#lap band operation

[delirious-donna]

Dangerous Games [Hoshina Soshiro]

an: the Vice-Captain may be your boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the wicked games he likes to play… now, sit pretty.

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x female reader

warnings: cockwarming, dangerous liaisons, semi-exhibitionism (I guess?), Soshiro is a wicked boy but he adores you truly

Masterlist

If you tried to recall what possessed you to think this was a good idea, you were left with absolutely nothing in mind. It was a dangerous game, one you never thought Soshiro would be up for playing, but here you were, sat on the Vice-Captain’s lap surrounded by comrades and the likes in the communal movie room.

Yes, you were more than one of the operatives charged with ensuring the safety of the division’s officers, far more. You were the girlfriend of Vice Captain Hoshina and whilst it still made you giddy when you thought about it, it was no secret. Soshiro wasn’t the type to be too overly affectionate with others around, but he didn’t shy away from touching you when the opportunity struck. A hand on the small of your back, a lightning-fast kiss pressed to the top of your head, a cheeky grope of your behind when he was certain no one was looking. But this? This was something altogether new…

The room was dark with the only light being emitted from the projector shining a movie onto the wall with vivid colour. It felt hot, of course it did, the sticky feeling of being smothered by too many layers itched down your spine and you wondered if the others felt it too. There were far more faces in here than you had predicted when you first fell into Soshiro’s little game—it felt more like a trap now—and you burned with the knowledge that they could discover the depths of your depravity at any moment.

In sheer desperation to distract your wayward mind and the reactions of your body, you tried to remember the plot of the movie. To at least try and follow along with what was happening but it was impossible when the man beneath you was doing his damnedest to ruin you so completely.

The spread of wet kisses started innocently enough at your cheek. They moved lower to your jaw, long clever fingers angling your head so he could suck little marks at your pulse and the delicate bone at your clavicle. A curtain of silky amethyst hair hid his face from you, obscuring the area of his next attack which he disguised as showering you in affection. You were no fool. You could feel his smile against your clammy skin, and it only worsened the predicament.

You rutted your hips, barely an inch but it was enough for the almost silent groan to echo from the depths of his chest. A strong, capable chest that was pressed flush against your back, a hand at your waist to hold you steady in his lap. Immediately you stilled, breath caught fast in your throat, but it was too late for that.

Soshiro’s teeth latched on your ear, tugging the lobe between those perfectly sharp incisors before a strained and quiet voice flowed inside. Despite the strain, he sounded amused—almost manic.

“That was naughty, little flower. Do you want to get caught?” he asked, and the very idea of one of your friends or colleagues turning their attention to the couch that only you two occupied made your cunt clench.

It was all the answer he needed.

His sharp inhale of breath was more audible this time, and you fought the urge to squirm against the hold that was tightening with every passing second. His arm was like a steel band around your waist, the voice that of a devil that was exhilarated by the circumstances he’d found himself in.

“Oh… it’s like that, is it? If only your colleagues knew how filthy you were being right now. Tsk tsk.” His tongue clicked softly against his teeth, a feigned admonishment that left your head falling back to his shoulder and your face pressed into his neck.

You inhaled the scent of skin, the salt mixed with something light and almost floral from his body wash. The temptation to lick a long strip from below his ear to the swell of his Adam’s apple was interrupted by his cock massaging against your front wall. The engorged tissue of your pleasure spot lit up your veins like fireworks, and only turned up the dial on the neediness pooling both in the pit of your stomach and between your sticky thighs.

He knew exactly how to make you melt, the merest flick of his wrist and the right intonation would see you putty in his hand. It should be annoying to be so easily read, but honestly, you appreciated the efforts he had gone to to learn you so intimately. Soshiro was a dedicated man, to his job and to you, it was heartwarming to feel so cared for, even when you found yourself in promiscuous situations such as these.

You knew that, had you been alone in here, you would be riding him to completion and to hell with the consequences. He knew it too and that only tightened your jaw, your molars grinding together as you tried your very best not to move another inch. The Vice-Captain might not be laughing but one quick peek into his eyes told you that he was barely holding back from doing just that.

Hushed conversation from your friends stole your -attention away from the shining humour in his violet eyes, cheeks burning hot as you glanced around the room but didn’t dare to meet anyone’s eye. The moment passed, action returning to the screen, and you exhaled a long-held sigh of relief.

Instead of smacking his chest like you wanted to do, you worked on steadying your breathing, grateful of the breathing techniques taught by the very organisation you worked for. You tried to ignore how every minuscule movement was ticking you closer to yelling to hell with it and bouncing on his dick until your eyes crossed and the band of tension in your belly snapped. You ignored the wet arousal that drooled from your cunt, clenching around his length behind your modest skirt, and you definitely didn’t think about the stains you were likely leaving on the front of his pants…

His fingers splayed beneath the hem of said skirt, rucking the fabric closer to your knee until his hand could disappear beneath. You grabbed up a cushion and pressed to your lap to hide whatever his intent was whilst your eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. You almost moaned aloud at the grazing touch of his nail against your puffy lips, followed by the circular motion of his fingertips teasing your swollen clit. It was enough to make you bite your lip until the iron tang of blood hit your tongue.

Warm breath fanned your cheek, his lips so close to your ear that the sensation tickled down your spine.

“Make it through the movie, sweet girl. Then I promise I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk straight, okay?”

All you could do was nod. There were no words in your head, and quite frankly, you didn’t trust your voice not to give the game away completely. It was imperative you last, that you make it through this mission and receive your reward.

Soshiro smiled against your pulse, nipping playfully at the wildly erratic rhythm beneath the skin. God, he adored you so much.

“That’s it, sit still for me.”

[wesstars]

heaven on earth (ii)

wednesday addams x fem!reader (mostly gn, only term used is “girl friend”)

summary: your friends-with-benefits situation with wednesday isn’t so friendly anymore, but if you could only uncover your own eyes, you might’ve noticed. wc: 5.5k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI! all characters involved are 18+. kinda ooc wednesday, painfully oblivious reader, bad fluff, fluff to smut, top!reader and bottom!wednesday, semi-public (car) sex, mild blood, biting, mild overstimulation. a/n: not sure how I feel about this lol. special thank you to 🕷️ anon for her ideas and workshopping <3 comments/asks welcome, as always!

read part one here! this can be read standalone, but is intended to be a continuation.

masterlist

For the fifth time, Wednesday slapped your thigh to get your attention. “Turn it down.”

You huffed a laugh, and figured it was time. You were playing your ‘obnoxious’ pop playlist, full of mostly Taylor Swift and random Korean bands. It was collaborative with Enid, and likely one of Wednesday’s least favorites. Lowering the volume, you tossed Wednesday your phone.

“Alright, it’s your turn.”

The two of you were driving back from a day trip to a nearby town—actually, you were supposed to be driving back the rest of Enid and Co, also, but while Wednesday was beyond ready to leave, they all wanted to stay and do something called a “holy trinity.” How someone could have so much alcohol in so little time was so bizarre to you, but then Wednesday, of all people, rolled her eyes and downed three shots in just as many minutes, and seemed no worse for wear. 

Seemed was the key word there—not a quarter of an hour later, she’d grabbed onto your arm, grip slack, and her eyes were becoming unfocused, roving all over your face only to miss your eyes and tack onto somewhere lower.

You’d coaxed her to eat something after that. Post French fries and buttered bread (she’d kill you after she knew you’d made her eat such unrefined food,) as well as a bottle and a half of water in, she’d mostly walked it off. You figured it was time to get Wednesday home. As far as you knew, the rest of your friends were still out, though you’d made Yoko promise to text you when they were leaving and when they got back. The windows were open in the car; the wind lifted Wednesday’s fringe off her forehead. You glanced over to where she was gingerly operating your phone, punching in letters on Spotify. Your heart twisted.

You didn’t really want to admit that weird feeling you had the first time, and all the rest of the times, you saw Wednesday. It was a sort of jittery one, with a swoop in your stomach, that made you want to prod her into a conversation. You’d gotten quite a bit more than you’d bargained for, from that first fateful kiss in the classroom, to every secret, heady rendezvous after. The last time you two had been intimate—fucked, in your bed—had left an indelible mark, natural as a shadow settled neatly in your chest. The bickering and play fights had only made things worse, and you knew you had to ignore it all, for Wednesday. To keep things the same, because… something’s better than nothing, right?

You supposed that “something” was where you were right now. Being her ‘girl friend,’ with a space in between, sex and unrequited feelings included, was the best place that you could ever be with her. You had those close moments with her that you could cherish, but also that emotional distance that Wednesday undoubtedly wanted. Perfect. Your childlike sentiments were ones that you were likely to carry in your heart, deep down, for fucking forever. They were never going to see the light of day.

Lilting piano filled the car, shoving images of you and Wednesday seated together before the keys into your mind. Your phone dropped back into your lap.

“Nocturne? In E minor.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“I’m surprised you know.”

“Hey!” Indignant, you nearly shot something back that was sure to start one of your bickering matches again, when an unfamiliar sound rang through the car, lovely as the music, but something you’d never heard before.

“Did you just laugh?”

Wednesday’s mumbled denial was covered up by your own laugh, bordering on hysterical as your heart picked itself up and started racing. 

“Do not insult me like that,” Wednesday grumbled, rubbing the hem of her sweater between her fingers. “Focus on the road. Dying with you in a car crash is too pathetic to even consider.” Though her words were sharp as always, her even tone had something in it that, if one wasn’t careful, could be mistaken as gentle.

You snorted again, unable to stop laughing. “And if a double decker bus…” you sang, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. Wednesday’s glare nearly sliced you clean in half, and you were smart for once, shutting up immediately. She wasn’t laughing anymore, and some part of you mourned that.

After Chopin played Liszt, Liebestraum no. 3, and you wondered if Wednesday knew how to queue on Spotify. You followed the winding road up the mountain. You’d be back at Nevermore soon, but selfishly, you didn’t want this to be over. It was an odd time, with no bickering, no siege, no sex, and who could blame you if you were feeling particularly, disgustingly, sentimental? Blame the Liszt.

Turning the car off the road, you pulled into a deserted vista point. Carpe diem, you thought, throwing caution to the wind and the car in park. 

“Why have you stopped?”

“Weds, we’re looking at the sunset.”

“I do not need to see it, it happens every day—”

“Oh, come on,” you laughed, unlocking the car doors and stepping out. With the wind whipping around you, blowing your hair every which way, you ducked to peek into the car. “Humor me, I guess. Don’t you feel sorry for me, or something?”

She gave you a pointed look. “I do not.” But she followed you out the car anyway.

Leaning on the hood, you looked out at the scene as she joined you. Spiky evergreens stretched out across the stony slopes, with the last vestiges of snow clinging to the tops. The sun stretched its longing light into the rapidly darkening east behind you, pulling taut the shadows and blanketing everything in an aureate shine.

You glanced over at Wednesday—despite her earlier protest, it seemed as if she was tolerating this. The tension around her brow was gone, and her arms hung relaxed by her sides. The silence wasn’t rare, but it felt reverent anyway. Your heart adored her in her outfit; it was something your mind refused to register. She was in black knee high boots, made of some leather you couldn’t pronounce, an inky dress, flowing in the wind, down to her thighs, and a soft deep gray sweater. There was a sort of bleeding sentiment, beginning to seep into your everyday life, into wondering what Wednesday would think of the book you were reading, imagining her reaction to Bianca’s quip, overthinking her hand clutching your sleeve in the courtyard.

You deliberated, vaguely, what it would be like if you tumbled down the mountainside, into those trees—would the wood be cushioning or bruising? It was a serious consideration, with all that you were feeling. Those damned feelings, ones that Wednesday would undoubtedly scorn, made you kick up the gravel underfoot in frustration.

Beside you, Wednesday cast an uninterested look over you at the noise, silently judging. A beat passed. She grabbed the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, and pulled you into a bruising kiss. 

“I am going in the car. The back seat. Be not afraid.” She retreated, and gave a little smirk, one reserved for the golden light and dark trees.

It was purely unfair, as the blood rushed from your head to pool in your stomach, making your heart work overtime. Stumbling to the back seat, you’d barely sat down before Wednesday reached over to the console and locked the doors. She’d taken off her boots, leaving her legs clad in white socks scrunched around her calves.

