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schemmentigfs · 14 days ago

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Sweetening The Deal. (part 8.)

Summary: you officially move in to Melissa Schemmenti’s penthouse while waiting for your shared escape to Italy. Meanwhile, the redhead has a important conversation with a special someone.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

The movers came right at noon, their hulking figures unloading the truck’s contents with practiced efficiency. Melissa Schemmenti stood near the entrance of her sleek penthouse, arms crossed and directing them like a general. Her dark, tailored pantsuit, sunglasses, ponytail and sharp heels added to the commanding air she carried so effortlessly. You trailed behind her, still adjusting to the surreal situation of moving into her home—her penthouse, no less. This wasn’t just a new address; it was a new life entirely.

Boxes of your belongings, marked with hasty scribbles in black marker, were placed carefully inside the massive space. It felt strange seeing your old things—a worn lamp, a stack of books with peeling covers, and even that rickety little chair you refused to part with—scattered against the pristine marble floors and towering glass windows that framed the Philadelphian city skyline.

As much as you were trying to hide your uneasiness and fear, the older woman noticed your distant gaze and turned to you, frowning slightly worried if anything seemed out of order or bothering you. “What’s wrong? Something is worrying you?”

You jumped and hid your hands behind your back, trying to find the right words. “It’s just… it’s weird seeing all my stuff here. Like it doesn’t actually belong to this world.”

Sharp features softened, green eyes meeting yours. “It belongs because you belong here, Y/N,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

“I guess,” you couldn’t argue with her—not when she looked at you like that, her confidence in her decision was so unshakable. The movers worked efficiently, but one of them accidentally bumped a white vase with flowers that Melissa had on a side table—a gift from her Nonna before she passed away years ago. She hissed under her breath, muttering something in Italian that you didn’t quite catch, but it sounded pissed.

“You know,” she said suddenly, turning to you as if struck by an idea. “We should go back to your old place. Make sure we didn’t forget anything.”

“My crappy apartment? Schemmenti, we didn’t forget anything. That place doesn’t exactly scream sentimental value.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Even so. Let’s make sure.”

The apartment complex felt smaller than you remembered. The once spacious rooms now seemed tight and suffocating, the walls closing in as you walked through the space. The wallpaper was peeling in large, uneven patches, revealing the dull plaster underneath. It looked tired, worn-out—just like the rest of the apartment. The once bright paint had faded over time, and the broken, flickering light bulbs did little to push back the shadows that seemed to cling to every corner. A faint, persistent smell of mildew filled the air, a reminder that the place had been left to deteriorate for far too long.

The kitchen, though small, had once been full of life, but now the counters were cluttered with stale crumbs and old dishes. The floor had been scuffed by years of use, and the cabinets creaked in protest when you opened them. The apartment was a shell of what it had been, a far cry from the airy, modern luxury of Melissa’s place.

And still, she wasn’t fazed. She had already been here with you months ago, before the move was decided, before your life had started to shift. She had seen the cracks in the walls, the way the apartment had become a haven for forgotten things, the place where you’d lived alone after everything had fallen apart. Still, it was as if this was the last step in the process—one more goodbye before she could take you to where you truly belonged.

You didn’t need to say it aloud; she had seen it, too. The emptiness here. The way it felt smaller and smaller every time you came back. Still, she didn’t complain. She never did. Her olive eyes, sharp as ever, scanned the space with a strange combination of detachment and intent, as though she were inspecting a crime scene. You followed her through the living room and into the kitchen, where the dull hum of the fridge was the only sound filling the air.

She was already moving with purpose, as though the place were nothing but a task to be handled, a box to check off. When she reached the counter, her hand stopped on a half-eaten piece of pizza, still on the table from the last time you’d lived here and had a poor meal before a day at work. It had clearly been forgotten, the cheese now hardened and the crust brittle, a sad reminder of meals that hadn’t been finished.

You watched as the older woman picked it up, her face scrunching up in mild disgust. “Uh, you should have some manners, doll. Leave the mess behind. You won’t be eating like this in my home,” she muttered under her breath before tossing the pizza into the trash can. The sound of it hitting the bottom was almost jarring in the silence.

As she stood there for a moment, wiping her hands on her pants, you couldn’t help but notice how out of place she looked in this run-down apartment. She was a woman of sharp edges, of clean lines, and this space—this was not her world. Still, she didn’t flinch, didn’t complain. She simply moved on, moving through the space with a cool, controlled presence, trying her best to ignore how everything around her seemed to scream of a time when you hadn’t been with her yet.

The movers had arrived, and their footsteps echoed throughout the space as they began to carefully carry out what was left of your precious belongings. Their eyes darted toward Melissa from time to time, taking in her sharp presence, the way she stood at the center of everything, so sure of herself, of what she was doing. A few of them smiled shyly, though they quickly looked away when they saw her catching their gaze. She didn’t need to say a word for them to know they had overstepped.

The redheaded woman rolled her eyes, a quick, annoyed gesture that revealed just a flicker of the jealousy from you she couldn’t fully hide. The workers may have been just doing their job, but in her mind, they were eyeing what was hers—what she was taking from this place.

You noticed the way she stiffened, just for a second, as the movers continued with their work. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but you could see it—the subtle twitch of her jaw, the way her gaze flickered to the men as they worked. She didn’t want to let it show, but you knew. You knew how she felt, how protective she could be when it came to you.

Trying to focus on anything else, Melissa made her way to the bedroom, where a few old pieces of furniture remained. She didn’t even look at you as she moved, her attention fully absorbed by the task at hand. You followed her, a mix of apprehension and sorrow bubbling up in your chest as the space grew emptier with every passing minute.

In the bedroom, you caught sight of her rifling through a drawer, her fingers pausing on an old photograph—a relic from your past. It was a picture of you and an old friend from years ago. The friend had moved across the country long before you and Melissa Schemmenti had met, but the photo had stayed. You hadn’t been able to part with it, not yet.

Her gaze softened, but only for a moment. She held up the picture, her eyes scanning it as though deciding what to do with it. “This,” she said, her voice low but firm, “shouldn’t stay here.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “It’s just a stupid photo,” you whispered, though you could tell it wasn’t just a photo. It was a piece of your past, a reminder of someone you used to be.

Eyebrows were raised, a small but knowing smirk tugging at pink lips. “It’s your photo, mia amore. That makes it important.”

Melissa folded it up carefully and slipped it into her bag, her fingers brushing the edge of the picture one last time before she put it away. Her actions were so final, so deliberate, that it almost felt like she was closing a door on something you hadn’t been ready to let go of.

The poor movers, oblivious to the emotional undercurrent, continued to haul your things out of the apartment. You could hear the hum of their voices as they worked, but everything felt distant. The room was growing emptier, and you were reminded of how much you were leaving behind. It was more than just stuff, and you knew it, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to admit it.

“It’s just stuff,” you murmured under your breath, as though saying the words could somehow make them true.

But of course, your lover—if that was an appropriate title to call her and define the dynamic between you, caught the muttered words. She always did. Without hesitation, she rested her manicured hand on your shoulder, her touch firm and grounding. “It’s more than stuff,” she started, quieter, gentler. “But you don’t have to look back, cara mia. From now on, you’re with me.”

You didn’t need to say anything in response. The weight of her words, the certainty in her touch, was enough. You were leaving this place behind, but you weren’t leaving it alone.

The day had been exhausting, and by the time the two of you returned to Melissa Schemmenti’s penthouse, the weight of moving and memories had left a heavy quiet between you. Later that night, the faint aroma of freshly baked lasagna filled the minimalist kitchen that was two times larger than your old home. Melissa had insisted on cooking something decent on her own—she said it was her way of celebrating the move, of grounding you in your new home. You didn’t argue. After hours of packing, moving, and unpacking, you were too tired to do anything but sit back and let her take over. There were still a lot of things that needed packaging and organization but you didn't care about it now.

The lasagna, rich and comforting, was just the way you liked it—savory and hearty, with layers of cheese that melted perfectly against the meat sauce. It was a familiar dish, one of the first things your sugar mommy had ever made for you, and it brought with it a sense of home that was hard to ignore.

You took a bite, savoring the flavor as you leaned back in your chair, your legs stretched out lazily underneath the table. The beer bottles from the celebratory moment earlier sat empty on the counter, the buzz from the alcohol still humming in your veins. It was a bittersweet kind of celebration, both of excitement for the future and the sorrow of saying goodbye to so much of the past.

She sat across from you, her gaze sharp but soft, watching you intently. She had been unusually quiet, focused on you, on the way your lips curved with each bite of food, as though trying to keep you in the present moment, away from the ghosts of the past.

Speaking of her, Melissa was stunning tonight, though she didn’t seem to notice. Her auburn hair was swept back in a loose bun, strands escaping to frame her sharp features. She wore a casual button-up shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing just a hint of skin that you tried not to stare at too much. But the more you tried not to look, the harder it became.

Green eyes lingered on you as you took another bite, her fork paused mid-air like she’d forgotten about her own meal. There was a softness in her eyes, a kind of raw intensity that made your cheeks flush even in the dim light.

“What?” you asked, smiling nervously, the beer loosening your tongue.

Melissa set her fork down and leaned forward, her lips curling into that half-smirk that always made your stomach flip. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ how good you look tonight.”

You felt the heat rise to your face, and suddenly, the room felt too small, too warm. You reached for your glass, taking a sip to distract yourself, but her eyes stayed on you, unyielding and full of something deeper than admiration.

