am.”

“Alright. Here we go, then,” you breathe. Slowing your pace, you guide your paths to pass behind an elderly couple looking at several pots of colorful mums. As the wife comes within reach, you gently touch your fingers to the back of her lightweight jacket. You close your eyes, reaching out to her heart, reaching through to the other side. Your muscles tense under Morpheus’s fingers. An autumn breeze kisses your cheeks. Your body hums, calling to the land itself like an old friend, and the land answers. You’ve made it.

You had never brought anyone to the Realm of Attachment before. You were largely a solitary being, and there had simply been no need to share this part of yourself with another before. When you turn to look at Morpheus, you do so tentatively, nervous to see his reaction.

While the street is largely empty, the flower shop patrons provide plenty of attachments for him to view up close in a variety of colors. Each thread is strong and radiating and alive. His blue eyes drink them in intently, a new, unfamiliar enigma for him to study. His gaze gradually glides to the buildings around you. Though no mortals are visible to your eyes, those residing inside send thousands upon thousands of threads bursting forth from the buildings in all directions. Some travel a block, some a mile, some a hundred miles, some more. His eyes slide up higher, roving over the sky above you. Unlike the Dreaming, there is no blue sky above. Instead, trillions of attachments blanket the heavens, every color of the rainbow intermingling and intertwining to form a radiant tapestry. His lips part ever so slightly at the sight.

It’s not much of a crack in his armor, but it is something. You know that he has seen and created countless fantastical realms as the Dream Lord. You can’t help but feel a little proud that your Realm seems to offer him something he hasn’t encountered before. “Welcome, Lord Morpheus,” you say quietly as you gauge his expression. “You’ve reached the Realm of Attachment.”

The Dream Lord is silent for several more moments. Finally, he murmurs, “It is…quite spectacular.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes follow his, drinking in the colorful heavens above you. “Sometimes it feels like I’m living in a ball of rainbow yarn,” you admit, only half joking.

You almost think you spot the Dream Lord’s lips twitch out of the corner of your eye. Almost. But when you turn your gaze to him, his expression hasn’t changed. “What are they?” he asks, eyes still trained above.

You smile. “These are my attachments.” One of your hands instinctively moves to graze the snow white thread connecting the elderly man and woman beside you. Morpheus’s eyes follow your movement. “These are the bonds of love that tie all of humanity together. This is my function.”

When Morpheus locks eyes with you next, you feel as if something subtle has shifted within them. Or maybe you’re imagining things. What you do know is that when he says, “Go on,” you feel as if he is expressing genuine interest for the first time since asking you about your sleep earlier this morning. It dawns upon you that in spite of the walls he seems to keep around him, he still harbors a desire for knowledge, to learn something new after eons of existence. Appealing to his curiosity may be an effective way to get him to open up.

“Well, let’s start with the colors. Each color represents a different type of attachment.” You beckon him to turn in a circle, pointing out attachments as you go. “First, we have the red thread; that is eros, or romantic, passionate love. A classic, of course. But I take care of much more than just romantic love. Here we have purple, or erotoropia, which is playful and flirtatious.” Your eye spots a family of three up ahead. “See that family in the store over there? Their bonds are green; storge, or unconditional, familial love. The orange bond between the mother and father is pragma; companionate love that includes common long-term interests. Next, we have blue, which is philautia – compassionate self-love.” You spot a church ahead to your left, radiating a particularly impressive amount of yellow threads. “The yellow attachments are agape. That’s universal, empathetic, selfless love. It encompasses faith-based love, as well. And the white thread connecting this couple? This is philia – an intimate, authentic bond. That’s a soul tie. It doesn’t just have to be romantic, though. They can be platonic, too.”

“How do you distinguish what is romantic from what is platonic?” he asks. His pale hand reaches out to touch the radiant white thread between the elderly couple beside you. His dark eyebrows furrow when his fingers merely pass through it.

