#yes yes series needs to end when it’s run it’s course but consider this: I’m feeling extremely ill.

[honorarysimp]

7: The Entity

series masterlist

You’re starting to get worried.

And that’s saying a lot.

The nightmares aren’t anything unusual, especially considering the circumstances and how you’ve been living the last month.

It’s a lot, you admit to yourself, even for you.

You cup your hands under the cold running water and splash your face, bent over the sink as you rest your hands atop the counter. Deep breath in, exhale.

Shaking your head, you wipe your hand over your face and look up into the mirror. The bags under your eyes and your sunken in cheeks isn’t exactly the best you’ve looked. But insomnia is a bitch, and she fucks you every night.

You turn to head back to your hotel bed, with the intention of sleeping, when you notice the red staining your sheets.

Had you ripped your stitches again?

Looking back to the mirror you turn, wincing when you feel a slight sting, peering over your shoulder and feeling your stomach sink.

Gashes, like nails, down the length of your back.

Those are new.

You reach around to touch them, almost like you can’t believe they’re real, and wince as the smallest brush of your fingers lets you know they’re very real.

How? What? Where did they come from? They weren’t there yesterday. A rat? Fuck no, a rat wouldn’t do this.

Trying to rationalize, you realize there’s no point. Honestly, maybe you should’ve given up on logical thinking when you’d gotten attacked by a Ghost. Or Wes disappearing. Or being buried alive.

You rub your eyes, you’re not even sure the last time you got good sleep, which is why you don’t even think about it when you’re picking up your phone and dialing the number that had been given to you just a week ago.

It’s in this moment you realize she might be at work, saving people, doing her job. And you’re bothering her with your unexplainable bullshit-

It picks up on the third ring, “hello?”

Her voice is groggy, she’d definitely been sleeping, but her follow up is far more awake. As if she’s registered that you’re actually calling her, at 3AM.

“Detective? What’s wrong? Are you-“

“I’m okay. Something has happened, I don’t know how to explain it but…” you trail off, praying you don’t sound as delirious as you feel, “I could use some medical attention for something.”

You hear rustling in the other end, feeling guilty knowing she’s getting up out of bed for you. Someone she’s only known a month. Someone whose life she’s saved twice now. Three times if you count her stitching up your wound.

The first time.

“It’s not bad-“

“Must not be if you’re calling me instead of an ambulance, or 911” she says, but you hear her amused tone down the line, it eases your guilt only a little.

“Try not to hurry, I’ll pray I bleed out before you get here.”

Her tired laugh is the last thing you hear before the call ends.

When she arrives, she doesn’t question you. She simply sits you down after you show her the scratches, assessing them carefully. Once Tara determines you don’t need stitches, she cleans them. Bandages them.

She’s gentle, careful, like she had been after she and Sam dug you out of the ground. Almost like you’re real to her now, it’s still surreal to you. The dynamic shift after you almost died, for an idiotic reason yes.

But… you can’t really complain, selfishly grateful that Tara has grown fond enough of you to show up at 3AM to help you without much explanation.

She and Sam had both agreed not to say anything about what had happened, per your request, not without extreme protest of course. But considering how dangerous those men are, for now, you thought it best to be grateful for their mercy. For all of your safety, considering their warning.

They could’ve just left you there, after all.

You wonder if she’ll ask after she’s done, where the scratches came from, but unfortunately you aren’t sure what to tell her.

“I’ve seen these before” Tara murmurs without prompt, almost as if she’s reading your thoughts, “Sam had a friend when she was in high school-“

“Sam had friends?”

That earns you a smack on your good arm, you grin, knowing Tara is fighting off her own smile.

“She was getting scratches and nightmares, I overheard her tell Sam once that something was terrorizing her. That it was coming for her.”

Your stomach sinks, swallowing hard as you stay quiet, letting her continue.

However when she doesn’t, you turn and find her gaze far off, deep into thought.

“Where’d you go?” you ask softly, as if coaxing her back. Those pretty brown eyes find you again, catching the ambient lighting of the room and making something unnecessary tug at your chest.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go… ask, is all” Tara says with a shrug, “she moved out of town with her girlfriend- wife now actually, a few years back. But knowing you? I’m sure we could find her.”

That. That gets you. The “we”.

“Why are you helping me” you ask, voice raw and tone quiet, your eyes searching hers.

It’s a loaded question and you both know it, because technically you’re still strangers. But you aren’t. You’ve already been through a lot since the moment you arrived here, and Tara’s been nothing but a beacon to guide you to the only sliver of sanity you have left. Even when she calls you names and acts as if she cares less than she does.

Tara is quiet for a long moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth before taking a deep breath.

“People give you more reasons not to trust them than they do reasons to trust them” she murmurs, which isn’t a good start, at least until she glances away and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“But that’s no reason to project those fears onto everyone you meet, that’s not what the human experience is about” Tara continues, you notice that vulnerability wavier as if she suddenly worries she’s been too honest, so she adds “besides, you’re clearly the thoughtless type who goes headfirst just to do the right thing, as a first responder it’s my job to keep idiots like you alive.”

You’re silent, simply just looking at her, and she’s looking right back at you.

The tension is suffocating, and you become suddenly aware that the room feels smaller than it should. And when Tara shifts her weight where she’s sat on the bed, you feel too close to her. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes you feel more terrified than being buried alive or stabbed.

“Well,” you hum, collecting yourself and squaring your shoulders, which the movement makes your back ache “how far of a drive is it?”

You’d told her you wouldn’t go anywhere without her, and you’d meant it, which is why she doesn’t ask and neither do you. Something’s are better left unsaid, at least for now.

“About three-ish hours, maybe more? Don’t take my word for it, but if you want a physical address you’ll need to work some magic” Tara says, a small smile teasing at her lips, you swallow the rising pulse in your throat as you stand and head for the small table to the left of the bed.

It’s nothing extravagant, your set up, considering you’re still in the same hotel room you’d been in since arriving here. But your own personal makeshift investigation board sits on the table leaned back against the wall, papers and photos scattered about. You nudge your tape recorder off your laptop and open it up, sitting as you tilt your head side to side, getting satisfying pops.

“It won’t take long once I get a name, when do you wanna go?” You ask Tara over your shoulder as you boot up your computer, “wait don’t you have work?”

“Work is the least of my concerns, what you should be asking is how fucked we’re gonna be when Sam finds out we’ve both skipped town” she pauses, for dramatic flair probably, “together.”

The muscle in your jaw twitches, hand pausing over the keys, because the idea of a furious Sam coming after you for disappearing off with her younger sister isn’t exactly appealing “…maybe we shouldn’t-“

“We’ll be fine, I’m a grown ass woman for fucks sake.”

You give her a look, slowly turning back towards your computer.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not even looking at you anymore.”

You don’t look, but you know she’s fighting off a smile.

____________________________________________

Your car rumbles down the empty countryside road, its headlights cutting through what remained of dawn as it neared its destination. The quiet was interrupted only by the low hum of the engine and the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires.

Finally, the headlights catch a turn off, a narrow dirt road leading to a small, simple house. It was secluded, surrounded by a dense thicket of trees and undergrowth.

“It’s really early, do you think we should come back?” You ask unsurely.

The engine idles softly as you park the car just down the drive, glancing to Tara, her features set and determined. The headlights illuminated the front of the house, casting eerie shadows over the worn shingles and wooded exterior.

“It’s 7AM on a Tuesday, you’re the Detective, context clues” Tara says as she raises an eyebrow at you.

You ponder, sighing, rationalizing it’s probably the better time to catch them. Before work, not after when it’s late at night.

In your defense, you’re exhausted and running on coffee and sheer spite.

You kill the engine and push open the door, the cool morning air rushing in as you climbed out. Tara follows suit, her eyes fixed on the house in front of you.

With a shared nod, you both approach the front porch of the silent house, the boards creaking beneath your feet.

It seems quiet from within, but a single light flickered through the curtains of a window to the right. You and Tara exchange a quick glance before you raise a fist and knock loudly on the door.

For a moment, you stand in silence, waiting for a response. There is no sound from inside the house, but the light remains on, casting a faint glow through the curtains.

You knock again, knuckles rapping against the worn wood of the door harshly. The sound echoed through the clearing just surrounding the house.

After a few more moments, there was movement from inside, the sound of footsteps approaching and a bolt being slid aside. The door creaks open slightly, revealing a blonde woman with wary eyes.

The blonde woman took in the sight of you and Tara, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Before she could threaten you or tell you to piss off, though, her gaze fell upon Tara. Immediately, recognition filled her features.

"You..." she whispered, her expression shifting from wary to surprise. The tension in the air seemed to thicken “you’re Sam’s little sister.”

“Hey Kirby, it’s been a while” Tara starts sweetly, flashing the woman a genuine smile. The woman, Kirby, flicks her gaze between you two, her hands flexing as she gripped the edge of the door.

"What... what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice shaky and uneasy.

Sensing her trepidation, you took a step closer. "We have some questions," you say calmly. "May we come inside?"

Kirby hesitates, her eyes flicking between you and Tara. Her expression remained wary, her grip on the door still firm and tight.

"You didn't answer my question," she said, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

“The same thing that happened to you is happening to my friend here” Tara says suddenly, making Kirby look to her with wide eyes.

From further inside the house, another female voice called out. "Everything okay?"

Kirby turns her head briefly, responding to the voice. "I'm fine," she called back, her tone taut and anxious.

There was a moment of silence before the other voice called out again. "Who's at the door?"

You watch Kirby tense, her expression growing even more unnerved. She glanced back at the two of you, then back into the house. She takes a deep breath, her features regaining some of their steel.

"Everything's fine, Jill" she called out, her voice steady and firm. "Go back to bed, I'll handle it."

She then turned her attention back to the two of you, her expression her gaze hard and resolute. "You need to leave," she said, her voice regaining its firmness. "There's nothing here for you."

The voice from inside called out again, this time sounding agitated. "What's going on? Who's there?"

Kirby sighs and calls back over her shoulder. "Everything's fine, babe please!"

There was a moment of silence, and then a second woman appeared in the doorway. This must be Jill.

She looks the same age as Kirby, her brown hair tied back in a loose bun. She has her arms crossed, her expression curious but not hostile.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, peering out through the crack in the door at you and Tara.

The tension in the air seemed to ease slightly as the second woman emerged. Her presence was calming, her voice soft and less defensive than Kirby.

"They’re from… Woodsboro" Kirby mutters, her eyes moving between you and Tara.

Jill’s eyes widened a fraction, her expression growing wary. "From Woodsboro?” she repeated, her gaze flicking between each of them. “Should I even ask what brought you two all the way out here to our doorstep?”

You take a small tentative step forward, gaze locked intently on Jill, praying she at least be the one to hear you out. "Ma'am," you began, voice firm but pleading. "We need your help. Something is happening in Woodsboro, something that’s connected to what happened a few years ago, and then a few years before that.”

Kirby’s eyes widened, her hands trembling. Jill, however, stays composed, her gaze steady as she listened.

"The events from that night have started repeating," you continue, voice low and insistent. "We need to understand what's going on, if you were able to survive being tormented by this thing it may help us-“

Kirby’s expression contorted, her eyes going wide with anger. "No!" she snapped, her voice trembling. "I'm not going through that again. You both need to leave, get the fuck off my porch, NOW!"

With a loud thud, she slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the night.

You and Tara exchange a quick glance, stunned by the sudden outburst. The porch suddenly seemed eerily quiet, the night air heavy with tension.

“Do we…?” you start, looking to Tara, who looks a mixture between frustrated and unsure.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea” she mutters, looking a bit guilty, “at least we tried-“

But then the door cracks open again, this time it’s Jill. She looks between the two of you, thoughtful, eyebrows pinched together almost as if she’s worried.

“Listen, I can’t tell you much because I don’t know much, neither of us do. All I know is that the same thing happened to my Aunt back when that thing-“ she stops, shaking her head and glancing over her shoulder inside.

“There’s a ritual, and it’s not simple. Bare bones? Your heart has to temporarily stop, so whatever the thing has latched on to you moves on or something. We never questioned it, only did what we were told and it worked.”

That was not what you were expecting, and as you share a look with Tara it’s clear neither was she.

“Are you saying-“

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. We stopped her heart and restarted it using a defibrillator, I’m sorry I’ve got nothing more to offer you” Jill says with an apologetic smile, “and don’t be set off by her reaction, she never really… recovered fully from what she saw. That’s saying a lot, if you’d known her… before.”

As if you weren’t anxious enough already, you’re still wanting to be in denial about this.

Think about it, an entity that’s been terrorizing Woodsboro for decades decides it wants to start fucking with you specifically? And to get rid of it you have to die and be resuscitated?

The cherry on top of everything that makes no sense.

“This is fucking insane-“

“Thank you for your time, and advice, we appreciate it” Tara smoothly cuts you off, resting her hand on your shoulder as she gives Jill a smile.

Jill glances between you two, offering a nod “back then I’d have done anything to save her, she’s everything to me, it would be cruel of me not to offer the two of you that chance.”

It’s not exactly an implication, or a forward assumption, but you can’t help how your mind goes right to it. And judging by the slight pink tint in Tara’s cheeks, she may not be far off your train of thought as she quickly takes her hand off your shoulder.

With that, Jill disappears back inside, and you two both make your way back to the car quickly. It’s quiet as you start the engine, punch in the address to get you both back to Woodsboro.

