#what do you Mean I’ve spent Way too much money & time on such a simple little thing xD

[scrawlingskribbles]

waugh I’m so excitedddddd for wearing my costume at work on thursday lol ✨✨✨✨

[nerdieforpedro]

Sard’ika Sessions

Session One

Fanfiction 18+

Main Masterlist | Sard’ika Sessions Masterlist I Din Djarin/The Mandalorian Masterlist

Summary: Your first session with The Mandalorian test both of your boundaries.

Warnings: Din Djarin in his own warning, currency for sexual services, HANDS, slight body worship, thigh-riding, temperature play, beskar use, body insecurity, limited eye contact, fingering, overstimulation, angst (always), liberties taken with The Way and Creed, discussion of pregnancy prevention, no name use (Din will call reader by nicknames)

Notes: I’ve wanted to write for Din for a while. He’s one of my favorite Pedro Boys I hadn’t written any fics for until now. The Star Wars world is huge and has such a significance for pop culture in general. It’s all intimidating, but this idea wouldn’t let my brain go. So I had to write it to get it out. This is The Way.

I did use some Mando’a in this fic. Kept it limited to a few words because despite researching I still found it confusing and didn’t want to mess up too badly:

The suffix of (‘ika) denotes turning a word into a nickname but should only be used in private.

Sard’ika = flower (reasoning behind this nickname is explained in later sessions)

Mesh’la = beautiful

Word Count: 2,384

The Mandalorian is aware that you listen for his heavy footsteps. Always ready at your door in what he requests, a simple green slip. Depending on his tastes for the time spent with you, he may want simple cotton or a more decadent silk. He is well aware that he is using you for his own desires. He tells himself that this is what you’ve agreed to and it is mutual use. He pays you in credits after all.

His idle thoughts concern him.

Half of them are of his charge - his son who is training with a Jedi. He misses him dearly, the little whomp rat troublemaker changed his life, if asked, the Mandalorian may admit that his son led his beskar clad body to you.

The other half are reminiscing of what he has done with you and planning when he can do it again. Possibly with new accessories.

While he was talking to Greef about yet another bounty payout, Grogu had wandered over to you, poking your calf. He allowed you to pick him up and talk to him, hold him. This intrigued Mando. After he finished with Greef, he was walking over to you to reclaim his son when he heard you tell the child, “What I wouldn’t do for some more credits? Honest work doesn’t pay much little one. I’m only good at hunting numbers.”

An offhand remark. You may have been joking, but he remembered meeting you before, a few times. On a few occasions, if Greef was busy in some meeting or whatever that man did, you’d be the one to confirm his bounty objective was met and issue his credits. Mando did attempt to control more carnal desires with self-sessions while the child was asleep and with visits to the pleasure house, though due to his beskar, he drew attention.

Your soft curves, delicate looking skin and wide hips enticed him. Not soft spoken, he enjoyed the way your voice echoes in his helmet when you speak, he may have recorded your short greetings to listen to at later times. Eyes that betray your interest in the enigma that the Mandalorian knows he is. It’s one of his largest advantages. He wonders what exactly you want to know about him and is it the same bodily knowledge he seeks. After hearing your comment, he eagerly awaits when Greef either cannot or will not meet with him. The reason matters not. It means he’ll be able to speak to you directly again.

The day comes. The shock on your face is adorable, the warrior wonders what other faces you are capable of making and what actions will inspire them. He was ready to appeal to your expressed need for money to his son and possibly a deeper interest you may have held in him. He wasn’t sure about the second part. You inform him of the location of your home, to come after you finish your shift. Already knowing when your shift ends, the bounty hunter arrives ten minutes before you do. Explaining that the oncoming person was later, you apologize, there was no need, but he thanks you anyway, grateful that your curiosity aligned with his.

Entering your home, it’s simple, but decorated with pictures of plants and planets. It appears lived in and he finds that cute like you. The Mandalorian wants to break you in slowly, no need to rush things. He finally has you to himself in private.

“The only items I will remove are my gloves. Understood?”

Your compliance is appreciated with his boundary and with your clothes. Erect nipples speak to him, gloves are off and his large hands each hold a breast. Massaging them is its own reward for his patience, months have passed since he’s felt another person’s flesh. The low hum from his helmet as his hands begin to roam your body is palpable, he watches as you shudder from his touch.

Leading you over to your small loveseat, he sits, hands running down to your thighs. Pushing them apart, observing your slick, curious about its taste. The visor turns upward to you, “Sit on my thigh. Make yourself come Sard’ika.” (flower - nickname) Watching you hesitate, the hunter taps his right thigh and holds your hands, placing them on his shoulders. “Use my armor to show me the sounds you are capable of sard’ika. I chose you for your plush body. Do not delay, no credits if I am not satisfied.” His tone is stern with a hint of desperation. He’s close to having you in the first position he wants.

Nodding, your knees place themselves on both sides of his armored thigh, their cool surface has you let out a soft, “Ahh. Mmm.” Your hum as he feels your body start to relax has his calloused hands run across your skin from your thighs to your hips. The Mandalorian had wanted to hold the jiggly flesh since the first time he saw you get up from your desk to go wherever the credits are held. His helmet had hid each time he licked his lips, and undressed you with his eyes, your hips wigged, still easing yourself down on his thigh. The warrior is finding himself impatient, and lifts his thigh to finally touch your wetness. A soft chuckle is heard as you gasp from the temperature change, but it feels wonderful. You hadn’t realized how hot you were, your continued hums you made, biting on your bottom lip to not scream in front of him. Sliding up and down this man’s precious beskar. Protection that he wore and used day in and day out being used now for pleasure, specifically yours was swelling your chest with pride. A sudden slap to your ass, interrupting the squelching sounds of your cunt against the metal finally made you yell out. This pleased him greatly, he did not want you to be quiet, but he would tell you later, he wanted you to focus on continuing to drip on his beskar so he would smell it when he went on his next bounty. “M-Mando, what else do you want me to do?” You asked meekly, your core was starting to clench against nothing, desperate to have something to press against. His helmet tilted.

“You haven’t soaked my thigh yet Sard’ika. Do you require my help to do so?” His voice was amused seeing your face, watching you try to not only keep yourself quiet but appeared to be looking away from his helmet. “You can ask for my help. In return, you must climax and look at my visor.” Your nod did not move him, grinding your wet cunt on his metal only gave you so much, just a little push, any added stimulation. You decided since he hadn’t moved, you would, pulling on his shoulders afford a new angle forward so your nipples would brush across his breastplate as now not only was your slit in contact with his beskar but so was your clit.

“I-I can do-do it. M-Mando.” Through staggered breaths you informed him that you would finish your task he had given you. The Mandalorian felt himself throb under his armor and flight suit. He had already been half swollen when he arrived to your doorstep, the friction was driving him mad, but he kept telling himself he had a plan. He would stick to it. Now, looking right into his T-visor made you whimper his name as you finally soaked his beskar, your mouth agape, falling forward with your head on his shoulder, panting.

“Such a sight Sard’ika. I will take more from you,” The bounty hunter softly ran a hand up your back, pulling your slip up, exposing more of your skin. “This is no longer needed. You’ll be on the couch, you must continue to focus on my visor.” After your slip was thrown to the floor, his forearms were suddenly under each one of your legs as you were lifted in the air, holding on to him in a panic, your hand touched his helmet before pulling itself back to his shoulder. As he turned toward the couch he stopped, still holding by your legs.

“Sorry Mando. I didn’t mean to. You picked me up. I panicked. Please put me on the couch.” Your eyes turned away from his visor, he cleared his throat.

“Your legs were too weak so I had to lift you. What was surprising about that silly Sard’ika? Do I need to tell you again why I chose you?” Laying you gently on your back, his hands ran up the sides of your body, touching your face. You closed your eyes, unsure if you should look at his ungloved hands. “I told you. Look at my visor. I think I’ll change what I was planning then.”

“What do you mean?” You heard a small snort as Mando rolled himself down your body, between your legs. You propped yourself on your elbows, curious what he was going to do. “Mando?” Your voice was unsure, but you soon covered your mouth, feeling a single rough finger touching your clit. The instinct to close your legs was thwarted by the hunter’s broad shoulders and beskar.

“You’ll keep your self open and let me explore you Sard’ika. If you won’t follow directions to look at my visor, then I won’t be able to enjoy watching your face as I learn your swollen cunt. It is….” The finger circled your clit before trailing down to your opening and entered smoothly. Finally having something to clench, the wet sounds from your core made Mando quicken his breathing. His free hand had to adjust his flight suit under his armor for his precum was soaking them. He wanted to free himself and plunge into you, but he kept telling himself that there would be a next time. “...perfect for a flower such as yourself. Will you cry for me mesh’la?”

You wanted to ask him what he meant by the word he used, but your mind was muddled. He was commanding you, but didn’t appear to want you to touch him, instead he was set on you having orgasms. One of his hands reached up and took your from your mouth. “I will hear you cry Sard’ika. No more hiding.” Another finger was inserted and you felt a stretch, it burned slightly but your juices soon took that away with the pleasure from their thickness and abrasive skin grating your insides as they clamped around them.

“M-Mando, please, slow down…I-It’s too much…” Tears formed at the edges of your eyes. The continued stimulation was overwhelming, your hips pushed forward as your came a second time, screaming before becoming flaccid on the couch. The warrior’s fingers soon came to a stop as he sat you up, covering you with a throw blanket he found on the other end of the couch.

“You did well Sard’ika. I am satisfied. I shall leave the credits on your table. Taste this and describe it to me.” He brought his two fingers soaked with your nectar as you parted your lips, not questioning him. Your viscous fluids were tangy and slightly sweet, you told him. A low rumble came from his chest before he put an arm around you and put the area above his visor on his helmet on your forehead. You’re sure that means something, just not what, just like the words he used. There were questions he had about why he chose you, why he appeared to be intimate with you on top of the acts you were performing with him. Once able to move, you reached and held one of his hands, he hadn’t put his gloves back on yet.

“Is this alright? I just wanted to touch them once. You’re much more gentle than I thought you’d be Mando.”

The Mandalorian pasused. It was only supposed to be an exchange. Credits for sexual release. He didn’t anticipate such a longing for intimacy. Maybe it wasn’t only carnal desires he had for her. After all, he had given you a nickname in his language, two actually.

“Call me Din Sard’ika. The next time we meet, you’ll call me by name, but only when we are alone like this.” Your nod earned another soft headbutt, then he rose to put his gloves back on. “Can you wear the emerald again next time? It complements your caramel skin mesh’la.”

“Yes I can. Din. Um, what does that word mean? And the other one? Shad-Sar’ka? I think. You called me by them a few times.” You stood and wobbled a bit, following him to the table where he removed the credits from his bag that he had left on the table when he came in. He strapped it to his back again under his cape.

“I will inform you as we continue our,” Din paused for a moment. What would one call these? Meetings sound formal, this was not a date, “our sessions together.” He was not ready to tell her what they meant. It would involve other questions. More pressing matters were to be spoken of. “Are you on any methods to prevent pregnancy? Future sessions will involve penetration.”

Your eyes widened at his question, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. “I’m not but I can start. I haven’t need to for - I just haven’t need to.” You settled on. He didn’t ask about any of that, how long it had been and why. Mando nodded and put a hand on your shoulder.

“You do not need to start. As part of The Way, men are sterilized until certain life events are met. Mine have not been, but if it would make you feel safer, you’re welcome to. I thought it best we spoke about it first.” His explanation was sound and quelled some of your anxiety, though you had more questions about how sex with a Mandalorian would go exactly. The two of you agreed to next week, he did get a new bounty from you earlier in the day. Anticipating the week to follow, the remaining days we agonizingly slow. You ended up buying three different jade slips, each with different fabric for those hands of his to remove from you as he saw fit.

Next: Session Two

Space buddy tag list: @rhoorl @for-a-longlongtime @trulybetty @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maggiemayhemnj @missladym1981 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @morallyinept @sherala007 @yorksgirl @beabliss @daddy-dins-girl @mandoisapunk @saturn-rings-writes @magpiepills @mrsmando @djarins-cyare @goodwithcheese @fhatbhabie @beefrobeefcal @sp00kymulderr @laurfilijames @legendary-pink-dot @undercoverpena @secretelephanttattoo @megamindsecretlair @alltheglitterandtheroar @gwendibleywrites @iamasaddie @perotovar @legendary-pink-dot @soapjay @joels-shitty-puns @linzels-blog @i-own-loki @dindjarindiaries @sin-djarin @djarinsimp @iamafadedmoon @drawingdroid @pedrodascal @anoverwhelmingdin @theywhowriteandknowthings

[danikamariewrites]

im so in love with ddlg azriel, i was wondering if i could please request one where reader is fed up with work (me fr) and it stresses her out. she just wants to stay at home and bake and do cute stuff and live life (me fr) and she tells azriel this, she tells him she doesn’t even care ab money she wants a break from her horrible boss. he says he’ll take care of her, he already does, her own money is her own, even though azriel provides literally everything in her life. So they decide she’ll quit and do what pleases her instead. Maybe volunteer at the library in the house of wind with the priestesses. She looks so much more happy and azriels heart swells with love. 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ pls

Done With Work

Azriel x reader

A/n: me too anon 😫 like what do you mean I have to work for the rest of my life?! I’m sick of it now 😭

I see this as the story for first few points in this headcanon

Warnings: ddlg, daddy kink, not proof read sorry lol

Your whole body felt heavy as you dragged yourself up the stairs to Azriel’s office. Without knocking you push the door open, giving your mate a tired look. “Y/n, what’s wrong my love?” You drop your bag and wordlessly walk over to him, plopping yourself on his lap and burying your face in his neck.

Breathing in his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar calmed you. Azriel brought his hand to rub up and down your spine. “I’m so sick of working Az.” You mumble. He adjusts you so your head rests on his chest and he can hear you clearly.

“Did something happen today?” You shrug lazily. “It’s just so draining. And I’ve worked all my life, I just want to do something for myself. I feel like I have no free time. And I’m just done.” Azriel hugged you tighter. “I want to quit Az. I need a break from terrible people. I have money so you don’t-“

Azriel cups your face cutting you off. He moves you so you’re looking up at him. “You are going to quit because I hate seeing you like this. You’re my mate and I want to keep you happy and comfortable. And don’t you dare bring up money. What you have is yours, let me take care of everything.”