“You’re not far off,” you encourage him. Your own fingers move to hold the white thread gently. In your grip, it pulses and thrums like a heartbeat. “All I have to do is hold it to determine if the bond is romantic or not. The attachments speak to me, and I speak to them. If I call upon them, they’ll tell me what I want to know.”

For the second time today, Morpheus gives a contemplative hum in response. His eyes sweep over the street, turning to the mortals farther up the block. His gaze suddenly pauses, his hand lifting to outstretch a finger. “And that one?” he asks. You follow his inclination to find yourself staring at a black thread connecting a young man to his phone screen. Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

“That is why we’re here. Why I’ve come to you for help.” Your feet instinctively lead you toward the black thread, and Morpheus follows. As you draw closer to the young man, you see that he is swiping through hookup apps on his phone. A pale red thread trails from his heart down the street, terminating somewhere out of sight. As your fingers grip the thread lightly, you take a deep breath and say, “You’ll find her through the app. Once you meet, you’ll both delete it.” Reinvigorated, the red thread solidifies. It glows brilliant crimson as if to say thank you.

Your eyes turn to Morpheus. His eyes are trained on your hands, watching them intently. “Black attachments are Desire’s handiwork. They’re a deviation in the plan, an interference with the love bonds between mortals. Desire will happily interfere with any attachment of mine, but they’ve been targeting my eros, pragma, and philia ties the most. As you saw.”

The Dream Lord’s clear eyes rise to yours. You can see the gears churning in his mind in the way he works his jaw, the intent with which he looks at you. “I should think that you and my sibling might collaborate at times. You do have similar functions.”

Your lips purse into a hard line. His assumption is good, one that you yourself had often thought in your early days of divinity. Before you were given a rude awakening. “I suppose you could say we walk a fine line. There have been times throughout history where we have worked together. After all, desire is often a part of love.” You pause, mulling over your next words, choosing them carefully. “But love is meant to be selfless. Something which Desire, in my personal experience, is not. They are ambitious, as well. That combination of selfishness and ambition has led to some…conflicts.” You swallow thickly, choking down a million words left unsaid.

The intensity of Morpheus’s gaze leaves you feeling like a riddle he’s trying to solve, a puzzle piece he’s studying the edges of. For the first time, it occurs to you that perhaps you are not the only one who feels they are in the presence of an enigma that needs solving. For a moment, you’re certain he’s noticed your difficulty speaking, certain he’ll inquire about all the words you didn’t say. Then, the moment fades. “I am still uncertain as to why you need my assistance with this matter.” He turns his gaze to your hands, to the red attachment that still thrums in them. “It appears you have already found a solution.”

“You make a good point. I am able to combat them. But there’s only so much I can do. Once the thread of desire has manifested, it often regains strength. I simply don’t have enough time to continually repair the bonds while also keeping up with my other attachments. Plus, as Desire grows more greedy, they create more and more ties. Look around you.” Morpheus mirrors you as you turn in a slow circle. A young couple with a white philia bond walks past you, the attachment dimming as a black thread snakes from the man to a woman across the street. Looking at the scene around you with new eyes, Desire’s dark bonds stand out starkly against the bright backdrop of your Realm, dark roots taking hold in a thriving ecosystem.

“I’ve been trying and trying. Not just recently, but for centuries. I simply can’t keep up. That’s why I came to you.” You turn to face the Dream Lord. You force yourself to display confidence, to raise your chin and hold his gaze. “I need your help.”

Dream of the Endless watches you for a long time. The sounds of the street dim to nothing in your ears, the kaleidoscope of colorful attachments blurring behind him. Again you feel the sensation that you are being read like a book, but this time you don’t fight it. You let him read you, see the determination in the set of your jaw, the earnesty in your eyes. You will him to see just how much this means. To feel it.

Finally, Morpheus raises his chin at you slightly. “Where are we to go next?” he murmurs.