“I don’t think I’m up for this” Tara says suddenly, you turn your head to look at her in confusion. She’s staring out the windshield, discomfort in her expression “I’m not entirely excited at the idea of stopping your heart when I know it doesn’t always work bringing someone back.”

You take a deep breath, gripping at the steering wheel like it’s a stress ball, “look it’s just bad dreams, some scratches on my back it’s not like it could mean-“

“Stop. Just… stop” Tara cuts you off, raising a hand in the air between the two of you as she refuses to look your way. Silence envelops the vehicle again.

“This has to stop. I’m tired of losing people I care about, and you-“ she whips around, face twisted with anger as she glares accusingly “-you can’t just show up and wedge yourself into my life like it’s nothing, and then disappear like everyone else. No. Fuck no I refuse-“

“Tara” you say her name softly, gently, which instantly pauses her angry rant. She takes a slow breath, running her hands down her face as she collects herself.

“Can we say this for what it really is? Because I’m not a skeptic and I’m not rabid with superstition, but can we agree that this is something?” Tara says, opening her eyes and looking at you.

It’s hard. Hard for you to admit that yes, it’s the only explanation. That yes, there’s something far bigger than either of you are probably even anywhere close to being able to comprehend nor understand. And how you’ve somehow become this entity’s new target, for a reason still unknown.

Because you failed at your job to uncover this, which is probably why this has gone on for as long as it has. There’s nothing to work with.

“If I’m gonna live…” you start carefully, holding her gaze as you try to keep yourself steady, “then I’m going to have to die, and unfortunately… I’ll need your help for that”

Tara is clearly against the idea of being the one to do it, but she puts on a brave face and nods, the look you share says it all.

“This is fucking insane, right?”

“Really fucking insane.”

“And it makes no sense, it might not even work, but we’re going to try it anyways?”

You turn back to face the steering wheel, shifting the car into drive as you mumble “I guess so.”

____________________________________________

You never thought you’d find yourself in Tara’s living space, yet alone laid on her floor knowing she’s about to stop your heart.

Literally.

She’s in work mode and you can tell, she’s trying to keep herself as detached from this as possible so she’ll follow through. Tara is a professional, this is a part of her job after all.

Her place is nice, really nice, you wonder if things were different, if you’d be here under different circumstances. But then again, you’d have never come to Woodsboro at all without them.

You lay motionless on the floor, eyes closed as you steel yourself for what was about to come. Your breaths are slow and deep, each inhale and exhale a measured effort of control.

Tara kneels beside you, her hands gripping the handles of the defibrillator pads. Her expression was a mix of determination and worry, her eyes trained on the machine's digital readout, pre-set to the appropriate voltage.

"Ready hot shot?" she asked, her voice steady but taut with uncertainty. Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto hers. You give a subtle nod, bracing for the shock. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, each second hanging in the air like a lead weight.

“See you in two minutes?” you ask, just because you feel like you have to say something, even if it’s repeating the agreed time you’d go under.

She nods, “two minutes.”

With a deep breath, Tara presses the two small pads against your chest, the rubber grips sticking to your shirt. Her fingers hovered over the 'shock' button, knuckles white with tension.

The air was thick with an eerie stillness as she prepared to deliver the electric jolt. The your heart pounds in your ears, body tensed in anticipation.

"Clear!" Tara exclaims, her voice ringing out sharply in the empty room. With a brief flash, she pressed the button.

A bolt of electricity surges through you, your body convulsing involuntarily as the jolting current struck you. You grit your teeth, muscles seizing and twitching with the force of the shock.

And then your eyes open, and you find yourself standing in the middle of a vast, empty void. The air was still and silent, a stark shift from the moment before. Your body felt strange, almost weightless, and a sense of confusion washes over you.

You look around, your gaze scanning the endless space. Were you dead? Had the defibrillation worked?

As you turn in a small circle, a sudden chill ran down your spine. Something was there. In the shadows around the edge of the void, a faint outline shifted and moved.

As your eyes adjusted, the form solidified, and what appeared out of the darkness was a horrific sight. Dark, twisted limbs, a face that was once human now distorted and nightmarish. Its voice was a low, gravelly whisper that echoed through the emptiness.

"You’ve done well, better than most" the entity said, its voice rasping and harsh. "Your persistence amuses me. But I assure you, your efforts are futile."

It began to move, its twisted form slithering across the floorless void, seemingly moving across the empty space like water. Its dark, misshapen body approaches you, its eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure.

"Everything you've worked for, all the pain you’ve endured," it continued, drawing closer and closer. "It will all be for nothing. You can’t beat me, Detective. I am a part of you now.”

Your terror is replaced by a sudden surge of defiance. You stood tall, hands balling into fists, and demand answers. "Why are you doing this? What do you gain from abducting people from Woodsboro?" you exclaimed, voice firm as your empowered by all the pint up frustration over the last month.

The entity halted, its form pulsating and shifting. A low chuckle echoed from its deformed mouth.

"Abducting people?" it repeated, the words distorted and mocking. "Such a simplistic way to frame it. I'm not abducting them. I'm freeing them."

The entity begins circling you slowly, its limbs moving like sinewy tentacles across the void. Its eyes remain fixed on you, dark and unsettling.

"Freedom from the mundane, slavery to mortality, the expected," it continued, its voice dripping with a twisted sense of righteousness. "I offer them something greater than what your pathetic world could provide."

"Greater?" you exclaim, your voice tinged with anger. "By stealing their lives, taking them from their homes, their families, you're offering them something greater?"

"Oh, but I am," the entity retorted, its deformed face contorting into a mockery of a smile. "Everything they leave behind is meaningless. My world is one of power, of transformation. Those who are taken become something more than they ever were in your world."

That catches your attention, “is that where they are? The missing people? Is that why there are no bodies?”

The entity chuckled again, its dark, twisted form shifting and writhing before you. "Precisely," it said, its voice dripping with satisfaction. "They've become a part of me, a part of something greater, something beyond your comprehension."

Your mind races, trying to piece together the entity’s machinations. You clench your fists tighter as you demand to know more.

"How do you do it?" You ask, voice sharp. "How do you move around town without leaving a trace all this time?"

The entity let out a guttural, mocking laugh. "You are so limited in your thinking, Detective. You think in terms of flesh and blood, of physical presence. But I am far more...fluid."

Your eyes widened as the entity's words sank in. "Water” you murmur, realization dawning.

The entity chuckled darkly, its twisted form undulating in the empty void. "Very good, Detective," it taunted. "You've finally arrived at the crux of the matter. I am not bound by the constraints of your physical world. I am fluid, elusive, and I am everywhere."

You press on, desperate for more information. "Is that how you’re able to change shape and form?" You ask.

The entity chuckled, its form shifting and reshaping in the void as it suddenly takes on the appearance of the Ghostface. "Correct again, Detective," it responded, its voice taking on a mocking tone. "Water is my medium, my canvas. I can shape and reform myself in any way I desire, thanks to my connection to its endless supply."

You listen intently as the entity spoke, its deformed grin spreading wider. "I have no pattern, no cycles," it said, its voice taking on a tone of satisfaction. "I come when I want, I rest when I want, and I leave when I have had my fill. Everyone is fair game. I am a force of nature, unpredictable, unstoppable."

It paused, its form shifting and coiling in the void. "But for now, it is your time," it continued, its voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "Your time to join my ranks, Detective."

The entity’s deformed face twists into a grotesque sneer as it began to reshape yet again. "Oh, I am coming for you, all of you, one by one" it hissed, its voice dripping with menace. "It is inevitable my will to consume this town, suck it dry like a parasite. Until there is nothing left. Nothing left but me, and my twisted playground-“

Your eyes snapped open, breath coming in ragged gasps. You felt a sharp jolt through your chest, a jolt so strong it seemed to rattle your bones.

Your vision swims, and the world comes back into focus. You realize you’re back in the real world, Tara standing over you, the defibrillator still in her shaking hands.

“You’re going to feel nauseous for a minute, try and take it easy” Tara says smoothly, setting the pads down and grabbing your face gently, checking your pupil response with a small light that makes you wince.

The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, your heart pounding in your ears. The memory of the entity's words echoed in your mind, its dark laughter still fresh in your memory.

You push yourself up slowly, body feeling heavy. Tara rests a hand on your shoulder, acting as an anchor as she looks at you, relief and concern etched across her features. "You alright?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

It took a moment to gather yourself, your mind still spinning. "I saw it," you croak out, voice hoarse. "I spoke to it. It’s real, it warned me... that it- its-“ you blink a few times, shaking your head to try and rid the hazy sensation.

Tara’s eyes widen, her expression turning to one of confusion. "You… saw it?" she asked, her voice shaky. "What did it say?"

You look to her, dread clear in your eyes “it’s coming for us, all of us.”

Tara holds a brave face, but you can tell she’s beginning to panic as the reality of all this really sets in. This is real.

“What do we do? Do we even do anything?”

You swallow hard, trying to push yourself up to your feet, but your knees instantly give way.

“Woah, woah you can’t be standing up yet-“ Tara is quick to steady you, her firm tone practiced from her field of work.

“We have to go to the Mayor, I have to talk to her about the immediately” you tell her, no longer caring to filter anything that comes out of your mouth after what you’d seen.

You now understand Kirby’s panic, her horror, her fear.

“The Mayor? Why? She won’t believe us” Tara says, but as she takes in your next words, her expression shifts from worry to disbelief.

“She will, because she’s the one who hired me and brought me here.”

previous, next

[knickknacksandallthat]

if you don't mind me asking, what got you into kevin's character?

for me it was actually your fic, but since its so normalized in the fandom to dismiss his trauma and call him a coward and annoying for doing things that other characters are loved for, i didn't really care about him when i first read the books

now hes my favorite

Oh, anon, I love this!! What an honor, I’m so glad to have helped you join the Kev lovefest 😊 (Welcome to the dark side lol!) It makes me so happy that the A Fallen Star series has awakened this in you! 💖

And wow, what a good question. I don't mind at all! I actually had to think about this for a while to try and remember…how the heck did I get here???

So here is my ridiculously uncalled-for POV on Kevin’s character and slow descent into madness below:

(Disclaimer that these are just my thoughts and anyone in the aftg fandom can hc or think whatever they like about Mr. Day 😊)

Like you, anon, I was easily swayed by Neil’s perspective of Kev on first read. It makes sense and is a credit to Nora how we so fully buy into Neil’s opinion of Kevin that many of us just run with it. And to be fair to the fandom, it’s canon – Andrew, Neil, and all the Foxes tell us he’s a coward and annoying and so we assume it must be true.

So, I created many fics that played into this image and focused on andreil. (Because who isn’t enamored with andreil??? Legit, deranged obsession and couple goals lmao). Using that lens, it was easy to make Kevin the punching bag because he is the quintessential “straight man” in comedy (and yes, I do hear the irony in that) – the foil to other characters to make them seem better, braver, funnier, smarter, etc. It’s an age-old trick/trope in fiction that works very well. And it was an easier transition for Nora to make, I think, once she made the decision to remove Kevin from the main narrative of her story.

This character setup works well enough when you’re doing a fic from Neil or Andrew’s POV, providing an easy source of humor to fall back on. So, for me, I think my thinking shifted once I started working on Flavors of Fall and delved into Andrew and Kevin’s storyline there. That fic forced me to think from Kevin’s perspective, and I found at the time I had a shallow understanding of what made Kevin tick. It totally threw me once I really started considering sequels for that fic and the 12 Day Program for Courtship, both of which have Kevin cast as a main character. I had to dive deep into his makeup, seriously considering his motivations, his likes/dislikes, his personality traits, his relationships, and how he would react in any given situation.

Because I was interested in his character development, I started delving into fics like orionauriga’s just pretend , @likearecordbb's Long Walk in the Woods, @thetrojeans daylights, sunsets, and @dayurno's the age of no regret series. They are all brilliant, fascinating character studies of Kevin Day and his relationships that are extremely well done. There’s many more, of course, but I was searching for fics that specifically delved into Kevin’s thought process and choices and stayed there a while.

That’s what led me to feeling like I needed to tell his story with Dead of Night. Of course, it turned into a larger series with my flavoring of Kerejean added because I’ve never been a huge Kevin/Thea relationship fan. (But that's a discussion for another day which you can start here and here for that adventure.)

Now all that I’ve described above gives you the mechanics of the descent – the when, the where, the how. But it crucially misses the why. What is it about Kevin that got me in the end?

Ironically enough, it was his potential.

I think when Nora stripped away any kind of romantic narrative (RIP Kandreil OR Riko/Kevin/Jean) or a chance for a tragic storyline (Kevin dying in the end) it resulted in removing a lot of Kevin’s emotional vulnerability. We don’t get to hear what he’s feeling or thinking unless it’s related to Riko, the Moriyamas, or Exy. This means his storyline is consumed by the stereotypical sports underdog story, with us following his rise to champion (which is still a powerful enough narrative on its own that shines even in the midst of Neil’s crazy plotline. Switching that racquet to his left hand in the championship game? Iconic.) 