She climbed into your lap without preamble, squeezing your hips with her thighs. The car roof meant she had to duck her head just a bit, giving you the perfect opportunity to press your lips to hers. Having Wednesday on top of you was the kind of thing that made your head spin. And spinning you were, down into that deep unending abyss where there was only the smell of hot sugar, pine, and iron. 

The Midas touch of the setting sun made Wednesday seem even paler, from her exposed knees to her small hands, glowing like some ethereal being. She kissed you as if she could wrap her teeth around you, like searching for sweetness in the corners of your mouth. Sure enough, there was something about her, a sense of urgency, that threatened to take in all of you. 

“This dress is nice,” you murmured, pushing it up her pale thighs, rubbing away the red marks her boots left on her calves. Your hands continued upward, to the light dampness of her inner thighs.

“You said you liked it last time.” Wednesday immediately glanced away, as if she hadn’t meant to say those words. There was a faint flush to her cheeks again, but the two of you were fogging up the car windows.

You ignored the pulsing in your stomach that traitorously screamed she wore this for me? “It’s enchanting,” you said. “Like a witch of the wood.”

You nosed your way into the nape of her neck again, a favorite spot of yours, unable to stop your stupid mouth from running. “I adore it…” You pulled her tighter to your lap, skimming the seam of her underwear at the juncture of her thigh. “Can I touch you, Wednesday?”

“Get on with it,” she said, breathlessly, indulging you with a quick quirk of her lips. 

Skimming the back of your hand up between her thighs, you sent your other hand to palm her chest through her dress. You felt her through her panties, the fabric soft and smooth from her slick. Dipping your hand below the waistband, you wasted no time finding her clit. Her breath came down hard—it was her tell, you knew, even when her face remained mostly impassive.

She was sensitive today, back arching with a small gasp as soon as you touched her. Hand shooting past your head, Wednesday grabbed onto the headrest, hard enough for the leather to creak. Her outstretched arm was right next to your head, and you couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss the inside of her elbow. 

She sighed, unfurling tendrils of a storm in smooth skies. “You have all of me,” Wednesday said, something soft.

You press a kiss to Wednesday's forehead, equally soft, as you curl your fingers again. “If only, Wednesday,” you said, unthinking.

Wednesday froze, squeezing her other hand on your shoulder hard enough to leave pretty bruises under your collared shirt.

You pulled back, cocking your head. “What is it?”

She furrowed her brow at you, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, then glanced away quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Your fingers traced another circle around her clit.

“Stop asking.” Her voice was firm, but it had a waver in the middle, like she’d almost changed her mind. 

“I’ll stop asking,” you whispered, “if you tell me what’s up.” Her eyes were glazed over with a sheen not unlike her slick that coated your fingers, something shiny and sweet. 

“You’re hopeless,” she said, not even a second before she clapped her hand over your mouth.

What an Addams wants, an Addams gets, you surmised, blinking quickly. You rubbed your free hand up and down her thigh, trying to soothe her, but she only moved her hand to grip your jaw, her intent the sear of fire through the underbrush.

“I do not like repeating myself,” she said quietly, “so listen closely.” She shifted closer to you on your lap, car leather squeaking, settling on her knees so your nose was in her collar. She reached down and gave you a handkerchief from her pocket. Knowing what she meant, you pulled your fingers from her warmth, feeling a hard lump in your throat. “And make no noise.”

You nodded. She looked wild on top of you, hair mussed from your make out session, the apples of her cheeks a dusty rose.

“Honesty colors me,” she said by way of explanation. “And you talk too much, so this is how it will have to be.” She seemed to think for a moment, biting her lip. Her burgundy lipstick contrasted so starkly with her gray sweater, as if she was the only screaming color in a black and white world. She might hate that, you mused absently. Maybe she was more a whirlpool of the blackest black, sucking in all of the color and light around it so that you had no choice but to be drawn in, to the only real thing you’d ever known.

“You’re stupid,” Wednesday started, matter-of-factly. “Just like everyone else.” You nodded, used to this sort of thing by now. “But your particular brand of stupidity is showing its truth.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, arms automatically going around her waist while you leaned back to look at her. Where she was going with this, you had no idea. You only knew that that whirlpool was making its way closer and closer to you.

“At first, our… arrangement was indeed purely physical.” She paused. “But things have changed, quite drastically. I do believe I’ve reached a… point of no return, but I have since found a balance.”

Wednesday locked her eyes on yours, unflinching. “I give myself to you time and time again-” the words were unfamiliar from her mouth- “yet, you seem to give no indication that you know. ‘If only?’ It’s nearly laughable.” She gave a huff, though her gaze was contemplative. You cocked your head, mind uncomprehending, mouth dry.

“You have my heart, beating or still.” Her words rang quiet in the car. Your own heart started up again, with all the betrayal of a thrumming bass. You tried to push it down, but it didn’t erase the reality of what Wednesday had just said—did Wednesday ever lie? She was good at it, sure, but you’d long learned that Wednesday’s word was her end. “And it appears as though you are completely unaware.”

“Unaware?” You broke her rule, and you could see the tick of annoyance in her eyes. But you plowed on anyway. “Are you saying that you have my—that I don’t know that I have your—that you like me?”

“My devotion is more than that,” Wednesday said casually, “but it may be that you’re unable to handle that at this time.”

Sure enough, you could feel your body informing your mind that you were hyperventilating, Wednesday’s weight on your lap the only thing keeping you from shooting off to Saturn.

“I don’t—” you struggled for your words, the usual wit you showed while bickering with Wednesday, the strategy you’d used to defend Jericho, absolutely nowhere to be seen.

“Need I pull stars from the sky to prove myself to you?” she said, raising an eyebrow in amusement, as if she wasn’t blowing through every poorly stacked defense of yours. It would be just like Wednesday, for every word of hers to be devastating and world shifting. No one knew Wednesday Addams and remained unchanged—that was just the kind of person she was, romantic as murder via blade. Perhaps to her, your wide eyed reaction was enough of a damning confession. “You’ll be the end of me, but what bliss that would be.” 

“Um,” you started, eloquently. “You’re… you’re not thinking straight,” you rasped out, mind freezing. You could feel your back stuck to the seat, unyielding. “You’re—”

“If I didn’t know you and your oblivious tendencies, I would think that it is almost insulting of you to doubt me.” She gave a small sniff, chin held high. “You think that just because you do not recognize my words, means that I am not in a right state of mind?”

In one fluid motion, she pressed her forehead to yours, and cradled your face between her two cold hands. Your name felt like salvation from her lips; “believe me, I’m wide awake.”

Your jaw went slack, and you were sure you looked as much a dumbass as you felt.

“I intended for my… vulnerability,” Wednesday’s voice wavers on the word, “to be a sign for you, but either you are just that unobservant, or you are unwilling to admit to what is right before your eyes.”

“I’d never not pick up on something on purpose, Weds.” Your brain was wading through a thick mud, unable to turn at the speed that Wednesday wanted.

“Does that mean that you are willfully disregarding the way I show myself to you?” Finally, in her words, you were able to see the exact vulnerability that she had alluded to.

“No, I’d never, I just… didn’t want to hope,” you said, embarrassed. “Romance isn’t your thing.”

“It’s not,” she replied simply, quietly. “I understand your reservations.” Wednesday’s hands held an imperceptible tremble, but her gaze was strong.

“No—of course I—” your throat tightened, but you felt the weight falling from your shoulders anyway. That was something you recognized. “Of course I like you.”

The silence rang yet again, and Wednesday’s eyes widened, the onyx of them turning warm as molten metal. The exact expression in them was hard to place, but it calmed you, in the wake of speaking aloud something you’d been afraid to admit to yourself.

A thought occurred to you, more clear than any you’d had since Wednesday had opened her mouth. “Even if we’d never—if we never have sex again, I’d still l—like you.”

Despite the way you stumbled into and over your words, Wednesday’s dark eyes on yours grew warm, pupil blurring into iris; the corner of her mouth gave an upwards tick.

“In the cracks of light,” Wednesday whispered, reverent as prayer as her fingertips traced your cheekbone, “I see the heaven on earth I’ve won with you.”

She kissed you then, and you couldn’t hold back any more. It was something like pure relief—though your mind still didn’t quite comprehend Wednesday’s confession (confession!), your heart broke the dam, pulling you down past inhibition. Spiraling to Wednesday’s gravity, it was as natural as breathing to give in.

Wednesday, all knowing as always, must’ve seen the way your resolve broke. She slid her mouth against yours, open and hot, unhurried but eager. The car leather under your thighs was as warm as Wednesday on top of you—not even she was immune to the rays of waning sunlight, it seemed.

“You know,” you muttered, between capturing her lips, “it’s just like you to say all that about moving heaven and earth. Most people just say ‘I like you.’” It wasn’t a complaint by any means; with your hands on her waist, you’d have it no other way.

“As I said, it is more than that.” She took a breath, completely steady and confident, now. “You consume me, completely.”

“And you, I,” you said softly, as if you could do anything but agree to her heady desire. “I’ve got you, Wednesday.”

Her forehead dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you. It took a moment for you to realize that in her silence after your words, she was grinding down, near imperceptibly, into your lap.

“Mmm, my love,” you murmured, the significance of the endearment not lost on you, “look at you.” Sliding a hand up her back to her hair, you felt her braids through your fingers. You ran your hands down once more, under her sweater to feel the muscles around her shoulder blades. The heat you felt through her dress from where she was pressed to you, through your trousers, was something out of a darkest dream, unable to be forgotten.

Wednesday leaned up again, eyes sharp as a lance, to brand you with a kiss. She bit your lip, breaking through skin, and you grinned at the pain. It was hard and harsh, comforting like the thin edge of a knife. You felt the blood seeping into the seams of your teeth, rain in scorched earth. Intoxicated, you seemed to float closer into that sweet and dark whirlpool.

“That hurt, Wednesday…” you leaned in, voice dropping. “I wanna…” There was a beat of silence where you could only taste the copper in your mouth, sweet as you knew the slick between her thighs to be. You shifted your grip to her hips, bruising, and the soft little moan Wednesday gave in response spurred you on. “I wanna hurt you.”

You did, helplessly. Of course, you would rain hell on anyone that so much as lifted a finger against Wednesday, but to hold her trust that came with pain—you wanted that from her, to know when she hurt, when she wanted to hurt. Whether it was holding her back from the edge, or flying and dropping together to the bottom, bodies crashing against one another, you wanted it. Like something out of a classical myth, with wings of wax or blood, you would burn and be burned to feel the weightless warmth of that golden light.

There was no hesitation for Wednesday, just a look in her eyes that you’d come to know intimately as hunger. “Hurt me.” Her voice was low, nearly fond, in your ear as her eyes tracked the blood collecting on your lips. She leaned towards you and licked, tongue to your teeth, translucent saliva mixing with the burgundy. “I want it to hurt—I want you to hurt me.”

When she leaned back, her lipstick was stained with your blood, and it made you want to bleed if only she was the one taking it. You leaned your temple to her jawline, eyes burning at the sun through the windshield. Your hands continued once again up her thighs, just as reverent as before. The two of you never could do anything by half—you were always Wednesday’s. Realizing it, speaking it aloud, confessing or not, couldn’t have changed that. Despite that, as you rocked back and kissed the blood off Wednesday, you felt as though you were on your knees, professing everything you were. Giving one last cheeky swipe of your tongue on her lips, you went to tug Wednesday’s panties down. She followed your lead easily, tossing the expensive garment somewhere to the side. 

“My sweet girl,” you sighed, something possessive curling in your words. “What would you like?”

“Everything.” There was a devout way about her utterance that had your hands shaking with the desire to fulfill her. “Touch me.”

Crossing one arm around her to clasp the back of her neck, you brought her face close to yours, the tips of your noses brushing.

“Everything? How much can we do with ‘everything’ when you’re so sensitive, angel?” On cue, Wednesday’s eyes slipped shut as you drew a finger along her pussy to find her wet and wanting.

“Don’t you think you should be the one to answer that?” Her voice, bold and challenging, shook up your stomach like champagne. You were completely, utterly ruined before Wednesday Addams, and it was a nearly celestial ruin, so bright and beloved it nearly hurt.

You didn’t hesitate, slipping your finger in and grinding your palm on her clit. You didn’t miss her knees sliding further apart, that elusive grin gracing her face as she tipped her head back. Only her tight hold on your shoulders kept her from falling into your lap. Your mouth tasted of iron, such a contrast to Wednesday’s burnt sugar sweat on your tongue as you licked a stripe up her jaw to bite her earlobe. Drawing every small sigh out, you took your time, curling your fingers the way you knew she liked. You squeezed your hand, heavy where her shoulders met her neck. The jagged breaths she took in response made you crave more, and your stomach burned with contentment when she let you press another finger inside of her.

