#and the way she was able to express what she thought of joshua

[thedensworld]

Towel Argument | H.Js

Pairing: Joshua x Reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, bit of angst

Summary: Towel is just a towel. It's not something essential. But why it is able to crack a relationship? Joshua is the first man to proof you that you won't have a towel argument.

You sat on the edge of the bed after finishing your nightly routine. Joshua, your husband, was likely still on his—meticulously ensuring every window was closed and every door locked before coming to bed. Your first intention was to wait for him so you could cuddle together, but your mind drifted to the conversation you had with your friends earlier today.

One of your friends, Jinah, had confessed that she was going to divorce her husband after just two years of marriage. All of you had offered sweet words and encouragement, striving to be the support system Jinah needed. Jinah explained that she had decided to divorce her husband because of a persistent argument about towels that irritated her every day. The irritation had snowballed into something intolerable for Jinah.

You couldn't help but pity the situation between Jinah and her husband. They had dated for seven years before marrying, only for Jinah to discover something post-marriage that she couldn't stand. It made you reflect on the complexities of relationships and how small issues, left unresolved, could lead to such drastic outcomes. You wondered if Jinah might regret this decision later, but respected her choice to pursue what she felt was best for her happiness.

Lost in these thoughts, you barely noticed Joshua finally joining you.

"Hey..." Joshua tapped your shoulder, pulling you away from your thoughts. You looked at him, slightly startled.

"I've been calling you. What's wrong?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes. He knelt down in front of you, positioning himself close to your swelling tummy.

A gentle smile lingered on Joshua's face as he wrapped his arms around you, his lips brushing against your stomach in a tender kiss.

"Is something bothering you, love?" he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and care.

You felt a wave of emotions wash over you, grateful for his presence and the way he always seemed to know when something was on your mind.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the day's conversation settle over you again. "It's just something that came up during my gathering with the girls today," you began, your fingers lightly tracing circles on Joshua's arm.

He looked up at you, his eyes full of curiosity and concern. "What happened?"

"Jinah...she told us she's going to divorce her husband," you said, watching his reaction carefully. Joshua's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Really? They've only been married for two years, right?"

You nodded. "Yes, but they've been together for seven years in total. It was shocking to all of us. She said it was because of this constant argument about towels that irritated her every day. She felt it was something she just couldn't tolerate anymore, and it snowballed into a bigger issue."

Joshua's expression softened with understanding. "That sounds really tough. It's always the little things, isn't it?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the comfort of Joshua's embrace, but the thoughts continued to swirl in your mind. "I guess, seeing Jinah go through this made me worry about us," you admitted softly. "Especially with the baby on the way. There's just so much to think about—stress, work, everything that could affect our relationship."

Joshua's eyes remained gentle and reassuring as he listened. "I understand," he said, his voice steady. "It's a lot to take in, and it's natural to feel worried."

You felt a lump form in your throat. "I'm scared that with all the changes coming, we might face challenges that we haven't even considered yet. The stress from work, sleepless nights with the baby, trying to balance everything—it just feels overwhelming sometimes."

Joshua squeezed your hand gently, his touch grounding you. "We will have challenges, that's true. But we also have each other. We can face those challenges together, just like we always have."

You looked into his eyes, searching for reassurance. "But what if it's too much? What if we start arguing over little things like Jinah and her husband did?"

Joshua shook his head slightly, his expression resolute. "We'll argue, sure. Every couple does. But the important thing is how we handle those arguments. We need to keep communicating, be honest with each other, and make time for ourselves as a couple, even with a baby in the mix."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of fear and relief. "I just want us to be okay, no matter what."

He brushed a tear from your cheek, his thumb lingering softly on your skin. "We will be. We'll make it through because we care about each other and our family. And when things get tough, we'll lean on each other even more."

As you and Joshua got ready to sleep, both of you lay down on the bed. Joshua was almost drifting off, his breathing slowing into a relaxed rhythm. You, however, couldn't find a comfortable position, something that had become a nightly struggle as your stomach grew. You shifted from side to side, trying to settle in.

Your mind kept circling back to Jinah and her husband. The thought of their crumbling marriage weighed heavily on you. Sensing your restlessness, Joshua stirred and pulled you gently into his embrace.

"Try to get some sleep, love," he whispered, his voice drowsy but caring.

You sighed, unable to hold back your thoughts. "It's not really about the towel, you know," you said softly, your voice tinged with frustration.

Joshua blinked, trying to shake off sleep. "What do you mean?" he asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"It's actually not just about the towel."

"The fact that Jinah had to keep repeating herself every day is a sign that he never really heard her, right? And that hurts," you explained, feeling the depth of Jinah's pain.

Joshua's brow furrowed as he processed your words. "So, it wasn't about the towel at all?"

"No, it wasn't," you replied, your voice firm. "It was about feeling unheard and unappreciated. Imagine telling someone something that's important to you over and over, and they just don't seem to care enough to listen or change. It's exhausting and hurtful."

Joshua nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I get it now. It's about respect and validation. No one wants to feel like they're talking to a wall."

"Exactly," you said, feeling a sense of relief that he understood. "That's what I'm scared of. I don't want us to ever get to that point where we stop listening to each other."

Joshua tightened his embrace, his hand gently rubbing your back. "We won't. We'll make sure we always hear each other, no matter what. Communication is key, and I'll always strive to listen to you, truly listen."

His words brought a sense of calm over you. You snuggled closer, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength of his commitment. "Thank you," you whispered, closing your eyes.

"Always," he murmured, his voice soothing. "Now, let's get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow, and our little one needs their rest too."

You smiled, finally finding a comfortable position. With Joshua's reassuring presence, you felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that together, you could handle anything. As sleep slowly overtook you, the worries about Jinah and her husband faded, replaced by a deep sense of love and security.

[sxfthannie]

Overprotective

↦ pairing: yandere!joshua x fem!reader

↦ warnings: manipulating, overprotective

↦ note: overprotective yandere joshua because it just makes sense! i feel like this isn't good enough but i don't really know what to edit either so here it is :')

↦ word count: 745

Joshua was the epitome of perfection. A true gentleman, he was always attentive to your every mood and need, and was always there with you through the highs and lows of life. He was the kind of man that every woman dreamed of, but alas, his heart belongs solely to you.

A man who is wanted by everyone is with you so why is it that you seem unhappy these days?

“I’m going out to meet Hyerin at 4pm later.” You murmur, head resting on Joshua’s chest while he gently runs his hand through your hair. “Then I’ll come along again.” He replied, but you were having none of that. “No.” You said firmly. “No?” He repeats after you in a confused state as you push yourself up away from his embrace.

"Shua, my love, I can't have you trailing behind me like a lost puppy every time I go out." You gently expressed, watching as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand," he murmured softly, sitting up on the bed beside you. "Why the sudden change of heart? Why don't you want me by your side?" His questions made you sigh deeply.

"It's not that I don't want you with me, Shua," you explained, your voice soft and tender. "It's just that I want to spend time with my friend alone." Joshua takes your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles over your skin as he speaks. "I just want to be the kind of boyfriend who can protect his girlfriend," he said, his voice filled with love and devotion.

“No other boyfriend does this.” you retorted, your patience wearing thin. You cherished Joshua deeply, but his constant watchful eye was beginning to feel suffocating. “Did Hyerin put you up to this?”

“What?” You utter in disbelief at his ridiculous words. “You’ve been fine the first few months but ever since Hyerin came into the picture, you’ve been trying to push me away.” You scoff at your boyfriend’s words. “You’re being ridiculous right now. She has nothing to do with this.” You say as you get off from his bed. “Whatever. I’m leaving.”

