#and i was debating between the seat i have now and the row in front of me but row in front of me isn't lifted like the rest of them

[depresseddepot]

I am once again ridiculously fucking early for my movie (which is confusing to me bc I've been to this theater before and you ALWAYS need to get there early) but I got alcohol this time so I am very excited to chill and rewatch alien romulus and take notes and read subtitles

[cringe--is--dead]

“So? You nervous?”

You huffed, doing your best to ignore the finger poking your cheek in favor of studying the clipboard you were holding.

Lev whined your name, sounding more like a petulant toddler than a 6’4 high schooler, “Hey— don’t ignore me! It’s mean!”

“Lev!” Yaku turned around in his seat as much as he could, glaring at the first year, “Drop it!”

The taller boy fell back into his seat, pouting dramatically, “I just wanted to help her if she was nervous.”

“Pestering her isn’t helping her, is it?”

You heard Kuroo and Kai snicker from where they were seated in front of you, and you put the notes down in your lap, placing an arm on Yaku’s shoulder to sit him down.

“Lev, I appreciate that you want to help me,” You leaned into the isle of the bus to look back at him, “But poking me isn’t going to help me.”

His playful pout turned serious, and he looked sheepish at your light scolding, “Sorry.”

He looked so much like a kicked puppy you felt almost bad, and just smiled lightly at him, “If I have any questions I think you can answer I’ll come to you first, okay?”

Lev brightened almost immediately, a proud glow on his face, “Well of course! As Nekoma’s future ace I can help you with anything!”

“Except your receives.”

“Yaku!”

You shook your head, turning back around in your seat.

“Hey,” You glanced up, seeing Kai peeking back at you between his and Kuroo’s seats, “Are you feeling nervous?”

Yaku and Lev were busy bickering, and your head dropped forward a bit, “A little,” You admitted, “Meeting other schools and all these strangers sounds terrifying.”

He smiled at you, and the calmness in his eyes did as it always did, calming your racing heart, “Don’t worry. We’re pretty close with all the teams coming, everyone’s friendly, if not a bit overly competitive.”

“With that in mind,” You both jumped as Kuroo interjected, sitting on his knees to turn to you, “You have a few ground rules, our dear, little manager.”

You raised an eyebrow at your captain, “Why?”

He grinned, that stupid, cocky one he knew got under your skin, “We can’t have you being kidnapped or scared off after our first training camp, now can we?”

“Kuroo—”

He waved Kai off, and he had caught the attention of most of the team at this rate, much to your embarrassment.

“Rule one; no being alone with Bokuto, especially if Akaashi isn’t nearby. God knows that spikey haired owl would try and steal our manager to join their manager duo.”

Yaku plopped down into his seat, crossing his arms as he glared up at the captain, “I doubt Bokuto would actually—”

“Rule two! No being alone with Karasuno’s libero and that bald headed spiker of theirs.”

“Okay, that’s a rule I can get behind.” Yaku muttered.

From a few rows back Yamamoto decided to pipe in, “Don’t worry cap— I’ll keep those two away from our precious manager! After I rub it in their faces, of course.”

Kenma, who had been playing his console game with his headphones on, glanced over at his seatmate annoyed, “Sit down.”

“Are those the only rules?” You crossed your arms, mimicking how Yaku was seated.

Before Kuroo could respond, he was interrupted, “Sit down! All of you!”

Everyone fell back into their seats quickly, Kuroo’s cheeks flushing as Nekomata chuckled as Naoi scolded the team, “You all have ridden a bus enough times to know better, c’mon.”

“Sorry, coach.”

“Sorry!”

You leaned over to Yaku, “What’s with the people I’m being warned against?”

He sighed, smiling at you, “Bokuto is Fukurodani’s captain. He’s just a bit overly energetic. He and Kuroo are really good friends, so you can’t avoid him entirely. He’s nice, don’t worry about that. And Karasuno…”

He trailed off, as if debating on the proper response, “Their libero, Nishinoya, and their spiker he mentioned… Tanaka, I believe. They’re a bit… what’s the word?”

“Girl crazy?” Lev pipped up, leaning his face forward between the seats, cheeks squished.

“They have two managers there, a first and a second year. They used to rub it in our faces, well, more Yamamoto’s face that they had two managers, and we had none. Until now.”

Lev glanced at you, attempting to grin, though it looked rather funny, “You don’t mind being paraded like a trophy, do you?”

“What?” You felt your face warm at Lev’s question, and Yaku huffed, pressing his palm against Lev’s face, pushing him back.

“Ow!”

“Why’d you have to say it like that?”

Lev rubbed his nose, “What? He’s gonna wanna show her off! We got the coolest manager!”

His childish praise made your heart flutter, and you picked up the clipboard once more, staring at the papers but not processing any of the words before you.

“If he does anything stupid just let me know,” Yaku sighed, eyes closing, “I’ll run drills so hard they’ll pass out from exhaustion.”

“And the demon upperclassman shows his face once more.”

Without opening his eyes or responding he sent a strong kick against the seat in front of him, Kuroo’s startled yelp ringing through the bus.

[730architect]

picture your face - L4B (1.2)

part 1

part 2 yay!! i started writing parts of this all the way back in february and finally got around to fixing it up into a completed work. This takes place the night of the october 11, 2024 episode of smackdown for context :) this will be the final part of picture your face but i will def write more l4b because i miss them dearly </3 enjoy my sweets 

── •✧• ──

wc: 7.8k

tags: 18+ MDNI!! liv4brutality, hatred, conflicted feelings, past liv morgan/rhea ripley, angst, cunnilingus, face sitting, light dom/sub, strap-on sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, nipple play, it's sweet at the end, lmk if i forgot anything

── •✧• ──

It had been exactly one week since Rhea had been laid out on her hotel bed, scrolling on her phone mindlessly when she got a notification alerting her that “yaonlylivvonce and 82,385 others liked your photo.” Rhea blinked hard, rubbing any sleep from her eyes that had collected from the long day she’d had. She couldn’t register what she was feeling. Disbelief would be an understatement, but so would confusion. Was this another one of Liv’s pranks that she had pulled with the encouragement of the rest of the Judgment Day?

Well.. if she wants to play games, let's play. Rhea thought to herself as she opened up her contacts. She scrolled until she found the one she was looking for and pressed “message”. Rhea pondered her options. What should she send? Eventually she decided on something simple. A smirk formed on her face as she finished typing out her message.

 “I guess you really were watching me.” Perfect. 

Rhea hits send and turns her phone off for the night, images of another plan brewing in the back of her mind before her body finally allows sleep to overtake it. 

── •✧• ──

Rhea stormed from the ring back to the backstage area after finally getting her hands on Liv and her pathetic posse of sorts with several referees following after her, ensuring that she would leave the premise. Fading fan chants and the enraged yells from the referees fell on deaf ears as she navigated the maze that was the Bon Secours Wellness Arena to where she had hastily parked her rental car. Her body was hot from the adrenaline but her attack wasn't enough to satisfy her ever-increasing lust for revenge. She wasn’t sure what she wanted more, her title or to make Liv suffer under her hand. 

Rhea knew better than anyone that the odds were stacked against her, especially now that Raquel has aligned herself with the one woman she hates the most in this lifetime. She needed to think smarter. All this hostility and aggressiveness hadn’t done her much good and her patience was running thin. She may have Liv beaten physically, but psychologically? That was a whole different playing field. 

She ponders her options to herself as she makes her way to the parking lot after narrowly escaping a scolding from Nick Aldis for her invasion of his show. She gets into her rental car and lays her head back onto the headrest, drumming her fingers on her thigh while taking a couple deep breaths to calm down before she drives back to her hotel. 

She eventually buckles up and goes to put the car into drive but stops abruptly when she sees the top of a familiar blonde head hurrying from between the cars in the parking lot just a few rows in front of her, followed by two taller brunettes. 

Rhea watches as Liv and Dominik are ushered into a large black SUV by the latest addition to their group, Raquel, who has been serving as a bodyguard and now apparently a chauffeur of sorts to Liv since her interference during Rhea’s match at Bad Blood. Rhea’s heart rate increases, blood rushing in her ears. She can feel herself growing more belligerent at their fright. 

She observes as Raquel climbs into the driver's seat and reverses out of the parking spot. Rhea ducks her head a bit in an effort to remain hidden from them as she debates on whether or not she should follow them to wherever it is they’re staying, thankful for the tint on her windows. She debates for a solid 15 seconds until finally putting her car in drive and peeling out behind them, making sure to keep a healthy distance in order to not blow her cover. 

Rhea discreetly followed the trio all the way back to their hotel and watches as they give up their car to the valet service as quickly as they can before they rush inside. She decides to call it a night, not in any mood to hunt them down all the way to their hotel rooms, at least not at the moment. She circles back and merges back onto the highway leading to her hotel, mind still racing. She spends the rest of the drive lost in her thoughts, in a trance over all the ways she can make Liv pay for all she’s put her through over the past 7 months. 

Rhea wanted her to suffer. She wanted to make Liv feel the same hurt and betrayal she felt while she was sitting at home, icing her shoulder for hours on end until her skin was blue and numb to the touch. The thought of Liv on her knees, begging for mercy as she looks up at her, blue eyes glassy with tears and terror has Rhea shifting in her seat; searching for at least a little bit of friction to relieve the familiar ache she felt in her gut whenever she thought about her. Rhea pulls up to the front of her hotel sloppily, tossing the keys to the attendant hurriedly before rushing inside. 

── •✧• ──

Rhea makes it to her hotel suite, deadbolting the door behind her before making a beeline for the bathroom. She tears her clothes off of her body hastily and jumps into the shower, letting the cold water run through her hair and down her back as she takes some much needed deep breaths. Rhea runs her tattooed fingers through her hair, trying to focus on the chill of the water on her skin, or anything else really. Anything to get her mind off of the women’s world champion. But despite being doused in cold water, it does nothing to cool the heat building in her core that she's been fighting since she left the arena. 

She runs her right hand down her body, her left still running through her dark hair. Tattooed fingers dancing lightly over flushed skin, feeling the groves of the goosebumps that formed beneath them. Her fingers make their way to her breast as she thumbs over her nipple piercing, feeling the sensation shoot straight to her aching cunt. Low whimpers spill from her lips as she lightly pinches and twists at the piercing, the sensation making her delirious. 

Rhea allows her head to fall back against the glass walls of the shower while her fingers trickle down her figure, allowing them to ghost over her most sensitive parts. Visions of Liv dance behind her eyelids as she slips a finger inside of herself, moaning quietly at the intrusion. Rhea shifts her hips forward slightly, jaw going slack at the feeling of her fingers curling up inside of her due to the adjustment. 

Rhea cries out Liv’s name. She imagines Liv seeing her like this, getting off at the mere thought of her. How she would drop to her knees just before Rhea could reach her climax to finish her off. Rhea lets out one last pathetic whimper as she gushes around her fingers, heart hammering in her chest while she rides out her orgasm. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s pictured Liv while touching herself and she was positive it wouldn’t be the last. Rhea finally pulls her spent fingers out of her cunt and brings them up to her lips, sucking them clean. She sighs contentedly around them as she sinks back against the glass propping her up. 

Once her heart rate had returned to normal, Rhea reached for the soap and finally began to wash her body, getting lost in the scent of tea tree and steam. She washes her hair and turns the shower off when she finishes, stepping out and grabbing a towel to dry herself off with. She hums to herself as she dries off and pumps lotion into her hands to massage into her skin. 

She had changed into sweatpants and an old band tee she wore religiously back in Australia. The fabric was soft and worn from years of use and had a bleach stain on the collar. Rhea was drying her hair with the complementary hair dryer the hotel provided when she heard a pounding on the door. She turned off the hair dryer and unplugged it, storing it away before going to answer the door. She assumed that it was just housekeeping making their rounds and asking if she wanted any clean towels. 

Rhea turned on a lamp to provide some more lighting before swinging the door open. She hadn’t checked through the peephole of who it might be, face going blank when she sees a blonde at her door. It was Liv.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rhea demands, glancing around in case Dominik or Raquel had been hiding around somewhere ready to attack. 

Liv rolled her eyes at the hostility. She knew Rhea would be borderline impossible to talk to, she had spent at least half of their former partnership trying to get her to just make small talk with her until they had finally warmed up to each other. A whole lot of good that did her. “I’m just here to talk.” Liv replies calmly.

“‘Talk’ my ass. Do you think I’m stupid?” Rhea scoffs, still wary of a potential attack. “Why are you here? How did you even find where I was staying?”

“I asked around. Not like it was all that hard. Now are you gonna invite me in so we can talk or are you going to force me to stand out here like an idiot?” Liv retorts.

Rhea narrows her eyes at her. “How do I know that this isn’t an ambush?” 

“Rhea, if I wanted to attack you I would’ve done it already. Now suck it up and let me in.” Liv snaps, fed up with their banter. 

Rhea takes one final look around and sighs, stepping aside and granting Liv entry into her hotel. “Don’t mind the mess, I just finished showering.” Rhea comments, suddenly confused as to why she was asking her rival to disregard her mess. This was her hotel, she could do whatever she wanted. And she definitely didn’t owe Liv of all people an explanation. 

Liv disregards her statement, looking around and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, facing Rhea. She’s dressed in a sweatshirt, shorts, and tennis shoes. All neutral colors. It seems that joining the Judgment Day had stripped her of her usual fun and flirty color palette. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back and her tortoise Prada frames were perched on the bridge of her nose. She watches as Rhea shuts the door behind her, locking them both inside. 