Wednesday’s half lidded eyes tracked down your neck, hunter to the scent of fear, leaving a shiver in her wake. It was inexplicably easy to discern what she wanted, even as she threaded her hands in your hair, something tingling and distracting.

“Go ahead, I know you want to.” Like blood rushing back into white fingertips, her soft lips were on your neck, undoubtedly leaving a smear of lip stain that you’d have to be chastised to wipe off. Almost as if she’d read your mind, she was sucking at your skin, impatient. Already you could feel the raised welt, and the way her tongue soothed the strain.

“You’re mine,” she breathed out, harsh despite the way she was panting with every twist of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the haze of being Wednesday’s blurring your every action. “I’m yours.”

You curled your fingers, and had to bite down a moan as her teeth sank deeper into your neck, a cause and effect that you’d kill for. You swore as she set sight on your jawline, the sweet shock of her hot tongue making you shiver. 

“Took you long enough,” she muttered darkly—it seemed she was satisfied with the state of your neck, since you could feel the skin throbbing pleasantly. She leaned back, proffering her own throat.

“I was always yours,” you said easily. “I can just…” you trailed off as your sharp teeth met her skin in the spot you knew she liked, making her cry out, “show you better now.”

Wednesday’s hands tightened in your hair, pulling a broken gasp from your throat. Her smirk, challenging as she took in your reaction, only spurred you on. It was pure selfishness, when you grinned lazily as she tugged. You gave as good as you got, though, each curl of your fingers and shift of your hand had her trembling.

She was close; you could feel it in the uneven cadence of her breath, almost as erratic as yours. Pulling the collar of her sweater aside, you worked your tongue against her jugular, her pulse tempting and honey sweet in your mouth. It was nearly tangible between your teeth, soft and solid, the pounding of her pulse, just milliseconds away from your own.

“C’mon, Wednesday,” you whispered in her ear, “just like that.”

Her breath stuttered, climbing up higher to the returning lump in your throat. It was always a marvel, the way that Wednesday was so incredibly responsive to you, your touch or your words. The hard catch of her lip between her teeth made you grin, and you reached out, tugging it free. You leaned in to kiss her forehead as you slipped your thumb in her mouth instead, your fingers never stopping. 

“Wednesday.” She turned her glossy eyes towards you, and it was the closest you’d ever seen her to coming without really falling. “Let go.”

At your words, she gasped, and you could feel her cunt pulse around your fingers as she came. Her teeth bit into your skin and her eyebrows knitted together ever so gently—you loved to watch her come undone. She was all soft moans and flushed cheeks, open in a way that she hardly ever was otherwise. It unfurled something bright and warm in your chest, spreading out into your fingertips. You felt as hazy as she looked, the smell of her spilling into the air and undoubtedly lingering in your chest.

“That’s perfect, love, you’re so good for me.” You shushed her as she panted, eyes unfocused beneath her mussed fringe, but searing into yours. You continued your palm on her clit, holding her tight as her body stuttered. You moved your hand to cup her face, smoothing over unshed tears along her waterline.

“You’re…” Wednesday gave a low groan as you hit that sensitive spot inside of her again, none too gently.

“Yes,” you answered gently. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, won’t you?” She nodded, eager, as she pushed her hips into your hand, even though it made her whole body shiver. 

“Fuck—”

You hummed in response, feeling her cunt open even easier now that she was impossibly wetter. As you worked a third finger into her, Wednesday’s spine went rigid, a whining, desperate sound you’d never thought you’d hear breaking from her throat. She grabbed your hand, and her palms were damp. Her grip on your wrist was tight, just as much keeping you from progressing as it was keeping you from pulling away. You leaned in by her ear. “Does it hurt?”

She gave a jerky nod, jaw clenched and lips parted. You would turn a storm on its head for those ways that Wednesday strayed from her control, especially when you were the one guiding that meandering path. Pressing the heel of your hand into her clit, you laughed, small and indulgent, as she clung tighter to you, a strained little cry escaping. 

“Good girl, Wednesday… you’re taking it so well, aren’t you? You’re taking me so well, darling…” Fisting the front of her sweater in your hand, you pulled her off balance, tugging her close so her lips fell to yours, easy as breathing. Swallowing every single prized whimper that fell from her, you kissed her slow. Wednesday was already sensitive, but this was intense for even her, you could tell. Her breath came shakily against you as you pulled away, having smeared her lipstick to your content. Fingers sliding punishingly against her clit, your laugh rumbled low in your chest as she keened, soft and just a bit pleading.

“Very good, Wednesday, my love,” you coaxed. Her gasp, more like a sob, washed over you in a satisfaction that made you shudder. The slick from her previous orgasm clung to your hand, making it easy to keep up your punishing pace. Her tears shined like sea glass in her lashes, as devout to the cause of ruining her cheeks as the dusk outside was to darkness. You had no idea how much time had passed, only that if she asked, you’d stay right here with her until daylight again.

“I’m—” A whine rose from her throat, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You can do it, baby-” your thumb circled her clit as your fingers found their way impossibly deeper into Wednesday- “just for me, okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated, mindlessly. This world where Wednesday let herself trust you to take care of her was one you could live in, drown in, make your home in. You raised your hand to the juncture of her neck and jaw, heavy and comforting. Reminded of every time Wednesday had put her hand in that same place on you when you were on your knees in front of her, more intimate than anything, you tugged on her wrist, instantly missing her hold in your hair. Intertwining your fingers together, you held your hands together in between you and Wednesday. 

Without a warning, her fingers tightened around yours, so hard that her knuckles turned white. You could see that how hard she came took her by surprise, too—eyes wide open and pupils blown. It was breathtaking, you thought, just how much tension was in her, all tense shoulders and choked cry. Her nails dug into your skin, her grip tethering you from dropping off with her. It stung, and you loved it, the maroon of your blood welling up just enough to smear her fingertips. 

Wednesday’s head fell into the nape of your neck, nuzzling like she could find the world’s secrets in your skin. Hand still in hers, you wiped away the smeared burgundy around the corners of her mouth with your thumb pad, fingers lingering.

“That was devious,” she murmured, words blurring around each other.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckled. She nodded, somewhat resolutely. You eased your fingers out, tucking them surreptitiously into your mouth. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Wednesday, but she only narrowed her eyes.

Even in her post-orgasm daze, Wednesday looked dangerous. Her fringe was all over the place, getting caught in her eyelashes, and you could finally attribute the pink in her cheeks to something a little more than the fogged up windows. Surely, this was heaven on earth, having Wednesday with you, steady as planetal orbit. You shifted her to sit sideways in your lap, making sure her knees didn’t burn from the leather. She was watching you, carefully. It was almost as if she was trying to memorize you, the studious way she looked at you, like she was the sole messenger for a world that wasn’t allowed to take you in. It made your heart pound, finally in accordance with your head. You let her take her time in your arms, rubbing her shoulders. The little press of her lips was back, something you had adored for something dangerously similar to ‘forever.’ She seemed content in a way she hardly ever was, the haze in her eyes clearing as she studied you. 

“You’ve changed a lot since I met you,” she commented, not unkindly.

You looked down into Wednesday’s face, at the night air drifting through her hair again. You could feel the sting from the little crescent shaped marks that her nails left. It was a warm contrast to her cold hand in yours, clasped between you. “You changed me, Wednesday.”

--

wednesday: you have bewitched me, mind, body, and soul… i love, i love, i love you. 

reader: huh?

a/n cont’d for those brave souls that made it this far: yes, wednesday’s dress has pockets. isn’t that wonderful?

I’m SO BAD at writing fluff. plus, reader is the most unreliable narrator to unreliably narrate. should’ve put “painfully oblivious” as a warning for part one too.

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[vampire-matcha]

Angst for no reason incoming (cw: cheating)

Johnny had been off ever since you picked him up from the airport last night. It wasn't unusual for him to be distant sometimes when he first got home. It was a difficult adjustment going from live fire back to civilian life, and sometimes he needed time to get back into the swing of things. But this time was different. He couldn't look you in the eyes. Instead of falling exhausted into your arms, he shied away from your touch. His body was stiff when you hugged him. He didn't rest his hand on your thigh the whole ride home. He didn't even kiss you.

You assumed he had seen or done something worse than usual. You assumed the deaths had been more brutal, more numerous. Maybe he had lost someone close to him this time. It's not like he could even tell you, all his operations were black. Strictly confidential. You were just a civilian.

You did your best to comfort him. You made him a hot meal, drew him a bath, offered to massage his sore muscles; but he picked at his plate until it was cold, locked the bathroom door, and slept with his back to you all night.

Something in your gut told you it was wrong. You ignored the pit in your stomach that warned you. You boxed his dinner up for him to eat when he was feeling better. You pulled the blankets tighter around you to drive out the cold you felt without him beside you as you slept. You pretended to be asleep when he silently rolled out of bed and crept out of the bedroom. You pretended not to hear his low voice talking on the phone in the living room. You pretended not to hear him cry.

He avoided you the next day, too. Answering in one or two words, barely eating, leaving the room as soon as you walked in. He barely spoke to you until that evening.

He called you into the living room, where you found him sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands, eyes unfocused staring out at the wall. His wedding band glowed in the lamplight. You sat beside him. Your hands reached to comfort him, but landed instead in your lap when you noticed how he tensed when you reached for him.

"I need to tell you something," he said, his voice low and monotone, his words careful and measured. He wouldn't look at you. His blue eyes were cold and stony, his jaw hard and clenched.

Oh no.

"What is it?" You asked, hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" Your eyes scanned him for any sign of bruising, but his skin was clear.

He shook his head, a slow, even movement. His hands shook as he dropped his forehead onto them and closed his eyes tight. The faintest shine of wetness gathered at his lashes. He took a deep, trembling breath.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, the sound leaving him as if his soul were rushing out through his mouth.

God, please, no.

"John..." you uttered. Your stomach twisted. You heard the thump-thump-thimping of your pulse in your ears. "What is it?" You repeated.

Please, not this. Anything but this.

"When I was away..." No... "Bonnie, I-" Please, God, No- "I had sex with someone else."

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. His words echoed in your head as you processed his confession. Everything clicked into place as the seconds passed into minutes. His behavior since coming home wasn't that of trauma. It was guilt. He couldn't look you in the eye, couldn't even bare to touch you, because he couldn't carry the weight of his shame.

Your body and mind operated separately. You tried to sort your thoughts out, but your heart was running away from you. Your hands trembled as you fumbled with your wedding ring. Your throat felt as if you had swallowed a stone whole. Your face was wet with tears you hadn't even felt fall.

"Who?" You asked. Your voice sounded more like nails clawing at a closed door. Johnny gasped as he strangled down his own tears.

"My lieutenant," he confessed, his voice saturated with guilt. The watery words erupted from his chest like a violent geyser, as if he couldn't get them out fast enough; as if saying them burned his tongue, his throat, his stomach.

You sobbed at the revelation. You knew him. You'd shaken his hand. You'd thanked him for looking after your Johnny. Your Johnny! Oh, you were going to be sick.

Your legs carried you away from him, away from your husband and the future you two had together. They carried you into your shared bedroom, your marital bed now sullied by infidelity. Your hands locked the door behind you. You collapsed onto the floor. His arms didn't catch you. They didn't hold you close, they didn't comfort you. There was no comfort to be found on the cold tile of the bathroom you'd crawled into. You emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet and cried with reckless abandon.

You screamed and wailed like a widow. You mourned your marriage, your love, the future you could never have now. Your trust was broken. How could you ever repair what you had?

---

Pt. 2 Pt. 3

I honestly don't know where this cane from. I'm sorry guys. Maybe I'll continue this idk

[fanaticsnail]

I Like Matching

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,600+

Synopsis: Returning home from an away mission for your boss, you are immediately spirited away to the nearest unoccupied space and met with the lips, hands and grasp of Corazon. He missed you, and it was showcased in his neediness in every kiss and motion planted against you.

Warnings: Corazon x gn!reader, MDNI, 18+, Smut, NSFW, lap riding, grinding, premature ejaculation, Corazon whining, Corazon whimpering, neediness, kissing, little bit of angst if you squint, almost confessions, secrecy, wordless communication.

