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loviestyless · 5 months

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Bloodied Shadows*

summary: when harry is looking for inspiration for his next novel, he stumbles across a house with a sinister past and well, you know what they say - curiosity killed the cat.

inspired by american horror story’s murder house

warnings: themes of horror, blood, violence, murder, smut: mxm pairing, choking, hand job, sub!harry

i wrote this for halloween last year and really loved writing something darker than i usually do so felt like sharing it here too. Hope you enjoy!

The misty moors of the English countryside rolled past the window in an endless sea of autumnal browns against the dark grey sky looming above. A distant chill clawed against the taxi window, threatening to clasp its grip around the curious man watching the world go by. There was not a single soul around except for the silent man in the driver's seat - the promise of solitude growing ever closer the further out of town they ventured.

A deep sigh breathed past Harry's lips as he ran his ringed fingers through his unruly curls, phone pressed against his ear as he reluctantly listened to his manager reminding him of the clauses in the contract he'd signed last year.

"We agreed you'll have the first draft on my desk by the end of this month and you've decided to take a little trip out of town?" Keith's unimpressed voice filtered through the phone, causing Harry to roll his eyes. "You don't have time for dirty weekends away with your girlfriend, Harry."

The man forced himself to bite back the scoff threatening to rumble from the back of his throat at his manager's words, knowing it would do nothing to get him back in Keith's good graces. Glancing at the empty seat next to him, Harry forced himself to find the humour in his manager's assumption to avoid the overwhelming stress of knocking out the first few chapters of his novel overnight. If Keith had bothered to check his emails, he would have known Harry was using this escape to the countryside to search for inspiration. It was purely work related and he was fairly confident that by the end of the night, he'd have a solid plan to break through this current bout of writer's block.

"I promise, first thing tomorrow morning the draft will be in your inbox." He grumbled; his tone almost bored as Keith continued to rattle on without even acknowledging what Harry had said.

"If you needed extra time, you should have told me sooner. Maybe then I could've negotiated something with your publisher. I can't work miracles, Harry. This only works if you communicate-"

A dull tone cut off Keith in the middle of his lecture and with a quick glance at his screen, Harry quickly discovered there was no longer any signal.

Outside, the stretches of rolling fields had changed into one singular stretch of road surrounded by the confinement of a never-ending line of decayed trees shedding their orange leaves. Harry supposed it was a blessing being so isolated from the outside world, he could focus on meeting his deadline without the constant distraction of his phone ringing every five minutes.

The screeching of the car's brakes caught the writer's attention as they slowed to a complete stop in the middle of nowhere. A frown creased his brows as he peered out the window at the stretch of misty grey land outside, wondering what had caused such an unexpected stop in their journey. The google maps tab open on Harry's phone said he was still ten minutes from his intended destination.

"This is where the road ends, you'll have to go the rest of the way by foot."

"Y'know, this is like every stereotype in every horror movie ever made, right?" Harry scoffed rudely, folding his arms across his chest as he threw the driver an unimpressed stare in the rear-view mirror. He'd heard the rumours about where he was going but they were so ridiculous he didn't expect anyone to actually believe them. "Let me guess, you're about to warn me I'm in grave danger and it's not too late to turn back."

"Selly House is no joke, mate. Every unsolved murder in the area has been linked to that place, nobody that goes in comes out alive." The driver warned, genuine fear present in his gaze as he took in the scepticism lacing Harry's features.

"Yeah whatever." The writer sighed, knowing there was no use trying to argue. He'd seen enough horror films to know he'd end up flat on his ass in the middle of the road with his bags at his feet while the driver sped off in the opposite direction as fast as he could. "How much do I owe you?"

Minutes later, Harry was pulling his puffer jacket tighter around his body as the cold threatened to steal the air right from his lungs while he continued to sort out his bags the driver had dumped on the floor. The rumble of an engine speeding away echoed in the distance, mingling with the sharp cries of the crows flying overhead. If Harry was the type to read into things, he would be unnerved by the lack of civilization around him, but luckily this was the exact kind of solitude he was seeking for his novel.

Already his mind was running havoc with ideas simply from his surroundings, and his shoulders loosened with relief as he felt ready to start writing. Weeks of staring at an empty notebook had left him drained, pushing him further into a slump that had him convinced his whole career was a mistake - that the success of his previous novel had been a fluke.

But the fresh air biting at his skin, causing his cheeks to flush pink, snapped him back into reality. Made his creativity come alive again. And this was before he'd even stepped a foot past the threshold of the infamous murder house that lay dormant a couple of miles down the road.

When researching potential places that could inspire a dark storyline for his latest thriller, Selly House had popped up on Google too many times for the writer to ignore. Spending an entire evening delving into the history of the house led Harry down a path seeped in murder, unsolved crimes and mysterious disappearances. Centuries of ghost stories, rumours of shadows dancing in the dark and whispers of temptation drawing unsuspecting guests through the doors lit the flame of curiosity in Harry's mind.

He had never believed in ghosts, ghouls and so-called unexplainable events. Horror movies were predictable and Halloween was just another excuse for retail companies to make a shit tonne of money. It was an ironic mindset for someone who had spent the past year making money off writing a chilling horror novel but it was something he was good at even if he felt it was all a bunch of nonsense. Anything to pay the bills...

Naturally, once the writer had heard the stories, read the newspaper reports, he was intrigued. He needed to know what elements of this house sparked such fear in the local community and made it so famous. Once he discovered the roots of these childish ghost tales that haunted the town of Selly, Harry had the perfect setting for his own novel.

And what better time to get a feel of the place than Halloween night.

His plan was fool proof. Nobody dared go within five miles of the house so he would be able to sneak in undetected, nose about the decrepit ruins for a bit before settling down by the dim light of his torch to spend all night completing a draft of the first few chapters. It would be silent and he could finally get some work done without his phone constantly ringing, demanding his attention.

Heaving his backpack over his shoulder, Harry let out a quiet sigh as he began trudging his way down the road in the direction google maps pointed him. He scoffed to himself as he noticed the road he was currently on led directly up to the driveway of the house with no sign of it abruptly ending like the driver had implied.

Not a single soul was around, all that accompanied Harry on his walk were the echoes of his own footsteps and the crows squawking up above, seemingly following him in his journey. Misty rain was suddenly upon the man, dampening his curls and making him pull the hood of his jumper over his head to protect himself from the weather.

"Fucking English weather." He grumbled to himself, wiping his phone screen against his jeans in an attempt to clear the little drops of water making it difficult to see the map.

Bringing it back out in front of him, the screen was completely black. Tapping it gently, the writer hoped to wake it back up again but was left staring at his own reflection on the blank screen. Rolling his eyes, he tried pressing the side button but had no success.

If he hadn't had a full battery upon stepping out the taxi, he would've assumed his phone was just dead. But there was nothing to explain why it had suddenly stopped working.

Cursing to himself he angrily shoved the useless device back into his coat pocket, hoping he'd be able to fix it once he got to his destination. However, in his own arrogance when looking into the house, he'd failed to note the accounts of all modern technology suddenly rendered useless around the house.

With nothing but his own company, Harry began to hum to himself, hoping to pass the boring walk a little quicker. The shadow of a tall, gothic building loomed prominent against the deep grey sky, serving as a guide for Harry to follow. Even from a distance it wasn't hard to recognise what struck such fear among those in the area.

Despite spending almost half a century abandoned, Selly House looked just as new as it had the day the building had been completed. There were no signs of disrepair, no overgrown ivy snaking up the stone walls and the front gardens were all properly cared for. The sight alone made Harry stop dead in his tracks, confusion knitting his brows together as he muttered his thoughts under his breath.

Surely this was the right place?

Glancing behind him briefly, the man tried to gauge his surroundings. It made no sense.

There was not a single soul that would dare enter the grounds of Selly House, not since the gruesome murder-suicide that had taken place fifty years ago on this exact date. After decades of murders and disappearances linked to those who lived in the house, the deaths of Ethel and Rowan Montague had shaken the community so deeply that the town council had agreed to never let the house be put back up for sale again.

In that time, you would expect the outside to at least appear a little weathered, especially with the number of storms this part of the countryside faced.

A crow squawked above, feathers fluttering as it swooped close enough to Harry to make him flinch before landing atop the iron gates. Its yellow eyes stared at him, unmoving as if waiting for Harry to take another step forward. Daring him to enter the grounds.

The writer shook his head, snickering to himself slightly at how cliche this all seemed and the fact he had for a split second briefly entertained the idea of turning back around.

He was getting too inside his head about this, it was a house that had an infamous past - of course it was going to be a little unnerving. But he knew that when planning this trip. He wasn't coming for a relaxing weekend away; he was coming to be scared. For the house to prove itself to him so could use that material for his own personal gain.

Suck it up, buttercup.

Taking a deep breath in, Harry willed himself forward, up to the gates and over threshold. He almost laughed when nothing happened, no voices emerged from the shadows, no brutal murderers ran at him with a bloody axe. He was fucking fine. In fact, he was almost bored by the lack of excitement.

All those stories warning him not to come here, all those tales of gruesome incidents and the only demon to greet him was his own imagination running away with him. Kind of pathetic when you think about it.

Now that he stood in the middle of the driveway, Harry could properly take in the details of his surroundings.

The front garden itself was split between both sides of the cobbled driveway leading directly to the house. A fresh lawn on either side carried tiny droplets of dew from the unpleasant weather, lined by borders of neatly trimmed back hedges going slightly orange with the changing seasons. It was simple but upheld the elegance of the plot of land - emphasised by the grandeur of the house looming like a shadow in the dark. The exterior looked like it had stepped straight out of a Victorian gothic novel with pointed arch windows, a steeply pitched roof and made from dark grey stone. If someone would have told Harry this was the place Dracula had lived, he would have believed them.

Harry's mind had become a wildfire of inspiration, sparked alight by the hundreds of avenues that he could take his novel. Any inkling of doubt Harry had about this place had evaporated into thin air, leaving a level of curious excitement in its wake.

Wasting no time, Harry hurried up the stretching driveway, his eyes flitting about the expanse of land in a desperate attempt to commit every tiny detail to memory. That was until he was struck speechless by the line of stone statues guarding the front of the house - seven gothic angels, their bodies and facial features contorted in various states of pain, each one more severe than the last as if depicting a story. Or perhaps serving as a warning. A warning of what might happen if one dared to venture further.

Whatever the meaning, Harry was captivated. They were the only parts of the house that appeared to age with speckles of moss clinging to the podiums and chipped elements only seeming to add to the decay each angel held within themselves.

The wooden porch creaked under Harry's step as he approached the front doors and he was just about to turn the doorknob to enter when he became aware of a weird cracking sound echoing in the still silence smothering the surrounding land. Clearing his throat, Harry slowly turned to look behind him with a frown. His heart skipped a beat as he was suddenly faced with all seven angels staring directly at him, their tortured expressions now directed in his direction as if he was the one inflicting such suffering upon them.

They hadn't been looking this way before. Harry knew that for certain. The writer swallowed thickly as he willed his racing heart to calm down. It was just an overused trick he'd seen in horror movies - similar to those paintings with eyes that seemed to follow you across the room. His creative mind was running away with him, that's all.

Suck it up, buttercup. Just a little closer...

"You must be losing your damn mind." He muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly in disbelief that he was allowing himself to grow so unsettled when he didn't believe in the supernatural. It was all bullshit, he had allowed the rumours of the house to run rampant in his mind, causing logic to get entangled with fictional fantasies. "Get a hold of yourself."

Rusted hinges creaked loudly as Harry finally pushed the oak front door open, the stale, musky scent of the house hit him almost immediately and made him cough a little as it caught him by surprise. Even though the house hadn't fallen into disrepair in the decades it had remained empty, the entire place felt as if it was frozen in time with the interior design steeped in grand decor of the early nineteen-hundreds.

Harry couldn't help but gape in awe at what surrounded him: velvet wallpaper, crystal chandeliers, golden trims and polished mahogany floors. It was as if he had stepped onto the set of a costume drama and he could feel himself growing impatient to start exploring. Judging by the size of the place, he could easily spend all night nosing about the numerous rooms instead of writing but he couldn't allow himself to forget the reason he came here.

Darkness had closed in around the house by the time Harry had finished searching for inspiration around the house and was feeling more than ready to churn out a couple of chapters. However, he was a little disappointed he had found nothing out of the ordinary in his search. No headless bodies in the kitchen, no ghosts creeping down the hallways, no bloody handprints smeared along the windows. All there had been half melted candles, family paintings, children's toys and moth-eaten clothes.

It had been a little disappointing but Harry had expected it. He knew the stories were made up, exaggerated over time to scare kids at night to stop them from getting too curious.

But at least his brain was almost bursting with new story ideas.

It had been an hour since he'd set up camp in the old library upstairs with his camping lantern as the only source of light in the gloomy room. The desk had a thick layer of dust covering it but it didn't bother Harry, it only served to create a more gothic atmosphere surrounded by all the shelves of leather-bound books as he frantically scribbled his thoughts down on paper.

Time seemed to pass differently in the house, slipping out of Harry's grasp before he knew it as he allowed himself to be entirely consumed by his work. Every glance at his watch would give him a different time, sometimes ten minutes would have passed since he'd last looked, other times it would have been hours. The only constant he knew was the night sky barely visible through the fogged-up library window.

The glass panels rattled slightly as the wind picked up outside, whistling through the slight gaps in the window panes. With the weather picking up, Harry knew to expect some strange noises to echo about the place as it was expected for things to go bump in older houses such as this one.

What he didn't expect was for the simultaneous slamming of all the upstairs doors to shake the house the way it did, causing him to jump out of his skin and make his heart start pounding in his chest. Dropping his pen in the desk, Harry's head whipped around to look behind him, his hands shaking slightly as adrenaline started to course through his bloodstream.

A small draught flowing through the house couldn't have made such a noise. But Harry refused to let it rattle his nerves. He knew there was a reasonable explanation for everything and it was possible there could be undiscovered disrepair where the wind was entering from.

Another rumble reverberated deep within one of the bedrooms and Harry couldn't ignore the voice in the back of his mind calling for him to check it out. It sounded like something had fallen over and the last thing he wanted was to be blamed for wrecking the place when he'd been minding his own business the whole night.

His legs felt heavy as he hoisted himself out of the library chair, clutching his lantern in his clammy hand as he forced every step forward and out of the room. Heavy, anxious breaths rattled in his chest as he gave in to the fear stroking its claws at his brain, a rising nausea settling as an uncomfortable lump in the back of his throat.

The hallway was steeped in shadows crawling through every crack and crevice waiting to pounce on Harry when he least expected it. The little light from his lantern did little to protect him from the monsters lurking around every corner, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Floorboards creaked underfoot as he peeked down the hallway, making Harry shut his eyes briefly to steady his nerves. His chest rose and fell as he made a conscious effort to slow his breathing, a hand placed lightly over his chest to feel when his heartbeat had slowed back to normal. Everything was fine and just as he'd last seen it. All that had changed were the bedroom doors were now closed.

He was still alone. Alone...

He was fine. He was safe. And he was alone.

Any resolve he'd managed to tackle over his emotions went flying out the back of his mind the moment his eyes fluttered back open only to be met with his own green orbs staring back at him from the other end of the dark hallway. But they weren't his. They were an exact copy, darkened with something Harry couldn't quite put his finger on.

A sinister smirk glinted in the limited flecks of light reaching that far, making a chill run-down Harry's spine. Shadows obscured the figure's face but Harry had looked in the mirror enough times over the years to recognise his reflection when he saw it.

What the fuck was going on?