The silence is deafening. It’s been over 2 years since they’ve been in the same room as one another without ripping each other’s throats out. Rhea stands in front of Liv, looking down at her with her arms crossed over her chest, making her muscular 5’10 frame look even larger. Liv swallowed hard as she looked up at her, trying to look as unfazed as possible. 

It had been one week since Rhea had posted that photo on Instagram that had her in complete shambles. Liv had spent the past seven days trying to forget it even happened, so much so that she had even deleted Rhea’s unopened text message from her phone. And she had to admit, she was doing a pretty damn good job at distracting herself. That was, until today. After Rhea’s attack, Liv found herself consumed by her yet again, this time even more. The fact that Rhea was willing to do everything in her power to find a way to get her hands on her, even if it meant crossing over to another brand for a night, it all just made Liv so lightheaded. Well, that along with the repeated blows to the head she had taken in the ring.

“So… what was so important that you needed to come to my hotel to talk to me?” Rhea questions, her glare never wavering. 

Liv looks down at her sleeve and picks at a loose thread in the fabric. “I wanted to talk to you about…” her words trail off. Rhea cocks an eyebrow at her, impatient. Liv peeks up at her through her glasses and sees her visible irritation before taking a deep breath and blurting out, “I wanted to talk to you about what happened last week.” She says the sentence so fast it almost sounds like one long word. 

Rhea’s face doesn’t change at the admission, remaining frozen in permanent annoyance. “What about last week?” she asks despite knowing exactly what Liv is referring to. She wanted to hear whatever pathetic explanation she had to offer up. 

“Listen, what happened was a complete accident. I didn’t mean to press any wrong buttons or anything, in fact that would be the last thing I would want to do.” Liv explains, eventually looking up at Rhea as she twists her hands. She seems genuinely agonized over the whole situation which Rhea finds hilarious considering it wasn’t even that big of a deal anyways. Maybe Rhea had finally knocked some sense into her during her attack earlier that day. 

“Yeah, I figured it wasn’t on purpose. I posted that caption in order to get a reaction out of you, which I knew I would and I did. So why come all the way over here to plead your case? Was it the beating I gave you earlier?” Rhea chuckles, honestly humored by the circumstances. 

Liv huffs in annoyance. “No, it was not the beating. Fuck you for that, by the way. It was the text you sent afterwards.” she admits.

Rhea nods in understanding, uncrossing her arms and sticking her hands in her pockets. “So you came all this way because I confronted you? That’s a new one.” she replies. “I still don’t understand why you’re here though. You could’ve just responded to my message. Hell, you could’ve even attacked me on RAW. So, why here? Why now?” Rhea presses, determined to get an answer.

Liv seems at a bit of a loss for words. She didn’t imagine their conversation lasting this long while still somehow remaining civil. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought it would be better to talk in person about it.” she shrugs lamely.

Rhea lets out a harsh laugh. “Talk? All of a sudden you’re focused on talking after over 2 years of hating each other? I knew you were dumb but not this dumb, Liv.” she smiles, canines flashing. She shakes her head in amusement. “Why even stalk me on social media? We beat the shit of each other every single week.”

“Since when do you regulate what I can and can’t do on my phone? Your account is public, people are going to check it. If you don't want that, maybe consider hitting the private button.” Liv snaps, her usual sharp attitude returning. 

“Oh, Liv, obviously people are going to look at my account. I just didn’t expect someone who had successfully taken quite literally everything away from me to be so obsessive.” Rhea replies, leaning down so she and Liv are eye to eye. 

Liv pushes herself off of the bed, standing before Rhea in defiance. “I think that’s really fucking rich coming from you, Rhea. Especially considering you haven’t left me or my family alone for months. But sure, I’m the one who’s obsessed.” She challenges.

“Here you go with this ‘family’ bullshit again. You know just as well as I do that they’ll never really be your family. You’ll come to learn just as I have that they’re all a bunch of conniving, selfish lowlifes who don’t care about anyone but themselves-” Rhea begins to taunt her but is cut off by a hard shove to the chest that pushes her back a mere couple of inches. Liv is nowhere near as strong as her but Rhea appreciated the effort regardless. The woman had guts, that was for sure. 

“Don’t talk about them.” Liv hisses. “You’re just jealous that they love me and not you.”

“And what have they done for you? Besides occasionally hold your hand up after a victory? That’s not love, Liv.” Rhea argues.

“Oh, but you know what is? You have pushed away and betrayed every single person who has ever loved you and you can’t even bring yourself to own up to it.” she retorts.

“Very few people have loved me, Liv.” Rhea dismisses, not allowing the harsh honesty to penetrate her heart.

“I did.” Liv professes, her eyes overtaken by sorrow and hatred after her confession. “I loved you more than anyone else in this business and what did you do? You ruined my fucking life in front of the whole world. So excuse me for wanting to rub my victories in your face.” Liv laughs harshly, despite finding nothing funny about the circumstances. She had spent so long convincing herself that she had moved on from what Rhea had done to her that she couldn’t realize that with each passing day she cared more than she ever did. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me? Sitting at home, barely able to move my arm at all, being forced to watch you and Dominik every single week?” Tears brim Liv’s eyes, a sight that makes Rhea’s heart ache horribly. “Did I really mean that little to you?” she whispers, unable to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. 

The sight in front of her makes Rhea’s chest hurt. She had always imagined having Liv a crying mess at her feet but not like this. “Please don’t cry.” she says while reaching out to brush away the fallen tear but is stopped by Liv’s hand pushing hers away. 

“Don’t touch me. You don't get to comfort me after what you’ve put me through.” Liv asserts softly, wiping away the tears herself. 

Rhea nods in defeat. She may not like Liv but she understands where she fucked up, regardless of not being able to admit it. God, why couldn’t she just fucking apologize? Maybe it really was too late. 

“If it hurt you so bad to see me with him, why even choose Dominik?” Rhea asked quietly.

Liv smiles softly before answering. “Because I wanted to hurt you, why else? Hurting you will always give me a satisfaction that no championship ever could. Yours was just a bonus.” she winks. 

“You sure you’re still not obsessed?” Rhea cocks her head to the side, looking at Liv with a smirk. 

Liv leans in even closer. “So what if I am?” she questions defiantly.

Rhea decided that she’d heard more than enough. Throwing caution to the wind, she snaked her hands behind Liv’s head and entangled them into her hair before swallowing her words into a heavenly kiss. Her movements caught Liv so off guard but she managed to move perfectly with her, melting into her touch. Liv couldn’t ignore how fucking good Rhea felt against her mouth. With Rhea’s hand behind Liv’s head, she tilted her face up so she could deepen the kiss. Liv kissed her back with the same feverish passion, gently coaxing Rhea’s mouth open with her tongue, further intensifying the kiss. Rhea groaned against Liv’s mouth, feeling the other woman’s plush lips smile against hers at the sound. 

 Liv felt an unmistakable heat flicker between her legs as Rhea’s large, calloused hands explored her lithe body. She let out a blissful sigh into Rhea’s mouth, which only increased her frantic desire even more. Rhea redirected her lips to Liv’s neck, kissing and sucking like there was no tomorrow. Liv knew that there would be marks left in the morning but she couldn’t care less, not when she had finally gotten what she had been craving for years on end. 

Rhea clumsily guided them back a few feet to the bed, refusing to part lips with Liv even after they almost tripped over each other. Rhea gently eased Liv down onto the bed, her mouth never leaving her neck. Liv’s hands had found their way under the hem of Rhea’s t-shirt and softly scratched her perfectly manicured fingers against Rhea’s muscled figure, enticing a soft groan from her. 

“Fuck, Liv…” Rhea whispered, her breath hot on Liv’s skin. 

Liv let out a soft giggle and tugged at Rhea’s top, a silent plea for her to take it off. Rhea paused her movements for a moment and complied, pulling the fabric up and over her body agonizingly slowly. Liv sat up on her elbows, making out the soft imprints of Rhea’s nipple piercings through the fabric of her bra.

Liv found herself rendered speechless, staring up at the mountain of a woman standing in front of her. Her eyes followed the lines of black ink that were embedded onto Rhea’s torso, imagining how they would taste on her tongue. Her breath quickens as watches Rhea run her tattooed fingers over the material of her bra strap before hooking onto them and pulling them off of her shoulder. Rhea tugs at her bra with one hand while the other unhooks the clasps behind her back. Rhea allows it to fall off of her figure, exposing the top half of her body to Liv like she once did in the locker room all those years ago. A moment Liv finds herself replaying in her head more often than she’d like to admit. 

“Holy shit.” Liv whispers, feeling almost lightheaded at the situation she had found herself in. She feels her face heat as Rhea chuckles at her reaction. 

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna get to work?” Rhea teases, hands reaching up to palm at her tits, thumbs grazing over her piercings. Rhea hisses softly at the sensation and rolls her head back. 

Liv’s mouth immediately waters at the sight before her. She takes Rhea’s words as a challenge, pushing herself off of the bed and standing before her once again. She takes off her glasses and places them on the bedside table before kissing her lips softly once more as her hands find themselves gripping the flesh of her breasts. She feels the cool barbells of her piercings under her fingertips. Rhea’s breath caught in her throat at the the sensation of Liv’s hands roaming her body, her own hands gripping the blonde’s hips tightly. Her breathing grows ragged as she watches Liv trail her lips from her lips to her collarbone to finally her sternum and the flesh surrounding it. 

Rhea watches wide-eyed as Liv’s tongue laves at her breast, her fingers toying with the other in order to stimulate her as much as possible. She fights as hard as she can from allowing any noise to escape her throat, knowing that it would do nothing but inflate Liv’s ego even more but she can’t help the mewl that slips past her lips. Liv glances up at her, releasing her now swollen nipple with a pop. Her mouth forms into a satisfied smirk, kissing where her mouth just was before before asking a satisfied “you like that?” 

Rhea rolls her eyes, that same familiar annoyance she usually felt around Liv sinking back in. “Shut the fuck up and put your mouth back on me.” she says irritatedly.

 Liv cocks her eyebrow at her, the mischievous glint never leaving her eye. “I think you could ask a little nicer, don't you? Especially after all you’ve put me through?” Liv taunts with a pout, her fingers tracing hearts on Rhea’s skin. 

Rhea huffs before letting out an exasperated “please.” She lets out a groan when Liv shakes her head stubbornly, not impressed by her lack of enthusiasm. 

“Please what?” Liv doubles down on her stubbornness. 

Rhea eventually swallows her pride, which she almost chokes on before finally pleading with the blonde.

“Fine, fuck, please just touch me.” Rhea borderline begs, looking down at Liv through her eyelashes with an anguished look painted across her sharp features. 

A dangerous smile appears on Liv’s face at the sound of Rhea’s desperation. “Much better.” she hums in approval. She palms at Rhea’s breasts a bit more, feeling her skin heat beneath her hands before sliding them down her body. “This what you wanted?” Liv asked, unable to conceal her wicked smile. 

Dominance was not something Rhea was willing to give up easily and she knew that. Liv didn’t know how long she had until Rhea could regain her composure and slip back into that commanding persona she never seemed to step down from, so she knew had to make the most of the time she had. Rhea nods hopelessly. She was usually such a giver but she wanted nothing more but to be taken care of at the moment. She was positive she would return the favor later on but right now, she craved the opportunity to forfeit her ability to think for the time being. 

Liv gently lays Rhea down onto the bed, her raven hair fanning out around her head. Liv’s nimble fingers make their way to the waistband of Rhea’s sweatpants, fumbling with the waistband for a moment until she successfully unties it. Rhea lifts her hips off of the mattress so Liv can pull her pants out from under her and down her legs as she inhales the scent of the cashmere lotion Rhea had massaged into her skin earlier. Liv runs her hands up and down Rhea’s thighs, each caress creeping closer and closer to the waistband of her gray boxers. Liv allows her fingers to creep between Rhea’s legs and run along the small wet spot that had formed there. 

Rhea whimpers and shifts at the contact, causing Liv to tut at her, feigning disapproval at her squirming. Liv hooks her fingers into Rhea’s waistband and pulls them down and off of her figure, exposing her dripping cunt to the soft light of the room. Rhea’s clit peeked through her swollen folds coated in her arousal along with the piercing that adorned it. Liv grows hungry at the sight, heat beginning to pool below her hips as well. However something catches her eye. 

Liv squints in the dim lighting, her eyes taking a moment to focus since she didn’t have her glasses on anymore. She is able to make out a tattoo, no smaller than half of her thumb. The black ink had been manipulated in the shape of an eye with three dots below it. Her logo. Memories from years ago flood her brain like a tsunami. When she and Rhea had gotten so stupidly drunk together after a show that they had somehow stumbled into a shitty tattoo parlor and demanded matching tattoos. They decided on each other's logos on their bikini lines. They were so drunk that they didn't even feel the needle of the tattoo gun penetrate their skin, holding each other's hands as they got them. The exact details of that night were still hazy even now, as the Don Julio had gotten the best of them both that night but one thing remained: the tattoos served as an unspoken promise. No matter what happened, whether they loved or hated each other in the future, they would always be linked to one another. For better or for worse. Like wedding vows, almost. 

Liv traces the tattoo lightly. “You kept it?” she whispers, eyes finally meeting Rhea’s.

Rhea smiled softly, immediately understanding what she meant. “Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?” 

Liv attempts to smile but can't quite bring herself to do so. “I don’t know… I figured you would’ve had it removed or covered up or something. You know, after everything that happened.” she confesses, her eyes falling back to the tattoo. 

“That doesn’t change what we had together. I was a dick, I know that. Removing it would’ve only further cemented that.” Rhea replies, slightly ashamed to look at Liv as she says this. “Do you… do you still have yours?” she asks timidly, afraid to hear the answer.

