Chaennie Oneshots

Rules of Desire

The euphoric sound beating through the crowded dance floor drowned the room in echoing voices from the stage, erupting a chorus of collective screams from a sea of young bodies. Sweat clung to skin as they moved provocatively along the rhythm, either drunk, high, or fully surrendered to the DJ’s intoxicating control over the night.

As more strangers poured in to suffocate the center, an overlooking glass balcony hovered above them occupied by those who preferred distance and privacy, content to consume the chaos from above. The VIP section gleamed with excess: bartender pouring drinks both hard and unforgiving, laughter bursting out of conversations steeped in gossip, scandals, money, bets and bragging rights with achievement they never earned themselves, but inherited from mommies and daddies who filled their pockets endlessly.

Spoiled.
Arrogant.
Rich.
Careless
Reckless.
Name them all.

While the rest chattered about nothing that mattered, a silhouette in a silver dress leaned against the glass. A drink rested loosely in her hand as she tapped the rim with her index finger, eyes fixed on the crowd below. Faces carefree, bodies moving like they had no jobs waiting for them in the morning, no lives to fix, no grief to hide.

For a moment, everyone was free.

Her gaze drifted slowly, deliberately, cataloging strangers with detached curiosity. She was bored, aching for something reckless enough to break the suffocating stillness clinging to her skin. Someone interesting enough to drag out of the room and reduce to a single night of mutual use.

Her lips parted in a quiet sigh. Disappointed. No one was worth the effort.

“No one to play with tonight, Park?”

The reflection of a man appeared in the glass behind her with a black ironed suit hugging his broad frame, lips curled into a familiar, infuriating smirk. He looked pleased, having caught the venomous glare she had not bothered to hide.

“Back the fuck off, Chan.” Her voice cut sharp and cold. Around them, conversations slowed. Eyes flickered nervously in their direction. No one dared intervene, not when two of the most powerful names in the room stood inches apart.

Chan chuckled and raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face.
“Relax, R. A joke won’t kill anyone.”

He stepped closer anyway. Too close. His voice dropped, teasing, intimate, as he reached for her hand then smoothly took her drink.

“You can always use me,” he murmured. “I’m always available.”

Roseanne turned slowly. A single brow lifted. Then she laughed, soft and humorless. Her fingers adjusted the crooked angle of his tie with deceptive care before sliding upward, curling around the fabric. In one sharp motion, she yanked him forward, pulling the knot tight against his throat.

Chan gasped, coughing, hands flying up too late. Roseanne leaned in, blonde hair catching the light, a feral smile crossing her face. She blew a faint breath against his ear and spoke carefully, savoring every word as his skin flushed red. “I don’t think your wife would appreciate a third mistress, my friend.” Her grip tightened as sweat slid down his temple.

“And besides,’ she continued calmly, “if I had to choose,” She tilted her head, mock-thoughtful, “I’d pick her over you any day,”

She shoved him back without effort. Chan stumbled down a step as the girls rushed toward Roseannae and the guys caught him, swearing under their breath. He straightened himself, fixed his tie, sucked in a breath and then laughed. Loud. Maniacal.

“You’re a sadistic menace, R,” he said genuinely. “God, I missed you.”

He ignored the boys’ irritated hands swatting his back and pulled Roseanne into a hug she barely tolerated, flipping him off as she laughed. Another muscular woman in a black provocative dress crashed into them both, wrapping them in a bone-crushing embrace.