All logic flew out the window as he moved on his own accord, his brain barely processing the movement before Harry was running towards himself - desperate for answers. But his double seemed to predict every move a second before Harry reacted, gliding towards the master bedroom and vanishing into thin air before the writer could catch him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Harry yelled in fear, his words trembling as he frantically threw open the bedroom door after the mysterious figure. Beams of light spilled into the room, illuminating a path for Harry to search for answers. His chest was heaving once more, as the man was on the verge of hyperventilating. "W-what do you want?"

Raising the lantern in his hand, Harry searched high and low in every single corner possible for any sign that what he had just seen was real.

Look at the little lamb, all lost and scared of the dark.

Let me comfort you, come to me buttercup. Let me save you.

Coming up short for an explanation, Harry was left with no choice but to return to the library - notably more shaken than when he'd left.

Goosebumps had risen against his inked skin now that he had been set permanently on edge, his tired mind allowing him to fall into the trap of believing the superstitions every logical part of him fought to disprove. But he had seen himself. He had seen himself walking away and disappearing through a closed door. It wasn't a reflection, there were no mirrors except from in the bathroom.

Wind howled menacingly on outside, whipping the onslaught of rain against the glass window panes. Thick drips leaked through the gaps, soaking into the wallpaper as it streamed down the walls and began to pool on the mahogany desk below. With every passing second, the puddle continued to grow and Harry cursed under his breath as he hurried to salvage the hours of work scribbled on the pages.

Trembling hands scooped up the sodden pages, beams of light fading slightly as the lantern toppled to his feet. It was impossible to see what he was doing as the shadows creeped closer, scraping their talons impatiently along the walls as they waited for their chance to engulf the man at his most vulnerable.

Harry's hands had become soaked with the thick liquid as he struggled to save his things before they were ruined, small drips falling from a crack in the ceiling and sliding down his face from where it landed in his messy curls. A horrid metallic stench suddenly flooded Harry's senses, his nose wrinkling in disgust as it suddenly dawned on him that something wasn't quite right.

Rain water didn't ooze from crevices the way this was and it certainly didn't reek of stale death that made you nauseous. Papers fluttered to the ground as Harry allowed them to slide from his grip, raising his palms in front of his face to confirm what he already suspected.

Crimson blood tainted his pale skin, smeared along his wrists and stained his cheeks as it clung to him like a disease. His stomach lurched as he remained rooted to the spot in horror, more blood pouring in through the ceiling faster than ever. Drenched in blood, Harry could no longer deny that this house wasn't normal - all logical reasoning was disproven before the thoughts even entered his mind. Intense nausea forced him to snap into action, dashing through the long hallway towards the direction of the upstairs bathroom.

Crashing through the door, Harry flung himself to the sink. His shoulders heaved forwards as his body worked to get rid of the contents of his stomach. Blood smeared against the pale porcelain as he gripped the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. Sweat clung to his forehead as shaky breaths rattled his lungs, petrified sobs echoing about the bathroom as Harry felt himself descend into madness.

His eyes flitted up to the cracked mirror, hoping to convince himself that this was all in his head. That somehow this was just one big nightmare and he wasn't here soaked in stranger's blood that rained down from cracks in the roof.

But what he saw was so much worse, rattling him to his very core.

Alongside his own pale features staring back at him, another form approached from the shadows from behind.

A muffled yelp escaped his lips as he whipped around to face the shadow smirking at his fear with amusement. The form stalked closer like a cat watching its prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce and feed from his emotions without a single remorse.

Trapped in place, Harry could feel the edge of the sink digging uncomfortably against his back as tried to keep his distance. Wary eyes never left the figure as it stepped into the beam of moonlight streaming through the tiny window, transforming the menacing shadow into one of the most attractive men Harry had ever seen.

Brown eyes, broad shoulders and slicked back hair stole the breath from Harry's lungs.

"Shhhh...don't fret, buttercup." A silky-smooth voice breezed through the air, making Harry's heart skip a beat as he got wrapped up in the sexual haze wrapping around him. He greeted it willingly, a sense of familiarity within this situation calmed his racing heart and a warm blur fizzled in his mind - making him forget of all the fear the night had instilled deep inside himself. "I'm here now."

Entranced in the man's beauty, Harry's legs moved of their own accord and carried him into the light - close enough for the nameless beauty to brush his index finger over his blood-stained cheek. Brown eyes met green and Harry tumbled willingly into the stranger's spell.

Only, this wasn't a stranger. No, Harry knew this man, had felt this man's passions before. His heart leaped in his chest as a sense of deja vu washed over him like a cool wave on a summer's evening, lips curling upwards as he greeted a long-lost lover.

"Rowan." He whispered into the small space between them, his voice wavering with emotion as he leaned into the man's delicate touch.

"I missed the sound of my name from those pretty lips." Rowan breathed out a chuckle, wasting no time in pressing his lips against Harry's with such passion that he had to grip Harry's waist to keep him from staggering backwards. Hot, frenzied kisses were exchanged, breaths shared and soft moans filled the air as Harry's hands found their way to Rowan's hair, smearing thick blood through the strands as he tugged harshly.

Their bodies were flushed together in a matter of seconds, Rowan's strong form walking Harry backwards so he was pressed against the bathroom counter once more. This time, however, there was not a single inkling of fear present in Harry's mind - completely overshadowed by the whirlwind of lust controlling his every action.

The kiss grew more frenzied, more desperate as Rowan asserted his dominance over his lover with Harry willing to do anything if it meant eliciting more of those delicious moans from the man towering above him. Adventurous hands explored the man's broad shoulders, venturing south to trail down the expanse of Rowan's toned torso over the soft material of his silk shirt.

Harry could feel the amused smirk against the skin of his neck as Rowan's sloppy kisses made his breath catch in the back of his throat, their blown pupils meeting briefly in a shared glance - a silent question of consent present in the slight twitch in Rowan's brows.

"Is this real?" Harry was breathless, fighting through the pleasure lingering in his bloodstream as Rowan's intoxicating presence loosened its grip around his heart a little. Peering up at the man through his lashes had Rowan rolling his head back with a stifled groan.

"You tell me, buttercup." His voice was thick with lust, causing a wave of arousal to rush straight to Harry's cock, half hard in his trousers and begging for attention. "Does this feel real?"

Before Harry knew it, Rowan was pushing his hips roughly against his own so he could feel his bulge, ready and waiting to pleasure him once he was given the green light. A low moan sounded from deep within Harry's chest, the feeling of Rowan's hardness rubbing against his own made his head swim in the most delightful way.

"Y-yes." He panted, flopping his head forward to lean against Rowan's toned chest.

"Then don't overthink it." Rowan purred in Harry's ear, strong hands gripping the side of his hips as he took control again. "Turn around, hands on the counter."

His waist bumped against the porcelain sink as Rowan roughly spun him into the position he wanted, tightly fisting his curls in one hand and yanking them so Harry had no choice but to stare at his reflection in the mirror.

He looked utterly wrecked already and he had barely been touched, crimson blood smeared across his face, lips swollen and pupils blown as he met Rowan's intense stare in their reflection. His lips were painted red from the dark blood that had been transferred from their heated kiss but the blood only turned Harry on more. It promised all the mess and dirty passion he was craving.

Rowan's bloodstained hands slowly snaked their way around Harry's neck, his darkened gaze lapping up every subtle flicker of emotion across Harry's face.

"You gonna let me touch you now?"

Harry's eyes fluttered shut momentarily as he nodded eagerly, a low chuckle from behind making his hips buck against the counter in search of some kind of release. Warm hands cupped his arousal through the material of his trousers, applying just enough pressure to make his head spin.

"Words, buttercup." Rowan's words slipped from his tongue, filled with such lust that Harry couldn't help but let out a quiet moan. His green eyes locked onto the reflection of Rowan's fingers toying with the zipper of his trousers, a devilish smirk across his lips as he purposely took his time to tease Harry.

"Please...fuck me, Rowan." He whined, his palm sliding over Rowan's pleading him to do anything to burst the building bubble of lust that was making him feel crazy. To touch him, to kiss him. To just fucking pleasure him.

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he continued to get worked up, his body falling against Rowan's strong body as his hips worked on their own accord, circling with Rowan's gentle teasing to work out some of the tension rolling through his body. Quiet gasps and frantic whimpers filled the air like music to Rowan's ears as he watched Harry grow frustrated at his failed attempts to pleasure himself against his hand.

"What's wrong, puppy?" He taunted, blood red lips pouting against Harry's ear as his sinister stare taunted the man through the mirror. "Pants a little tight?"

"P-please, I'll be good." Harry's words were breathy and light as he grew lightheaded under Rowan's intense stare. The red blood smeared all over his body from where he was pressed up tightly against Harry's writhing body only emphasised his devilish act, turning Harry on to no end as his mind played over a dozen different ways this night might end. "I'll be a good boy for you."

Danger loomed somewhere distant in the back of his mind but it did nothing to scare him. It only made him hornier, more desperate to feel Rowan exert his claim over his body however he wanted.

The bloodied grasp on his neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to add to the intense level of pleasure stole all of Harry's attention. His blown pupils couldn't focus on anything else.

"What do you need me to do, pup? Tell me."

"Anything! Please, just touch me. I need it, I need you!" Close to tears, Harry's eyes fell shut as his head began to swim, too many sensations flowing through his bloodstream to even blurt out exactly what he needed. He'd take anything at this point as long as he got to cum soon. "I'm being good for you, please!"

The only response was Rowan tugging at Harry's curls to snap his attention back to the mirror, a pointed look warning him to do exactly as he was told in order to earn what he was begging for.

"Eyes on me, pup or I stop. Got it?" He purred seductively, wasting no time in finally unzipping Harry's trousers and pulling his hard length out, a bead of precum collecting at the tip in anticipation of Rowan's full attention.

But just as Harry thought he finally thought he was going to finally touch him; Rowan brought his hand up to his lips.

"Spit." He demanded, and Harry obeyed without a single hesitation. "Good boy."

His cock twitched at the praise, instant relief enveloping him as Rowan finally wrapped his hand around Harry's arousal, slowly stroking his length with calculated movements. Pure bliss overtook Harry's features, his brows tugged together in pleasure as his lips parted to let out a loud moan.

"F-fuck." He groaned, his hips thrusting upwards to aid Rowan in his actions, his hands gripping Rowan's hair in a silent plea for him to continue kissing along his jawline. "More."

Rowan didn't have to be told twice, his tongue licking a stripe along the sharp edge of Harry's jawline, savouring the sweet metallic taste of the blood tainting his flushed skin. The muscles in his arm rippled under the flowy material of his shirt as he continued to tug at Harry's length, flicking his wrist ever so slightly to make sure he smeared the blurts of precum along the tip.

Waves of pleasure ebbed and flowed through Harry's entire body, making his legs grow weak enough that Rowan's strong body had to shift slightly in order to keep him standing upright. Heaving chest and sweaty curls, blood began to slide down Harry's forehead again as he felt himself rapidly reaching the edge already.

The grip against his neck tightened even more to the point Harry expected to have bruises where Rowan's fingers dug into his skin but he didn't care. It made his head grow even lighter, pleasure swimming through his brain and made every sensation he felt in the pit of his stomach intensify by the second.

Harder and harder Rowan's hand clamped the tender flesh, restricting the air that tried to enter his lungs. Harry watched as the man's eyes grew impossibly darker, something switching in his demeanour slightly that had his guard flying up. Something was wrong.

His chest felt heavy as he struggled for breath, eyes widening in fear as he noticed Rowan's other hand was no longer pleasing him, instead moving at a rapid speed to lock his arm where he was grabbing at his throat. The muscles in his biceps locked tighter than his hand was able to and cut off the air Harry desperately tried to suck into his lungs.

Panic overloaded his brain where pleasure once blurred his judgement. Adrenaline made his heart race, something that only seemed to urge Rowan on.

"Your heartbeat sings for me, buttercup. Isn't it beautiful?" He whispered darkly, tightening his iron grip even more as Harry's hands clawed desperately for some kind of relief.

Eyes wide and body jolting with fear, frenzied attempts to escape only made Rowan chuckle. His vision began to grow blurry as his brain was deprived of oxygen, tired eyes struggling to stay focused on the reflection of Rowan's sinister shadow overpowering. Any attempt in escaping, he realised, was pointless.

This man wasn't human, he had known that the moment he'd fallen for his intoxicating spell. He'd walked blindly into the trap set out for him since he'd entered the house hours ago. He was going to die here. His name would be added to the long list of victims Selly House had claimed as its own, his own arrogance being the cause of his downfall.

Shhh..buttercup, don't be scared. It's time to return home.

His limbs went still as the darkness creeped in around him, the last few seconds of consciousness slipping from his grasp faster than he could fight back. Before he knew it black consumed him and he gave himself over to Rowan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A cold breeze whipped around Harry as he stood in the middle of the road, the silence of the woods around him providing the peace he needed to collect his thoughts. The decaying petals of old flower arrangements fluttered away, joining the swirls of orange leaves scattered across the floor.

Sad eyes stared at the dead flowers - old memories from loved ones that had moved on with their lives while he remained eternally trapped on the other side, just out of their reach. His mother's handwriting stood prominent on the letter attached to the freshest bouquet, one that appeared at this spot every year to mark the anniversary of her son's passing.

Harry read her heartfelt words over in his mind, clinging on to her hope that he was in a better place.

"I thought I'd find you out here." A gentle voice approached cautiously, making Harry turn to greet his lover with a smile. Rowan stood behind him, brown eyes mirroring Harry's sorrow as he understood the pain flowing through his heart. It had been fifty years since his own passing but it never got easier watching someone like Harry come to terms with their own death - especially one that was so brutal.

Even now, Rowan couldn't look Ethel in the eye. Her jealous rage in seeing her husband fall in love with the innocent man who had stumbled upon the house had triggered a psychotic rage within her. She'd spent hours torturing Harry's mind, making him see disturbing things, chasing him about the house until eventually causing him to trip down the stairs and tumble to his demise - all while Rowan watched, trapped in the shadows Ethel had confined him to.

Overcome with emotions, Harry allowed Rowan to wrap his arms around him with a comforting warmth that battled the autumnal weather making him shiver slightly. Laying his head against his lover's chest, he allowed the sound of Rowan's heart to ground him, calming him from such a draining night.

"I forgot again, didn't I?" He sighed, feeling Rowan's soft touch playing with his messy curls.

"Sometimes it takes a while to process a traumatic death. You're lucky it was me that found you, I doubt Ethel would have been so quick to save you."

Harry knew Rowan was right, Ethel would have savoured every moment of his pain before eventually putting him out of his misery. She took pleasure in watching him play out the day he died, trapped in the vicious cycle until his mind finally accepted he was eternally trapped in the afterlife, living among the other countless victims the house had claimed that hid in the shadows.

"I suppose you had to kill me."

"It's the only thing that brings you back, buttercup. But I think you're starting to remember things now; you gave in to me pretty quickly this time."

At Rowan's smugness, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes fondly. He should have known all that would play on his lover's mind were the intimate moments they always shared before Harry's death, all in an attempt to avoid discussing how it felt to murder his lover over and over again.

He knew Rowan couldn't help the darkness that clouded his mind when it came to murder. The house had taken its claim on his mind, just like it eventually would on Harry's.

There was no escaping Selly house, not even in death.

But Harry would gladly give in to whatever was in store for him if it meant an eternity in Rowan's arms. An eternity with his lover.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #smut #horror #ahs murder house #ahs inspired #fiction

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spacemonkeysalsa · 4 months

Text

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

or read Chapter Nine below the cut

The little red haired half-elf behind the counter didn’t look up when Astarion entered, but waited to get to the bottom of the page of the leaflet she was reading. Her eyes widened, then quickly narrowed. She either knew who he was, or felt that she should know him. It was hard to tell with Sharran acolytes, because Astarion couldn't be bothered to remember most of them, and they couldn’t reliably remember anything. This might’ve been one who Shadowheart discovered in his palace, he hadn’t really kept track.