Liv’s eyes brighten at the question as she nods. She slides her shorts and underwear off before crawling onto the bed next to Rhea. Rhea’s eyes soften at the sight of the two R’s embedded onto Liv’s skin, leaning in to kiss it softly. Her strong hands grip Liv’s hips as she distributes kisses all over her stomach. 

“I want you on my face.” Rhea professes, accent taken over with a soft rasp. 

Liv clenches at her words as her hands cup Rhea’s face. “But I wanted to take care of you.” 

“You can take care of me by shutting up and getting on my face.” Rhea grins. She doesn’t allow Liv to protest, using her strength to place her right above her face so Liv was hovering right above her mouth, just centimeters away from her lips.

Rhea flits her tongue over Liv’s now aching clit, almost in a lazy manner it was so slow. Liv let out the breath she had been holding and laced her fingers into Rhea’s hair, desperately fighting the urge to just shove her face into her dripping cunt. Luckily, Rhea understood Liv’s anticipation and began to dip her tongue into Liv’s sweet folds, the ball of her tongue piercing catching on her clit. Rhea began to use a finger to gently stretch her out. Liv’s chest heaved and her heart raced as Rhea flattened her tongue and ran it along her clit before gently enveloping it into her mouth and beginning to suck.

“Mmf- fuck.” Liv whined above the dark haired woman, tossing her head back in bliss. She felt the familiar warmth in her stomach begin to ignite and grow and spread all over her body, touching each of her nerves and setting them ablaze. Liv gripped onto her hair tighter and pushed Rhea’s face even deeper into her heat, ultimately giving in to her desires. 

Rhea let out a muffled moan both at Liv’s actions and at the taste of her, sending vibrations through Liv’s already trembling body. The sensation caused Liv to let out a choked moan as she began to babble praises that she couldn’t even verbally finish. She was a mess. She felt Rhea’s piercing swirl around her clit, enticing desperate moans from the depths of her soul to rip from her throat. Liv could feel her orgasm approaching quickly, her legs beginning to shake around Rhea’s head as a result. 

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” Rhea hummed into Liv’s folds as she continued the assault with her mouth, drunk off of the taste of her. 

Liv nodded dumbly, unable to even form a coherent thought. “Yes- yeah… oh fuck, Rhea.” she babbles, hips stuttering with every grind. 

“Go ahead, baby. All on my face… every last fuckin’ drop.” Rhea slurs, her words melting into one another. She gripped the flesh of Liv’s ass tighter while holding her against her face as she intensified the motions of her mouth, determined to make her cum in ways Dominik could only dream of. 

Liv does exactly as Rhea asks, eyes rolling back into her head and jaw going slack as she cums. One of her hands released Rhea’s hair and began to strangle the bed sheets surrounding her, twisting and wrinkling them in her vice-like grip. Rhea continued to lap at Liv’s clit as she re-inserted a finger into her, pumping at a steady pace. Liv could barely think as her legs spasmed from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She clenched around Rhea’s finger, hot white lights beginning to blind her vision as Rhea continued to stimulate her. 

Rhea finally removed her fingers from her still leaking hole before Liv rolled off of her and sank into the plush pillows of the mattress. She looked over to Rhea who had brought her fingers up to Liv’s lips which of course she opened welcomingly. Rhea watched in admiration as Liv sucked her juices off of her fingers with closed eyes. She had entered a euphoric state as her mind began to settle. Liv opened her eyes after hearing the soft groan Rhea had let out at the sight of her fingers down Liv’s throat as she continued to clean her up, not wasting a single drop.  Liv nearly orgasmed again when she saw the entire lower half of Rhea's face absolutely soaked with her sweet juices. 

Rhea leans in to kiss her deeply, allowing Liv to taste herself one last time before pulling back with a smile. “Stay here.” she says, mischief blooming in her eyes. Liv nods obediently, she would probably do anything Rhea asked after an orgasm like that. She watches Rhea roll off the bed and walk into the bathroom, enjoying the view as she walks out of the room. Liv hears Rhea rummaging around her belongings softly and wonders what she may be searching for. She had almost fully recovered from her orgasm when Rhea walked back in. Liv turns to face her and feels her jaw drop when she sees what sits on her hips. 

Rhea walks in with a purple silicone strap-on attached to a black harness strapped to her hips. She pauses at the foot of the bed and nods her head at Liv, a silent is this okay? Liv’s face breaks out into a smile and nods back eagerly. 

Rhea grabs her legs and pulls her closer to the edge of the bed before climbing on. She kneels between Liv’s legs and spreads them wide, positioning the tip of her strap to just barely tease her entrance. She runs her cock up and down Liv’s slit, collecting her essence. Rhea leans down and spits right where she and Liv meet. Liv’s breath hitches when she feels it hit her pussy and looks up at Rhea with pleading eyes. 

“Please.” Liv  begs. She almost sounds like she’s on the verge of tears with how desperate she is. Rhea feels her pride swell seeing her like this.

“Please what?” she asks cockily, throwing Liv’s earlier question back at her. Her thumb slides up Liv’s thigh and settles on her clit and begins to rub slow circles, almost in an attempt to coax the answer out of her. 

Liv’s chest heaves at Rhea's ministrations, her mouth falling open slowly and her eyes glued to where Rhea stimulates her. “Fuck me. Please just fuck me… I’ll do anything.” she pleads as she rips her eyes from Rhea’s fingers and returns them to her piercing blue eyes. 

Rhea smirks in satisfaction. She removes her fingers and Liv whimpers at the loss of contact. Rhea decides to compensate by slowly pushing her cock into Liv’s aching cunt, letting out a strained exhale as she does. It takes all of Rhea’s willpower not to fuck into her like an animal at the sound of the prolonged whine Liv lets out as Rhea’s strap stretches her out. Rhea thrusts into her at a slow pace, allowing Liv to adjust to the feeling of having herself filled to the brim over and over again. 

“Faster, please.” Liv breathes. Her nails dig into the skin of Rhea’s biceps in almost painful anticipation. The arousal Rhea felt while seeing her like this couldn’t be compared to any other sentiment on the planet. The way her blonde hair unfurled around her hair like a halo, she looked like an angel. An angel that Rhea couldn’t wait to ruin. 

Rhea increases the speed of her thrusts, bottoming out in Liv’s cunt with each one. Liv’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, mouth agape with the most sinful noises spilling from her parted lips. The backs of her thighs began to ache with the constant slapping of Rhea’s skin against hers, her speed never slowing except to torture the poor woman. The squelches of Liv’s juices dripping from her weeping hole from each thrust made her head spin as they stained the sheets below her trembling body. A sheer creamy ring of white forms at the base of Rhea’s strap. How long has it been? It felt like an eternity, the way the pleasure seemed never-ending as Rhea continued to ravage her body like a woman possessed. 

Liv couldn't do anything but moan Rhea’s name and make pitiful attempts at forming sentences, her words dissolving into whimpers in a matter of seconds. It should be embarrassing, really. And part of her was embarrassed. Embarrassed that she had let mortal enemy have her like this after 2 years of denying herself what she knew would be a destructive paradise. 

“This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Rhea sneered down at the blonde, her voice dripping with malice yet adoration. Her thick accent overtaken by a harsh rasp, sweat forming on her brow and dampening her hair slightly. “You came all the way over here with your stupid little fucking apology prepared just to end up like this, didn’t you?” she pants. Her muscles bulged and glistened with sweat, her back adorned in angry red scratch marks, courtesy of the woman underneath her, to accompany the ink on her skin. 

Liv made another measly attempt at responding to yet another one of her degrading comments but her mind seemed to short circuit as Rhea pressed into her even more, nearly folding her in half the same way she pinned her opponents in the ring. Liv cried out in pleasure, causing Rhea to laugh at her. Her sharp canines were on display, looking as happy as ever knowing that she was the only person who could get Liv like this. Liv could lie and pretend all she wanted with Dominik but they both knew that he couldn’t hold a candle to how Rhea made her feel.

Liv looked over at the mirror beside the bed, seeing exactly how fucked out she was folded up beneath the very woman she swore that she hated, watching as she let her do whatever she wanted to her. Rhea grabbed her face with a heavily inked hand, forcing Liv’s face in the direction of the mirror. 

“My god, look at you… look at how much of a slut you are. Just a stupid, needy fucktoy for Mami to use whenever she wants, aren't you baby?” she cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick at Liv’s neck. She’ll never get over the taste of her. Sweet, tangy, carnal, hers. All hers. 

Liv’s eyes meet Rhea’s piercing blue ones in the mirror, her body aching with pleasure and fatigue but still managed to nod along pathetically to her words. “M’all yours, Mami… all yours.” she whimpered. 

Liv watches Rhea’s eyes light up at her confession. “That's right babe… this is all for you, I’m doing this all for you. Fuckin’ love this body… this pussy… this face.” Rhea says, her words slightly slurred. Her thrusts began to stutter, the piston of her hips becoming erratic as she chased her high the same as Liv did. Her strap fills Liv to the brim and stretches her out until she's delirious while the back of it hits Rhea’s clit just right with every stroke, her moans and pants mingled with hers. 

“Fuck m’gonna cum…” she whispers, not trusting her voice because she knew that it would come out as a whimper pathetic enough to rival Liv’s as she replies with a strangled “me too”, gripping onto Rhea’s shoulders for stability, biceps flexing as she holds herself up. 

“Wanna ride you.” Liv mumbles. Her words are almost impossible to understand with the way her moans overpowered them but Rhea was still able to somehow comprehend her. She nods and pulls out before being quickly shoved back against the pillows. Liv mounts her lap and sinks back down onto her cock in a frenzy, a mix of whimpers and Rhea’s name spilling from her lips uncontrollably. 

“Shit, baby… look at you. So fuckin’ worked up over me, aren’t you? Taking my cock so fucking good… like you were made for it.” Rhea praises, looking up at Liv in awe. Liv’s head was tossed back, tits bouncing as she rode Rhea fiercely. She slows her movements to grind down on Rhea’s hips. The back of the toy rubbed against Rhea’s piercing, making her almost incoherent. Rhea grips Liv’s hips and fucks up into her, matching her movements. 

“That's it baby, give it to me. Come on… show me how fucking bad you want it.” Rhea grits, kissing at Liv’s neck as she does. Liv intensifies her movements at Rhea’s words, her face contorting in pleasure. 

“Fuck, Rhea, right there… god, I’m so close.” Liv whines. Her thighs ached but she deemed it worth it with the amount of pleasure she was experiencing. 

“I know you are, baby, I know. You’re being so fucking good for me, angel. C’mon, give it to me… cum all over my cock.” Rhea purrs, her accent like velvet. 

Liv’s eyes roll back as she feels heat bloom in the pit of her belly. Her second orgasm hits her like a freight train. She cums with a loud cry, her body spasming as she curls herself into Rhea’s arms, burying her face into her neck. Rhea strokes her back and smooths her hair, kissing her shoulder softly until Liv finally stops shaking. Rhea gently lifts Liv up off of her lap just enough to pull the strap out of her and returns her to her previous position. 

They sit there for a moment, holding each other. The silence around them isn’t deafening like it once was, but is now tranquil. It lulls their racing heartbeats and sharp breaths as they melt into each other’s embrace. Liv pushes herself off of Rhea’s body, eyes heavy with fatigue and something else Rhea can’t identify. 

“You okay?” Rhea asks softly, hoping she wasn’t too rough. 

Liv nods with a gentle smile. She was more than just okay, really. She tilts her head slightly and gazes at Rhea, a realization having hit her. “You didn’t get to finish.” she points out. 

Rhea smiles, touched by her thoughtfulness. “That’s alright. I’m more than satisfied.” she reassures her. Sure, she was very close earlier but the contented bliss she felt at the moment made up for the lack of orgasm in her mind.

Liv shook her head in protest. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she actually owed Rhea something. “Please let me.” she says in a soft voice, her index finger following the tattooed lines on Rhea’s forearm. She doesn’t need to specify what she wants to do. Unspoken communication had been one of the things she and Rhea had been the best at back when they were a team.  

Rhea sees the genuine tenderness painted across Liv’s features and agrees. Liv rolls off of her before Rhea attempts to undo the harness around her hips before she’s stopped by Liv’s hands. Liv motions for her to shift down the bed and lay back completely before she unfastens the harness with ease, sliding it down Rhea’s legs and tossing it to the side of the bed. She positions herself on her stomach between Rhea’s legs, bringing them over her shoulders so they could rest there. Rhea’s cunt is coated in her own arousal accumulated from being inside of Liv for so long. Liv plants a sweet kiss right on Rhea’s clit before beginning to devour her. 

Rhea’s back arches up off the bed when she feels Liv’s tongue swirl over her swollen clit and the jewelry that embellished it. Her fingers found themselves gripping Liv’s hair, pulling lightly as she moaned her name sweetly. Liv inserts a finger into her hole and pistons in and out of her gently while sucking on her pearl. Every move she makes is meticulous. Every lick, every suck, every penetration isn’t without intention. Liv isn’t in any rush to make Rhea cum, in fact she wants her to savor it for as long as possible. However, she isn’t surprised when she does in only a matter of moments. Rhea mewls Liv’s name and nothing else as she climaxes around her fingers, like her name is the only thing she can think of when finally arriving to a state of everlasting ecstasy. She’s far quieter than Liv but Liv feels that her noises mean so much more than her own do. 

Liv remains between Rhea’s thighs, placing small kisses here and there until Rhea finally catches her breath. She crawls back up to join her where she lay and places her head on Rhea’s chest, kissing it when she does. Liv listens to Rhea’s heartbeat slowly return to its normal steady pace. This all feels so intimate. 