Tears escaped your eyes as you smiled up at Azriel. “Thank you, my love.”

The next day you went in to work to quit. Your bosses look of shock brought you so much joy. You practically skipped out of the building and all the way home to Azriel. He swears he’d never seen you this happy about something so small.

From that day on Azriel told you to do whatever your heart desired. So you took your time getting into your new routine. First thing was to catch up on your sleep. Your sleep schedule was atrocious so you spent the first two weeks sleeping in.

Then you finally got around to decorating and rearranging the house the way you wanted. Azriel’s heart soared when he came home after a quick mission. The house felt warmer with you in the center of it.

You took your time exploring Velaris. Visiting a new part of the city everyday. Of course you spent most of your time in the Rainbow and had taken a liking to staying at Feyre’s studio some days.

You spent more time with Feyre and Elain. You helped Gwyn in the library and even started going to training in the morning. And when Nesta had time you two would read together. You started going out with Mor and Feyre a few nights a week too. Azriel felt like he was watching you, his beautiful and wonderful mate, come back to life again.

What you loved most about your new life style was the care and attention you got from Azriel. Not that you didn’t get it before. But now you have time to really enjoy it.

Everything he did for you put you back together. From spa days to simple lazy mornings in bed he made sure that you were happy and cared for. After the conversation about your relationship you were both insanely happy.

Azriel loved taking care of you, and with this new dynamic and nicknames it all just felt right. He felt like you could truly be open with him.

Your happiness really hit him on a day where you slept in and he made breakfast. Az wanted to bring you breakfast in bed but you got up before it was ready. His shadows altered him to your presence. Turning, he saw you rub your eyes with a smile. You looked so cute in just his t-shirt and panties.

“Good morning princess.” “Morning daddy.” You pad over to him, standing on your tiptoes you plant a kiss on his cheek. “Breakfast smells delicious. Did you make coffee?” “I did.” You let out a small happy sound and filled up two mugs bringing them over to the kitchen table.

You sit waiting for Az to bring your plates over. When Azriel finally sits you’re adding an obscene amount of sugar to your coffee. Azriel takes the spoon from your hand, “That’s enough princess or your teeth will rot.” You let out a huff and pick the syrup up to drown your pancakes in them.

“What can I say, I have a sweet tooth.” You let out a small giggle at Azriel’s fake stern face. Quicker than you can comprehend Azriel tickles your sides and you let out a scream of laughter. “Daddy stop, I can’t, aahhh!” Azriel pulls you onto his lap leaving small kisses all over your face as you continue to giggle.

Once you calmed down you snuggled into Azriel, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. “I love you so much daddy.” Az hugged you back equally as tight, “I love you too so much princess.” You lean back smiling up at him. You peck his nose quickly and cup his face in your hands. “Thank you. For everything. I’m just, I’m so happy.”

Azriel felt tears from behind his eyes. He could feel your happiness radiating down the bond. That made him feel like the luckiest male in the world. The two of you loved each other and he has the best mate. “You never have to thank me princess. I told you, it’s my job.”

He turns you to face the table and lets you get comfortable as he pulls your plate over. “What do you want first.” “Hhmm…bacon!” Azriel took a strip of bacon from your plate holding it up to your mouth. Taking a bite you let out a satisfied hum. He kissed the back of your head as he began to cut up your pancakes.

If there was a moment you could live in with Azriel forever, it would be this one. You both had nothing to do today. He was feeding you. And he was holding you close, making you feel more loved than you had in your entire life.

[aceistheplace86]

Strawberry & Pine pt.2

The scent of strawberries was the only smell Stan seemed to focus on. Despite standing over the stove, cooking the kids breakfast. It was like the scent clung to his clothes, he wasn’t sure how that was, he hadn’t spent that much time with her, maybe it was just all in his head.

His thoughts drifted back to the note that Julie had left in his pocket. How the hell she had gotten it in there was beyond him. However, he didn’t care too much, she wanted to see him after only the first impression. Yeah, he still got it.

“OOOH Grunkle Stan is smiling!” Mable shouted, making the older man jump a bit. He could’ve sworn she was sitting at the table with Dipper.

“What? Go sit down kid, I’ve got a hot pan over here” He grumbled shooing her away.

“Are you thinking about that girl from yesterday? She was pretty!”

Stan turned to look at her “How did you know about her?”

Mable gasps “So it is about her! I saw you talking to her, she was laughing a lot”

Dipper sighs heavily “That’s why she crashed the cart. She saw you from the window and veered off course”

“It was for love!” Mable says pounding her fist on the table.

Stan snorts “Love. Yeah right kid. I was just doing my job. Love of money definitely” He put a few pancakes on two plates and handed them to the twins “Eat.” He turns and started to clean up.

“Are you not eating?” Dipper asked curiously.

“Oh I have an errand to run, down at the diner” He says waving his hand hoping Dipper would drop it.

“A love errand” Mable mumbled with a mouth full of pancakes.

Dipper made a face and scooted away from her, which did nothing except make his twin move closer and attempt to touch him with sticky syrup-covered hands. “Yeah right, I doubt Stan is going to see that girl already”

Stan kept his back to them as he cleaned off the counter, staying quiet hoping it would pass. Rookie mistake.

“It is a love errand!” Mable gasps.

“Wait so you are going to see that girl?” Dipper asks skeptically. “Why?”

“What’s her name!” Mable was now sitting up on her knees, hands on the table not caring that her sweater sleeve was touching Dipper’s plate.

Stan sighed heavily and turns to them “Her name is Julie. I don’t know why. I just found a note in my pocket asking me to meet her at the diner”

“Oh so you didn’t ask her.” Dipper nods. “Makes sense, you’ve been out of the game too long”

Stan glared at him “How many girlfriends you had kid? Yeah.” He looks at Mable who looks like she was about to burst.  “Let it out kid,” he said almost reluctantly.

The words fell out of her mouth so fast Stan almost had trouble keeping up. “what are you going to wear. What are you going to say? Are you paying for her? You should pay for her. Oh my gosh! I need to scrapbook this!”

Stan held up his hands “Slow down kid. This is not a date” He tells her “Which means I’m probably not paying” He shrugs “Now listen, entertain yourselves while I’m gone. I don’t care what you do. Just don’t burn the shack down.”

“That means you can’t cook Mable” Dipper tells her.

“That sucks for you” she replies.

“Why?” He barely got the words out before Mable launched the last of his pancake at his face. He just sat there while the pancake slowly peeled off his face and his twin laughed.

____________________________________________

Stan now sat at the back of the diner waiting for Julie. He wore a simple white button-up, a blazer, and jeans. He was actually a few minutes early, not really sure why. Honestly, he was a bit nervous, he couldn’t think of a single reason why Julie would want to meet with him, it wasn’t like they had such a great conversation that it would lead to anything. Did she have some kind of dirt on him? He hadn’t recognized her from anywhere…

The bell above the diner’s door rang causing Stan to look up. Julie had walked in and made her way to where he sat after noticing him.

Stan stood up, being the gentleman his mother taught him to be. “Good Morning. Julie right? I never did give you my name”

Julie slid in the seat across from him “I know who you are” She watched him take his seat and then lowered her voice “Stanley Pines.”

[hotcryptidsinyourarea]

Falling for the Frogman of Loveland, Ohio

story synopsis: Molly is a 30-something cookbook editor who has decided to move from New York to Loveland, Ohio after a bad breakup and a desire for a fresh start. She is instantly attracted to her neighbor Jeremiah's midwestern charms, but this local guy is much more than meets the eye...

human (she/her) + interdimensional humanoid frogman (he/him)

cw: aint-shit brooklyn hipster ex-boyfriend. millennial real estate angst. Ohio.

Chapter 1

I never thought in a million years I would end up in Ohio of all places. I’ve always fancied myself a real City Girl type. I grew up in the Houston metro area where I was more likely to be perusing the Galleria or eating sushi than I was engaging in any of the more agrarian behaviors outsiders assume Texans are wont to do but largely don’t. And then as soon as I graduated, I made my way to New York to officially start my life in the city I would never leave, as far as I was concerned.

But after 14 years of scraping by, 14 years of overpriced rent and skipping meals in order to afford the bills, I’ve had enough. I sold my furniture, wrapped up my loose ends, and made a break to escape the rat race. 

Okay, maybe I’m not some maverick refusing to buy into the capitalist hustle. My grand escape from New York is a little less Snake Plimson and more desperate-slash-dumped. I was supposed to move in with my boyfriend Mark, the gorgeous and brilliant photographer I had been seeing for three whole years. My lease with my last roommate was coming to an end, so Mark and I decided to do what grown ups supposedly do and finally get a place together to embark on the whole domestic bliss thing. I was absolutely looking forward to having someone to split expenses with, but even more so it felt like I was finally becoming a real adult. Moving in with your boyfriend in New York is, as far as lifestyle accomplishments go, the equivalent of getting married and having kids for people in the burbs. And I was ready to start this next chapter of my life knowing I was on track with the milestones expected of me. 

Unfortunately, Mark was not ready. At the big age of 36, he came to the conclusion that he didn’t know himself well enough to get tied down to a life of commitment– or even the eighteen months our lease would occupy. “There’s so much I still want to do,” he said. “It would be unfair to you if I was here physically, when my heart and soul are somewhere else,” he said. I wanted to deck him.  

Honestly, I can get over the rejection from a man who was self-admittedly only half present, but his dumping me put me in a position far more precarious than heartbreak: sitting there with just six weeks to find an affordable place to live in New York City. Not impossible, mind you, but a significant burden where I will absolutely be forced to make concessions regarding what I want. I was looking down the barrel of a too much for too little housing situation that I’d be stuck in for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that I would end up in a street level roach motel with a toilet in the kitchen for no less than $4000/month. 

But after a few hours online searching for options, the algorithm gods smiled down upon me. I was scrolling through my feed having just double tapped on a high school friend’s baby announcement when I saw it: a targeted ad that read: GET PAID $30,000 TO LIVE AND WORK IN OHIO. 

$30k is not going to make me a wealthy woman, by any means, but it’s a hell of a lot more than I stood to lose trying to find acceptable lodging in the city. And while I had a decent social circle I didn’t want to abandon, my desire to go out and spend my free time (as well as my not-so-free-money) had dwindled as of late. I found myself avoiding the parties and bars where I more often than not spent the evening straining my voice just to have a simple conversation with someone I can barely even hear in favor of staying in to read with a glass of wine while brainstorming fan theories with other members of one of the several fandom Discord channels I belong to. And my job has essentially become 100% remote as of late. Any essential meetings I may need to attend could be covered as a business trip, but considering most of my job involves research and grunt work versus client-facing duties, it likely wouldn’t come up at all. I was free to leave New York. 

That is to say, my curiosity was piqued. So I clicked. And I applied. Then in what felt like a whirlwind courting, I was put into contact with a state worker who walked me through the grant application with the kind of midwestern charm I found refreshing after over a decade of city cynicism. I was then presented with a selection of eligible properties, mortgage options, and even connections to discounted moving services. Seemingly quicker than one could say “buckeye state,” I had a home lined up for me. 

A month later, here I am: driving west to Loveland, Ohio. I would never admit it out loud to my friends in New York, but when I saw the option for the little single story bungalow in a town called Loveland, I was instantly drawn to the romanticism of the name. I’ve never considered myself a romantic. After all, my last relationship was built more upon a desire to live a D.I.N.K. lifestyle than some sort of deep, burning passion between two souls made of the same. But finding this opportunity to start anew in an actual hand-to-god house that I could feasibly own felt more like a whirlwind case of woo than dating men ever did. After all, having a place of one’s own to which she can safely escape has been an unattainable dream for women throughout the recorded centuries. 

I am not so jaded as to deny the appeal of true romantic love; the security of a trusted partner and the comfort of consistent, pleasurable sex is not something I would turn away if it presented itself. But I also accept the fact that those ideals are born from a rather modern mindset born from the emergence of the bored middle class who desired a genteel way to express their own horniness disguised under the veil of “art.” 

Well, I mostly know that. Maybe it’s all I’m allowing myself to believe in order to keep myself from being disappointed when I inevitably never experience the kind of love that makes one write poems and paint portraits. I mean, there’s ample evidence in this world that some people truly do fall in love  I recently read that the English poet and surrealist patron Edward James was so in love with his dancer wife Tilly Losch, he had the impressions of her footsteps woven into the stair’s carpet in their home together, creating a tribute to their shared intimacy and the love he held not just for her physicality, but her contribution towards turning their house into his home. 

Of course, Edward and Tilly ended up divorced. To his credit, James didn’t destroy the carpet upon the dissolution of his marriage and her subsequent campaign to pin it on his bisexuality rather than her infidelity. Instead he ended up donating it to an arts’ college and replaced the one in his home with a new commission– this time, featuring the pawprints of his beloved dog. C’est l’amour! One day you’re in love with your gorgeous dancer wife and her elegant footsteps, the next, she’s outing you in divorce court and you’re making lobster telephones with Salvador Dalí. 

So with all that in mind, I find myself here in the Cincinnati suburbs, heading directly to my new life in a land of love smack dab in the middle of The Heart of It All. But despite how it sounds, I’m not holding out for a hero. I will happily settle for falling in love with my new life and my new house. 

I may not be in love, but I am definitely crushing on my new place. As I pull into the driveway, I feel my heartbeat quicken in excitement. It’s so BIG! I mean, I’m from Houston– I know how big houses can be and this isn’t a mansion by any means. In fact, the listing called it a “modern cottage” style, insinuating that it’s on the smaller side of homes. But I’ve been apartment dwelling in New York for so long, I feel unsure about what to do with so much space to myself. I don’t have even close to enough furnishings to fill this place. There shall be much shopping in my foreseeable future. And there isn’t just a yard– there’s two! I might take up gardening. Maybe I’ll get a dog. My head is swimming with the possibilities. 

I grab my bags from the car and saunter up to the front door. It’s not my first time across the threshold– I flew out here before closing to oversee the inspection and get to know the area. But none of that diminishes my excitement. After all, this is my first home! I get to have a little bit of romanticization within the experience. As a treat.