Notes: Just warming up with some Rosinante to write some more Rosinante. This is him being a little Subby, in comparison to the Dommy fic incoming.

Tag List: @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @feral-artistry @indydonuts @skullfacedlady @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Hands curling over your ass, you sit flush over his lap as tongues and teeth clash against one another's. Lips mouthing and gnawing on each other like animals starved and fighting for dominion over a kill, he bucked his hips up to meet with your own as you grind down against him. Huffing and panting, you collect his soft whimpers and whines in your mouth as his clothed cock meets with your pelvis. 

Unsure of when it exactly happened, and perplexed as to why it even started, Donquixote Rosinante had a way of summoning you to him with a single look spared your way. His hazelnut eyes had a playfulness in that golden band interweaving around his pupils, something incredibly rare to find in amongst the Donquixote Pirates. His smile would curl at the corner, a hidden intent weaving within the small indent where his lips met. 

Returning from an away mission at the bequest of Doflamingo, you began readying yourself for the evening communal meal. Refreshing yourself and donning clean clothes, you exit your room and click the door shut behind you. Making your way down the hall, you were harshly tugged into the small corner of the library by a large hand clasping around your wrist. Your eyes had little time to adjust to the darkness, the towering silhouette lingering in the shadows was the only clue you found yourself with before the attack was mounted against you. 

Before you even had a chance to speak, his lips were on you, marking your face and staining your skin beneath the red tint of his painted smile. His broad fingers lifted you by your ass as he attempted to wrap your legs around his larger frame, only to knock his knees with the plush surface of a velvet lounge chair and fall immediately backwards onto it.  

That is where you found yourself, your kisses pouring from your lips like cooled honey and hungrily consumed with an unbridled neediness from the man beneath your thighs. Corazon tilted his chin, his brows meeting in a raised peak central to his forehead as he non-verbally whimpered into your mouth. While no sounds fled from his lips, your hands planted on his chest felt the vibrations indicating his small whines alongside his elevated heartbeat. 

Corazon was so patient, waiting for you to return from your covert operation assigned by his older brother. Although he initially desired to become closer to you to gain information to sabotage his brother’s maniacal plans, he found a great comfort in you. You were like the warmth of the sun to cast aside the chill of winter, a small kindness he found amongst the brutality and chaos. He had become reliant on you, seeking out your touch, and stealing your kisses in the shroud of secrecy between meeting spaces. 

Kisses were simply not enough this time. Each time you rose to reposition yourself on his lap, deepening the kiss and pinning him back against the frame, the need deepened in his abdomen and propelled him to grind you harder against his steely cock. His breath flew past his lips in huffed pants, his hands anchoring you to his pelvis as he rocked you on his lap. 

Smiling against him, you matched his movements and allowed muscle memory to take the reigns of passion between your bodies. Cracking your eyes partially open, your gaze darkened as you noticed the rising blush on his cheeks and ears. His tongue enthusiastically lapped at your lips, pleading with you to give him more. Obliging, you parted your lips and stole a soundless moan from deep within the chasms of his chest. 

Seeking out dominion of one another's kiss, you placed your hand at the base of his trachea. The hum of his larynx vibrated against the pad of your thumb, his voiceless whimpers growing needy and desperate as he pawed at your hips and ass while you bore down against him. 

Elevating your hips from his clothed cock for a brief reprieve, he sucked in a shaky breath and allowed you to grasp a fistful of his golden hair to deepen your claim on complete control over him. Finally planting your pelvis back down over his cock, his eyes snapped open and his body stilled in petrification beneath your medusa's gaze. 

A dark patch of staining fluids pooled beneath you as his trembling breath attempted to gulp air between the onslaught of perpetual kisses. Feeling his body freeze beneath you, you ceased your rapid kisses and halted your rocking as he rose out the final waves of blissful ecstasy. 

His thighs shook, his abdomen tightened and the coil whipped like the crack of lightning as ropes of his cum flooded his pants. Trembling while his toes curled, his eyes glazed over as the unexpected release spilled from the slit of his cock and sprayed against the material beneath you.

The soft choke of a shocked moan flew through his lips as he gazed up at you with blown pupils, overcome by the deep lustful release of neglected need shooting hot spurts over his knob and down his shaft. Each twitch and bob of his release expelling was matched by a soft silent whine sobbing and keening for you. 

“Did you-...?” you started, looking down at your lap and noticing the soft twitches of aftershock tensing and releasing in a tantric bob. He softly nodded, a bashfulness overcoming him as he curled his face away from you in a bid to hide his shame. 

“Corazon,” you whisper softly, calling to him with an arch of your back and a smile on your lips, “Corazon, look at me, honey.” His lips pouted as he acquiesced to your demands, gazing up through his eyelashes at you. You smiled down at him, noticing the smear of his paint over his lips that you were likely mirroring on your own face. 

He hooked one of his arms between your shoulders, while his other sought out the fingers placed on his chest, and drew them up to his lips. Tightly shutting his eyes and furrowing his brows, he held your fingertips over his bruised and swollen lips, pressing a warm kiss against your digits. Your brows rose as you felt his lips move against your skin. 

“Missed you,” his lips depicted, no voice following his soft confession. His lips returned to their prior engagement, trailing a kiss down to your palm and the ball of your wrist in slow and intentional kisses. Climbing down your arm, his lips mapped your skin as if holding you for the first time: testing, exploring and hesitant, but always meeting the target. 

“We're going to be late for dinner, Corazon,” you warn him, your tone holding a playfulness within your scold. He smiled against your skin, raising your arm and placing his lips on the bone of your elbow. Shaking your head, you attempt to pull away from his kiss, his lips tracking you and chasing your withdrawal with a smile. 

“We have to fix up this mess,” you whine at him, gesturing with your unoccupied hand between your clothed bodies before pointing between your faces, “I'm likely matching your smile.” He grinned playfully at you, his lips meeting with your cheek and mouthing words against your skin. 

“I like matching,” you felt the puff of breath and curl of his tongue darting out to taste you with each word. Gently reaching beside you on the table, he scribbled against his drawing pad and held it to you. Finding his lighter, he flicked the flint to light the soft flame. 

“You're right. Let's go to my room for a bit before dinner,” you read his words, gently thumbing over the corners of the tanned paper, “I'll repay you for my hastiness a few times. I'll make it quick, I promise.” You rolled your eyes, handing him back the paper and gently leaning down and blowing out his flintlock light. 

“You're being exceptionally needy today,” you nudge the tip of his nose with your own. He cupped your ass and molded the muscle within his broad hands and fingers, collecting a whine from you in response. He smiled, pressing his lips to your chin before picking you up and walking you away from the library chair towards his quarters. 

Soft laughter was shared between you as he carried you in his larger frame towards his quarters. Nuzzling softly against your neck, you acted as his guide as you steered him towards the correct direction. Corazon ignored the squelch oozing down his legs, instead focusing on how good it finally felt to hold you in his arms once again. 

He wanted nothing more than to form his own little world with you, remaining within the armorment he sought to cloak the two of you in. His need to talk with you, reveal his voice to you, and expel your name as the source for his bliss was growing ever stronger the more attached he became to you. 

Kicking open his door and stepping the both of you within, he made a pact to himself that the day would come. When his trust and security was finally enough to live with, when his assignment was finished, when his brother was sabotaged and cut back from any chance of rising to power: he could finally relax into you completely. All he continued to chant like a prayer was the penance of his confession, hoping and pleading you could forgive him for his secrecy once it was all over. 

He reassured himself as he placed you on his mattress, crawling over you and pinning you beneath his thighs, was with a soft repetition of his unspoken promise. Meeting your lips and rolling his hips against you, he claimed a soft whimper that spilled from you to him. 

Soon.

He will tell you soon. His past, his mission, his love and devotion to you and you alone. All of it, soon. 

[writingjourney]

Darling, after the latest IKNBS chapter I’m dying to hear more of your “needy dom copia” thoughts… respectfully ✨

luv u dearly xoxoxox

Omg Bee I love youuu too ♡

Thinking about this I realize that I subconsciously often write him like that or at least add this element, whimpery needy Copia who loses control is just something else 👀

Anyway here are some more needy dom Copia thoughts, HCs in sentence form (1k words, mentions of being rough, spanking, semi-public sex), 18+ MDNI !!

I like to think that in an active clergy operation Copia is under a lot of pressure every day – as Cardinal he was responsible of the treasury, as Papa now he is responsible for the whole congregation, the Ghost project and even more. Therefore most days allow him little time to find relief for his own needs, not until he gets home to you, and even then sometimes he is too tired. And of course his mind has drifted to you many times during the day, the image of your naked form underneath him or on top of him a constant companion as he sits in meetings or during band practice. It can be torturous to desire the feeling of your skin against his but not being able to have you. The fantasies are persistent enough to have him distracted when he really cannot afford it, if only because the physical reaction it elicits can be quite hard to tame.

Some days he can’t seek you out because there is just too much to do and he will come home practically ready to devour you on the nearest available surface, but some days he does seek you out during the day. If he has any pockets of spare time he orders you into his office and takes you with your body pressed against the wall, bent over his desk or even sitting you down in his lap and fucking up into you while you struggle to find purchase – deep, desperate, vocal.

If he is feeling particularly needy he will come to you, though, find you wherever you’re working and pull you into the nearest empty room or alcove if you don’t mind a more public setting. During those times he will forgo some of the elements that he usually loves (he is someone who likes to take his time with you if he does have it, body worship and excessive foreplay included, he is nothing if not versatile and ready to serve you) but when he’s overcome with his need for you, there is no time to waste and he allows himself to be selfish, as you encouraged him to be from time to time. He will make sure you’re prepared and he will check in with you as long as his sanity allows it but that’s about it with the ceremonials.

His body moves on its own accord the moment your warm skin touches his and he feels the heat between your legs. Even the most uncomfortable setting cannot keep him from taking you, joint pains or bruises be damned (as long as you’re not in pain, he makes sure you have safe words and signs for those cases). He loses patience quickly once he feels you so pliant for him, calling him Papa, begging for his touch, for his cock, so soft and willing and obedient, following his every word like you’re under his spell. He wants to feel you all over him, tearing at clothes to find pieces of skin, hands all over your body, groping, teasing, lightly spanking if you’re into that to create that symphony of lustful sounds he can’t get enough of. And he will add to the music – whimper, growl, groan at every touch, every messy kiss and bite. Once he’s inside of you those sounds become louder and he can’t hold them back even if he tries to. He is so so vocal, even more so when he’s needy and starved. If he finds the energy to talk he praises you and spurs you on, using the filthy words he knows have you blushing relentlessly.

And of course those fucks are messy, uncoordinated and not always as satisfying for either of you as he wishes them to be. But you bend to his will so easily anyway, knowing that the reward will come later when you have the time for it even if it doesn’t come now. But even so Copia knows your body, knows what you’re into and what you can and cannot take, making sure you feel as good as you can in the very moment. Once the heat has passed he will take the time to hold you and clean you up no matter how busy he is, praising you and complimenting you, kissing you softly and thanking you for offering yourself to him like you do, checking in whether you feel good. The last thing he wants is for you to feel used in a way that goes beyond what you agreed on.

Now, there are times where he will try to keep up his patience, where he gets home and holds back for as long as he can, teasing you both, working you both up relentlessly until you’re both a mess and cannot take it any longer. He loves to lose himself in your body after he feels like he’s earned it, after he made you come more times than he can count in whatever ways he fancies, then allowing himself to take you in that sloppy, impatient way that makes him forget about the world. It only makes the payoff even more worth.

There are times in his daily life when he feels like a puppet that is pushed around, do this, do that, some people don’t take him seriously because he enjoys being silly, enjoys making people laugh. But when you’re alone he allows himself to take charge in whichever way he desires, to be the powerful Papa he envisions himself as, that he can be if it truly comes down to it and his ambition comes to the surface. But yes, the moment you give into him, the moment he feels you against him and he is overcome with desire for you, he loses himself, feels that surge of confidence and control and desperately chases that high. When he loses control like that you know you won’t be able to walk for the rest of the day but you’re more than ready to give him exactly what he needs.