“You wanna spend the night?” Rhea asks quietly, her voice almost a whisper. She doesn’t really even fully understand why she’s asking, considering she and Liv technically still hate each other. But she would be an even bigger asshole if she made her cry, fucked the everloving shit out of her, and then kicked her out. The last thing she needed was to give Liv yet another reason to want her dead. 

“Sure.” Liv replies, equally surprised at both the question and her answer. She rolls off the bed and follows Rhea into her hotel bathroom, unable to ignore he dull ache in her thighs from the vigor which Rhea fucked her with. 

Inside the shower, they take turns washing each other. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter besides them in that very moment together. The warm water washed away the soap on their bodies and any residue the kisses they were unable to stop giving each other had left behind. After they had dried off, Rhea let Liv borrow another one of her shirts for the night before climbing into bed together. 

Liv nestles herself into Rhea, inhaling the smell of laundry detergent and body wash as she did so. Rhea wraps her arms around her as well and holds her close. They lay in the dark room quietly for a few minutes before Rhea breaks the silence. 

“So… are we ever going to talk about this?” she asks, a bit apprehensive of what this would mean for not only their relationship but Liv’s relationship with Dominik as well.

Liv thinks to herself for a moment, unsure of how to go about things as well. “I’m not sure, to be honest. But don’t think this means that I forgive you for everything you’ve done.” she says.

Rhea chuckles, and the sound warms Liv’s heart more than she’d like to admit. “I know. And I still want my title back.” she responds, unable to hide the smile in her voice.

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Liv giggles. 

They sigh, feeling satisfied and fulfilled. They both knew that this was only a matter of time coming. It was honestly a miracle they were able to hold off for as long as they did because one thing was for sure: they would never stop coming back to each other. 

── •✧• ──

[roolette]

loved your smoke nsfw alphabet and hoped that you could do the same with Johnny? thanks 😁

You KNOW I can do that

Johnny Cage NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Gonna be real, it takes him some time to get into the habit of doing aftercare. He's used to quick hookups, emotionless sex, etc, and he isn't sure how to go about aftercare. Still, he tries. First, he'll offer you a towel. Then, he'll actually be the one to clean you up. Eventually, aftercare becomes normal for him, and he gets really excited about being able to hold you and kiss you after sex. He likes to lie against your chest and kiss your neck

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

All of it. For both you and him. For him, I mean, isn't that obvious? He's THE Johnny Cage, he's sexy as fuck. Specifically, he really likes his hands. For you, he thinks that you're just hot, and he likes the whole package. He really likes your neck, though. Easily kissable and looks great when marked up.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

If you let him cum on your face, he's yours forever. Literally loves the way you look with his cum dripping down your cheeks. Will wipe it off your face and have you open your mouth so he can stick his finger in. He thinks it's the hottest thing.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's a total exhibitionist, and really likes the idea of people seeing the videos you two have made together. Obviously, he'd never do anything without your consent, but if you were ever down, he'd make sure the world knew just how good he fucks you. You'd probably be trending on Twitter.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Experienced in sex, not as experienced in something as intimate and loving as you two. He'll have to remind himself that it's okay to go slow, that you aren't going anywhere, and he can take his time with you.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

He likes when you ride him. He gets a front row seat to you loosing yourself on his dick, and it's the perfect view. He'll hold your hips, thighs, and ass while you ride him, making sure you don't slow down. He'll tease you, too, and it quickly turns into banter.

"C'mon, don't tell me you're getting tired already, hun."

"You can't be the one calling me lazy right now."

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He makes so many jokes. Quips, quotes, everything in between. "Wow babe, you're so tight, that's so cool." There's just a lot of laughter and love here. You two have interrupted sex because you ended up getting into some weird debate or joke.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Man is HAIRLESS. Waxed. Such is the life of a star. He doesn't care about whether or not you shave, though. Hair is natural, after all.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

As much as he's goofy, as much as he dirty talks, there is obvious love and care in every move he makes with you. He wants you to have a good time, and he'll check in to make sure you are.

"Are you good? Like, you're sure? I can move?"

"I've been good for the past five minutes, Johnny. You can fuck me."

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

He doesn't WANT to jerk off, he has the hottest partner in the world, so there shouldn't be any need for that. However, his work has him traveling a lot, which means sometimes he has to do what he has to do. Luckily, with the videos he has of you, there's plenty of jerk off fodder. He also likes phone sex if you're down, and he'll send plenty of pictures that manage to have both his face and dick in the picture- gotta include the whole package.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

I've done a whole post on this here, but I'll add on to it! He likes using toys on you. If you're afab, he'll hold a vibrator to your clit while he fucks you. He also really likes lingerie, no matter what gender you are. He thinks it looks so good on you, and he'll pull the fabric to the side and fuck you.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

In your big bed, obviously. Also against the kitchen counter. Besides the obvious, he likes to fuck you at parties, in some side room or in the corner, not exactly in front of everyone, but dangerously close to being caught. He'll hold his hand over your mouth, whispering in your ear.

"Shh, shh... c'mon, you want everyone finding us out?"

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Everything. Breathe and he's hard. He likes when you dress up, and any pretty outfit is in danger of getting ripped off later. Also, if he's sitting down somewhere, randomly straddling his lap will absolutely do it for him.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Doesn't like HEAVY bdsm. He likes spanking you, but beyond that, he usually just feels weird and guilty if he hurts you any more beyond that. He's the furthest thing for a sadist. He won't get turned on if you cry during sex, he's going to check in and make sure you're okay.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Preferred receiving in the beginning, and still loves it. He likes seeing you look up at him with wide eyes while you suck his dick, holding your hair and guiding you along. Once he got a taste of you, though, that all changed. He could give you head for hours, loves to hear the noises you make. Don't make him choose, he loves both.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Likes going fast and rough, quickly making you cum before doing it again. He's an energetic guy, and going fast works for him. There are, of course, times when he'll go slow, drawing things out and making you squirm.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

LOVES THEM. Thinks they're exhilarating. He says they blow off steam, but he usually just ends up more riled up after.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He's game for the most part, except for anything that will hurt you too bad. Besides that, he wants to try different stuff with you, and he's pretty openminded.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

I don't think this man gets tired, ever. He can last multiple rounds, and he wants to make you cum as many times as he can. Likes to hear you whining and begging for release one more time.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

As I've said, likes using toys. If you're down to peg him, he is SO down for you to peg him. He gets pretty bratty and whiney when you top him, taunting you. Luckily, you're quick to put him in his place.

"Is that all you can do? I'm barely feeling it here."

"Shut up, Johnny. I'll give you something to feel."

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He's the literal worst. The type to finger you under the table with people there. He'll whisper in your ear, promising all the things he's going to do to you. And don't worry, he keeps every promise.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not only does he whine and moan, he TALKS. He will babble on and on about how good you feel, how well you take him, how hot you are. It's flattering, of course, but I don't think he could shut up if he tried. You wonder how he manages to cum when he's so busy talking.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Thinks it's hot when you wear is clothes. No one can wear them better than him, of course, but he loves the way it's just a little too big on you. He'll fuck you in one of his shirts.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Longer than thick, and he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Again, breathe and he's hard. He's pretty much always willing, but understands if you're not. He'll always respect your boundaries. Sex is only fun if both people are into it, after all.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He likes to stay up talking with you, but since you guys usually do more than one round, it's easy for him to get tired. Likes falling asleep with you against his chest. He feels safe with you.

[randomprose]

//part 2 of platonic itafushikugi. set after the kyoto goodwill school event//

i. the one where nobara and megumi cope | iii. the one about megumi

now posted on ao3!

Nobara crosses the corridor to the boys’ side of the dormitory and gets a sense of déjà vu when she sees Megumi hovering outside Yuuji’s bedroom.

It’s not a nightly thing—at least not on Nobara’s part. She’s stopped doing that after Yuuji quite literally came back from the dead. Seeing the familiar scene of Megumi waiting outside Yuuji’s door for… something , she can’t say the same thing for him.

Then again they just got back from another mission tonight where Yuuji, once again, had a really close call with death, and Nobara wonders if this is going to be a routine occurrence for them now.

("Why is it always him?" Megumi had grumbled earlier, but they both already knew the answer to that.)

Megumi’s got a pillow tucked under one of his arms and Nobara, clutching a pillow of her own, just sighs as she marches forward. The both of them didn’t bother with blankets because it’s not that cold tonight and Yuuji runs hot enough not to need spares. The boy is practically a walking furnace.

Nobara takes it upon herself to knock and announce they’re coming in because she suspects Megumi has been standing there for quite some time and if he hasn’t bothered to knock by now he never will. He’s probably still debating whether he should. Stupid boy.

“Oi, Itadori. I hope to the gods you’re decent and not at all doing something I dont wanna see ever ‘coz we’re going in.”

The door is unlocked and Nobara opens it before finishing her spiel. Yuuji looks at them in slight surprise from where he’s seated at the edge of his bed. It seems like he just starting to settle for the night. Good timing then.

“Kugisaki? Fushiguro?” Yuuji sounds confused like they haven’t been doing this for some time. “What’s up? Why are you guys—”

“I’m taking the wall this time,” Nobara announces, throwing her pillow at the corner and climbing past Yuuji. “I don’t wanna wake up on the floor like last time.”

“Guess that’ll be me then,” Fushiguro grumbles after her. “You know you’re the one who moves a lot in your sleep, right?”

“Oh! We’re having a sleepover! Cool!” Yuuji cheers, snuggling close to Nobara when Megumi tells him to scoot over and spreads his blanket across the three of them as best he can.

“Fushiguro, seriously. For what purpose do you feel the need to lie?” Lying on her side with her back pushed against the wooden wall, Nobara smirks, enjoying Megumi’s unimpressed stare. “C’mon. Let’s sleep already. I’m dead-ass tired and I need a full eight hours of beauty sleep if we’re gonna deal with Gojo-sensei tomorrow again.”

“Beauty sleep. Right,” Megumi snorts and snickers with Yuuji when Nobara grasps at one of the smaller pillows to hit him with.

“Shut up and turn off the light you sea urchin looking ass.”

Megumi flicks the light off and they mumble their good nights. Yuuji goes under almost immediately as the lights go off, but sleep doesn’t come as quick to Nobara.

Instead, she shifts closer to Yuuji, eliminating whatever little space they have left between them, and reveling in the warmth radiating off him. Her arm is draped over his torso and she focuses on feeling the rise and fall of his abdomen—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—and when Nobara’s hand travels up to feel the beating in his chest, she finds that a hand is already resting there, right where Yuuji’s heart rests, alive and pumping against his rib cage. Her fingers brush against long cold digits and when she opens her eyes, he sees Megumi looking at her. 

Nobara stills but doesn’t look away from his expectant eyes. Megumi looks too alert in the dark and right here, the three of them tucked under Yuuji’s flimsy blanket that’s too small to fully cover them all, Nobara sees the open vulnerability in his too green eyes. There’s fear in them, something that doesn’t come as a surprise to her because, well, it was Megumi who got a front-row seat to the gory shitshow after all, but there’s understanding there too.

Images of how fucking messed up Megumi had been in the days following Yuuji’s death and how Nobara had to pick up the pieces flashes through her mind’s eye. He tried his best to hide it, but with only the two of them for a time spending their waking days at the school on missions and training, Nobara was bound to see through the cracks of Megumi’s thin veneer. 

And Nobara is many things but she’s always been true to herself. She doesn’t say it and maybe she wasn’t as devastated as Megumi had been when Yuuji died (Jesus Christ, she wonders if the surreality of that will ever fade), but she’s her friend too and she's learned to care for him in the sparse time they’ve known each other much to her chagrin. Living through one too many life-threatening events tends to do that to people. If nothing else, Jujutsu Tech is really proficient in trauma bonding its students. 

So, Nobara lays her hand on top of Megumi’s, squeezes it once feeling his cracked knuckles underneath her palm, and hopes she conveys the same understanding in the small gesture.

Megumi gets it and he shifts his hand minutely to slot their fingers together, his long calloused ones trapping Nobara’s smaller softer digits in between, and squeezes back.

They fall asleep like that, hand in hand, lulled to calm and sleep by the rhythmic beating of Yuuji’s heart, tucked safe and alive between them.

--

edit: now posted on ao3! also turning this into a 3 chaptered fic centered on each incident about them! next up will be megumi getting hit by hanami's cursed plants.

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi! I am a sucker for hc where Levi is illiterate when he first joined the scouts, tried to hide it from everyone but eventually Hange notices..LEVIHAN FLUFF ❤️✋💀

This was an awesome ask! Thank you so much for sending it to me. I love writing canonverse, especially when I get the chance to work in a hc amongst the source material. I added some of my hcs for Hange too. Hope you like it - let me know what you think! A World Without Words Characters: Levi x Hange Word Count: 1632 words Canon universe

A hush had settled over the Mess Hall, broken only by the occasional clinking of cutlery and low hum of voices. A pair of fresh recruits were heatedly debating a topic in low, urgent tones. The newly-appointed leader of Second Squad sat staring into an empty tankard. On the far side of the room Hange had taken a lone seat at one of the long, wooden tables. Their hands were clasped upon the tabletop; in front of them a plaid tea towel had been draped over two dishes. Eyes alight, they spied Levi as he entered through the main doors. Slyly, and without turning their head, Hange mapped his progress as he crossed the hall towards them.  

“Evening, Levi!” they began animatedly before he had even reached for the backrest of the closest chair. “Now, I know this dinner is seriously overdue, given how long it’s been since your first expedition…”

Levi scraped his chair against the flagstones noisily, causing several heads to whip around in their direction. 