However, it leaves us very much with a shell of a person. Kevin’s character outside of Exy is reduced to a handful of facts – there’s a passing comment on his like of history, and the stark evidence of an alcohol addiction as a coping mechanism. We’re told he used to dance. That he learned French because Jean Moreau taught him. That he has no qualms about taking (mild?) drugs (cracker dust). Despite how much we’ve run with it as a fandom, the only allusion I’ve found in the books to him being strict with diet is this section from The King’s Men:

“No one needs to eat this before a game,” Kevin said. “Eat some granola or protein if you’re that hungry.” “Hello, there’s protein in the peanut butter,” Nicky said. “Let go of me before I tell Andrew you’re outlawing chocolate. I said let go. You’re not the boss of me. Ouch! Did you seriously just hit me?” … “Kevin, just let him go,” Neil said. “It’s not worth fighting over.” “When our defense is sluggish, we all suffer,” Kevin said.

From what I can find in the books, Kevin never once denies Andrew eating ice cream. (Which I’m 100% able to admit I might have missed something so feel free to quote me where that scene is because I was totally searching for it). In fact, every time they go to Sweetie’s, it’s implied Kevin orders ice cream with them. In the infamous kissing scene in The King’s Men, we actually have proof that Kevin got ice cream:

Kevin still hadn’t messaged Nicky by the time they reached the ice cream aisle, so Nicky gave in and called him. Neil half-expected Kevin to ignore Nicky’s call, but Kevin wasn’t so sour with them that he’d turn down a free snack…Nicky grabbed spoons from the kitchen and distributed pints to their hungry owners. Neil checked his expression when Nicky came back from dropping Kevin’s off….

Now I do think it’s in line with his character and his upbringing to have issues with food, so I’m all for buying into that specific hc. But we have very little evidence of it in the text.

His personality is reduced mainly to anger, arrogance, or cowardice (all traits that don’t make us sympathize with him). The only facts we have about his Tragic Past™️ are two things: his mother’s death, and his hand injury. Everything else we assume is based on Neil’s knowledge of the mafia, Wymack’s hearsay, Andrew’s deductions, and Kevin’s reactions to Riko and Tetsuji. We have literally no idea what happened to Kevin in the Nest. His trauma and his time spent there is a complete mystery. The closest we get is Riko’s comment to Neil in The Raven King:

“I am going to love hurting you,” Riko said, “like I loved hurting Kevin.”

This, I think, is one of the main reasons many of the fandom “dismisses” Kevin’s trauma in comparison to Neil’s because we can’t see it. We don’t know what happened and we don’t get to experience it, so this lack of explanation or motivation leaves us only with very cold personality traits. We’re unable to root for him as a character because we can’t sympathize. We can empathize because we know Very Bad Things™️ must have happened in the Nest, but we don’t see them happen the same way we do Neil or Andrew. Even Kevin’s hand injury is old and “healed” when we’re first introduced to the character.

The only true canon moment where Kevin appears “human” is in The Raven King with Kevin’s “then run” and “you should be court” conversation with Neil. His admittance that Neil’s life is more important than Exy is instantaneous – he doesn’t even pause to throw his Exy dreams down the drain if it means Neil can survive.  In a weirdly parallel way, we see Kevin’s thought process implicit in his conversation: “at least you’d have a chance.” It is strikingly similar to Neil’s internal conversation of: one of us should make it. (And there’s another whole separate discourse I could get into on how Kevin and Neil are two halves of the same coin, but we’ll save that for another day.) But even the revelation of Wymack as his father has more shock value than true emotional weight – we never see what that conversation looked like or how either party actually reacted. (In some ways, I feel like Dan being pissed at Kevin is given more “screentime” than Kevin’s response to telling his father and how Wymack reacted.)

So with Kevin’s emotions and past firmly locked down, we’re left to brush off Kevin’s reactions (or lack thereof) as part of his indifferent personality. It is what it says on the tin. (And that’s not to say Kevin is a perfect character by any means. He has flaws just like every other character.)

Now some people very accurately depict and buy into those limitations as simply being Kevin’s character/personality – I’ve read some awesome fics where Kevin is Ace/Aro and/or on the spectrum. These are completely valid, extremely well done, and I could totally see why others see and write him this way. Canon practically sets them up for it.

For me, though, it circles back to our skewed view of Kevin given to us by some deeply loved but also deeply flawed characters (cough, Andreil). Those same characters that we’re told time and again not to judge them by their cover but to try and understand how they’re affected by (and make choices because of) their trauma.

While Andrew and Neil end up giving each other this grace through a hard-fought battle of truths and exchanges, they do not extend this same courtesy to Kevin, and neither are we given the chance to do so. We literally can’t because, again, we don’t know what the full extent of Kevin’s trauma is.

Kevin doesn’t talk about his time in the Nest to any character, meaning we know nothing about it. Ergo we don’t know what choices Kevin makes because of it. In The Foxhole Court, Wymack specifically tells us Kevin was Riko’s pet. In fact, there is so much specific language that Kevin himself uses around the concept of ownership, and that Nora uses when referring to him that it jarringly sticks out in the text.  He has no sense of personal space or proper boundaries, viewing people only as assets to be used for the good of the team, which at the very least is a sign of mental abuse. But the fact remains that we just don’t know. We don’t know how far this mental abuse was taken, how often or severely he was injured, if he injured or was forced to injure others – we don’t know.

But it’s obvious whatever happened to him started as a child and built from there. Which means he has years of abuse and power dynamics embedded into him. He has every right to be afraid. In fact, we are demonstrably told and shown often in canon that Kevin is afraid…but fear does not equate to cowardice. In fact, we know that bravery often means being scared and doing something anyway. And in many cases, that’s just what Kevin did (with a crutch named Andrew). But even before he entered his deal with Andrew, it's important to remember that even though he was brainwashed and beaten from a young age to understand that he would die if he betrayed the Moriyama family in some way, he left them.

This is always so significant to me because so many abuse victims stay in their situation thinking/hoping/praying it will get better – either because of an idea that their abuser will change (“they’re just having a hard time at work rn”) or that the victim will fix whatever flaw the abuser finds lacking. Or alternatively, they recognize the situation is bad, but they can’t leave because they feel like they have nowhere to go, no one who will help them, trapped by their lack of skills/contacts/money. In Kevin’s case, both situations rang true. And yet he left. He left, and in only a year and a half’s time he recovered from his injury and led his team to the championship.

But he is only at the start of his recovery. I think he’ll need years of therapy to recover from all that happened in the Nest. I think many of his emotional and social shortcomings are a direct consequence of that timeframe and he did not have the freedom to address them until the threat of the Moriyamas was removed. I do not think they are permanent parts of his personality – I think in time, he will be allowed to grow and recover and contribute much more to his relationships than he’s capable of doing at the end of The King’s Men.

Though the series finished, I think Kevin’s story is just beginning.

That’s why I think he’s fascinating to explore as a character. That’s why I love writing him right now because in many ways, his possibilities are endless. There’s so many opportunities to explore different facets of his story that we never get a chance to in canon. Kevin’s character and narrative is a tantalizing tease which many of us have fell hook, line, and sinker for. (Including yours truly.) We want to rabidly sink our teeth into it and shake it, like a dog with a bone.

So we do. 😉

Phew. Okay, that’s enough. None of what I’ve written above is new I’m sure to those of the fandom who have been here since the beginning or have become diehard Kevin fans. But thank you for letting me ramble in this ask, anon. Writing about Kevin has been a very fun and therapeutic adventure for me. So I’m so glad that there are others out there who are enjoying it too 😊

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Epilogue

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: Puns, Smut, Workplace stress

Part 6

Series Masterlist

The next couple of weeks are a complete blur. You and Mace end up moving into an apartment close to the free clinic where you’ll be working. It’s more of a drive for him but he insists it’s worth it for the days he can’t drive you to or from work. You don’t mind the extra time together and it is a lot safer considering the intel on Franco the Elder’s latest work for Wilford & Gilliam. Mace doesn’t tell you much other than “it’s bad” and you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know more.

Work at the free clinic is just as stressful as your last job but in different ways. Plus, it’s a lot more rewarding. A lot of the equipment needs serious upgrades and you find yourself helping with the grant requests by providing specs for what they need. Every penny at this place has to be accounted for and you’re having to adjust to a lack of near unlimited budgeting. You’re gonna have to talk to Mace, maybe Teach, about getting more funding from the Family for this place. It’s clearly needed in the community. 

You’re so focused on working on an ultrasound machine you don’t notice Mace is there until he taps your shoulder. You jump, surprised and he’s quick to apologize. “It’s time to clock out,” he comments. You stand up and stretch, not realizing how long you’d been hunkered over this machine. Mace caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. 

“You gonna be okay, DC?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you assure him. “There’s just been so much changing so quickly. I was never as good at adapting as you. But I’ll find my rhythm again.”

“So long as you tell me what I can do to help you,” he soothes. 

“Of course, AC. And thank you. I know we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately but once I find my routine it’ll be better.”

“Just promise me you’re not stressing about it,” Mace pulls you closer. “The past month has been a lot, especially for you. Please don’t feel like you have to rush into a routine. Anytime you need a break, you ask, okay?”

“I promise,” you confirm as you kiss him. “How about some food and rest?”

“It’s my turn to cook, right?”

“Yes! And I’m really looking forward to tasting what you’ve got to offer,” you give him a suggestive wink, making him blush.

“Oh shit, DC,” Mace rasps as you ride him. “Feels so good.” His hands are fondling your breasts and he brings you in for a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into his lips. You keep rolling your hips, helping his dick reach all the right places. 

“I needed this so bad, AC,” you whisper before kissing down his jaw line. You need to make sure he knows you appreciate everything he’s done, still doing, for you. Even small things like letting you take control in the bedroom, giving you something you have total say over in your life. “Squeeze my ass,” you moan, kissing appreciatively when he moves his hands where you want them. 

“Feels so good,” he groans. “Taste so good. Smell so good.” You grin and increase your pace, making him squeeze you harder. “Gonna come soon if you don’t stop.”

You move one of your hands to your clit, playing with it how you like. “Go ahead, AC. I’m almost there.” Mace starts fucking up into you and you gasp at the change in pace, but don’t stop your hips. He sucks on one of your nipples and you’re finally able to let go with a small yell, letting out a moan as you feel him coming inside you. 

He holds you as you both catch your breath, gently rubbing your back. You whisper “thank you” several times between gentle kisses. You chuckle and he gives you a curious look.

“My life has been so chaotic these past couple of months,” you tell him. “You’ve been the one steady, reliable thing. For an Alternating Current, you’re pretty grounding.” He blushes and chuckles with you. 

“I’m sure once you get you back to your Direct Current I’ll be back to my ways. Just with a rectifier to keep me focused while I rectify the mistake I made in high school.”

“You’re so damn sexy when you talk engineering,” you coo. 

He smiles at the sincerity in your eyes. “There’s more where that came from,” he promises. “You’re my amplidyne, keeping me on task.” He moves you so you’re on your back and he starts kissing you. 

You laugh, “just never refer to sex as a diode bridge, please.”

“No promises,” he smirks. 

Part 6

Series Masterlist

Tagging:

@alicedopey

@chibijusstuff

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@jamneuromain

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@rebekahdawkins

@texmexdarling

[okay-j-hannah]

Domestic

Doctor Who : Prompt

Tenth Doctor x DyingGirl!Reader

Word Count: 2460

Warnings: I’ve placed this in the Dying Girl Universe {which is a series I’ve written} It takes place during Part 3: The Ending Song This fic won’t make much sense without the context of that series

🌌 If you’re a fan of the series, feel free to make requests with the DyingGirl!Reader 🌌

Request: “ten x reader Where reader takes a break of sort after a close encounter with death, nothing serious really, y'know the usual with the doctor but this time they felt like going back to their old home/life just for few days but the doctor cannot stay alone so he visits the reader, with prompt 127+129+133 with 40 and maybe 96 and 102? Like just domestic fluff, being at home and living human life rather than running for their lives.” Anon

Prompts:

133. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Oh, trust me I can’t.”

96. “Do you need me to get anything from the store?”