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, then turn your attention to the list of names in your hand. You feel an all-encompassing warmth alight in your chest, like a fire taking spark in kindling. Your power. It calls out to the names on the papers. The colorful glows surrounding each one brighten in response. You lock eyes with the Dream Lord and smile. “Let’s get to work.”

…

Dream of the Endless had requested you give him “the full breadth of experience,” and you fully intended to give him the full breadth of experience. By the time you’d finished your coffee, you had enforced a storge attachment in a new single mother, strengthened the agape attachment in a persecuted evangelist, nurtured the pragma bonds of several young couples, and instilled philautia in an eating disorder treatment facility, to name a few. Not to mention the numerous eros and philia attachments you had fostered. You’d traveled halfway around the world, to boot. At this rate, you’d need another cup of coffee to make it through the day.

Fresh off an eros assignment in Sydney, you open your eyes to find yourself and your guest standing on a cobblestone street in Sicily. The early-autumn sun bakes the cobblestones, their warmth radiating through the soles of your shoes. Swaths of vines adorn the tall stone buildings. Before you stands a simple oak door leading into what appears to be a set of apartments. A pot of flowers overflowing with yellow and pink buds compliments the doorstep. You can sense the attachment you’re seeking within the home, feel it calling out to you.

“Oh, magnifico,” you say with a grin. You gesture for Morpheus to follow as your ethereal form slips through the door entirely.

On the other side is a narrow staircase. As you scale them, Morpheus calls after you, “I must admit, your function is more…involved than I might have presumed.” “Oh?” you call back, feigning surprise. “Did you assume I flew around sticking mortals with heart-tipped arrows all day?”

“That is not what I meant.” You chuckle quietly as you guide the two of you down the hallway at the top of the stairs. Apartment doors line either side, but your eyes are trained on the one at the end. A pause, and then, “Does everything truly come to pass as you say? The events that you dictate when you foster their attachments.”

“Yes, they do.” The two of you have reached the final door at the end of the hall. On the other side, you can feel the thread you’ve come for calling out for help. It’s a powerful call – perhaps more than one thread? You turn to Morpheus. “There are some limitations. Say your sibling Desire decides to meddle, or your sister Death calls them home before my events can transpire, for example. That will override my work. But in general, if I speak it, it will happen. Your brother, Destiny, knows the who and the what of humanity’s love connections. It’s my job to execute them, to make sure that they actually happen. I am the when, where, why, and how.” With that, you proceed through the door.

The room that you step into is quiet and dark. There is a staleness to the air, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. As you walk forward, you spot dirty dishes on the table, a sink filled with murky water, a considerable stack of mail sitting on the counter. Morpheus spots them, as well; you see his dark form straighten slightly out of the corner of your eye. Your lips tighten.

The call in your veins leads you to a bedroom at the back of the apartment. As you step inside, you peer through the shadows to find a man and woman sleeping on the bed. They are tightly intertwined, their bodies wrapped around one another like armor. Your eye catches on the man’s furrowed brow, on the woman’s red, swollen eyes. Between their hearts are not one, but four threads; red, orange, green, and white. All pale, shuddering, and weary.

You swallow thickly, heart pounding in your ears. You look at Morpheus. Cloaked in the shadows of the room, he almost blends in entirely, save for his bright blue eyes. They watch you intently.

Your hand reaches out, slipping around all four threads at once. A gentle squeeze sends a sharp spear of pain through your gut, one that nearly buckles your knees. Images flash in your mind like an old time film reel: First date– first kiss– the wedding– she was the most radiant thing he’d ever seen– longing for a family– he was her rock– the test– the joy– the blood– so much–

“Are you alright?” Your eyes spring open at Morpheus’s rumbling voice. Though he hasn’t moved, you find that there is something new in his eye, a thinly veiled wariness.

You release the attachments, and with that the pain dissipates. But not the images in your mind. They remain imprinted there, a reel stuck on replay. “Yes, I’m fine,” you say quietly. You breathe in deeply, out slowly, re-centering yourself. As the warmth within your chest hums, the threads between the young couple quiver. I’ll help you, you think solemnly.