The first thing to notice when walking into the house is the spacious open-plan kitchen and living area. The kitchen is what really excited me about this house. As an editor for cookbooks, I spend a lot of time there developing and testing. And now with all this room, I can fill it with every specialized tool and rare ingredients my little heart desires. The kitchen island fills the space and features a dozen or so drawers and cabinets of all different shapes and sizes to accommodate all my storage needs. And the appliances are perfect. The refrigerator is a pistachio green color with a design that looks like it came straight out of the 1950s, but it’s actually brand new and energy efficient. The stove features a gas range as well as a griddle top– the kind my Nana used to make us pancakes whenever we’d stay with her over Christmas. There’s also plenty of room for me to set up a desk for when the actual writing needs to occur. I’m going to get so much done!

The rest of the house is perfect for me. The master bedroom faces the east, so the sun pours in as soon as it rises. The connecting bathroom has a huge clawfoot tub AND a corner shower with rain-style fixtures. The second-largest room features floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases that basically called to me when I first saw them in the listing. I was planning on converting it into a dual-use library-slash-guest room, but now that I’m here, I wonder if I’ll be willing to share it with any guests. Is it considered gauche for a grown woman to commit an entire room to house her hardcover romantasy collection? Well, they might just have to call me fucking gauche because I am seriously considering it.

Besides, the smallest third bedroom could serve as a perfectly adequate guest room. It can barely fit more than a bed and a dresser, but it would work. Between the future library and future guest room is the second bathroom. It’s not as nice as the master bath, but all the fixtures are new and the tiling is a really cute black and white subway style that will go well with the modernist decor I have in mind. 

But decorating, working, filling up bookshelves– those are all to-do items for the near future. At the moment, I should really focus on the tasks at hand. First, I need to unload the rest of my things still in the car. The storage pod I have the majority of my possessions in is scheduled to be in my driveway in a couple days, but I brought the bare necessities along with me. After that, I will need to get some food in me. I make a mental grocery list while I unload the car. 

I got the entire $30k from the grant, but I only needed $20k for the down payment, leaving me with a nice chunk of change to invest in a new-to-me hybrid sedan. I haven’t owned a car since I sold the one I drove in high school after graduation. But considering I grew up in a city that is mostly a collection of zig-zagging freeways and pavement, I am pretty comfortable behind the wheel even after all these years of living by the graces of public transportation. The autonomy granted with a personal vehicle is not lost on me. No more showing up late due to MTA delays or having to avert my eyes from strange male passengers whose hands are conspicuously not in plain sight, though still in visible motion. Instead, I now get to enjoy the comfort of a working air conditioner and the freedom to belt out Beyoncé songs at the top of my lungs. Which is exactly what I do on my drive to the supermarket.

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Six

A/N: I once more apologize for the radio silence here, but I'm finishing up my Master's and only just this week finished the rough draft of my thesis. So, since I've a bit of a break, and since I promised updates would be coming... :)

Thanks so much for sticking it out with me. I do appreciate your patience! 💜

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @lathalea @legolasbadass @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Nina bit back a wince as she shifted in her saddle once more. For one used to walking and unused to riding, she had no idea how stiff her legs could actually be until she’d spent two hours astride the pony that was now hers, thanks to the generosity of the elves and their king. 

But, she kept her discomfort to herself as she kept her mind focused on her task and her eyes focused on the dwarf leading the way along the narrow road out of Rivendell. The Misty Mountains rose in the distance, their peaks swirled in a grayish-white mist that occasionally seemed to gleam pink or violet from the sun. 

“Tell me,” Dwalin’s pony fell into step alongside hers, “why are ye here, lass?”

“How many times need I explain it?” She held his gaze even has her fingers tightened about the smooth leather reins she held. “I’ve no love lost for the orcs and if I can help you, I will.”

“No love for orcs, eh?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

It was a foolish question, really. Who didn’t despise orcs? They were abominations, interested only in killing. If it wasn't for her personal stake in the matter, she would despise them just the same. But, as much as it galled her to admit it, she needed them to a certain extent. Well, needed their gold anyway. The bounty on Thorin’s head would keep her comfortable for some time to come. And while she knew she couldn't trust the orcs, nor could she fool herself into believing Tarog would pay the bounty without a bit of persuasion on her part, her options were limited and she did need the money. 

And since she knew at some point, someone would ask her a variation of this question, and since she’d had time to prepare herself, she merely shrugged and said, “It’s quite simple, really. They destroyed my village. And if I have a chance to kill one, I take it and do so with a smile.”

“And where is this village?”

“Just west of Bree. I’ve been on my own ever since that night and if you don't mind, I’d rather not speak of it.”

“Why?”

“Dwalin!” Thorin broke in sharply, glaring at him over his shoulder. “Leave her be.”

Nina held Dwalin’s stare easily. “If you absolutely must know, I lost my family that night. All of them. Slaughtered like sheep for no reason. So, you’ll forgive me if I’d rather not relive that night.”

With that, she pressed her knees gently against her pony’s side and nudged it ahead of Dwalin. Let him think—let them both think—recalling her story upset her so much she needed some time to herself. 

Thorin, however, slowed his pony so he eased back into step alongside her. “Pay him no mind.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dwalin.” He nodded toward the glowering dwarf behind them. 

“I thought I already was doing that.”

He just stared at her for a long moment, almost as if surprised by her flippancy and she wondered if he suspected something was amiss as he continued to just stare. This was the closest she’d been to him and in the warm sunlight of the clear afternoon, and it then that she realized his eyes were no quite the same steel blue they’d been in Rivendell. Instead, today they were paler. Paler and almost shimmering, like aquamarine in the sunlight. And for one breathless moment, she forgot she hated him, forgot why she was there with him and what she planned to do.

No, for that one breathless moment, she was once more standing in the snowy darkness, just beyond the steps of the Lake Master’s ramshackle house, wishing with everything she had that Thorin would notice her. That he would see her and in the instant he did, he’d be smitten with her just as she’d been smitten with him.

Then a cloud floated before the sun and as the light softened, Thorin’s eyes no longer shimmered. The snow, the darkness, the ramshackle house all fell away. 

But she wondered if he’d felt the same breathlessness she did, as for a moment, the air grew thick with tension and he looked as if he had something heavy weighing upon him. He met her gaze and then offered up a hint of an almost sheepish smile. “I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice low and rather growly, “but for a moment, I thought I might know you from somewhere.”

“Yes, from the other evening, when I—”

“No,” he broke in gently with a shake of his shaggy head, “that isn’t what I meant. I mean, I feel as if I’ve seen you somewhere before the other night.”

It was her turn to shake her head. “I can’t image where. Do you spend much time west of Bree?”

“No, I can’t say I do. The Shire is the farthest west I’ve been in a long time and even that was some time ago.”

“So, then, how would you have seen me before?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and she found herself holding her breath, a dull thump in time with her heartbeat coursing through her temples. He seemed to be studying her, as if about to nail down exactly where and when he’d seen her.

But what if he did? Did it matter much? She was but a face in that crowd and considering the amount of devastation left in Smaug’s wake, she would be surprised if anyone lived in Esgaroth at all. The last she saw? The half of the town that hadn’t been incinerated was slowly toppling into the lake’s frigid waters. Hardly inhabitable, to say the least. So, it should come as no surprise, should he learn the former denizens of Esgaroth had struck out for other parts of Middle Earth.

Even west of Bree.

But then, Thorin shook his head once more. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t have. Still,” he mused, stroking one forefinger along the side of his jaw, “you do seem familiar.”

“I have one of those faces that everyone thinks they know.” She shrugged as if people swearing they knew her from somewhere happened to her all the time. “No worries.”

“Perhaps, but still…” He turned away from her to look ahead. “Either way, you needn’t mind Dwalin. His bark is usually worse that his bite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced over her left shoulder to see the barker in question still glaring at her. Then, without thinking, she muttered, “He does more than bark and I’ll neuter him for his trouble.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She forced a smile as she looked back at Thorin. “Nothing. Just a bit of thinking out loud.”

“So, tell me,” he replied, “how did you come to be in that clearing anyway? From what I could see, there was no one else about, until that orc pack descended upon us.”

Her heart skipped a beat although she had not been traveling with the orc pack and he had no true reason to believe otherwise. Certain ones within Tarog’s inner circle knew of her existence, but overall? Orcs would have no idea who she was, and she didn't doubt one would run her through as easily as they would the dwarves. 

Still, the last thing she wished was to arouse any suspicions and so replied, “I wasn’t on the road, but traveled instead along one of the pathways that run parallel to it.” She shook her head. ���I was alone and I’d rather not happen upon an orc pack on one of the main roads if I can possibly avoid it, you know.”

Perhaps it was but her imagination, but he appeared to blush, a hint of color blooming along his cheekbones, above the line of his silver-threaded beard. “It would be foolish to travel otherwise, yes. But you can hardly fault me for being curious, can you?”

“No, I don't suppose I can.” She tightened her fingers about the worn leather reins as she turned her gaze back to the road ahead as well. “It would seem someone kept you in their good graces.”

“Mahal does smile upon me from time to time.”

“Mahal?” The name was unfamiliar to her.

“The Maker. The Creator of all things.” He smiled then. “Well, to dwarves, anyway. Sometimes He toys with me, but other times, He watches over me with the greatest of care.”

To her surprise, his eyes softened then as he added, “As he did the other night.”

“Yes, well… I did only what any decent person would have.”

“You leaped between me and an arrow. I am not at all certain I’d share your sentiment.”

She shrugged. “Then I’m afraid I don't know what to tell you. You needed help and I could help, so I did.”

With that, she turned her attention ahead of them once more. The Southeast Passage looked like a road that time forgot. Narrow and grassed over, with the underbrush slowly creeping out from the woods along either side of what had once probably been a lovely, narrow little road. But time and neglect and lack of use rendered it as little more than a track at that point. 

But in the distance, the Misty Mountains looked far more real now, black and purple as they rose toward the sky and the sunlight touched their peaks. That would be the worst part of their trek, through those mountains. Once they crossed through them, and came down toward the Anduin River, they would then pick up the Old Forest Road and that would bring them to Mirkwood. 

But, of course she couldn't let them know she knew how they’d get to where they were going. They thought she was from a village west of Bree and she was fine with them also thinking she was a simpleton who had never really been anywhere else until now and was but fumbling her way along. They needn’t know anything else about her. 

“So,” she glanced over at Thorin, “where will we pass the night?”

“We will stop when we are nearer the mountains,” he told her. “I hope you are not adverse to sleeping on the ground.”

“I’m not, no. As I told you, I live nowhere and everywhere.”

“Yes, I do believe you said something of that nature.”

“It’s the only good thing to come of what happened,” she replied softly, shrugging as she spoke. “I’ve been able to travel a bit, even if my lodgings are usually quite humble. Although,” she smiled, “I once came across a cozy cabin nestled in the woods that had been abandoned.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?” 

“No,” he shook his head, “I don't suppose it does. I’m merely curious.”

“Why is that such a difficult question for ye?” This came from Dwalin who had caught up to them by now.

“I never said it was difficult,” she told him, twisting in her saddle to meet his glower. “And stop looking at me as if you expect me to leap from my horse and drag His Highness into the brush to slit his throat.”

“I just find it odd, that ye came upon a cabin and yet dinna know where it was, where ye were.”

“I asked why it mattered, not that I dinna know,” she growled, her fingers itching to wrap about the leather grips of the sword at her hip. She need only slip it free and turn and in one fell swoop, she could take the tiresome dwarf’s head clean off his shoulders. 

He glared at her, his eyes narrow slivers of silver-blue ice. “Do ye mock me, girlie?”

“Girlie? You are almost amusing, Mr. Fundinson.” Her fingers stretched of their own toward her hip. It was only through sheer will that she managed to keep them wrapped about the worn leather. “Almost.”

“Ye wound me, lass.”

She sniffed and turned forward once more, the tension in her fingers easing as Thorin said, “Take care, Dwalin. The girl has done nothing to deserve your ire.”

“If ye expect me to apologize,” Dwalin growled, “yer going to be disappointed.”

“I expect you to be civil,” Thorin countered evenly. “And you as well, Miss Nina.”

A hint of chagrin swept through her. Dwalin was suspicious of her, and rightfully so, of course, although he couldn't possibly know just how right he was. Still, it wouldn’t do to pick a fight with him and give him even more reason to suspect she wasn’t quite as she seemed. 

They weren’t quite far enough away from Rivendell yet and she wouldn’t have been surprised if Elrond had sent scouts to follow along, keeping out of sight, until they reached the Misty Mountains. Although the alliance between dwarves and elves was a relatively young one, the respect and alliance of one king to another was far stronger. She saw for herself the respect and esteem with which Elrond held the dwarf king, and she had the feeling they were not alone on that passage, and that it was for that reason Elrond suggested traversing it to begin with. Either way, she couldn't risk it.

So, she’d have to wait until they were on the far side of the mountains. Then, between the Carrock and Mirkwood, there would be no one else to get in her way. 

[killakalx]

OMG I have a beef with Tom Taylor that he doesn’t know about!

1. He blocked me on Twitter in 2021 and in 2023😭😭😭

2. How he wrote Constantine. He literally took all the stereotypes about bisexuals and combined them in Constantine even though John was one of the few good bisexual representations

3. How he wrote Nightwing. Instead of a cynical and intelligent hero, one of the most complex characters in the universe, his Nightwing became himbo.

4. His series is literally all empty moments. Dick talks about big things all the time, but he never faces any real problems with his choices. All his problems are solved for him, and he himself is a completely passive protagonist.

5. My main problem with his Nightwing is that he should be dead by now. If this is truly Dick's character, he has no sense of self-preservation or healthy cynicism (accepting a glass of water from his enemies or exposing himself to the president).

His planning is shortsighted (should have been killed by Gunhawk and Gunbunny's sniper shot) and not particularly intelligent (summoning Bruce to do his detective work for him), so how is he not dead yet?

6. How he constantly makes Clark insufferable just to make Bruce look better.

7. The way he writes Damian. He constantly makes him act like he's a fucking rabid and wild dog.

8. He has to artificially create conflict. Taylor would rather make Dick, the acrobat, afraid of heights than have actual proper conflict in the stories.

9. How he blocks every single person engaging in good faith criticism of him and pretends like it's all some murderous dick/starfire fan conspiracy. I think half of the fandom is blocked by him.