You only made it two steps out of the door before Joshua was by your side, holding your hand and stopping you from leaving. “I’m sorry, love, I–” a sigh escapes his lips before he continues. “It’s just that I’m scared something might happen to you. Like that day.” He whispers the last sentence as he leans his forehead against yours, big hands gently cupping your cheeks. “And I'm scared I won't be able to help you the next time if it happens again.”

You know what exactly “like that day” means.

It was a year ago, back when you and Joshua weren’t in a relationship. You were returning home from college after all of your classes ended when 3 boys from your economics class had stopped you. They wanted to ask you about assignments, which is what you assumed, but their intentions were far more sinister. In that abandoned staircase the students were restricted from, they touched you inappropriately, but luckily for you, Joshua came just in time.

To this day, you don’t know why Joshua used that staircase that day. He never offered an explanation and you never pressured the issue either, being lucky enough that he saved you that day.

“I’m sorry I made you feel suffocated.” Joshua’s soft whispers of apology brought you back from your thoughts. “No. I’m sorry for this.” You said, looking at him in the eyes to show him you were indeed sincere with your apology. “I should’ve known how much that day affected you too.” You confess, ending your apology by pressing a kiss on his lips.

His hand makes its way to the back of your neck, pushing you closer into a deeper kiss before pulling away, breathless.

“So then, can I come along later?” You chuckle at his question. “Of course you can, Shua.” He gives you the smile that even turns his eyes into little crescent moons before pulling you into his embrace.

Jeonghan was right.

“Just try guilt tripping her.” Jeonghan, Joshua’s trusted friend said. “But I don’t want to hurt her in any way.” Joshua replied, his heart sinking at just the thought of seeing you in any type of distress. “It’s either that or you let her go out without you by her side.”

“Okay, but are you sure it’ll work?” Joshua asked, uncertain of his friend's way in this matter. “Trust me.”

Guilt tripping you hurts him but it works so damn well.

[ktysh]

it was past midnight. charlie had just finished writing a draft of the chapter he had been working on for the last few days, and was about to go to bed. he thought joshua was already asleep, but to his surprise, joshua wasn't. he was sitting on his side of the bed, his face in his hands, trembling.

it wasn't exactly unusual, but the past two months had been kind of... weird.

since the night joshua lost both his twin brother and childhood best friend, charlie hadn't seen him cry, not even once. he knew that joshua's brain was trying to protect him and that once the environment was safe enough to express all those feelings, joshua would break. he just didn't know when it would happen.

it seemed like the time had come. joshua just finished working on that big project with his agency; esther was doing great in therapy, she started talking again and even made a few friends in her kindergarten; charlie's health wasn't bothering him too much those days. they had money and a new apartment that was big enough for all of them. things were stable, and joshua didn't need to keep everything under control anymore. he could let someone else be the responsible adult for the time being.

after a few minutes of sitting in silence, charlie asked softly, "wanna talk?"

joshua nodded. "i feel so... conflicted," he whispered. "we've never wanted kids. i always thought it's gonna be just you and me, and pets... i don't even know what i'm doing right now. i read, and watch, and listen to tons of parenting stuff, but i still don't know if i'm doing anything right."

he sighed, squeezing charlie's hands. "i wasn't ready for this. i wish we didn't have to do this. and now i feel guilty, because there's this tiny voice in my head that tells me that if i feel this way it means i don't love esther. but i do. i do. i just... i wish they were still here."

charlie wasn't sure what he could say to make things better, or if it even was possible. he had always been awkward with his words. "you know that voice is lying, don't you? i don't know what i'm doing either, but... we're still doing great."

"i'm afraid to make it worse for her," joshua admitted. "i'm not made for having kids. i don't want her to feel unloved and unwanted, but... how do we explain to her why i straight up shut down and ignore everyone some days? what if I hurt her because i won't be able to give her affection when she needs it the most?"

charlie caressed the back of joshua's hands with his thumbs. "we'll ask. we'll ask your therapist, her therapist, we'll think of something she would understand. together. okay? you're not alone in this, i promise."

[jaemified]

jaemified -> seventeen masterlist

[KEY]; A (angst), D (drama), F (fluff), M (mature), S (suggestive)

☆ (popular),♡ (personal favs), # (on hold)

taglist ; open !

choi seungcheol;

-coups day thoughts,, | 0.5k (2m) (F)

synopsis ; n/a

-keep it quiet | 2.1k (10m) (M,F) ☆

synopsis ; you and seungcheol never liked taking risks, especially with 8 of his 12 roommates home. but, up until your self control couldn’t handle it anymore, you both found it was best to keep it quiet.

yoon jeonghan;

-nothing yet

joshua hong;

-same dream, same mind, same night | 3.0k (15m) (A,F) ☆

synopsis; confiding in her longtime best friend after the end of a rocky relationship, choi y/n begins to heal once more and realizes what’s been waiting in front of her after all this time.

wen junhui;

-nothing yet

kwon soonyoung;

-world of my own | 1.2k (6m) (A,D) ♡

synopsis ; in a place which you fall into your own dreamland with the one who was meant to be the love of your life, the discussion gets highly theoretical (and not to mention, emotional)

-sunshine | 1.6k (9m) (D,F)

synopsis; the one who stayed by your side no matter how many times you got fired from different jobs, tells you no matter the outcome, you’ll always be his sunshine in the rain.

jeon wonwoo;

- [WIP] summer to winter | estimate of 6-8k (30-40m) (D,F,A) (#)

synopsis ; wonwoo hates his job but that all changes the moment he saw you walk through those cafe doors. the girl who would be his heatwave in december.

lee jihoon;

-nothing yet

lee seokmin;

-nothing yet

kim mingyu;

-puppy love | 2.4k (12m) (D,A,S) ♡ ☆

synopsis; you don’t care much for dating, but kim mingyu is an exception. even if you already know puppy love doesnt last

xu minghao;

-taking me high (angel) | 2.0k (10m) (M)

synopsis ; after being away from your boyfriend for almost a literal week thanks to your job, you want nothing more than him in every possible way. but when he finds himself picking his games over you, you come to a compromise; sneaking under the table while hes distracted.

-SNOWED IN! [MASTERLIST] | estimate of 4k-6k (20-30m) (D,F,A)

i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi | vii | ix | x

synopsis; when an unexpected storm comes over seoul, you and all of your coworkers are snowed in your workplace with no way out, yet you want to make the most of whatever time you have with minghao.

-last | 0.7k (5m) (S,F)

synopsis ; youre going to the states for college, minghaos pursuing his dream in korea. and hes gonna miss you, badly.

boo seungkwan;

- [WIP] pretty when you cry | estimate of 2.5k (13m) (F,D)

synopsis ; when your high school boyfriend you were separated from at the age of 17 moves back to seoul after 6 years, you find yourself crying in his warm arms once more.

vernon chwe;

-nothing yet

lee chan;

-i could never lie to you. | 0.9k (6m) (A,D,S) ♡

synopsis ; youve been struggling with a toxic relationship for years now, but you had no one to tell that to, or anyone thatd believe you at least. so while your boyfriend slips out for the night to god knows where, you use this time to write down and express everything youve bottled up all this time.

-chan as ur idol bf | 0.6k (4m) (F)

synopsis ; n/a

-through the window (21 days) | 2.7k (14m) (F)

synopsis ; after a long series of floods, youre finally able to meet the boy across the street who had caught your eye throughout the long few weeks.