“How can I serve you?” she didn’t sound in the mood for acts of service, but he took her words at face value and decided to get straight to his demands.

“A man named Barnes should have come here last night asking for an incredibly reasonable favor. He seems to have gone missing. Do you know anything about this or have you already sold that memory for… whatever equates to the faint withholding of praise that you all so long for?”

The acolyte’s red hue complimented her hair, her eyes pinned to him even as he sensed the straining desire to check their surroundings and make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. There was no one else in the front-of-house, Astarion had already checked.

“I wasn’t working last night,” said the acolyte in a tone that was so gratingly familiar Astarion almost laughed. She was molding them all in her image, it seemed.

“How can you really be sure?” he teased with a sharp grin. Gaslighting Sharrans was almost too easy to be fun.

“But, I know the man you’re talking about,” she continued. “He didn’t know the passwords and wouldn’t leave until we kicked him out.”

He didn’t need detect thoughts to tell she was lying, but he did it anyway, not only wanting to confirm that he was correct, but hoping to get some scrap of the truth from her.

“I told those idiots not to toy with anything that belongs to the vampire lord.” And he saw a flash of Barnes through her eyes. Some hours ago, frightened. Restrained. She gasped and he knew she’d caught him reading her thoughts, but it hardly mattered, what was she going to do about it?

“I’d be very interested in speaking to the idiots in question.” Astarion said in his silkiest voice.

She looked quite pale and he discerned what warred within her. Certainly, she wasn’t allowed to just let him go back to the real inner sanctum of the enclave. He knew the way. He’d been there before, but that probably wouldn’t be taken into account when the girl was punished later for failing her post. Whatever they’d done with Barnes, she’d been against it.

None of this was her fault, it seemed.

But, circumstances as they were, it would have to be her burden.

“I’m actually filled with so much blood I don’t think I could stomach another swallow, but I will use my fangs if necessary. Why don’t you just wait here and work on whatever excuses you’ll have to give to that lovely Mother Superior of yours? Draft a plea. Start with ‘he was going to kill me’ that’s a classic.”

For a moment, he thought his words had been sufficient to cow the acolyte. He made it all the way to the door that led back into the enclave antechamber before he heard her cry and felt the white heat of radiant burn, a distant memory of what sunlight used to do to him. He flinched and groaned through bared teeth, but she’d barely singed him. “Why, you little—” he rounded in the direction where the attack had come from, intent on taking a hold of her by the throat, but she wasn’t in his reach. She wasn’t anywhere.

Her goal hadn’t been to harm him. She knew she couldn't do that. She’d just successfully distracted him. So she could…? He scanned the room and heard a clatter as something scrambled frantically through the hidden passageway. Run away. Her plan was to run ahead of him and warn her fellow Sharran’s of his arrival. It was probably the only thing she could do, and he should have seen it coming.

Briefly, he considered how upset Shadowheart would be with him if he actually killed a good number of her followers. Then, he just got on with it. Sliding into his wolf form, he took the stairs at a vault and followed the sound of warning shouts into a nearby chamber. He didn’t remember the area perfectly from his brief, violent, visit to the enclave, but felt fairly certain there had been some tortuous apparatus and tools at hand.

Sure enough, his eyes fell immediately on Barnes, stripped and strapped down. He was pale, from fear or bloodloss or both, but didn’t have any apparent injuries apart from one hand being so smeared with red that it was hard to make out the state of his fingers. There were four Sharrans in the room, the little redheaded acolyte who he’d chased down the stairs, another young woman in a stained apron, and two male humans who could’ve been brothers. The redhead had just managed to warn them in time that they were upright, facing him and armed.

In spite of a warning growl, the shorter man lunged for him, but barely managed to get in a knick at his furry belly as Astarion pounced, had him by the throat in his jaws, and whipped him around to land in a heap. Astarion tasted blood, but didn’t think he had actually torn his neck all the way open.

Keeping the shorter human in the corner of his eye, Astarion took his true form back, but the acolyte wasn’t moving and the other three had all converged on him at once. He grabbed the girl in the bloody apron by her waist and ran up the wall, letting her fall from his grip as he reached the ceiling. She screamed before she hit the ground with a thud.

The remaining two acolytes who weren’t prone were slower, more cautious. Vaguely, he became aware of shouting from outside the doors. More were coming. That was fine. It seemed he was still restless from the night before. He’d cleanse the whole enclave again if he had to.

Then the door burst open and Shadowheart marched inside. He almost lost his concentration but managed to keep his mental grip on the ceiling. She didn’t see him right away, her eyes first fell on Barnes, then her cowering acolytes, then her gaze sliced upwards to find Astarion perched on the ceiling. “Oh, Gods,” she sighed, crossing her arms.

She looked well. She usually looked good when she came to one of his little parties, but it was the kind of occasion where she would often look polished, like she was covering something. In her own element, dressed simply in a practical set of loose black robes, she looked in control and confident. The Mother Superior, no need to hide, but free to be herself in this one place.

“Lovely to see you, dear.”

“Why are you here?” Shadowheart demanded flatly.

“Why have you kidnapped my majordomo?” Astarion shot back.

Shadowheart raised one finger to gesture at Barnes. “I don’t know him. What’s he doing here?” she directed the question to the acolyte who was lying prone on the ground with one hand clamped over his oozing neck rather than either of the two who were still on their feet, or the girl who was clutching her leg in a way that suggested she’d probably broken something when she took a tumble from the ceiling.

The girl who had let Astarion in pointedly remained still and silent, apparently confident that none of this would be her responsibility, though the other acolyte who was still upright was squirming, clearly fighting the urge to explain himself, or to wait for Shadowheart to address him directly.

“He showed up last night,” the acolyte with the injured throat was starting to get to his knees, he dared to pull his hand away and when there was no gush of blood, seemed to relax. “He was asking questions. I thought—”

“—Astarion, come down. We can use our words.”

“Well, I know I can, but you Sharrans are a different matter.” But Astarion did as she directed, striding down the wall as easily as he’d scaled it. “Not exactly known for frank communication, are you?” He dusted himself off, checking his stomach to see where one of the acolyte’s blades had drawn a little tear in the fabric of his waistcoat. Without further instruction or permission, he needed neither, Astarion walked up to Barnes and undid his restraints.

The majordomo suppressed a sob as he sat up, trembling.

“You’re all right,” Astarion muttered, getting a closer look at Barnes’ bloodied hand. Fingernails all gone. “Those grow back. Without potions and such it takes about six highly unpleasant months, but I know a decent alchemist.”

Barnes wasn’t perfectly steady on his feet, and after presumably a full day being strapped down, it was no wonder. He stooped down and gathered a bundle of fabric on the ground. They appeared to be the trousers that had been torn off of him. He started to yank them back on and Astarion permitted him to lean against his side, and kept one hand gripping his shoulder in case he started to tip over.

“What did you need?” Shadowheart tossed her long plait of hair over one shoulder and wouldn’t look directly at them.

“Nothing, any longer,” Astarion sighed heavily. “I thought you might want to make good on one of the dozen favors you owe me, but I’ve no longer any need for a cleric’s ministrations.”

“I think the accounting of favors on one side or the other is debatable,” Shadowheart shooed the acolytes out of the room. They weren’t quick about leaving, and the two injured ones didn’t have nearly the degree of help that they required. “You sent someone to a Sharran enclave to fetch a healer?” Shadowheart remarked with a sniff. “Odd choice.”

“You might’ve considered that my options are a little limited.”

“There’s no end of hypocritical followers of one god or another. Not in Baldur’s Gate.” Shadowheart had a point here, but he wasn’t about to let her have credit for it. “Why did you need a healer?”

“Why else? Injured mortal, nonresponsive.”

“So, you’ve developed a habit of bringing your victims to the edge of death and then you want to restore them back so you can keep playing with them? Respectfully, that is a waste of—”

“—assumptions, assumptions,” Astarion rolled his eyes at her. “The girl’s state wasn’t my doing, if you must know.” Barnes was leaning more of his weight on him with every passing moment. Astarion couldn’t blame him for being eager to leave. “Well, it’s been lovely chatting. Lovely meeting some of your charges, as well. Maybe let them offer up today’s memories so that they can absolutely not learn any kind of lesson, and we can do it all again some time? Won’t that be fun.”

Astarion started to leave, half carrying Barnes, who after a few tentative steps seemed even more wobbly.

“Did she die?” Shadowheart shot after him.

“What?”

“Is that why you don’t need a cleric any longer? Did the mortal in question die?”

“I think I’ll keep the truth of that to myself. You can respect a little secret, can’t you?”

Astarion didn’t slow down until they hit the street and he thought Barnes might collapse. He didn’t actually want to have to carry the man in his arms back to his estate, and Barnes himself seemed like the sort who wouldn’t appreciate it either. Better to just let him take it at his own pace. He was unsightly. Perhaps they ought to stop at Figaros on the way? No. Better to just get home.

“A Sharran enclave in the middle of Baldur’s Gate? Gods below.” Barnes was shaking, and being under the sun again he seemed a little more aware of just how exposed he was. He searched the area around them, but thought there were signs of life in the song of the birds and the distant shouts and laughter in the city, no one was really close enough to pay any attention to them. “I never would have guessed at that kind of danger lurking just underground.”

“They’re not so formidable,” Astarion shrugged. “Every strategy they have boils down to making everyone else weak rather than making themselves strong. Outnumber. Go unseen. Manipulate. They are so focused on the disadvantages of all perceived enemies that they get quite bad at identifying them in the first place, and forget their own significant weaknesses. If you really want to be alarmed by the underground cults of the city, I’ll have you know that there’s still a perfectly serviceable temple to the god of murder just below our feet.”

“Are you going to send me to run an errand there next?!”

Astarion laughed, he wasn’t sure if Barnes meant to make a joke, but he hoped so. That would probably be good for him right now. “Gods, what a mess. How about a raise then?”

“Oh, at the very least,” snapped Barnes. Probably not quite ready to joke yet then. He did seem like his legs had recovered from the restraints though. He was still shaking, but he seemed able to walk on his own, and even seemed eager to do so.

“Right. Let’s go,” Astarion picked up the pace as Barnes seemed more able to keep up.

“Did she die?” Barnes waited a moment to ask, but there was something about the way he asked the question that made Astarion think he’d been holding the question back a moment.

“No. She’s fine. Probably about the same state as you are now. Do you want a cleric?”

“No. Never again.”

“Exactly.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #appetites #ascended astarion

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aidoriimu · 6 months

Text

"A Mixer..!?"

---

— This is a reupload of something I did for his birthday! It's mostly based from an old draft I had in docs, so it's not a 1:1 recreation of the first upload, but it's still mostly the same..

“A mixer... This kind of event isn’t really my thing, is it?”

Tsumugi stood by the entrance of a karaoke place, letting out a sigh. There weren’t any new notifications as he scrolled through his phone while he waited.

He was dressed pretty casually, some dark pants that complemented his light shirt and matched with his blazer. Hopefully this didn't seem too overdressed... his current wardrobe has been more suited to fit with his position after all.

He was going to wear a much comfier shirt, but it seemed like all that time in his closet made it so that the moths got to it first. What luck, he seemed to have...

Recently though, an old friend of his had contacted him, talking about inviting him to a mixer along with a few acquaintances. He's never been one to turn down an invite so he accepted it almost immediately, even staying up far longer than he should have trying to finish work due for the week.

It was an early leave for a Friday afternoon such as this one at least, and Natsume did begrudgingly lend him some concealer while simultaneously scolding him for his sleeping habits... How cute, he reminisced when he would do the same for him as well back in the underground library.

He checked the last message his friend sent him, saying that the would meet up at around 3pm but it was already a few minutes past that.

"Maybe I was too early or I was sent the wrong time..." He murmured to himself as he reread the message. "

Now that you were here anyway, might as well book the room in advance, it was the weekend after all and other highschoolers would probably come by later.

———

Ah, your friend was going to be late again, wasn't he? He has to learn that he has to be on time with events he’s hosting sooner or later. Then again, you were always a bit critical of him, you probably just got here way too early seeing as your place wasn't too far from the meetup spot.

As you kneeled down to get your drink from a vending machine, you noticed a peculiar figure in the window's reflection. You turned around to open your drink, squinting slightly when you saw that it was a guy.. ? with long, messy dark hair and glasses. He was just idling around like you were, with a defeated look on his face.

Hm, wait.

You weren't exactly an avid fan of idols but one of your classmates was and they would tell you all about them. One of them in particular was...

Tsumugi Aoba from Switch!?

You didn't want to get your hopes up nor interrupt him, maybe he was just here to practice since this place was a karaoke spot. It did look like he was meeting with someone too with his casual getup, but it's not like you get to meet an idol everyday.

Asking for a picture probably won't be much, huh?

- - -

Your approaching footsteps caught Tsumugi's attention and he looked at you with a smile. "Uhm, can I help you with anything?" He asked as he put away his phone into his pocket.

"Excuse me, are you 'Tsumugi Aoba'?" You asked back, clutching your own phone tightly.

He looked at you with a sheepish expression, rubbing the back of his head. "How may I help you? " Tsumugi then noticed the phone in your hands. “Are you a fan, perhaps?”

"Yes.. sort of, my friend is, mind if I took a photo with you for them?"

"Oh sure!"

At first he was surprised, not expecting to meet a fan at a time and place like this but he supposed that it happens when he's out in public for a casual occasion. Tsumugi wasn't the type to worry about his appearance anyway and as you opened your camera app and set it selfie, he posed with a peace sign right next to you.

"Ah, may I see it? We could redo one again if it turns out I blinked..."

"Let me go see.."

As you checked the photo, it looked pretty fine.

Though just then your friend's chat bubble popped up and said, "on my way there!" There was a flash of recognition in Tsumugi's face when he saw your screen, noticing how similar it was to his friend's chatname. He said your friend's name aloud, which made you widen your eyes.

"...You know them?" You asked.

"Oh, they invited me to a mixer today, are you also part of that?" He replied with a closed-eye smile, a sigh of relief left his lips as he realized that he wasn't alone in this.

"Well they did mention something like that.." You trailed off, not sure how to take in the fact that your friend never mentioned that they actually were acquainted with Tsumugi.Then you pointed to the karaoke rooms. “He said he’ll be here in a bit, maybe we could practice before everyone?”

“I’d love to!” Tsumugi clasped his hands together, his eyes almost sparkling with admiration as he looked at you. “I guess my luck has turned around for today, I didn’t have to wait for too long.”

#(おとぎ話)#enstars #ensemble stars #enstars x reader #tsumugi aoba x reader #tsumugi aoba #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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neocitybooty · 1 year

Text

I Choose You. [M]

Genre: Smut, Office AU, Multiple Partners, Fluff, Angst, M/F

Pairing: Jaehyun x Johnny x Original Character

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Oral sex, Sub/Dom dynamics, bodily fluids, masturbation, vulgar language, choking, rough sex, multiple partners, unprotected sex

Summary: Carmella requested a transfer within her company and moved to the other side of the world. She soon realizes she bit off more than she can chew once she starts working at the home branch...

A/N: This update took way longer than expected omg. I don't spend as much time on here as I'd like to. But I guess that's also a good thing because spending time with my friends and family is something that I doooooo enjoy. Once it gets cold out, my updates will be much more frequent lol. I had the draft sitting for about a week because I kept getting distracted lol but now I am here!! Please enjoy and happy comeback season!! Fact Check era seems like it is going to be extremely promising~

P.S. I have some goodies in the vault... hint(s)?? mark, jeno, haechan, doyoung

Chapter 10.

“We could just put our names together and name her something like Jaela. I think that’s cute.” Jaehyun was settled in between Mela’s legs, surrounded by lavender suds in their stand alone bathtub.