10. He can’t write my wife starfire for shit Personally, I don’t think Tom Taylor is trying to “ruin” Starfire. I think he (and many other DC Comics writers) don’t understand who she is a character. I think Starfire is a very hard character to write in general due to all the different interpretations of her.

11. His injustice run

12. How he writes my pookie Daredevil🙁 His Matt(AND Tony) feels so bland that you think that it’s not even Matt but some dude with the same name.

But if we thinking about his Nightwing as just a silly and unserious version of Dick, I have no problem with that. I myself spent a fair amount of money on his comics back in the day because I couldn't bring myself to read anything else for a long time. His writing is not bad but it’s not great either. It’s okay I think?

But anyway it’s just my opinion and I might be wrong😅

this is nice bc i basically listened to tidbits and summaries of his nightwing run. i didn’t get a real peek into his character outside of just what happened to him and what he did i guess

1. damn double whammy 😭

2. i know nothing of constantine but i know too much about bi stereotypes

3. i agree that he isn’t all that complex but i like himbo nightwing 🙁 i’m a simple girl i fear.

4. i do see this part though!! i’m not highly critical of plots most of the time but i do notice when it seems vague.

5. “he should be dead by now” alr damn 😔. but i see the issue. he’s been dumbed down and everyone else has to help him do things he should be capable of doing himself

6. this is out of my realm bc i don’t know much about clark’s character anyway. i do want to see more of him though, i’ve been meaning to watch a few of his movies. and NO it is definitely not bc i’m starting to think too much about fucking him !

7. this is also out of my realm bc i don’t know damian’s character. as you interact with me you’ll quickly learn that i only really care about my pookies

8. ok… what.

9. mmm he’s giving barb…

10. atp let me write starfire goddamn !

ok i get this!! gonna start saying bruno redondo’s my favorite nightwing since he’s the artist. ty for filling me in love :))

[musicprincess1990]

Happy Sherlolly Appreciation Week!

For Day 1, I’ve decided to go with a Cinderella AU. It’s kind of lightly based on it, and without the magical elements (I’m just not good at fantasy), but you get the gist. It was really hard to keep this to a one-shot, I really wanted to expand on it, but I've already got one WIP right now, so… yeah. Anyway, enjoy!

~*~

The Dream That You Wish

Sometimes Molly dreams of leaving this place, of packing her precious few belongings and stealing away in the dead of night. Sometimes, in those dreams, she meets a handsome stranger who promises to love and protect her, as she has never been loved or protected before. Sometimes she can almost make out the features on his face… almost… and even without a clear vision of that face, she knows—she just knows—he is the most beautiful man that ever was seen.

Then she wakes up.

There is no handsome stranger. There is no leaving this place.

She is trapped.

A bell rings incessantly in her ear, rousing her from her dreams, and reminding her of who she is. Molly yawns and stretches as she pulls herself into a seated position, brushing the ash and soot from her skin and clothes as best she can. The nights have grown too cold to make the journey up to the dismal attic, so she has taken to sleeping in front of the fire in the kitchen. Her stepmother and stepsisters mock her dirty and dishevelled appearance, but have never ordered her to go back to sleeping in the attic, not out of any charity or sympathy, rather the simple fact that it means their breakfast arrives more quickly.

Molly dampens a cloth and scrubs at her face and hands, then sets about making tea and toast. The bell rings again and again, soon accompanied by shrill cries from above stairs. Molly works as swiftly as she is able, until finally, she leaves the kitchen with three trays. She has mastered this precarious balancing act, and has not dropped a single teacup in over two years.

With measured steps, she climbs her way up to the first floor, then sets two of the trays down on the table in the hall, placed and decorated intentionally for this purpose. Still holding the third tray, she first knocks on her stepmother’s door.

“Come,” her imperious voice calls.

Molly twists the knob and enters, keeping her head bent in submission. “Good morning, my lady.”

Lady Elizabeth Smallwood does not return the greeting. “On the table, girl,” she orders, gesturing to the bedside table in question. Molly gently places the tray, then pours the tea, holding the cup toward her with the handle facing her stepmother, thus eliminating any chance of physical contact. Lady Smallwood takes a sip of the tea and grimaces. “How many times must I tell you? I want three lumps of sugar.”

“I-I did give you three,” Molly says timidly, and immediately she regrets it.

Her stepmother stills, then turns her furious gaze on Molly. “What did you say?” she seethes.

Molly swallows thickly. “I’ll go fetch the sugar,” she whispers, turning to do just that.

“Never mind,” Lady Smallwood snaps, stopping her in her place. “There isn’t time. You must wake your stepsisters, they have much to do to prepare for this evening.”

The ball, Molly reminds herself. Not that she had forgotten. Since the moment the invitation came to them, it has been the dominant topic of conversation, and she has spent every day over the past two weeks either mending gowns or shopping for jewellery. Molly ignores the bitter resentment festering in her heart, knowing that the money going toward baubles and lace will be coming out of her wages, and they’re a pittance already. But she keeps silent on the subject, for one simple reason.

She is invited, too.

To the surprise of all, and the delight of many, the Crown Prince requested to extend the invitation to all eligible ladies of the kingdom, not just the nobility. Women of all stations will be able to attend, and will have the chance to meet His Royal Highness. The reason for this unforeseen break from tradition is quite clear: the King and Queen are all but desperate to marry off their son and heir. Molly has never seen the Prince her life, but she has heard he is remarkably handsome, and as such, she can guess that the cause for his unmarried state lies beneath the surface. He must be an unbearable snob.

Or, she thinks with a smile, his interests lie elsewhere.

“What are you smirking at?”

Molly quickly schools her features as she answers her stepmother. “Forgive me, my lady. I became lost in thought.”

“Useless chit,” she growls. “Go and wake your stepsisters. Now.”

She wastes no time in doing just that, stepping out into the hall and picking up a tray as she approaches the next door. Irene is already awake and gazing at her beautiful reflection in the mirror, and she barely acknowledges Molly as she pours her tea, for which Molly is most grateful. Irene has always loved to insult her, and has made something of an art of it, finding the most clever and cruel ways to do so. Molly quietly retreats, leaving Irene to her self-admiration, and moved on to Janine’s room.

Janine is far less cruel to Molly, though still not exactly kind. After a lifetime of being second-best to her older, more beautiful sister, it’s no surprise. She is very pretty in her own right, but not the ethereal and enigmatic paragon of beauty that Irene is, and she has the added disadvantage of being less elegant and more brash. Lady Smallwood has often berated her youngest daughter for her “poor decorum,” while praising Irene’s effortless grace.

Molly sets Janine’s tray on her bedside table, then gently taps her shoulder. “Janine,” she murmurs, “I have tea and toast for you.”

“Mmmf,” is her stepsister’s groggy reply.

“The ball is this evening,” she tries again. “Tonight, you will meet the prince.”

“Sod the prince,” she grumbles.

Molly smiles to herself, then employs one final tactic. “You would rather Irene have him all to herself?”

Janine raises her head to glower at Molly. “Over my dead body.”

“Then, up,” Molly urges her.

After a few more seconds of scowling, Janine sighs and relents, taking the toast and munching quietly, while Molly pours tea into her cup. “You are lucky you don’t have to go to this dreadful ball, Molly,” she complains.

Molly says nothing as she hands the now-filled cup to Janine. Neither of them speak again, and Molly slips quietly out of the room. Instead of returning to the kitchen, however, she tiptoes her way up to the attic. She shivers against the chill, but perseveres until she reaches her room.

There, on a mannequin borrowed from the seamstress in town, is her mother’s favourite dress. Made of forget-me-not blue silk, it is the most precious item in her possession. She saw her mother wear it only once, at a Christmas party when she was very small, and Molly had believed her to be a princess. It’s still in fine condition, though the silhouette is perhaps a bit outdated, but near enough to the style of the day that Molly doubts anyone will notice. Besides, there will be other ladies in attendance who will no doubt dress similarly, as few servants can afford the latest fashions.

Molly spends the day carrying out her chores and helping her stepsisters and stepmother prepare for the ball. By nightfall, all three are dressed and coiffed to perfection, and all three leave without so much as a thank you. And the moment their carriage s out of sight, Molly races up to her room and closes the door, locking it for good measure.

Tonight, she is her own fairy godmother. Tonight, she will become someone else.

~*~

Sherlock barely suppresses a groan as yet another young lady rushes forward to meet him. His idea to allow the lower classes to attend seemed an excellent one at the time, but he now realizes he has nearly doubled the amount of time he must spend making their acquaintance. After a full hour of meeting prospective brides, he deeply regrets it, and prays for an end to his misery.

The entire thing is a farce. His parents have told him all his life that he should marry for love, and yet they insist on this ridiculous ball. “You simply haven’t met the right woman,” his mother said to him the day she and his father announced the ball. Sherlock argued the point until his breath ran out, but they did not concede, and he was forced to agree. He included the stipulation that all young ladies be given the chance to attend, hoping they would be too scandalized to continue, but instead they applauded his decision, reasoning that a humble girl might offer sounder advice and greater perspective in the future. (He agrees, but God forbid he actually admit that in front of his parents.)

Marriage is something he does not want… as is the Crown. His brother’s abdication came as a shock to all, and Sherlock resents him still for laying the mantle on him. He is trapped, forced to abandon all his academic pursuits for the sake of ruling the nation and siring heirs.

Damn you, Mycroft, he curses in his head.

Time goes by, more and more young ladies come forward, but eventually the end of the queue is in sight, a light at the end of this tunnel of tedium. He will have to dance with at least a few of them, and has already determined one of them, a young woman who seems even less happy to be here than he is, which he had not thought possible. He has also deduced that her real motive for attending was not to meet him, but to infuriate her sister, a sly and suspicious beauty he distrusted immediately.

Then, just as he reaches the last lady in the queue, the doors open again, and all eyes turn toward the late arrival. Sherlock stops… stares… and for a moment, forgets how to breathe. His mind has gone quite blank, all his attention on this mysterious young woman. She is small and thin, almost too thin, and clad in a blue silk gown that is slightly out of fashion, but fits her like a glove. Her chestnut hair is twisted into an intricate knot and adorned with pearls. She does not have the same fine and elegant features as many of the other ladies present, but her soft, elfin features are, in his eyes, utterly exquisite.

Without having made a conscious decision to do so, he crosses the room, his eyes locked on her. She is surprised when she sees him, and goes completely still, her pink lips parting on a gasp. Sherlock slows as he comes within arm’s reach, never releasing her wide brown eyes. “It’s you,” she whispers.

Curious. “Is it?” he asks.

She seems to snap out of a trance, and dips into a low curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Now, that just won’t do. Sherlock reaches out a hand and tucks it under her chin, gently raising her head first, then urging her to stand again. Those impossibly large eyes land on his again, and he feels warmth spread from his head to his toes. “What is your name?”

She swallows nervously before she answers, “Molly Hooper.”

It’s certainly not the name of any prominence, she is among the lower class, likely a servant. He likes her all the more for it.

“Will you dance with me, Molly Hooper?”

Her mouth falls open. “Me?”

“You,” he confirms.

Molly’s eyes dart over to a spot slightly to the right of his face, and part of him wants to look over his shoulder and see what has caught her attention, but the greater part of him refuses to take his eyes off her. He has the strangest notion that if he does, she will vanish in a puff of smoke, and he’ll never see her again. And that is simply not a risk he is willing to take. Whatever it is, she seems to draw strength from it, and when her eyes return to his, she nods and smiles.

He has never felt more blessed.

~*~

Mere days later, the news of the Prince’s engagement spreads throughout the country. Those who were present at the ball are not surprised at the identity of his chosen bride, having witnessed their first meeting. Some hear the news with delight, some with apathy, and some with anger and bitterness. But no one, not even those angry few, can deny the love between them.

Molly smiles up at her husband, no longer the stranger from her dreams, but warm and real and every bit as wonderful as she knew he would be.

[sabineelectricheart]

Distracted, Desperate, Determined [Pt. 2]

Summary: If going about it by underhanded means took him nowhere, Baxter decides to be direct. Jamie is also direct, in response.

Rating: R - Content features heavy themes. Not suitable for most audiences. Consult warnings before proceeding.

Explicit depictions of violence. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 1025

Notes: Leering bosses suck. Even when they’re hot.

Baxter was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveller who had not seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed prison escapee, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from her.

He knew where Jamie would be. She is a creature of habit, and he had already had more than enough time to memorize her routine. He had had enough time to memorize everything about her, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he had spent trying and failing to win her favour.

It was evidence of how pathetic he had gotten over the course of his one-sided pursuit, too.

Instead of competing for attention on Beverly Hills or Rodeo Drive, Baxter pontificates out of his office in Downtown, letting his clients go out of their way to meet him, and he has no shortage of those willing to make the trip. It made his commute from his penthouse much more pleasant, he gets more space for the same amount of rent money and it is more convenient for his employees, too.

Jamie, herself, usually takes the metro from her apartment in East Hollywood down to the office. At noon every day, she goes out to a cheap Korean restaurant around the corner, and then walks to the Central Library to rest amongst the volumes housed there.

Baxter went after her. She was hidden in her usual spot , tucked into the far corner of the library, back to the concrete wall, her attention monopolized by the old book spread across her lap. She was still pouring over it by the time he reached her, slumping against the opposite pillar, taking in how brilliantly the muted artificial lighting looked as it danced across her skin.

He does not try to hide the way he stared anymore. He was long past worrying that she would care enough to notice.

Her hair was unkempt, proof that she had run out on the street, probably to make to an appointment with one of her friends at the Korean restaurant, all of them he knows the names of, none of them he was ever introduced to. Her lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might have been stranger if they were not.

It must have been a nervous tick, but Baxter found it cute. Baxter found it endearing. Baxter found everything about Jamie endearing, and in the name of a god he does not believe in, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his…

He hated it. He found everything about her endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. She does not look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out her concern.

“I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by her standards.

“I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one that he had already used a hundred different times. He did not care. He would use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t work, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Xavier because the essences they were working with reminded me of the way your favourite kind of dessert smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but she only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Her dull nails bit into the edges of her book, but she does not seem to mind, nor did she move to close it as she finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across her expression.

“Did you kiss Xavier?”