“...I’m sorry that I couldn’t afford anywhere more fancy! My measly wages just don’t stretch that far,” Hange laughed. “But luckily, I was able to save us -” Theatrically, they flung back the plaid cloth to reveal two floral-patterned plates bearing thick slices of flaky pastry, each deep-filled with cold offcuts. 

“The last two pieces of pie!” 

“You needn’t have gone to any trouble,” Levi said in a low voice. “I’m not hungry.”

Hange’s hand dropped to the table in defeat. “So much for that then. I guess I could always give the other slice to Moblit…”

Levi took a seat beside Hange, one arm leaning on the table’s edge. “You brought those papers, right?” 

“Right! The purchase order forms.”

Hange reached down to retrieve several crumpled sheets, a pen nib and a small well of ink from their bag. They pushed the plates aside and laid the materials out between the two of them.

“I’ve been curious since you mentioned it, Levi… what exactly do you need these for?”

Levi leaned back so that his elbow rested on the back of his chair. “Well… since I’ve been made Captain, it means I’ve gotta sign formal papers, right? Let’s just say someone suggested I take a look at a few examples.” 

“Ah, then say no more!” Hange brought the top sheet closer, tracing the lines of cramped, untidy scrawl with their finger. “The item you’re ordering goes in this column, reference or serial number if needed in the second column, and then the cost goes here.” Their finger travelled to the bottom of the paper. “Then you need to sign and date it before it goes to Erwin for approval.”

Hange sat back as Levi pored over the contents of the page. “Do you use the same form for everything? Food, equipment - things like that?”

“The same type of form, sure, but you would order food provisions separately to, say, housekeeping supplies or weaponry.” Hange pushed their glasses further up their nose. Levi’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he read, his mouth silently shaping the letters. Hange felt compelled to offer an apologetic shrug.

“This one is for specialist equipment,” they tried meekly. “The top row says ‘microscope.’ It’s not easy to read thanks to my bad handwriting!”

Without reply, Levi shuffled the papers so that a bank sheet was placed beside Hange’s order form. His expression, if anything, grew more intense as he dipped the pen into the inkwell. Hange glanced around the sparse hall, listening to the scratching of Levi’s writing amidst the murmur of voices. It was only as he drew to a sudden halt that Hange looked down at the page. They were astonished to see it empty.

At first, Hange wondered whether the pen nib had finally broken. It was one they had long meant to throw out. But - no - Levi had only managed to produce a few disjointed letters before the pen had come to a rest, point-down on the page. His arm was trembling as he pressed the nib down hard. The metal buckled, threatening to snap. 

“Levi!” Hange grabbed the tea towel to mop up the ink which had spurted onto the paper. “Stop - you’ll tear a hole in it!”

But Levi was still glaring, the pen clutched in his whitened fist. All of a sudden, Hange felt like a fool. They removed the towel, twisting it upon their lap as they sought for a tactful way to address the obvious, but unanticipated, obstacle which lay before them. 

“Sorry. Perhaps one of Miche’s reports would have been easier - clearer -  to follow.”

Hange swallowed uncomfortably, the heat rising in their cheeks. 

“No.” Levi’s voice was calm, at odds with his squared shoulders and stiffened arm. “It’s not the handwriting.”

“Then… I’m sorry that I didn’t make the connection.” Despite their desire to avoid any further embarrassment for him, Hange could not help but scrutinise Levi’s writing. “I’m sure things in the Underground were very different when it came to education…”

Levi met their enquiring gaze, his eyes narrowed.

“I can read and write. I know the words I need,” Levi dropped the pen upon the table. “But when it comes to certain technical words like these…” He gestured at the paper. “...they never mattered as much. In that place, you didn’t need to know how to spell to go on living.”

“That makes sense.” Hange’s own shoulders relaxed a little. “Perhaps you never had a formal education, Levi, but you have combat skills and street smarts. You’re good at reading people.” 

Levi scoffed bitterly.

“Believe me when I say that Erwin doesn’t hire leaders based on their literacy levels.” Hange regarded him warmly over their clasped hands. “Not when they have so much more to offer.” 

Levi held their look for a moment before he glanced away uncomfortably. 

“And in the meantime, I can help!” Hange took a fresh sheet of paper from their bag and passed it to Levi for him to etch out a copy of the three columns.

“For instance when you write ‘grapple hook,’ ‘grapple’ has the ‘l’ and the ‘e’ the other way round.” Hange watched as Levi carefully transcribed the correct spelling onto the sheet.

“Underneath you wrote ‘gas’ before you stopped. Is that for a new batch of gas cylinders?”

Painstakingly, Levi copied each letter as Hange spelled the second word. They continued in this way until Levi had populated the columns. 

“I bet you picked all this up from books, huh Four Eyes?” Levi lifted his hand to check his penmanship. The letters were a little uneven and spaced out. Like a child’s writing, the dark ink glistened from the exertion of pressing the pen nib a little too hard against the paper. “Tell me you weren’t huddled under the covers each night, reading until morning?”

A wistful smile appeared on Hange’s face. Then the light dimmed in their eyes.

“I wish…” When they laughed this time, it was a hollow sound. “... but we didn’t have books at home.”

Levi placed the pen down. Hange lowered their hands to grip their knees, their gaze averted to the tabletop.

“I managed to get a couple of books from a trader in town. They were black market goods. I thought I’d hidden them well enough but my parents found them and burned them.”

Levi raised his eyebrows.

“Wallists,” Hange explained in answer to his surprise. “They were simple farming folk. Small town people with small minds. They were wary of outside influences and with good reason too. Each week came reports of disappearances, killings… the inescapable fates which awaited those who asked too many questions.”

They gave a small sigh.

“My school, like the others, banned all books other than those which were government-approved. We weren’t allowed to read for ourselves, think for ourselves or question what we were being told. It was all so -” They brought their fist down upon the table, sending the long-forgotten plates of pie clattering. “- infuriating!”

Levi’s mouth hung slightly open.

“We never really had books in the house either,” he admitted. “I remember there was one that Iz-” He stopped himself. Hange said nothing, for Levi had not so much as uttered the names of his two closest friends since their first disastrous expedition almost one year ago. 

Levi drew a breath and continued.

“We didn’t have much… what we did have was either traded or sold.” He rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand. “I can’t even remember what it was called now. I think it had a horse on the cover? Guess it’s just another lost thing.” A faraway look had come into his eyes.

Before Hange could offer comment, Levi seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. He took up a fresh sheet and, laying it by the side of the first, began to copy out his lines neatly. Hange watched in quiet amazement.

“But look at this improvement already! I’ve never seen such progress before!” They gripped Levi’s shoulder.

“Careful, idiot! You’ll jog me.”

Hange released him and continued their proud observation as Levi dipped the pen in the inkwell. “Your writing is so neat, Levi. In a few more tries it’ll look as professional as newspaper print!”

Levi completed his final line slowly.

Above, approved. Levi.

“No thanks to this mess of a report.” Levi glowered at Hange’s original document. “...but I do owe you for the spelling lesson, at least. Thanks Hange.”

“Hmm.” Hange tapped a finger against their chin. “How about this then? You treat us to dinner next time. Call it payment for my tuition?”

Levi managed a husky laugh as he stood and gathered the papers into a pile.

“Let me think about that, Four Eyes. For now, I’d better go hand these in.”

[whitehartlane]

very, very many people are happy (and writing accordingly) that this tournament is taking place in Germany (aka a country with football/fan culture) and not in Qatar. It‘s so much better than the world cup in terms of a great atmosphere, so much celebration and interaction between the different fan groups - like the love the Scottish and the Germans have for each other! Oranje’s street dance parties. There was none of that in Qatar. Like there‘s no debate that this is much better. What’s your issue with it?

hi! i live in germany, in munich, and so i’ve got front row seats to the atmosphere. it’s been lovely and i’ve said so on here despite being someone who doesn’t care much for the euros. i’m very much aware of the football and fan culture here and take part in it happily.

i’m going to gently refute your claim (since i’m going to assume you’re coming from a place of curiosity and not of malice though i find your tone questionable) that ‘there’s no debate on the fact that this atmosphere is better’ and ask you to consider the perspectives and the backgrounds of people saying that the atmosphere here at the euros is better. i’ve said this before as well when the euros were starting and this topic came up—who are these euros more enjoyable for? who was the world cup more enjoyable for?

the wc22—and just the tournament mind, i’m not getting into the politics rn—was a huge landmark for asian and african footballing nations. it was the first time three afc nations (south korea, japan, australia) made it to the knockouts and it was the first time that an arab/african nation made it to the semifinal (morocco). for people who watch football and aren’t from europe or don’t have a connection to europe the wc22 was everything in terms of seeing the real tangible development that is happening in regards to football for our countries and continents.

‘there was none of that in qatar’ is false. players alone: a sobbing son heungmin throwing his mask down onto the ground hearing that south korea was going to make it to knockouts. a laughing sofiane boufal dancing with his mum as morocco made it to the semifinal. fans? japanese fans cleaning up the stadium after their win against germany (there are so many videos of tokyo set alight with the celebrations). ghanaian fans celebrating after south korea won their match against portugal knocking uruguay out. most importantly, the countless amount of times the palestinian flag was raised high in hope and solidarity by so many supporters. and many many more such examples.

football is the world’s sport. it’s a sport you need absolutely nothing to play. whether it be in the alleys of gelsenkirchen or the streets of nepal, it will always be the same sport. i have firmly believed and maintained that this site’s eurocentrism when it comes to football is appalling. it’s a sport that is loved everywhere. you cannot develop this sport globally if you focus in on the footballing cultures of only european nations when football is loved just as fiercely in other parts of the world. our players play on pitches that aren’t taken care of and we travel to stadiums that are half breaking down because we love the game.

to me the atmosphere debate is pointless and fruitless. just because europe wasn’t involved in the atmosphere and the highs of the wc22 for the first time (and so many european heavyweights were knocked out) doesn’t mean that the tournament itself was worth less than the euros now.

[sureinsunlight]

I’m gonna mead you to do the entire OC meme (or just the ones you wanna) for

Saudade, Cassie, and All My Dust Fed Men

*cracks knuckles*

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

Saudade can't stand being alone. If no one's around to talk to him, his hands will grab him up in a big cocoon and hold her so so so so tight. Unfortunately, she was alone for a very long time post-exile, so. Yeah that didn't go well.

Cassie actually likes the quiet! Technically she's not by herself, much, since her god is often close on her heels, but it's also not really a person and more of a very powerful and worship-eating houseplant so she'd call it 'alone'. It's always a good time to reflect on things, she's a thoughtful person.

Dusty, too, likes solitude, although he'd much prefer to be around Ren, the object of his obsession. When alone, though, he often withdraws from whatever system he's puppetting and sleeps in his casket. Often, and here's a little treat-- he hums. Likes making up silly songs.

betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

Saudade's exile and punishment by Queen Maebe was, I'd say, a betrayal. He thought hers was a court of wonder and play, and what is generosity but wondrous? How could he be called a thief and king-pretender, just for sharing what there was so much of?

Cassie's never felt personal betrayal, no, but she feels a sort of collective, existential treachery on behalf of all mortalkind at the hands of the gods. Despite professing that divinity has no true sapience, she cannot quite let go of some personal venom.

Dusty was once betrayed. Or... will be? Either way, it was/will be all made right and of no consequence. He wasn't/won't have been in his right mind, after all.

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Saudade, for one of his crimes, was cast out of her body and into the nothing of Shadowfell for a long, long time outside of time. His friends and subjects brought him back, but the memory aches constant.

Cassie's come from a relative position of power in her society, and so has never felt punishment of a punitive sort beyond a sort of brief diplomatic detainment. Wasn't a problem at all.

Dusty, as an NHP, might very well be said to be an always-prisoner. This is heavily up for debate, of course.

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Somehow, with everything that's happened to Saudade, I can't really say she's ever hit her absolute lowest. It'd be interesting to see what that looks like, huh?

Cassie would need something to happen that truly, deeply, shook her beliefs to their core. This isn't something I can easily imagine, given how absolutely zealous she is, but I imagine it could happen were she to find herself emulating godhood a little too closely.

Dusty's broken down before, and it was a long, slow process. Ren was there for a front-row seat the whole time. I think Dusty was born breaking.

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

Saudade just wants companionship. She wants to not feel alone.

Cassie wants to see the heavens overturned and the hells made empty. She wishes to spear down the demiurge and make all the world open to mortalkind, that they may not be preyed on by the divine.

Dusty wants to see an apotheosis, to be a part of shifting the veil between life and death. At first, this was going to be something grand, and he was ready to tear it all down to get it-- but now, I think, he's okay with simply seeing it in Ren.

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

Saudade failed when he believed the words of his queen, and forsaked his good deed for even a moment. He still fails to understand that she was wrong.

Cassie is a mockery of her own faith, sometimes, and a butcher at best. She says she's proud of it, but sometimes she wishes true radical freedom made her hands drip a little less.

Dusty does not dwell on mistakes. All that will be will be.

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

The thought of being alone again, really alone, is a constant, terrifying specter in Saudade's mind.

Cassie is afraid of being undone and failing in her task-- or becoming as a god herself. To her such a thing would be ego-death and mortification of a deep sort.

Dusty's greatest fear, I think, is seeing the world unchanged. Carrying on with its endless minutae of nothing.

(going to skip "future" as it's more or less the same as "fear" in this case)

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

Saudade, I think, often wonders about the Fomorian he met out there in the woods of his court. Wonders if they made it away alright, or if her kindness doomed them.