- [WIP] seasons | estimate of 8k (40m) (D,A,S,F) (#)

synopsis ; when y/n begins to develop feelings for her best friend, she realizes life isnt as it seems in the movies, and that not all love is meant to last.

[sapientiiae]

@phoenixfiiire asked: 🎲 kiss roulette 41. A kiss out of spite

There was talks of the phoenix leaving again. Just when she’d let down her guard and allowed herself to believe he might actually linger, he was again speaking in hidden truths, mentioning that it wasn’t wise for him to get involved; interfering could have repercussions, and he’d once more uttered something about harm tending to fall on others simply because of his presence. 

The to-be-queen was, admittedly, disappointed to hear such talk. There were so many things she hadn’t learned about Joshua that she still wished to ask — not that she believed he would be entirely forthright in answering all of her queries. 

Though finding fault with him for being so cryptic with his answers felt a smidge hypocritical, considering she hadn’t been entirely candid with herself. She found herself enjoying the time she was able to spend with Joshua. He was fascinating, yes, but she also found herself enjoying the male’s company even when she wasn’t allowed to pester him for more answers. He’d showed compassion for the guards that had been so quick to throw shackles around his wrists and lock him away that day. He was witty, thoughtful, and perhaps he reminded her of herself in some ways. 

And then there was the day when she’d found him in that tucked away part of the castle, the room feeling alive as his fingers worked the melody. He was a master at the pianoforte, which had unintentionally earned him an additional bit of appreciation from the Hylian princess.

She did not wish for him to go. She’d insisted that he stay a bit longer rather than allowing himself to be so superstitious about his role as a Watcher and what ominous events might transpire from his presence alone. Though, she hadn’t been entirely transparent in her reasons for wanting him to stay, instead painting it as Hyrule Castle being a place where he could catch up on much needed rest or how they might be able to work together to leave a positive impact on the kingdom.

It hadn’t been enough to convince him, and her constant pressing for him to stay while he was adamant he depart had pushed the pair into a small spat. Based off their current tiff, it seemed unlikely Zelda would have many days with Joshua after today, and her dolefulness at that realization was slowly morphing into irritation because Goddesses she was tired of losing the people she’d cared for.

It was out of spite — either towards life or him choosing to leave — that Zelda rolled onto the tips of her toes, gloved hand wrapping around the back of his neck as she bridged what little distance remained, pressing her lips against his. If he was choosing to leave her, then she would leave him with this one kiss before they went their separate ways. 

She allowed the kiss to linger for only a few seconds, just enough for the moment to build with a hint of passion, before she pulled away. Despite the warmth that flooded her veins, a combination of both her anger and the kiss itself, her expression was cold, eyes an icy, barren wasteland when she pulled away. “You know your way around the castle. You can have one of the maids send me a message when you depart.” 

Without another word, the auburn-haired royal turned, making her way down the hall towards her personal library, towards the only thing that would be of any comfort right now.

[simplegenius042]

Fallout New Vegas OC - Ryder (The Courier Six)

Further information under the cut:

Here's my Courier for Fallout New Vegas, simply known as Ryder, whose past as of this day remains as mysterious to Doc Mitchell as the doctor's kindness is to Ryder. What she does know is that she is a long-time courier for Mojave Express, has been all over America's wasteland, had gotten the newest package, a platinum chip, to deliver to one Robert Edwin House in the Strip of the Mojave, then got intercepted by Benny, shot in the head and finally left for dead. Ryder's only goal is to retrieve the platinum chip (preferably with as little bloodshed as possible, for reputation sake), deliver the package to House, get paid, and move on in life. Though she finds out that's easier said than done, much to her annoyance.

Ryder is the sixth courier chosen to transport the platinum chip to House, a beautiful and fashionable 35-year-old woman at the height of six feet and short hair. Healthy and energetic, she's naturally adapted to the harshness of the Wasteland, having been born in it. She has average strength, dexterity and hygiene, though after receiving implants at Big MT, she becomes a sort of cyborg, so the latter out of the three is less necessary, though habit has still stuck with her.

Ryder has learned many things over her time traveling as a courier, and though she doesn't remember what age she started, she is well known to have begun messaging before couriering at a younger age than expected, so some of the lessons didn't leave her despite the amnesia from the bullet. Ryder is extremely persuasive in bartering and mediating for a compromise, highly literate to the point she learned several languages, including old Latin, and has quite the creative mind. Practically a chef, engineer, soldier and survivalist in all but name, Ryder has lived and traveled around long enough for her mind to ingrain any information it could on how best to adapt and survive out in the Wasteland, Mojave desert, and using the communities environment against anybody looking to do her wrong. Ryder has got Rizz and Luck in her cards, though her perception can never predict ambushes (as seen with Benny and Caesar's Legion), and her communication, while good, isn't always reliable as she relies on her charm rather than intent. Stealth gets her around decently enough, and though she's not able to understand children, she can get the gist of their wants and needs, especially if they're vocalized. For whatever reason though, nature hates her, with the exception of dogs (not coyotes), especially Rex and Roxie.

Intelligent and sharp-witted, Ryder doesn't at all mind her life, and is satisfied with the choices she's made thus far (especially in her mid-thirties), and couldn't be happier with the experiences she's had (except for the Sierra Madre... she don't talk about the Sierra Madre) and the friends she made along the way. Confident and passionate in doing her job right, House could not have asked for a better professional courier, especially one who's pretty funny (though he'd never admit it). Ryder's spirituality is only really based on what she's seen thus far, and she'd never admit it to either of them, but Joshua and Daniel's words had stuck with her, even when she tends to ignore some of the advice. Ryder's patience has thinned with experience and being shot in the head by a checkered shirt prick. Anxiety though is barely a thought before she brushes it aside.

Ryder is mean, but she hides it behind a veil of professional courtesy, and depending she's dealing with, she can either brave the horrors of the desert or panic at the sight of nuclear warheads counting down in front of her very eyes. Pacifism and violence is merely a choice she must pick from if she finds herself in what her companions like to call "a self-inflicted pickle", which can also be said for her moments of thinking things through and her moments of throwing caution to the wind. Ryder loves debates, because she can either be potentially swayed over by words or continuously drag out the conversation until her opponent forfeits, depending on the reward at the end. She has so very few moments of idealism, she's mostly got a pragmatic mind (when it doesn't bury itself in the sand). Ryder is frugal to the extreme, hoarding her wealth so she has it on hand just in case, and only buying the necessities for her quests. Ryder likes both the indoors and outdoors, as long as there's something to explore (and steal). Yeah no, her poker face isn't that of a distinguished lady of the White Glove society, it is the "honest" mask of a woman who's seen it all to not be deterred by some jerks wearing hockey garments. Ryder is ambitious, possessive of her belongings (and lovers), stubborn to a fault, decisive on how to deal with situations to the point of sabotaging others so things go her way, and is a perfectionist in her profession.