“You don’t get it.” He said, and she nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do.” She admitted, more earnestly. Her gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Baxter deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. New out of college, new to LA, new to the workforce, I’m even too fucking young. I still have too much to prove, I need to give my parents and myself a reason to trust in me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with my boss so early on.”

Jamie suddenly paused, laughing to herself. Something in his chest tightened. It was the happiest he had been since he met her, and he still felt like she had pushed a knife through his heart and twisted.

“But you don’t really want a relationship, do you, Mr. Ward? I’ve been told, and I’ve seen for myself, the comes-and-goes of people in your office, and I’m absolutely sure not all of them are engaged to be married.” She chuckled bitterly at her own attempt of a joke. “You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I’m the most available option, so...”

She trailed off, finishing her sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture.

“It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Baxter, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.” The young woman says, standing up to leave. “Or, perhaps, I like you too much.”

It was the first time she called him by his first name. It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth.

Once Baxter did, the words came stumbling out on their own, every bit as pathetic as the man uttering them. “Of course.”

*_*_*_*_*

Distracted, Desperate, Determined Masterlist

Our Life Masterlist

[mojamoza]

7 steps to start a money making business online

Introducing DotComSecrets- The Underground Playbook For Growing Your Company Online… USA Today & Amazon Best-Selling Book- Over 205,381 Copies Sold! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtGwTfmiVS0 7 Blogging Tips for Beginners You’ve probably heard of success stories from people who make 6 figures online from blogging and you may be wondering if it’s actually true. If you’ve wanted to know more about how to start a profitable blog but don’t know how, then keep watching as I share my insights from over 5 years of experience in the online world. When you tell people you blog, it sounds kind of sexy and cool –and my own experience has been nothing short of Amazing Journey. Blogging falls into two types – traditional blogging and video blogging. Traditional blogging is where you publish your content to an actual blog that looks like a website; and video blogging is where you post videos to YouTube. When I started out online almost a decade ago, I really didn’t know what I was doing. I spent tons of cash on various courses and programs trying to figure out how to make money online,little did I know that something as simple as a blog would be my ticket to financial independence. I’ve helped people get started blogging. And I will help you too if you’re committed to that. It’s all about knowing what you really want and going for it. My business seriously took off when I started blogging. The nature of my business requires that I sell to my customers what I myself love. I put myself in my customers’ shoes every time I make a decision on what to sell. It’s easy to blog about what you love. I decided to blog about the products that I sell on my eCommerce store and try to direct traffic to my product pages through the blog. Interestingly enough, I’ve had countless people ask about how to start a traditional blog, so in this article, I really want to focus on the basics of blogging. So here’s 7 crucial things you need to know before you build a profitable blog online: - Blogs And Websites Are Two VERY Different Things! Now although they seem very similar, blogs and websites actually work in completely different ways in terms of functionality. You may have heard some of the big name marketers out there speaking about the importance of having a blog. However, for those people who are totally new online, it can be confusing – should you have a blog or should you have a website, or do you need both? Let’s clear the confusion! A website consists mostly of static pages which mean that once your content has been added to the site, it more or less stays the same. A blog on the other hand has content relevant to your target audience which is updated on a regular basis. This has a big advantage in that it allows you to keep content fresh and relevant, therefore giving visitors a reason to return. This allows you to connect with your audience and engage them on a deeper level in a way that a website never can. In fact, if you don’t have a blog, you’re going to find it to very hard to build your brand and presence online… - Blogging Is Very Social Another big difference between a blog and a website is that a blog enables your audience to comment on your posts, creating a conversation between you and your potential customers. This is HUGE – because we’re in the age of relationship marketing. Those businesses that do the best are focused very much on their audience and a blog makes it super simple to do that. We’ve all heard… The spiritual law… “Give and you shall receive..” Not only is this a fundamental law of the universe, that absolutely applies to everything that you do in life. This also applies to your online business. So you want to create the absolute best content that you can.. Always remember to take care of the relationship and the money will follow.. write that down.. You want people to feel that passion, the drive, the energy, the enthusiasm in your content.. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Nothing great was ever created without enthusiasm” Being able to engage with your audience and having a dialogue with them is a great way for you to build a relationship with your community and understand what their wants and needs are. It’s amazing what you can learn about your audience by paying attention to the comments they leave you! This creates a win-win scenario because you can create products and services based on the wants and needs of your audience. Your followers will love you because they feel like you’ve really paid attention to what they want! This is the single biggest advantage of a blog over a website – it allows you to connect one-on-one with your prospects and customers by encouraging conversation, creating engagement and building trust. Plus, if your blog is set up correctly, you can make it easy for people to share your content on social media sites like Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus and Reddit etc, bringing a ton of natural and organic traffic back to your blog. - Google And Facebook LOVE Blogs One of the big advantages of blogs compared to websites is that search engines such as Google really love them. One of the reasons why Google is the best search engine in the world is that it works to deliver the most relevant content to people who are searching for things on its network. Therefore, Google will boost content from sites which are fresh, relevant and most of all, engaging. Interestingly enough, Facebook has ALSO changed the way it works to promote posts which are content focused – meaning if you want to succeed online, then a blog is an absolute must for your business! And every piece of content you publish on a blog will have tags and keywords associated with it, which works towards getting you better and better results in search engines like Google. Knowing how to correctly optimize your your content with the right keywords and tags is one of the secrets of bringing in good quality traffic to your blog. - Blogs Are Always Focused On Your Audience While your website is great for telling people about your company, your products and services, it serves more as an online brochure for your business. A blog is different because you’re focusing on your customer. The content you publish should be helpful and should educate your target audience about their problems and their needs, and introducing the solution to those problems. For example, if you sell skin products, your blog would be focused on solving problems for your audience. So some of the content you might publish would give you tips on looking after your skin and would answer specific concerns about the health of your skin. Done properly, your blog can position you as an authority in your industry where your audience come to you for solutions and will trust you enough to buy your products and services. Even if you don’t have your own products, the fact that you’re an expert in your field is enough to get people buying products you recommend. A great example of this is LisaEldridge.com – she’s a top British makeup artist with an amazing blog plus a YouTube video channel where she shares lots of tips and tutorials about makeup and skincare. Lisa is definitely an authority in her industry and blogging has been a huge part of her success. While she doesn’t have her own product line, she makes money by selling the products she recommends through affiliate links on her blog. This is why blogging is also perfect for you if you don’t have your own stuff to sell. As long as you’re an expert in your field, you can still help people through tips and product reviews and recommendations. - Building A Blog Is Easier Than You Think! One of the best ways to get started with your blog online is to use something called WordPress. Loved by Google and Facebook, WordPress is a simple web building tool which allows you to have your own website or blog up and running in less time than it takes to make and drink a cup of coffee. If this sounds confusing, don’t be. WordPress was originally designed for the purpose of blogging, however it is so versatile that it can be modified and used as a website or a blog. WordPress is super easy to use and is the perfect tool for you even if you’re completely allergic to technology! If you can send an email, you can use WordPress. Plus, with WordPress, you can totally customize how your blog looks and feels because there are literally thousands of ready-made templates and themes you can choose from – and even these can be modified so you get the exact look and feel you want. You can add video, audio, maps, contact forms and other cool things to your blog to really make it stand out. Plus, one of the best things about WordPress is that you can set it up to collect people’s email addresses direct from your blog. This will allow you to build a list of subscribers so you can continue to market to them and eventually turn those subscribers into paying customers! - You Don’t Need A Big Budget To Start A Blog It’s a total myth that starting a blog costs a lot of money – in fact, you can set one up for less than the cost of takeout. Because WordPress is so simple to use, you can build your blog yourself, meaning would never need to hire someone to set up your blog for you. And unless you want to be super fancy, you don’t even need to hire a designer either! WordPress allows you to fully control how your blog looks and feels so updating it is a breeze. - Blogging Is a Labour of Love Which DOES Pay Off… It’s EASY to start a blog, but here’s a little known fact about blogging. Each year thousands of people start blogs in the hope of making it profitable – but very few truly profit. The ones that are successful, end up making blogging a full time career. The reality is that for your blog to really take off, you have to be consistent. Consistent in producing content that your audience wants and needs. Consistent in the quality of your posts. Consistent in how often you publish your content and consistent in engaging with your audience. If you’re really dedicated to making a difference in people’s lives, you have to be willing to put in consistent effort to see blogging pay off. When I first started blogging, I got a handful of views – but I most certainly didn’t let that put me off. Pay attention to the comments you get on your content – even if just a few people find benefit in what you do, it’s so worth it because the comments serve as a measuring stick on how well you’re doing. Be gracious and thank people for their comments. It also really pumps you up and makes you want to create even more! It’s a really fun process and journey. It’s really important to look at this in terms of a journey. The perspective of serving your audience but also growing into a better blogger in the process. It’s a win-win because you get to do something that you love, not only helps you grow but helps your audience grow. And yes, if you find negative comments, try and address them in a professional and courteous manner. Very often you’ll find that those who take the time to continuously create amazing content AND engage with their audience properly to be the most successful and have the most loyal followers. So there you have it – 7 things you need to know before you start blogging. If you want to learn how to start your own profitable blog in an easy step-by-step way, then make sure you check out my content here on this blog. Mo Jamoza About Mo Jamoza: As a specialist in building blogs and websites using WordPress, Jamoza has helped lots of people get started online using his signature 3C system to build a super profitable blog or website, get traffic to it and convert the traffic to paying customers. Read the full article

[chasingafterserendipity]

A little freedom

I am longing to have more time, a little more freedom.

I am only a 26 year old, trying to make money for living while enjoying life as it is. I’ve always wanted to migrate, get a job abroad, live alone, have early mornings with yoga, make breakfast at 8am, coffee run, and the list goes on. But turned out, it’s not that simple.

Ever since my dad had stroke in 2020, my life took a turn in many good and ugly ways (drastically if i may add). The optimistic side of me would like to think that it’s a blessing in disguise meanwhile the other side of me is just plainly going crazy trying to balance everything out, trying to keep up with my own life. 

No one ever sat with me and asked “How are you?” aside from my best friend. But it’s not like i’m expecting them to, i mean if they do ask, what can they do anyway? Silly me.

Life has been quite overwhelming recently, with work, myself and family. I barely have time to relax and have time on my own. If i could be brutally honest, life sucks. 

I’m not one to speak negatively about life, never did actually. I’ve always believed that there’s so much to life and that it is too short to be spent mopping around about things that doesn’t go right. Many other things are actually going right. But i can’t seem to find one thing that’s going right at this very moment. Do i need to elaborate it? Boss isn’t happy with almost everything i do at work, I feel stagnant in my career, can’t switch jobs so easily cause i’d have to choose what kind of work i can or cannot do due to my current situation at home. I don’t watch my food intake as much. I don’t workout as much. With all that, I’m barely happy and content these days. Everything i do now doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I’m constantly criticizing myself, beating myself down like i am not worthy. Haven’t gotten to the relationship part yet and i am already feeling tight in my chest.  I just want to have control again. I want to be motivated and just be that ray of sunshine again despite all the crappy things i am going through. I tried so hard to not let myself be where i am right now in this dark hole but guess that was a mistake to think that i’ve got it all.  Everyday, i pray to the Almighty to give me strength to go on, to be better, to never give up, to never let my faith get shaken up. All i want is a little freedom to go chasing after my dreams. --- Is that too much to ask?

[cookieisnotameal]

ATL - All Time Low

For the past several months, since the start of the year really, my wife and I have been having a pretty significant mental health crisis. It’s funny how these things creep into your life. What feels like a gentle grasp at your throat quickly turns into a chokehold on your daily life and the next thing you know you’re spending most of the day either sleeping or avoiding any kind of responsibility that might force you to leave the house. Worst part is, it’s comfortable. You know on some level that this isn’t healthy, isn’t living. Fuck it’s barely functioning. But it’s comfortable and that makes it even more difficult to admit out loud that there is a problem that needs to be addressed. You’re still alive after all. You still eat. Maybe. Most of the time. The electricity is on. You’re safe. Warm. Your base needs are met so it can’t be that bad…right? Then reality pays a visit when you realize you haven’t taken out trash for a week and there are things squirming on the floor. When you haven’t been doing laundry and you slept so late that the dog decided to use your towels to relieve himself all over them. When the prospect of cooking becomes too much of an effort so you Doordash for the third time today because you just don’t have the energy. When you don’t pick up your meds. You should have. You had enough money to do so. But that would mean putting on pants, getting in the car, and talking to people and that’s too much right now. It's not that you never try to crawl your way out of the pit. You have a good day, or even just a desperate day, and you manage to get up and get a few chores done. Enough to make your environment slightly more livable. It feels good. Hopeful. You can catch a glimpse of sunlight and you start to feel like you can make it all the way out if you just put in the effort. And yet a week later you’re staring at the same problems slowly getting worse because you spent all the energy you had trying to make it better and you ran out of spoons again. I like the spoons analogy. It’s a simple metaphor for a significantly more vast and complex problem. It makes sense and it’s easy to explain to others when they don’t quite get (or don’t really want to listen to a lecture) about all the chronic mental health issues I’m dealing with. Lately, I’ve been telling people “It feels like I’m cleaning the same spoon every day.” The truth is I’m having more and more days where I don’t even both to clean the spoon anymore. I decided to start this blog for myself. I know it’ll probably trickle in a little bit of attention. It’s a mental health blog on tumblr for fucks sake. At the end of the day this is me attempting to help myself keep track of where my head is instead of just using maladaptive daydreaming to avoid thinking about myself. We’re making attempts to improve and I want to be able to look back and motivate myself to keep trying even when it’s hard. Gonna be some heavy subject matter from time to time. I’ll do my best to use trigger warnings and cuts but honestly I’m writing this for myself. I’m happy for anyone else who wants to ride along.

[grippingbeskar]

hands off | matt murdock

matt murdock x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (mutual masturbation, mxf intercourse, dirty talk) swearing, established relationship

a/n: okay. OKAY! okay. be gentle with this one because it’s my first matt fic!!! also, i saw this video on tik tok about ppl doing this game thing, but idk who posted it first and i don’t have the videos, but that’s where the dies comes from. also this is literally just smut, don’t even look at me ITS BEEN A LONG WEEK. okay bye. literally posting this and running away to sleep bc i am afraid BYE.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sooo? You like it?” You keep to your side of the couch as Matt brings the glass up to his mouth for a second time. He hums, swallowing and licking his lips, and you have to bite down on your own to control yourself.