Cassie, wouldn't you know, sometimes has nightmares about sainting the man that now houses her god. She did a good job of it, but she's aware of the cost. It's part of how she stays moral, in her eyes.

Dusty's always going to wonder, I think, about what could have been if he hadn't been/won't be betrayed and stopped-- but it's more of a game of curiosity, something to bat about when his mind starts to fracture and drift. Serves as a good benchmark for cycling, too.

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

Aside from the crime she thinks she committed, I think Saudade probably hurt someone in her early days in the prime material. She was hungry and needed supplies, and hadn't quite figured out how to control her friends. She keeps the guilt close to his heart.

Cassie, as said in the last question, forces herself to reckon with the gruesome business that is saint-making. It's glorious, and those who give themselves for it ought to be lionized, but still. Can't forget the cost.

Dusty has no understanding, I think, of guilt. He made Ren sad once. Maybe that's got something like regret attached.

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

Saudade would never admit it, but if he could go back to Nap-o-Noon, and if he could sic his many, many friends upon the fair-sunn'd queen...

Cassie hates the gods for existing, for condemning creation to suffer their whims. Her life is dedicated to erasing them, in what she sees as radical liberation of the metaphysical.

Dusty hates boredom. That's really all there is to it. A lot of things are boring, so he does as he can.

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

Saudade has never felt heartbreak, mostly because she's a bit of a complete beginner at those sorts of things anyways! Mortals are so strange with their courtships...

Cassie having had some like. teen-angst style breakups is incredibly funny to me so I'm saying that's canon.

Dusty doesn't do much of 'love' either, tbh! He's got an obsession, and that one smashes right past love and goes to somewhere deeply devoted and borderline unhealthy, but there needs to be a new word coined for whatever that feeling is.

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

Saudade hides so he can be left alone.

Cassie hides until the time is right.

Dusty hides because he does not want his one treasure taken. His one treasure is enough.

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

Saudade has the court of Nap-o-Noon on her heels, who seeks to hunt him like foxen quarry for their queen.

Cassie is typically the hunter, not the hunted, but sometimes she's chased away and forced to lay low by faithful who heard her divine-antagonistic preaching.

Dusty is an unregistered NHP and therefore an ontological fugitive of Union! Dw no one will ever find him now.

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

Saudade couldn't hide his feelings if she had the world's largest haystack I'm so so sorry.

Cassie, though, she wears a pretty little mask (sometimes literally) as the wandering saint-maker, all grandiose and know-me-and-rejoice. She mostly believes it, too!

Dusty does not hide besides physically. Tuckin' away in some good good flesh. It's wonderful. cosy adn squishy.

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

Saudade fears being caught and losing what he has now-- that and the ptsd nightmares do it pretty intensely.

Cassie has back problems, but that's about it. I'm being so real about this one.

Dusty never sleeps, but often is preoccupied with musings of a strange nature, especially in the little hours. He tends to treat Ren like a stuffie about it.

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

Saudade: Getting caught.

Cassie: Doubting herself.

Dusty: Making his cerberus fear him.

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

Saudade's more of a quietly fucked up little creechur, but he very much thtinks himself a monster. The hands reaching out from behind unseen spaces in things around him definitely add to the effect, though.

Cassie would say her god is the most monstrous thing about or around her, she on the other hand is perfect. Imagine sparkles showering everywhere when I say that.

Dusty is quite monstrous, a mass of eyes and flesh and half-formed things. Real big gore hours. He's a big fan of it though, personally.

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

Saudade has nightmares a lot when he sleeps. Tends to talk about them to his wonderful new consort, Edel, when they're there, and his friends if they aren't.

Cassie sometimes has the sort of nightmares that aren't scary on their own merit, but nonetheless carry that awful aura of dread with them that she has trouble shaking for an hour or two after waking up.

Dusty's musings are the sort of things that would be stuff of nightmares to most, but he finds a beauty to them. Sometimes he'll murmur them in Ren's ear, to share the curiosity.

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

Saudade has a lower pain tolerance than it appears, but that's mostly because he's so sensory-seeking that even pain, to her, is worth tanking through.

Cassie's not used to taking damage herself so she's a bit of a wimp. Frankly, can't at all take is like she can dish it.

Dusty's a hardy thing, and his mind-- being only shackled into a human-esque shape-- interpellates pain as more of a... hm. It's like a lesson; a fable unfolding before him.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

Saudade is sure that, deep inside, he's got some of that Shadowfell ugly stuck inside her, and she'll never be ready with it.

Cassie is glad no god heeds her prayers, for she whispers her doubts more nights than she wishes she did, rare as they might run.

Dusty is an open book, but there are secrets of the nature of his existence even he doesn't quite know yet. He's keen to search for their unveiling.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

Saudade: Depends on how much of that skin is touching someone. Directly proportional, in fact.

Cassie: Quite, thank you.

Dusty: Feels most comfortable in Ren's skin, if he's being honest (and he is).

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

Saudade's confinement in nothingness was fairly torturous, I'd say-- and besides, there were a fey hunter or two that wanted his one large, gemlike eye. Didn't end well for them, but wasn't fun for Saudade either.

Cassie's job is technically torture from a certain, largely correct, perspective. Saint-making is not a painless thing for any party involved.

Dusty cares for things more final than torture, personally, but his methods in the past have sometimes been a little too slow to be anything else. The experience of cascade is more rapturous than torturous to him.

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

Saudade handles wounds like a shot dog-- retreating away to nurse his wounds. He also tends to keep fussing with them because the ache distracts him from the Horrors a bit. The mind holds much more tendency to harm than the body, for her.

Cassie just complains, very loudly, when struck. Her worst wounds are by far those of the flesh.

Dusty takes wound in the same stride as one takes frustration-- it only spurs him onward. Unraveling is little more than a dance to him.

[dk-wren]

Rogers: The Musical First Impressions

Just finished watching a recording of Rogers: The Musical, which I am so happy to finally say, is currently running at the Hyperion Theatre inside Disney's California Adventure theme park on select days through Aug. 31st!

While subject to change, Rogers: The Musical will typically run from Tuesday to Saturday, with performances at 12:30, 2:00, 4:00, and 5:30

Here is a link to the recording I watched, but there are already plenty of videos of the whole show to choose from. Just thought I'd include it since my thoughts may be specific to what I saw in this video.

Summary of Final thoughts: I was very excited about this musical actually becoming a real thing and being developed more. Additionally, I was super interested to see if Disney tried to develop it as a serious musical or leaned more into the satire and comedy of "Save the City." Bottom line, I had so much fun watching it and thoroughly enjoyed it. I am a huge theatre fan, so definitely have a few critiques, but given its constraints, for a first production, really great.

And now, if you are interested, here is my long list of more in depth first impressions/thoughts:

Even based solely on what's been adapted in the MCU, there's still a lot of history that could be covered in a musical about Steve Rogers, which this musical does attempt to cover. So, the pacing is pretty quick.

It's kinda like a slideshow where you see the snapshots, but not the details. The only times it felt like I had a break to just sit and be in the moment was during the songs/musical numbers. Now, I don't think I can necessarily say this is a negative since it is only a 35 minute musical. I just had to sorta shift my expectations.

Building off of that, for a 35 minute, theme park musical, I'd say it's pretty darn good. It had less base material compared to Aladdin or Frozen (the previous two musicals staged in the Hyperion Theatre) that could easily translate to the stage, which allowed this creative team to have a lot of freedom in how to adapt this story for the stage. And, honestly, I really enjoyed their choices.

It's Disney and it's their theme parks. Avengers Campus is literally steps away from this theatre, so they absolutely could have gone all in in designing beautifully elaborate costumes, specifically the super hero suites. But they didn't, and I kinda liked it. Part of the decision for the actors' costumes to look more like everyday clothing likely comes from the design choices made for "Save the City" when it appeared in Hawkeye, but also, if the Captain America walk-around costume was to be the one used in this musical, I feel it would actually look a little out of place. I enjoyed how the costumes weren't one-to-one reproductions, but rather representations of each character and their signature look. You can still clearly tell who is who, but it matches the more minimalist style of the stage design too.

Loved The Starkettes! In terms of costuming, loved how their looks changed between the 40s/USO look and the modern day/business look to reflect the setting. I'm debating if I want to refer to them as the narrators or the chorus, but either way, loved their interactions with the Marvel characters and responses to certain lines in the show.

At least from this video, the projections and digital backdrops looked well done. Loved how there was not an emphasis on making like Times Square look hyper-realistic.

I don't think I'd say the digital backgrounds looked cartoonish, especially in a bad way, but there definitely is an aspect to them that's meant to be stylized. Again, this then compliments the design choices of like 3 comic book covers and that whole sequence about Steve fighting in WWII.

I could be wrong, but Rogers seems to have a smaller cast than Aladdin or Frozen. Absolutely loved their performances, but sometimes it felt like the stage was a little too big or too bare for the size of the ensemble/cast (could also be due to having minimal set pieces). - This is meant as an observation not as a critique

During the scene in which Steve and Peggy are chatting about going dancing before he crashes the plane into the ice, that conversation was translated into a song. And in my head, I was like YES!!! That's how you do a musical adaptation. You take those iconic and emotionally charged lines and put them to music.

Like I said at the very beginning, there's a lot that could be covered in a musical about Steve Rogers, so I kinda appreciated how there was like a mini reprise or continuation of "Save the City" as announcements came about attacks in different locations, which corresponds to all or most of the movies Captain America has been in. It reminded me of "Drive" from The Lightning Thief of quickly condensing a bunch of events/locations into the span of a few minutes, something the musical needed given its runtime.

This way, it acknowledges those events rather than completely ignoring them, but doesn't spend a whole lot of time with each one. The way I interpreted it too, when Cap sings the very last "I can do this all day," it then feels kinda somber in that he is reflecting on having to continuously fight in all these battles, with the expectation of always "saving the city." Plus, I thought it was a great transition to the next song, which in all honesty, I could not tell from the video if it was meant to be pre-serum or old Steve.

Loved how everyone came back out in the end for the finale (it's like memory lane)

Hoping to see it in person. This recording just confirmed to me that I am going to have a good time. Literally, big smile on my face, quietly cheering and whooping throughout the show, I'm just so excited to (hopefully) go to the theatre for a purely fun/good time.

[nobully]

🍿    :   watch a rom-com with my muse. lmao

(     *     VALENTINE’S DAY PROMPTS   ! | 🍿    :   watch a rom-com with my muse.

"What do you mean you've never seen a romcom before?"

'I mean, they're not exactly my go-to genre.'

"Well, what about with friends? What did you guys watch together?"

'Uhhh...action films, mostly? Also, basketball games and crime documentaries...'

'Besides, it's just a movie. Who cares what you watch if you're entertained?'

"Ugh, no wonder you're so clueless!" Nicolette grabbed Wang Yi by the arm and started dragging him to the theaters. "Come on, we're going to watch one right now!"

'What, why?!'

"Because your romance-deficient brain's gonna bite you in the ass one day."

'That doesn't even make anatomical sense...'

"Just shut up and pay for the popcorn!"

'Fine, fine...sheesh.'

So they bought the tickets and a giant bucket of popcorn with two drinks. Wang Yi's not sure why the usher winked at him when he collected their stubs, but when he entered their theater and saw the audience inside, he started to have an inkling.

'Valentine's coming up, huh...'

"What, thinking of nice gifts?" Nicolette teased, and okay that was definitely blatant enough that he got the hint and squirreled it away for later.

'No, just thinking how out of place we are in this room full of couples,' Wang Yi muttered under his breath. That "Sizzle, Pop, and Couple's Cups" snack deal should've clued him in, but he was too happy about saving money at the time to pay it closer attention.

In response, Nicolette just hooked her arm around his and pulled him close on purpose. "We are a couple. Of friends. Who the hell cares what they think?"

'Yeah but, look at them all cuddling and stuff...' Wang Yi side-eyed a couple where the boyfriend was feeding his girlfriend popcorn. 'We stick out like a sore thumb.'

"Ohhhh, so you want me to feed you popcorn too?"

'No!'

"All right, calm down. I'll behave. Besides, the point is to watch the movie, not get frisky like a pair of teenagers." Nicolette's grip tightened on Wang Yi as she dragged them to their seats. "Come sit. It's not like you'll die from being seen with me, right?"

There was a high note in her voice that Wang Yi had learned to recognize as a giveaway: if he kept on complaining, she'd probably feel hurt. So he tactfully shut up and settled down on one of the big plush recliners. 'Anyways, just don't hog all the popcorn.'

Nicolette broke into gleeful laughter.

Eventually the lights dimmed and the movie began: some fun-filled romp about a woman chasing after her ex who was now engaged to another girl. Halfway through Wang Yi realized they could've solved everything just by sitting down and talking and quickly lost interest. Instead, his eyes wandered over the other audience members. There was a couple near the front row with their foreheads touching, not interested in the movie at all. Another had the girl leaning her head on her lover's shoulder. And the couple a few seats down from them...

Wang Yi had to squint to see clearly, but it looked like they'd graduated from hand-feeding each other popcorn to passing it back and forth between their mouths with kisses. He was still debating whether to feel embarrassed for their sake when a voice whispered by his ear.

"What are you looking at?"

His head whipped back to catch Nicolette's innocent grin as she sipped from her straw.

"Something more interesting than the movie?"

The couple a few seats down giggled; Wang Yi's 99% sure Nicolette can see them too since everyone's got their seats down for the film. He rolled his eyes at her and mumbled,

'...it's not that.'

'I'm just surprised people actually do that stuff in public.'