[armored-angel4798]

Eddie was excited. It’s hard not to be when you get to hang out with your best friend who you hadn’t seen for TWO WEEKS. Steve had been clocking a lot of overtime at his new vet tech job. While he loves that Steve is doing something he enjoys now, he misses his beautiful face. Robin was coming much later in the day because unfortunately, she still had to work. Eddie was so excited to get some alone time with Steve. He could hear the stereo playing from the front door. Not really Eddie’s music, but if it makes Steve smile he’ll listen to anything. The scene Eddie was met with when he walked into the house turned his brain into mush.

Steve was dancing through the kitchen in his briefs that left NOTHING to the imagination and using a spatula as a microphone. Eggs were frying on the stove, almost seeming forgotten as Separate Ways played. Eddie officially loves Journey, in fact, he needs to go buy their tapes right now. He’s frozen. Looking away from Steve being happy and free (read: in tight little briefs) is the most monumental task he has ever attempted. He failed. Much like his first two attempts at senior year. He was debating on clearing his throat to let Steve know he was there when he pointed the spatula right at him. Steve froze. Eddie, still frozen, gulped and kept staring. Really, what else was he supposed to do? He has been in love with his best friend for the better part of a year and he walks in on this? His brain is gone. It has leaked out of his ears and been replaced with his dick. His dick that had very much chubbed up without his say so.

“Eddie!” Steve sounds shocked.

It broke Eddie out of his brainmushdickhardfrozen state, and he panicked.

“I’ll go, um, I should leave, yeah. I’ll leave and you can call me, uh, when you’re decent. NOT that you aren’t decent. You’re the most decent man I know and I really respect you so much. So I gotta go.”

“Eddie! Eddie! Wait don’t go.”

“You’re…. IT’S really fine, Steve. I can come back later I’m sorry to interrupt your morning.”

Eddie convinced his cinder block feet to turn so he could walk away. A hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist before he could take a step.

“Eddie, please stay. I’ll.. I’ll put on some clothes and we can hang. I just didn’t realize you’d be up so early.”

“I would rather you didn’t put on clothes.”

Steve’s eyes widened and Eddie slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, really?” Steve asked.

“Oh my god!” Eddie shrieked not hearing Steve’s seductive tone. “I can’t believe I said that out loud! I’m so sorry Steve, I will go. I’ll just go. I don’t need to be here today. I’m just making a fool of myself. I’m…”

Eddie was shut up by a pair of lips pressing to his. Operation brainmushdickhard was back in full swing as he was pressed against a wall.

“Shut up, Eddie.” Steve whispered when he pulled away.

“You, uh, you are really good at making me.”

“I gotta get my eggs, but then we can discuss further what our plans are for the day.”

Eddie has died. This is the only explanation. He’s dead and this is his heaven. The only thing that would make this better is if Ozzy Osbourne burst through the door asking him to join his band. He stared at the door waiting for it to happen. Then he realized looking at the door was making him miss Steve’s ass jiggling. Can’t have that. Steve was turning back towards him. Plate of eggs abandoned on the counter, pan in the sink. Eddie imagines that this is what it feels like to be a prey animal stalked by a lion. Steve kissed him again and Eddie was helpless, his knees weak as Steve ran his hand down Eddie’s torso. Steve nipped at his ear and Eddie /whined/.

“What do you say we see what we can do about this, hmm?” Steve whispered in his ear as he palmed Eddie through his jeans.

“Is this real?” He asked

“If you want it to be.”

“I want it. I want you so bad.”

“You have me, baby.”

Eddie melted. When Robin got to Steve’s house they were clothed on the couch (thank God). Eddie was practically in Steve’s lap.

“Oh, you finally got your shit together.” She said when she saw them, “also, I’m not staying over if you didn’t change your sheets.”

Eddie blushed and Steve laughed opening his other side for Robin to join them.

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ Between Glitz and Glamour ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: love collects like the number of pearls on a string – scintillant under the shining spotlight, two ends clasped together to make one. however, one unforeseen tug can scatter the pearls, making them roll, bounce, and clack against the illegally sticky floors of the speakeasy. but one can’t help but chase the jewels, especially the one carved in the shape of lee jihoon.

member: lee jihoon

genre: angst, drama, romance, 1920s period piece | smut

tags: cursing, drunk characters, emotional constipation, food/drinks, jealousy, opposites attract, smoking, s2l // sax, settlements, and speakeasies | blindfold play, fingering, lap dances, mirror sex, oral, overstim, pet names (baby, daddy, whore...), pnv, pussy slapping, squirting...

wc: 15k

beta reader reviews: "OKAY DADDY I'M NOT GOING TO FIGHT YOU" - @multi-kpop-fanfics // "GODDDD I can't do this" - @heartkyeom // "HAHAHHAHAA FUCK IM IN TROUBLE" - @playmetheclassics

a/n: hihi you may see some recognizable characters sprinkled throughout the fic (hint @onlymingyus's duo). and giving a hugehugehuge thank you to my beta readers. this is a big piece I've been writing for months so thank you so much <33 chapters are separated and named by seasons for easy navigation - nu ♡

himbocoups's masterlist

one - spring

Sleek oiled hair with expensive Brilliantine and the tiny stray strand that falls from the slick that brushes against his forehead, the man’s Adam’s apple bobs and lowers as the man swallows another sip of his Manhattan. An amber drop seeps from his lips, seesawing on the rim of the stemmed cocktail glass he holds steady against his lips before racing downwards against the outside of the glass. He sets his drink on the sticky Oak tabletop before the drop of liquid can collect on his finger, never once breaking eye contact with his spoil for the night.

Dark brown eyes quickly flick from the woman’s eyes to his pant leg that rests against her inner heel, brushing against the open skin like a curtain as she unconsciously shifts her balance to her tiny kitten heel. She traces a manicured finger over his exposed collarbone, letting her hand glide downwards until it rests on his chest. Dorothy, she reminds him of her name, like the one from the novel. But he hasn’t read a novel since grade school, let alone hold one in his hand. He deceivingly nods like he understands her reference. Truthfully, he can’t even hear her over the live band and tonight’s drunk rowdy crowd in his speakeasy.

The Diamond Glass – an ironic name given the speakeasy’s connotations. Hidden in plain sight in the heart of the city, the speakeasy isn’t as transparent as the name suggests. And Lee Jihoon – as cunning as his cat-like features – operates his mom and pop grocery store front during the day and his speakeasy during the night, strictly and smoothly running his businesses like the automated belts in Ford’s motor car factories. A mastermind with too much money to blow and a throttle of criminal cohorts he calls his family, the man can’t help but let loose once in a while, especially when it comes to taking someone new home every so often.

And Dorothy, beautiful feathered brooch-wearing Dorothy with big brown eyes and arched eyebrows, is someone who Jihoon is willing to take home…or even in the kitchen pantry if he kicks the cooks out. But a disapproving look from his younger sister from across the bar is enough to give him second thoughts about taking her old classmate from high school home or anywhere, really. He clears his throat, two rough coughs with his hand brought up to his mouth, and peers at the woman in front of him. She doesn’t seem phased by the little break in their interaction and moves in to leave him a tiny product-stained peck along his jawline.

This action alone is enough to have him immediately forget about his sister’s disapproving looks and pull the lady into him by her waist, a tiny oop emitting from her matte-colored lips.

“Darling,” The word rolls smoothly off the tip of his tongue, landing softly against her cheek.

Before he can make another move on Dorothy, he feels a soft tap against the outside of his heel. And before he can even make the decision to ignore the tap, he hears the ever-so-familiar sound of shattering glass against his beloved speakeasy floors from across the room. The figure of a darting bouncer toward the center of the crowd and the manager, Seungcheol, following closely behind is enough for Jihoon to excuse himself from the self-proclaimed novel character Dorothy to attend to a crowd transforming into the shape of a circle.

He sees her for the first time in his life with her dirtied flimsy party dress, and the skirt under her knees, as she reaches around blindly for something probably important to her. There are a few clutched in her right hand, opalescent pearls, probably fake; her other hand is limp, tucked against her waist as if she doesn’t want anybody to notice her injury. He thinks if he turns his head back to Dorothy, he would be able to become ignorant of the fact that there’s shattered glass near the back of her heels, the same glass that he brought in the other day.

An entire five cents gone, just like that. He is forced to think, adding a note to his mental managerial book.

Mingyu probably kicked the man out, he hears a patron say to another person who asked. The man tried absinthe for the first time. Now he’s absent before the pianist can perform his set. Poor lady…poor lonely lady with her fine pearls. Heard that was the only drink she was clutching onto the whole night before the man knocked her over. Never seen her around before.

“Hey.” Seungcheol taps his boss’s shoulder, the other hand pinching the bridge of his nose in an act of annoyance. “Take her to get patched up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he scowls. “Manage your patrons better.”

Still, he shuffles over to his customer and lifts her up by the waist, heaving her onto the nearest bar counter, probably separating two people from their conversation. He doesn’t care if they complain, for all he cares, they already paid for their drinks.

“You didn’t have to set me on the counter,” she says while fiddling with the fabric of her dress, her eyes never looking down to meet his. “Just a scratch on my hand, that’s all.”

Someone passes him a bag of ice wrapped in a dishcloth. The bartender probably, she remembers. She remembered him complaining in passing about how it gets so rowdy in this speakeasy, yet they can never find the time to restock their simplest first aid supplies. Something about how the big boss is stingy, but he can’t complain because he’s getting paid well.

The palm which holds her injured hand is warm and a little rough around the tiny calluses, a stark contrast to the cold ice which hits her outer hand and the soft and regularly washed dishcloth which creates a nice barrier to stop the coldness from stinging.

“The fabric isn’t flimsy, you know. It just looks that way because of how I draped it.” The comment comes out of her mouth compulsively, as if she needed to somehow bring up the topic in case he was staying silent because he was silently judging her getup. She can’t read him well, not under the lights and not even when his eyes flick to every other woman except for her. “I can ice it myself.”

“Nonsense.” He is curt with his words. “This shouldn’t have happened to you. My workers should’ve been better at watching out for rowdy customers. Please accept my apology on their behalf. Write down your bank account number, and I’ll pay for your dry-cleaning and for a new string of pearls.”

She thinks that maybe he isn’t as stingy as Joshua says or alternatively, maybe he can say those things simply because he’s wealthy. Either way, Lee Jihoon is just as handsome as the crowd says. It would be such a loss if she didn’t use this chance to strike up a conversation with him. For all that matters, he would be onto the next gal the moment he’s finished taking care of her.  

“Take me on a date,” she squeaks, heart pounding like footsteps on the pavement. “The pearls are fake, an-and I can clean the dress myself.”

“I don’t do dates, princess.”

“Then a non-date? With me.” This time, there is a bit more confidence in her tone. But it isn’t enough to shake him.

“Look.” He sighs and drops the melting ice bag onto the counter near her thigh. “You look like you’ve never stepped into a speakeasy before. You probably came here on a dare with one of your girlfriends from grade school, talking about how you need to step out of your comfort zone a little more and is now all balled up. I’m a criminal – dames like you should never be stuck on my bunch.”

“Then I’m a criminal for coming here voluntarily. Aren’t I?”

two - summer

Standing ovation.

He didn’t even know that a standing ovation could happen at a community theatre performance, but here he is, standing on the risers after the final Summer show, waiting for the second lead to finish talking to an important-looking man in fine business attire.

In his arms is a beautiful assembly of white and purple, a small handwritten card from the heart tucked in the middle of it all. This is the first time he attended a musical, and this is the first time he willingly attended anything for anybody outside of his family. Now he’s worried his sweaty palms left damp marks against the brown paper packaging of the bouquet he shopped for with his sister last night.

A couple of children’s costumes push against his backside while they run down the risers, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are trained on her – a light brown wig done in a giant updo with a giant white feathered attachment stuck at the very top and rosy floral clips trailing down the sides. Her stage makeup sparkles under the hot stage lights, a scintillant glow across the apples of her cheeks. She quickly maneuvers her flowers to one arm so she can reach her free hand out to receive the man’s business card. She thanks him as he walks away, leaving her in the middle of the stage, giggly and filled with glee. With brilliant white teeth and lips stretched thin, she practically bounces in her spot until she pauses for a minute, turning around to look for something or someone so important that she would rather share her happiness with them.

Maybe there is a part of him that wants to call out for her, for her to notice him then, and for her to notice him when he was in the crowd. He wants to convince himself that it shouldn’t be him who she’s looking for. But it’s not like Lee Jihoon would ever admit his feelings, not even months after spending time now and then with the tailoress who crawled on the dirty and sticky speakeasy floor to pick up her fake pearls.