Slowly, you reach out your hand. You pluck them one by one, like playing a harp. In response to your touch, they seem to glow and sing. “You won’t give up,” you murmur. Your fingers strum the threads a second time, savoring the hum they echo against your fingertips. “Not on yourselves, not on each other, not on this life you want to build so desperately. Each others’ arms will be your greatest comfort. Each others’ smiles will be your greatest strength. You are each others’ safe haven.” You pause. Hot tears sting your eyes, and you blink them away. “Where you go, she will go; and where you stay, he will stay. Your unconditional love will be rewarded. I believe that.”

The threads in your hand give one final hum, then relax against your fingertips. Once dull and faint, they now shine brightly, illuminating the room. You feel a shift at your side and turn to see Morpheus beside you. He gazes down at the couple silently. Though his face is impassive, something smolders in his eyes. You can’t place what burns within them, but it is undeniably present.

“I know them,” he murmurs after several quiet moments. “I have often gifted them dreams of a contented family. I recall seeing them in the Dreaming not long ago. They were to call her Sofia.” He pauses. “They dream of her, even now.”

You close your eyes slowly, feel the hot tears slip down your cheeks. Standing still in this moment where your function, where your passion, has crossed paths with that of the Endless beside you. When you open your eyes, you look back to the sleeping couple at your side. “Love isn’t always easy, or clean, or beautiful. But each love is powerful and perfect in its own way.” You swallow, outstretching your fingers to strum the threads one final time. “This is humanity, Morpheus. This is what we live to protect.”

. . .

“Do you have time for one last quick stop?”

In spite of the late hour, the Realm of Attachment is colored just as brightly as it had been this morning. The sun never sets here, the land perpetually lit by the glow of your attachments. Morpheus stands beside you on the sidewalk outside your townhome, a dark smear of ink in the midst of so much color. You turn to him, offering him a small smile. “Thank you so much for accompanying me today. I know it’s getting late and that you must return to the Dreaming. A jogger passes by my townhome every evening; she should be here any minute now. Before that, there’s just one last thing I want to show you. It’ll only take a moment.”

Morpheus peers down at you thoughtfully. The rainbow sky swirls like nebulae in his bright eyes. With a dip of his chin, he says, “Did I not request the full breadth of experience?”

Your grin widens. You beckon him to join you by Matt and Ava’s window. Peeking through the open curtains, our eyes settle on the young couple sitting in their dining room. Plates of steaming lasagna and colorful salad sit before them, all but forgotten as they laugh and talk instead. Between their hearts thrum seven strings, one of each color: Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white.

“Aren’t they amazing?” you breathe. Your eyes hang onto the love in Matt’s eyes, the joy in Ava’s smile, the vulnerability and intimacy that seems to shimmer in the space between them. They are in love. Something ancient aches in your chest at the sight, something you buried long ago. “It’s rare for two mortals to share every form of attachment with another person. Typically you’re missing one or the other. But they have themall.” You smile softly. “I’ve been with them since the beginning. I’m so proud of them.”

Though the Dream Lord says nothing, you can feel his eyes on you. Time seems to pass slowly as you stand on the sidewalk. Only the gradual loudening of quick footsteps pulls you out of your reverie.

“Ah, our ride is here.” You extend your elbow to Morpheus. He takes it without a word. As the jogger runs past, you close your eyes and reach out, fingers brushing over her arm. A cool breeze kisses your face; the light shining against the back of your eyelids dims. When you open your eyes, it’s just you and the Dream Lord on a dark street, standing under a sky full of stars.

“Well, that’s it. That’s a day in the life of Agape, Deity of Love,” you say with a shrug, stuffing your hands in your pockets. You eye Morpheus curiously, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Do you have any…questions?”