“I don’t know how you have managed to convince yourself that I am pregnant with a girl.” Mela ran her fingers through Jaehyun’s wet hair as he hummed in satisfaction.

“If you aren’t….well.. I don’t mind if we keep trying.” Jaehyun turned around and kissed Mela slowly. He smiled after pulling away and bit his lip. “There’s nothing else I’d rather spend my time doing.”

“Baby, we need to put sex on hold until we talk.” Mela wrapped her arms around Jaehyun’s neck and rubbed her nose against his.

He groaned in disapproval. Despite his protest, he repositioned himself. “You want to talk in here?”

Mela waited for a bit and thought to herself before responding. Jaehyun loved baths and he’d be more likely to be cooperative if the conversation was paired with something he found enjoyable.

“Yes, let’s just stay in here.” Mela said, playing with Jaehyun’s wet locks. He rubbed her knee gently and hummed as he sunk deeper into the water.

“So you’ve already made it clear that you know I left to see Johnny last night.” Mela started.

“Is that why you were so determined to get me to bed?” Jaehyun asked calmly. “I thought you were genuinely just horny.”

“Don’t be like that.” Mela said but still giggled at Jaehyun’s tone.

“I’m sorry but please don’t make me out to be the irrational boyfriend.” Jaehyun said, surprisingly still calm. “I think I have a good reason to be just a tad bit upset.”

“Jae, I always enjoy you. Please, let’s move away from that.” Mela shook her head but Jaehyun couldn’t see.

“Fine. Continue.” Jaehyun laid back onto Mela’s chest, a clear attempt to mentally center himself again.

“Eun Bi.” Mela said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jaehyun responded almost immediately.

“Well, that’s quite the response.” Mela said.

“You went to see Johnny to get information that you could’ve gotten from me..” Jaehyun said slowly.

“No, that’s not exactly true. There is some information that slipped past you.” Mela said. “I have evidence too.”

Jaehyun sat up and turned around to face Mela. “Where is it?”

“Aht aht. Not so fast.” Mela said with a wag of her finger. “We talk first.”

Jaehyun looked at Mela from bottom to top. “You’re so lucky I am madly in love with you.” He then rolled his eyes. Mela giggled and laid Jaehyun back onto her chest.

“Remember when I told you the company should take background checks a little more seriously?” Mela started.

“How seriously do we need to really take them? It’s Korea.” Jaehyun retorted.

“Well….if you had taken the background checks a bit more seriously, you would’ve caught that you had a pair of siblings in the system.” Mela told Jaehyun, slowly circling his Adam’s apple with her pointer finger.

“Pardon?” Jaehyun said from below Mela.

“Jae. Eun Bi’s sister. She works or rather….worked right under you..” Mela told Jaehyun softly.

Jaehyun was silent.

“Hey.” Mela leaned forward to get a look at his face. Jaehyun still said nothing. He zoned out, seemingly deep in thought. After five more seconds of silence, he finally spoke. “She would talk about her sister often. She seemed to be very fond of her.” His voice was low and he started to circle Mela’s knee with his thumb.

“Seems you and Eun-bi were actually quite close…” Mela slowly said.

Jaehyun stayed silent.

“Baby, you need to talk to me.” Mela said.

“I thought she was pretty and I made some stupid choices.” Jaehyun shook his head softly. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Tell me everything.” Mela stroked his dark brown locks, as she softly spoke in his ear.

“Promise you won't inflate this.” Jaehyun replied sternly.

Mela rolled her eyes and sighed. She knew she couldn’t confidently promise but she tried anyway.

“I promise.”

“We went out for drinks one night after work, like usual. I already had my eye on her for a few weeks. But we didn’t talk much outside of work.” Jaehyun stopped once he felt Mela’s breath hitch. “Hey, maybe I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine. Please continue.” Mela reassured him.

“Well….I offered to take her home once everyone started leaving. We had sex in the car and then we had sex again one more time in my office about a week later. She started acting weird after that so I figured it’d be for the best for me to end things.” Jaehyun said.

“Weird in what way?” Mela asked curiously.

“She became…obsessive.” Jaehyun started. “She would follow me…..constantly called and left so many voicemails. In her mind, I was her boyfriend. I thought it was very odd. We didn’t know much about each other. My only conclusion was that she wanted to marry me and gain access to wealth.”

“Jae…” Mela started.

“Carmella….it’s not like she would’ve been the first.” Jaehyun said with a sniffle.

“I’m sorry.” Mela backed down.

“There’s no need to apologize.” Jaehyun started to rub Mela’s knee again as he continued his story. “She found out she was pregnant and things became exponentially worse. She threatened to share the story with the news. Harassed my parents for days on end. It was madness.”

“My goodness. Really?” Mela’s eyes widened at the details.

“Yes, really.” Jaehyun shifted his body and Mela moved with him. “I eventually pulled her into my office and told her to stop and that her attempts were futile. I would never agree to commit to someone like her. After that day, I guess she never came back to work. We got the news about her passing about 2 weeks after our conversation…”

Mela said nothing and let the silence consume the entire room.

Jaehyun also kept quiet as his head slightly hung in shame.

“I don’t want you to have a bad image of me. I’m not the same man that I was before.” Mela felt Jaehyun sink into her again.

Mela wrapped her arms around Jaehyun’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m sorry, we don’t need to talk about this any further. I can show you everything. C’mon.”

“Thank God, we are this close to turning into raisins.” Jaehyun groaned and Mela giggled as he stood and she looked at his wet ass cheeks.

Once he wrapped a towel around his waist, he grabbed another one and held it open for Mela to walk into. He kissed her temple as he wrapped the towel around her and inhaled deeply. “The most intoxicating woman I’ve ever met. Thank you for accepting me, baby. I love you so much.”

Mela felt the butterflies form in her stomach as she let the taller man enclose her into a tight embrace. “I love you, too.” She replied softly

“So this is it, huh?” Jaehyun ran his fingers through his hair as he reviewed the papers from the manila envelope. “Fuck.”

He stopped and stared at the stills pulled from the security cameras and shook his head. He turned the pages over and put everything back into the envelope.

“I’ll call the legal team first thing tomorrow morning.” Jaehyun said before pulling Mela onto his lap.

Mela laid down and settled on Jaehyun’s chest and he chuckled softly to himself.

“Um, what’s so funny.” Mela asked him.

“Guess you had a good reason for going to see Johnny. Now I don’t have to beat his ass.” Jaehyun responded, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

“Yeah he told me about your past. You two sure are something.”

“He is actually just a sore loser. I was chosen fair and square. Like always.” Jaehyun said nonchalantly.

“I really didn’t think your head could get any bigger but here we are.” Mela propped herself up on Jaehyun’s chest with widened eyes as he stared at her while she made her statement.

“Well…you chose me.” Jaehyun said softly. “I think that counts…for a lot.”

“I…” Mela started, but she stopped once she made eye contact with Jaehyun. She was set to laugh but quickly realized he wasn’t joking. He gazed at her with a subtle bite lip. Half- lidded eyes conveyed want. Mela wanted to speak but she couldn’t. And she didn’t need to. Jaehyun slowly and softly guided Mela’s head toward his face and kissed her. She opened her eyes once they separated but said nothing.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around Mela, his leg wrapping around her as well. She smiled into his chest as he rubbed his chin on the top of her head.

“Jae?” Mela finally said into his arm. “How long until we return to work?”

“Well I am going to be returning very soon…..As for you..” Jaehyun trailed off.

“What do you mean by that?” Mela sat up and moved away from Jaehyun.

“Carmella….” Jaehyun said calmly. “I know we haven’t discussed it yet, but…I think I am going to have the company hire someone else for your position.”

Mela stood from the couch and threw a pillow at Jaehyun. “How dare you?!”

Jaehyun sighed and stood from the couch, as well. He walked towards Mela and once he was within reach, he wrapped his arms around her waist loosely and looked into her eyes as he spoke. “I know this isn’t ideal for you but babe….please. I need you to just trust me. We will talk about it some more.”

“You don’t understand.” Mela said, her voice breaking.

“I promise… I do.” Jaehyun reassured her. “Please. Let’s not get into it now.”

Mela sighed. “I’m tired. I think I am going to head to bed.” She started to walk away and Jaehyun followed, falling slightly behind so he could hug her from behind as they walked together.

Jaehyun laid his head down at the same time as Mela and brought the comforter over them both.

“I understand you might be a bit upset with me.” He said in a low voice. “But could you at least let me hold you?”

Mela’s heart dropped. She hadn’t realized the message she sent Jaehyun once she pushed herself off and threw a pillow at him. He’d seen her upset on multiple occasions but this time…it was different.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted closer to him. “I’m upset but not that upset.”

Strong arms wrapped around Mela and all she could smell was a musky but spicy scent as she closed her eyes and inhaled.

When she opened her eyes again, it was daytime.

Jaehyun was nowhere to be found, so Mela sent him a text and then started her day.

“Girl, we have been at this villa for almost three weeks now. I love the time with him but I wish this was under different circumstances…” Mela said to her friend as she plucked an eyebrow hair.

“You mean like… your honeymoon or something like that?” Kay’s voice rang from the iphone.

Mela sighed and put the tweezers on the bathroom counter.

“Now….you know that’s not what I meant.” Mela replied.

“Oh yeah. Of course, he’d bring you to some island his parents bought for him for his 16th birthday. We know this.” Kay said nonchalantly.

“Very funny.” Mela rolled her eyes.

“Who said I was joking? He has an island, Melz. This is a fact.” Kay’s tone didn’t change but Mela grabbed the phone so she could make eye contact with her friend through the screen.

“What are you saying?” She finally said.

“I just looked it up. He has an island!” Kay burst into laughter. “Girl how are you dating one of the wealthiest men in the country and you haven’t googled him. People with money ain’t got privacy. Their business is all over the internet.”

“I have googled him. I never saw anything about an island…” Mela looked around in thought.

“I just sent you the link.” Kay said after a few seconds.

Mela opened it and her eyes widened. Sure enough, there was an article about Jaehyun being gifted a remote island for his 21st birthday.

“Wow.” Mela stared at her phone screen, stunned.

“And apparently there weren’t even any locals so this is the most ethical shit I’ve seen from a rich person.” Kay sounded indifferent but still amused.

“I can’t believe this.” Mela said under her breath.

“What was that?” Kay caught something.

“Nothing. Um, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” Mela attempted to change the topic, when she heard the door open. “Ohhhh. It’s gonna have to wait. I gotta go.”

“Daddy’s home.” Kay said and winked.

“Goodbye!” Mela said and then ended the Facetime call.

A few seconds later, Jaehyun appeared at the bathroom door. He was dressed as if he went to work. Dark gray three piece suit, and his hair slicked back.

“You’re finally up. You looked so peaceful and pretty this morning. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.” He stepped into the bathroom and gently grabbed Mela’s waist, pulling her into him. He kissed her softly and stepped back to look at her.

“Good afternoon.” Mela said, smiling at her lover as he began to unbutton his suit.

“Seems like you were having quite the conversation with Kay.” He started to undo his tie.

“I did. And we discovered something.” Mela said.

Jaehyun tilted his head and made a sound of confusion. He started walking to the bedroom and looked over his shoulder to make sure Mela was following. “And what exactly was that?”

“You have an island?” Mela leaned against the doorframe.

Jaehyun stopped undressing and stared at Mela.

“Yes?” He looked confused and Mela scoffed.

“How am I just now finding out?” She asked Jaehyun.

“Well…you never asked.” Jaehyun shrugged his shoulders and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Yes, because I ask everyone I know if they own an island.” Mela said as she followed Jaehyun back to the bathroom.

“Well I am not everyone. I am your boyfriend.” Jaehyun was now naked. Mela averted her gaze so Jaehyun wouldn’t catch her staring at her. But she was too late.

“Just come join me instead of acting like you aren’t horny.” He smirked and turned the shower on.

“I already showered.” Mela said and rolled her eyes, although her face betrayed her and she slightly smiled.

Jaehyun walked to her and started to slip her dress straps down her shoulders and kissed her deeply.

“Well, you should’ve waited for me. It’s a hot day and we need to save water.” He said once he broke the kiss. Mela caved and stepped out of her dress as she followed Jaehyun into the shower. He let Mela get underneath the water and gazed at her as the water trickled onto her back.

“What?” Mela looked at him with a puzzled look.

“You’re so pretty.” He said with a smile. “Turn around for me. I’ll be gentle.”

Mela turned over and Jaehyun placed a hand on her hip as he lined his cock along her wet hole.

“Baby..” Mela whimpered.

“I know I know.” Jaehyun mumbled into her ear as he slowly slid in. “Your pussy feels so tight around me when I do this but I know how much you like it when I stretch you out.” He caught Mela when her knees gave out and started to thrust into her.

Mela moaned softly and put her hands against the shower door. She felt herself clench around Jaehyun and a gentle squeeze around her breast indicated that Jaehyun felt it too.

“You love the way I fill you up, don’t you?” He slid his arm up and wrapped his hand around Mela’s throat. He thrusted deeper as Mela felt herself come undone. She started to tremble as she rode out the orgasm.

“Fuck, baby. We just started.” Jaehyun breathed out, pulling out as Mela continued to tremble. He held her close to keep her from falling and quietly cooed into her ear. “You make this sooo fun.”

“More. More.” Mela said, urging Jaehyun to continue.

He moaned and lined up the tip again and pushed himself into her. Mela’s head dropped as she bit her lip, holding back a moan. Jaehyun’s groans danced around Mela’s ears and he smiled when she clenched around him again. He rolled his hips and relished in the moment as he let his fingers glide alongside Mela’s smooth backside. Deep strokes caused her to slightly raise onto the tip of her toes as she then grabbed onto Jaehyun’s arm for support.

Jaehyun held Mela tighter and slid his free hand between her legs and began to rub her clit. “Oh fuck.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Just want to make you feel good, baby.” He mumbled and pressed his cheek onto Mela’s as he continued to stimulate her throbbing clit. “Let’s try for one more.”

‘Yes, yes.” Mela was able to get out, gaining a small chuckle from Jaehyun.

“That’s my girl.” He said before pulling out almost completely and then plunging even deeper into her.

“Fuck!” Mela shook.

Jaehyun immediately softened his thrusts. “Oh baby, I’m sorry. I forgot. Gentle.”

“No, fuck me harder.” Mela whimpered.

Jaehyun smiled and kissed Mela’s as he plunged into her deep and hard, his fingers still working on her clit. He closed his eyes as he felt his climax growing near. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he focused on his rhythm. Mela squeezed his arm as she quietly whimpered. The feeling of being overstimulated becoming maddening.

“Baby, I’m soooo close.” Jaehyun grabbed a breast again and squeezed it gently as he moaned in her ear.

“Me tooo…Oh shit.” Mela trembled and clenched around Jaehyun as her orgasm rumbled throughout her entire body. This triggered Jaehyun’s climax and he groaned in Mela’s ear as he sprayed her walls with his warm seed. He nearly toppled over but he was able to quickly regain his composure and Mela giggled as he slowly pulled out.

“Right. About that shower.” Jaehyun finally said, still panting softly. Mela was already reaching for the soap, with the bath sponge already in hand.

The funeral was short but meaningful. Jaehyun stole glances at Mela throughout to make sure she was okay but said nothing. The ceremony was small and intimate. This was Mela’s first Korean ceremony of any sort. There was an older couple crying at the front. Mela immediately knew it was Joo’s parents. Jaehyun spoke with them for a few minutes after the ceremony. Both of them hugged Jaehyun and to Mela’s surprise, they hugged her too. Their hugs were full of warmth and assurance. It felt as though she was hugging her own parents. After speaking with them, it was time to speak with Jaehyun’s parents.