Wealthy and horny, Ryder does have connections with faces that should be familiar but can't remember because of Benny. She never lets him live it down. She even gets Yes Man onboard of never letting Benny live it down (the robot may have had planned out her ambush, but he wasn't the one who shot her in the head and fail to kill her, so he gets a free pass). Her charisma rivals her aggression and competitive nature. She is generous to a healthy extent, helping others whenever she thinks its best to or if it benefits her, though her empathy is quite low, so better have some caps ready to give, or something to trade (possessions, discounts, information, etc). Ryder is deceptive towards everyone (only showing everyone a piece of herself rather than her whole self), and only follows the words of whoever is more practical to work with and can pay her better. She isn't leader material... but she is partner material. Politeness and rudeness really depend on the situation she's in, just as the same as her investment in the politics of the NCR and the Mojave in general, not that she is unwilling to help make change, as long as she benefits from it in some way and doesn't harm her in the long run. Cool, flirty, cute and obedient to the brim, not to mention fun, capable of "forgiveness" even at her scariest, who couldn't ask more in a self-serving master manipulator.

As stated before, her beliefs only go as far from what she's experienced in the desert, and even though the Mormons may have said some things that try to break through her thick skull, she wouldn't say she believes in higher powers, even less fate and destiny (no matter how many cryptic projecting monologues Ulysses throws at her). However, she's definitely a believer in magic, because there are things even science is perplexed about her experiences in the Wasteland, and the Mojave. She thinks there is someone worth loving out there waiting for her, but she just hasn't met them yet. Ryder has lived long enough as a courier (before and after the incident with Benny) to understand that simply labelling things as "good" and "evil" is reductive and often times ignoring the cracks in other factions. However she won't deny there are some truly evil, repulsive and selfish people out there, like Vulpes, Cook-Cook and Domino, just to name a few. However, due to her experience and miracles she's faced out in the Mojave, she definitely believes in luck.

Ryder's top priotities is to establish power with whoever is the most organised and strongest faction, ensure her fame is concrete and reputation clean, while keeping her wealth well-accommodated. Her health and praise comes next, with carrying out justice and finding out truth coming next, including ensuring other's opinion on her is anything but negative. Though she initially saw her companions and lovers as anything more than convenient allies or tools, she won't deny, she's grown on them, and would prefer not having them die on her. Though putting her in a situation where she must choose between her ambitions and the only people who've spent time enough to not abandon her immediately, it would be a rather sadistic choice to put her through, and a difficult one at that.

Her SPECIAL stats include:

Strength (5), Perception (6), Endurance (8), Charisma (7), Intelligence (9), Agility (6) and Luck (10).

Tag Skills include:

Speech, Repair, Barter, Guns and Survival.

Main Perks:

Better Criticals, Black Widow, Cherchez La Femme, Jury Rigging, Terrifying Presence and Heave, Ho! Demolition Expert.

Traits she has include:

Wild Wasteland and Good Natured (ironically).

Template below:

[dykeyote]

please tell us your thoughts about jedidiah and lucille's relationship i need to know

THANK YOU FOR SAVING ME I WAS SO SAD THAT IT GOT EATEN ..... but yeah jedidiah and lucilles relationship sort of fascinates me ...... this isnt gonna have a cohesive Thesis or anything and a lot of the things i raise i dont really have answers for bc i think we're gonna get More lucille lore and so its kind of hard to like .... nail down any hard answers rn so im kinda just rambling abt my thoughts but yk . mainly the like ... Secretive nature of their relationship sort of fascinates me theres this feeling throughout that their mother-son relationship is something that needs to be ignored and kept secret . which Does make sense in the broader context that jedidiah might not wanting the kids or even his co-counselors knowing, thats fairly normal (nobody wants to be a nepo baby lol) thats not really what im talking about, im more focused on how this permeates their interpersonal dynamics, mainly in hive of anxiety. jedidiah speaks to lucille in a way that is incredibly formal - the way an employee speaks to their boss, but dialed up even higher than that, up until he starts getting emotional. the effort being put into avoiding the fact that lucille is his mom is Strong, though interestingly lucille doesnt fall into this role as much - though she does change her behavior after jedidiah calls her mom, implying that there is some amount of going w this on her end as well. calling her mom is something that is used as a last resort, and its notable that jedidiah is EXTREMELY upset before this point. before jedidiah resorts to acknowledging the fact that lucille is his mother, hes already had several angry outbursts and almost started crying. it takes him being so frustrated that he loses the ability to speak coherently in anything other than repeating jesus over and over for him to Finally resort to calling her mom. and interestingly, the one time lucille shows favor to sydney over jedidiah within the events we see in canon flips these roles: she speaks to sydney in secret and goes behind jedidiahs back, which also happens to be the one episode where lucille expresses public affection towards jedidiah. just an interesting little detail. its just really interesting to me bc it makes me wonder how long that dynamic of secrecy has been going on? theres some conflicting evidence on this - sydney references jedidiah knowing what love and care looked like, but he has a father so its not clear enough if thats really referring to lucille to be able to extrapolate it. jedidiah makes a sort of dry joke about lucille never teaching him how to hug, but lack of affection doesnt Necessarily equate this specific weird dynamic they have going on. jedidiah mentions to joshua and yvonne that he works for his mom which COULD imply that weird dynamic wasnt a thing in college so they already knew, or it COULD mean that he just said it bc he was in the middle of a rant, or it COULD mean that the counselors just know this information, or it COULD mean fifty different things . u see why jedidiah and lucilles relationship is reaaalll hard to analyze lol . anyway im sleepy so im gonna finish this here but basically im kind of fascinated in the layers of how fucked up they are and i really want to know How Long theyve been this fucked up and Why theyre this fucked up and AGH

[knigaworm-dot-com]

Rambling Review: Cruel Intentions (1999)

Yep, I’m reviewing “Cruel intentions” like I haven’t seen this movie a hundred times when I was growing up. But I opened the flood-gates by reviewing SATC, so it’s all downhill from there, lol. Plus, it’ll be fun, I haven’t seen this in ages, and I think I’ve only seen it in English a couple of times, so really it’s almost like a new movie.

Why didn’t Ryan Phillipe happen more? He had everything going for him: really handsome, blond, charming, charismatic, and dat ass! Still he kind of withered into oblivion. Can it really be as simple as Reese overpowering him? It’s so funny to see them in this movie together, like she’s so young and innocent, and he’s spoiled and worldly, he’s in charge, and yet… 

Good thing that Sarah Michelle Gellar really happened and is still happening. I love her! She’s excellent in this movie. This role was written for her, yet who would’ve thought, huh? 

Sebastian and Catherine are the original Chuck and Blair, with the added edge of semi-incest. 

Joshua Jackson is in this! I completely forgot about it. And he’s a blond fag, that’s just awesome.

I love how they weave the letters into the movie. And Sebastian’s diary. The epistolary needs to be present because of the source material, and the way they incorporate it isn’t even lame. 

Josh is so sassy, lol. Too bad this is, like, his last scene in this movie.

I can’t remember why Sebastian decided to go for Cecile after all. Oh, it’s because her mother was the one who was writing the letters to Reese! And I remembered it five seconds before they said it on-screen, ha!

“Down boy” - classic case of the blue balls!

“Email is for perverts and pedophiles. Be a romantic, write her another letter” - so true. 

When Sebastian and Catherine put on their smiley angelic faces it really gives me the creeps. Especially Sebastian, I’m sure that’s how the grown-up Damian from Omen would look. This only intensifies as the movie progresses. In the old folks’ home I almost feel bad for the adorable old lady, though she’s demented so it’s okay for her. 

Anette sure doesn’t dress like a virgin. All these pastel coloured, tight, cleavage numbers are cruel, ha, is that pun intended on behalf of the film makers? Her First Kiss with Sebastian number especially reminds me of her freak-out in “Legally blonde” - “What is it then? Are my boobs too big for you?!”

I love these enormous country houses where people can go weeks without running into each other. Like how Annette and Catherine never meet face to face, yet Catherine is there almost all the time.