40. “I had a nightmare about you and just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

A/N: The Doctor returns to spend a few ‘human’ days with you

~~~

The back garden was peaceful that evening. The sun was hidden by wispy clouds, warming her face where she sat in a patio chair. The grass was trimmed and the plants creeping along the edges.

The neighborhood cat was prowling near the vegetable patch, no doubt on pest control. It made (Y/N) smile, watching the spotted feline pounce on a grasshopper.

It should have been peaceful to (Y/N), but it only made her itch. She was tired, yes – on the steady decline with her tonic dependent illness – but the Time Lord in her was itching to move.

It’d been over a month since she was returned to Earth. Over a month since the Doctor and her bought the little townhome. And over a month since the Doctor gave the promise to return.

No doubt he was traveling the universe as she instructed, possibly with a new companion. She hoped he did – he shouldn’t travel alone.

She was contemplating writing in her journal, or perhaps making a pot of tea, when the cat rubbed against her ankle. It mewled and ruffled its whiskers against her skin. (Y/N) chuckled quietly, bending to scratch behind its ears.

“Clever cat, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely brilliant.”

(Y/N) flipped in her chair, the cat skittering towards the side gate where the new voice announced itself.

“I asked her to look out for you.” The Doctor squatted down to pet the animal, “I speak cat, you know.”

“Of course you do,” (Y/N) whispered, rising cautiously to her feet – she was prone to headaches and dizzy spells these days. “Hello there.”

The Doctor stood, expression unreadable, “Hello (Y/N).”

Slowly – comically – a smile developed on her face. Seconds later a matching one grew on the Doctor. He started to laugh.

“You madman,” she choked on a laugh, “My beautiful, brown-eyed Doctor.”

He strode over and wrapped his arms around her waist, swift and soft. She reciprocated with arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, “How are you feeling?”

“As well as I can,” she replied, pulling away only to kiss him full on the mouth.

He practically squeaked, “My dear, I’ve got a request.”

She smiled at his dusty pink cheeks, “Yes?”

“I’ve considered taking some time off,” he feigned a business-like voice, as if he needed a professional excuse to pause his adventuring. “And I’m in need of a place to stay.”

“Really, Doctor,” (Y/N) scoffed, “You don’t have to create some lie just to visit me.”

He tried to hide his smile, “So I’m welcome then?”

“For a price,” she sighed dramatically, “Escort me inside?” She lifted one of her ashen hands.

The Doctor looked at it warily but encased it with his own. “If we’re to talk of a price, surely I’m entitled to some negotiation.”

“Only because I fear the garden cat will come after me if I don’t.”

“She is clever like that, isn’t she?” the Doctor said fondly. “I believe it’s only fair I’m given kitchen privileges.”

(Y/N) laughed, entering the living room and closing the glass door behind them, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Oh, trust me I can’t.”

“Alright,” she shook her head endearingly, “Full kitchen access. Anything else?”

“I want a rubber duck for the bath.”

(Y/N) made for the plushest armchair – the cushion was kind to her bones – and spoke with a smile in her voice, “I’ve got one hidden in the cupboard somewhere.”

He eyed her slow movement with hidden guilt, “And absolutely, under no circumstance, are you to do anything more than relax.” He made for her chair, sitting on the ottoman, “Let me take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” she grinned, “What makes you say I need taking care of?”

He ignored the question, “I’ll cook and clean. Do the shopping and make your tea. I’ll get your slippers and fold the laundry. I can mix your tonic and check your temperature.”

“Doctor,” she said quietly, “Are you trying to play husband?”

“Well…” he said loudly – animatedly – as if that hid the flush overtaking him. “You’ve been cooped up here long enough with nothing but your books and illness and the spy cat. I figured you could use some company.”

“I have friends, Doctor,” she giggled, “Jack visits me all the time.”

He grumbled, “Of course he does. I’ll have to tell him off. Say you’re on quarantine and can’t have visitors.”

“Don’t you dare,” she chastised, but she had a soft look. “You haven’t heard my price yet.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“You have to tell me a bedtime story every night.”

He smiled, “Sure.”

“You have to bring me a ball of starlight to keep me company when you leave.”

The Doctor barked a laugh, “Don’t know if that’s possible but I’ll try.”

“And you can’t talk about my illness while you’re here,” she swallowed hard, “No talk of tonics or cures or how I look unwell.” She held a hand up when he tried to speak, “I just want to enjoy the time we have together.”

He clamped his mouth shut, contemplating her words. He began to nod, “Molto bene.”

She grinned, “I’ve missed you.”

The Doctor leaned forward and took her hand, starting to trace her knuckles like he used to on their adventures. “Now what do you humans do for dinner?”

She new very well the Doctor was making a joke – he knew she was a Time Lord – but of the two of them only one had lived as a human for years. It made her giggle.

“Takeout?”

~~~

(Y/N) had a toothbrush hanging from her mouth. She was peering from the banister on the stairs. She was seeking the source of the running water.

There in the kitchen, clad in an old shirt and sweats, was the Doctor. Washing dishes.

She brushed a knuckle under her lip, wiping away any toothpaste, “Having fun?”

The Doctor whirled around, splashing bubbles everywhere, “Loads!” His smile was wide and contagious. There was a sponge in one hand and a scrubber brush in another, both dripping suds down his arms.

“Coming to bed?” she called, brushing her teeth, “It’s getting late.”

“Right,” he said, tossing the sponge with a squelch in the sink, “You have to sleep. I forget the silly things of the dull life sometimes.” He grabbed a towel and wiped the remaining bubbles from his arms. “I’m rather fond of the shirt, where’d you get it?”

The grey tee had the NASA logo faded on the front. (Y/N) spoke through a mouthful of toothpaste foam, “Some American intern that worked at St. Bartholomew’s.”

“An intern?”

“I spilled pudding on my shirt, and he offered his extra that he kept in his locker. I was going to an interview after my appointment, so it really was a lifesaver.”

The Doctor had a close lipped smile as he lifted a hand to (Y/N)’s face, still leaning over the banister. He wiped at the corner of her mouth, poking her nose for good measure.

“I request a story,” she said, turning for the second floor.

The Doctor followed, “I have one or two at the ready.”

“Did you find another companion? You never said.”

They entered her bedroom, (Y/N) going for the en suite bathroom to clean up.

“Yes, actually,” the Doctor flopped onto the bed, “Donna Noble. Loud, angry, brilliant Donna Noble.”

“Does she know about me?”

“Of course she does,” he played with the objects on the nightstand – clicking the lamp, flipping through a book, messing with the alarm clock. “Won’t shut up about meeting you.”

(Y/N) came to the bed, settling under the sheets, “I’d love to meet her.”

The Doctor leaned against the pillows, eyeing her with fondness. It was quiet and simple and full of love. It was like he couldn’t wait to ask his next question, “Tell me about your day.” It was such a couple thing to do, asking your partner about their day.

“Well,” she sighed, sinking into the mattress, “I had an eventful morning of eating some toast and jam. I had my teaspoon of tonic and tea. Then I talked with the mailman about getting the local newsletter. Martha sent me a package with a microwavable neck wrap, bath salts, and fuzzy socks – ever so kind about checking in on me. I had a bubble bath and watched my television dramas. Then I took a nap before snacking on cold sandwiches. And I rested in the back garden, talking to the cat and humming to the bees before you showed up.”

The Doctor soaked up every word, waiting patiently for her to finish. “What kind of bubbles?”

“What?” she laughed, watching his hand trail down to her fingers.

“What kind of bubbles did you use for your bath.”

“Eucalyptus and spearmint,” she giggled, “Of course you’d focus on the bubbles.”

He pouted, “You can never go wrong with bubbles.”

She entwined their fingers, poking his leg with her covered toes, “What’s Donna doing if you’re here?”

“Oh, she’s staying with her family after some nasty business with poisoned exhaust and some angry potato people.”

“Is that going to be our bedtime story?”

He considered it seriously, “Or the eruption of Pompeii or the Ood planet business. Or the Adipose children!”

“I don’t think anyone has pillow talk quiet like we do,” she laughed, “The volcano sounds like a good story.”

The Doctor smiled, ruffling his already crazed hair, “Well, I was in a rather poor state of mind on that trip. By the end of it Donna had to knock some sense into me.”

“I’m liking her already.”

And the story of Rome and the soothsayers and the volcanic giants put (Y/N) into a deep, quiet sleep. The deepest and quietest she’d had since living in the townhome. But that was always the Doctor – at the end of the day, he was the one to quiet her fears and comfort her anxieties. He made her feel safe and sleepy.

So when she was roused from her sleep to find the Doctor awake and sad, she was bewildered. He was in the reading chair that normally sat near the window, his elbow on his knee and head in his hand.

“Hello,” he whispered.

“What time is it?” she whispered back, the room dark except for the light peeking around the door.

He smiled softly at the sleep in her voice, “Nearly four in the morning. I just came in to check on you.”

“Came in? You didn’t stay after your story?” she was rubbing the tired out of her eyes.

“You fell asleep before I could ask if that was alright. The couch was comfortable enough.”

She looked at his sad eyes, deep and endless in color. “Are you alright?”

“I had a nightmare about you,” his sweet smile turned grim, “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She watched him fight the urge to remain saddened. He worked his lips into a pitiful smile. “That’s why I came, you know. Sometimes you forget how loud the silence is until you’re the only one there. The things it whispers to you. What it makes you fret. Donna helped some…” he rubbed a wary hand over his face, “But she’s not you.”

(Y/N) watched him confess, conscious of how open and vulnerable he was being. This was normally when he’d change the subject with a loud transition word or run away to distract himself with another physics problem.

Now he was waiting for her response.

“Come to bed,” she whispered, lifting the sheets, “I’m tired and it’s warm under here.”

His gaze was somber, but the smile was more genuine, “Good, because that couch really wasn’t all that comfortable.”

“You fibber,” she giggled, pulling on his arms until he wrapped himself around her. His head rested on her chest, his hair scratching at her chin. “Were you fibbing about the nightmare too?”

“No,” he said quietly, molding himself to her side. His long fingers found purchase around her waist, fitting nicely between her ribs. “The silence has never been kind to me. It likes to taunt me when I’m alone. Haunt me with visions of you.”

She pushed his wild hair back, “I’m here now, Doctor. Nothing nightmarish about it. Just two people sharing a bed in their small home on the edge of town.”

He sighed contentedly beside her, “Just us two.”

~~~

She awoke with bird song from the front garden and the smell of pancakes coming from the stairs. Judging by the whistled tune below, the Doctor slept well. The pillow beside her still smelt of him.

It made her smile, spotting a cup of tea and her tonic bottle on the nightstand. Morning routine, she thought. Only this time the Doctor was climbing the stairs with a breakfast tray laden with toast and jam, blueberry pancakes, and a pile of bacon.

“Good morning, dear,” he said merrily, “Bon Appetit.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, still drunk with sleep, “You’ve got jam on your shirt.”

The Doctor sat near her feet, rubbing at the strawberry stain on his chest, “Yes, well – the butter knife was being uncooperative.”

And with a clear view of his head now, she giggled, “Is that pancake batter in your hair?”

He pinched her foot. “Fine, I’ll have a shower,” he sighed, “Enjoy your breakfast.” He stood, “What’s that shampoo you use – something like coconut?”

“That’s my body wash,” she bit into her toast, “Coconut and lime.”

“Then what’s the apple smell?” he asked, going for her bathroom.

She replied, “That’d be the conditioner.”

The Doctor returned holding a large bottle under his arm, “I’m just going to borrow it for a mo.”

“Just use my shower you tosser,” she laughed, “The one downstairs doesn’t drain properly anyway.”

“Which reminds me,” he twirled in the doorway, brandishing the conditioner bottle at her, “Do you need me to get anything from the store?”

“The store?” she picked a slice of bacon, “I thought you were taking a shower.”

He leaned against the doorframe, tossing the bottle between his hands, “I was just thinking… perhaps we could get the shopping done while I’m here. Maybe trim the grass and clean the gutters. I noticed the refrigerator is a few degrees off and I can fix that easy with my sonic.”

She eyed him resting easy now against the door. He was lazily beautiful, leaning so his old t shirt rode up and revealed a sliver of skin before his baggy sweatpants. He was all bedhead and new day energy, waking up to a house and a girl and a human life.

“You play the part of domestic well,” she smiled.

He looked at her fondly, “I told you I was capable of being domestic. Enjoy it even.”

~~~

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[angelasscribbles]

Victim of Love Chapter 7: Come Dancing

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,466

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, drinking

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

Victim of love

It's such an easy part

And you know how to play it so well

My other stuff: Master List.

“Riley! Wait up!” Drake jogged down the hallway after her.

She barely glanced over her shoulder, “What do you want, Drake?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he slowed his pace as he caught up with her.

“I’m fine. I’m used to it!” She snapped then softened as she shot him a sidelong glance, it wasn’t his fault. “Thanks for caring though.”

“Of course, I care!” He fell in step beside her, “I know we technically just met but I really like you, Riley and I want to help, if I can.”

“You can’t go back in time and make my boyfriend and best friend not marry each other, so I don’t really know what you think you can do.”

“You make a fair point,” he conceded, “But I’m not a quitter. I can’t fix Liam’s fuck up, but maybe I can help you forget about it for a little bit.”

She stopped at her bedroom door and gave him a considering look, “Are you offering to have sex with me again?”

“What? No! I mean, I would most certainly be open to having sex with you again, but that’s not what I meant!”

“So, what were you offering?” She tipped her head to the side and waited.

“Let me take you out tonight. Somewhere in town, outside the palace. We’ll get a few beers, maybe dance a little. Real dancing, not that ballroom shit. Get you out of your head for a bit.”

“You want to take me out?”

“Yes.”

“Like on a date?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I’m dating your best friend?”

“You’re not dating him. You’re just sleeping with him.”

“And that’s different….how?”

“He has a whole ass wife, Riley, and it’s not you. I’m pretty sure that makes you available regardless of what you do with him behind closed doors. Look, he is my best friend and I’m not trying to cause issues between the two of you, but you don’t seem happy and what I saw back there wasn’t right. You deserve better.”

Riley considered his words. What did she have to lose? She had already arranged to meet with him later to talk about what had happened between them. This would just move the timetable up. And what was wrong with going out for drinks with a friend?

Nothing, right?

“Okay,” she agreed, “When should I be ready?”

***

Drake held open the door of the nondescript luxury sedan for her then walked around to climb into the driver’s seat, “Sorry, I know it’s boring, but I don’t have a car here anymore. Sold it when I moved to Texas, so I had to borrow one from the royal fleet.”

“This is fine,” she assured him, “I won’t hold the stodginess against you.”

Drake laughed at the characterization, “You’ve just described everything about this life!”

“Is that why you left?”

“No. My mom really did need me. I left to go to college, got my bachelor’s degree in animal science then did a four-year stint in the military. After that, I went home to help out for a little bit and the next thing I knew, I was pretty much running the daily operations of the ranch. What about you? How did you end up here?”

“It’s a long story,” she sighed.