God, her and her pearls, he thinks. There was no way he could ever end up with someone like her, practically floating around with her head in the clouds, dreaming about the day she would become a star. Too trusting of others, too gullible, too into him – he wonders why he would even allow himself to be cajoled into attending a stupid production by someone as idiosyncratic as her.

The tight grip around the metal rail loosens when she makes eye contact with him, eyes widening like her smile. And as vague as it sounds, it makes him feel lighter. Better even.

Noticing her friends crowd around her, he mouths “hallway” to her and slips into the darkness. He thinks it’s in his best interest if he doesn’t check to see if her eyes stayed trained on him when he left his place on the risers.

It’s not long until someone grabs his wrist guiding him along the hallway, past the green room, past the rest of the cast. Left behind in her wake is a trail of African Orange Flowers, Amalfi Lemon and Orange, and the powdery floral scent of the powder she uses to refresh her clothes. Coty’s Cyphre, the one she bought back in ’17 – her only perfume that she uses for special events. The liquid in the whimsical rectangular glass bottle that sits on top of her dresser is starting to turn a light amber hue, but she insists on saving each drop. It’s most condensed on the hand pulling his wrist, the same hand that slips downwards, interlocking both hands in a magnetic pull.

Finally seeing her up close, her big doe eyes staring at him and the meticulously swept-on stage makeup, he forgets he has flowers for her in his hands. He snaps out of his trance when he hears the soft muted crinkling of the brown paper packaging being removed from his arms. She stands in front of him in her empty dressing room, holding the bouquet like a newborn, and lowering her head to smell the flowers – eyes closed to breathe in the sweet floral scent deeply with a sigh.

“I uhh.” He quickly brings his right fist up to his mouth and clears his throat. “I liked the performance. It was nice.” He can’t look her in the eye – doesn’t even know what to say especially now that her dress’s strap slipped off her shoulder, bringing her collarbone into view. She must think he’s the daftest person in the world, and he almost crumbles at the thought of her seeing him through his hubris.

“What about me?” She blinks. Dropping her flowers on the counter where the wood meets a long wall of mirrors, she tests the waters by slowly crossing his threshold. One buttermilk-colored gloved hand glazes his tweed vest, but of course, she can never elicit a reaction from him. “What did you think about me?” She asks him, palm now fully against his vest.

If it were physically possible, Jihoon stutters without muttering a word – caught red-handed by the woman in front of him. Truth be told, he wasn’t really paying attention to the musical. Falling asleep during the last half of the first act and waking up when the orchestra started the entr’acte, he knew he should’ve stayed home after an especially rowdy night at the Diamond Glass. And he would have if it weren’t for his sister, who quite literally dragged him out of bed and kicked him to the curb.

I really don’t get why she likes you even though you’ve been dragging her along for around two months. You don’t even seem that interested in her, she told her older brother. So either end the situationship or make it a relationship. But after the musical! So don’t you dare come back until tomorrow morning…Seokmin’s coming over. 

But what does he think about her? What does he think about the woman in the bouncy polka-dot dress whose entire being is too utterly obsessed with him, the one who only talks about her dreams while floating on her imaginary clouds, the one who buys cheap costume jewelry whenever she can hoping one day she would trade her precious pearl necklace for a new one? The one whose lips he has to cover while in bed because her vocal cords aren’t the only things that he’s plugging.

Simply put, he thinks her to be annoying. They have almost nothing in common. He cannot stand the fact that she’s so dizzyingly ditzy that she cannot go a day without dreaming or talking about the glitz and glamour of her potential stardom, living in a constant state of hypotheticals. She somehow latched onto his side like a cat’s claw in a woolen sweater or a parasite who is too cheerful and optimistic even on bad days. Yet, despite everything, he doesn’t mind having her by his side.

“Come on Hoonie,” she whines. “Tell me.”

God, how he hates that nickname. Usually, he would tell her off for using that nickname but she’s a couple of centimeters away from completely pressing herself against his frontside, and the only thing he can concentrate on is definitely not her performance.

But it doesn’t matter anyway. While a celebration happens on the main stage, in an empty dressing room, two people try to devour each other like it is the last time they would ever meet. A few fallen stray petals crumple under the sole of his shoe as he rubs himself between her closed legs. Groaning as he feels her squeeze him between her bare thighs, sliding with ease as her warm juices lubricate his naked organ, he covers her mouth from behind as he slowly pushes himself into her.

And everything feels warm, hot – clothed bodies pressed against each other, the row of bright lights above the wall of vanity mirrors, her breath as she moans into his large palm over her mouth, and her spongy inside that often invites him in secret. The habitually voluble woman is reduced to nothing under his touch and tries to refrain from audibly moaning, knowing that she would be punished if she were loud.

So she finds something exciting in whimpering into the open air, feeling him twitch inside of her with every mewl that enters his ear as he slowly fucks himself into her. The more high-pitched she gets, the more it arouses him to the point where he completely loses his nonchalant front. The hand which once covered her mouth is now tilting her chin upwards as his other hand grabs her by her waist. And he watches through the mirror how her eyes roll upward as he ruts himself into her, smirking at how she melts against his chest, aching and begging him for more.

That isn’t to say that maybe the thought of how good the reflection of the two of them together looks crossed his mind once or twice. But he pushes the thought aside like the rest of his feelings for her and instead pushes deeper into her, moaning when he feels her convulse around him.

“Ah fuck babe,” she gasps while her knees bend towards each other, palms pressed against the mirror as she recovers from her high.

“Watch your language,” he instinctively mumbles, pushing her forward so that her elbows rest on the vanity. He lifts the hem of her skirt above her ass, bunching the costume fabric in his hand and laying it on top of her back. Her use of his pet name completely slips his mind as he sighs while slipping back inside of her, feeling the tight cushiony cunt squeeze around his cock. Any tighter he might have to fuck her on the floor to stop losing feeling in his legs.

The louder the party is downstairs, the more confident she is in moaning out loud. And the sounds coming from her mouth fuels his lust. His cock feels hard as hell, and he is so close to finishing. A trail of profanities rains from his mouth, praising her, commanding her, and telling her how he feels at this moment. And she smiles that lazy smile reflected in the mirror as she hiccups while the tip of his organ threatens to penetrate more than just her walls.

“Be mine, yeah?” She manages to ask him while he pulls her head back, her fake pearl necklace coming into view.

“You’re asking? Fuck. Okay fu-Jesus. Bend over. M-more for me, baby. More.”

With one easy yank, the brown wig slides off her head and collects in his fist. He thinks nothing of it and drops it on the floor next to a pile of fallen audition flyers, continuing to ram into her from behind, never missing a beat. Jostled around with each hard thrust, each remaining bobby pin that once held her wig in place fall to the floor one after the other.

Plink. Puh-link. Plink. 

The answer to her original question is still left unanswered.

three - summer

“So, when is your girlfriend coming?”

Lee Jihoon looks up from the several small plates of food in front of him to see his younger sister cocking an eyebrow at him before she looks at the spread of food he prepares. Quick to notice the slight pout of her lips and the soft twitch of her eyebrows, he knows a light-hearted complaint is about to come out of her mouth.

“It’s a double date, but you’re only serving us canapés. What do you want me to do? Starve?” She places a hand on her hip in disbelief.

“I never said it was a double date,” he corrects her while swatting one of her hands away from the deviled eggs, never batting an eye. “I only said we are going to taste test new finger foods for the speakeasy.”

“And the girlfriend?” She sneaks a bruschetta from one of the plates when he looks away, dumping the pile of finely diced tomatoes tossed with balsamic vinegar and spices into her mouth before following it with the piece of soggy-crunchy bread she holds. “W- where is sphe?” She asks him with her mouth full, swiping the edge of her mouth with the side of her pointer finger.

“Finishing an audition so she’ll be a bit late,” his tone is as monotonous as ever. He doesn’t pay her any mind, not when he’s stressing over minuscule plates of finger food.

It is a particularly slow Thursday night. The grocery store’s customers start to dwindle as Seokmin helps the remaining customers checkout their items before he can close the shop to restock and sneak his boss’s girlfriend into the speakeasy. And the younger sister who stands in the kitchen behind the speakeasy’s bar can’t help but stare at her older brother who somehow manages to assemble different types of small plates for four people at once. But it’s the fact that no amount of magnesium can fix his almost permanently clenched jaw that she knows something is bothering him.

“Hmm…” She takes his used cutting board and a stack of dirtied plates away from his area to bring to the sink to rinse. “I don’t like it,” she tells him while dropping the stack in the sink, wincing at the crashing sound.

“The bruschetta you stole?” He asks over his shoulder. Albeit, the way his tone angles upwards at the end, a squeak that he tries to hide by clearing his throat, is a clear tell that the quality of the food, or at least something related to tonight, greatly concerns him.

“No. It’s actually really good.” She restacks the dishes in the sink, thinking that it would be better to wash them all at once after dinner. “I was talking about you. Something’s bothering you.”

“You’re bothering me.” He frowns in his spot, bending over to adjust the garnish on one of the plates. “Go bother Seokmin. He’s probably crying while he’s running the grocery store alone without you by his side.”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it,” she muses, humming while wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“I’m telling you to climb up your thumb.”

“And I’m telling you that you have girl problems.”

Before he can turn around to confront his sister about minding her own business, two familiar voices enter the speakeasy from the hidden hallway connecting the employee room of the grocery store to the speakeasy’s office. Head perking upwards like a sleeping cat when they hear the familiar clinking of keys on a chain when one unlocks the front door, Lee Jihoon’s entire attitude and disposition seem to shift into the positive. And the sister almost snickers at the sight.

---

Clearly less stressed than before, Lee Jihoon still walks around more reserved than usual. He left the small talk to the others and only chimed in when spoken to. But the one hand that found a home around her waist, on her shoulder, in her hand, said something otherwise. And maybe it’s not a lie when others say that being around your favorite person could make all your worries go away. The way that his tiny fangs come into view when she gushes about her audition, the unnoticeable squeeze he gives her hand when she talks about calling off sick for work in order to practice for the audition, and the blush on top of his already flushed face when she tells the other couple that she couldn’t have done it without him by her side…it did make his worries go away, at least for the time being.

Two hours later, the siblings are once again in the speakeasy’s kitchen, cleaning the used and empty dishes while the other two chat away near the stage where they plan for a duet in the future. There is an empty bottle of homemade red wine left to dry next to the dish rack. He sits by himself on the stool near the sink, holding a half-filled wine glass in one hand, promising to finish off the rest of the bottle by himself before his team comes in to open the speakeasy within the next hour.

“Hey, be honest. What’s eating yo-”

“She told me she loved me this morning.” He cuts off his sister’s question while staring at his sorry expression through the soft reflection against the burgundy-red liquid.

“Oh…OH?” She doubles back.

“I wasn’t able to reciprocate it,” he sighs. “It came out of nowhere.”

There isn’t anywhere to sit so she decides to squat next to him, taking the glass out of his hands so she can finish it for him. Of course, she would be worried about the man who never seemed to be able to keep a relationship or even enter one look so distraught over a quip in his relationship. Finding out it was about the question of love, she can’t help but pry more out of him, never experiencing this kind of talk with her older brother in the past. But when she sees his eyes squint at the hem of her everyday dress draped across the dirty kitchen placemats and him immediately getting up from his stool so she could sit, she knows that he would be fine.  

“What’s next? Do you think you’ll have to break up with her?” She tries to push his buttons.

“No.” He hears the familiar tuning note in the distance, echoing throughout the empty speakeasy. “Maybe I would be able to reciprocate it someday,” he mumbles while scratching the side of his head.

She chugs the rest of the wine, earning a disapproving look from her older brother, and rinses the glass in the sink.

“I think I’ll have my gentleman walk me home now…leave you to work.”

He takes her glass out of the sink and immediately washes it again, not trusting that she could truly clean it in her inebriated state.

“Make sure he gives you his jacket. It’s starting to get chilly outside.”

“How can it be chilly? It’s only the beginning of Summer.”

“Also, don’t walk. Take my breezer keys from my office drawer,” he tells her while she hugs him goodbye. “And tell him to drop her off, yeah? She must be tired.”

“From the audition?”

“Yeah…the audition.”

“Are you sure you don’t love her?” She squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t think too much about it, okay?”

“I-” He looks like he is about to say something but drops the notion. “Get home safe.”