The break-up scene is what Twilight would have wanted to achieve in Eclipse, only couldn’t as neither of the protagonists were capable of expressing feelings.

Catherine’s speech where she shreds Sebastian is flawless. 

I’ve always debated who got it worse in the end. We can certainly say that the moral victory goes to Annette, she got to expose Catherine for the evil queen that she is. Still, that doesn’t bring back Sebastian, and it still puts a dent in Annette’s perfect reputation, even though you figure she lost her virginity to the man she loved. Still, I can’t proclaim Catherine a loser. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to stay in Manhattan but I can see her moving to, let’s say, London and starting over, conquering new territory. She would always rise from the flames, like the badass phoenix that she is. And Sebastian can’t rise from the dead even if he tries.

[lured-into-wonderland]

Caring for an older teenager wasn't new to him -- after all, Clive had been somewhere around Nunnally's age, perhaps a few years younger, when Elwin had lost custody of both him and little Joshua. But with Nunnally, he had discovered early on that it was a very, very different scenario. Not only did she face situations that Clive would not, but she had lost her parents to death, rather than losing one through the court of law. As such, the CEO and philanthropist tried his best to make sure she was both happy and comfortable under his care, while trying to form a bond with her, and without overstepping any potential boundaries -- the most glaring one of all being not assuming the role as her father, rather than her guardian. The situation was, in short, delicate, and there were times where he didn't know how to proceed.

Still, he did want her to know that she wasn't alone. Because while his grief was still strong, hers would be infinitely worse given the circumstances of her losses. Maybe, just maybe though, they could strike up a friendship to alleviate some of their loneliness(or maybe he was presuming too much and projecting too much onto his charge, and she was far more fine than he was).

That's why Elwin often tried to do little things for her, just to try and make her smile -- if only for a moment. This was one of those times. The plate of chocolate chip cookies weren't exactly the best anyone had ever baked; the edges were a bit too crispy, with the sizes of the cookies varying from one to the next. But there had been an earnest attempt, which he hoped would be enough to make up for his lack of backing prowess. (Cooking was one thing he could do, but baking? Not as well.)

Holding the treats in one hand, the man knocked quietly on Nunnally's bedroom door, before calling out: "Hey there. I made you something, if you're interested?"

It was odd. She was lying on "her" bed in "her" room and was staring at the ceiling. So known and so new in a way. She was here, under Elwin Rosfield’s custody, for some time already. Nunnally wasn’t sure how long it was. She felt guilty, but she was also happy she was h e r e. It was a safe place (she thought), and the girl felt well taken care of. Perhaps even loved…?

But she also was ashamed. Ashamed that she found herself so comfortable here. That she was happy about her new life. There was that guilt overwhelming her. Nunnally should have m i s s e d her father more. Despite all what happened, despite all the expectations put on her weak shoulders, the expectations she could hardly fulfill, her father did care about her. Did love her, although probably couldn’t show it in a way Nunnally wanted. Or always dreamt about.

It wasn’t even that Nunnally didn’t miss him. But she liked her new life. The quiet support that Mr. Rosfield offered. Would her life be different if her mother didn’t die when she was just a little girl? If her mother was able to given her father a son he always wanted? Even now she remembered how they were fighting, probably assuming she was sleeping.

Nunnally's gaze slowly turned from the ceiling towards the pile of books on the table. She’d still fulfill her father’s wishes; or at least she’d try. Perhaps it would even be easier now, when her every step wouldn’t get scrutinized. Criticized. Suddenly, she had that thought that she didn’t have to anymore. Now she could become whoever she wanted. She wouldn’t have follow her father’s steps. But she would. She was always a good girl and she couldn’t forget her duties.

Would Elwin Rosfield have any plans for her, too? She’d try to do her b e s t, too. To fulfill whatever wishes he might express. She knew he lost custody over his sons. Should she consider them brothers in a way? She had met Clive briefly, and liked that boy…or perhaps she should already call him a man…? She had also met Anabella. Mr. Rosfield's former wife. She knew these type of women. And Nunnally couldn’t understand what a man like Elwin could possibly see in a woman like Anabella.

(Though if she were honest with herself she could have found a reasonable reply to her own question).

She sighed, and forced herself to sit on her bed. She really needed to study. Otherwise, she would not be the best. She needed to be the b e s t. It was only the first place that ever was appreciated by her father. But before she made any further moves, Nunnally heard a soft knock.

Made her something?

She opened a door only to see Mr. Rosfield with a tray of cookies. Her lips formed into a smile; and she had all forgotten about the promise she had just made to herself. She nodded and excitedly took one of the chocolate cookies. They didn’t look like the best cookies anyone had ever baked, but they were tasty.

“Did you bake them yourself…?” – she asked after she finished chewing on a her first bite, inviting the man to enter the room. It was his home after all – “...for me…?”

She didn’t remember anyone had ever made something so sweet for her.

“They’re really good.” – she added with a smile – “Should I prepare the cinnamon milk to go with them?” – she wasn’t good with cooking, but she could do a thing or two.

@fire-branded

[casspurrjoybell-25]

Skating on Thin Ice - Chapter 48 - Part 3

*Warning - Adult Content*

Elijah Ellis

Ian wordlessly followed me up to my room, standing in the doorway as I sat down on my bed across from him.

"You can stay in here or down on the couch," I told him, breaking the silence.

"I should've just went home," Ian said with a scoff.

"But Fox wouldn't leave me the hell alone. You don't need to babysit me."

"I'm not babysitting you," I replied with an eye roll.

"We just don't want you going home to a dangerous situation."

Ian and I weren't the closest of friends but I still didn't want to send him home to where he could potentially be harmed.

"It's not dangerous," Ian retorted, irritation clear in his tone.

"I know you don't see it that way but being physically harmed is abuse," I told him.

Ian's eyes darkened as he leaned against the door frame.

He crossed his arms over his chest, directing his narrowed eyes into mine.

"Remember when I was out with Micah that one night and you watched us to make sure nothing bad happened and took me home later?" I reminded him, standing up from the bed to be level with him.

That night was the first time I had felt close to Ian.

It was the first time I had seen us as actual friends.

"Yeah?" he responded in an annoyed voice, like he couldn't tell where I was going with this.

"That's like what Fox does for you and what I'm doing right now," I continued, looking straight into his dark eyes.

"So just hang out here tonight. We don't even have to talk, we can just stare at the wall if you want."

I swore I saw Ian crack a smile at that but it vanished just as soon as it appeared.

A moment later, Joshua and Trevor appeared behind Ian in my doorway.

Ian and I shared looks of shock.

"Hey Trevor," I greeted with a wave as Ian finally entered my room.

"Hey," Trevor replied with a wide grin.

"Where's Fox?" Joshua asked, looking around the room with a confused expression.

"Home," I told him.

Joshua gave Ian and I a strange look but didn't comment further.

I was sure he wanted to ask questions and only didn't because he knew I would ask about him and Trevor.

We didn't stay in my bedroom for long as my fathers yells caused Joshua and I to rush down the stairs and into the kitchen where Dad was having a heated conversation over the phone.

Mandy sat at the table with a startled expression as Dad paced the floor.

"I swear to God, Susan, I will file a restraining order," Dad exclaimed, his face turning red.

"Leave my son alone."

Dad and I shared eye contact, tears pooling in his as he listened to whatever my mother said on the phone.

His jaw clenched as he pressed his lips tightly together while my mouth gaped slightly.