“Mela, honey. How are you doing?” Jaehyun’s mother was the first to speak. “He hasn’t been bothering you too much, has he?” She pinched Jaehyun’s cheek after wrapping Mela in a warm embrace.

“We should’ve checked in earlier but things have been extremely busy. Please come by for dinner this weekend. I insist.” Jaehyun’s father said with a squeeze of Jaehyun’s shoulder.

“Yes, Father. We will make sure to stop by.” Jaehyun said with a smile. His parents beamed at the couple and they spoke for a little longer before parting ways.

Jaehyun was silent on the way home but he seemed to be in a relaxed mood.

When they reached the villa, Mela was unusually tired.

“Baby, I think I am going to lay my head down for a bit.” She said as she entered the house and slipped out of her shoes.

“Are you feeling okay? It’s pretty early.” Jaehyun said, putting his hand to Mela’s forehead.

“Yeah. I am just tired, that’s all.” She smiled and reassured him.

“Hmmm. Well okay.” Jaehyun said as he softly caressed her cheek as she laid onto the bed and then he pulled the covers over her.

She watched Jaehyun shuffle around the room as he changed and rearranged things. Before Mela knew it, she was fast asleep.

Hours later, she woke up and looked at the time. It read 5:27am. Realization quickly hit that she had just slept for 11 hours. Jaehyun was still fast asleep on his side of the bed, one leg out of the covers, and arms folded under his head.

Mela gagged and ran to the bathroom in confusion. She reached the toilet right as she began to vomit. She blinked back tears as she continued to throw up. Jaehyun woke up and quickly ran to the bathroom and was at the door within seconds. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grabbed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

“Aw babe. I told you to go easy on the sushi.” He said, his voice still slightly groggy. “Let’s go to the hospital to get you some medicine and make sure you’re okay.” He finished dressing and walked over to Mela where she stayed kneeled in front of the toilet. She had stopped throwing up and grabbed a towel to wipe her mouth. Jaehyun softly rubbed Mela’s back and helped her up.

“Do you think you can do a ten minute drive or should we bring a plastic bag or bucket?” He said softly, while grabbing another small towel into his free hand.

Mela took a moment to respond but she finally said, “Bucket.”

Jaehyun nodded and started to guide her out of the room and to the front door. He stopped to grab a pail from underneath the kitchen sink and they both exited the villa.

On the way to the hospital, Mela threw up again. The duration wasn't as long as the first time but it was still enough to make Jaehyun worry.

The nurse at the front desk immediately stood straight as soon as she saw the couple enter.

“Oh my goodness, is everything ok?” She gasped once she saw Mela’s colorless face.

“My girlfriend isn’t feeling well. I just need to get her checked out and get any necessary medicine.” Jaehyun said, softly wrapping his arm around Mela’ shoulder.

“Yes, please follow me and I will alert a doctor.” They followed the nurse to a room and Mela immediately laid on the bed.

“I feel light-headed.” She told Jaehyun in English.

“Can we get some water, please?” Jaehyun translated for the nurse. She nodded and quickly scurried out of the room.

A few minutes passed before the doctor walked into the room with a clipboard and cup of water.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Moon. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” He said in English, with a warm smile as he handed the cup to Mela. She took it and gave a hoarse “Thank you.”

“I don’t think she will be able to talk much.” Dr. Moon said, turning to Jaehyun. “Can you tell me what is wrong?

“Well, she slept for over 8 hours, which is really unlike her. Our day wasn’t busy. And then she woke up about thirty minutes ago and started throwing up. I thought it was the sushi, but now I am not so sure anymore.” Jaehyun told the doctor as Mela just watched, far too weak to contribute to the conversation.

“We will run some tests and see what we find.” The doctor nodded as he wrote notes on the paper on his clipboard.

About an hour later, Dr. Moon finally returned and he had a smile on his face.

“Oh how fun it is to be young and love.” He said, looking at Mela and Jaehyun.

They both looked at each other and then at the doctor.

“This isn’t a result of bad sushi.” Dr. Moon started. “ You, my dear, are about two months pregnant.”

Jaehyun’s mouth dropped and he brought a hand to cover it. Mela looked at Dr. Moon and then to Jaehyun.

“Pregnant?!?!” Mela and Jaehyun asked in unison.

Chapter 1

#kpop smut #nct smut #nct fanfic #jaehyun fanfic #johnny suh smut #nct 127 smut #nct 127 #nct 127 scenarios #kpop au #kpop fanfiction

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priincekin · 9 months

Text

Artifice - Hyuluka Oneshot

When Hyuna is coerced into accompanying her celebrity ex, Luka, to a lavish event, their troubled past and unresolved tensions resurface.

CW for an unhealthy relationship dynamic and manipulation!

For in depth tags, please check the AO3 upload. (Coming soon)

"Remind me why the hell I agreed to this?" Hyuna muttered under her breath, tugging at her too-short slip dress that clung tightly to every curve while simultaneously trying to adjust her thigh-highs, casting a glare at Luka across the limo. “… Send my compliments to your stylist for making me into a knock-off Barbie, and then tell ‘em to go play in traffic!”

Luka, of course, didn’t acknowledge her provocations. Nooooo, he was too busy prettying himself up, mascara wand poised. Figures.

Hyuna's frustration simmered as she watched him, his indifference stoking her anger.

Her eyes then fell once more on the infuriating list of 'rules' Luka had drafted for the evening. She had seen the paper before and thrown it away, but seeing that Luka went through the effort to print another one was enough to piss her off all over again. The neatly typed instructions on the crumpled paper seemed to mock her with their orderly bullets and condescending tone and Heperu’s letterhead.

“Now listen here, sweet cheeks, and listen good," she burst out, holding up the paper. “For the last time, I ain’t followin’ these rules, quit givin’ me more of these papers! You can shove ‘em right up your—“

"Please mind your language, Miss Hyuna,"

"Oh bite me! We all know I'm just arm candy, and it ain’t hard to stroke your ego for a few hours. Trust me. I’d know. So fuck off and lemme live a little! They're a joke.” She looked back down at the sheet with a scoff. “’Giggle, don’t laugh' - really? Who you tryin’ to turn me into?!”

God, the way they were arguing almost reminded her of old times. Back when he was her high-school sweetheart. Though, she was shocked he wasn’t being more argumentative toward her. By the end, Luka’s good moods were becoming rarer and rarer, and just being around him was like walking on eggshells. For a bit, Hyuna had made excuses for him — of course, with her temper, there was only so long until she was bound to explode.

Once she had blown up, the relationship was, of course, doomed. There was no recovery from the things she had said. They broke up over text. Yet, even though it was technically her fault, Luka leaving town soon after still wasn't just a minor plot twist; it was a full-on mindfuck. She'd catch herself getting all misty-eyed over their cheesy ice cream dates, where they'd crack up at the lamest jokes, or those beautiful nights in the deserted auditorium. Luka serenading her like she was the only girl in the world. Pity his dad slammed the brakes on that short-lived romantic gesture and forbade him from ever doing it again.

And then, after all that, Luka just had to go and get famous. Suddenly, his face was everywhere – magazines, billboards, you name it. Each time Hyuna saw that face, she reminded herself she should feel lucky to be rid of him, and that she had herself to thank for it.

But then, the tabloids started flaunting photos of Luka with his new girl of the month, and oh, did that grind her gears, even though Dewey and Isaac kept telling her it was nothing.

Was it jealousy? Boredom? Or maybe just an allergic reaction to being erased by some blond bombshell with a plastic smile? Whatever it was, hearing about each breakup was like savoring a fine wine; that was, until Luka had the nerve to show up at her door, needing a date for some swanky party after his newest beau gave him the middle finger.

Hyuna sank back into the velvet seat, her attention snapping back to the moment. Her fingers flirted with the edges of what was possibly the world's most irritating shawl, offering about as much modesty as a cocktail napkin. The silence was unbearably awkward; she had to fill it somehow.

“… A compliment wouldn’t kill ya, you know. Or is it too hard to admit you’re dazzled by all this?” With a teasing flourish, she let the shawl slip just a tad, winking and blowing a kiss for good measure.

Luka glanced up and quickly gave her a once-over, sighing in disappointment. “I would not say that. I feel like you should be more focused on having an amicable attitude rather than needlessly flirting.”

“Uh-huh. Yep, I’m totally flirting. Maybe if these heels weren't giving me so many damn blisters, I’d be in a better mood. But ‘till then, the only smiling I'll be doing is smiling through the pain. Now, pass the champagne, will ya?” She held out her hand.

Luka protectively moved the bottle away from her. “Please reference page four, line five of the contract. There is a clause stating that, should you be intoxicated or otherwise behave troublingly during the event, your payment will be voided and you will owe me three more dates as reparation.” He tried, in vain, to hide his smug little grin.

“There’s a what?!” Hyuna scrambled to pick the paper back up, and lo and behold; right there, in the tiniest font imaginable, was exactly what Luka had said. “Oh, you little—”

“Miss Hyuna.”

Hyuna forced herself to take a deep breath. ‘This shit is for Hyun-woo’, she reminded herself. ‘Do it for him.’

As cheesy as it was, her brother was the light of her life. For being an eleven-year-old boy, Hyun-woo was surprisingly sweet. Not at all like the assholes he went to school with, Hyuna had made sure of that much.

After she won sole custody of him, all of the expenses had fallen onto her shoulders: the bills, food, his allowance, and seemingly a million other things. Most of the time, she could make it work, even on her pathetic bartender’s paycheck.

But Christmas was a whole different kind of struggle. Living paycheck to paycheck meant there was never extra cash for Hyun-woo’s presents. The real sting was in the simplicity of his wishes – a DS game, a cheap Nerf gun, an outdated board game. That's all he wanted that year. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she saved, some unavoidable expense always reared its ugly head, draining away her meager savings. It seemed like there was no other way.

Finally, the limo pulled up to a grand mansion, its lights casting a cold glow over the entrance. Hyuna peered out the window, noticing two girls at the doorway: one in a suit with long pink hair, discreetly fiddling with a ring box in her pocket, and the other, with short black hair, clad in a white dress. At least some people were having a nice time.

“Well, ain't this just peachy," she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "A regular palace for Prince Charming and his temporary Cinderella."

Luka finally looked up, meeting her eyes. “Now that we're here, remember to smile and wave. It's all about appearances, isn't it?" He forced a smile himself as if to set an example, but it only soured her mood further. “Though, you are certainly at an advantage with how beautiful you are.”

“Too late for the compliment, buddy.” Hyuna rolled her eyes. “I'll smile and wave. Like I'm a damn parade float." She opened the limo door and stepped out, her heels clicking against the cobblestone driveway. The cold air hit her and made her wish, yet again, for a longer dress.

Luka, as if by magic, whipped out a plush white fur coat from the trunk and slung it over Hyuna's shoulders with a flourish. For a split second, she almost bought into it, the coat's luxurious softness tricking her into thinking he might actually care. Was he finally clued into how uncomfortable she was? To how exposed she felt? She let herself indulge in that thought, the tension in her shoulders easing off a notch as she grabbed his outstretched hand, her cheeks betraying a reluctant blush.

Then, wham. The scent hit her -– a blend of chrysanthemums and wilted roses, laced with bitter almonds. It was perfume, and definitely not her brand. That's when it clicked. This wasn't some chivalrous move; it was Luka’s version of peacocking, a display for the few nosy onlookers ogling at them. They were absolutely eating it up.

Hyuna’s grip on his hand turned from soft to vice-like, not out of romance, but so she didn’t facepalm right there and then.

How utterly 'Luka' to turn even a coat into a performance.

Hyuna shuddered, skin crawling under the perfumed fur. "Wow, so generous!” She whisper-yelled. “Real classy, Luka! Decking me out in a coat you lent to your last fling? What's the grand plan here, recycling her bling for me next?”

Luka tsked under his breath. "The one time I attempted kindness with you... How fascinating, though, that you care so much about what she did.”

They entered the glittering ballroom, all string quartets and designer outfits straight from the pages of Vogue. Hyuna sized up the crowd, mentally tagging each socialite with the most absurd names she could think of.

As Luka steered them towards the center, Hyuna operated on autopilot — a plastered smile, forced giggles at their pretentious bragging just as Luka asked. But, instinctively, she occasionally leaned over and muttered to Luka under her breath:

"You think that dude knows his fake tan is literally dripping down his arm?"

"Twenty bucks says that girl trips on her dress. God, it looks like she’s wearing a curtain…"

“Manners, darling.”

“It’s either I say it to you or I say it to their faces,” she hissed back.

‘Four hours.’, she chanted inwardly. Then sweet freedom and her even sweeter paycheck.

Hyuna continued to trail behind as Luka flitted from one circle of guests to the next. Her cheeks ached from keeping a smile while straining to laugh daintily at comments ranging from dull to outright crude and dehumanizing.

After the fifth round of banal small talk about vacation homes and polo tournaments, Hyuna found herself practically wilting into the plush fur coat. God, even the coat was getting on her nerves. Its cloying floral scent made her stomach turn, and she couldn't stop fidgeting with the garish ruffles lining the sleeves.

Luka suddenly clamped a firm hand on her wrist, stilling its motions. "Stop that. Honestly, your manners tonight..." He sighed, guiding her toward the dance floor where a few couples swayed lazily. "Just try to enjoy yourself a little?"

Luka drew Hyuna near, seemingly for a waltz. She opened her mouth to object, but reluctantly rested a hand on his shoulder, resisting the childish urge to stomp on his polished boots. As they began half-heartedly twirling, Hyuna felt remarkably disconnected — it was nothing like the way they used to dance — but it wasn’t long before a burst of coos and applause pulled her eyes toward the garden entrance. There stood the two girls from earlier, both with tears in her eyes. One had dropped to her knee, presenting a ring with trembling hands.

"Oh, would you look at that?" Luka smiled softly. "I suppose this manor would look awfully nice in the proposal pictures.”

Hyuna usually wasn’t a sucker for such cheesy moments. Still, she couldn't help but track the heartwarming scene over Luka's shoulder. A real proposal, she mused. No pretense or strings attached...

Hyuna started to turn around to watch, but everything was ruined by one uneven floor tile.

Mid-spin, her stiletto caught on it, sending her flailing backward. She crashed to the floor — thank God for Luka’s coat, or else it would’ve been even worse.

A horrified collective gasp echoed as every head swiveled her way, including the two girls. The applause and music ceased with a screech. In the excruciating silence, she felt hundreds of eyes boring into her, Luka’s especially. His grip closed on her arm, wrenching her upright with a sharp whisper. “What did I say about manners? You just ruined their entire proposal.”

Hyuna felt her cheeks burn red-hot, as guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause that was totally on purpose! Screw askin’ me if I’m okay, right?” She whispered back, wishing that Luka would just shut his mouth and try to cover for her.

"I cannot believe you've embarrassed me like this, after everything I've done." Luka's usual composure cracked, voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "The other guests can hardly look at me now. This appearance was crucial for my image, not to mention our agreement, and you..."

He trailed off, shaking his head. His fingers dug into the fur coat with white knuckles before he released her. When Luka raised his eyes to meet hers, he looked absolutely disgusted.

"Just get out of my sight. I need to salvage what remains of this wretched evening."

Hyuna weakly scoffed, then pulled herself free to sketch a barely passable curtsy to the crowd. “Sorry for the unplanned entertainment tonight,” she called out, trying to ignore the sobs. “As you were!” Ignoring the whispers echoing around her, she beelined away from Luka; anywhere but there was good enough for her.

Hyuna shoved through the murmuring crowd, cheeks burning under the weight of so many prying eyes. The stilettos clicked loudly against the tile floor as she muttered insults towards the gawkers blocking her escape. Just as the cool night air kissed her bare shoulders, a familiar voice called out.