As the meal wound down, the silence between bites stretched into something heavier, something charged. At one point, you reached for your beer just as the older woman reached for her wine, your hands brushing briefly. It was nothing, just a simple touch, but it sent a spark through your veins, and you both froze for a moment, locked in place as if the whole air had been sucked out of the room.

“Uh. Lasagna’s good,” you said finally, your voice a little too loud, a little too shaky.

“Glad you think so. Made it special tonight.”

“For me?” you teased, but your voice came out softer, more vulnerable than you intended.

“For you,” she confirmed, her tone dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

And then, as if by some invisible force pulling you both together, she leaned over the table, her hand brushing against yours, her lips hovering just a breath away. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until she closed the distance, her mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was as soft as it was consuming.

The world melted away for a moment, the taste of her white wine and your beer mingling as her lips moved against yours, slow and hungry. There was a hesitation, though—an unspoken restraint that neither of you dared to break. She moaned softly when you bit her lower lip and in that fleeting second, something shifted in you. The desire swelled, overwhelming, but you held back, knowing how much you wanted this—needed this connection.

Your pulse raced, and you couldn't help but think how badly you wanted to make love to Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti right now, to let go of every lingering doubt, every hesitation. To feel her body pressed against yours in the way only she could make you feel—alive, consumed. But there was something else in the air tonight, something delicate that begged for patience, for a gentler pace.

Still, you couldn’t deny it. You wanted her. More than you could put into words.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, your eyes searching hers for some kind of confirmation, some kind of permission to let go of the tension that had been building all night.

But the redheaded woman cleared her throat, her cheeks flushed, and reached for her napkin. “You’re drunk,” she signed, steadier than she felt.

“I’m not that drunk,” you protested, though the heat in your cheeks and the slight slur in your words betrayed you.

Instead, Melissa laughed, but it was tight, her sharp fingernails drumming lightly on the table as if trying to distract herself. “We still have a lot to do tomorrow. Don’t get ahead of yourself, hon.”

You smiled, but there was something in her tone, something in the way her gaze flickered away from yours, that made you realize she was fighting the same urge you were. The desire hung heavy between you, unspoken but clear, and it took every ounce of willpower for both of you to let it lie, untouched, for now.

Later, as she helped you to the spare bedroom, your steps unsteady from the beer, she caught you looking at her with that same heated gaze, the one that had been following her all night. She shook her head, more to herself than to you, and muttered. “You’re a pain in my fuckin’ ass, you know that?”

“A pain in the ass in a good way?” you quip, your voice sleepy but still playful.

Melissa didn’t answer, just pulled the covers over you and brushed a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering for a moment too long. “Sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, baby.”

But as she lay beside you later that night for comfort, her thoughts refused to quiet. The kiss lingered in her mind, the taste of you, the feel of you so close but still just out of reach. She loved you—she was certain of that—but the weight of that realization was almost too much to bear.

Her heart raced as she stared at the ceiling, panic rising in her chest like a wave threatening to pull her under. Without thinking, she slipped out of bed, grabbing her coat and keys. She needed air. She needed clarity.

It wasn’t long before the Italian found herself standing outside Barbara Howard’s door, her hand hesitating before knocking. The quiet neighborhood seemed to hold its breath as she finally rapped her knuckles against the wood.

When her long time friend and confidant opened the wooden door, her kind eyes immediately softened. “Melissa?” she asked, gentle but curious. “It’s midnight. What on earth are you—”

“I—” She began, her voice cracking slightly. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I need to talk to you, B. I’m losing my freakin’ mind over here.”

Barb stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “Come on, then. Let’s figure this out, sweetheart.”

Melissa stepped inside, the weight of the night finally catching up to her as she sat down, her head in her hands. “I think I’m in over my head.” She sat on the worn but comfortable couch, her fingers gripping the edge of her coat. The familiar scent of lavender from Barbara’s diffuser filled the room, grounding her just enough to speak, though her voice came out strained and heavy.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, running a hand through her hair, which was messier than usual from the anxiety of the night.

Barbara, seated in her armchair with her legs crossed, leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped together. Her face was the picture of calm, a quiet invitation for her dear friend to take her time.

“I’m... I’m in this thing,” Melissa started, gesturing vaguely. “It started as a sugar mommy deal—an arrangement. She needed the money, I had the money. Simple, clean, no strings attached. But...” She paused, her throat tightening as she thought of your sweet, innocent face.

The brunette raised an eyebrow, her lips pursing slightly. “But?”

“But it didn’t stay that way. I thought I could keep it professional, y’know? Keep it about the money. But she’s... different. She’s smart, she’s funny, and she’s so damn stubborn sometimes it drives me nuts, but I can’t stop thinking about her. And suddenly I’m sitting, watching her eat lasagna, looking at me like I hung the moon, and I’m thinking, what the fuck am I doing?”

Barb let out a soft hum, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Melissa Schemmenti, I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve got a soft heart under all that bravado. What’s really bothering you?”

Melissa swallowed hard, her fingers tightening their grip on her coat. “It’s not just her. It’s everything. My family, the business... my ma. She’s getting worse.”

“Teresa?” the tone shifted, laced with quiet concern.

The redhead nodded, her jaw tightening. “Yeah. The dementia’s really setting in. Some days, she doesn’t even know who I am. And when she does, it’s not good, B. She’s mean, like always, but it’s different now. She’s confused, and it’s like... she’s still trying to control everything, even when she can’t remember why.”

“That must be hard, dear. For all of you.”

“It is,” Melissa admitted, breaking slightly. “And then there’s the rest of the family. You know the Schemmentis—always in each other’s business, always about the food, the reputation, the legacy. They act like I owe them something just because I’m the one who’s ‘made it.’” She threw up her hands in frustration. “And now, with Ma the way she is, they’re all looking at me like I’m supposed to fix everything. Like I’m the one who has to hold it all together.”

The eldest sighed deeply, her head shaking slowly. “Mel, that’s a lot to carry on your own.”

“That’s the thing, Barb. I’m not sure I can carry it. I’ve been trying to keep it together for so long, but it’s like... it’s all slipping through my fingers. And then there’s her—” Melissa stopped, her voice catching as she thought of you. “I promised her an escape. Lake Como, Italy. She’s never been, and I thought... I thought maybe if I could just get us out of here, away from all this mess, we could start over. Maybe I could have a life that’s just ours. But now, I don’t know if I can even make it happen. The family’s got their claws in everything. They’re watching my every move. I can’t breathe without them knowing.”

Barbara sat back in her chair, her lips pursed as she absorbed everything. “Melissa,” she said finally, her tone even but firm, “it sounds like you’re trying to be everything to everyone. That’s not sustainable.”

“I don’t have a choice!” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. She immediately softened, sighing heavily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to... It’s just—she’s the one good thing I’ve got right now, hun. And I’m terrified I’m gonna screw it up, just like everything else.”

The brunette leaned forward, resting a gentle hand on the poor woman’s knee. “You’re not screwing anything up. You’re human. But you can’t pour from an empty cup. If you’re going to make this work—with her, with your family, with yourself—you need to let someone help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Melissa stared at her for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not good at asking for help,” she sighed quietly.

“No, you’re not. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Red lips twitched into a reluctant smile, though her olive eyes were still heavy with emotion. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Barbara squeezed her knee gently before standing. “Let me make you some tea. You’re staying here tonight. You can’t fix everything in one night, sweetheart. But you can start by getting some rest.”

The redhead opened her mouth to protest, but her friend shot her a look that silenced her immediately. She leaned back into the couch with a sigh, letting the weight of the night settle as Barb moved to the kitchen. For the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she didn’t have to carry it all on her own.

Back to the penthouse as the first light of dawn streamed through the curtains, painting the room in hues of pale orange and gold, you stirred awake, groggy from the beers you’d indulged in the night before, your head heavy but your thoughts immediately searching for the precious redhead woman.

Rolling over in the massive bed, you frowned when you realized her side was empty. The sheets were cool to the touch, and a pang of unease prickled in your chest.

“Mel?” you called out, your voice raspy from sleep. No response.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you padded barefoot across the plush carpet, glancing around the penthouse. The space was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. You made your way to the living room just as the elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open.

Melissa stepped out, still in the same coat she’d left in last night, her red hair slightly disheveled and dark circles under her eyes. She stopped short when she saw you standing there, her expression shifting into something tender.

“Hey, what are you doin’ up?” she askedp as she dropped her keys on the console table.

You crossed the room without hesitation, wrapping your arms around her tightly. She froze for a second, surprised by the intensity of your hug, before her arms came around you, pulling you close. Her hands rested firmly against your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head.

“I woke up, and you weren’t here,” you whispered, muffled against her coat.

“I’m here now,” your sugar mommy said softly, her hand moving to stroke your messy hair. “Had some stuff to clear my head. That’s all.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your brows furrowed in concern. “Schemmenti..”

She silenced you with a small smile, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m fine. Promise. But how ‘bout we do somethin’ to start the day off right? What d’ya say we hit the pool?”

The suggestion made your lips curl into a faint smile. “The pool? Now?”

“Why not?” the older woman said, smirking slightly. “Sun’s comin’ up. It’s quiet. We’ll have it all to ourselves.”

The idea of floating in the serene water with her sounded perfect, so you nodded. “Okay. Let me grab my bikini.”

As you turned to head upstairs, Melissa’s hand casually drifted down to rest on your lower back. She let it slide lower as you walked ahead, her fingers deliberately brushing against your ass.