The startled look on my face caused Dad to hang up the phone and place it down on the table before making his way to me.

"Did you know your mother and Dave planned to take you with them to Pennsylvania?" Dad asked in a shaky tone, placing his hands on my shoulders.

My breath hitched and all I could do was nod, Dad letting out a frustrated sigh and looking down at the floor briefly.

"You should've told me," he said in a low tone.

"Dad," I choked out.

"They can't take me."

Dad sighed again, looking over to Mandy and Joshua before bringing his gaze back to mine.

"Your mother is getting a lawyer involved," Dad told me in an even voice, keeping his hands locked on my shoulders.

"She can't do that," I immediately denied, shaking my head.

"I'm eighteen. She can't force me to go anywhere."

"I know, I know," Dad replied, pulling me into a hug.

"But I don't know what exactly her lawyer is going to be able to do, since, even though you're eighteen, you're still a high school student."

I rested my head on his shoulder, suddenly feeling tired at the thought of my mother somehow being able to get me back into her grasp.

"Then we get a lawyer involved," Mandy said in a hard tone, standing from the table.

"I'm sick of this and I'm sick of her trying to tear Elijah away from us."

I picked my head up and Dad nodded in agreement.

"I don't care how much it costs," Mandy continued.

"We're putting an end to this. Now."

I made my way back up to my room a few moments later, Joshua following closely behind me.

"Everything is going to be fine," Joshua assured me, patting my shoulder as I headed into my room.

I nodded at him and entered my bedroom where Ian and Trevor stood in awkward silence.

I would have laughed at the two of them if I wasn't feeling so emotionally spent.

Joshua motioned for Trevor to follow him out of the room and left Ian and I alone.

"I won't even ask what that was all about," Ian said after Joshua had shut the door.

"Just my mom trying to control me," I said with a heavy sigh, throwing myself down on my bed and staring up at the ceiling.

"The same mom that threw you out for being gay?" Ian asked, sitting beside me.

"The very same one," I replied.

Ian shook his head, looking down at me.

"I guess we both have fucked up moms."

I snorted out a laugh.

"I guess so."

It wasn't long before I started dozing off, the emotions from what had happened wearing me down.

Ian had turned on my T.V. and started flipping through the channels as he sat beside me.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, my cell-phone started ringing with Fox's name showing up on the caller ID.

"Hey Foxy," I answered, hearing Ian let out a snort at the pet name.

"Elijah, it's Wren," Wren said, his voice sounding rushed.

I sat up on the bed, my brows knitting together in confusion.

"Wren? Is everything okay? Where's Fox?"

"Fox is in the hospital."

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

well, update! (at long mcfucking last)

I have a discord server set up for this, you get the link if you express interest in being part of this, whether for VA stuff, art/animation or simply moral support (yes you can join for the vibes alone but BE. NICE) We got four members so far including me, which is. three more than I thought I was gonna have so that's something I guess

New rule which I hope people will be chill about: ABSOLUTELY NO DISCUSSING THE LEAKS. I shall say again:

NO. DISCUSSING. THE MOTHER. FUCKING. LEAKS.

like. talking about how shit it was that it happened? Fine. We all agree on that. but for the love of GAWD no spoilers please.

okay that's out of the way, now on to the fun stuff

I am working away at making the script for VAs and artists to reference cause, as previously stated, nobody wants to wade through twelve thousand words of self indulgent fic written in my weirdly descriptive poetic style, to try and do something.

I have a possible VA for Vox and Fizzarolli, which. I was honest to god not expecting to find someone who can do Fizz's voice, he only has a few lines so I was deadass considering cutting his part out (I would have cried about this cause I love Fizz so much) He isn't in the server cause he doesn't have Discord but we're keeping in touch. Fellow Fizzarolli fans, say "thank you Joshua". I also have another VA on board but we haven't talked much about what roles she can do, and I think we're waiting till we have a decent cast on-board. If it helps, I do quite a good Angel Dust and Katie Killjoy, so if no-one else volunteers for those, I can give it a try if I need to.

So far we have no artists, which isn't an issue yet cause as far as I know voice stuff gets done first in animation. I will be putting out the call again closer to when we need artists for this. Expanding on this from the original post: I'm hoping for something similar-ish to the show's style, done as an animatic or even rough animation with a bit of colour if possible. I'm not expecting perfection, I'm not asking for something completely polished, I just want something I can see, I guess. And again, I wish I was rich and was able to pay people, but unfortunately I'm broke as fuck. This is why I'd love to get a fair few people on board so the work is divided up evenly and no one person is doing too much.

There's a LOT of talented animators and VAs on Youtube who've inspired me, but I have no idea how to reach them as I'm not sure if a lot of them have Tumblr. Any advice on this, or anyone who knows similarly talented people on this hellsite, would be very cool

Anyway, I was gonna reblog this way earlier, but between the Halloween boop war and then. well, this entire week, I knew the post would get buried. As things seem to have calmed down a bit, I figure now's as good a time as any to boost this

If you've read this far, thanks!

~ Godfrey

this is without a doubt the weirdest thing I have ever done

SALUTATIONS, HELLAVERSE FANDOM! 

You probably don't know me, but my name is Godfrey. (Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!) 

To be quite honest, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here. As I type this, I'm unspeakably nervous.

"Why are you nervous, Godfrey?" I hear you ask.

Well...

I have a dream

I'm here to tell

About a fanfic I wrote for Hazbin Hotel 

(sorry)

Okay okay serious director voice from now. 

Look, this is gonna sound absolutely unhinged, but hear me out. (insane rambles under the cut, this bitch is LONG)

In April, a friend and I had a conversation about a song I wrote and how it was. Well, kinda coded to Vox and Valentino.

Then one thing led to another, and two-and-a-bit months and twelve thousand words later, I had written an absolutely sprawling shitshow of a fic (details later in the post)

Even as I was writing it, I knew the written word didn't do it justice.

Hence, this post. 

(golly, this sounds really demanding, I am so sorry)

Fuck it, my mom always says "if you don't ask you don't get", and for once I want her to be right.

This is, I suppose, a sort of... call to action, for lack of a better term.

Artists, animators and voice actors, I'd like your help to turn this fic into an animatic, or if we can manage it, an actual animation.

ONLY if we can manage it, not if it's gonna stress anyone out.

IMPORTANT NOTE

Just to get this out of the way, not that I should even need to say this but it's unfortunately 2024. If anyone even SUGGESTS using A.I. your ass is getting blocked. I don't fuck with that artificial bullshit.

On to my next point: I am unequivocally in support of artists and actors being paid for their work. 

However, I am a Broke Bitch. Unless we could somehow do crowdfunding or something, I physically would not be able to pay people. This makes me feel like a very shitty person, but unfortunately it's the truth, and I want to be upfront and honest about that.

This is why I hope to get as many people on board as possible for this project, so nobody has to do a shit-ton of work.

I understand that most of you are busy, with work, school/college, or life generally life-ing. Join the club, my life is hectic too.

This is why I really have no set deadline for this. Whether it takes a few months or a few years, as long as it's done well with a minimal amount of stress.

Well, now that that's out of the way, time to go into details a bit.

Characters in order of appearance (this is mainly for VAs)

Vox

Valentino

Velvette 

Angel Dust

Charlie

Husk

Alastor

Vaggie

Lucifer

Niffty

Sir Pentious

Asmodeus (yeah this is slightly a Helluva Boss crossover)

Frank (the egg boi)

Fizzarolli

Katie Killjoy

Tom Trench

And lastly, depending on what everyone else thinks, I have an idea for how Verosika and Zestial can be involved. 