"Heyyyyyy, Hyuna! Fancy seein' ya here!"

She whirled around, a biting retort poised on her lips. But there stood Dewey and Isaac, surprisingly dapper in their mismatched suits and shit-eating grins. Despite her overwhelming emotions, Hyuna couldn't restrain a hint of a smile. Leave it to these two knuckleheads to appear from thin air when she needed it most. Hyuna placed her hands on her hips, arching an eyebrow.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "This ain't exactly an open-invitation party, geniuses."

Isaac rocked eagerly on his heels. "Oh it was easy peasy to sneak in the kitchen door while them fancy waiters were distracted. Plus, you mentioned you'd be ‘ere with, uh… Y’know, Mr. High-and-Mighty," he said, gesturing vaguely toward Luka's direction. “Wanted to see how it’d play out since he’s such an--”

Dewey quickly clamped a hand over Isaac's rambling mouth. "Can the chatter before we get tossed out!" He shot Hyuna a sheepish grin. "Just, uh, wanted to check in on ya. Make sure princey isn't being too much of a sleaze."

"A sleaze? Nah, try self-centered jackass," she replied, launching into a recap of the disastrous proposal scene. Dewey and Isaac's eyes grew wide as saucers.

"No way he blamed you for that!" Dewey scoffed. "What a prick."

Hyuna threw her hands up in exasperation. "Thank you! Guy drives me absolutely insane."

Isaac gave an enthusiastic nod and dove a hand into his suit pocket. "Yeah. Hey, uh, you guys tried the shrimp? I snatched a bunch when those waiter guys weren't lookin'." He held up a fistful of mangled cocktail shrimp, tails dangling limply.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?!” When Isaac raised the shrimp to his mouth, Hyuna swatted it out of his hand and onto the floor. “Rule one of stealing food! Bring a ziplock or tupperware!”

Isaac dejectedly stared down at the shrimp on the floor. “... I ran out of ziplocks.” His lip quivered like he was about to cry.

“Then buy more! You have a job!” Hyuna whisper-yelled, playfully hitting him in the shoulder. “Unless you got fired again!”

A prickling unease crept over Hyuna as she felt eyes boring into her back.

“Uh… girl? You might wanna turn around…” Dewey said, pointing behind her.

Luka was staring. His polished composure had vanished, replaced by clenched fists and an infuriated glare. Stalking over to her, his expression

"We need to talk. Now." Luka's grabbed tightly onto Hyuna's arm as he steered her away. She shot a helpless look back to Dewey and Isaac.

"Get your paws off me!" She shook out of his grasp. "You don't own me, Luka. I can talk to whoever I damn well please-"

Luka's bitter scoff cut her off as he took her wrist yet again. "Oh yes, cozying up to a pair of hoodlums should shine brilliantly in the gossip columns."

Finally, they reached an inconspicuous, plain door. Luka pushed it open, revealing a small, dimly lit linen closet. With a swift movement, he pulled her inside and shut the door behind them, plunging them into near darkness, the only light coming from the crack under the door. Hyuna bristled, backing herself away from him and towards the wall.

“Why are we here?! Someone definitely saw us come in here, and you know what they probably think we’re doin’ right now?! They prolly think--”

Luka leaned close, taking a deep breath. "This night was already disastrous enough without you flirting to make me jealous." He paused. "Go ahead, deny that's what you wanted."

“What are you talking about?! You literally told me to get away from you!” Hyuna's retort came out quieter than she intended as Luka’s hands found the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. The cold of his body against hers was so disgusting but oh so familiar, and Hyuna found herself melting into it. But she still felt his eyes on her, watching her every movement as he stared up at her from her chest.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hyuna muttered.

Luka’s eyes finally closed, sighing softly. “Like what?”

“Like I’m something you own,” She finally found it in her to try pushing him away, and to his credit, his grip faltered. “You know damn well I hate when you get all possessive, ‘specially over Dewey and—”

“It’s not about them,” Luka cuts in sharply.

“Oh, please! They’re so gay for each other, you’d have to be blind not to—”

“That’s not the point, Hyuna!”

“Yeah, well, you’re choosing to be a dick about it!”

Before Hyuna could say anything more, his lips found hers in a kiss. Hyuna’s eyes widened. She didn’t kiss back, but she didn’t pull away either; for all she cared, he could kiss himself breathless.

Hyuna’s pulse raced as her heart, slowly but surely, began to betray her. She hated him, sure, but somewhere, buried under layers of hurt and pride, a fragment of what used to be lingered. This wasn’t about wanting him. It was about wanting what they used to have. She’d always been too stubborn to let go of things…

As his kiss deepened, Hyuna's resistance finally crumbled.

This was stupid.

She found herself responding with equal fervor, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The small space seemed to shrink further.

So stupid.

Hyuna closed her eyes, letting him close what little distance was left between them. But it didn’t feel close enough.

She hated herself for this.

Breaking the kiss, Luka’s breath was ragged against her lips. “This is the end for us, isn’t it?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Instead of answering, she reached down, pulling him back up to her, their lips meeting yet again. This wasn’t just about pretenses or contracts. This was something raw, something real that wasn’t supposed to happen.

What felt like an eternity passed between them before she pulled away, a sad, sardonic smile playing on her lips.

Thank God the room was dark, or else Luka might’ve seen the angry tears clouding her vision.

"... ‘course, you had to start tryin’ to be sweet at the worst time.”

Luka looked at her, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "This isn't about timing, Miss Hyuna. This is about…"

"About what? Us?" Hyuna cut him off, sidestepping further into the shadows of the closet. "There is no 'us', remember? We're just a couple of fucked-up people who can't seem to stay away from each other, even after years." She crossed her arms, her heart racing. "I ain’t doin’ this anymore. That kiss? That was it. Now, are we gonna be adults about it and end this for good, or are you gonna keep bein’ in denial?"

"I wish it were that simple."

Hyuna let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Right, ‘cause everything's gotta be complicated with you. Newsflash, Luka, it doesn't have to be. We make it complicated. Mostly you. This was all supposed to be fake, but nope, you took me into a closet and started makin’ out with me.”

For a moment, Luka was silent. Then, with a sigh, he stepped back, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I suppose it's time we face reality. This... whatever it is, between us, it's not healthy."

The words, though expected, stung Hyuna more than she cared to admit. She should’ve been grateful that he didn’t keep fighting it, but nope. Her heart was sinking. But she nodded, her own resolve steeling. "Yep. It’s time.”

Luka reached out, his hand trembling with unspoken words. “Hyuna, I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted sharply. “Just don’t. Spare us the dramatics.”

There was a pause, heavy and laden, as Luka seemed to process the information. Then, like a scene from a worn-out play, his charm slid back into place, smooth and unnervingly familiar. It was like he became an entirely new person in a matter of seconds, and Hyuna bristled.

“On second thought… Darling, you’re seeing this all wrong,” he said. “We’re a match made in heaven, you and I.”

Hyuna’s attempt to step back was futile; Luka’s grasp was firm yet gentle. “Luka, cut the crap. I know what you’re doin’.”

“But think of what we’ve shared. Our dates, the outings, me holding you when you cry.”

“And the fights? The tears? The screaming matches in the school janitor's closet? Dammit Luka, you were the reason I was crying!” Hyuna countered, her voice wavering.

“Hyuna, darling, that’s how relationships work. We bicker, yes, but we never fail to come back together…”

“You left,” Hyuna snapped. A knot of anger and hurt tightened in her chest. His words were half-truths and blatant manipulation, and yet she still began to feel swayed.

“You know very well that was my Father’s decision for my career and not my own.”

“But did ya fight back?! Probably not, ‘cause since when do you think for yourself?”

Luka lowered his voice, clearly giving up. “... Aside from that, who understands you as I do?” Luka’s voice was soft, almost persuasive, his words carefully chosen. “We’re inevitable, Hyuna. Stay with me, and your brother’s future is secure. That’s a promise only I can make.”

“You… really?” Her resolve wavered further. Luka was stupid rich; if he wanted to, he could pay for her brother’s college education. She’d never have to worry about paying for his gifts ever again. Luka was right. This was a promise only he could make.

“You’re so damn impossible,” she muttered, caught in the tempest of his gaze. Reluctantly, she found herself drawn into his embrace, their lips meeting in a bitter kiss of surrender.

Was it really so wrong to fall back into this cycle? To choose the devil she at least knew over uncertainty?

As their kiss deepened, her doubts seemed to dissolve into the heat of the moment.

#alien stage #alien stage hyuna #alien stage luka #fanfic #oneshot #hyuluka #alien stage hyuluka #divider credit; cafekitsune #no beta we die like sua

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sorrel-haven · 9 days

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Find Another Way

Ghost has been hard at work finding a temporary solution that didn't involve causing Tofu more harm. Naria comes to check on her.

Collab with @ro-valerius

This one is very long I'm so sorry. (not actually sorry)

Ghost sat in her research chambers on the floor against a bookshelf. She had tomes and papers scattered around her. Ghost’s personal grimoire sat in her lap as she scratched out the latest runes she tried working into her latest draft. The torn out pages scattered around her spoke to how well it was going. She sighed and leaned her head back against the shelf as she tore out the page and tossed it aside.

Ghost couldn’t get the events from her last visit to the Flower house out of her head. She really messed up, her own stubbornness was the true cause of that mess. While she didn’t understand the pushback, she shouldn’t have pushed the issue. Definitely not her most shining moment. She just hoped she could make up for it. She was starting to really like getting to know all the flowers…

Naria adjusted her grip on the umbrella in her hands as she walked towards the Thaumaturge’s Guild. She didn’t know what had happened between Ghost and Fiora, but the fact remained that Fiora had almost gone full voidsent on the Curse Breaker. It fell on Naria to make amends, seeing as how she had brought the miqo’te to the house to begin with, brought her into the whole curse ordeal with Tofu.

The other members of the guild had come to know Naria by now, gesturing to where Ghost’s research chambers were without much fuss. Naria approached the door and drew in a deep breath. Steeling herself, she reached up and knocked.

Ghost jumped at the sound of the knock. She stood and left behind the grimoire on the floor as she crossed the room to answer the door. She cracked it open to see who was there.

“Oh! Uh… hi Naria. Wha- what brings you here?” she asked sheepishly.

“I brought your umbrella,” Naria said, holding said umbrella up with a sheepish smile. “And… Well, I should apologize for my sister. May I come in?”

“O-oh, ah, yes… Please come in-” She looked around the room as she began to open the door wide enough for Naria. “P-please excuse the mess.”

This time the mess was an actual mess. Naria looked around as she entered, her face not revealing the concern she felt for the state of the place. It was starting to look like Fiora’s room in there…

“I see that the little…spat didn’t deter you much,” she said, trying to sound light-hearted to mask the worry that had formed. She placed the umbrella down carefully on a table as she turned her attention back to Ghost.

Ghost laughed dryly. “I… need to find a better solution,” she said as she crouched down to pick up some stray papers from the floor.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what went down, but…I appreciate that you’re helping. It’s not any of your responsibility, and yet…” Naria said, her voice trailing off as she offered another smile to Ghost.

“But it is… I may not have been originally tasked with breaking his curse specifically, but I was given this research by the guild. I now have… Personal investment sure, but it’s still my job to find the break in this curse.” Ghost was trying to sound objective. Trying. Failing.

Naria let out a soft sigh through her nose. She glanced over the pages of sigils and writing, noting a frantic nature to the more recent notes.

“Just…don’t overstress yourself, alright? Fiora’s doin’ enough of that on her own- I mean. Fiora’s got that covered,” she said, correcting the light slip into the accent she had begun to pick up from Tio.

Ghost picked up a paper and stared at it. She already had failed Naria’s request - she very much had been stressing about it. She almost didn’t notice the tears welling up in her eyes before one fell onto the paper in her hand. Ghost dropped the papers she had gathered and covered her face with both of her hands.

“I messed everything up!” she said, muffled by her hands. “I should have stopped, but I didn’t and I really upset her…”

Naria closed the distance between them and put her arms around Ghost gently, though she was mindful of the fallen papers. Ghost froze up at the touch, a small gasp escaped her as her breath caught in her throat.

“Hey, stop that… Our…family has a very notorious stubborn streak. It can be hard to get through to most of us from time to time. And when it comes to Tofu, Fiora is the most stubborn of all,” Naria said, patting the miqo’te on the back softly.

“She spent…what was it, twenty-four years? She spent most of her life being tortured by the cult who’s research you now hold. And she was blind for the latter half of that. Tofu was the one that rescued her from that fate, and…well, he came home with that curse for his troubles. She blames herself… That’s why she works so hard to find a cure for him, why she wants to help him without causing him undue discomfort in the meantime. To her, Hana and Tofu are her world, more so than the rest of us for now.”

Ghost put a hand on Naria’s shoulder as she gently pushed out of Naria’s embrace, but left her hand there. A thread of connection as she digested Naria’s words. She looked at Naria and the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. The bags under Ghost’s eyes were even more evident after crying.

“I’m sorry… the more I learn, the more I think about how much of a jerk I was to push the issue,” Ghost said, dejected. Her shoulders slumped as her eyes drifted to her hand on Naria’s shoulder.

“I just- want to help people.” She looked down, “But… maybe I just cause more problems… maybe they were right…" The last part Ghost said was barely a whisper. Naria took Ghost’s hand in both of hers.

“You are doing what you feel is right. There is no ‘best way’ to go about doing something to help others. What I can say, though, is that you’re not causing more problems for us. Fiora would still be stuck in her research if not for you and yours. She’s just…touchy. N-not physically, Gods no, don’t try to hug her she might flip, but like- you know what I mean,” she said, stumbling through her attempt at comforting the miqo’te.

Ghost looked at her hand in Naria’s as her cheeks turned a little pink.

“Thank you, I needed to hear that.” She sniffled, but smiled softly. She looked at the papers she dropped and stooped down to get them. Naria crouched down to help.

“In any case, we’ll figure this out. Together. You, me, and Fiora,” the hyur said with a soft smile.

Ghost smiled again, “Together…” she murmured, testing how it felt on her lips. She glanced at a page that Naria picked up but then tilted her head. She took it gently from Naria and turned it upside down. “Hmm, maybe I can work with this…”

She wandered over to the work table and pushed aside some books and papers. She took a pin from the pincushion nearby and pricked her finger tip. She drew the sigil on the table in her blood. When she finished, she touched the top of it and it lit up. She lifted her finger and the glowing sigil lifted off the table. With a flick of her finger, she spun it. It glowed brightly before it popped and a butterfly appeared in its place.

Naria stepped closer, examining the butterfly with a curious expression. It fluttered as a shimmering blue with thick black lines and rounded wings. A single orange dot adorned the bottom wing on each side. She tilted her head; it seemed like an ordinary butterfly. Her eyes flickered over to Ghost.

“What…will this do?” she asked.

“This is going to help with excess mana, before it can attack his organs. Won’t you Morpho?” Ghost said holding a finger under the butterfly for it to have a place to land. She turned back to Naria, “Not all of it mind you, but enough that it should be more manageable.”

She took the butterfly to another part of the chamber where she had a smaller table set up with a small alchemical station. She picked up a crystal and held it out to Morpho. The butterfly flitted from her finger to the crystal which began to dissipate at the butterflies touch. Morpho glowed for a few seconds after the crystal disappeared. She smiled at the results.

“So a…siphon of sorts? Seems promising enough,” Naria said, making her way over to where Ghost was testing. She stared at the butterfly for a moment. “Better you name it than him, he’s got Callum’s sense…might call it ‘Flappy’ or something like that…” she grumbled to herself.