You gasped, glancing over your shoulder at her with a deadly glare. “Really?”

She shrugged, her smirk growing. “Just checkin’ the goods. What? I’m your sugar mommy, remember?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you hurried upstairs to change. Behind you, the redhead stood there for a moment, shaking her head with a grin she couldn’t suppress.

“Impossible,” she muttered fondly to herself before heading to the kitchen to grab towels for the two of you.

The pool glistened under the mid-morning sunlight, its surface a tranquil expanse of blue. You were sprawled out on a large inflatable float, lazily drifting across the water with a paperback in hand. The cover read The Price of Salt— the same book Melissa Schemmenti made fly on the floor like it was nothing and your voice carried softly across the quiet space as you read aloud.

“They were looking at each other, and it was as if someone had pulled a curtain back...” you trailed off, biting your lip as you processed the passage.

Melissa, lounging nearby with a glass of iced tea in hand, raised an eyebrow at you. “Let me guess,” she said dryly, “you’re gonna tell me this is like us.”

You smirked, lowering the book just enough to meet her gaze. “It is like us. Carol is sophisticated, gorgeous, a little intimidating... and Therese? She’s young, creative, figuring her life out. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

The forty-five year old snorted, taking a sip of her drink. “Yeah, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” you asked, already knowing she had some jab lined up.

“Therese probably knows how to swim.”

You scowled, sitting up slightly on the float. “I can swim. Kind of.”

Melissa rolled her eyes, setting her glass down and standing. She sauntered over to the edge of the pool, her hands on her hips as she looked down at you. “You can’t even dog paddle, bambi. What’re you gonna do in Lake Como? Sit in the boat lookin’ pretty while I do all the work?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you refused to back down. “Maybe I’ll just stay on the shore. Ever think of that?”

“Not a chance. I’m not takin’ you all the way to Italy just for you to stay dry.” She stepped down into the water, wading over to you with a determined glint in her eye.

“What are you doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as she reached you.

“Teachin’ you how to float,” the redhead woman said simply, placing her hands on the float to steady it.

You groaned, setting your book aside. “Lis, I’m fine like this.”

“Nope. You’re not gettin’ outta this one,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. With a swift motion, she tipped the float just enough to slide you gently into the water. You shrieked, splashing as you flailed instinctively.

“What the—Fuck?! This is insane!” you screamed, your grip on the float tightening as your heart pounded faster. The unfamiliar sensation of the water surrounding you made your chest tighten with anxiety. “I swear, I’m gonna die from this. I’ll drown, and it’ll be your fault.”

“Relax!” Melissa was surprisingly calm, her hands immediately finding your waist to steady you. “I got you.”

You glared at her, water dripping down your face. “You tipped me on purpose!”

“Yeah, and you’re fine,” she said, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Now lean back.”

You hesitated, your body tense, but Melissa’s hands remained firm and reassuring on your waist. Slowly, you let her guide you, your back arching as you tried to relax against the water.

“There you go. See? The water’s holdin’ you up. Nothin’ to be scared of.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your body finally starting to trust the water. The woman’s hands lingered, one slipping to the small of your back while the other rested just beneath your shoulders.

“Good girl.”

The tension between you shifted, growing heavier as you became acutely aware of how close she was. Her hands, her gaze, the way her lips parted slightly as she watched you—it was overwhelming.

“You’re really close,” you whispered, though you made no move to pull away.

The smirk returned, softer this time. “I am.”

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, like she had all the time in the world. The coolness of the water contrasted with the heat of her mouth, sending a shiver down your spine. You reached up, your fingers tangling in her wet hair as you kissed her back, the float forgotten as you lost yourself in her touch.

The kiss lingered for a moment longer, your breaths mingling in the warm air above the cool water. When Melissa finally pulled back, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander as you floated there, still half-cradled in her arms. The wet fabric of her sleek black one-piece clung to her in all the right places, leaving very little to the imagination.

It wasn’t until your gaze traveled upward that you noticed the way her nipples had hardened beneath the thin material, the chill of the water making itself known.

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing despite the casual intimacy you shared with her. “You, uh…”

Melissa raised a brow, clearly catching your drift as her eyes followed yours downward. A subtle smirk crept across her face. “You starin’, principessa?”

You sputtered, turning your head away as a nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “No! I wasn’t—well, maybe a little. But it’s your fault for looking like that!”

She chuckles. “Oh, looking like that, huh? What’re you gonna do about it?”

You glanced back at her, your face warm but your bratty instincts kicking in. “Well, maybe I won’t let you teach me to swim after all,” you said with mock defiance, crossing your arms over your chest as best you could while floating.

Melissa’s dark expression deepened, her grip on your waist tightening just enough to pull you closer. “Oh, you’re not gettin’ outta this,” she murmured, her voice dipping into a husky tone that sent a warm sensation down your legs. “And don’t think I didn’t notice where your eyes were. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You laughed, your body relaxing in her hold despite the flutter of nerves and desire that coursed through you. “You’re the bitch teasing me,” you muttered, though your tone lacked any real annoyance.

“Teasing you?” she repeated, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke. “I think you’ve got it backward, sweetheart.”

The way her voice dropped sent heat pooling low in your belly, and you had to fight the urge to wrap yourself around her right there in the water. But as her hands slid over your waist again, steadying you, you couldn’t help the way your body leaned into hers.

The tension between you crackled, but Melissa finally let out a soft sigh, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “Alright, brat. Let’s focus. Lake Como isn’t gonna wait forever, and I’m not lettin’ you drown when we get there.”

Her words brought you back to reality, though the warmth of her touch lingered. You nodded, trying to steady yourself, even as your heart raced. “Fine. But if I get this right, you owe me.”

“Trust me, you’ll get your reward soon enough.”

(Next Chapter.)

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x y/n #lisa ann walter #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction

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shxxxbi · 3 months ago

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EVERYTHING THAT WASN'T INCLUDED IN LOVE SEA THE SERIES 🌊

Episode 4 (Chapters: 12 - 14)

<-prev

Breaking a promise

Rak felt like shit here. He had called Mook to extend his stay but his secretary had refused sternly; so after Mut spent two nights pleading for him to stay, Rak tried to find an excuse to keep his promise. He considered telling his secretary that the manuscript wasn't finished, that he needed more time, even considered telling her all the boats had sunk and it was impossible for him to go back to the mainland. But in the end, he had no choice but to admit defeat. He felt terrible for breaking his promise to Mut, meanwhile the younger boy appeared almost unfazed. His face was "just the usual, totally normal one, with the usual smile and the same look. Not a hint of regret."

"If he didn't care, then why would I?"

So Rak picked up his phone and transfered Mut the money for "his services". Now more than ever, Tongrak was convinced that all that had happened between them was just sex. Mut sold his service and Rak had bought it. Nothing he hadn't already done before with other people...

...yet, Rak had "never felt this hollow"

How much would it cost for you to go to Bangkok with me?

That hollow feeling in Rak's chest kept expanding. Memories of the time spent together with Mut flashed through his mind until a sudden warmth urged him to move. Tongrak was confident in his decision, in asking Mut to go with him. However, he still insisted that what he was feeling was not love. That it was just personal pleasure. And if he could afford it, what was the problem?

"The guy sold his service anyway. Right?"

WHAT!!!??

She didn't like this man at all. That's what Mook kept telling herself when she saw the man her boss had brought back with him. He made her feel "as tiny as an ant". Mook had screamed so loud upon hearing what Rak had done, that the airport staff almost came over to ask what was wrong.

"Brought back, as in purchasing?! Are people buying and selling men now?!"

I don't trust you

Mook wanted to back down the moment she met eyes with Mut. She wasn't familiar with men at all, the only men she was close with were her family members and Rak. Mut intimidated her, with his big body and his dark and scary face, so much so it made her want to cry. But no one could be trusted this days, what if this man assaulted Rak? What if he stabbed her boss with a knife in his sleep?

"She had to protect Rak!"

Mut, on the other hand, found her amusing. She was so small, he could "probably blow her away with a puff". But he was never one to bully someone weaker, so he turned to Rak.

"What should i do? If I show respect, she won't back down. But if you tell me to handle her, this little lady won't stand a chance."

Little Trivia: Rak's house

Contrary to the show, Rak's house is on the 27th floor of a very luxurious condo complex in the heart of Bangkok. It has 3 bedrooms, with the main one featuring a large wall window that offered a wonderful view of the bustling streets below. As for the other two bedrooms, one is a guest bedroom and the other one a study crammed with books. As for the kitchen, it is entirely made of Italian marble and has, basically, never been used.

Bro, are you crazy?!

This phone call actually happens after Rak and Mook have already set off to work. Mook had been waiting outside the door to Rak's house as soon as the sun was up, too terrified to enter on her own and find the two men fucking in the living room, so she waited for Mut to let her in. After the secretary and her boss had left, Mut gets a call from Palm. The younger boy kept shouting and calling him crazy, but Mut knew very well what he was doing. Many people would describe him as very mature for his age, but Mut knew he still tended to act childish at times. Just like he had done now. Following a man to the mainland with no plan whatsoever, simply because he was unwilling to let him go. Mahasamut knew that their paths would most likely never cross again, this was the only opportunity he had to keep Tongrak close. And he would not let it go.