Will there be musical numbers?

The short answer is YEAH, cause Hazbin is a musical. I cannot stress enough how much the music is My Problem. Literally, apart from people singing, I will take care of that.

My Idea Of The Process 

(please bear in mind I have little to no idea of how the animation process works so this is almost definitely wrong, please feel free to correct me about it)

Step 1. Storyboard

Step 2. Voice lines and songs get recorded

Step 3. Animatic (this could very well end up being as far as it gets and that is absolutely cool beans)

Possible Step 4. Animation

Finally, I'd be more than happy to be the one to edit all the clips together. Editing is its own kind of hell, and I'm totally willing to take one for the team.

The Vision

This is. (fffffff) this is the part that's gonna make me sound like a Draconian jerk but I promise I don't mean to come across this way.

I'm hoping to have something that's as close to the style of the show as possible. (this video kinda has the right vibes) This is so the final project will look cohesive and somewhat professional. (god that probably sounded so bad but I genuinely have no idea how else to say it)

TO BE ABSOLUTELY CLEAR. I have nothing against artists with other distinctive art styles, in fact I've come across several that I absolutely love.

Regarding The Writing

I've never directed anything before, so forgive me if this is crossing a line, but like. 

I have my vision for how I want this to go and I'm kind of. not overly flexible on that. Obviously ideas that people have to get this to work good are more than welcome, but they might not end up happening.

Not to be a dick, but I am sorta the director so I do kinda get to make the call on that stuff. (ew god that felt odd)

If this gets off the ground, I'd have to turn this 12,000 word fic into a script to make it easier for people to read it and not get bogged down by my weird old-fashioned poetic style. This would be sent out to people who express interest at some point.

Just a heads-up: If you're expecting an AO3 link I am so sorry but it's Google Docs, mainly because this thing is wildly self-indulgent and I, for one, do not fancy attracting potential haters. Most people are nice, some are very vocally not. Besides, what would be the fun if everyone knew the story in advance?

BASICALLY

If you're interested shoot me an ask and I'll answer privately (OFF anon pls, I wanna know who I'm workin' with here!) or DM me and I'll get back to you.

If you see this and know someone who'd be interested, feel free to tag them or send this post to them.

I am gonna tag @achilleanauthor (my right hand man over here) @emeraldcity1900 and @onesidedradiostatic as they're kind of the only blogs I know who are I guess. Active in the Hellaverse fandom.

If this gains enough traction and I get people on board, I'll be setting up a Discord server (another first for me). 

Watch this space, and as Alastor would say, "Stay tuned..."

[wonuism]

sabotaged

pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff i think

word count: 1.5k

summary: asking your best friend, wonwoo, to set you up with one of his single friends wasn’t the worst thing you’ve ever asked him to do for you, but when the date he hooks you up didn’t work out, your date took pity and revealed who’s behind the worst date you’ve gotten yourself into.

a/n: not proofread so there’s a bunch of errors here i’m sure and very half-assed i actually don’t know how to develop a relationship without it feeling too rushed. i think the read more link is still malfunctioning sorry.. unless you have the new tumblr update. might rewrite this fic since i’m not entirely satisfied w it.

“You should set me up with one of your friends.”

Wonwoo felt his heart drop as he stared at you with an unreadable expression on his face. It shouldn't bother him this much, he’s used to your ramblings about wanting a significant other, somehow all your conversations end up with you talking about how you’re starting to hate being single. He doesn’t believe you though. It’s been months and yet you never really made a move to ask someone out or agree to go on a date with someone. Just a week ago he literally watched you turn down a boy’s offer to take you out for coffee.

What has changed now? Don’t get him wrong of course he’d want you to be happy but he draws the line at his friends dating you. Especially since those said friends know about his real feelings for you.

“If you think about it, that sounds like a great idea. If I date one of your friends, it’s guaranteed that you like them and I won’t have to choose between hanging out with you or hanging out with someone that will make me choose between you or him.”

He thinks it’s sweet. Even if you want to be in a relationship, you still somehow value him and want him to stay in your life. That does not overpower his urge to run though. Just imagining you dating one of his friends makes him sick. His friends? The same ones who watched him spill his guts out while talking about how infatuated he is with you?

“Why are you not talking? Is it such a bad idea? Do your friends not like me?” He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts.

“No. They like you, they really do. I always talk about you so-”

“Wait.. you talk about me?” Oh shit. He should’ve kept his mouth closed, how will he be able to bounce back from this?

“Yes! Because.. my friend.. uhm- Mingyu! Is very very interested in knowing everything about you.”

This made you tilt your head in confusion, you’ve known Wonwoo for years and you’ve only seen him lose cool and stutter a handful of times. Hearing him sound so unsure right now makes you think he’s lying but with the way he’s nodding his head is convincing you that maybe you’re just reading everything too much.

“Mingyu from 21st Lit?” You questioned before saying, “Can’t be that bad. Are you sure it’s okay for me to go on a date with one of your friends? You know I’m not gonna push through it if it makes you uncom-”

“No, really, it’s fine. I’ll call Mingyu.”

“Somebody call Mingyu.”

Jeonghan and Joshua’s dorm was in chaos the moment Wonwoo walked in with a big frown on his face. It became even more chaotic once he revealed that he’ll be setting you up on a date with Mingyu.

Hoshi gasped so hard he’s sure one of the neighbors must think he got accidentally stabbed while Seungkwan screeched in surprise at the sudden revelation.

“Are you really just gonna set them up on a date and not do anything?” Seungcheol asked him.

“What other choice do I have? It’s either that or I lose Y/n just because I decided to confess my stupid crush on her.” Wonwoo grumbles before plopping next to Jun.

“Well, what if she’s secretly hoping for you to confess?” Joshua asked, hoping to at least lighten up the boy’s mood.

“I doubt it. She hasn't shown signs of interest in me and I’ve known her for years.” Joshua just replied with a soft “Oh.” Looking away as Wonwoo’s face turns even meaner, if that’s even possible.

“I have a plan.”

“We can’t murder Mingyu, Jun.”

“That’s not..? Anyway, why not just tell Mingyu to talk about things that will bore Y/n? I’m sure he doesn’t like her that way and won’t do anything to hurt Wonwoo. If the date ends badly then maybe Wonwoo will finally have the balls to confess to Y/n.”

“You’re saying we should sabotage the date?” Vernon asked to which Jun replied with an enthusiastic “Yeah!”

“That’s honestly not bad. I don’t know about the last part though.” Wonwoo said quietly.

“Somebody call Mingyu so we can debrief him quickly!”

“For love!” Hoshi screamed as he put his fist up with a bright smile on his face. Everyone just groaned and ignored him, already used to his antics.

The date is going badly. It’s possibly one of the worst dates you’ve ever been on. You can’t even have a single decent conversation with him because his interests don't interest you and your interests don't interest him. It was awkward and sometimes, when you talk, it feels like you’re only talking to yourself.

“The food is delicious isn’t it?” You try to strike up a conversation.

“It’s okay. I prefer other places.” If you knew better you’d say he’s acting like an asshole. Biting your tongue, you just stiffly nod before looking down on your plate again.

Maybe Wonwoo misread everything about Mingyu because for someone who’s very very interested in you he sure doesn’t look and act like it.

You should just walk away right now. Leave him with the check and never talk to him again, you could have been doing something productive today instead of sitting in a diner across from someone who’s not even interested in being in the same vicinity as you.