Ghost giggled, “Unfortunately, my name for it is just Morpho, I named it when I was younger and less creative. But this familiar has served me well.” She smiled for a moment before launching into a bit more explanation. “Morpho will need to feed on a small sample of his blood to create a bio link, but maaaaybe it would be best for someone… else to present the idea to Fiora? Perhaps… someone present… nice… pretty…?”

“Come now, with as much blood as he’s coughin’ up, you won’t need to hurt him to get any. I think…she will appreciate that you’re trying a different method of mitigation-” Naria started, not even realizing the manner of speech she had fallen into as the last of Ghost’s words settled in belatedly. She blushed. “A-anyway, I think she feels bad, too, so it would be good for both of you to apologize to each other.”

Ghost’s shoulders slumped a little. She had been hoping that Naria would have agreed. She was terrible at apologizing. Not for a lack of remorse but for an overwhelming need to be liked. The fact that she needed to apologize was bad enough, but what if the recipient rejected her apology? That was far worse.

No use fighting it. If Naria was most likely going to insist, she would acquiesce now.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.” Naria patted Ghost on the head gently.

“It’ll be fine. She’s…more level headed now than she was at the time, I think she’s more ashamed than anything,” she said softly. She offered Ghost a more reassuring smile. “She’s not very good socially, either. I think she’ll understand your intent, so long as you express it earnestly.”

“I just… hope this goes better than my last visit.” Ghost walked over and retrieved her umbrella. “No time like the present right? Would you do me the honor of accompanying me while I try not to make an ass of myself again?” Naria held out her hand for Ghost to take.

“Naturally.”

---

Fiora sat at the dining table, stacks of books scattered around her as she scribbled almost furiously in a notebook, flipping pages in one book, pulling another closer to examine, and knocking over a stack to get a book near the bottom. Her sightless eyes darted across ink that had aether infused into it, a trick Daen Lad had learned that Fiora abused relentlessly. She scowled into the last book, flipping through until she found the page she was looking for, scribbling more notes into her notebook. She didn’t notice the door opening, nor did she register the footsteps behind her. She was too engrossed, too close to a breakthrough…

Ghost looked to Naria, concerned at the idea of interrupting Fiora. She recognized the fervent, singular focus for what it was. It was the moment where something was just at the tips of your fingers, but still grasping at air. She took in a breath, and approached the table.

“Fiora…?”

Fiora jumped, the stacks of books at her elbows toppling over as some fell to the ground along with her inkwell and notebook. All of that, accompanied by a gasp, and then Fiora squared her shoulders and took in a deep breath to compose herself. She cleared her throat.

“Ahem, yes, can I help you?” she asked, sounding somehow composed in spite of the mess her surprise had made. She did not, however, turn to face Ghost.

“I uh… came to apologize… for my behavior last time I was here.” Ghost nervously twisted the umbrella in her hands.

“Ah, yes, well, good. Because I…uh… needed to apologize, too. I should not have…lost control like that. You are trying to help, as…unconventional as the proposed method was,” Fiora stated firmly, still not looking over at Ghost. Naria did say that she was just as awkward socially, after all.

“Still… I was out of line. I still want to help, if you’ll let me.” Ghost paused. “I- I have a new proposal, one that I hope you’ll approve of.”

Fiora glanced over at where Ghost’s aether stood, then at Naria, who was standing by with an almost palpable smile on her face. Fiora didn’t need to see to know it was there. She let out a huff through her nose.

“Well, let’s hear it,” she finally said, trying to sound more certain of herself than she felt.

“Do you have a pin? Or a needle… I forgot them. Um it’s for me! I need to summon the familiar, and I use my blood to do it so…” Ghost mentally kicked herself for not bringing a pin with her.

Fiora stood from the dining table and made her way over to her alchemy table- the mess on the top of it had been too much for her current fervent research escapade- and opened a drawer to pull out a small vial of pins. She did not bleed, so she did not see the point of storing them more carefully. She picked one out and held the sharp end, tossing the vial almost carelessly back into the drawer and pushing it shut with her hip as she made her way back to Ghost. She held it out to the miqo’te.

Ghost took the pin and nodded in thanks. She stepped back to the table and cleared a small section to begin the summoning. As before, she used her blood to draw the sigil. Fiora could see the aether she poured into it as she drew. The sigil glowed as she pulled it off the table to initiate the summoning and the butterfly popped back into existence.

“This is Morpho, and for now they’re a siphon.” She held out a finger for the butterfly to land on. “They will be able to siphon off a good portion of excess mana from Tofu before it can be used to attack his organs… after consuming some of his blood to create a bio link.”

“It hurts my eyes to look at. But if it works, it works. The blood…if he is coughing up blood already, will that work? I will not allow for further injury, not while he’s already so bad off…” The last of Fiora’s words were soft, scared even. It was plain to see that she was terrified of losing him, even if she wouldn’t say it.

Ghost nodded. “That would suffice, the fresher the better however so we will need to wait for a coughing fit.” Fiora nodded as well.

“I can…accept that,” the au ra said. Her following words were spoken softly, as if she didn’t want Ghost to actually hear them. “Thank you…for looking for another way…”

“Of course,” Ghost said, equally as quiet. She let Morpho flitter off of her finger as she turned from the table. “So, where is the sickroom? The sooner we can get his blood the better.”

Fiora was quiet for a long moment. “Naria, why don’t you lead her…?” she murmured softly. As much as she loved her brother, or rather, because of how much she loved her brother, she didn’t think she could handle being around him in that state. It would break her. Naria walked over to her, resting a hand on her head as she pulled Fiora closer, kissing her forehead gently.

“Yeah, I gotcha, I’ll let you know how he’s doing, too,” she whispered quietly into the au ra’s bangs. Naria turned a brighter smile to Ghost, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Follow me.” With a last brush of her fingers against Fiora’s cheek, Naria stepped towards the stairs, pausing for Ghost to follow.

Ghost and Morpho followed suit. She looked around as they walked through the hallways. A curiosity began to overtake her about where Naria might reside. A thought that would have to be entertained later as they got to their destination.

Naria drew up to Kore’s door and knocked softly, but didn’t await an answer before she let herself in. A small gasp escaped her as she found Tofu leaned over the edge of the bed, blood dripping from his mouth. At the sound of the door, he wiped as much as he could off of his face with his hand and tried to smile at Naria.

“You have…the worst timing,” he tried to joke.

“Or the best,” Naria and Ghost both piped up. Naria looked over at Ghost and smiled lightly, gesturing for the miqo’te to explain.

“I need your blood.” Ghost said simply.

“Frightening,” Tofu muttered without any hint of inflection.

Ghost quickly crossed the room and took Tofu’s hand, examining how much blood was there.

“Yes this should suffice,” she said as she directed Morpho to land on his hand and take in the blood. “Let Morpho here take care of that, it will just be a moment.”

“You know, without context, this is very alarming for me,” Tofu said, though he watched with curiosity as the butterfly landed on him. “What is this thing? Why does it need my blood?”

“Sorry, I needed it to be as fresh as possible.” Ghost looked up at Tofu now that Morpho was at work. “Um, so I’m not sure how much you may have heard about me… I’m Ghost, a Cursebreaker with the Thaumaturge Guild, pleasure to finally meet properly. This is Morpho, my familiar who will be taking in excess mana that is attacking your organs… Enough of it that it will be less of a concern for the time being.”

“Rrrrright I absorbed about half of that. Ghost, huh? Nice to uh…meet you, I guess? I guess you probably know my name already, huh… Tofu, regardless,” the viera said, taking advantage of the fact that their abrupt and confusing entrance had distracted him from the pain in his- Nope, there it was. He winced and put a hand to his chest. “Dammit, knew I had gone too long being able to ignore it…”

He straightened up, pushing the pain aside again, and tried to smile politely at Ghost.

“Sounds like you’ve been hard at work, as well. Sorry you got all wrapped up in this, but…thank you,” he said.

“Well I was assigned the case by the guild, this was even before I met Naria and learned you were affected. Having a living person affected by a curse I was researching… Made this particular case take precedence.” She smiled.

Morpho finished consuming and left a clean spot on his hand. It then flitted over to rest on Tofu’s shoulder. Ghost smiled and noticed a pile of clean towels and handed one to Tofu for the rest of the blood. Tofu took it gratefully and got what blood he could feel on his face wiped off and wiped off his hands as well. Naria walked over and took the towel from him, dabbing lightly at his eyebrow.

“Did this one wake you up, too? It’s in your hair…” she murmured gently, glancing at his pillow and noting the blood there as well. “I’ll get one of the other pillows while Blomma takes care of that one.” Tofu averted his gaze.

“It’s…fine,” he grumbled.

“Nonsense, wait here, I’ll be right back,” she said, cupping his face gently with one hand and smiling before making her way out the door. “Stay or follow, up to you, Ghost!”

Ghost looked between Tofu and Naria a moment before flashing Tofu a nervous smile and following Naria. She furrowed her brows but said nothing. Until they were out of the room.

“Are you alright?” Ghost asked softly. Naria tilted her head at Ghost and tried to smile, but it was a poor mask at best.

“I…wasn’t here when they came home, and I haven’t been in with him much since… I didn’t know how bad it was,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She turned back to face in front of her, placing a hand to her chest as she walked. She tried to keep the false smile on her face. “Gods, he looks bad…and this is after some time, I can only imagine…how bad it was.”

She stopped and turned, clasping her hands behind her back as she let out a rather humourless laugh. “But! He’ll be fine now. Blomma says his wound is…healing. Slowly, but it’s healing. And now he’s got that butterfly. Daen Lad says he’s got a few heavy episodes left, then smaller ones for a while longer, and then his curse is in the clear until…” A heavy sigh escaped her as her smile dropped slightly. “Until he gets into it with another mage. He’d better not…”

“Naria…” Ghost closed the distance between the two of them and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay… to not be okay.”

Though she tried to keep the smile on her face, Naria’s eyes welled with tears. She knelt on the floor and buried her face with one hand as she cried softly, her other arm wrapped around her knees, as if being curled up like that was the only thing keeping her together. Ghost knelt beside her and pulled Naria into a tight embrace, resting her chin on Naria’s head.

“I know… I know he’ll be alright. I know he’s strong, and stubborn, but I still… I still…!” Naria hiccuped. “It still hurts… But I have to be strong, too. Everyone has so much to worry about…”

“You can’t help anyone if you break. Holding it all in causes cracks, you can’t ignore your feelings for the sake of others…” Ghost murmured as she softly stroked her hair.

“I…I know. I wouldn’t accept my behavior from anyone else, but I was raised this way, it’s ingrained in me, and it’s hard to break out of that line of thinking,” Naria said, looking up at Ghost with a soft smile even as tears still streamed down her face. “‘Everything for the good of the family’, you know? Anything to keep their spotless image pristine…even if it meant throwing their own daughter away.”

“‘Why must you have been born to us?’ is what I used to hear…” Ghost laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t allowed to be… part of the family for the most part…”

Naria scoffed and turned her face away. “Useless nobles, am I right?” she grumbled. She reached up and dried her eyes, gently pushing away from Ghost to stand up.

“But! That is why I’m here, now. Why Fiora and Tofu brought me here. Not only to protect me from Tuturoko, but to give me a second chance at a family. I’ll never be able to repay Ro for what she’s done for me, but hey, I can at least try. And the first step of that for now is to get Tofu a spare pillow.”

Naria smiled and held out her hand to Ghost to help her up, a cheeky ‘shall we?’ to accompany her. Ghost let her fingertips touch Naria’s hand but didn’t fully take it just yet.

“Just… also take care of you, yeah?” she said as she fully clasped Naria’s hand. Naria offered a more genuine smile.

“Of course. I can do both! Take care of myself and also Tofu, I mean. Pillow time!”

#ffxiv #ghost lycoris #guest appearance #ffxiv rp stories #ffxiv oc

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this-acuteneurosis · 2 years

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6 and 29 for ao3 wrapped questions?

6. Favorite title you used

Oh man. That's a tough one. I haven't posted a ton of new fic this last year (*frantically checks ao3 to confirm*), and I like most of my titles. I'm gonna go with Unsigned, Unspoken because actually that entire fic was so full of good imagery and double meanings, and the title just...worked. It's a tiny piece and I don't think I really advertised it, but I had fun with it and it's something I look back at sometimes and I'm like, "Damn, I wrote this?"

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

I really should have paid more attention to how many of these questions were about "favorites." Guys, I'm so bad at picking favorites.

Alright, I'm gonna give myself a break and do two. One posted line and one unposted.

Posted: I'm pulling two sections from Unsigned, Unspoken that go together, I know no one cares about this fic but I really loved them.

But Marinette had turned Chat Noir down and now all that’s left of that love is the pressed roses Marinette keeps—she kept them all—thin and fragile, and the pink tint from the petals on the pages where Marinette had forgotten to place paper to stop the color from seeping.

She tries not to think about how that love bled through onto those pages, how something in Marinette is permanently stained by it, even though the flower is dead and dry and there’s only the faint remains of rose scent, like a blurring, fading memory.

...

When he pulls her tighter even if he can’t bring her closer without fusing them, without pressing her until her love bleeds out, staining him pink and rose scented.

Unposted: Ugh, there were a lot of good bits I got drafted during November for Duty Bound. I shared one a week ago. There are a lot I love but can't share yet because too many spoilers. But!

“I’m serious,” Anakin said. “Is there anything you’ve really lost? Anything you’ve left behind?” There was a grim set to Leia’s mouth, her lips pressed into a bright white line. She looked at Anakin, really looked at him, weighing something. Something…dangerous, Padmé thought. Something heavy. Something…monumental. “Whatever was necessary,” Leia said, the words almost resonant in the air around her. Like they were a prayer. Or a promise. Anakin looked away, said nothing. For the rest of the meal, he didn’t look back at her.

#ask meme #Duty Bound #writing #unposted quote is subject to change

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private-bryan · 1 year

Text

WIP Wednesday

So, after "In Their Thirties" rewired my brain the other day, this fic idea moved in - this is your fault, areseebee. When/If it's done, it'll be a companion piece for chapter 13 of MQRB (assuming I make it that far for that fic, too), and this also is a prequel explaining James and Erin's living arrangements in my fic "To Travel", set ~5-6 years beforehand.

It's not alluded to yet in the draft, but this fic will show the main difference I have in my headcanon for Future Jerin compared to most of my mutuals' - that is, I think Erin would be the one to leave Northern Ireland, not James.

He's found a home with them, which is something he was missing with Kathy IMO, and I think he'd stay in Belfast for a bit after Uni, then later move back to Derry. Erin wants to be more worldly, but she does have a habit of looking before she leaps...