Little Trivia pt.2: Mahasamut's age

Mut's age is never explicitly confirmed in the novel, however thanks to Khom we can figure it out. In "Love Sand", the story of Khom and Connor meeting and falling in love takes place when Khom is 19 years old. Many characters of Love Sea appear as side characters, including Palm and Mut. Palm is described as a boy around 17 years old, while Mut is "a few years older than him and around Khom's age". Fast forward to Love Sea (that chronologically takes place a while after the events of Love Sand), Mut describes Khom as his "younger close friend and brother". Also, in the prologue of Love Sea, Tongrak tells us that Khom is a decade younger than him. Since Rak is about to turn 31 and the two boys are around the same age, with Mut being apparently slightly older, Mahasamut should be around 21-22 years old, making the age gap between Mutrak around 9 or 10 years!

DISCLAIMER🚨: I have not read Love Sand, all the infos I have written come from people I know that have read it. Therefore, I apologize if something is incorrect🙇🏽‍♀️

Can you read the report and understand it?

Fortunately for Mook, Mahasamut had decided to go to the hospital alone and not drag her along. Said report was currently being examined by Tongrak and poor Mook couldn't help but wonder why her boss was smiling like that. How could a report make him so happy? She didn't understand anything of what was written, she didn't know a thing about STDs. How could she, she had never even had sex with anyone. Her confusion faded when Mahasamut explained he was clean, only to be quickly replaced by embarrassment at his next words.

"Maybe next time we can skip the rubber. I promise I'll pull out"

Yet, nothing could prepare her for Rak's answer

"Who said you have to?"

Mut kept teasing Mook for a while after that, while Rak observed them in the distance

"They get along very well. This is nice. The room isn't quiet anymore."

What if I say I won't agree to it?

Mut read the contents of the contract: Tongrak would provide him sixty thousand bahts monthly as compensation and cover all of his living expenses, including housing, food and even education, if he wished to pursue it. However, Mut had obligations as well: not disturbing Rak during working hours, not doing anything Tongrak disliked and, most of all, their relationship would end immediately at the writer's discretion. There was no love, nor commitment included. Mahasamut had to supress a growl in his throat. He disliked what Rak was doing, disliked how he was treating their relationship as if there was nothing but sex between them, nothing but money. But he knew this was the only opportunity he had to get close to Tongrak and he couldn't let it slip away, even if he wouldn't have much time. So, all he could do was clench his fists and hide his thoughts with a perfectly fine smile.

So, you're saying you can love me, Khun Tongrak?

Being very fair-skinned, when all his blood rushed to his face, Rak easily turned a bright red that let everyone know he was blushing. And Mut's words had him blushing hard. Tongrak had experienced every kind of flirtation imaginable from both men and women, but just a few words from Mut were enough to leave him speechless. Had the younger boy not read the contract? Had he not realized there was no emotional attachment between them, only money? How could he be so brazen in asking for love? But, most of all, why the hell did Rak's heart skip a beat?!

Vivi was very impressed by the island boy. She knew there must have been something special between them if Rak had brought him home; just as she knew how much her friend deeply craved for someone's love, even if he refused to admit it.

"You can just call me Vi, no prefix needed. And if Rak ever dumps you, just come to Big Sis. I like you."

"That might be difficult," Mut declined, "I won't let myself get dumped so easily"

And Mahasamut had never been more serious. He wouldn't let Tongrak drift away from him.

"I didn't say you could come in" "But you didn't say I couldn't come in either"

Here Mut actually enters Rak's room and sits on his bed, while the older man is busy playing on his phone. Unable to ignore Mut's gaze any longer, Rak put his phone down and looked up at him.

"That's better. Didn't anyone tell you that when you talk, you should make eye contact with the person you're talking to?"

Finally they talk about the contract, about their conversation downstairs and about how Rak doesn't believe in love, and this all but puts a sad smile on Mut's face. So, the younger boy reaches out to hold Rak's hand and intertwine their fingers.

"I know you don't believe in love, but I never said that I don't [...], you can't stop me from loving you."

Tongrak was at a loss for words. Confusion was written all over his face. He had never dealt with a situation like this before. He had never met anyone who said they'd love him.

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻

THIS. THIS IS THE MOMENT I HAD BEEN WAITING FOR.

In the novel, this does NOT happen. Or, better said, it is not a kiss on the lips. It's a kiss on Rak's temple. Now, why am i putting so much emphasis on this, you might be asking. I think this is another masterpiece of improv by our ship captain Khun Thitipong. In the novel, there is A LOT of emphasis on the fact that Mut desperately wanted to kiss Rak's lips but, since he had just made a very important speech about pursuing Rak and making him change his mind about love, Mahasamut decided that he couldn't give in to his desire. He wanted the words he had just said to embed themselves in Rak's heart. To make Rak think about him, about them, as more than just what happens in bed, and that is something that would take time. So kissing his lips had to wait. Now, after making this such a big thing, I don't think Mame would just suddenly change her mind for the show. Therefore, if 1+1 is 2 and the shit-eating grin on Fort's face and Peat's eyes are anything to go by, I assume Thitiwhipped decided to take matters into his own hands. Also, it seems Peat hinted at this himself in the reaction video for episode 4: after watching the kiss scene, Peat himself asks Fort if the kiss was scripted or just his improvisation.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk 🫳🏽🎤

#I HAVE RECOVERED #worst experience of my fucking life #but we're cool we're fine we're coping #love sea the series #love sea #fortpeat #mutrak #fort thitipong #peat wasuthorn #khaimook #vivie #vimook #chanyaaya

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eyedealiving · 10 months ago

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leadingmarblecompanyinindia · 20 days ago

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whimsimille · 7 months ago

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VACANT ROOM

Lee Dong Wook x fem! reader

"My dear, could you perhaps verify it one more time?" You asked, mustering the most charming smile you could manage in the face of the disinterested and nonchalant receptionist, who seemed more interested in her nails than her job. "I find it incredibly hard to believe that a reputable company like Starship would commit such a glaring oversight."

At half past midnight, the hotel was teeming with actors, singers and idols. Positioned in the center of the lobby, the luxurious building housing the assistant's desk was where you were standing. The interior exuded an atmosphere of old-world elegance, with polished marble floors, ornate chandeliers, and plush velvet drapes adorning the walls. Soft candlelight cast a warm glow over the dining room, illuminating tables adorned with crisp white linens and sparkling silverware.

Guests, dressed in their finest designer attire, mingled and conversed in hushed tones in the grand ballroom. Their quiet laughter pierced the air, merging in perfectly with the sweet notes of a Mozart sonata that drifted from the grand piano in the corner, played by a virtuoso whose fingers moved like dancers across the keys.

"I regret to inform you, ma'am," she retorted, her eyes barely leaving the glossy pages of an article about the latest trends in Seoul's fashion week. "But your company specifically requested a grand suite with a panoramic view spanning across the sea, located on the 16th floor. One king-sized bed, presumably for you and Mr. Lee Dong Wook."

"But that can't be right! There must be some kind of mix-up." Instant panic set in, your pulse going haywire as images swarmed in your mind—you sharing close quarters with him—definitely not on your wish list.

With an exaggerated sigh, she ditched her magazine and leveled her gaze at you for the first time since this little chit-chat commenced. “I assure you, there is no mistake. Everything has been arranged as per the request we received. The company was very explicit about the arrangements."

"Explicit about throwing me into a room with my ex-husband? That doesn't seem like a professional request."

"That's not for me to comment on, ma'am," she replied curtly, picking up her magazine again. "My job is to ensure our guests have the best experience. If you have a problem with your arrangements, I suggest you take it up with your company."

"But that's... it's... preposterous!" you stammered, feeling the blood drain from your face. "There must be some way to rectify...”

"I'm afraid all other rooms are fully booked. Perhaps you could address your grievances with your company, ma'am.”

"Aish…"

You turned your head to the side, spotting Dong Wook standing in the doorway of the lobby, dressed in a new, crisp navy blue suit with trousers tailored to his frame, complete with a matching tie and polished leather shoes. God, he had become insufferable since he discovered fabrics imported from Milan. This was where all the money had been going before the divorce.

Crushing the last of his half-smoked cigarette under the heel of his polished Italian leather shoes, he looked down and saw the flickering neon sign from the hotel entrance reflected in the trail of smoke.

"What the fuck is going on?”

“You ought to watch the language you use, old man,” you retorted, your thumb and index finger nervously smoothing out creases from the Chanel dress handpicked for the company's decadent birthday celebration held at this isolated high-end dwelling. “Prayers should dominate your vocabulary rather than swear words at this stage in life.”

His sharp gaze turned to you, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath his usually calm exterior.

Unmoved or maybe portraying so, you played along, “Just stating the obvious.”

A dismissive snort escaped him as he ran his hand irritatedly through otherwise meticulously groomed locks. “And if I don’t?”

You rolled your eyes, masking the unease creeping into your voice. "Then you'll just be an old man with a foul mouth, won't you? A grumpy, divorced, aging actor with nothing but a string of B-list movies to his name?"

"Better than being a frustrated little girl who got pissed by losing an award to me,” he retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm and a bitter bite. "A little girl who can't accept that she's not the best and that someone else could actually outshine her brilliant talent."

A sharp retort tipped the tip of your tongue as you hesitated, but you swallowed it down, heart palpitating. If only the hotel was closer to your home, you'd escape this uncomfortable situation. You'd rather risk wandering down a dark, unfamiliar alley at midnight than share a room with your ex. But you were stuck here, trapped in this ostentatious lobby, miles away from any familiar comfort, forced to face whatever the night would bring.