“I’ve got time….”

“Okay, well, I had just finished veterinary school and-“

“Wait! You went to veterinary school? And finished?”

“Yes. I had just finished school, but I hadn’t landed a job yet. My dad needed me to fill in for him at the bar, one of his best waiters had quit suddenly and left him in a bind. That’s how I met Liam and Max. I was their waitress. Liam and I hit it off. The next day, Max showed up at the bar and suggested I come back here with him and compete in the social season as House Beaumont’s representative.”

“Wait…you’re telling me that you gave up a career in veterinary medicine to hop on a plane with a guy you just met-“

“It’s not as bad as it sounds!” She laughed, “If you’ll listen! I said no at first. But then he offered to pay all my student loan debt plus cover all costs of the social season. So, after a thorough background check on him and his brother, I decided why the hell not? It let me start my career debt free and I got a free European summer vacation out of the deal. I really thought I’d be back home by fall.”

Drake guided the car into a parking spot then turned to her incredulously, “How the hell did he get you to stay?”

“I fell in love,” she said to her lap, “I really thought….well, after the coronation I packed my shit and went to Ramsford. I was planning to be on the next plane out, but Liam showed up and convinced me to stay. I know that must sound crazy, but I was in love, my heart had just been broken…I wasn’t really thinking clearly. Next thing I knew I was a fucking duchess.”

“But you wanted to be a veterinarian…”

She looked up at the sympathy in his voice, “Oh, I still am! I run a small animal rescue at Valtoria. We take in exotic animals that have been wounded or were confiscated from private owners. We rehabilitate them and if they can’t be released into the wild, they live out their lives there.”

Drake smiled at the excitement on her face as she talked. Her entire being lit up when she talked about animals. “Wow, I can tell you’re passionate about it.”

“Oh, I am!” Her previous bad mood had evaporated, she was all smiles, “I think you promised me beer and dancing. Are we going to do that or are we just going to sit in this bland-ass boring car?”

His grin broadened, “Oh, we are definitely going dancing!”

Ten minutes later they were at the bar finishing their first round of drinks.  

“Wait, wait, wait!” Drake laughed, “So your brother rode his bike off the roof of your garage?”

“Yes!” She verified, “We had an old mattress on the ground for him to land on but the bike overshot it and he ended up with a broken arm!”

“Oh no!”

“I mean, it wasn’t funny at the time,” she giggled, “but we still give him hell about it to this day!”

“Hm,” he shook his head with a soft smile, “your family sounds fun.”

“Oh, we’re a laugh riot,” she snorted, “what about you? You said you have a sister?”

“Yeah, just the one sibling. We used to be fairly close, but she moved to Paris a couple of years ago and doesn’t come home to visit much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Riley flagged down the bartender for another round, “My siblings blow up my phone on a daily basis. We have a group chat. They’re a pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

“It’s fine,” he told her as he threw back his second drink, “Now I think you promised me a dance!”

“That I did,” she pushed away from the bar and stood up, “Lead the way, sir!”

 He pulled her body close to his as they swayed to the music, “I hope you’re not expecting too much, I’m only halfway good at this.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she smiled up at him, “You’re doing just fine.”

“Good to know,” his hands slid down her body to rest on her hips, “it’s been a while.”

“Don’t get out much?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, why not? I’ll bet those Texas women go crazy over you in a cowboy hat!”

“Well as it turns out, the first woman I’ve wanted to drive crazy in a long time wasn’t in Texas.”

“Oh yeah? Where was she?”

His hands moved around to the small of her back as he tugged her closer, “I’ll let you figure that out.”

The only answer she gave him was a smile as he swung her around the dance floor. Four songs later they left the dance floor breathless and collapsed into chairs at a corner table.

Riley kicked her shoes off under the table as Drake flagged down a waiter.

They were still at the table laughing and talking when the last call was sounded. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” the voice over the intercom announced.

“Guess we should get back,” Drake pushed away from the table and offered her his hand.

She let him pull her up as she responded, “I really don’t want to go back to the palace right now.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well come on then,” he grinned at her, “I have somewhere else we can go!”

[bellmo15-blog]

My Life As A Hypnotized Fembot

I don’t think I need to tell you what My Life as a Teenage Robot is. It’s a show no doubt a lot of people my age know of and have watched. I also don’t think I need to tell you who Jenny is either considering a large chunk of people my age also probably had her as a childhood crush. And she probably awoke a lot of people’s interest in robot girls. Hey, there are stranger things to awaken your interest in something! I mean look at some of the stuff I’ve commissioned this year alone based of random scenes from my childhood I had a fascination with! :p

I just randomly got this idea while I was finishing up the series for the first time a few months back. As in, midway through one episode I randomly thought to myself “You know, I feel like Jenny’s body might actually work for a drone-based concept.” And that’s it! That’s literally how I came up with this idea! I never said I had deeper reasons behind ALL of my pics lol. And of course, Mikaela gets the privilege of being the first to try out being a Jenny Drone herself after being offered a lot of money to do a photo shoot dressed as Jenny only to, surprise, be unwillingly hypnotized and reprogramed into a Jenny Fembot after putting the suit on! I REALLY gotta stop having the scenarios that play out in my head behind these mental robotization pics that Mikaela is usually the un-willing one where as my sona is the willing one lol.

And yes, you read that earlier part right. I said “finishing this series for the first time!” Because sadly My Life As Every 2000’s Kids Childhood Crush was one of those things I never got a chance to watch back in the day. It was one of the only Nickelodeon shows I don’t remember getting an airing on any Australian channels outside of Nickelodeon itself which was only available via Foxtel which we had at first but my parents were not willing to spend money each month on it after a while so they got rid of it after a year and even when my farther did get another one again in the late 2000’s the shows run had ended and no episodes were playing anytime I checked in. Even if I did have access to Nickelodeon when the show was airing, I probably wouldn’t have watched it then because I was a dumb little boy who had the mindset of “me male! me must like things aimed at me gender! female centric things bad! me no sissy sissy girly girl!” and would of instantly wrote the show off. Stupid mindset to have, I know, but back then that was a real one I had drilled into my head as a child and I’m sure I’m not the only one either. Thank Palutena I grew up and became a lot more open minded huh? Can you imagen if people my age nowadays still had that mindset or were so insecure they’d not only get upset over a female lead but make a big deal about it on social media?......

Regardless of how long it took for me to even get around to watching this show I’m glad I finally have watched it especially since it lead to me getting this amazing pic and concept.

Artist is SuperTechno324.

[apparitionism]

Tabled 2

Hi again, @barbarawar ! Here’s a continuation of your @b-and-w-holiday-gift-exchange  present... it’s the second part of what has apparently decided to become a longer-than-two-part story. (This is kind of a short part, and I’m trying mightily to keep it to three, I swear.) In any case, a narrative wants what it wants, and given that this one is trying to deal with what might have happened if Myka and Helena had the “coffee” suggested by Helena in Instinct, I guess some difficulty of resolution is the price of doing business. I postulated in part 1 that Myka didn’t deal at all well with that “coffee,” and that it in fact initiated a cascade of lies, subterfuges, and all-around poor choices. Is that a sustainable mode of living? We’ll see. She might need a wake-up call. Who could deliver such a thing? Hm...

Tabled 2

Myka had run to the book because using her body to lie belonged, so clearly and painfully, to a new and different equivalence class of untruths.

If only she could have narrated a relationship with Pete instead. Sat at a table and told a series of story-lies about it—to herself, to him. Then she wouldn’t have so desperately needed the book to speak a different story.

Despite her need, however... nothing. From that nonresponse, Myka had taken the lesson that with regard to the future, what you see is what you get. What you see is all you get.

That being the case, she’d begun the work of reconciling herself to it.

She had soon thereafter received a text from Helena: a brief “Coffee?”, to which she had responded “Sorry, busy” without even asking for details, because one thing to which she could not reconcile herself was the way in which, even now (especially now), her heart leapt to see “Helena” appear in a notification.

The leap, its shock familiar yet striking her anew with its force, was a piercing reminder of those times before, when she had been so high-wire alive. Even as the coffees themselves had left her unsettled, incomplete, each new heralding text had lacerated her with frustrated want, the hot pain of things once were different. The prod of Myka, you once were different.

A fall into love had ripped her open; one into sin was now closing her up. She didn’t want to be reminded of either.

“You will never lose this friend” seemed now a curse, not a promise; another way of saying that she would never lose a particularly turbulent priest.

Will no one rid me...

****

As the wake of Artie’s are-you-the-culprit interview widens, Myka sees that she must rid herself of that priest. She cannot, in fact, endure the heart-leaps of more “coffee?” texts; and, beyond that, she needs fewer tables. If she can shed these sit-downs with Helena, where the lying began... it may be a false idol, but now she is choosing belief: that she can edit herself down to a way of living that is rational, even cold, such that she can functionally confront each new hour, day, week, every measure of time to come.

So. Initiating a “coffee,” which she has never done before, she texts Helena. It’s terse but, ironically, true: “I need to talk to you. In person.”

She is surprised to be surprised when she receives a nearly instantaneous reply, a simple “yes.”

Myka texts back her plan, which begins: “Meet you halfway.” Halfway is Chicago: between South Dakota and New York, where Helena now resides—with, Myka presumes, or at least near, the ideal Giselle.

Helena can have her. Myka will be her own ideal: she will be the person who sits at the table, the person who says the necessarily dismissive, lying words. Rationally. Above all, rationally.

She hopes the book will be willing to help that person.

Now, for what she knows must be the last time—the real third time, the real charm—she confronts the volume. “I’m making an end,” she tells it. “I need a shape.”

Could a book roll its eyes? Of course not. But an artifact certainly could.

That artifact may be adolescently scornful of Myka and her request, but it is no longer unresponsive. She resists considering what that means, concentrating instead of the book’s actions: it once again page-turns her to the later questions. She understands immediately why, as she is blinded to everything but question forty-three: “What will be the result of what I am about to undertake?”

She turns the page to reach the chart. She closes her eyes.

Superstitiously (not hopefully; hope is a drug she is trying to kick), she’s sharpened a brand-new pencil for the occasion. She now lowers its point to the page deliberately (not hopefully), but the instant it makes contact, her hand spasms, bouncing the spike of graphite elsewhere, jamming it there against the page, and she feels it snap and splinter.

She opens her eyes to find that she’s made two very clear selections, which is to say, she’s marked the book rather than simply touching it: the first is a right-pointing three-pebble triangle; the second—the one she twitched to and broke against—is a similarly small triangle, this one pertly upright. The first she knows as mathematical, about subgroups and containment; the second, obviously and cross-disciplinarily, is the delta of change.

“Both?” she asks, but it’s rhetorical. Surely the book itself produced her twitch, either via artifactual telekinesis or a physical nudge of its pages, to offer her two answers. The confirming page-ruffle is just punctuation.

And so she proceeds to the prophecies. The first, the right-pointer, is “You will only commit blunders.” Well. The book has known her for a while now, so that’s not a difficult prediction to make. She’s surprised, in fact, that it hasn’t given that one to her every time.

She turns to the second, the one corresponding to the delta. That one yields, “It will be of a satisfactory nature.”

“Oh, thanks,” she says. Sarcasm, but she shouldn’t be so cynical; the book is sensitive. These conjoined answers might feel like a joke, but even a joke has a shape. “I’m sure I’ll do it,” she tells her counselor. “The blunders of course. Satisfactory, though?”

No ruffle, no sigh. Myka is on her own.

****

Myka has arranged to meet Helena in the airport, for she is trying to make this excision as surgical as possible. Her return flight (well, the first of two) leaves three hours after her arrival; the layover is that long only because getting to and from South Dakota means bowing to airline schedulers’ ideas about which places merit reasonably quick access. Regardless of how pressing a person’s need to escape O’Hare might be.

In any case, the significance of the word “terminal” is not lost on her.

She catches her first glimpse of Helena from an entire length of concourse away—it’s a flicker, a mere suggestion of Helena-ness—but Myka knows it’s her. Once upon a time, she might have reveled in the intimacy of it, the way she knows the sight. Other people, indeed every other person, in the airport, the city, the country, even on the planet, might appreciate that sight, but Myka knows it. She knows the stride; she knows the toss of hair. She knows the bravado... knows it as a front. Knows it paper-thin.

But she can spare no sympathy for Helena’s fragility, nor for whatever it might cause her own heart to pulse.

This is the end, though, so she offers herself a tiny dispensation: for the length of Helena’s walk from gate B14 to B11, she will imagine this meeting is taking place in a different world. “Let’s start again,” she might say, in that different world. “Let’s run away and start again.”

Helena passes B11. That different world is no more.

Myka schools her face—her face that has been so revealing in the past—as Helena nears.

The line at the gate-adjacent Starbucks is short, yielding no time for much talk past “hello” and “how was your flight,” and that’s fortunate, because Myka has been witless to prepare anything cogent. She has, however, compiled a list of several synonyms for “ended.”

She’s considering launching without preamble into those, just pronouncing them all, one by telling one, then turning her back. But once she and Helena have collected their cardboard cups and sat down across from each other at a high table among a cluster between gates, Helena is the one to deliver the first salvo: “I presume you’re here to tell me about you and Pete.” She says it with a head-toss that seems rehearsed, but does she mean to convey nonchalance? Or is it nothing more than vain look-at-my-hair emphasis?