As predicted, Nicolette dropped her act once the jig was up, but her words aren't any less stimulating. "I don't know, I think they're pretty tame compared to what you did that night in my apartment."

He could feel his face heating up in the dark. 'Will you let that drop?'

"I mean, it was pretty unforgettable." Strangely enough, she sounded pretty genuine. "Enough that I'm still a mix of fucking mad and awestruck that you actually pulled it off."

'Okay? But I swear it was an accident.'

"There are no accidents in romcoms."

'You think we're living in a romantic comedy right now?'

"I don't know about the romance part, but you're pretty hilarious on a regular day, Yiyi."

'...thanks, I guess?'

They end up being shushed and shut up for the rest of the movie, which played out as expected and ended with a kiss, proposal, and marriage. When the two finally rose to leave, it was to see most of the couples stay behind and continue being lovey-dovey through the credits. Escaping it was almost a relief.

"What did you think of the movie?" Nicolette asked as soon as their footsteps hit the sidewalk outside.

'It was all right, I guess? A little illogical, but I guess that's romance for you.' Wang Yi was ready to end it there, but seeing Nicolette's expectant look, tried for a little more. 'Also...there really wasn't a villain character? Kinda lacking, yeah?'

He got a disgruntled noise in response. "Not every romcom needs an actual villain."

'But there's no real conflict without one.' Those petty arguments and staged misunderstandings that took its place didn't really draw him in.

"Yes there is. The romance, Wang Yi? The fricking feelings of pining plaguing both sides? I mean I know some guys don't go for that kind of stuff, but you can still feel it, right?"

'Uhh...I don't, actually.' Like literally, what was emotion.

Nicolette stopped walking to place her hands on her hips. "If you hated the movie that much, you can just say it outright."

Oh um, she misunderstood. 'I don't hate it,' Wang Yi corrected hastily, 'I just...don't feel anything about it.'

Nicolette blinked before she leaned in, incredulous. "No? Nothing?"

'I mean, I can get an idea from most of the scenes, but I have to think about it first.'

"What about the scene where the couple met as childhood friends and he gave her a flower ring as a promise token?"

'I was debating whether she made a replacement or stored it in a freezer to keep it fresh 25 years later.'

"Or the one where the guy finally confesses his love, only for the girl to leave him because he was still wearing his engagement ring?"

'He probably could have called her to reschedule and try again.'

"How about in the end, when they got together despite everything and floated away in their log cabin with hot air balloons?"

'That part reminded me of a Pizar movie, actually. I wonder if they bought the copyrights to Above? Also, no way the plumbing would have worked in that house.'

"You're missing the point!"

'I thought movies were up to personal interpretation...'

"Did you even interpret anything? You're just picking out problems and thinking of weird solutions to them!"

'You're the one who asked...'

"Oh, so it's my fault now, is it?!"

'Uh, do you want me to buy you ice cream or something...you're looking kinda heated.'

"Kind of? Wang Yi, you're so dense!" Nicolette fumed. Or at least, she looked like she was fuming, with her red face, angular brows, and intense stare. He wanted to check just how taut her expression was, but she turned away before he could look closer. "What kind of idiot eats ice cream in winter?!"

'So I guess that's a no?'

"Gods, stop asking if you already know the answer!"

'I mean, it's not like I can read your mind.'

"Are you seriously pissing me off on purpose right now?!"

Wang Yi scrunched his eyebrows and stopped in place as Nicolette stalked off. He didn't get why, but everything he said seemed to be pushing her buttons today. But they weren't any different from his usual lines?

'Wait,' he scrambled and chased after her. 'Are you like, PMSing or someth—'

"What?!" Nicolette turned, absolutely livid; Wang Yi didn't stop in time and slammed face-first into her elbow as she swung her arm backwards.

—

Hours later saw Wang Yi sprawled over the couch in his condo, cradling an ice pack to his fresh black eye as Nicolette poured them drinks (water, not wine).

"Hey, can you see?" she asked after setting their cups on the table.

'Kinda hard to tell when my eyelid's swollen shut.'

'I can try to pry it open.'

"Don't touch it!" she hissed and rushed over, only to see that he had one arm draped over the sofa and the other firmly gripping his ice, not his face. "Dammit, Yiyi!"

Wang Yi was surprised too. He blinked at her with his one good eye before trying a smile. 'Sorry, I didn't actually mean that.'

"You don't mean half the things that come out of your mouth," she huffed at him and sat back down.

'Right,' he admitted. When there was no comment after that, Wang Yi tried, 'Um...so what are we going to tell Zhilan?'

"That you ran into my elbow, what else?"

'I mean, this time the truth's gonna sound like a lie and he might think we fought for real. Which—to be fair—we kinda did?'

"Arguing isn't fighting, it's literally how we talk," Nicolette countered.

'Yeah, but to the rest of world we're—'

"Why do you care so much about public opinion?" she snapped. "What about what I think? Or—or Zhilan, or any of your other friends?"

'Weren't we just talking about Zhilan?'

"I mean in general," Nicolette sighed. "I swear, Wang Yi. It's like sometimes you only hear half of what I say, while other times you read me like a book and forget everything by the end of the day."

'It comes off that way, huh?' Wang Yi genuinely wondered. 'Maybe I'm just grasping at things I know.'

"Oh sure, like how you always catch me lying because you're a hopeless liar yourself?"

'Basically?'

Nicolette was genuinely getting sick of this. "What else are you incapable of? Besides telling the truth, apparently."

'Well,' And Wang Yi swallowed, strangely grateful that he's stuck staring at the ceiling instead of her face. 'I don't think I actually feel—'

*+:｡.｡𝄞 어느 작별이 이보다 완벽할까 Love me only till this spring... ~♪ ｡.｡:+*

Both of them turned to look at the table where Nicolette's phone was going off. Then she yelped and picked it up.

"Hellooooo, Lanlan! Mm-hmm, uh-huh...oh of course, you're so sweet~" Nicolette glanced up from her phone and nudged Wang Yi's leg with her foot. "Zhilan wants to know what we want for takeout tonight, pizza or Italian?"

Wang Yi lifted his head to stare at her blearily. 'Pizza is Italian.'

"Shut up, it's a whole new world for him."

'Whatever's fine...you pick.'

"You're so boring?"

'Thanks, I try.' He meant it too, but Nicolette just made a face at him and went back to talking to Zhilan.

"Hello? Yes Lanlan, apparently Yiyi can't tell the difference between either choice so anything goes! Hm, me? Oh no, I think it'd be more fun if you chose..." She chattered on happily while he flopped back against the couch, content to be ignored.

"...by the way, I gave him a black eye with my elbow."

Wang Yi jolted up, nearly concussing his eyeball against his ice pack.

"No, no we didn't fight...this time it was an accident, promise...yes, he's fine, but preparing more ice isn't a bad idea, Lanlan!" Nicolette caught his movement out of the corner of her eye and mouthed a super obvious "I told you so" with her lips.

"Mhm, all right! See you tonight! Byeeeeee~"

Click.

She tossed her phone on the couch this time and plopped down next to him.

"If you have to lie, don't do it to Lanlan of all people."

'A little too late for that, don't you think?'

"Don't do it any more than you have to?" Nicolette poked him in the side. "Besides, I explained everything already. He gets it."

'He gets what we show him, you mean.'

"Wow, is this how honesty looks on you, Wangy? Because you sound fucking depressing."

‘Blame the brain damage.’ Wang Yi shifted his ice pack around to block more of Nicolette from sight. It's melting though...he should get a new one soon.

“Nice try, but I didn’t hit you that hard.” But Nicolette started to drag him off the couch anyways. “Let’s go.”

‘We don't need to meet Zhilan until two hours later…’

“Uh-huh, and the nearest clinic closes in one? We’re going to get your eye checked out. And your brain too, if you want.”

‘Sounds like a pain.’

“That’s par for the course, you pain in the ass. Besides,” Nicolette added, “All lying shit aside, I know you hate making him worry. So you can show up on Game Night with a nice little doctor’s note or stare at Zhilan’s sad puppy eyes all evening, but I won’t let you ruin things for me too.”

She was trying to egg him on, but Wang Yi gave in before he took the bait. He always did, and she always knew he would, so the two of them stumbled out and hailed a taxi with surprising harmony.

'By the way, you're paying, right?'

"Dream on. It's 50-50."

'When it was your elbow that hit my eye?!'

"More like your head that rammed itself into my elbow in the first place?!"

Wang Yi started to sputter and fume. Snickering, Nicolette rummaged through her pockets. "Wait, I want a picture of this."

'Don't you dare—'

"Oh shit."

'What?'

"...I think I left my phone on your couch."

'What?!' Wang Yi looked out the window where they were weaving effortlessly through the city streets, far away from Condo 408.

"Wangy...Yiyi...I'll pay you back later?"

'What the hell, we can just turn back!'

"And pay double the taxi fare? Are you stupid?"

'It's not stupid if it's your Dust too!'

"Excuse me?! When were you such a selfish prick?"

'Me selfish? What about the time you—'

Ringringring!

Wang Yi dug out his own phone before falling silent. 'It's Zhilan.'

Nicolette quietly bit back her latest insult. "So answer it."

Press.

"Hello?" Zhilan's bright voice came over the call. "Hi Wang Yi, I heard about your injury...are you doing all right?"

'Uh yeah, Nicolette's taking me to the clinic right now for a check-up. Don't worry, I'll be fine.'

"Oh, that's good! Actually, I just wanted to call and make sure: did you get two black eyes or one?"

'...just one.'

"All right, then I should have enough ice for you and the drinks! We can take it easy tonight and just talk if it'll make you feel better."

'Nah, it's fine. Besides, I still want to beat Nicolette at Mon*poly. Again.'

"Oh! Then I'll make sure to have that out. See you later?"

'Later. Thanks.'

Click.

As expected, Wang Yi hung up to see Nicolette glaring at him.

'What? Last week I won fair and square.'

"Yeah, after you fucking lost at YUNO the week before?"

'YUNO's luck, but Mon*poly's a skill game.'

"Oh, like it's hard to roll two die to get exactly the numbers you want?"

'You mean you can't?'

"What the hell—"

And on and on they went, bickering back and forth, all the way to the doctor's office.

[yahoo201027]

**SPOILERS** Review/Thoughts on The Great North: "Welcome to Miami Adventure" & "Worst Drives Club"

My thoughts and review under the line. Spoilers at your own risk if you haven't watched the episode.

This is going to be a weird looking format to pass the time for yours truly. Short explanation, laptop ran into some issues over the weekend regarding the battery. Needs to be replaced and as of this moment, it is being shipped out and now having to play the waiting game. So apologies for that, the universe decided to be a massive bitch. Now onto the episode.

Welcome to Miami Adventure (Season 4, Episode 17)

The first of the two episodes that came out this week for The Great North. And with this episode... yeah, it's trying to be like "V for Valentine-detta". Happened to borrow it's homework with someone getting their heart broken, a night out would have to sever as a cure to a heartbreak but to no avail, a random stranger turns into the glue that holds the fort together, and getting back at the asshole responsible for the heartbreak. Judy would be Tina in that scenario, Honeybee and Dirt as Linda and Louise, Miami as Nat, and Cool Mike as Jimmy Jr.

But yeah, not a bad episode. An interesting episode with its own style and flair with the main plot. Once again, Judy had a relationship with someone that we rarely known and have her heart broken. It's like the whole thing with Holden if you remember him back in Season 3. And once again, added into Judy's long list of not keeping a relationship together. And if I were to choose who would be a right pick for Judy... fuck it, Kima or Gill.

The MVP of the episode throughout the night goes to Miami. When comparing this episode to V for Valentine-detta, he is the Nat of the episode. And he did not disappoint after the girls accidentally crashed into his car and shattered his fish tank on his way to a performance at a retirement home. But he's not a bad character.

His performance was good when seeing him with Honeybee and Dirt in front of an audience filled with senior citizens. But it was the second half where he became the glue that holds the main plot when helping Judy to get back at Mike by filming her show at Crocodile Rob's where is he at.

So aside from that, it's an interesting main plot to the episode. Does feels like you're watching or rewatching V for Valentine-detta with the episode and I guess you can draw some similarities with the two episodes from two different series. As for the subplot...

Pure chaos for the boys staying at home. All exploded over the choice of what movie they should watch between White House Down and Olympus Has Fallen. You seen some fanbases having beef with each other over which franchise is better whether it's the debate between Star Wars and Star Trek, Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, anything. And, of course, the person who would have a front row seat to all of this is Moon, who wanted the chaos to erupt because that what he thought a guys night would be like, nothing but (bloodless) violence.

And he got his wish going into the second half with the crowd who were watching Olympus Has Fallen being duped by Moon and have no other choice but to play Moon's game. Going all out on each other and all the way to the end of the episode once Judy and Honeybee (with Miami on tow) arrive back home to see the chaos unfolding. So I'll give "Welcome to Miami Adventure" a preliminary rating of 7/10.

Worst Drives Club Adventure (Season 4, Episode 18)

The second of the double header for The Great North that came out this week and I have been saying throughout this season, the production order has been wonky and scattered because this was once again a holdover from Season 3. And with this episode, we finally got one of the plot holes settled with Judy behind the wheel.

And as expected, in my opinion, in this episode leading up to the moments we seen in "Judy Presents: The Staircake" and "High Expectations Adventure" while being under the influence of the weed-laced gummies, she's the only one in her group, in her grade to not have a license. And a lot of pressure has been towards Judy and have to get a license at short notice.