Asshole.

“It’s…”

“What?”

“Sweet.” His voice rumbles. You think you should have tied yourself down or something, because there’s no way you can win this stupid bet if he was going to keep teasing you like this. He wasn’t even doing anything, really. Everything he did seemed to turn you on in some way or the other, especially now, as the alcohol starts to kick in, warmth spreading through your face, flowing all the way down.

It was your idea; this whole bet. You and Matt had been together for a while now, and the longer you spent with him you realised how much of a fucking tease he was. So, in your muddied brain, you decided two could play at that game, even though you were almost certain you would fail miserably. You were, however, planning on giving him a run for his money. Or your money, considering how you had both put two hundred dollars on the table for the winner.

The rules were simple. You drink an entire bottle of wine- your favourite brand, hence the taste testing Matt was currently being put through, and sit on opposite ends of the couch. The first one to break - to touch the other in any way, loses. You were notoriously… frisky, when you drank wine, and Matt thought the game was going to be innocent enough until you started popping more bottles.

“Good sweet or bad sweet?” You say, and he empties the glass, holding it out for you to pour him another.

“I’d give it a good 7 out of 10. I’ve tasted better.” He hears the exasperated gasp of shock, and smiles in a way that’s so classically Matthew that your heart skips a beat. He probably hears that too.

“This is the best thing I have ever had. What could possibly taste better than this?!” You pour him another glass that he downs half of quickly, eager to get to the good part.

“I can think of a few things.” Your breath hitches in your throat, and he smirks, taking another sip.

“That feels like cheating.” Your entire body ignites at the shift in mood, and you nearly shiver when his hand trails along the edge of the couch, moving dangerously close to your shoulder, then retreating back.

“Hey, you said no touching. Nothing in the rules about telling you how much I love your-“

“Okay! Okay. I get it. Finish your glass, cheater.” He downs the rest obediently, placing the glass gently on the table, right next to the stack of fifty dollar notes you had pooled. He was smirking - clearly thinking he was already ten moves ahead of you, but you had a couple tricks up your sleeve to win this thing. Well, one trick.

“So, how do you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?” You finish your glass and get rid of it, the empty wine bottles clanking together somewhere on the floor.

“Well, obviously you are going to lose, so do you want to just give up now, or do we have to play this whole little game first?” Typical. Complete confidence, right from the start.

“Listen, Murdock. One thing you’ll learn about me tonight, is that no matter how incredibly attractive you look right now, I am very competitive. Very. Competitive. Especially when it comes to money, because I am also very broke.” He laughs again, his head hanging back off the couch. “Besides, who says you won’t break first?”

“I’m pretty sure I can take you apart from right here.” His voice has dropped an octave. You recognise that tone in an instant. He only talks to you like that, all commanding and a little mocking; when he’s fucking you. Or about to fuck you. Your whole body reacts to him - you don’t even have a choice in the matter, it’s like a bell rings and you’re switched into that mode. All he needs to do is talk to you like that, and you want to get on your knees and forget all about this stupid bet and-

“Am I right? You think I can make you all sweet and desperate just talking to you?” Yes. He could. He knew it, because he’d done it before, but you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction. Not when the game had barely started.

“Who says we’re just gonna talk?” You settle back, letting your legs stretch just this side of your half of the couch.

“Is that a threat, honey?” The endearment mixed with his slightly rough tone has you tightening every muscle in your body, and if you didn’t get a hold of yourself you might as well just shreds your money now.

“Just got a few ideas, that’s all.” You blink innocently, and he scoffs.

“I promise we’ll do all the things I know your pretty little head is thinking about right now. All you have to do is give in to it.” The way he’s sitting is so cocky; if he wasn’t so fucking sexy you think you’d slap him. Arms stretched out, one dangling over the back, the other strung lazily across his stomach, making a perfect line down to where his legs are spread as wide as possible. You don’t miss how easy it would be for you to slot yourself in to that spot, to be surrounded by him.

“Hmm. Tempting.” He shrugs, almost saying ‘I know.’ “Or, you could come over here.”

“Now why would I do that?” He asks, leaning forward. You start as slow as possible. This was really the only idea you had to get him to break. Maybe if you threatened it, alluded to it enough, he would forget all about the money and the bet and jump on you.

“Maybe I’ve got something to sweeten the deal.” You trail a slow fingertip up your leg, past your knee and creeping it along your thigh. The fabric of your skirt scrunches up as you get higher, and Matt’s head straightens when he hears it.

“What are you doing?” Still, his voice is that low, gravelly sound that sends shivers up your spine, and you bite your lip to stop a smile before answering him.

“You know how wine makes me.” He knew very, very well, being the object of all your wine-induced fantasies. “I’m all hot, and if you aren’t going to help me…”

“Don’t.” He practically growls, and you let out a breathy laugh as you use your other hand to pull up your skirt completely. He may not be able to see you - but he knows exactly what your doing and how your doing it. He can hear the way you’re moving, the skips in your heartbeat as your finger trails higher and higher. The smell of you, how it changes as you get closer to the wetness between your thighs. He knows. And he looks like he hates it.

Jaw set, he grinds his teeth as you ignore his simple demand. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you touching yourself - he loved it; encouraged it, even, but he wanted to be there for it. Involved in it. If you ever needed that specific kind of relief, he wanted to be the one to give it to you. Even on the few times he’s been away, he’s sent you videos, called you and made sure he was the only one who pushed you over the edge. His name on your tongue as you came to the thought of him, to his words or his pictures. He always wants to be the one. And he always is.

He also has never not been able to touch you, because if you knew one thing, it’s that Matt Murdock was not a man that shared what was his. Especially not you, even with your own hand.

“Stop.” Matt manages to say, and you hum, relishing in the attention he’s focusing on you. You spread your legs a little wider, making yourself comfortable. “That’s cheating.”

“Nothin’ in the rules about touching myself, Matty.” You breathe, and then gasp as your finger brushes over your most sensitive spot, still covered by your lace underwear. “Unless you want to come over here and make me stop?”

“I know what you’re doing. You’ll have to try a little harder than that, sweetheart.” His face is set so hard, like how you’ve seen him in the court room. Focused, not betraying a single emotion on that sweet face of his. You were going to wipe that stoic look off his face one way or the other.

“I’m gonna take these off.” You narrate, hooking your fingertips under the seam of your underwear, and start to slowly pull them down your legs. As you get about halfway, the fabric bunching over your knees, you sigh sweetly. “Help me out, baby?”

He exhales in a short, sharp laugh. He wasn’t technically touching you, and you both knew it was the closest he could get without forfeiting. Leaning forward, he used one hand to grab the part of your underwear not touching any skin, and starts pulls them down. The soft material slips over your shins and calves, and you know he’s going slow on purpose. You lift your feet up so he can remove them fully, and you watch intently as his thumb brushes over his new prize.

“The purple ones?” He recognises the fabric and you moan out a ‘mhmm’. “My favourite.”

“I know.” You let your legs fall open again, and you could of sworn you heard a small sound come from him at the movement. A crack in the ice. It ignites your confidence, and makes you want to keep going. Keep pushing. “Wore them for you.”

“Such a good girl, all the time. You wouldn’t be this mean. Not to me, right?” The words were sweet as honey. You loved when he spoke to you like that - with praise and a little bit of authority. It made you squirm, but you had to hold it together a bit longer. String him out a little further. You just moan again, your hand finding it’s destination, one finger running up and down in between your legs, brushing over your clit lightly. Just how he teases you. You see his face change. “You’re going to regret this.”

“But it feels so good, Matty.” His grip on the back of the couch tightens.

“Better than me?” You shake your head vehemently, appeasing his ego and moaning a negative incase he can’t figure out your answer from the sound of your movement.

“Nothin’ better than you.”

“I know, baby. Why don’t you let me take care of you? Come just a little closer, and I’ll make it all better.” Your toes curl, and you start to make small, tight circles right over your soft centre, nerves alight and sending shocks up your entire body. His voice is all you’ll need to get there, you just need him to keep talking.

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” Your jaw falls open, no longer able to hold it together. “Just want you so bad.”

“If you want me so bad, come here.” His tone is a little more demanding. Frustrated. Stubborn. Another crack. You resist the urge to smile.

“Will you- will you tell me? What you’d do if you could touch me?” He sits up, unzipping his pants and shoving them off aggressively. His erection is impossible to ignore, and your mouth waters at the sight of it when he pulls his boxers down and lets himself free.

“That’s what you want? You want me to tell you all the things I’m going to do to you when you break?” You don’t miss the cockiness in his words, but you just moan again, too lost in the feeling of your fingers against your clit. “Fuck. Okay - okay, slow down.”

You listen, obedient even when defiant. He can hear the sounds of your hands against your arousal slow to about half the speed, and the orgasm that was growing in your stomach is now only being stoked, your legs jolting every time you brush against your clit.

“Good fucking girl. I always go slow first, don’t I?”

“Mhmm.” You moan out, and he chuckles. The fucker was laughing at you. Pay back was going to be a bitch. You were really about to give in, then. Not now, though. If he was stubborn, you were going to beat him at that game, too.

“That’s it. Nice and slow for me. Want you all warmed up when you make yourself cum on my cock.” Oh. God - maybe you couldn’t outlast him. It was those kinds of words, sung to you in a voice so low and clear it was impossible to listen to anything else, that was what did it for you. What undid you every time. Fuck being stubborn.

“Oh God, Matt. Please - c-can I go faster?” He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, and you are mesmerised as he pumps his hand just once, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You can go a little faster. Since you asked me so nice. I’d do it for you.” You speed up, the fire in your tummy getting more aggressive as soon as you indulge the feeling. He pumps up and down once more, and his face screws up a little. Not in pleasure entirely, but something a little uncomfortable. At first you think it might be the situation, but then you look down, and recognise his problem. Your submissive side instantly takes over, your brain only knowing to do what you knew he wants. What he needs.

“You want me to help you, baby?” Matt swallows as he feels you get closer, but nods just once, taking his hand off himself. You hover above him, making sure he can feel the heat of your breath kissing the sensitive head of his cock as you angle down closer. God - what you wouldn’t give to wrap your mouth around him right now. You miss the taste of him - the feel of his hand threaded through your hair, how he tangles himself into it to feel the most of you that he possibly can.

Slowly, you let your spit drip down his length, alleviating the uncomfortable feeling of his dry hand. He doesn’t move, just lets you take your time getting him as wet as you are. Matt’s chest rises and falls so fast you think he might pass out, and his head is hung back so far that you can’t see his face from this angle. You bet it’s screwed up, and his mouth is open a little. He always looks so good when he’s strung out.

You start to retreat, careful not to brush against him as you sit back on your half of the couch, satisfied with your work. His hand wraps around his cock as soon as he feels your body heat move away, and the pain once etched on his face is replaced by only pure pleasure. The sight of him has you quickly returning your hand to your pussy, matching the pace he sets.

“Thank you.” He croaks out, and you silently high five yourself for how fucking ruined he sounds.

“Your welcome.” You sound exactly the same.

“God - I want to fuck you so badly right now.” He sighs, moaning your name as he starts pumping his hand harder, hips bucking irregularly. “You know it’d feel so good.”

“It would. You always fuc-“ You cry out as a wave of pleasure suddenly hits your chest, the new rhythm he was setting on himself having you seeing stars. “Always feel so good. Miss having you inside me.”

“Come here. Now.” He says through his teeth, and you just keep moaning out his name. He tries a new approach. “Baby. Baby, please come here. I’ll -I’ll let you cum so many times you won’t remember your fucking name. Just give it up already. I know you want to.” A new crack of determination nuzzles its way through the overwhelming pleasure at his words. Maybe it’s because it’s not actually Matt touching you right now that you are able to form a thought, but his words have you speeding up. Let you come.

Asshole.

“Fuck, Matty. I’m so cl-close - I think I’m gonna-“

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He almost shouts, hand pumping furiously at his cock as he cuts you off. It almost looks like it hurts, and maybe it does a little, but the sounds of his hand moving against himself with your spit is making your brain go fuzzy. Trying your best to keep up with him, your back arches off the couch and you turn your head to the couch cushion.

“Can’t stop, feels too good I just-“ The burn in your arm is secondary to the release you were chasing, and it was so close. You knew what you needed. He had gone silent, because he knew, too. If he spoke, that would be it. He had such a hold on you that all it would take would be a few well placed words and you would crumble in front of him, and for the first time, it was the last thing he wanted.

“Slow down. Right now.” Your back was arching off the couch, and it was an effort not to stretch your legs out. Bunched up on your end, your eyes were glued to Matthew, his abs flexing hard and free hand still fisting the couch, white knuckled. “Do not fucking finish without me.”

The tone of his voice was so low and harsh, he wasn’t meaning to but he was only making it worse. Teetering on the edge, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from talking.

“I wish you were touching me right now. Your hands feel so rough sometimes and I always think about it, think about how good it feels on me.” Your eyes were squeezed shut, the words flowing out of you from the darkest parts of your tipsy mind.

“Baby just-“ His hand gets faster, you can hear it, his restraint snapping little by little. “You just gotta come over here. Please.” You try to block out how hot he sounds begging for a glimpse of you, so you keep talking yourself through it, thinking of the things he would say if he was fucking you.

“I want you to fuck me through this couch, make me feel you for days like you always do. Want you to…” A gasping breath cuts you off, and it takes you a moment to regain your focus, the pleasure nearly cutting off your air supply making you hiccup.

“Finish your sentence. What do you want?” He was sitting straight up, leaning so close that if you moved and inch you’d feel him. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him to touch you as badly as you wanted it right now - and that was fucking saying something.

You’d give it one more minute.

You think you can hold out for that long. One single minute of keeping yourself on the edge, one more minute to see if you can break Murdock like he breaks you every time. If you reached a minute and he wasn’t either buried between your legs or inside of you, you think you would implode.

“I- I want you to fuck me like you did when you came home last week. Leave a mark so I could feel it for days and-“

“That’s it. Keep fucking talking.” Your eyes open for a second and he’s kneeling, the hand on the top of the couch right next to your head. You hadn’t even heard him move, but now he was practically hanging over you, almost between your legs. Maybe your words effect him just like his do to you. “You sound so pretty. Keep talking for me, okay?”