It comes out like a sigh – a dilatory action to avoid her question. 

four - summer

There are only a few ways to command a room in a crowded speakeasy on an especially sweltering hot July Summer night. And only a few can truly get the room to become so quiet that everybody inside can hear conversations outside of the sturdy soundproof walls of the speakeasy.

She stands onstage next to one of the lead singers of the week. Seungkwan, the lead’s name, tries to pry open the newspaper to the right page but struggles to find any grip between the smooth-printed paper and his dry fingertips. The action causes the crowd to groan, but a singular and sharp shh sound emitted from the speakeasy’s owner’s mouth at the back of the crowd causes the entire crowd to acquiesce and grow silent again.

Seungkwan swipes the tip of his pointer finger across his tongue and rubs the wetness against his thumb. The younger man smiles when he finds his grip and immediately flips to the right page, right to the location of the musical advertisement. He shifts his body away from the eager dame, oscillating ball to heel, who is dressed like a patron of the Ritz just for this special occasion. Left pointer finger skimming through the cast members, he skips ahead and heads straight to the ensemble.

From the crowd beneath the stage, one could see the top of the singer’s head, eyebrows, and a pair of eyes right above the top of the newspaper. The man on the stage holds the newspaper to the crowd, showing them the content like a schoolteacher reading to their class.

“Ensemble!” he yells. “And the understudy for the lead!”

The ebullient cheers that follow the announcement fill the speakeasy – a newfound cause for celebration. A regular in this establishment is about to star in a mainstream musical and they are all about to get bragging rights. And the dame whose name is printed on thousands of newspapers stands on stage, quite clearly in shock. Lace-gloved hands covering her mouth and the recovered fake pearl necklace hanging from her neck, she can only allow tears of joy, of jubilation, to fill a reservoir in her eyes. Months of hard work, hours upon hours of practice, sore muscles, and a dream to work toward – there’s a realized catalyst to her belief that nothing that she had worked toward, worked for, and dreamed about had ever gone to waste.

And he, Lee Jihoon, continues to stand in his place at the back of the Diamond Glass, unmoving like the Statue of Liberty. He sees his Ritzy moll under the spotlight, shining, scintillating in all her newfound glory. Where he would usually be focusing on the crowds of men with fat pockets rushing to the bars, he can’t help but keep his eyes on his girlfriend.

His mouth moves on its own. Opening. Tongue touching the back of his front teeth. The last syllable forms a pout. Three words formed without any sound.

The thing is, she sees him. Even from the stage in the front of the room, the only person she can clearly see silently supports her from the back of the crowd. To her, he is, and always will be, her only glowing entity in the pitch dark. And she directs a fabulous smile at him. She knows.  

---

“F-fuck!” Her stomach jolts when she feels his thick fingers exiting her leaking cunt.

“Aww my baby is so vulgar, isn’t she? Wanting to fuck in public while everybody else is getting drunk and celebrating her?”

The owner of the Diamond Glass leans back into the beautiful moss green leather executive chair with the cherry wood elements that his workers gifted him on his past birthday. Spread across his matching cherry wood desk are the gams belonging to the woman the entire speakeasy is celebrating. And the new musical actress shudders at the feeling of her naked and throbbing core against the cold office air while she lies with her back against the desk, dress pulled up and bunched around her breasts. And he smirks in his seat, his left hand moving to his neck to loosen his necktie while his right hand reaches into his desk drawer to draw out a long wooden object. 

“Left or right hand, baby?” He asks her while palming himself in his seat, his zipper already down and his erection dripping with precum.

“L-Left,” she stutters while staring at the ceiling, heart beating fast.

“Left what?” He spreads his thighs a little more, relaxing into his seat while he slowly strokes himself to the fleshy sight in front of his face.

“Daddy,” she chokes, her back arching off the wooden surface, fake pearl necklace clacking against the desk, her wanting to feel anything and to be given anything by the man who sits behind his desk.

He moves the oblong object into his left hand and rubs the precum off his head with the pad of his right thumb. Like a painter branding their work of art, Jihoon marks her soft nub with his precum, smearing it on her as if he is marking his territory. And she moans from his touch, every inch of her body prickling with heat.

Thinking for a couple of seconds while stroking himself with his right hand, he finally decides, “We’re not leaving this room until we see your pretty pussy squirt on daddy. Hold still for me Sweetheart.”

With no time for her to react, he brings the object down on her opening, fast. The slapping sound of the wooden ruler against her fragile clit rings throughout the room – threatening to drown out the sounds of people partying on the other side of the guarded door. The euphonic sound of her squealing, the way her thighs close and immediately open like the whore she is, only edges him more.

He slaps her pussy again, bringing down the makeshift paddle quickly. Then again. And again.

She cries in response, tears leaking down the sides of her face as she calls out to him Daddy, daddy, yes! Daddy – s-shit. Please! More! Use me. Withering in her spot, she feels nothing but the euphoria and the stinging sensation that makes her sex clench, builds her high, and causes her eyes to roll to the back of her head. And he relishes in watching and hearing her positively react, feeling his high build in the palms of his hands.

However, like the businessman he is, he thinks what is in front of him is not enough. So he drags his heavy seat closer to his desk till his face is directly in front of her cunt when he is seated. And he knows that he didn’t take that much time to adjust his seat, but her fingers are already dipping into her sopping cunt without permission – a dainty middle finger slowly and repetitively entering her sex and pulling out while she sighs in relief.

Irritated by her actions, he uses his precious ruler to nudge her hand away from her cunt. He drops his ruler on his desk and immediately, by bringing his empty hand against her cunt and feeling her jolt under his fingers, pulls his hand back to slap her again.

“Whore.”

This single word leaves his mouth, laced with disgust. But it causes her to reach her high, her body jolting as she comes. He uses this moment to put his face against her cunt, burying his tongue in her folds, licking and prodding while his strong hands grab hold of her thighs to steady her while she shakes against the tabletop. He lets himself be buried in her cunt, pushing his nose against her nub and lapping her juices like it’s his only source of water. Teasing her with the tip of his tongue, he kitten licks her cunt until she shakes under his hands and sends a long and flat stripe up her folds.

Overstimulated by him eating her out while she orgasms, by him punishing her by sticking his tongue up her vagina, all she can do is slur her cries – so, so, so entirely intoxicated by him against her sex. And the frail cry turns into a scream when he pulls out his tongue and slaps her one last time – the sharp pain against her bodily exhaustion causes her to squirt, wave after wave, coating his unbuttoned button down and lubricating his open and exposed chest.   

Her high blinds her so much that the can only see the deep red marks his fingers left on the outside of her thighs and the splotchy purple along her inner thighs when she recovers in the morning.

And the poor part-time bouncer, the law student with the circular glasses, can only keep a stoic face as he stands on the other side of the door. Because he knows that if he even reacts, even hints to others why he is guarding the office door, he would suffer a fate a lot worse than being fired from his boss’s precious speakeasy.

five - fall

He arrives home at around two in the morning and finally gets to enter the comfort of his bed at around three. The girlfriend who was lying in bed awake, waiting for her boyfriend to come home, is now completely lost as to why her sweetheart would even start an argument with her saying that she should have gone to bed without him. For months now, all she wanted was communication from someone who loves knowing everything and every single detail about everybody around him, but she can never seem to scratch more than his surface-level answers. And everything she does at that moment, including being awake for him, seems to tick him off even more than it should. And she is frustrated, not knowing what to do or how to confront him.

“You’re upset,” she points out.

“I’m not upset,” he retaliates, his tone a lot harsher than how he meant it to sound.

“You didn’t call me ‘Babe.’ You didn’t greet me when you came home.” She sits up from her side in his bed, the bedsheets falling just below her neckline. She hugs the sheets tightly to her chest. “You’re clearly upset.”

Truth be told, Lee Jihoon is definitely upset. They are in the middle of their first mini-argument, but it is hard to even begin a full-fledged fight when one side is extremely talkative and open about their feelings while the other side is the polar opposite. And the polar opposite in this situation only wants to sleep in his king-sized bed, too tired to even talk to her. Because in his heart, he knows that he would accidentally take his frustrations built from an amalgamation of happenings out on her through his language, and he knows that the only way to avoid that outcome is to avoid her altogether.

Continuing to look at his ceiling, he stubbornly ignores the woman he holds so precious to his heart, thinking that it would be better that way.

“Lee Jihoon,” she says his full name. “Talk to me. Why won’t you talk to me?”

Muscles tense under his blanket when he hears his name, and he stiffens in his place in bed. He can feel her getting more upset with every second he spends ignoring her – but it’s not like she isn’t used to him ignoring her. That’s how their relationship started anyway.

He knows he could just tell her. He knows he doesn’t even need to look her in the eyes to talk to her, to tell her how much of a bad day he has had. Just a couple minutes explaining how he is upset because the police stopped his men from unloading the grocery stock truck when they mistook the contents of the truck for alcohol, how the police almost found out about the speakeasy, how Seokmin proposed to his sister without his permission, and how he punched Seokmin would have been enough to put the both of them at ease.

But he is as hardheaded as they come, and he doesn’t have an answer for her – he doesn’t know why he won’t share his feelings with her.

A scintillant flash glimmers at the corner of his eye, and his bedroom is much too dark for any regular object to be shining so brightly. So he turns his head toward the object only when it catches his eye another time.

Lo and behold are two brilliant diamonds sitting proudly on her earlobes. And for a man who has seen all of his girlfriend, he has never seen them before – no matter how small they are.

“What are those?” he asks her, sitting up to get a better look at the earrings. And he frowns when he sees something prominent missing from her neck. “Where’s your pearl necklace?”

“Tossed it,” she answers a little too nonchalantly for his liking – as if the necklace that she always wore around her neck as a reminder that she would make it big and replace it with a chain of real pearls someday meant absolutely nothing to her.

“What?” His mouth is agape. His stubborn demeanor attenuates while his curiosity slowly appears.

He thinks that she’s joking – playing a little prank on him. But when he sees her staring at her manicured fingertips, pushing back her cuticles with her thumb, he can only accept the fact that she may not be joking. And it stings him a little because of the number of times she firmly turned his offer to buy her a piece of jewelry – a pearl necklace – as a gift, taking umbrage at his thoughtful request.

“Oh, Hoonie. I know you’re about to lecture me about sticking to my dreams. But I got my first big paycheck from the musical, and I saw how glittery and beautiful the diamond earrings looked at Tiffany’s in the department store so I had to buy them.”

Suddenly, his skin under his latest sleepwear under his heavy duvet blanket feels unbearably hot. He feels agitated by her actions even though it doesn’t pertain to him at all. And even more so, he finds himself furrowing his eyebrows at the way she shifted from being upset with him not wanting to talk to her to suddenly forgetting about her anger just because of some real diamonds from the cheapest section. The thought of everything upsets his stomach and makes his jaw clench so hard that one accidental budge could grind his molars flat.

He knows that he can be a bit of an ass all the time and that before he took their relationship seriously he was still flirting with other women while she stupidly latched onto his arm in his speakeasy. He hates hearing his workers tease him about becoming the type of man who would finally settle down with a lovely dame. Nevertheless, her name used to only form from his lips, while they now form from the innermost portion of his heart. And still spends nights wondering how the hell someone like him can manage to fall in love with someone like her – especially the “live in the moment” type of person.  

“Aww,” she whines while shaking his right arm. “I know you’re doing your dumb calculations in your head. It’s fine. I still have leftover money from when I worked two jobs.” She pauses and continues in a sultry voice, holding his right hand in one hand while she tiptoes her fingers along his bicep, “And, I also had enough money left over from this shopping spree to make another purchase.”

She moves before he can ignore her out of spite, letting her bedsheets fall to the mattress as she stands on her knees. Under the yellow light emitting from the art deco nickel-plated lamp from Jihoon’s bedside is a silhouette, a shadow of her figure, cast against the wall. Milk yellow satin bows that sit on top of her shoulders keep her chemise from falling. And the lingerie itself, a square neckline lined with thin hand-embroidered lace, cinches at the waist and drops downwards in a pillowy-soft see-through fabric. The same thin hand-embroidered lace forms garters around her thighs, holding up knee-high socks with tiny bows sewn in the front.

“You don’t want this?” She teases him by letting go of his hand to trace a finger along her neckline.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, holding out his right hand for her to take again. “Of course I want you. Let me take care of you tonight.”

“No, Love.” She crawls over to him, moving her right thigh over his legs until she straddles his hips. Griding down on him, she places her hands around his neck. “Let me.”