“I do, in fact. There is much I still wish to know,” he responds, voice crisp and clear in the cool evening air. He pauses, then adds, “But I presume you will have sufficient time to answer my questions at a future date, given that we will be working in tandem now.”

The autumn air seems to suspend itself around you. Your lips part ever so slightly in awe. One beat, two. You’re processing– or, rather, struggling to process what he just said. Did he just say– “Are you serious?” you ask breathlessly.

Morpheus inclines his head slightly. Is that a twinkle in his eye? Or is it the lamplight? You’re not sure. “I have come to the conclusion that a partnership between our realms may be mutually beneficial,” he says matter-of-factly. Spoken with his ancient timber, the statement feels as if it’s been etched into stone, immortalized for all eternity.

A heady, elating mixture of joy, relief, and nervous excitement washes through you. You smile, laugh, riding the emotional high in a daze. “This is incredible. Thank you so much, Morpheus. You have no idea what this means to me. Truly no idea.” You shake your head incredulously. The Deity of Love partnering with Dream of the Endless. Who might’ve guessed? “So, what’s next?” you ask.

“Next, you will observe my function in my Realm. Only after that time will we begin to work.” As the Dream Lord speaks, he tucks his arm into one side of his coat. Within the folds of fabric, you swear you catch a glimpse of a starry night sky as he pulls out a helmet with large glass eyes and a long nose. A strange sense of deja vu settles over you, and then you realize – this is the helm you saw on the Gates of Horn in the Dreaming. Morpheus places the helm on his head slowly, obscuring his blue eyes from view.

“In two days’ time, Matthew will gather you and bring you to the Dreaming,” he instructs. Through the helm, his voice sounds warped and far away. One pale hand dips into his pocket, procuring a palmful of sand. The grains seem to leap to life in his fingers, jumping, swirling, dancing, tumbling. You can already feel the winds picking up around him, forming a new vortex. You take a step back. “We shall see you soon, Love,” he rasps.

And with a tempest of sand, he’s gone.

“See you soon.”

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #morpheus #netflix the sandman #the sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #morpheus imagines #morpheus x fem!reader #dream of the endless x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #dream #the sandman fanfic #sandman fanfiction #tom sturridge

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alittlepunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) - part iii

Summary: The Dream Lord receives a lesson in love (and your reliance on caffeinated beverages).

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.9k+

part one // series masterlist

“Running like a river trying to find the ocean,

flowers in the concrete;

Climbing over fences, blooming in the shadows,

Places that you can’t see;

Combing through the melody when the night bird sings,

Love is a wild thing.”

- Love is a Wild Thing, Kacey Musgraves

. . .

Part iii.

Your eyes sting with hot tears. Please, you mouth silently. What are you supposed to do when the person you desperately want to rescue you is the one inflicting the pain?

. . .

As your mind fully returns to itself, you do register one other sound. The fluttering of pages. It sounds so close–

You sit up swiftly. Of all the things you could have possibly seen, you definitely did not expect to find your gaze settling on the face of a certain Endless.

“Were you dreaming just now?” he deflects.

The question takes you aback. You eye him carefully. “No, of course not. Deities don’t dream. I should think you would know all about that.”

“You could have just gone into my head to find out,” you point out. Though you’re glad he didn’t.

You almost laugh at that, then think better of it. Well, he has morals, at least. Shaking your head incredulously, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Dream Lord?”

. . .

“Is this your messenger or emissary?”

“Destiny,” Dream of the Endless breathes. His cool gaze settles on you. “My brother has never spoken of you before.”

“And what is next?”

You grin at him as the front door lock slides into place. “I get coffee.”

The Dream Lord’s face draws a blank. “Coffee,” he echoes back to you, clearly trying to connect the dots on how this is relevant.

“Ah, yes.” You turn to the tall, dark Endless at your side, who gazes at Cliff with interest. “This is my friend…”

“Morpheus,” the Dream Lord answers, giving the shop owner a polite nod. Not the most incongruous of names, you supposed, but it worked.