It all comes down to her having to confront her fear of driving. And you'd see that in a couple of flashbacks with her behind the wheel and again during her practice as if she's on her SpongeBob timing. Not to mention, her having to stall when having Beef as her driving teacher. As well as thinking that getting outside help would've been a good idea from Alanis but ended up falling flat.

The musical duet number was nice going into the third act of the episode and the reason behind Judy's fear of driving. Sure, it does feel like the message is on some Disney Channel writing but you know where Judy is coming from. Her getting her license would make her sounds like she's becoming independent and could be on her way out of Lone Moose and her family. Something that sort of reminds me of the first episode of the series over the fear of leaving the others and Beef behind. It's a good message and the duet with Judy and Alanis was good along with the imagery and animation that comes with it.

Nearly did not care for the subplot with the puzzle subplot since it almost reminds me of the subplot to "Ready Player Gene" with Tina and Louise building a tower out of menus. That was before the twist regarding the photo of the puzzle and oh boy, yeah, quite the scarring moment for the family with the photo on the puzzle happened to be their mother flashing.

And apparently, the puzzle was left for Beef, in which he thought it was meant for her lover Marcus, because...yeah, did not expect for Beef to be a freak for that. And rather than throwing it away because of the mental scarring (both seeing the photo and adding into another chapter of what life was like before Kathleen left), they decided to finish it and for Beef, he decides to frame it. And we seen that at the end with him getting her puzzle framed for him to lock it away. But not before Alyson decides to give him a photo of herself as a added bonus. Yeah, don't let Carissa know about that (unless she would do the photo thing).

Also, the name of the trio between Judy, Kima, and Amelia... the JAK Pack... yeah, I have no issue with the name. It's a cute name for the three, almost sounded like the GAC Pack (the name I came up for Gene, Alex, and Courtney following the episode "Roller? I Hardly Know Her!"). Which by the way, if the show does use that name in the event Gene, Alex, and Courtney do appear as a trio...Loren, Bob's crew, y'all better ship a check in my mailbox at my house. So I'll give "Worst Drives Club Adventure" a preliminary rating of 7/10.

[bwabbitv3s]

~This happens after Danny has told his parents about being Phantom and things have mostly been sorted out. They are still going to therapy about it but things are worlds better.~

Honestly knowing that there is now an entire new field of study ecto-anthropology has his Mom chomping at the bit to gain a second doctorate. Jazz and her have been bonding. His Dad has taken up extreme tag and capture the flag with Skulker which is mostly just them hunting each other in with more elaborate rules each time.

All of this eventually leads to Danny taking them to the Christmas Truce party in a stroke of brilliance to avoid the annual Santa debate. Everything is great up until Walker shows up and his Mom starts crying. So turns out Walker is his Grandpa that died when he was little.

Great, great, yes, okay he can still deal with this. Huh, so a hatred of clowns can be genetic. Neat, now if they would stop alternating between arguing and crying and actually talk about their issues things would be awesome. You would thing nearly a year of family therapy would help with communication but no, throw a new issue into the mix and we have to start from zero.

Danny makes it all the way to March before he cracks. To be fair he had not slept in 72 hours after Vlad's new cat somehow manages to become a ghost and take issue with Cujo. Add in that he had just started to get the hang of making portals he is allowed to make a bad choice.

That choice being hauling his Mom and Grandpa Walker through a very unstable portal to Gotham, dumping them on the ground in front of Arkham, throws a duffel bag of ecto-weapons at their feet, and tells them to do some bonding while they work out the clown issue.

He is so tired he completely misses the weirdos in the superhero get ups and crime boss in a red helmet having a screaming match at each other. They of course stopped the moment a green portal opens up and a glowing teen dumps two people, one also glowing, and leaves through the same portal that closes behind him. They get front row seats to the chilling remark the teen makes before closing the portal.

"There we go right in front of Arkham. I don't care if you need to skin the clown alive and remove his spine to get through things. I will rescind my no killing rule just for him if it means you work stuff out. Now Happy Hunting!"

-Prompt-

Danny gets his hatred of clowns from his mother, who has taken a kill on sight vow on the Joker for murdering her father (Walker). Walker has the same vow as Maddie, because the Joker has taken him away from his daughter.

Que Phantom, tierd of both of their shit.

He picks up both Maddie and Walker by the nape of their necks like feral overgrown kittens, flies both of the to Gotham, drops the right in front of Arkham, shoves ecto riffles in their hands and goes-

Phantom:"There! Now, go work your issues out," and points towards the gates "Happy Hunting! I want his knees on my mantle when you get back!" He then proceedes to do a loopty-loop as he flies away.

[yelenasdiary]

A Beautiful Chaos

Pairing: Florence Pugh X Fem! Reader.

Summary: You & Florence are in the planning stages of your wedding, with the help of Flo’s family, it can’t be that hard…right?

Word count: 0.8K

Warnings: None

Type: Fluff

AC: This was a request - I am reposting all my one shots due to this being a new blog.

“I like the Chocolate Raspberry Truffle!” Toby expressed his interest. “The Caramel Apple is too good to pass though!” said Raffie. “Ooo but that Southern Hazelnut Praline is to die for!” Arabella smiled before pinching another tester. “Guys, we only need 1 cake so I guess we need a vote out of the 3” Florence spoke standing at the head of the table. “Mum, Dad, what’re your thoughts?” she asked. 

“Choc raspberry is wining it for me,” Clinton said, placing his teaspoon on the small plate. “I have to do with the hazelnut” Debra added on. “Well then, I guess that just leaves us babe” you smiled at Florence. You both tried the 5 cake samples you’d brought home. All tasted so good but as Florence said, you only needed 1 cake for your wedding. Personally, you liked the chocolate raspberry truffle, maybe because you were secretly a chocoholic or maybe because raspberry was one of your favourite fruits. You waited for Florence to finish taste testing before saying anything. “I’m torn between the caramel apple or the chocolate raspberry” she groaned, looking at the cakes and thinking further about her choice. “Well, I’m all for the choc raspberry” you spoke. “Well, that’s settled!” Raffie jumped up from her seat, “I guess it is” Florence smiled, “Chocolate Raspberry it is!” she added. 

Choosing your cake was just 1 of the many things that needed to be done before the wedding. Florence still hasn’t picked out a dress so most of her day was spent with Raffie, Arabella & her mum dress shopping while you’d already picked out your dress (or suit). You wanted this day to be as perfect as possible. You could marry her at a gas station and it would still be perfect in your eyes but she deserved the whole package. 

“Have you guys looked at the menu ideas I gave you?” Raffie asked, looking at the pair of you. “We did!” Flo walked over to the kitchen countertop, “We wrote down the ones we would like” she added, placing the notepad in the centre of the table. Florence loved the idea of her whole family being involved in the wedding. Her dad gave you the details of a few chefs that would be available, Toby requested that he’d perform a few songs for you guys, Raffie and Arabella were bridesmaids, Raffie had already called shotgun on this when she and Flo were younger. While Debra and Clinton wanted to watch the big event from the front row. Your family and close friends joining them. 

“You guys want a Waffle table?! I love that!” Raffie laughed as she read the notepad, Florence turned to you, confused, “A waffle table? Really babe?” she smirked. “What?! I like waffles” you smiled raising an eyebrow. “I’ll give this to David,” Clinton said as Raffie handed him the notepad. David is the chef you guys decided on. 

Months of planning turned into weeks, everything being slightly stressful. Flowers still haven’t been ordered, Florence still couldn’t decide on a dress, guests were calling every few hours to RSVP, the venue was booked and the honeymoon was still being planned. 

“What if we put this table here and that table there?” Toby suggested as you all sat at the table working out the venue layout. “Yeah but then there’s no room for the kid section” Raffie added. It was often rare that you and Florence were sharing your thoughts during debates. Both of you sat back watching the mini arguments unfold before Florence would spend in. “Do you think if we snuck upstairs they’d notice we left?” you whispered to Florence who was watching Toby and Raffie re-drawing layouts on scrap paper. “I don’t even think they’d notice if we didn’t show up to the wedding” Florence sarcastically said with a laugh. 

“What’s funny now?” Raffie’s eyeshot up at you and Florence. “Nothing” you smiled. Florence grabbed some scrap paper and draw a layout that she thought would work well. “Flo, if we put the gift table there we lose dance floor space” you rolled your eyes sarcastically as Toby and Raffie looked at Flo’s drawing. “This actually makes sense” Toby sat back in his chair. Florence laughed lightly before getting up and walking into the kitchen. 

Soon enough, weeks tuned into a single digital count down. You and Florence stood in the kitchen, behind the large island, watching as her family argued over small things, things you and Florence no longer worried about. “I can’t believe in 6 long days, I can finally call you my wife” Florence spoke as you placed your left arm around her waist. “Mrs Y/l/n-Pugh” as a great ring to it” you replied, kissing her cheek. “God, I hope they aren’t this crazy when we decide to have kids” she added, “Hey, let’s just deal with one beautiful chaos at a time,” you said watching a small form on her lips.

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[chocosvt]

love café

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t believe he was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To a degree, you were correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, you needed access to a computer.

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

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

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

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

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

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

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tired. Aching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

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

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

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

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

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

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

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a big deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah.”

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

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

“The Shower what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twelve am.

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

However, tonight was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The red velvet cake?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

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

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

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

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

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

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

“Later!” He’d called.

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

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

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

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

Joshua bumped your elbow.

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

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

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Just shush up and try this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

“… What?”

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

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

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

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

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

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

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

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

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

You looked at your alarm clock.

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

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

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

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

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

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

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #15: Just Your Average Symposium

Prompt: row || Master Post || On AO3

“I had forgotten how lively the conferences are in Limsa Lominsa,” Nidhana said cheerfully.

On the stage where the panel was seated, the arcanist presenting had escaped her colleagues trying to hold her back to stumble forward and throw a punch at the professor from the University of Ul’dah. The hyur ducked and tackled the au ra to the floor, and then a full-bore brawl broke out between their colleagues. Synnove, at the moderator’s podium, threw up her hands in disgust. “Get the kiddos out of here!” she barked, and her fellow arcanists in the audience immediately began herding the first- and second-years out of the auditorium.

Varpasa snickered into her palm as Jalamuc covered his eyes, whistling mournfully through his trunk. “It’s a paper on the aetheric properties of pathogens and managing potential disease vectors, how in the world does one get into a fistfight about it?” the other Arkasodara said.

“Oh, please, like any one of us wouldn’t have lost our tempers being questioned so rudely,” Nidhana said, watching with keen interest as the front half of the room used Synnove’s distractedness, the Highlander now wading into the stage brawl with Tyr at her side, to devolve into a chaotic mess of debate. The lalafell academics were always the most vicious, so much rage compressed into such tiny bodies.

“Tobana and Ayleth have hated each other for years, too,” Mahruvvet said, on Varpasa’s other side. “How long has their “In reply to” chain stretched to now?”

“It’s at least ten,” Varpasa said, finally gaining control of herself.

Synnove had, of course, read the energy in the room correctly when she had demanded the removal of the youngest students, as the auditorium was quickly descending into bedlam. Any excuse for a debate, or a fight. Which was both, to academics.

And Lominsans preferred a fistfight. Honestly, it was such a better method; Hannish alchemists went to the explosives first a little too eagerly.

(Nidhana should not cast stones, she knew. Put her and her fellows from the High Crucible in the same room as a gaggle of adjunct professors from the University of Radz-at-Han, and there would be violence at some point, even if it was just a single bloody nose or trunk.)

A chirp caught all their attention, and they glanced down to see Galette sitting primly at Nidhana’s feet. Sorry, Nidhana, she churred, her mental ‘voice’ genuinely apologetic, could I use you as a lookout post? Mama needs me to check the paths to the exits stay clear.

“Oh, certainly, little one, I’m happy to be of assistance!” Nidhana said, bending down to scoop the carbuncle up and set her on her shoulder.

Galette chittered her thanks, ears flicking as her head whipped back and forth to scan the crowd. Such a lovely carbuncle; Nidhana still remembered that one conference over a decade ago where she had eaten half the dessert table at the buffet lunch on the third day when tempers were fraying and Synnove had to grab her carbuncle and flee the city entirely to escape the ire of the attendees. Of course, Galette was still willing and able to demolish an entire spread of desserts all by herself, but her self-control was much better these days.

On stage, Synnove had literally dragged Tobana and Ayleth apart; Tyr had flopped on Ayleth, the hyur snarling in outrage, as Tobana dangled in Synnove’s grip and struggled to break free.

The cacophony of everyone shouting and yelling and arguing all at once was incredible, and some of Nidhana’s cheer dimmed as the sound assaulted her. Synnove was shouting something herself, but she couldn’t be heard, and Nidhana saw her face twist before she gestured with her free hand to someone.

Ivar leapt onto the moderator’s podium, threw back his head, and howled.

The sudden, following silence seemed to echo, and the audience slowly turned to face the stage again, many visibly cringing with their shoulders hunched.

“Thank you, darling,” Synnove said to the ruby carbuncle, who puffed out his chest. Then the Highlander turned her head and leveled a glare on the audience. “You will behave or I will personally kick each and every one of your asses. Except the Hannish alchemists, you’ve been lovely. Please off Zarir for me.”

“Your shows are the best!” Nidhana called down. “And it’s called plausible deniability! None of us have it!”

Synnove waved in acknowledgement, and set Tobana back on her feet, pointing sternly to the Raen’s seat. The other woman grudgingly went to take it as Tyr dragged Ayleth back to hers.

Galette wiggled up to loaf on Nidhana’s head. I’m just gonna stay here, she chittered.

“Ate a tort you weren’t supposed to, didn’t you?”

…Maybe.

Varpasa started snickering again.

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