He should have gone. It was stupid, really. She was his best friend, the person he'd call every week to spend hours chatting to, and she'd email him every day to check in. Even with all the wedding planning going on, she had still kept it up. He'd lost track of which excuse he'd told which person. He was sick. No, he was working. No, he'd lost his passport (which even Michelle had said was a stupid excuse, considering he could have travelled over on the ferry using just his driving licence). Whatever anyone believed, she was over there, no doubt being whirled around on the dancefloor by her new husband under the loving gaze of her friends and family (could he still include himself in that, now?), while he was sitting in his depressingly empty new home, surrounded by still packed boxes and unassembled furniture. He tried not to think about the fact that he'd made sure the bottles of wine were near the top of the kitchen box. The only light was from the front hall, the previous owner having removed the rest of the bulbs when they’d moved out; he’d not bothered to move it over to the living room, knowing that he’d just have to go out and get more the next day anyway. He thought there was a bedside lamp tucked away in one of the boxes nearby if he needed it, but right now the darkness suited his mood. A quiet buzz sounded from the other side of the room, and the walls were briefly painted a pale blue as his Blackberry received another text message. He’d been getting them, on and off, all day; Michelle had been gently teasing him at first, saying how all the English were rides and that he’d obviously pulled the short straw looks-wise, but then she had texted him. I hope you’re OK. I wish you were here today. I need you here. That was her to a 'T', ever the stickler for correct spelling and punctuation. He’d tossed it into the corner after that, his stomach giving sickening flips, and had resolutely ignored every text and call that had been sent since. He didn’t need the play-by-play of what was happening, about how the ceremony had gone, about how happy she was. A car drove past, its lights briefly illuminating the room and catching the half-filled glass in his hand, before the evening gloom returned. He’d wanted to get drunk all day, the knowledge of what was going on across the Irish Sea preying on his mind as he shifted things from the rented van into the house, but even this late he was still only on his second glass of rosé. Maybe that was the reason she’d never made another attempt at them getting together over the last nine years; he was too safe, too boring. She’d had ample opportunities to make a move if she’d wanted to. They’d been together often enough, thick as thieves all the way through the last years of school, through Uni and beyond, until she’d found her match and they’d drifted apart a bit. He’d never seen her more enthusiastic then, and she didn’t need him hanging on when she was getting a serious relationship off of the ground. So he'd stepped back, still being good friends but not as close as they'd once been; it had almost come as a relief when they became separated by the ferry journey. A clock chimed from one of the boxes, muted and faint, and he checked his watch. 11 o’clock, and all was “well”.

#wip wednesday #as yet untitled fic #my fic #jerin #james x erin

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moth-yknowtheartist · 2 years

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[this letter is dated two weeks after the first one. it is significantly heavier. there is a scribbly drawing of moth and nat holding hands on the envelope.]

dearest moth,

hey again! it's been a while since I sent my last letter and, well, you haven't replied yet but that's okay! figured I'd write this one anyway to keep you updated, I guess? assuming you aren't actually dead like everyone says haha.

first of all, remember how I said I was going to make gingersnaps? I went to the store after sending out my last letter to get some and the molasses was all sold out! pretty strange, huh? I had to buy the boxed ones instead :( they're not as good as homemade, but they still tasted wonderful.

how have you been? I guess I already asked that in the last letter... oh well, never hurts to check in on a friend. I've been missing you a lot lately, you know? I found a google doc while looking through old files the other day for what looked to be a draft for a buzzfeed unsolved musical we were trying to write? god, it would've been so cool if we had gone somewhere with that haha. I'd love to do more stuff like that with you, too, when you get back from, I'm, wherever you are

I tried messaging a couple friends of yours the other day to ask about you. all I got back was "they're dead" and "they're in Nebraska". no pressure, but please let me know how you're doing okay? after that conversation about the moths you sorta ghosted me and it's making me sort of anxious.

anyway! sorry to bring the mood down. I hope school's going alright! if you see gale again sometime soon, tell them I'm sorry for how awkward I was when we met a while ago haha. it's always so weird to meet a friend of a friend!

I'm tucking some dried flowers and a teabag into this envelope as little keepsakes for you. peppermint tea is tasty and refreshing anytime of year in my opinion :) enjoy!

lots of love, see you soon

nat★

[This letter is, like the last, smudged with small stains of molasses. Doesn't seem like it can be helped. This envelope's heavy, too, with two flat-ish rocks inside- a tiger's eye and an amethyst.]

dear nat,

thank you for the keepsakes, and the drawing. you're the sweetest, nat. I have them taped up on my wall now :) besides the tea. I'll keep that one on me!!!

i'm hoping you'll have gotten the letter I sent from nebraska soon, I'm so so sorry I never meant to leave you hanging so long. things have been complicated? I'm home now though. I'm sorry I made you wait.

that's.um. odd. with the molasses. maybe it's for the better? gingersnaps are good but there are even BETTER cookies out there right!! gale might even have some recipes. did I tell you gale bakes? I know they might have seemed like more of a bug expert last time you talked haha but you guys should really share some recipes sometime. was hoping to maybe properly introduce you!!!

I almost completely forgot about that musical- I still vaguely remember one of the songs you wrote!! god we had the whole storyline planned out I think or at least mostly I remember being SO excited about it!! I still stand by it being as good as I remember hahaha. good times. we'll have plenty of time to work on that kind of stuff again soon, right? long nebraska trip, but I swear I'm not going anywhere now anytime soon. hopefully.

I'm sorry to have um. ghosted you for so long. I'm okay though, people just don't know when to let up with a joke haha!! I'm alive. I'm sorry, I swear I'll make it up to you. now that I'm home.

there's a little gift in here for you, too!! meant to give these to you a while back- some cool rocks I thought you might like :) something cool to show you until I can show you my knives, right?

hope to see you soon! sorry I worried you.

-moth <3

#THE LORE #another letter!!!!!#looks like nat got a little worried. but everything's fine!!!! right?

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angel-with-paper-wings · 1 year

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11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

18. what is your most and least favorite part of writing?

54. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

70. are you very critical of your own writing? how much do you find yourself editing (either during the writing or after the fact)?

11. I will do research into a certain thing mostly just to make sure it’s inclusion in my story isn’t anachronistic. Other than that, I mostly check Google when I am writing about a specific place (ex: the Paris Opera House, Paris in general, Perros-Guirec) so that I can describe the settings of my stories as accurately as I can. Other things I have learned about are operas, late 19th century fashion, and I recently went down a Wikipedia rabbit hole about the events and people that made up the Persian government during the time where Erik would have been in Persia (literally for no reason other than I was really bored). 😅

One thing that might interest you in particular: there is a very-real train station in Paris called Gare du Montparnasse, which is even mentioned in the POTO novel as the train station Raoul used to travel to Perros-Guirec. I saw that while rereading, and immediately thought of you! 😂

17. Oh man, I have quite a few! One that immediately comes to mind is from the first chapter of LAYNLB, and what I think sums up that fic in the best way possible:

“The sound of her sobs echoed through the silence, carrying through the thin walls to the hollow space beyond. Her voice and all its sorrow was heard, but not by an angel. That night, while the rest of Paris celebrated, two souls broken by the world wept together.”

Another one that I’m proud of isn’t really a line, but it’s a transition from one scene to another. It’s from chapter 12 of LAYNLB:

“The violinist rested his hand over his beloved daughter’s hair as she sobbed, silently praying for Heaven to have mercy on her, and to send someone who could help her where he had failed.

The Phantom was in a dark mood. Well, darker than usual.”

I just love the transition from Christine’s father asking God for someone nice and patient and responsible to care for his daughter, and then we immediately see how his prayer has been answered in the form of our grumpy, scrungly, stubborn sewer goblin. 🤣

18. My favorite part of writing is when I get to write a scene that I can see so clearly in my head, and I know exactly what the characters should say/do. This happens at least once every chapter, and while it doesn’t last long, it makes for an easy time to write.

My least favorite part is actually starting. Sometimes I have a really tough time deciding how the beginning of a certain chapter or scene is supposed to start, which is why I normally begin writing scenes that will end up in the middle of a chapter. But, I try to tell myself that not every start has to be groundbreakingly good, it just has to BE.

54. One thing I try to keep in mind is to try not to use the same word over and over again to describe your character’s actions in the same scene. This is usually during a scene with a lot of dialogue, when I pull out the thesaurus and look up all the synonyms for the word “said”. I try to mix it up as much as I can, or if I have to reuse a word I make sure it is far enough away from the previous time I used it so that it sounds new when you read it.

70. I am pretty critical of myself while I am writing, and that’s why it takes me so long to write certain scenes because I just want to get them “RIGHT”. Sometimes I’ll obsess over a single line for several minutes, because I can’t find the “right” words to use. After I finish writing a scene, though, I don’t usually go back and edit it unless I have a new idea to introduce to it. Usually my first draft is my final draft just because I spend so much time on making it the way I like it the first time.

#my writing #thanks for the ask!

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dragon-swords-prophecies · 2 years

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I read your tags on my post twice, and I literally have to ask about Jerry. Tell me literally anything and everything you want to, that is Such a fun a concept

There is so much about Jerry. So much.

he is technically a human. technically. he's currently a talking sword! he also is *checks notes* 397! He died/got stuck inside the sword when he was in his late thirties/early forties and then he's been in the sword for about 360 years!

how did he get in the sword?

this requires a little bit of backstory explanation. basically two of the four MCs of my main wip (Frost & Fire) are half dragon, half elf, and their parents were, once upon a time, adventurers! so was Jerry! do you see where I am going hopefully? they were adventurers together!

during one of their later quests they needed to kill/defeat a (theoretically evil) dragon. dragon lairs have weird weird magic.

sometimes weird magic will mess with souls and stuff.

sometimes when you perish while fighting a dragon in a dragon's lair your soul gets, uh, a little lost.

(further below cut because uh. length!)

well, a lot lost. part of jerry, the part thats actually his personality and his memories and stuff, got stuck in his sword (the name of the sword was Dragonslayer. This means that sometimes Jerry gets called dragonslayer)!

Through a series of events that I'm still not sure of the sword, with him inside, is lost. for several centuries.

Then! someone finds it! in a weird crypt underground that is definitely not where they put him last but whatever maybe he got lost (he did. he got very lost! this man does not have a sense of direction whatsoever!)!

the someone who found it?

Anastrannia Galendel, the youngest (at the time she was ~120, currently in the story she is 267) daughter of the people Jerry used to adventure with!

she did not know Jerry knew her parents. Jerry did not know she was the daughter of his old friends. it took like 4 months for that to be figured out.

now Ana has a talking sword who makes rude/annoying/absurd and occasionally helpful commentary! On Everything. he does not know how to shut up. should not have given the sword the ability to telepathically communicate with whoever is carrying him and/or speak aloud like a normal person. i really should not have done that.

but also its fun so whatever! its fun!

Some of his more funny commentaries from the first draft:

You and I are awfully small compared to this dragon. Could fit both of us in its mouth. At the same time. And swallow. No need to chew. It's enormous.

You know, this reminds me of the one fight with the cat. Where you almost died? Fun times.

Fire. Bad. Avoid fire- oh yes. Please throw me to the ground once more, I very much enjoy laying on dirt.

Oh. That hurt. Mind if you stop bashing my face into scales?

And his intro scene from draft 2 (current one):

“When did you get here?!?!” I shrugged. “About five minutes ago. Nice sword.” “Thank you!” said a new voice. It was my turn to whirl around, searching for a source. There wasn’t anyone else in the clearing, or in the edge of the trees. I resorted to holding onto a branch and leaning over the edge of the cliff to see if someone was hiding on the wall, despite not knowing how that could possibly be true. “Over here.” I spun towards the voice, and found myself looking at Anastrannia’s sword, which she had now fully unsheathed and laid on the ground. It took a few seconds to sort out. “Is your sword… talking?” “I have a name!” “Shut up, Jerry. Yes, Enna. He’s talking.” “Well that’s new.” “Its not, actually. Several hundred years old.”

#dragonslayer aka jerry #wip: frost & fire #asks #bookish galaxy #thank you for the ask!#somewhere on my blog is a post that is the most fabulous collection of crowdfunded (ish) ideas for what commentary a talking #sword would make but i cannot for the life of me find it

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uozlulu · 1 year

Text

Now that I've wrapped my head around what I'm doing, i realized I need an alternating POV so I get to rewrite two scenes from Armand's POV

So I'm stashing the original rough draft versions here in case that doesn't work out in the long term

===

Daniel checked the classroom number on his notepad. A poster advertising auditions for <i>Phantom of the Opera</i> covered the door. Daniel knocked.

“Enter,” a voice called out from deep within the room.

Daniel blinked and then did just that without thought.

Armand looked up from his desk, their gaze meeting. His dark eyes widened a moment and his lips parted. His mind seemed to spin for a moment and then he said, “Are you Mr. Molloy?”

Daniel could not tear his gaze away. He opened his mouth and closed it. Something stirred within him but he pushed it down quickly as he entered the room. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You must be Mr. Armand.”

“That’s what the kids call me. To adults, I’m just Armand.” He got up from his desk and crossed the room to offer Daniel his hand.

Daniel took it. Armand’s grip was firm and tight. Armand’s hand lingered and then he let go slowly. “No last name?” Daniel asked.

“No one can pronounce it,” Armand said. He returned to the desk and picked up a stack of papers. He handed them to Daniel. “These are your daughter’s assignments from this week.”

Daniel took the papers, their fingers brushing in the process. Armand remained close as Daniel flipped through the assignments. Many were only partially done and a few were completely blank with only Jess’ name across the top. “Jesus.”

“I’ve heard from her other teachers that this is a habit,” Armand said. “If this continues, she’ll have to leave the school.”

Daniel sighed. “She’s even failing art class. She draws all the time.”

“She’s on top of the reading and a leader in discussions,” Armand said, “but she also seems distracted.”

Daniel nodded. He certainly kept thinking about how closer Armand stood, how all he could smell was a faint scent of cologne. “I’ll talk to her about it.” He looked away from Armand. His eyes found their way to a photo on the desk. Armand stood in the center of several people who looked like they were celebrating something back in university.

Armand followed his gaze. “That’s my theater troupe. We run the community theater on Saturdays and then go out to the club once the show’s over.”

“Seems lively,” Daniel said.

“You should take in a show sometime and sit in the front row. I’ll look for you,” Armand said.

Daniel wondered if Armand would really notice him despite the glare from the stage lights. He mentally shook himself. He should not be thinking about taking Armand up on this offer. “I’ll think about it,” he said despite himself.

Armand smiled and guided Daniel to the door with a hand on his back. “I look forward to it,” he said almost in Daniel’s ear.

Daniel nodded and exited the room. The door closed behind him. A shiver traversed his body. He took several deep breaths and looked at the papers in his arms and immediately the thrill left his body. It was time to collect the girls and leave.

===

The new routine was easy to adapt. On weekdays, Daniel woke early, wrote until his stomach could not take it anymore, had lunch, worked on other things, and then kept track of the girls after school until Alice returned home at night. On Friday nights, he took the girls home with him to his two-bedroom apartment. On Saturdays, they found fun things to do and he took a break from writing. By Saturday night, the girls were back with Alice so they could go to church on Sundays. Daniel devoted his Sundays to research for his next article. Mandy was still smoking, but smarter about where she kept her cigarettes. Jess managed to complete her assignments. Daniel made more progress on his book. It was routine. It was monotonous. It lent well to writing.

The air had a fall chill to it now. The moon hung low on the horizon. Daniel put his hands in his pockets, one arm around his laptop bag slung across his body. People passed him and paid him no mind. He stopped at a crosswalk and waited for a light. Someone’s arm brushed his. Daniel glanced at them and blinked.

Armand looked back at him. “Good evening, Mr. Molloy.”

Daniel stared longer than he could have. They both started walking in the sea of people cross the street. “Hey.” He paused. “You can call me Daniel.” It was weird otherwise like an episode of an old 50’s sitcom.

Armand nodded towards a nightclub nearby. The line stretched down the sidewalk even though it was a weekday. “Have you ever been to Night Island?”

“No,” Daniel said. “Is it good?”

“There’s no dress code. Everyone is welcome.” Armand kept watching him but did not walk into a single person or object in their path. “The Saturday before Halloween is their best night. Everyone goes in costume.”

Daniel glanced back at the line. Alice and his editor both encouraged him to get back out there lately. He made a note to look it up the next time he was online. He remembered the photo on Armand’s desk. “So you like costumes and theatrics.”

“I like many things,” Armand said. He touched Daniel’s arm. “This is where I leave. Let’s find each other again.” He headed to an apartment complex nearby. It was only a block away from Daniel’s apartment.

Daniel watched him go and let out a long low sigh. He could still feel Armand’s fingers on his arm. He was already considering going to Trinity Gate. He was losing his mind.

#adventures in fic writing #i knew i should have alternated them from the get go but i didn't trust myself enough when i began writing last night

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

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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