“Ah,” Cliff says, unsure of how to respond to that. “And your friend would like…?”

“You do realize that Endless and deities do not require food or drink, don’t you?” he mumbles lowly as you walk out the door.

“I am.”

The Dream Lord is silent for several more moments. Finally, he murmurs, “It is…quite spectacular.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes follow his, drinking in the colorful heavens above you. “Sometimes it feels like I’m living in a ball of rainbow yarn,” you admit, only half joking.

Finally, Morpheus raises his chin at you slightly. “Where are we to go next?” he murmurs.

…

“Oh, magnifico,” you say with a grin. You gesture for Morpheus to follow as your ethereal form slips through the door entirely.

You swallow thickly, heart pounding in your ears. You look at Morpheus. Cloaked in the shadows of the room, he almost blends in entirely, save for his bright blue eyes. They watch you intently.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes spring open at Morpheus’s rumbling voice. Though he hasn’t moved, you find that there is something new in his eye, a thinly veiled wariness.

. . .

“Do you have time for one last quick stop?”

Morpheus peers down at you thoughtfully. The rainbow sky swirls like nebulae in his bright eyes. With a dip of his chin, he says, “Did I not request the full breadth of experience?”

Though the Dream Lord says nothing, you can feel his eyes on you. Time seems to pass slowly as you stand on the sidewalk. Only the gradual loudening of quick footsteps pulls you out of your reverie.

And with a tempest of sand, he’s gone.

“See you soon.”

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus fanfiction #dream #dream x reader #dream x you #dream x fem!reader #dream of the endless #the sandman #Netflix sandman #sandman netflix #morpheus #the sandman fanfic #sandman fanfiction #sandmanweek2022

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diagonal-queen · 9 months

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thungo thursday: how the hell did we get here so fast

'dad never even came to pick me up' SAME AYA LMAOO

they really did make the right choice for bram's va. i don't remember his name but all i know is that he's a seasoned anime va, but it like REALLY fits him fr

i'll never get over how much i love this intro you guys like it's so chaotic and colourful and dark and granrodeo is so good and this song especially is so epic and kishow supremacy

OH MY GOD watching chuuya struggle to breathe is like stressing me out so much that i need to pause and take deep breaths of my own lmao

AYO WHY DOES DAZAI LOOK LIKE A CRYPTID LMAOOOO

also i'm so jealous of him being able to cup sigma's cheek while I cannot

dazai and sigma are so weird to me as a ship because most of the ships i like are '[character that is just like me] + [character who i would have a crush on if i knew them]' but i kin both dazai and sigma so it's like watching the two opposite sides of me frolick around and it's so chaotic

sigma, literally drowning: 😰😰😰😰😰 dazai, also drowning: •-•

if i had a nickel for every time dazai stood on sigma's back/shoulders while they were breaking out of prison i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

(yes i know i use that meme format a lot NO I WON'T STOP)

WET CAT SIGMA (and no i didn't replay the sounds of him gasping for air, why on earth would you think that)

we have both now <3333333333 thumbs up dazai best dazai

imagine someone asks atsushi how he knew to do things or how he had the mind to move forward and he replies 'the voices' but like he's deadly serious and it actually was the voices

wait dazai literally did that to sigma in prison didn't he shfkjhdhgjkhsk

wait so in the manga sigma can read russian, but in the anime he can't? is bones actively bimbo-ifying characters??? how are we letting this slide

akutagawa doing some goku type shit is the funniest thing ever bro actually said 'SHIAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH'

bones you don't need to remind us all about how much you fucked up akutagawa's death scene ok. his dub va literally predicted that his death would be done poorly and he was RIGHT ABOUT IT

(who would win. gonta and monokuma vs dazai and akutagawa)

if dazai's got a broken leg and losing blood very quickly then why is he grunting and moaning like that huh what's that all about