"Can't you sleep in the same bedroom as your best friend? You two are usually tied by the hip, practically inseparable at every social event," You taunted, eyes glinting under the harsh lobby lights.

“Gong Yoo has a wife and you know it. And I'm not about to impose on their space. What about you? Don't you have other friends that came other than scripts and books? Or did they all get scared off by your charming personality?”

“Oh, you better bet that I'm charming. Maybe that's why our daughter decided to stay with me.”

Before he could respond, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, the woman at the desk cleared her throat, extending a key towards the two of you with a look of forced patience. "I believe this is what you two are fighting over, correct? Perhaps you could decide who gets the bed and who gets the sofa without causing a scene in the lobby?"

You took the key from the receptionist's hand with an exaggerated sigh, turning it over in your fingers. The weight of it felt heavy in your palm, like a lead boulder pulling you down into the pit of despair.

“Yes, of course. Thank you so much; your help was really indispensable.”

Turning back to face Lee Dong Wook, you could barely contain your humiliation as he stood stoically by your side, staring out at the dark ocean beyond the hotel's glass walls. Along with the sound of the ice cubes in his drink and the scent of his expensive cologne, the lobby was filled with the sound of the waves crashing against the coast. You couldn't help but wrinkle your nose at the cloying smell that reminded you too much of your past.

"I suppose we have no choice but to make do," you said finally, motioning for him to follow you towards the elevators.

As he settled into step beside you, the click-clack of your high heels on the marble floor created an odd harmony with his steady gait.

It was almost impossible not to gag at the stale, rich smell of warm metal and coffee that pervaded the elevator. Pressing the button for the sixteenth floor, you peered up at the metal ceiling.

A few seconds later, the doors opened with a soft hiss and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, feeling Lee Dong Wook's hot breath on your neck. He seemed to be waiting for you to take the lead, as if this were some kind of game, a cat-and-mouse chase that you just couldn't seem to win.

Swallowing hard, you walked ahead to the suite number indicated by the keycard.

When you finally turned the handle and pushed open the door, you found yourself face-to-face with an opulent display of luxury: plush red and gold carpets underfoot; crisp white linen tablecloths adorning an ornate dining table; fluffy duvets piled high on a king-sized bed; and a decadent bathroom beyond.

It was too much like the honeymoon suite he'd gotten you when you were still married, and your heart skipped a beat as it registered.

Butterflies filled your stomach as you set your luggage down on one of the side tables.

You turned around to face Lee Dong Wook, who was standing in the doorway, watching your every move intently, reminding you of the way Yeosin would look at you when she was planning a prank.

Well, she was his mini version after all.

You held your breath as he stepped inside, taking in his tall frame and perfect nose.

He took a deep breath before reaching up to his necktie and loosening it ever so slightly. "It's going to be a long night," he muttered under his breath as he moved closer towards the window, pulling back one of the heavy curtains to let the cool sea air and the sound of waves splashing against the shore gently lap at his face.

"I'll take the couch. It's not like I haven't endured worse accommodations while filming on location.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, an all-too-familiar gesture. “You have had back pains all the time since giving birth to Yeosin.”

“I don’t," you snapped back immediately, an automatic response honed by years of bickering.

“Yes, you do," he insisted, his tone softening. "I may not have been around recently, but I do remember. You’d wince every time you thought I wasn’t looking. But if you want to play the stubborn card here, if it makes you feel stronger, be my guest. In the meantime, you can freshen up. I'll make a makeshift bed for you, kid.”

There you stood, in the silence that followed, absorbing the sight of him.

It wasn't fair, an inner voice protested, as you took in the jawline you had kissed and nibbled countless times, the tantalizing constellations formed by the moles adorning his neck, each one a landmark you could identify even with your eyes closed, like a child eager to please and win a candy.

In the end, it wasn't fair that he could still find his way into your heart, the way a worshiper finds their way into a long-abandoned cathedral, kneeling in reverence among the dust and the decay, and still find it holy, still find it beautiful that there’s a vacant room waiting for him to lay his head.

He was the prodigal son returning to the home he once renounced, and you? You were the father left to wonder if welcoming him back was a show of futility or a sign of welcomeness.

"You always were stubborn," you retaliated, folding your arms across your chest. "Always thinking you knew best. Well, I'm not that same naive 23 year old girl you married. I can take care of myself.”

“Stop it. I have a headache right now.”

"You were always quick to jump in and play the hero, weren't you? But this isn't a drama, Dong Wook. There's no director yelling cut, no script to guide us. This is real life. And in real life, I don't need you to save me."

"I never asked to be your hero," he retorted, the quietness of his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And I never wanted to be one. I just wanted to be there for you. But you always made it so damn hard."

Frustration bubbled inside you, "You think I made it hard? You were the one who walked away. You were the one who gave up on us."

“She’s only six,” he countered weakly. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening.”

“You’d be surprised, Lee. Kids are smart. They pick up on more than we give them credit for. She knows something’s wrong. She misses her father. She misses us being a family.”

As the words left your mouth, you could see a flicker of pain cross his eyes. But you didn't care. You were too angry, too hurt to care about his feelings.

With a huff, you turned on your heel, leaving him alone in the bedroom. As you slammed the door shut, the metal clanged loudly against the wall, echoing through the otherwise silent room. You hear the latch click into place, sealing you inside the small, enclosed space.

The bathroom was spacious and modern, with a luxurious glass-enclosed shower stall and his-and-hers sinks.

Before you was the daunting task of turning on the water to run a hot bath. The faucet gave a small shudder, like a beast waking from slumber, as it sputtered to life, filling the room with the biting smell of chlorine and the comforting warmth of hot steam. A bottle of expensive shampoo, perhaps a gift from one of his many sponsors, sat on the vanity counter. You uncapped it, and its scent—a tantalizing blend of jasmine and sandalwood—tickled your nose as you sniffed it slightly.

The room began to mist up as your fingers fumbled at the buttons on your dress as if they had a mind of their own, desperate to get out of this suffocating fabric that reminded you too much of happier times when he'd slide them down your spine slowly and carefully, making you gasp under the cover of darkness.

Heat flooded your cheeks, remembering how those fingers had once traced your entire body—the pulse point at your wrist, where his wedding ring used to be, now replaced by a thin silver band around your third finger.

Stepping into the tub, the water was scalding hot—almost too hot to touch—but you reveled in it nonetheless.

As you slipped into the tub until it was almost full, feeling it lap at your neck and shoulders, you let out a long sigh of relief.

Closing your eyes, you breathed heavily as you began to scrub the last few days off yourself.

Memories flooded back—years' worth of memories that had led up to this moment: the late-night movie marathons where you both would cuddle on the couch, the way he would laugh at your comical impersonations of movie characters, the way he would always keep the last slice of pizza for you, the way he would read bedtime stories to your daughter, his voice imitating various characters, making her giggle. You remembered his bright smile when your daughter took her first step, his eyes filled with tears of joy, the proud look on his face when she called him 'Daddy' for the first time.

But alongside the sweet memories, the bitter ones also found their way: the arguments that lasted till dawn, the slamming of doors, the sound of shattering glass, and the cold silence that followed. You remembered the canceled family trips due to his sudden shooting schedules, the forgotten birthdays and anniversaries, the vacant spot beside you in bed getting colder each day, late-night calls from agents about last-minute script changes, and sleepless nights spent worrying about Yeosin while he was off filming some romantic comedy filled with clichés and air kisses towards irrelevant starlets.

You scrubbed until your skin began to redden and sting from the heat, until all that was left was residual anger and resentment. Then you climbed out carefully, reaching for the plush white towel hanging on a stainless steel rack.

After drying off, you slipped into your silk pajamas and brushed your teeth with Totoro’s brush, the one Yeosin insisted on bringing so that you could remember her while she stayed with her Nana.

Stepping back into the suite, you expected to see Dong Wook, but he was nowhere in sight. The room was empty, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of voices from the television.

You walked towards the window, peering out into the darkness. The moon was a thin crescent in the night sky, casting a faint glow over the sea. Lee was probably out there, taking one of his late-night walks along the beach, letting the cool sea breeze clear his mind.

Turning around, you noticed the makeshift bed he had prepared on the couch. The cushions were arranged neatly, with a soft blanket folded at one end and a pillow with a fresh case. Beside it, there was a small side table with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers—for your bruised ankles and sore legs, no doubt. Despite everything, Dong Wook was still considerate.

You walked over to the couch, running your fingers over the soft fabric. It wasn't a king-sized bed, but it would do.

Lowering yourself onto the couch, you winced slightly, feeling the day's exertion catch up with you.

You slowly stretched out your legs, trying to find a comfortable position. As you did so, you could feel the soreness in your muscles easing slightly.

Curling up on the couch, you wrapped the blanket around yourself, pulling it up to your chin.

Lying there, you found yourself mimicking Yeosin's favorite position—curled up like a small ball, waiting for her father to come home and pick her up. It was a bittersweet feeling, a reminder of the simpler times, when the lines between work and personal life hadn't blurred, when the word 'divorce' hadn't been a part of your vocabulary.

As you closed your eyes, the events of the day replayed in your mind: the party where he'd been eyed by other women, the looks he gave you when you seemed more interested in your Champaign than his speech, the receptionist's words, the look on his face, the tense silence in the elevator. But despite the turmoil, you felt a strange sense of calmness. Maybe it was the fatigue, or maybe it was the realization that you could handle whatever life threw at you.

With that thought, you slowly drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of the sea lulling you into a deep, peaceful slumber.