“Matty, please just touch me. I need you to mmmmfuck- make me feel good.” He chokes out a desperate sound, and you shut your eyes again, no longer able to bare the sight above you if you couldn’t touch him.

“You need me?” You whine below him, nodding and making sure he knows just how bad he was right. It was a low blow, one you knew would make him even more desperate. Those simple words always got you what you wanted, no matter how long he had been playing with you. “Yeah, you fucking need me. Just need me to touch you so bad. Mark you up. Bet you’d cum as soon as I slid inside you, huh? Already so wet, I can fucking hear it.”

“Need you. Please.” You wheeze, and hear another choked sound leave his mouth. The couch shifts underneath you. Every nerve in your body was begging for him- you were begging for him, a string of pleases mixed with his name. If only either of you was less stubborn this stupid game would have been over long ago.

“You sound good like that. Begging for me. Keep going, tell me how bad you need it.”

“I’ll do whatever you want. Whate- Whatever you want. Just please. Please, please, please…” You sounded like you were having a tantrum, so close on the edge you were almost sobbing his name in ecstasy.

This was it. It probably hadn’t been a minute but you just couldn’t hold out any longer. Fuck the bet, fuck the stupid money. Nothing was worth not feeling him, having him just out of reach, you were so fucking close-

Matt’s hand brushes against your cheek, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, and his thumb wipes away a tear you hadn’t realised had fallen on your cheek. It was soft; gentle.

He kisses you softly, and his hand takes over the work, replacing your own and keeping that hard, tight pace on your clit. The feeling was earth shattering - the difference between your hand and his somehow night and day, and when you kiss him back, you realise he just lost. He lost, not so he could fuck you, but so he could kiss you.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. Hm?” He murmurs, the hot air of his breath fanning over your forehead as his hand works at you, and all you could do what sob his name. “Cum for me. I earnt it.”

With that, he slides himself inside of you, and everything turns white.

“Fuck - yes.” You moan out and your cumming as soon as he hits the deepest part of you. He’s suddenly everywhere - an arm under your arched back pulling you against his chest, his mouth on yours muffling your wrecked moans of pleasure, his cock buried inside of you, hitting you hard and fast and desperate; just how you feel.

He isn’t far behind you, giving you exactly what you wanted and finishing inside, so deep you’d feel him for fucking weeks after this. He was making noises you’d never heard from him before - nearly whining with how much he needed you, his whole body tense as you ran your hands over every part you could feel, while your other hand scrunched into his hair.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Is all he was saying into your mouth, fucking you - using you to get through his high while simultaneously working you through yours. His lips moved to your neck, biting and kissing you all over. It was borderline territorial, and you were a whimpering mess underneath him, pinned to the couch taking whatever he wanted to give you and praying for more.

His hips eventually began to stutter in their pace, then slow to a stop- minutes or hours after he came. Time hardly registered, just him finally surrounding you like you’ve been wanting.

“Matt. Matt-“ His mouth was still attached to your neck, and you couldn’t imagine what you looked like, but it filled you with a sort of pride. You almost wanted him to keep going, but you wanted him to kiss you more, so you tugged on the strands of hair threaded in your hands. “Matt. You-“

“I know, baby. Don’t move.” The words echo through you, the command exactly the one you said to him earlier. He slowly slips out of you, never taking his hands off your body, and in one movement curls you up and pulls you completely to his side of the couch.

Finally, you can stretch out, your muscles like jelly as your legs tangle with his. Your head leans back to rest against his chest, which is still rising and falling too fast for normal. Admittedly, so is yours, as well as the occasional twitch in your legs from the pleasure dissipating through your body. Strong arms wrap around your chest and tummy, holding you tight, and he leans his head down to kiss your cheek.

“We are never doing that again.” He mumbles into the crook of your neck, and you laugh breathlessly.

“You didn’t like it?” He groans at your question.

“Baby, I fucking loved it, but I hated not being able to touch you.” He was whining now, and your hand snaked up, scratching lightly through his hair. You think he would of purred if he could. “You’re mine. Don’t like it when you try to come without me.”

“Mmm. You were too far away.” You agreed.

“Was hot, though.” You laugh again and he switches sides to kiss your other cheek, forcing you to look to the other side, where your eyes catch on the significant stack of money.

“I won.” You whisper into his ear, smiling, and he groans again.

“Stupid game.” He grumbles, teeth scraping lightly along the top of your shoulder, making you shiver. “Still made you cum.”

“We can always have a re-match.” He was still mumbling and groaning against you about how dumb the idea was, but you can feel his grin as you laugh.

“I got a different game in mind.” He whispers into your ear, and in the next moment you are in the air, being swept up and carried towards your shared bedroom.

“And what’s that?”

“How about I show you?” He kicks the door closed behind him, and lays you down on the bed slow and sweet before making true of his promise and destroying you from the inside out, just like he always did.

[vtoriacore]

✧ the love guide never fails

warning: reader is gn!

note: since his ssr birthday card came at 17 pulls i’ve decided he deserves a little scenario but also i’m obsessed so. i’m thinking of making a continuation but also mmm leaving how everything ends up to the reader to make it either angst or fluff. 

synopsis: in which azul faces the dilemma of confessing with the possibility of rejection, only to come up with an alternative that might solve his problem of the ever growing fear.

It was no surprise Azul found himself falling for you. That charming smile you'd give whenever you'd spot him in the halls on your way to your lesson (he wouldn't admit it but the first time he saw it all he could think of for the rest of the day were your lips), or the way you'd refer to him as your 'dearest angelfish' (a stolen nickname, he noted) or even the way you'd side glance him if you could sense his presence (it never failed to make him giddy).

Yet to no ones surprise, the man in question wouldn't ever even begin to dream of admitting his growing feelings for you. No, that's indefinitely out of the equation. Insecurity brewed within him like a toxin-filled cauldron ready to bubble over and spill out; the fear of rejection was simply too strong. How could he ever show his face in front of you again if you were to say 'no'? 

'Such a simple word,' he mused. And yet the weight of it carried far too much risk that would outweigh the relief and comfort of the possibility of you accepting him. So instead of what he knew was the rational thing to do, the businessman decided on something else: consulting a romance book, 'On the theme of love!'. 

Thus far, it proved to be useful. He managed to spot out some signs that you potentially liked him back! For example, observing body language which seemed to suggest you had to at least be extremely comfortable around him; notable gestures such as linking your arms together - it still manages to send a shiver down his spine. Despite the scepticism of the piece of literature, he couldn't help but get his hopes up, even if everything did seem too good to be true. After all, he doesn't want to completely back out as he is aware of the fact those ever-growing feelings won't simply dissipate.

Although the guide does seem to be helping, the pearly-haired boy can't help but feel some semblance of shame each time he seeks out advice from it. He does beg to differ however! Surely anyone in his position would do the same if they were clueless but still serious about the person they're yearning for, right? 

In the present moment, as he is absorbing every word the sixth chapter (namely, 'the meaning behind flowers') has to offer, he doubts the previous rhetorical question. But since he already started the tome, it's only appropriate to not leave it unfinished. The primary argument for this being the fact the businessman already spent money that could've gone elsewhere - such as those flowers the guide keeps talking about. 

Now that he ponders it, red chrysanthemums surely would do the trick; they convey the perfect message of unbridled love that he has kept secret (to the best of his ability anyway - the tweels are way too observant to his displeasure).  Oh but on that note, crimson red roses, as cliché and commonly used they may be, would also sum everything up! Besides, they are much more recognisable too and would definitely help send the message across. 

Snapping the book close, Azul shot up from the lavender armchair situated in the corner of his office, preparing to visit the school store to get exactly what he needed. It had been decided; he will get you those flowers and simply hand them as a perfectly 'platonic' gift - that is unless you do in fact catch the meaning. As aforementioned, the merman could never even begin to dream of a formal confession so he sincerely hopes and wishes and prays with all his heart that you will just understand. 

'Easier said than done Azul! Your entire plan resides on the idea that [Name] will understand the meaning behind such gift. Ah, not to undermine their intelligence of course . . . I just doubt every person would be well versed in the language of flowers.' 

The raging thoughts within his head as he pondered over every single possibility certainly did not quell Azul's nerves. This was much more difficult than rolling the perfect number on the dice, where the possibility of getting the number you want is one in six and with his special technique, even a one in two chance! But this- the possibility of the outcome being favourable was one in a million! Surely you would-

"Oh Azul! Perfect timing huh? I was just looking for you," your voice came as a shock, causing the merman in front of you to flinch back with clear surprise written all over his face.

"A-ah! [Name]. Evening," the stiff, curt, half-reply prodded you to tilt your head at the octo-mer in front of you, as if to silently ask if everything was okay.

"Don't mind me, I was just about to head out and . . . purchase something," with a clear of his throat, Azul avoided your inquisitive gaze.

"How long will you take? I can stay here at the lounge and just wait for a bit," the reassuring smile you sent his way never failed to quicken his heartbeat; it almost felt like the first time you had- Ah never mind, he shouldn't be going on a tangent. 

"I can't convince you to not wait for me, correct?" with a small smile of his own, Azul shook his head in a gingerly manner as he pointed to a table in the corner of the lounge, "that's the preferable spot. I won't be long." 

A deep inhale was all it took for him to get moving, hands shaking the slightest bit at the prospect of actually igniting something even minimally romantic. Although his head screamed at him to opt out of this spontaneous plan, his heart couldn't help but want to see the look in your eyes as he hands you the flowers. Maybe just this once, he ponders, the risk will be worth the outcome?

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

BLÅHAJ

Summary: Even a simple trip to IKEA can lead to new friendships when you’re a land shark named Jeff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3847

Warnings: Mentions of (mistaken) death, but I think that’s it

A/N: I did go to IKEA in the middle of my exam seasons just to get a Blahaj, he is called Blahaj and is possibly the best thing I’ve spent money on. Anyway I thought it would be great to imagine Jeff getting one too since they are both sharks, and this is the result! Shoutout to @hey-its-liz and @wolferine​ for both influencing and talking through ideas with me for this :))

Also, I actually really like this one, here’s hoping it doesn’t flop

Part of The Jeff Fictional Universe

—————————————————

Jeff was a simple shark at heart. His social media followers may only see his intellect and his TV documentaries on the truth about sharks, but you knew what he was like at home. At home, he ate, he slept, and he didn’t do much else. Right now? He was focused on the sleeping side.

But that worked in your favour. Yelena had brought Fanny over for a play date recently, and though you thought you could leave her alone with Jeff, it had turned particularly destructive, even for them, and much of your living room was left wrecked. So you and Natasha were on your way to IKEA in order to refurbish the room.

Another part of Jeff that people rarely saw was his hatred of being left alone. If either of you went anywhere, he assumed he would be going too; which became an issue when many places classed him in the same category as dogs, not allowing him into certain shops. You hadn't tried bringing him to IKEA, but knowing they didn't allow dogs, you and Natasha had decided it was best not to risk it with Jeff.

You would only be gone for a few hours, a short enough time that Jeff would be fine on his own, but it meant you would have to leave in silence, before Jeff woke up and begged you to bring him with you.

You and Natasha did your best not to disturb him, but it was of no use. Even half-asleep, Jeff kept track of your positions through sound alone, but he intended to prolong his nap as much as possible, trusting you to wake him up when the time came. 

But that time never came.

Instead, Jeff heard you approach the front door, shuffling and some muttered conversation happening as you put your shoes on. He sat up sleepily; you always came to get him before this stage, otherwise you'd have to walk back through the house in outdoor shoes.

Jeff tried to confirm his ears weren't playing tricks on him, but he only knew for sure when the distinctive click of a lock preceded the opening of the front door. Jeff could wait for you no longer. Instead, he rushed up as fast as he could to race out of the door, stopping only to jump and grab his modified seatbelt on the way out.

He made it out just before Natasha could pull it fully shut, instantly running past her to where you stood. You had one hand on the passenger door when Nat spotted Jeff; a few more moments passed before you registered the reason she'd called for the land shark. You'd opened the door, and your eyes widened when a small grey blur pushed past you and hopped onto the seat.

"Jeff?" The land shark tilted his head at the mention of his name. You turned to Natasha. She still stood by the front door, holding it open marginally and watching you expectantly; she wanted you to tell Jeff to get back in the house.

"Mrrr" Jeff said, and your attention was back on him.

"What? no we didn't- we didn't forget him, right Nat?" Jeff was your weak point, it was a struggle to say no to him, and to tell him that you didn't want him to come just seemed plain mean. Natasha, however, rarely had such qualms when talking to the land shark, probably because she couldn't understand the hurt replies he'd shoot back with. You looked to her for help, but she was unrelenting; she wouldn't do this for you. Not this time. 

It was difficult, Jeff looked up at you with such eager eyes, and his seatbelt hung loosely from his mouth; but you had to tell him no.

You glanced back at your girlfriend one last time for support, then turned back to Jeff, looking into his eyes... "okay Jeff you can come, we didn't forget you, we just knew you'd come by yourself," you blurted out.

"Y/N..." 

"oh. Okay, uhhh, well you have to sit in the back seat, Jeff. This is my seat."

Jeff mrrr'd in agreement while Natasha gave another "Y/N..." You ignored her as Jeff hopped down from the front of the car and in again through the back door you held open for him. At the same time, Natasha shut your house door properly and came to your side while you strapped Jeff in safely. 

You shut the door before you said anything, not wanting Jeff to overhear and potentially get his feelings hurt. 

"That's not what my 'Y/N...' meant and you know it." Natasha said first.

"I know, but did you see his eyes? and hear his mrrr? how was I meant to say no to that?"

"Just say the word 'no'. It's all it takes"

"It takes more than that with Jeff. He's too hard to deny." With your words, you turned your head towards the car window, Natasha doing the same. A flattened Jeff face met you both in return. The land shark had tired of being left in the car alone and had decided that pressing his face into the glass would be ample entertainment. 

It worked for you because even Natasha broke into a smile at it. She walked round to get to her side of the car shaking her head, but grinning and relenting nonetheless.

Right before she opened the door, Natasha crossed her arms upon the car roof, leaning up so that she could see you over it. "Remind him to keep out of sight and he can come. I've trained him. He should do it well."