Myka can’t deal with either one. “Do you,” she says, as blandly as possible, but inside she is seething. She had not intended to say anything about that. She had intended to pretend it did not exist, to let that sin of omission be a relief, but someone has thwarted her. She suspects Steve... suspects it might have something to do with protection. She begins prepping a high-minded rebuke to be delivered later, even as she tells him now, in her head, where he and his truth-detection have taken up residence, You will not alter what I am here to do. “How did you hear?” she asks, again bland. Matter-of-fact, because of the matter of this fact.

“Claudia told me,” Helena says.

So much for the rebuke. Everything about this is going in the wrong direction. But there’s no right direction, so of course it is.

“I guess she’d know, wouldn’t she,” Myka says. She isn’t able to fully disguise her sourness at the idea of Helena and Claudia being in contact, but ultimately that’s all the more reason to detach. Helena has plenty of Warehouse connections, and that means Myka isn’t special. Here, too, she needs to be reasonable, to curtail any wish for that. Among so many other things.

And so she lies even more extensively than she did at the Round Table, despite the absence of Mrs. Frederic and Steve to goad her, telling a story about a story, investing her gray despair with cartoonish color, reciting again her ultimate line—her ultimate lie. Saying it out loud again, she feels her lies folding in on themselves, then expanding outward, untruths about untruths. She pushes on, however, ignoring the entanglement: “That was really my defining moment,” she concludes. “When I realized.”

She wishes Helena’s face would change, but it doesn’t. Yet another wallop of finality. The end, the end.

A moment passes: a suspension of time in which nothing at all happens. If only it could last forever...

But then Helena’s eyes narrow. “I don’t believe you,” she says. It’s blunt. It’s also defensive, and that is a change.

Myka does not know whether to rejoice in or lament the fact that she is not, here at the end, a competent enough liar for an audience of H.G. Wells. So she punts: trying for flippant, she says, “Well, congratulations, you and Pete finally have something in common, because he didn’t either. Not at first.”

That conjures the scene in which she had persuaded him... and that in turn brings home to her the fact that she has no bodily way to persuade Helena of anything. Her disruptive id, however, offers up an alternate scene, one in which she pulls Helena to her, Helena instead of Pete, into a kiss intended to convince somebody of something.

But even as Myka would do that, still, now, if she could, the back of her neck prickles with “maybe I can hurt you like you hurt me.” Because while she has tried to see that Helena must have had her reasons (for Nate), and must have her reasons (for Giselle), she doesn’t care about reasons. She cares about pain. Then, how guttingly she felt it. Now, how retributively she might inflict it.

“You and me. This is the end,” she says, hoping Helena feels the snap of the words. Hoping she feels it against her neck.

“Because of you and Pete?” That’s contempt.

Myka is about to say yes, to lie and throw that contempt right back in her face, to lie and throw it and then stand up and walk away and never look back.

But she owes the entirety of the situation just this bit of truth. “I want to say yes,” she begins, and Helena frowns. Myka can’t, now, spare the space to cherish that frown. “But the real answer is no, because it’s me. I can’t sit at tables and pretend to drink coffee and act like small talk matters. I wasn’t your roommate at...” She pauses for what she intends as a condemnatory moment. “Idaho Tech.”

Helena exhales in response a disdainful sniff. “Don’t misquote me. You remember precisely the lie I told.”

Righteous, even now. Myka can’t contain her resigned sigh. “I’m saying it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve got Giselle, I’ve got Pete, and we’ll both be fine.” Now she does stand up—trying for the physical embodiment of “it doesn’t matter anymore”—but she moves her hands too dramatically: she knocks her cup over, and coffee from the untasted container glugs like slow blood from its plastic lid onto the innocent tabletop.

Well, there’s an obvious blunder. That book... its truth. Myka hurries to right the cup, then uses a comically inadequate single, flimsy napkin to begin mopping the spill (another obvious blunder: not having anticipated needing a stack). But while her clumsiness annoys her, as does the delay, she appreciates the latter as providing one little extra indulgence before she says and, worse, hears, the last goodbye.

She is in any case discomfited by the way Helena watches her attempted cleanup: silent, appraising. It feels like the past, but having that attention focused on clearing a slick of cold coffee from a table is so... inappropriate. It’s a waste. It’s small, so small; not scaled to the past. The pathetic downsizing offers yet more reason to know this as a sunset.

Of course Myka is not, and will never be, ready for the fading end—of the sight of this face, of the sound of this voice—but she has nailed herself to this cross, and she can’t climb down now (never mind what she ever said to anybody about crosses and getting off them and... never mind). She’s going to live out her life in a way that makes continuous sense, not as a trudge punctuated by interludes that make her wish for a more electric timeline. The Warehouse had, via Helena, shown her such a bright flash, but that light is gone. In its absence, surely, the Warehouse will show itself as big enough, will offer enough, to fill a different unfolding’s worth of life.

In any case, her future is set. The evidence of her having committed blunders is clear. Now must be the time for Myka to turn to whatever it is that will be “of a satisfactory nature.” Whatever it is, it’s probably the best she can hope for, going forward.

She draws in a breath and begins, “So I guess this is...”

But she doesn’t finish, because she’s distracted by movement from Helena’s side of the table.

What is she doing?

She’s pushing her chair back and standing, taking up her own untasted coffee container into her right hand. She’s looking not at Myka but at that cup, and Myka can hear, in this flash of relative silence, a tap-tap-tap of Helena’s fingernail against the cardboard. That draws her attention to the cup, to the hand—and suddenly Helena’s left hand swoops in to rip the cup’s lid away, and her right hand moves back then forward—and in that blink of motion, the cup’s tepid contents rush toward Myka, dousing her torso.

Myka looks down. Her shirt is soaked—soaked—with coffee.

She looks up.

Helena is gazing at her in something very like triumph.

TBC

[elendsessor]

no fusion run update part nightmare fly has been swatted

i have to admit this took a great number of tries, a lot of grinding, and a lot of skill manipulation. i was thinking “oh i’m pretty overleveled so beelzebub won’t be as bad as usual-”

WRONG. WRONG ON SO MANY LEVELS.

i did make sure to get magma axis ahead of time and avenge for good measure but there were two major problems:

one, only qing long had makakaja, and he doesn’t null/reflect dark attacks.

two, nobody on my team had debilitate.

yes loa can learn it but that would take even more grinding and i didn’t want to do that since it’s not really how i like going through the labyrinth or a lot of the game.

quick side tangent and explanation since i’m sure someone may ask: yes the grinding dlc exists but i don’t want to get paid dlc for something so minor and game breaking. only thing i have is merciful difficulty (don’t remember if that’s dlc or not i’ve had that option available since i got nocturne) and even then i only used it for grinding. scout’s honor, i’m doing major fights on hard mode and decided bc i’m worried about the possibility of being too op i would be running from a majority of fights (on normal of course) unless it’s a demon i want to recruit. if i end up needing to do some passive leveling i switch back to hard. i genuinely hate merciful difficulty but considering how grindy nocturne can be it was somewhat necessary to level my demons without taking an eternity. i don’t like how merciful is game journalist mode, i don’t like how much of a joke boss encounters are with it, etc etc. and trust me playing a save file with only merciful difficulty was so boring.

that’s also why i genuinely hate the grinding dlc aside from being paid when it should’ve been in base nocturne hd, and why i made some pretty big decisions that don’t min-max demifiend. part of the fun of nocturne is overcoming the bosses since they’re some of the hardest in the series and let’s be real being owned by at least one is a right of passage. if you’re extremely overleveled before facing bosses like matador that are infamous for forcing you to learn the game, it takes you out of the experience. that’s part of why i’m nerfing myself just in case. (i’m not going to be using freikugel as soon as it’s available but depending on how lucifer goes (i’m playing chronicle so he has diarahan oh joy) i may end up using it if absolutely necessary. divine shot’s cooler anyways sorry not sorry.) since i have to do some grinding for demon skills bc no fusion, there’s a very real chance i may get too op, and i’d rather not. also fun builds are better than the meta builds again sorry not sorry.

this all being said, i did hit a roadblock. the best way to deal with the beel in any game he’s in (where the skill is available) is to have at least one party member with debilitate. nocturne’s debuff skills like war cry and fog breath are pretty busted, but it would be too risky to use taunt without a dekaja to follow up, and mp preservation is really big in fights where the enemy can remove buffs/debuffs, so yeah debilitate is huge on a lot of levels. unfortunately despite it working in the original ps2 versions of nocturne, hd fixed a lot of ai bugs including certain ways to trick it into never removing buffs/debuffs.

this was my first true mandatory skill mutation fest.

and after several resets, i got debilitate on my star player.

also got it on gogmagog just in case so it turned into a roughly two hour endeavor of chaining. that beautiful 3% mutation chance pulled through eventually. i didn’t expect to use gogmagog given his fire weakness and i couldn’t remember if beel has any fire moves but he was an emergency switch in if i ran out of great chakras.

now you may be wondering why qing long is ko’d when he was obviously used despite not a good fit for beel and that’s because he again managed to pull through. beel will not remove buffs or debuffs in the first phase nor use death flies early on, so i sped through with a few makakajas before sacrificing him for a monke switch. funny monke kept buffing defense and evasion to make some attacks not as powerful especially since titania can’t deal with physical moves especially if they’re powered by focus.

after a few tries i finally got a winning run where the ai forgot to do some crucial dekajas and dekundas, spammed death flies which was doing nothing, and ultimately magma axis secured the kill. it was long. beel is built like a tank. probably would’ve made him run out of mp eventually given how long it took. but this was the first hurdle since thor that really got me and it served as a nice palette cleanser. once you play through nocturne once or twice, most bosses end up being pretty easy, but the labyrinth of amala always finds a way to destroy your self worth and remind you what game you’re playing, and i think that’s why i’m beginning to appreciate it more.

one more side note but beelzebub has the best battle theme in the game just saying it’s a banger and so unique i love it

[confettifalling]

Hi! For the ask game: 1, 2, 3, 8, and 13. :)

hi! tysm for asking (and for coming up with this game, it’s so fun)! :)

1) How did you become a Big Time Rush fan?

i saw an episode one day on nickelodeon. i remember seeing the title on the guide and going, huh, interesting name. is this an action series? (and the answer was, of course, no….but also yes, because they’re always getting kidnapped and knocked out and running from crocodiles and being roped into british spy missions. and then just shrugging like, huh. whelp. that was something. anyway. back to learning harmonies. #justboybandthings.) i pretty much watched one episode and was hooked. i also remember my mom coming in and going, this is really cute, like a present-day version of the monkees tv series your grandfather loved. and then later, i realized that was absolutely intentional and scott fellows was directly inspired by the monkees, and i watched a few of those episodes too, which was fun. 

2) Who’s your favorite member (and why)?

even when i was a kid, kendall and logan were my favorites. i didn’t really see many interviews of them back then, so i was just basing it off the tv show, tbh. now that i’m older, those two are still my favorites. they have gorgeous voices (and dimples!)  and i love how kind they are, like logan being so happy to be an uncle and talking about how he wants to pick out 3 good albums to gift kendall’s daughter so she can grow up with those songs, and how kendall is always posting some kind of photo or video with an animal, whether it’s calling over stray cats, stopping to say hello to a dog, gently petting a chicken, holding lemurs, kissing a donkey, or cuddling a pig. i was so excited to see the videos of kendall and logan together at the iheart radio awards last month, and was laughing at them blowing kisses to the camera and logan announcing that he was kendall’s baby first before maple.

3) What are your top three favorite Big Time Rush songs?

my number 1 slot always goes to no idea, particularly their live madison square garden version. their vocals are truly so beautiful and have only gotten better over the years. when i heard the finale, my jaw just sort of dropped, it was like when i was a kid and heard an iconic disney song like a whole new world for the first time again. it’s such a great feeling and not many songs and voices can sort of stop you in your tracks like that. my 2 and 3 spots are always in flux, so i’ll just say i’ve been listening to dale pa’ya and not giving you up a lot lately. (and also the acoustic version of i know you know.)

8) Who’s your favorite character from the show?

that’s hard, but i’m going to go with lucy. she’s really fun and i’m a fan of other shows the actress has been in as well. plus, according to tv canon, she’s what got us paralyzed (which i love and i’m so happy the boys finally officially released.)

13) What’s your favorite picture of Big Time Rush?

i like the ones where they’re goofing off, like this one:

i need to know what this deleted scene was, considering they’re in their not giving you up outfits. big time relationship services ended up being a pyramid scheme? money laundering via office supplies and teddy bears? they made criminally catchy bops?

[okamirayne]

*a wild friend looks up from the floor*

God, sorry to just stick around but those last couple of chapters...they're just so fucking good it's unreal. They're not just amazing but somehow they leave me feeling...peaceful? Idk if that makes sense or not

Just having them be together without anything standing between them, all walls down, no secrets or lies or hurts left, finally on the same page. It feels like a true beginning

How you can convey such a deep love without using the word once...though it really goes beyond love, doesn't it. That word is too tame, too small to contain what they have. It's raw and bloody and tender but also elemental in a way that defies description. I know a lot of other readers think Shikamaru mouthed "I love you" against Neji's skin but he wouldn't say that in my opinion cuz it's not enough

*sighs dreamily*

Also, this is neither here not there but something about fandom that always annoys me is how hard shippers fall into stereotypes and use top or bottom as a substitute for gender roles. And especially in regard to Neji it's very hard to find anything that doesn't make him an aggressive dominant person who just always ends up horribly ooc.