-------------------------------------------------

As the first rays of dawn creeped in through the slats of the blinds, you stirred from your sleep.

Slowly blinking your eyes open, you adjusted to the soft morning light, feeling something different.

Under you was not the stiff fabric of the couch, but something softer, more yielding. You didn't know when or why, but here you are, in the king sized bed that was supposed to be Dong Wook’s.

Confusion clouded your sleep-laden mind as you tried to piece together the puzzle and heat hushed to your cheeks as you felt something nuzzling your neck, the soft sensation making you bite back a groan.

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence between your legs, a muscular thigh that was solid yet comforting. It took a moment for you to register the protective arm draped securely around your waist, pulling you closer against a firm, muscled chest.

"Wha--?" you started, your voice cracking as surprise jolted you fully awake.

Before you could react, a chill coursed through you as your shirt was ridden up, an audacious hand slipping underneath to splay across your bare skin.

"Shh, it's just me, baby," a deep voice whispered in your exposed left breast before sucking it into his mouth softly, tugging at the pink flesh with his teeth while rolling the other hardened nub between his fingers.

As he slid down even further, his tongue softly licking the valley between before finding its way into your cleavage, your mind reeled from the situation. You gasped at the feeling of his cool tongue tracing circles around the right nipple, tickling it lightly as it hardened even more under his touch.

Your hand instinctively reached up, fingers tangling in the soft strands of hair. It was familiar—too familiar. The scent of sandalwood and sea salt filled your senses—a scent you had known for years, a scent that brought back a flood of memories, reminding you of all the times he had made love to you on a beach house's balcony after one of his late-night strolls along the shore.

"Dong Wook…” you breathed out, the sound more like a plea than anything else. The name felt foreign on your tongue after so long, tasting bitter and sweet at the same time.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, his voice a soothing hum in the quiet room. "I missed you."

"I--I don't know what to say," you stammered, your mind reeling from the sudden turn of events.

"Just relax. All you have to do is open up those pretty legs and let me fuck this pussy once again.”

His tongue found its way into your mouth; you tasted the remnants of the Merlot from last night. You sucked on it eagerly, feeling him groan softly as he pushed deeper into your throat.

Hungry. You were hungry for him, starved for this intimacy that had been denied to you for too long.

You couldn't believe it—this was Lee Dong Wook, the man who had once claimed not to know how to please a woman properly, who had once slept with dozens of nameless starlets and models just to forget your name.

Letting go of your lips, his head found its way into your neck and his hand slid further up, pressing against the mound hidden by your silk pajamas.

You didn't trust yourself enough to speak, fearing your voice would betray the growing need twisting inside you. Instead, you responded by parting your legs slightly, granting him access to your cunt.

Expertly unbuttoning your pajamas with his other hand, Dong Wook spread the fabric apart, revealing all of you to his hungry gaze.

Your pussy glistened in the dim light, a testament to the tangible evidence of your arousal. He swept away your slit with one broad thumb, gathering slick and marveling at how wet and ready you were for him.

"That's my good girl.”

Unable to resist any longer, he dipped two fingers into your slick folds while his thumb continued its sensual assault on your swollen nub. Pleasure started to unfold in waves of white heat, and the combination made you utter moans.

With a devilish smirk, he withdrew his hand and brought it up to his mouth, sucking on one finger.

"Fuck, you're so wet and sweet for me, honey. Tell me, didn't any of your flings with those little boys in the set make you cum like I used to? Or were they so young that the only things they observed were these lovely curves and a treat for their hands?

His words stung, but the ache between your legs pulsed with need, completely drowning out any traces of regret.

In the haze of his touch, you were lost. It was obvious that you ought to halt him, shoo him away, and remind him of what he had done to you—severing all ties, abandoning you while he toured the globe filming and failed to remember you existed.

But the truth was that you missed him, missed the sensations his mouth could create in your mouth, and missed the way his hands could change from being rough to being gentle in an instant.

“Shut up, Lee.”

There it was, the opening salvo of a fight, but he ignored it, knowing that once you got past this hurdle, you would be his again.

He rewarded your honesty with a devilish grin before sliding his hand back between your legs, slipping his fingers deeper inside you. "Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty girl," he murmured against your skin before pressing his index and middle fingers deeper, crooking them to find your g-spot with practiced ease. “I guess I'm the only one who teaches nice manners to our daughter, huh?”

You moaned long and low, bucking against him. Your whole body felt like it was shivering underneath the touch, like a fever dream that turned into reality.

"Drop this shit before I decide to leave you with a purple dick."

"Calm down, darling… I'm just playing with you, hum?"

He pushed you down into the mattress then, holding your hips in place as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you in a rhythm that had your body trembling with need.

You could feel the bed squeaking beneath you as you arched into him, craving more contact as he thrust faster and harder into your pussy, sliding off on to his fingers as if they were a big, thick dick.

It was perfect; it hurt and felt amazing at the same time.

“Jesus…”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it, betraying how much you needed him inside of you again.

"Yeah, that's it. Just take it," he encouraged, watching with dark eyes as you moaned his name while his fingers plunged deeper into your slick folds, finding that spot that always made you come apart.

"You need this; you need me."

He was right. You did need him in this moment, in this bed, even if it was wrong and twisted. You needed him to make you forget everything else—the cameras flashing, the public scrutiny, the anger. He'd always been good at distracting you from all that.

"Oh, fuck," you moan into the pillow, feeling the pleasure coiling inside you like a snake ready to strike. Your wetness pours down his hand and fingertips before it drips onto the comforter beneath you.

You open your eyes to look at him, seeing how he bites his lip in concentration as he works you open with his fingers, tongue and teeth. His dick twitches against your leg, eager and ready. There's no one else who can make you feel this way; there's no one else who could make love to your body with such precision even after all these years apart.

"Squirt for me, baby. I know you can, hum? Like old times.”

“I… I can't…” you whimper, but he doesn't let up.

“Shhhh, baby… Come on, you can let it out. Soak me. Soak the sheets. Show me how much you want me.” He urges, his words acting like a spell, pushing you further towards the edge.

His fingers worked faster, his thumb pressing down on your clit in relentless circles while his other hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave a mark. His other hand slides up to your throat, fingers closing around it lightly, the threat of pressure making your pulse race even faster.

Overwhelmed, you felt yourself let go, your walls clenching around his fingers as a rush of warmth gushed out of you. Your body arched as you squirted, your release soaking both his hand and the sheets beneath you.

“Dong Wook!" you scream, the words echoing in the room as you come apart under his touch.

The sensation was too much; your body was sensitive and overstimulated. You whimpered, but his fingers didn't relent, continuing to stroke your swollen nub even as your body twitched and shuddered.

As you came down from your high, your mind felt foggy, and your body was limp. The surroundings softened into a comforting mist as you sank deeper into subspace. But he wasn't done yet.

Even as your body begged for a reprieve, he moved over you, his body pressing down on yours as he positioned himself at your slit.

“W-What are you doing?” You ask, your voice weak and shaky.

“What do you think, wifey? I'm going to pound into you until you're begging for mercy. Going to fill you up so good, you'll be begging me for another baby. Want to give Yeosin a baby brother. Want to make a little version of me for her to play with. Can you imagine our son running around the house, causing trouble just like his father? But first...” he trails off, the hand on your throat, applying such pressure that dark spots form behind your eyelashes.

“First, I'm going to fuck you senseless."

Suddenly, your phone rings, the sound piercing the silence like a gunshot. You glance at the caller ID and see Gong Yoo's wife, Ji-Eun, name flashing on the screen.

Well, he'd have to wait then.

"Dong Wook, it's Ji-Eun," you try to protest, but he ignores you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Let it ring. She can wait," he growls, and before you can protest further, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt inside your wet heat.

But the ringing never stops.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four calls.

With a sigh, Dong Wook grabs your phone from the bedside table, places it on the pillow next to you and answers.

Before the line could finally connect, he changes positions, seating himself against the headboard with you straddled in his lap. Your breasts bounce with every single movement, and soft moans spill from your mouth as he continues to thrust into you.

"Hello?" He breathes into the phone, his voice steady as if he isn't buried deep inside you. His free hand grips your hip, guiding you up and down his length at a relentless pace while he talks to Gong Yoo's wife, Ji-Eun.

"Dong Wook, what the hell were you thinking?" She scolds from the other end of the line. "You can't just arrange for you and your ex-wife to share a room, no matter how many strings you pull!"

Dong Wook chuckles lowly. “Well, it seems our plan worked perfectly then," he murmurs in your ear, his warm breath fanning over your skin. His words surprise you, making you pause.

He planned this?

Ignoring your shocked expression, he continues his conversation. "Listen, I appreciate your concern, Ji-Eun, but there's no need to go yelling at the manager or looking for another room. We're adults; we can handle this." He punctuates his words with a particularly harsh lift of his hips, ripping a breathy moan from your throat.

Meanwhile, Ji-Eun continues her rambling, her words becoming background noise as you frown, scratching his shoulders and trying not to lose your shit. It would be humilliating coming all over his dick only from seeing it poking your belly.

Suddenly, Dong Wook pulls the phone away from his ear, offering it to you. "I think she wants to talk to you," he murmurs, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he kisses your nose.

You glare at him, about to protest, but his hand encircles your bruised neck again, making you relent.

With a huff, you take the phone, pressing it to your ear as you try to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

Dong Wook smirks, his hand dropping to join the other on your hips, guiding you up and down his length like a well-used doll again.

This man is the devil.