You shot her a thumbs up, then, synchronously, the two of you pulled the doors open, sliding into your seats. Jeff's tail thumped on the seat when you got in, his excitement to see you again evident, even if it had only been a few seconds. Your head tilted lazily to the side, letting your eyes linger on Natasha; her focus remained towards the front, checking all the mirrors, but you noticed the hint of a smile at Jeff's antics, one that grew upon catching you staring. 

"Tell him the rule" she mouthed, so you finally turned around completely, looking at Jeff in the back. He grinned.

"So, Jeff, we're going to IKEA to pick up some things, but they don't allow dogs and they may not allow land sharks, so you'll have to keep a low profile, okay? Nat says she's taught you some skills, so use them, that's your mission to prove yourself today. Can you do that?"

"Mrrr" Jeff agreed, punctuating it with a nod. Natasha caught the action in the mirror; it was time to set off.

—————————————————

"I think a celebrity land shark walking around might draw some attention," Natasha complained. She'd stood back to watch you as you unclipped Jeff and set him down on the ground. 

You looked back at her, "you said it, he's a celebrity, that means he should be allowed into the store anyway"

"Celebrity dogs don't get a pass"

"That's because they're not one of a kind like Jeff is. But if you want I'll carry Jeff, he can pretend he's a stuffed toy, right Jeff?"

He nodded, falling back to sit on his hind legs. When you lifted him up, he stayed perfectly still; til he caught Natasha's eye at least. When that happened, he broke into his broadest smile to see if she was proud of him.

"We're Avengers and also pretty famously Jeff's family. That's not going to fool anyone," she huffed. 

"You're the spy, what's your idea then? A Jeff sized cap and sunglasses?"

"It works, okay?" Natasha defended, "but no." Instead, she walked over to the trolley rack, pulling one out and pointing at the lower half: the small section for flatpacks underneath the main body of the cart. "Not many people will look down here, and even if they do, IKEA sells shark toys, Jeff can just pretend he's one of them."

"Mrrr" Jeff nodded again, clambering onto the trolley and lying down flat, his limbs stretched out. He was ready for his ride around IKEA to start.

Jeff enjoyed the first part of the trip; you sped through the showrooms and took the corners tightly, forcing Jeff to hold on tightly or else risk flying off of the trolley. It was all the fun he could ask for. 

The second part? Less so.

You'd reached the section you needed; Natasha and you started a conversation about which coffee tables and sofas would work well in your house, and which ones would survive Jeff. 

What you didn't notice as you talked, was that Jeff hopped off of the trolley. His legs needed a stretch and he was bored.

Your instructions had been vague anyway; just don't be seen. Only Natasha had told him to stay on the trolley, but it's not like she spoke land shark, so if either of you asked, he’d say he hadn’t understood.

He looked back at you both, still deep in conversation about something that didn't involve him. Neither of you were checking back on the trolley either, so it was the perfect opportunity for Jeff to look around. 

Sofas and table legs and people legs obscured much of his view, and climbing onto furniture wasn't an option because then he'd be seen, and that would mean failing the mission you and Natasha had set him.

A small crack of colour caught his attention, marking a change from the wooden tones of the frames and the greyscale fabrics. Slowly, Jeff crept towards it, crawling under furniture and hiding behind walls until he made it into the new section. He wouldn't fail his mission.

Jeff jumped.

A sudden chorus of jungle sounds (or so he assumed from the nature documentaries he'd seen) startled Jeff and set him on edge. As he braved through the hallway, the sound only got louder, but all the land shark could see were white barred boxes either side, fabrics of varying colours and patterns poking out from their confinement. He tried to look above the boxes, but even stood up on his hind legs, they were just too high.

He remained cautious until the end of the hallway, who knew what was in those boxes, and if it was making that sound...it might even jump out at him.

Jeff peeked around the corner, only to check there was nobody there to see him, but what he did see startled him even more. Another crate, this time with shades of stone blue fur poking out. But from the distance he could see what was stacked on top: a bundle of sharks, their mouths hanging open and their eyes blank, devoid of life.

A chill ran through Jeff's small body, his land shark instincts kicking in immediately and forcing him to look big and threatening, all while crouching and leaning backwards, in case he needed a quick getaway. His lips peeled back, exposing his current front row of sharpened, serrated teeth. Jeff's low growl was a warning, he was afraid of the sharks, of why you and Nat would bring him to a place that treats sharks like this, and he was afraid of what might happen to him if someone caught him.

Voices came from the other side of the shark pile, forcing Jeff to retreat back into a miniature alcove, from which he could see his potential attacker, yet remain hidden from them. A shriek cut off the conversation, leaving Jeff trembling in his hiding spot even more, he wished he hadn’t left you and Nat. 

A child came running up to the stack, and Jeff wondered if he should expose himself, just to warn them, but then the child screamed, and he realised that was the noise he’d heard earlier. They clambered up the crate and pulled the top shark down from the stack. Jeff tilted his head at the way the shark flopped, then let himself fall to the ground; it certainly wasn’t the same, his body would never move like that.

The child ran back to their mother, showing her the shark they had acquired. Jeff heard snippets of the conversation, but only one word stuck out: ‘toy’. 

Suddenly it all clicked for him; Natasha had mentioned that IKEA sold shark toys, and you had asked him to pretend he was one. These were the toys.

Jeff cocked his head again, analysing the sharks closer. It would explain why they had fur; he didn’t have fur. He still didn’t understand why they had been modelled with eyes facing outwards and sad looking mouths, nor why they didn’t have legs. When Jeff had heard there were shark toys, he expected they would look like him and his plushie, Jeff Jr. 

“Mrrr,” Jeff shrugged, he supposed it was good that all sharks were getting representation, he’d done his research and knew a lot of sharks tragically had no legs, unlike him. 

Either way, they looked soft and Jeff assumed he would have to wait a while for you and Natasha to get around to this area. If you ever stopped discussing non-Jeff related things. 

There was only one thing Jeff could think to do, excitedly running at the crate and leaping. He landed right in the centre of the sea of sharks, already relaxing with how soft and cuddly they were. The next step was for Jeff to paw at the sharks, nudging and digging into the pile as he circled, getting it ready for him to sleep on. As he spun, he began to dig deeper, until he was comfortably buried and able to settle down for sleep.

—

Another load of conversations woke Jeff up from his nap, and he grumbled sleepily at the interruption, rolling over to be flat on his back, since the sharks could comfortably support his fin. There was some shuffling above him and a shark was removed, exposing Jeff’s face to the world above. Someone stared down at him, eyes locked on his, and Jeff stared back. 

Neither Jeff nor the person moved for several seconds, only staring at each other, then Jeff leapt out, needing to hurry back to you since he’d been spotted. One of the plush sharks fell to the floor due to the Jeff eruption, and the person who found him stumbled backwards, off balance from the speed needed to avoid a faceful of Jeff. 

Although he had started to run, the land shark felt bad for the chaos he’d caused and double backed. He went to prop the man up first, giving him a nudge so he wouldn’t fall, then ran back to the shark toy. The crate was too high and the plush was too big for Jeff to throw it back, and if he was being honest, he really wanted to take one home. He had to make the decision quickly, so he clamped his jaws around one side of the plushie and began to run, dragging it with him. 

The stuffed shark was large, roughly the same as Jeff width wise, but longer than him in length, so it proved difficult to sprint; the faster he tried to run to get back to you and Natasha, the more frequently he tripped. On one occasion he even managed a perfect forwards roll over his new shark friend. But he never let it stop him, simply re-grabbing the plushie as soon as he was back upright, and continuing with his journey.

He’d almost reached you, he could see the both of you. Your backs were turned but he kept running.

Then someone stepped in his way.

Jeff stilled in his tracks, only skidding slightly from the speed he had been going. He released his shark and stiffened, looking up slowly but otherwise remaining static. The man in front of him was facing the other way, but he looked back suddenly, spotting Jeff and his toy on the floor. 

“Why would someone carry a Blåhaj so far only to drop it right here?” the man sighed. Jeff guessed he was an employee, based on the uniform, and nametag, and the fact that he was bending down to pick up Jeff’s friend, Blåhaj, as the man had called him.

But instead of grabbing the plushie, as Jeff had expected, the man’s hands grabbed Jeff’s torso, beginning to pull him up. He had been so close without being spotted, and he didn’t want to lose now; as he was lifted, Jeff let his mouth drop open slightly and moved his eyes, so each one was looking in the outwards direction. 

It was difficult for Jeff to see the employee when his focus was on keeping his eyes like that and not blinking, but he caught a raised eyebrow from the corner of his eye, and heard a sigh. “I just wanna go home,” he muttered, lifting Jeff to be carried under one arm, and Blåhaj under the other and dumping them right back where they started, in the plush shark crate. 

Jeff stayed still until the employee had walked away, then clambered right back out, bringing his Blåhaj with him. Blåhaj endured a fair share of grumbled ‘mrrr’s on the way back, with Jeff both proud of getting away with being a toy and offended that all his progress getting back to you and Nat had been reset. Eventually, they made it, and saw you had progressed a few sections in the meantime.

“Jeff!” you smiled upon seeing him, “I was wondering when you’d be back. Who’s the friend?”

“Wait, what? Jeff?” Natasha turned. She shook her head immediately at the sight, then checked the base of the trolley. It was clear she hadn’t noticed Jeff had gone. In fairness, it was hard to see while pushing the shopping cart, especially with everything stacked in the top half. “You knew he was gone?” she asked you.

“Yeah, he left, sometime in the sofa section, right Jeff?”

He nodded, then dropped his toy at your feet, sitting and looking up at you expectantly. Then explaining the journey with a series of ‘mrrr’s. You tried your best to listen, but Natasha was also talking to you at the same time, about how you should have told her Jeff had disappeared, or what if he’d gotten lost.

“It’s a one way system, Jeff can work his way back to us without getting lost”

“Clint got lost here”

“Yeah but that’s Clint. Jeff managed it fine.” You caught another sentence from Jeff. “Oh, he managed it two times.”

Natasha huffed. She leant over the cart with closed eyes. You were having a conversation with Jeff that she couldn’t understand, only hearing snippets from your side and ‘mrrr’s from Jeff in return. She heard your scandalised, “Who picked you up?”, only to be followed by a cheerful, “Hey, Nat, Jeff passed as a toy perfectly!” She loved the two of you, and found it adorable, though confusing, to watch you interact, but she could see your team-up coming and needed to brace herself to say no. You didn’t need the giant shark. 

“Of course we can get a Blåhaj!” you told Jeff, lifting him so that he could drop the toy into the cart.

“No, we’re not,” Natasha sighed. She’d prepared herself, but she still didn’t like saying no, not when it came to you. You’d explained it earlier in regards to Jeff, and she’d disagreed, but if she were being honest, even Natasha had a hard time saying no to Jeff, and an even harder time saying no to you, so when you teamed…

“Love, Jeff likes to sleep in our bed at night; him and Jeff Jr already take up so much space, you really think a metre long shark isn’t going to make things even worse?”

“We can survive, or just tell Jeff to sleep in his own bed; he has several.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Hasn’t worked the last few times we’ve told him that, has it?”

“I’ll try harder for these two, just look at them!” At that, you held Jeff up with straightened arms, so he was at the level of Natasha’s face. He then grabbed the sides of the Blåhaj with his own hands, extending it even further into her view, before peeking his head around the side of the toy, grinning at the spy.

“We– I like sleep”

You sensed Natasha’s resolve weakening with the act, “it’s cute, isn’t it?” you prompted, tilting Jeff, and therefore Blåhaj, side to side until their tails began swishing. A small smile crept into your girlfriend’s features, so you carried on, until she eventually cracked. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll get the shark, drop it into the cart Jeff and get yourself back on. We need to get ourselves out of here before we can buy anything else.”

The three of you (plus Blåhaj) sped through the rest of the sections, realising that there was a shortcut straight to check out just after the children’s section. 

“Hey Nat, look at that bear” you pointed out in the final part of the walk. A collection of large, sagged brown bears, about the size of Blåhaj, sat at the end.

“Another time, Y/N.” Natasha sighed, though she couldn’t hide the amusement in her eyes from your antics. “A giant shark is enough for today.” 

—————————————————

Jeff was free to come out of hiding once you’d gone through the checkout, so you lifted him up and onto the child seat for the final stretch, and settled Blåhaj on his lap, which he happily cuddled with. Though the walk to the car wasn’t long, it had been a tiring day for Jeff, and a break to his usual routine of sleeping all day, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise when you turned around at the end and saw him slumped over his new toy, happily dozing atop it. 

You took a photo quietly, ready for a social media post once you’d gotten Jeff’s permission, then you softly roused him. Natasha began unloading all the shopping. Meanwhile, you unloaded Jeff, lifting him up and strapping him into his car seat, securing Blåhaj in the seat next to him, complete with its own seatbelt.

You started the car up as Natasha returned the trolley. A soft smile fell onto your face as your attention switched from your sleepy land shark nodding off against his own shark, to your girlfriend climbing into the passenger side.

“What are you smiling about?” she laughed, her body language already mimicking yours as calm fell upon the car.

“Nothing,” you teased, the grin only spreading wider, “I just enjoyed today.” With a glance at Jeff in the rearview mirror, you continued, “maybe we should come to IKEA more often.”

Natasha nodded, following your line of view from the napping land shark to meeting your eyes. She smiled, and nodded again, this time with more determination.

Another few seconds passed. “Was this about the bear?”

“So his name is Djungelskog-”

—————————————————

For making it to the end, you get some more Jeff + Blahaj drawings :)) let me know what you thought of the fic!

Jeff taglist (lmk if you want to be added): @unexpected-character

[chocosvt]

love café

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t believe he was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To a degree, you were correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, you needed access to a computer.

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

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

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

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

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

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

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tired. Aching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

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

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

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

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

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

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

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a big deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah.”

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

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

“The Shower what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twelve am.

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

However, tonight was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The red velvet cake?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

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

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

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

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

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

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

“Later!” He’d called.

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

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

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

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

Joshua bumped your elbow.

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

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

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Just shush up and try this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

“… What?”

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

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

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

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

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

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

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

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

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

You looked at your alarm clock.

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

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

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

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

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

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