Too caught up in your own thoughts, you fail to notice Mingyu look at you sympathetically. Maybe this was too cruel. He’s starting to feel bad so with a sigh, he decided that he was going to tell you the truth. He’s not going to play the bad guy and unintentionally hurt you just so Wonwoo could keep his secret. Maybe it’s time for Wonwoo to actually man up.

The aftermath of your conversation with Mingyu left you in shambles. It was so sudden and so out of nowhere that you looked like a fish out of water with how you can’t find the right words to respond to him.

Wonwoo? Your best friend? Likes you??

That sounds fake but your friend tells you otherwise.

“You know what, I think you like him too. You’ve been asked out by a couple of guys and yet you still turned them down even after you literally just told Wonwoo that you hate being single. Maybe you were subconsciously waiting for him to ask you out? You were just too stupid to notice it.” She said.

“No I wasn’t… wait.. no I wasn’t. Right?”

The next time you met up with Wonwoo, you felt that maybe you do kind of like him. So when he asked you about the date, it genuinely surprised you that Mingyu hadn't told Wonwoo everything yet.

“How did the date go with Mingyu?” He asked, acting nonchalantly.

“It went great. He’s such a nice guy.” You didn’t fail to notice him do a double take at your reply.

“..He is?” Mingyu was hellbent on not telling them how the date went, so hearing you say that made him understand why Mingyu was so adamant on not telling them anything.

This one was on him, he thinks. Their plan backfired horribly and he really can’t blame anyone but himself for agreeing to do something so immature and.. wait, what.

“What?” His head snapped up.

“I said, it’s nice of him to ask me out on a date for you.” You replied as if what you said didn’t just cause electricity to jolt up his system. “I agreed of course.”

“You’re messing with me.” How can you act so cool in this kind of situation? Maybe this is your revenge for him messing up your date with Mingyu.

“I wish I am, but how can I turn down my best friend whom I kind of like too if I’m being completely honest-”

“You like me?”

“That’s just what I said.”

You watched him completely sink in your words before he ducked down, a giddy smile taking over his face. Who knew the stoic Jeon Wonwoo you knew could be this cute smiling like a school boy.

“So.. the date?” You asked, looking at him expectantly.

“I’m supposed to be the one asking you out but yes.”

The soft smile you just gave him will forever be embedded on his mind as he watched you giggle at his flushed state. He can’t even bring himself to be mad at Mingyu for confessing for him when you shyly scootch up your seat closer to him, maybe he’d even thank Mingyu instead of whacking him.

[svt-yexi]

Moment: Birthday Surprise

"Alright let's take a break and we'll start again in thirty." the choreographer called out.

Yexi tucked her sweaty bangs behind her ears and collapsed onto the floor with a groan, "I didn't sign up for torture on my birthday Oppa!" she yelled out causing the choreographer to laugh.

"I've put you through worse Yexi-ya, only a few more hours and then you can spend the rest of your day at home." he shot her a smile before walking out of the practice room leaving Yexi and the rest of the members to themselves.

"Hannie, can we play hooky and sneak away?" she tried her best puppy dog eyes and pouted.

She heard a click of a tongue behind her and looked over to see Seungcheol shaking his head at her antics, "Stop trying to be a bad influence." he teased.

Yexi gasped and pointed at herself, "Me!?" she scoffed, "I'm the least problematic one here."

Chan's laughter caught her attention, "Oh, if carats only knew."

Yexi took her shoe off and threw it across the room at his legs and stuck her tongue out. She heard her ringtone going off in her bag so she stood and walked over to it "I am the perfect child, i don't know what you're talking about." she yelled out over her shoulder as she grabbed it from the pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Happy Birthday Meimei!" hearing Junhui's and Minghao's voices through the phone made her fall on her butt and cover her face as they continued to sing her happy birthday in Chinese.

"We miss you!" Junhui yelled.

"We're sorry we're missing your birthday this year." Minghao added.

Yexi wasn't known for being overly emotional but this was the longest she'd been separated from any of her members and the first birthday she'd spent apart from the two of them since moving to Korea. She was definitely close with all her members but Minghao and Junhui were a little different, the two Chinese members felt like her home away from home. She knew the two of them had full schedules for that day so she hadn't expected to talk to them until tomorrow, and she might not have let on just how much the two of them being gone was affecting her. It wasn't until Seungkwan heard her sob that anyone knew something was off.

"Why are you crying!?" Junhui asked in alarm.

"Hey, no crying on your birthday!" Minghao lightly chided.

"Yexi?" Seungkwan called out worriedly when he saw the girl's shoulders start shaking.

"I m-miss you both s-so much." she sobbed louder catching the attention of the rest of her members.

Wonwoo and Seokmin were the first to reach her, "Yexi-ya, what's wrong?" Seokmin asked rubbing her back and looking over at their leader with a worried expression.

"Yexi, look at me," Wonwoo said softly making the girl look up at him with tear-stained cheeks causing his heart to break at the sight. He pulled her in for a hug and the girl went slack against his body causing her to drop the phone. She only cried harder once he had her tucked under his chin and was hugging her tightly.

The members looked worried wondering if something had happened back in China with her family so Seungcheol picked up the phone waving Joshua over since he was the next best person that might be able to understand Chinese, at least until Yexi was able to calm down, "Hello?"

"Hyung?" Seungcheol felt all the tension from his body bleed out at the sound of Minghao and Jun's voices being the ones he heard on the other side.

"Aish, I thought something bad happened with the way she was acting," he replied before turning back to everyone letting them know it was just Minghao and Jun. You could see everyone visibly relaxed at the information. Some were lightly chuckling at Yexi's reaction knowing that she was missing them.

"We just called to wish her a happy birthday. Is she okay?" Junhui asked.

"Yeah, she's just a blubbering mess right now." he looked over at Yexi with a fond smile. He made a mental note to talk to her later since he hadn't realized she was struggling with their absence as much as she was.

taglist: @multiplums @giverosespls @Sunflower-0180 @Smoooore

[snowdaisied]

Jill does in fact smile more knowingly, though she keeps any further teasing to herself. Admitting feelings for another person is something that takes a lot of effort, after all. She can't help but still be tickled by the idea of knowing Joshua feels this way about someone.

"It seems you've gotten to know each other quite well in our time here," she says. "I'm glad. You deserve someone who makes you happy, Joshua."

Her expression then turns thoughtful. "I think you're right. It's just as you said before -- We once had everything about the rest of our lives planned out for us. I find it... Exhilarating, really, to be able to make my own choices and listen to what my heart wants."

"She's..." Jill's prompting of him to speak of Mercedes should be simple. There's so much to say about her, yet Joshua's mind draws a blank. It isn't that he can't find the words, but that there's simply too much to say. He's silent for a moment, chin in hand as he thinks of a way to speak about her. Eyebrows knit together, and he's certain he can feel Jill smiling even more knowingly at him.

Maybe this was proof enough that he genuinely cared for Mercedes. "She's one of the best people I've ever known, really."

"Kind, understanding, with a wit about her that keeps me on my toes," he can't help but chuckle at that last bit. "I feel as though when we spend time together, she sees me for who I truly am." as he waxes poetic about what he loves about her, he can't help but smile fondly. "I want to tell Clive, I think I just feel a bit...strange about it all. I wondered if this is how either of you felt with the newfound freedom we all suddenly had, actually."

[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!!

[mimicofmodes]

“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.” 

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets 

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves 

Pelerines 

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles 

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)