YEAH GET FUCKED FYODOR LMAOOOOOOOOOOOO

fyodor: because of dazai you realised something about yourself sigma...[describes me, dia, in disturbingly accurate detail]

i'm sorry but the gay agenda has warped me into viewing a man putting a gun to the head of a man on his knees not as a serious and threatening crime but as foreplay. this is what the gays are doing to today's youth. way cup america

brams life must suck. imagine life exactly the same except you can't frolick in the sun, smell roses, wear silver jewellery, finger gun yourself in the mirror or eat garlic bread. also the 'lacking a body and personal autonomy' thing but who needs those amirite

OH MY GOD THE GIRL **WAS** BRAM'S DAUGHTER!!!!! IT WAS HIS KID THE WHOLE TIME!!!!! YOU GUYS OH MY GOD/??????!!??!!???!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i don't even feel bad for laughing when fyodor started having his mental breakdown like bro what is that face. is this what nikolai sees every night??? man no wonder he went insane

tfw they fisheye atsushi from afar while he's being stabbed in his vitals

i hope they have a stash of strepsils for atsushi's va in the recording studio

BRO WHY IS FYODOR MOANING TF

yknow that episode when teruko aged tachihara down to a child and he looked rounder and stuff? thats fyodor right now

no but actually imagine being pulled so hard that your leg and arm come off OUCHIES what is it with people and taking atsushi's body parts and like stroking them or whatever. if it were me, the only body part of atsushi's i'd be stroking is his di

fyodor you're a great character but i can't help but notice that you just stabbed my husband and then kicked him in the face. unfortunately you have no choice but for me to ruthlessly kill you dead

so much is happening rn i feel bad for the anime onlys who have to process all this shit within one episode whereas we got several chapters to soak it into our skull sponges

yeah, me too sigma. me too

LMAO DAZAI CALLED CHUUYA A BITCH????? THEY LITERALLY BICKER EVERY TIME THEY INTERACT WHY IS THIS PARTICULAR THING SO FUNNY TO ME

maybe its just cus like 'bitch' is a funny word especially. they can call each other 'ass' and 'bastard' and 'dick' all they want but nothing tops a good 'bitch!!'

hold on bones no. NO. you can't do that. dazai was shot once in the head by chuuya, then he smiles and laments before the scene ends and it's left ambiguous if he dies or not. YOU CAN'T JUST HAVE CHUUYA USING HIS CORPSE AS TARGET PRACTICE

asagiri: i wonder how i should design one order flowey from undertale: asagiri: amazing. brilliant. this will be perfect

well, fuck. im terrified for next week!!

#thungo thursday #i miss gogol i want him to save the world #OR I WANT Q TO COME BACK AND THEY DO IT #OR I WANT THE GANG FROM THAT ONE CHAPTER (MUSHITARO LOVECRAFT KATAI AND KAJII) TO COME BACK AND DO IT THAT WOULD BE THE GREATEST THING EVER #i just need this story to have a happy ending thats all i want for them please asagiri dont

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floof-ghostie · 2 years

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If I had a nickel for every time I consumed a series involving a neurodivergent 14 year old with crazy supernatural powers, a sibling(s) that they love with all their heart, good friends with more than one blond, (who they are shipped with) had an unrequited crush on someone with black hair (but are over it now), a friend with an interest in the occult (despite not having powers themself), have pretty much been through hell in their own series, AND have their character arc be surrounded by the idea that we need human bonds, then I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's kinda neat that it happened twice.

ID [A pencil drawing of Nico di Angelo (Pjo) and Shigeo Kageyama (Mp100) talking to one another about the people in their lives.

Nico is on the right, wearing a striped sweater. He has long, messy black hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a beauty mark under his eye. He is surrounded by speech bubbles of chibi versions of his friends and family (Bianca, Hazel, Percy, Will, Reyna, Annabeth, Jason, Rachel, Apollo).

Mob is on the left, and is wearing a hoodie. He is also surrounded by speech bubbles with chibi versions of his friends (Reigen, Ritsu, Teru, Shou, Tome, Serizawa, Tsubomi, and Dimple.]