So what I really appreciate, especially considering how old the first installment is and how long running the series was, that you don't fall into this whatsoever. The push and pull between them is consistently from the get go not about dominance and submission but about maneuvering themselves and each other onto equal grounds, a place of total equality and trust where those fandom assigned roles have no meaning

It's not about top or bottom, dominant or submissive, it's about the connection and how they need that in that specific moment, which is way more in character for both these characters than anything I've ever read. Most of the time I skip over the sex scenes in fics cuz characterization tends to unravel pretty quickly but when you write them it always feels like "yes, this is the right time and place in the story for that to happen" which is a talent a lot of writers in any form of writing need to cultivate I think

They both have dominant personalities with a deep craving for connection, of course they switch.

*takes a deep breath and eats some chocolate staring into space for a few moments*

Anyway, that was another wild ride and your writing is just so good that I may have hyperfocused on it for a few days straight so now I'm just gonna crash for a bit

Because there is NOTHING else for me to read about them WHATSOEVER. You HAVE NOT written ANYTHING ELSE. This is their HAPPY ENDING.

*the wild friend gives you the two fingered "I have my eye on you" gesture and promptly goes into hibernation*

Are you kidding me? YOU’VE FINISHED UtS? ALEADY???

Ah, dear Wild Friend.  Thank You, from all the squishy corners of my gooey, mushy, Feels-Soaked Heart, for the astoundingly awesome, supportive, engaging feedback that you’ve so kindly taken the time out to leave me these past several days.  I’m gobsmacked.  It’s beautiful. 💜💜

I know a lot of other readers think Shikamaru mouthed "I love you" against Neji's skin but he wouldn't say that in my opinion cuz it's not ‘enough…’

Ah, hell. I love this. <3

Also, this is neither here not there but something about fandom that always annoys me is how hard shippers fall into stereotypes and use top or bottom as a substitute for gender roles.

Oh damn…

I feel you on this.  I’m not a fan of the seme/uke, top/bottom dynamic -- for the sheer sake of the dynamic/trope, whereby I sometimes feel that it can result in inadvertent (or deliberate) effeminising of one of the males. So yeah, not a fan. Totally different case if a character has a legit reason they don't enjoy it or want it. I think you can have a dynamic where one that tops without the other losing their masculinity. How the rest of the relationship plays out can certainly balance this.

Ah, yes. The level territory and equal footing that you described is exactly the no-mans-land intimacy they initially fought against and then fought to protect; sure it was riddled with a few landmines along the way…but I’m touched that you felt that sense of hard-won peace they managed to recover when the dust of all their conflicts settled.

Most of the time I skip over the sex scenes in fics cuz characterization tends to unravel pretty quickly but when you write them it always feels like "yes, this is the right time and place in the story for that to happen" which is a talent a lot of writers in any form of writing need to cultivate I think

I hear you. Again, super chuffed and touched you feel this way about how I wrote them.  Thank you.  With Shikamaru and Neji, it became more about the intimacy of longing, not the immediacy of lust. It’s not an itch that can be scratched elsewhere.

They both have dominant personalities with a deep craving for connection, of course they switch.

Insofar as their sexual behaviours...

so now I'm just gonna crash for a bit Because there is NOTHING else for me to read about them WHATSOEVER. You HAVE NOT written ANYTHING ELSE.

No...

No of course not....never.

*salutes* Thank you again, Wild Friend. Where my words fail, I hope gifs and emojis convey the appreciation. 💜💜💜

[tiger1719]

Intro

Y/n transfers to Japan for school for her last year of high school. her dream career is joining the Marines. Eventually y/n see her friends after years

Kuroo x reader

“Ssgt Tate.”

“Yes?’

“When is my ship date again?”

“It’s January 24th that you leave for Parris Island.”

“Thank you sir. I’m sure you heard?”

“You’ll be back from Japan on the 11th?”

“Yes sir”

“Very well, good luck, keep me updated on your monthly IST scores. I’ll contact someone to run CFT and PFT with you at least every couple of months. You also need to study the knowledge as well.”

“Aye, Sir!” The h/c smiled as she pocketed her phone. In a few days she will be studying her last year of school in Japan. Her recruiter was not only great but he was amazing at keeping her motivated. All the recruiters in her office were outstanding, they really did make it feel like she actually belonged. It was recently a new dream of hers to be in Military, but being a Marine seemed to be even better, to have an amazing title, to feel like she belonged. Plus the dress blue was by far the best out there. She quietly went back to packing for her trip.

Most of her family was military, ranging from Marines to Airforce. Most of them were not expecting her to join, they just never had the thought of it. Music was definitely something she was passionate about, and had been for a long time. She never considered herself amazing at it, but she definitely wasn’t the worst. Not only was she very involved with music, working out had become her escape, she could focus more on readying herself for the three months she was about to experience in 10 months. Her focus was to make sure she would get 1st class on PFT and CFT as they were the most important for her to graduate. She had already come a long way from where she started. She was at the point where she could do 60 pushups but she started at barely doing 15. She made herself a very strict workout routine, her diet had changed to healthier options but more protein to keep her muscle growth going still.

She finally got the last of things packed and ready to go. She made sure she had enough clothes for at least a couple weeks, of course she would be wearing uniforms as soon as she got to her school. But it didn't hurt to have clothes for the days she didn't have school. Most of her skincare and makeup and other things were packed. She will be leaving for the airport tomorrow. She had a few delays that it would take a couple of days and a day to herself to try and get used to the new sleep schedule. Her school would be in Miyagi prefecture, on the very north side of the island. She knew it would be hard to be so far away from home and was nervous to adjust to a new environment.

She sighed softly when she got all her things ready to go. A new adventure, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but she was sure she would love the moments she was about to have.

Reader information:

CFT- Combat fitness test. CFT consists of 880 meter sprint, then ammo can lifts, then a series of cones, sprinting to first cone, high crawl to next cone and then low crawl to another cone. Next zigzag through more cones until last cone. Throw a grenade (not actually one, usually is a ball) and then 5 push ups. Next buddy drag a buddy very close to your weight, buddy drag through zigzag cones. Next fireman carry buddy to where you started. Last, you grab ammo cans (metal boxes that hold ammo, but for this particular reason, it is filled with sand. Most weigh about 30+ pounds. Once you have grabbed ammo cans, you sprint from one end of course to the next end of it.

PFT- Physical fitness test. Consists of certain amount of push ups or pull ups, pull ups preferred. Then a certain amount of sit ups. Last is a 3 mile run in a certain amount of time.

IST- Initial Strength Test- Push ups or pull ups, situps and a mile and half run

@artsamber @knightofmight

[keicordelle]

The Daily Inconveniences of an Au Ra: Writing

"So if you could just go and write down what those three say and bring the transcripts back here to me, that would be a big help."

Keshet looked at the little leather-bound journal and pen the man held out to him, brown and battered and thoroughly unassuming, and grimaced. "Is that really necessary? I could just tell you want they have to say, and then you don't have to hand over your book."

The man frowned at him. "I'd really like to have their words down exactly. Is something the matter?"

"I- That is- No," he ground out, snatching the offered implements with perhaps more force than was kind and stalking away in the general direction of his first target. He thumbed through the book, squinting at the spidery cursive the filled its early pages. It might as well have been meaningless squiggles for all the sense it made to him.

Dragging a hand down his face, he let out an angry sigh that turned into a growl, and didn't notice the person before him until he'd run right into her.

"Keshet!" Lyse exclaimed, sounding far too delighted for his current mood. Sensing the aura of gloom that surrounded him, she paused. "Is everything alright?"

"Just peachy. Some historian wants me to record what the survivors have to say, that's all."

She cocked her head. "And you're angry about that because.... it means you don't get to hit anything?"

"No, I- Well, yes, but it's not just that." Tail lashing in aggravation, he glanced to either side to ensure his admission wouldn't be overheard before beckoning her closer and leaning down to confide, "It’s just... I don't know how to write."

Lyse blinked at him. "You- what? Of course you do."

He glared, the spikes on his tail suddenly looking a lot more pointy than usual as it sliced through the air, and she cleared her throat. "Or rather, you had to have signed your name when you joined the Adventurers' Guild. And I've seen you read letters before."

"Have you?" he asked pointedly, and her lips pursed as she considered.

"Maybe not."

Keshet raked a hand through his hair. "I can sign my name, and I can recognize enough words to get by. Inn, tavern, things like that. But..." He shrugged. "We didn't have a writing system on the Steppe. Our traditions and histories are all passed down orally, so we never needed one. Look, just don't tell the others, okay?" She shot him an appraising look that he didn't like. "I mean it! I'd never hear the end of it from Alphinaud. And Nhaama forbid Urianger ever find out..."

"I think you're selling them short. I bet Alphinaud and Urianger would love to help you learn to read and write!"

Keshet's lips twisted. "I'm not sure which sounds more painful: them finding out in the first place, or having them as teachers..."

Read the rest of the series on Ao3!

FIRST | PREV | NEXT

[nowis-scales]

FE Liveblog Updates

Hey hey! It’s been a little while since I last did any live blogging — and maybe you care, maybe you don’t — but as I have… a lot of potential live-blogging to do, I wanted to give some updates, notices, and minor thoughts. So if you’ve been following along with any of them, here’s where you’ll get your info. Yay!

‣ Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia:

Hmmm… what is there to say about this one? I need to continue it, first of all. It should hopefully be picking up sooner rather than later, finishing off Act 2 in Celica’s path, and then presumably switching back to Alm. I don’t have too much to worry about here, just making sure that I’m getting a healthy dose of support conversations! If I don’t by the end, I may just play again and see what else I can gather. Otherwise… I’m considering a more stack-em-up style to my posting like the other playthroughs, just so it’s less of a spammy feeling. If you have any opinions, please do let me know!

‣ Fire Emblem Engage:

Yep yep, I’ve already got a liveblog of this one set up! As I write this post, I have just beaten Chapter 3, so you will soon be able to find the liveblog under #koto plays engage , and avoid spoilers with #Fire Emblem Engage Spoilers. I’m very excited to share my thoughts so far, so it should be super fun to share! I don’t know when exactly I’ll get that set up, but probably towards the tail end of the next liveblog I’ll be talking about…

‣ Fire Emblem Three Houses: Crimson Flower: I think, with my desire to introduce an Engage liveblog, continue the Echoes one, and someday continue this one… I might get back to this one sooner than I anticipated? I’m still somewhat iffy on this one, just because… well, in the event that you’re new here, let’s just say that CF as a route is just very much not for me. That’s not to say that I look down on or would chide anyone who enjoys it — my rule is, forever and always, as long as you’re kind I don’t mind — but it’s just not the most positive playthrough. So while I’m leaning more towards yes to going back to it, I want to make sure that it’ll be an okay experience for everyone involved.

The good news is, I have newly set up some measures to keep all of the critical stuff contained where you want it. Firstly, I have a new tag I’ll be using to tag posts with the super critical stuff (#Fódlan Fault Finding) and of course I still have the tag meant for criticism in relation to EdeIgard’s character writing in the route (#Shut up about Del). I also have a series of emblems I’m going to be using, to mark each section of the post based on how critical it is. So for example, if you only want to read the positive stuff, you’ll look for a flower with both black and white on each petal, like this: ❃ There’s about four total, ranging from positive, neutral, joking criticism, and hard criticism. That way, you can pick what you like, and go from there!

Otherwise, I think I have about 12 posts already (some of them are leftovers I missed before I stopped before) built in a Google Doc just so I had time to organize my thoughts and review them for sharpness. I’m considering posting them twice a week just to get things moving along so I don’t have a gazillion playthroughs ongoing, but let me know if you have any good ideas! I could even intersperse the posts with live blogs of the other games just to keep things cheery, if that’s preferable.

‣ Fire Emblem Three Houses: Azure Moon & Silver Snow:

These ones, I am… stumped on. I’d like to chronicle them as well, I find live-blogging a super fun endeavour (even if I realize the live-blogs mostly entertain me instead of all of you), but again that’s something to run at the same time as all the other liveblogs. I could wait until Echoes concludes, I could just pick Azure Moon up once CF concludes, or I could intersperse playthroughs with CF and AM to balance out negativity like I just mentioned. It’s hard to know exactly what to do, and even in posting AM, I’m wondering if I should just post SS at the same time… I think probably not, as that would get really confusing, but it’s also the nature of just not having so many on the go. So… yeah, I dunno! Just like for the others, thoughts are welcome.

As you can see, at the moment, it’s all just a matter of figuring out where to put what!

[nazumichi]

very sympathetic towards the mutuals whose little guys have been stuck in coins, boxes, etc, for however long. but my little guys are about to be thrown in a box to be then thrown into a studio’s closet never to see the light of day again, so

[crazycookiecrumbles]

A Rip in the Multiverse (2)

A/N: This takes place late in this series of one-shots. AFTER the wedding which I have yet to write. Direct Sequel to A Rip in the Multiverse

Okay. So this is in my Stark!ReaderVerse! Feedback, as awlays, extremely appreciated and desired. ​ Haven’t watched the What If...? Series, but I know a bit about Natasha’s journeys there so I’ve referenced it.

TAG LIST NOTES:  I have no idea how to efficiently make a tag lists and am lazy as shit, so I would recommend post notifications just bc i’m, well,…tired lazy person

Pairings/Characters: Shang-Chi x Stark!Reader, mentions: Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Katy Chen, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: violence, fighting ,swears, angsty??