"Oh, thank God, you're there, honey." The older woman exclaimed, relief evident in her voice. "I was worried about you! I'm on my way to your room now. We need to sort this out."

Panic set in; the last thing you wanted was for her to see you in this compromising position. You had to dissuade her.

"No, wait! You don't need to do that. We're handling it. We're...we're talking things out," you lied, hoping she'd buy it.

"Are you sure? I can be there in five." Her voice was filled with concern, but you could detect a hint of suspicion.

"Yes, we're fine. Really," you insisted, biting back a moan as Dong Wook hit a particularly sensitive spot. "We'll...we'll talk tomorrow, okay? Goodnight."

Abruptly, you ended the call, tossing your phone onto the nearby bedside table, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Turning your wrath on him, you struck his chest with all the strength you could muster. "I swear I'm going to kill you, you absolute jerk!”

"Oh really?" He groaned in response, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk. "But darling, before you commit homicide, don't you think you should let me leave a lasting heir on this divine body of yours?"

Before you could lash out again, his other hand darted out, capturing your wrist mid-air. His grip was firm effectively stopping your hand from making contact with his broad chest again.

“I want you.”

“You’re crazy, Lee! Delusional, old, out of your damn mind!”

“I’m yours too and I still love you.”

His eyes eyed you hungrily, his gaze dark with desire and something else. Something that made your heart pound out of your chest, something that made you weak in the knees. He loved you once, and he loves you still.

Or maybe it wasn't love anymore—maybe it was possession, maybe it was lust—but it felt real in that moment. You couldn't resist him, no matter how hard you tried.

“L-love me?” you husk, staring at him in disbelief as you feel his cock pulsating inside you. He pushes deeper, but you don't resist. You feel an odd mix of anger and desire, pain and pleasure, all mingling together into an intoxicating brew.

His tongue flicks out, licking your lips as he leans down, his face close enough that your noses touch. "Yes, I do," he murmurs against your lips. "And I always will." His voice is low and rough with want as he kisses you gently before plunging his hips once more.

In the end, you realized that it wasn't about fairness. It was about acceptance. Acceptance of the past, acceptance of the present, and acceptance of the potential of the future. It was about opening up that vacant room in your heart once more, dusting off the cobwebs and letting the light in.

Maybe it was welcomeness. Maybe it was time to let go of the pain of the past and embrace the possibility of a new beginning. Maybe it was time to let Dong Wook find his way back not as a prodigal son but as a cherished guest. Maybe it was time to let love bloom once more.

And just like that, the vacant room wasn't so vacant anymore.

#seo moonjo #lee dong wook #lee dongwook x reader #lee dongwook x fem! reader #imagine #fanfic #rpf #hell is other people #homecoming #divorce

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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Welcome to Villa Albicini, a 1927 Italian Baroque style villa in Macon, Georgia. Love how the facade looks so old. It has 3bds, 3ba, $1.350M.

Very classy entrance hall leads to a central rotunda.

The dome has some peeling and needs some new paint- I wonder how it would look with clouds.

The Chinese wallpaper looks like a vintage painting and the fireplace is surrounded by mirrored squares which is unusual. This room combines and old and new quite seamlessly.

The dining room is a contrast of blue & white - love the chandelier. Two double doors open to a sunroom.

Details of the beautiful original marble fireplace surround.

Love a kitchen that still has a taste of the original. It's been updated, but just enough.

What a cute pantry.

Den with a marble fireplace and a quadrant of walls with built-in shelving.

Oh, wow, look at the stairs. What is that little flap in the wall? The only information I could find suggests that it's an interior mail slot.

A pretty primary bedroom has a soft pink tile with green accents.

A beautiful stained glass window in the tub.

Gold plumbing fixtures give it an extra air of luxury.

Secondary bedroom with neutral striped wallpaper.

The en-suite is original. Love the green sink and toilet. I guess there isn't a seat to fit that toilet.

Isn't this interesting? Look at the storage up here.

I think that the white ladder leads up here to the roof top where there's a great view of the garden.

Wonderful architectural features on the grounds.

This would be beautiful again with some TLC. Property measures 1.59 acres.

#villas #Italian baroque architecture #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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blizzardfluffykpop · 3 days ago

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A Creepmas Party

Summary: While there were many reasons to attend an extravagant party being held at a mansion, especially to this caliber. There was only one reason you were going this year. The same reason you’ve been going for the past few years.

Oneshot

Fluff, Suggestive (towards the end), Relationship Limbo to Official au

Word Count: 3,061

Requested by @stardust-berry

Vampire! Changmin (Q) X Reader

Prompt: (9) A Creepmas [supernatural and/or horror themed] party.

[A/n: A few things, I will be honest I realized halfway through this could be interpreted as a fem/afab reader. Because of the use of ‘babydoll’ and Tiffany (Chucky’s Bride) but both are used in a vv gender neutral way! He sees the characters as extensions of the two of you more so than seeing them as you both. And a very Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate. And with this fic, we complete Wintertime 3. And my 8th year doing Christmassy-type prompts. Thank you to everyone who requested this year! It meant a lot to me! (I also think this is the 1st year I’ve been on time with posting too 🫣)]

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The grand staircase with marble flooring and luscious shag rugs, with giant chandeliers, always screamed old money. Some creatures that had been alive for hundreds of years, more than what was fathomable for a human like you, owned this building. And every time you step into this mansion, it feels more luxurious than the last you have stepped inside. The parties were always over the top and something only the imagination and old Hollywood could come up with. But this year, unlike any year before, they’re hosting their first Creepmas: a combination of Halloween and Christmas due to the eleven hosts being out of town during Halloween. There was no way they would miss their favorite holiday, even if it meant combining it with another. After all, creatures of the night deserved a Halloween extravaganza. Although creatures of the night weren’t the only ones invited or hosting, they were the reason for the whole party. And you couldn’t be more excited as you approached the large oak doors. They open instantly due to the magic imbued in them.

As luxurious as it all was, there was one person you were hoping to find. He was the entire reason you came here with a ‘bloodied’ (red paint that you splattered all over it) Christmas sweater. A dark trench coat that had silly pins shoved into the lapels. And, of course, an elf hat that had begun deteriorating from the moths that ate into it before you pulled it out of your attic and cleaned it. It completed the look, in your opinion. You look over the various beings. A purple bigfoot wearing a vampire costume with jingle bells sewed into the red collar sitting on one of the lounges, a witch with glitter spiderwebs laid over her cloak, a human who was dressed as a zombie Santa, and a skeleton wearing a tattered elf costume. But most were dressed like you with a horror-inspired Christmas sweater with or without the hat.

You grin as you finally make it to the tower of treats that holds; candied & caramel apples, chocolate-covered marshmallows that look like mummies, deviled eggs, creature cookies, and carrots cut into finger shapes, and as it spins around, it turns into Christmas treats. From Italian pinch cookies to sugar cookies with printed horror movie designs on the frosting. You smile when you find a Chucky sugar cookie and instantly grab it. When someone comes up beside you, and you grin to yourself, it’s exactly who you wanted to see, Changmin. He pats your shoulder, “Remember to only eat from your human table now…” You sigh, “I know… I learned the hard way five years ago.” He laughs, “Don’t worry, Patricia’s cupcakes look desirable to anyone, even the living.” You shiver in disgust as you remember the blooded-laded cupcake with crunchy parts that you wish to forget about. “I thought you’d never recover from that.” He picks up a Tiffany cookie and bites into it. You gasp, “You’re eating them… am I at the wrong tower?” He shakes his head, “No! But sugar cookies don’t taste bad to me.” As you both snack on your cookies, you look over his outfit. He’s wearing a soft brown blazer with a red button-up underneath, a green Christmas sweater with Pinhead on it, and a Santa hat. You look over the details when you spot a red lapel pin with green and white lettering. You read it aloud with a laugh, “Merry Christmas, kiss my ass.” He grins, “I knew you’d like that.” You nod as you finish your cookie. And he pulls something out of his coat pocket, “I had a feeling you’d wear your trench. So…” You hold out your palm and close your eyes, hoping he won’t give you something creepy as he places it into your hands. You open your eyes, and it’s a black pin with red and green lettering “Merry Fucking Christmas” You laugh as you push his shoulder, and you pop it open, and he asks, “Do you want me to place it?” You nod, and he puts it on the same side as his is placed. So when you dance against each other, they won’t clank together.

You grab another treat, and in the blink of an eye, he has a wax soda bottle filled with blood. You ask, “Can’t wait?” He stares at your exposed neck as he answers, “Just need a little pick me up until then.” He sinks his teeth into the wax, and you watch as he moves to suck the blood out. The sight drives you mad, but you keep it to yourself, even though you know he could hear your heartbeat pick up in pace as you eat your treat. When he sucks it dry, he asks, “Wanna look at the decorations?” You finish your treat, “Sure.” He grabs your pinky in his and shows you around. There were elf decorations from your dizziest nightmares and cutely carved pumpkins with Santa hats and candy canes in their mouths. “Oh! I made one this year!” You look around until you see where he’s pointing, and above, you see his ‘son’ and his ‘son’s wife’ wearing Christmas outfits, their hands holding sharpened candy canes instead of their normal kitchen knives. “They look dressed for the occasion.” He grins as he looks over at you, “Don’t they! They look so cute!” You smile, “Yeah.” You hold back the words ‘in an odd freaky way’, as you look up at the two and notice they’re holding pinkies. “Did they always have poseable pinkies?” He grins as he holds up your pinkies, “I craved them out to match our hands!” You blush before you twist him around and kiss him, “You’re so cute.” He grins as he parts his lips from yours, “Only for you.” You smile, and he pulls you into him closer as you continue walking around.