#pjo #heroes of olympus #toa #nico di angelo #mob psycho 100 #shigeo kageyama #floof's art

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banditomojado · 11 months

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Had an idea a while back to write a piece using the titles of songs I love. This is the end result:

The Playlist

Sitting on the mercy seat, writing the perfect sonnet.

The ideal husband, his lies shine bright like a comet.

Nine crimes spread out like a flower.

The agony burns a pitch black power.

An attempt to tip the scales failed,

And angels fell from the moon and got impailed,

On the razor sharp sins of us animals.

A wink and a smirk from the undercover cannibal.

At the bottom of everything, his ruthlessness is understandable,

But his redemption is quite laughable.

So catch me on the bad dream hotline

Whispering sweet nothings so sublime.

For a nickel or a dime, come waste your time.

I'll sing you to sleep, kind boy,

At the center of my void.

My sweet prince, brushed in red and living in black and white.

A love not so bulletproof, it gave out in the dead of night.

He has blue eyes like the devils water,

And black lipstick he stole from his daughter.

What shame, he could have saved himself.

But he buried himself alive by his bookshelf,

While the calander hung itself; All out of time.

Stuck between life and death, no reason or rhyme.

Cross out the eyes of the once and future poet.

Dance and weep for all the time stolen.

Hold the devil nice and tight.

Demons with halos waltzing through the night, a scary sight

I mean, what is adulthood if not disenchantment?

A careful dissection of all ten commandments.

"Do you feel real?" Asks the lonely dreamer

As long as I'm drowning in this dreamlike fever

Best believe I'm a believer.

Fake plastic trees decorate the lawn of the pastor.

The four winds rip them apart in defiance of his master.

He's a hipster charlatan!

"Let him burn!" screamed the faithful artisans

All while the golden prophet makes herself known

And the guilty conscience of all weak men is shown

A handsome stranger called death is summoned to collect our meager breaths.

And not a moment too soon.

Hate me and haunt me under this blue moon.

Heaven knows I'm miserable now.

I know it's over, so go ahead and take a bow.

In every dream home, a heart aches.

In all the smoke blown, a lung breaks.

In all the hate shown, the earth shakes.

In all the love sown, the sun wakes.

"Isn't life beautiful?" Says the lover I don't have to love.

The movement of the hand crushes the white dove.

No voy a llorar, i swear to god

Out running karma, what a facade

A paradise lost, a to-do-list uncrossed

But your lips, sweet like passionfruit

Save me from the wicked roots

Of internalized misogyny and poetic tragedy

Politics and violence and soul crushing apathy.

They say pretty girls put boys in cemetery's

Save that shit, womanhood isn't predatory.

They are divine, sweet wine from the vine

Skin and bones and superior by design.

But now I'm slow dancing in the dark

Star shopping by myself in the park.

Looking for a strange encounter.

One last night of being a fucking debbie downer.

So I'll walk away as the door slams.

"Why do I wonder why?" says the poor man.

#bandito's poetry #poem #music #playlist #art #artists on tumblr

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erriga · 1 year

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If I had a nickle for every time I decided to gift a giant, handmade, glow-in-the-dark Bill Cipher plush as a birthday gift to a girl I used to have a crush on but no longer do, I would have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's still weird that it happened twice

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chocosvt · 3 years

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love café

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t believe he was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To a degree, you were correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, you needed access to a computer.

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

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

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

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

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

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

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tired. Aching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

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

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

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

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

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

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

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a big deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah.”

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

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

“The Shower what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twelve am.

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

However, tonight was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The red velvet cake?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

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

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

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

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

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

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

“Later!” He’d called.

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

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

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

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

Joshua bumped your elbow.

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

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

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Just shush up and try this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

“… What?”

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

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

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

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

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

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

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

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

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

You looked at your alarm clock.

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

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

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

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

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

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

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

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