Summary:  In your dad’s universe, he wasn’t the one that died. What happened to you?

WC: 2,751

Tony slowly pulled away from you. His hands slid back up to your shoulders as he stared at you. You were his little girl, and seeing you staring up at him with puffy red eyes and tears running down your face was crushing him.

“I died?” You repeated.

“Yes,” Tony said.

Doctor Strange looked at the two of you quickly, “Hey, wait. No, you guys shouldn’t — “

“You shut the fuck up, Strange,” you snapped. “World-class neurologist, dumb as a fucking bag of bricks! Two spells, two spells you’ve fucked up so far that have fucked with our lives. Talk to me when you learn what the fuck you’re doing.”

Strange’s head tilted back slightly in surprise. He opened his mouth to offer a snappy remark right back at you, but Sam reached out and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Sam whispered. “She learned to stop a person’s heart. It would not end well for you.”

He did not like the idea of letting this go, but in the interest of self-preservation, he didn’t make a smart comment. Instead, he rolled his eyes and created a portal back to the Sanctum, telling everyone to get inside so they could discuss what had happened there.

~*~

Of course, Stephen Strange had no idea how to reverse the spell. He didn’t know what to do. All he could tell everyone was that things were going to be different for a while, which wasn’t something that was very comforting to anyone considering what was going on. People were displaced from their own worlds and placed in a new one. Plus, everyone was learning that the multiverse thing was, in fact, real. This was a lot for anyone to take in.

And then there was you, staring at your dad the entire time, shocked that he was standing here. What were you going to tell Pepper, or Morgan? Could you even tell them? How the hell would that even go about? The amount of therapy alone everyone needed was going to be enough to put eight generations of therapists’ kids through school, you were sure of it.

Plus, god, you had a hard time looking at Natasha. She was your best friend for so many years. From the moment she entered Stark Industries until the day she died, that woman was as important to you as Clint was. You had barely processed her death yourself, and here she was, well, a version of her, standing there and listening to Strange drabble on and on, even elbowing Clint to make a face during Strange’s speech.

You excused yourself, muttering that he was boring you half to death. In doing so, you prompted everyone to agree that he was utterly obnoxious, prompting a bunch of them to split off. You exhaled slowly as you wandered around and found the kitchen in the Sanctum. Shangqi was hot on your trail with Katy, and you realized Tony was there as well only after you had poured yourself a glass of water and turned around.

“Hey, cupcake,” Tony said. He glanced around, an eye settling on Shangqi which made your husband stop and do a double-take.

“Are you sizing me up, really?” Shangqi asked.

Tony shrugged, “It’s weird. You’ve always had a thing for her. Now you’re married. Gross.”

Katy blinked, “Hold on. Mr. Iron Man Stark, sir, Tony, guy, did you just say that the evil little dark Shangqi from your world has a thing for your kid?”

Tony shuddered, “It was so annoying. We’d come across him, he’d flirt with you, do his little evil flirting shit, you’d flirt back if Steve was there for reasons that were too TMI that made me want to drown myself, rinse, and repeat.”

Katy found this hysterical while Shangqi was standing there wondering what the hell happened on Tony’s earth that made him the leader of the Ten Rings.

You, however, found no amusement in it. You cut straight to the unanswered question from earlier, “How did I die?”

Tony sighed, “Right, right. Well, we were fighting Thanos.”

“After the snap?”

Tony looked at you confused and shook his head, “No, there wasn’t a snap.”

“Huh?”

Tony leaned on the kitchen counter, “Steve filled in some parts for me. Well, Steve on my Earth, your husband. You thought I was dead when Thanos arrived, and he had taken everyone out. It was just you and Wanda left. Hell, you thought Steve was dead, too. Thanos and Wanda kept doing this dance with each other. He’d rewind time, she’d nearly kill him, and, from what I was told, you were just so angry and upset. You used a lot of your strength that day. Blasted Thanos back, you protected Wanda. You’d never really gone very dark before, but they told me that you were destroying his body from the inside out.”

“Oh,” you muttered. “And he killed me?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “You killed yourself. All the strength you used to rip Thanos apart, destroy him and the gauntlet? Thanos was dead before he could use those stones again, and you gave yourself an aneurysm and died.” Tony looked down at the floor, arms crossed over his chest, “You’d never done that much before. Hadn’t even done anything close to that scale. You were so concentrated on using your power on Thanos alone and not spreading it everywhere else that seconds after Thanos was dead, so were you.”

“Holy shit,” Katy breathed and turned to stare at you. “God. So what did I even see of you today? I mean, that was amazing, but, is that, like, what, child’s play?”

“No,” Shangqi said quickly. “Because she got a nosebleed taking out that really big ugly looking thing before we hit the statue.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s because I had already done a lot. I could probably do that now, easy. I almost destroyed the entire planet when —“

“When what?” Tony asked with a frown. “What happened?”

You chewed on your lip as you watched him, “You died. Thanos snapped and half of us were dead, myself included. Five years later, you guys fought again, and you snapped. It was too much for your body, your suit.”

Tony hummed as he mulled this over, “I guess we both have a bit of a martyr thing going for us, don’t we?”

You snorted and shrugged, “Yeah. I guess we do. Wonder where we get it from.”

“Your mother, obviously,” He remarked casually.

You nodded, then straightened up, “Wait, my mom. Is she?”

Tony glanced at you and shook his head, “Car accident when you were young.”

“That checks out,” you muttered darkly under your breath.

You two were very quiet. You almost weren’t sure what to do. He was your father, but he wasn’t. He technically wasn’t supposed to even be there. You wanted to get close to him and yank him back into your life. At the same time, you didn’t know if Strange was just going to magically fix one of his mistakes (finally) and send him away within the day.

Luckily for you, your father did not like awkward silences unless they were at the expense of someone. He lifted his head when he heard the crunching of potato chips. He spun around to see Shangqi and Katy trying to quietly, but failing, eat a bag of potato chips together. Your father turned around completely, one arm crossed over his chest with the other lazily pointed between you and Shangqi.

“So, how did this shit happen?”

Katy beamed and grabbed Shangqi’s shoulders with her greasy fingers, “Well, this one is a good little boy. His dad was the leader of the Ten Rings, but he’s dead now. Now Shangqi is a good boy who fights bad guys and loves your daughter very much.”

Tony blinked, “So your dad died and you didn’t take up his legacy? Weird.”

Shangqi frowned, “How is that weird?”

He shrugged, “You did it in my world.”

“Okay. That’s fair,” Shangqi muttered.

Tony hummed and stared at Shangqi wondering how this could have happened. On his Earth, you and Steve were it for each other. You two had such a magical relationship before your death that Tony couldn’t possibly have pictured somebody any better for his daughter.

You, on the other hand, were often used to your dad staring at people, usually men in your life, and making them horribly uncomfortable. So, you ignored him and outstretched your hand to Shangqi. He smiled and told you there was a tax to pay. You pouted while Katy made barfing noises. Shangqi grinned, leaned across the counter, and puffed out his lips. You chuckled and leaned forward to kiss him before shoving your hand into the bag and shoving the chips into your mouth.

“So,” Tony said after a moment, snatching the bag from you both to feed himself, “What did Steve do?”

“What do you mean?” Katy asked, “Like, here, on this…realm thing?”

“Why aren’t they married?” Tony asked. “No offense, kid, you seem way nicer than your evil counterpart, so far, but I thought my kid and Rogers were endgame. Did that never happen?”

You stared at your dad, “We got married. I got snapped away by Thanos. When I came back, after your funeral, your perfect son-in-law left me to go back in time to live out his life with Peggy without even telling me. Then he came back, and a spell from Doctor Strange made him young again. Oh, and he wants me back, apparently.”

Tony blinked twice, “You don’t say.”

“Yup,” the emphasis on the ‘P’ making your lips smack together. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“Rich, rich in humor, definitely,” Tony nodded. “Excuse me for a second.”

Tony left the kitchen and you realized what you had done. Your eyes lit up with delight as you started to chase after your dad.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Katy asked as she followed you, and Shangqi was hot on her heels.

“Everything I’ve ever wanted,” you sighed happily as you followed your dad all the way to the grand staircase.

Steve was sitting on the steps casually talking to Sam and Bucky. Tony was making his way towards him, and Steve sent him a smile, happy that this Tony seemed to actually like him. Before Steve could ask him what was going on, Tony reeled back and threw a fist into Steve’s perfect jaw.

“You left my daughter for some fucking pin-up you kissed once!?” Tony shouted as he started to pummel Steve.

“Oh, fuck that,” Sam muttered as he quickly moved away from the stairs.

Bucky followed his lead and moved away. He stood next to Katy who elbowed him, “Not gonna get in that?”

Bucky shrugged and shook his head, “Nah. I mean, oh, Sam, we should really help,” he said flatly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“At the rate that’s going, we might have to,” Sam muttered.

“Tony!” Steve shouted as he was shoving the man back, “Tony, stop!”

“How could you of all people disrespect my daughter you geriatric piece of shit?” Tony yelled and grabbed him by the collar of his suit. “My little girl? For some woman you kissed once after how long, Rogers?! You fucking idiot!”

Shangqi slowly moved until he was standing next to you. You were smiling at the scene, hands resting on your hips as you watched your dad scream at Steve. This was just as satisfying as you had imagined. Shangqi took one look at your face, shook his head, and crossed his arms over his chest, “Is this everything you wanted, babe?”

“I’m loving it,” you looked over at him and nudged him. “Come on. You don’t love this?”

“Oh, no, I do.” Shanqi sighed and draped his arm around your shoulders, “I love seeing your father beat your ex-husband. But, wow, you really are a daddy’s girl, huh?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “You want to open that can of worms, mama’s boy?”

He shook his head, “Nope.”

“Good boy.”

~*~

Everyone ended up going to the compound that night. You didn’t know what to tell Pepper. You told her the suit caught on the news was an old suit of Tony’s that Wednesday found and was piloting. You were confident she didn’t believe you, but you were happy with the fact that she was not pressing this issue. Maybe she needed time to understand this as well.

For right now, you were at the compound with the entire team. You’d offered space to the others who had entered, but both groups said they knew places they could go to, which was…odd, but given that the guy in the wheelchair, who you learned went by Charles Xavier, seemed to have everything figured out, you really didn’t feel like pressing for more info.

Your brain was occupied as it was.

You went to the kitchen in the middle of the night intent to get some sweets. When you got there, you already saw Clint sitting on top of the counter with a spoon breaking into a fresh carton of ice cream. He looked at you, reached across to pull open the utensil drawer with his foot, and gestured for you to grab a spoon. 

Snorting, you grabbed a spoon and jumped onto the counter to sit beside him and eat ice cream, “Can’t sleep either?”

“Well, I saw my dead wife today, so, no.”

You frowned, “Sorry. How ya doing?”

Clint shrugged, “We were just best friends where she came from. We weren’t married.”

“That’s gotta hurt,” you muttered.

“You weren’t even her best friend. Not close at all, actually.”

“Okay, thats super rude,” you muttered.

“Right?” He smiled and shook his head. “Yeah. She was the last man standing on the entire planet. She got sent here. And she’s my wife…but not my wife.”

You pursed your lips, “This sounds like you need chocolate syrup.”

“And whipped cream, please.”

You grabbed the sweets and drowned the ice cream in more sugar. You both stuffed your faces, and sat in silence for awhile.

“So, your dad’s back. Call your therapist yet?”

“Shut up,” you muttered. “You’re right here, anyway.”

Clint rolled his eyes, “What are you going to tell Pepper?”

“I don’t know. I almost don’t want to, but I know I have to. This is a mess.”

“Tell me about it. How’s the husband feeling about it?”

“Eh, he loved seeing Steve get his ass kicked. He’s pretty happy about it. Doesn’t love all the nicknames, though.”

“Eh, could be worse,” Clint shrugged. “He’ll get used to it.”

“If Tony sticks around,” you mumbled.

Clint pursed his lips, looked up at you, and raised his spoon full of ice cream, “Cheers.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever this bullshit is?”

You shrugged. You clinked your spoon against his. You two finished the carton of ice cream and went your separate ways. When you went back to your room, you climbed into bed next to Shangqi and placed your hand on his chest.

He hummed as he pulled you in close, “How was that midnight snack?”

You sighed, “Cold. Tasty.”

“Bring me any?”

“We ate it all. How about a Pop-Tart?”

He hummed and opened his mouth. Snicerking, you opened the package and shoved a piece into his mouth. Shangqi chewed and rolled over so he was facing you. He pulled you closer again and buried his face into your neck as he inhaled your scent, “Doing okay, honey?”

“I don’t know…” you trailed off. “My dad’s asleep a few door’s down. Technically not my dad. But, yeah. He’s there after not being here for so long.”

“He’s not asleep.”

“What?”

Shangqi yawned, “Threw the door open, barged in, demanded that we be decent, said to not be as stupid as Capcicle, then he left and said he was going to try to sleep. No idea why. I think he’s trying to scare me.”

You groaned, “That man is going to sit in the garage all night and pass out in three hours.”

“Oh, sounds like someone I know.”

“Shut up,”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead, “One step at a time, babe. You talk to Pepper, first. If Morgan’s around, I’ll go play with her, keep her distracted.”

“Don’t slip up. You know how Morgan tricks you.”

“I think I can outsmart a tiny little kid, babe.”

[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!!