It was inevitable, as one of the hosts, that he’d end up in a conversation that you didn’t want to be in. And he turns his head to whisper in your ear, “I know this is boring to you… Go have a snack, and I’ll be right over.” You nod, and he lets go of your hold, and you give the guests he was conversing with a smile. They were polite to you, but talking about their family trees was boring to you. You could only take so many ‘great-great-great-great-great relatives’ for so long. You head to your spinning tower and run into the human dressed up as zombie Santa and recognize him. “Haknyeon?” He lets out a little groan to continue the effect, “That’s me~” He grabs a deviled egg and eats it as you find something else to eat, “Do you wanna know something?” You hum, “What?” He says, “I know you and Changmin aren’t exactly clear on what you are… But you should know that because of you, he always demands our treat tower goes up first.” You tilt your head, “Really?” He nods, “He’ll get real frustrated if we don’t either.” You look down at your marshmallow skeleton, “That’s so sweet of him.” He hums, “Unless you’re the one having to put up the tower.” You tilt your head at that, “It has to be perfect for you…” You blink, “Oh?” He smiles, “That’s why we all act like we’re busy the second the human tower is all set to spin.” You cackle, “That’s smart.” He nods, satisfied, “I came up with that idea a few years ago.” You shake your head at him. And you both clink a different treat together. Haknyeon finishes another treat before he tells you, “I have to make sure my faerie tower is still doing well! Those little sprites love devouring the treats I make.” You pat his velvet coat, “See you in the new year?” He cheers, “See you then!”

You leave to throw away the wrapper and take the time to look for Changmin again. And when you find his gaze already set on you. He mouths, ‘Wanna dance?’ You nod, and you watch him say his goodbyes before he’s in front of you in an instant. You grin, “Hi.” He smiles, his pointy fangs sticking out as prominent as his dimple, “Hi.” He puts his hand out for you to grab. And he whisks you away into the marbled mosaic ballroom. You ask, “Oh? I thought it would be the green ballroom this year, no?” He sighs, looping his arm around your back, “Yeah, we were supposed to… but everyone voted for this one…” You shrug as you intertwine your opposite hands, “That’s okay, plus that means we have the perfect place to escape to~” He smirks as he leads you into the first move, “Why do you want to escape so badly?” You smile, “So we can dance alone.” He tilts his head, “Is that all?” You hum and shrug as you waltz together, “No, but it’s a nice beginning.”

You two continue waltzing until the song changes. He sighs as he can finally bring you into his chest and have you up against him. He places his nose against your neck and takes a deep inhale, “Fuck, I missed the scent of you…” taking in the smell of your blood coursing through your veins. “Do I smell that good to you?” He brushes his nose against your neck, “Always.” He lets out a sigh as he shakes his head, detaching to look you in the eyes. And you watch as his red irises return to brown. He asks as he dances with you, “What do you think of the party, babydoll?” You hum, “It’s interesting.” He tilts his head, “How?” You smile as you look around at the garland with little skeleton heads and the green and red pumpkin lights. “I’ve never been to a creepmas party.” He smiles, “Me neither. But it’s the best holidays in one.” You agree. But hum, “Is this going to be like my first party here?” He shakes his head, “No. And again, if you didn’t eat that cupcake, you’d still remember it…” You pout, and he laughs, “What, I’m telling the truth!” Your pout stays, and he kisses it, “Did that make it better?” You shake your head, still pouting, and he sighs, “Babydoll…” You hum, and he sighs, “I’ll make it up to you again~” You smirk and instantly go, “Okay.” He gasps at you, “You little brat-” You laugh as you two move through the dance, “Gets you every time.” He rolls his eyes, “I could take that back.” You shrug, “But you wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “I should’ve learned my lesson by now.” You grin, “You never have~” He sighs, “I know.” You kiss his cheek, and he leans into it.

The group dances start, and you move from Changmin’s arms and into the arms of one of your friends. And you grin at your favorite werewolf host, “Sang! How have you been!?” He smiles as you both move to the music, “Great, and you?” You grin as you tell him you’ve been well. And he asks, “So, did Changmin ask you anything?” You hum, “Just whether I liked the party.” He lets out an ‘Oh.’ You tilt your head, “Is that not what you mean?” He shrugs, “Not particularly.” You let it slide, and after two partners, you’re finally back in Changmin’s arms. You sigh as you finally get to rest in his. He leads you through the moves, not making you do any work. “You okay, babydoll?” You hum as you inhale his cologne and feel a bit better. Your skeleton dance partner forgot what it was like to have muscles as she spun you endlessly around. You felt like jelly, to say the least. He holds you up, “Do you need something to eat?” You shake your head, “I’m just a little dizzy.” “Oh, let’s go sit.” You look at him with wide eyes, “You’re a host. You should be on the floor with everyone else… I can dance as long as you lead…” He shakes his head, “You’re more important. Let’s sit down.” He doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer as he has you sit down on a red loveseat beside him. You lay your head on his shoulder as you feel your muscles slowly regain the feeling in them. Changmin squeezes your shoulder as he kisses the top of your head.

You remember what Sangyeon said earlier and ask, “Sangyeon asked me if you asked me a question earlier… I told him you asked me if I liked the party.” He hums, and you continue, “What did he mean?” He kisses the top of your head, “Something I wish to ask you in the green room.” You tiredly nod and continue resting on him, letting that answer be enough for now. You rest there for a few more moments before you finally move from his shoulder, “Do you want to go and dance again?” You nod, and he gets up and takes you back onto the marble floor. When the group dance starts again, with everyone clapping loudly, he whispers, ‘Wanna leave?’ You nod, and he guides you two out of the beautiful marbled room. And out to where the giant chandelier is, “Do you want to go to the green room, or would you prefer underneath this?” You look up at the twinkling crystals before deciding a room where you two could be alone would be best. “Green room, please.” He nods and holds your pinky in his as you two walk past the various spinning treat towers. And you smile to yourself as you remember what Haknyeon said.

Changmin leads you down two hallways before opening the ivory doors for you both to enter. He flicks the lights on as soon as you step inside; instead of the overhead lights. Its beautiful white and green fairy lights strung around the whole ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything. And you look around to see it’s decorated in Christmas and Halloween decor too. Each featuring an element of green, “I thought no one was supposed to decorate this room because they weren’t going to use it?” And he nods, “Yes... But I knew you were looking forward to it, so I did…” You smile, “Is that why none of the horror elements are grotesque?” He shrugs, “Yes and no… They needed the fake blood for the rest of the decor.” You laugh, and he locks the door. So, no one could interrupt you two before heading over to the corner of the room and turning on music you both enjoy. You smile because you finally get to dance alone with Changmin without expectations.

When he turns away from the speakers, you hold out your hand for him to take. He grabs your hand in his and grabs your other hand before spinning you two over, once, then twice, and a third time to make you laugh. You grin as you look at each other, and he searches your eyes, “Sang’s right… There’s something I want to ask you.” You raise your eyebrow, waiting for him to continue, “So… um…” He sighs and looks down at your shoes as you dance across the floor, “I’ve thought about it for months on end on how to put it, and I still don’t know how.” You move your clasped hands underneath his jaw and lift his chin up with your fingers, just like he had done to you earlier. “Ask me however you’re comfortable.” He nods and stares into your eyes, and you watch as his eyes flick gold briefly before he says, “I should have asked you a long time ago… And although we’ve been with each other in so many ways. I’ve never um… well, it feels silly to ask now…” You nod and move your thumb to rub along his cheekbone, “It’s okay, I don’t mind silly.” He sighs before he regains his courage, “I’ve never asked you officially, and you probably know you’ve owned my heart for a long time… and I uh…” You smile at him, encouraging him to finish as you both turn in a circle. He asks, “Would you want to be my lover officially?” You grin and kiss his cheek, “It wasn’t silly for you to ask. I’ve considered you my lover for a long time. But, yes, officially.” He grins and kisses you. You squeeze both of his hands in yours. And he asks when he pulls away, “Can I see you more than just at every party then?” You grin, “You always could have before. But yeah. What do you say to us spending the next few days together? Since neither of us has anything to do until next year to make up for lost time.” He smiles, “I’d love to.” He spins the both of you again as you both giggle over being officially official. You both bubble with laughter as you kiss after spinning this time.

Suddenly, the music changes from a soft Christmas song to something more sensual. You raise your brow at him, “Did you plan this track?” He shakes his head as he pulls you closer, “Not this time…” You hum and whisper in his ear, “Should we make it official in other ways?” As you both sway against each other. And you catch his eyes flash red. “Fuck, yes.” He pushes you against a jade pillar wrapped up in silver-green garland as he grinds his hips into yours. He kisses you deeply before moving his lips down the column of your neck, leaving little nips here and there, but not enough to make you bleed. You hiss at the little burning sensation each nip gives you. And his mouth attaches over your sweater. He sighs at the thought of finally getting to sink his teeth into your flesh. “Do you mind if I rip your sweater?” You shake your head, and he rips the collar down the seam along the top of your shoulder. He places a few kisses along your neck. He whispers, “You ready?” You nod, grinding your hip against his in anticipation, and gasp as he bites down. He lets out a loud moan as he drinks up your blood. “Fuck, your blood is always worth waiting for…”

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