Not able to keep his cool-headed persona, his head tips backward so a soft moan can naturally escape his lips. On his lap is the weight of her entire body – random atoms bundled so tightly, creating cells, creating organs, creating and completing the love of his life. He misses her pearls, the stupid piece of cheap jewelry that tarnishes with every scratch against hard surfaces – like his skin when her nails dig into them, leaving bright and stinging red trenches masked by the fire he feels at his core.

The love of his life on top of him, feeling and teasing herself, calling herself names that may never leave the bedroom…he almost wants to bend her over the bathroom sink to wash her mouth, scrub it raw, and peck the pouty lips and then the eyelids where her lashes tickle his bottom lip. Reveling in his private lap dance as much as a man can at half-past three in the morning, he can only stare at her with so much love that the feeling alone sucks and strips away the color in the life around him. And when his mouth is stuffed with her soaked undergarment and she reaches for his pants, he knows he is done for.

Bedsheet roughly thrown to the side, and the weight of its fall knocks over today’s unread paper placed towards the edge of the nightstand. The paper falls to the floor along with the bedsheet and opens to the entertainment page. Leading Lady FIRED, the headline reads. A summary of the contents is as follows: leading lady was fired because she was caught auditioning for another role while she was supposed to be at practice for her current musical, her no-name understudy will take over her role for the rest of the season, and critics hypothesize either the birth of a new shining star or the failure of an entire production caused by a chain of events.

six - fall

A giant star follows the signature that finishes with a flourish, etched with the black expensive ink from the solid gold Sheaffer “Propel – Repel – Expel” Pencil from the Giftie Set that is supposed to come out at the end of October for this upcoming holiday season. The owner of the receipt that is now etched with the signature of someone famous thanks the musical actress again – still trying to fathom how such a famous actress shops at the same local grocery store as she does – before leaving through the front door.

Chic coffee-colored suede fabric of the light long coat in Philippe et Gaston’s winter collection – not yet released and imported straight from Paris – flows and flaps against the current that rushes in when the patron with the signature leaves the grocery store. Once again, the coat peacefully settles right above her calves when the wind breaks its trail. The actress tucks her pen back in its leather case where the second pair of the Giftie Set is missing – in fact, the matching retractable fountain pen rests in the lapel of the grocery store owner’s coat at all times. She drops the case in her black clutch and snaps it close. Old cut, 0.40-carat yellow and platinum diamonds – two of them in oval drops – collect and accentuate the front of her open collar, gifted by her loving boyfriend. They sparkle against the afternoon sunlight that shines through the shop’s open windows, glimmering and glistening like the love they are meant to represent.

The understudy-turned-leading lady adjusts how her white cloche hat sits on top of her head before turning to look at Seungcheol who leans against the wall behind the cashier counter, furiously whispering into the telephone. It seems as if he doesn’t want to be disturbed, or even be acknowledged. He quickly hangs up the phone and rushes through the backdoor, straight to his boss’s office.

The second owner of the store, the sister, recommends the newspaper with the musical reviews to a customer. There’s a sly smile on her face, the hidden excitement of knowing that the actress whose glowing musical reviews in the newspaper is only a few feet away. Still, she maintains her polite and professional front.

Softly humming to herself while walking around the store, the actress thinks about the items she wants to pick up for her new agent before she meets him for the first time at the radio station. She settles on a soft drink for him and water, no, tea for herself before going to the counter where her fake sister-in-law waits.

“You waiting for Hoon?” the younger one asks while grabbing a brown paper bag from under the counter.

“Yeah,” she sighs while unclasping her bag so she can reach in to grab her coin pouch. “I was supposed to remind him about the radio show today, but he left the house in a rush. I rang him a few times, but I couldn’t even reach him.” She shakes her head while unzipping her coin pouch with her gloved hands.

The cashier tsks and pushes the outstretched hand with the coins away, “Just take the bag. You know my brother will come for my head if he finds out you visited and paid for something. How can I wear a veil during my wedding if I don’t have a head?”

“And you know it hurts my dignity knowing that I can afford at least two drinks,” she pushes back. “Plus, Seokmin would love you even without that pretty head of yours.”

“Take the bag, and bunk off. Dingus,” she mutters, her cadence eerily mirroring that of her brother’s.

“Don’t call her a Dingus.” Jihoon’s voice appears out of nowhere. He finishes tying his apron around his back before shoving his sister to the side. “Only I can call her Dingus.”

“Nobody can call me a Dingus,” the girlfriend remarks and proceeds to drop her coins in the tip jar before taking her bag of drinks from the counter. “Flag me a cab, yeah? I came to remind you about today’s show.”

Immediately acquiescing to her request, he nods his head and quickly scrambles to meet her on the other side. He grabs the paper bag from her arms, afraid that it may be too heavy for her, and guides her to the front of the store. From there, he brings his thumb and pointer finger together and puts them between his lips, whistling loudly to flag a cab.

“Today at three,” he smiles at her. “I didn’t forget.”

A cab pulls to the curb before he can strike up a conversation with her, and he has no choice but to help her in the cab and hand the paper bag back to its owner. And it hurts him a little more when the cab driver drives off before he can kiss her on the cheek. But watching her head pop out of the window while the cab drives away and that big smile of hers coupled with a waving hand, he can’t help but feel like the luckiest man on this Earth.

---

“You closed the shop early and demanded us to come in not for training but because of your girlfriend?” Chan, the part-time bouncer slowly asks as if he is trying to understand his boss’s thought process. “Hoonie wants us to help him get a radio shout-out from his kitten? Meow?”

Mingyu immediately tosses the student over his shoulder and heads over to the speakeasy before Jihoon can physically lunge at his worker. Seungcheol, who may be the only employee who can physically restrain the man without getting fired, lets go of Jihoon when Mingyu and Chan are finally gone.

“Anybody who stays for the entire duration gets a bonus,” Jihoon growls while straightening his collar.

The rest of the group nods and mumble among themselves as their boss adjusts the radio they have all crowded around to the correct frequency. Instantaneously, a familiar laugh fills the tense atmosphere and eases everybody it reaches.

Wow. I can’t believe both of you knew what you wanted to be and where you wanted to go since you were kids, the radio host recounts. Your parents must be so proud.

They are. A masculine voice – the seasoned musical lead. They have a collection of posters from all of the musicals I’ve been in…signed by the cast and everything. They’re so special to me.

That’s so sweet of them to do so, the host responds. Speaking of special people, and I’m pretty sure everybody tuning in wants to know, does our leading lady currently have someone special?

Jihoon’s ears perk up when he hears the question and immediately glow bright red when he notices several pairs of eyes trained on him. He shoots a glare at his crowd before awkwardly adjusting in his seat while he waits for his beloved to respond.

Oh, me? She giggles. I’m happily single.

And the answer shocks everybody – the grocery store becomes so quiet that you can only hear the hums emitting from the refrigerators.

So you’re saying if you’re single and your handsome co is also single, the host presses, then that means there’s a chance that the two of you could possibly become a couple by the end of your season?

Laughter – hearty guffaws from the radio and small awkward hiccups on the other end of the radio.

I mean, the host recounts, word on the street is that there are quite a few kiss scenes in this musical. Not to mention the chemistry the two of you share on stage and off stage. No wonder it’s so popular!

The door to Jihoon’s office slams shut, echoing throughout the establishment. It is only then that the employees of the Diamond Glass finally notice that their boss has angrily left the scene.

seven - fall

Holding her jaw open with one hand, Jihoon bends over and watches his spit fall onto her awaiting tongue, how the liquid bubbles and collapses against the papillae of the muscular organ. Once he shuts her mouth, his hand moves back to her throat where he can clearly feel the way her Adam’s apple bobs against the palm of his hand when she swallows his spit.

Every time he squeezes her esophagus, her velvet walls clench and flutter around his cock while she prays and begs him to take off her blindfold.

But he doesn’t respond. Even when he hears her beg, her: Daddy, Daddy, please. Please take off my blindfold so I can be a proper slut, so you can ruin my pussy. Use me, please. He doesn’t budge. Not today.

Tonight, Lee Jihoon is not taking any requests: he only has one goal on mind.

He has her body memorized – the familiar feeling of hitting the exact spongy part to cause her to orgasm, how much pressure the rough pads of his fingertips must exert on her clit. He rolls his hips for her to take him in deeper until his throbbing tip reaches an end, and he extracts himself and thrusts inwards without pause. The hand around her neck loosens and travels downwards towards her breasts, cupping, squeezing, and pinching the nipples until they turn into sore and hard little nubs. He massages them and watches how they fill the gaps between his fingers with every rough squeeze.

She’s as loud as ever. Back arching, she begs her boyfriend to make her feel good instead of playing with her. She’s already tired of being used despite her excessive begging.

As much as he knows exactly how to make her come undone, he knows exactly the steps he has to take to make himself feel good in her. And he grabs both thighs, pushing them back and spreading them wide to give himself a better angle. Roughly, he rocks his hips into her tight little pussy with so much force that it sends her sliding a few inches backward, the bed creaking.

“Oh- FUCK!” she gasps.

Thrusting aggressively, he bites his bottom lip while he stares at the headboard ahead of him. His fingers dig deep into her thighs and she struggles to moan as her entire body jostles up and down in repeated motions. Everything comes out in segments.

He fucks her roughly and without any ounce of kindness. And when her pussy could clamp around his cock just a few moments ago, it fails to hold on the more she becomes his personal fucktoy instead of his girlfriend. She’s confused and horny, her pussy feeling sore yet amazing while being ripped apart by his thick and veiny cock; he’s close to his release.

The thing is, she’s not even close to coming when his hips jerk and buck in place before he finishes in her. He silently pulls out, rolls off his condom, ties it, and tosses it in the trash can while leaving her in bed. He doesn’t even give her a second glance when he tells her he is headed for the roof.

“What the fuck,” she mutters under her breath while she plants her feet against the mattress. She rips the blindfold off her face and decides that if he’s not going to help her finish, she would do it herself.

If he doesn’t need her, then she sure as hell doesn’t need him.

---

She watches him from the door to the roof as he inhales and lets the pillowy smoke flow out of his mouth. It’s interesting to her how the length of a couple of days can turn two people, as close as they are, into complete strangers. And she is lost as to how such a loving man, no matter how cold he may seem to those who aren’t acquainted with him, could ever act as if his love for her somehow became conditional. 

People say that love can keep people even in the coldest and darkest places warm. Maybe she does believe it to be true, but now, staring at the man she loves the most from a few feet away, the warmth feels more like a memory than a presence. Midnight air nips at her skin, raising goosebumps and causing her arm hairs to stand straight, while he looks blissful or at least contented to be alone with his pack of cigarettes. She doesn’t even know that he had a pack on him. 

People also say that love can make you become either really brave or really dumb, but that’s like comparing apples to oranges. Even she is confused about whether or not confronting him at the top of his brownstone tonight is the bravest or dumbest thing she can do. But her actions happen before she can really register what is it that she wants from him. 

“Is this about me not kissing you before I got into the cab the other day?” Okay, at least it comes off as a passive joke to hide her anger. “It’s because we were in public.”

“Since when have you ever cared about kissing in public?” he gruffs, making it a point to turn his body away from hers. 

His irritable attitude towards her makes her tick. And she scoffs, “Stop bullshitting me, Jihoon. If you miss a kiss, then you can make up for it later on. And I did.” She marches towards the side he is facing and leans against the half-wall balcony. “Remember how we promised to always be open about what’s bothering us? Like the night where I bought the diamond earrings and you were pissed about the engagement?”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” He rolls his eyes. His temper isn’t the best either. 

“When the fuck did I say it’s your fault?”

“Watch your mouth,” he mutters. 

“Watch my mouth?” she criticizes his hypocrisy. “You won’t even open your mouth to tell me about what’s bothering you. What am I? Some sort of scapegoat for your anger?”

“My anger?” he asks, pointing at himself with the hand that holds his cigarette between his knuckles. His question is rhetorical as well as the answer, but his ego refuses to accept the fact that she isn’t wrong. 

“Yes, your anger,” her voice suddenly calmed. “Please work with me here. Can’t you see I’m trying to solve whatever this is between us? Is it because of Jeonghan’s comment? About how he heard about the unscripted kiss during one of our scenes?”

“So it was real,” he scoffs, turning his head to look at the view ahead of him. He wishes that the soft breeze which tickles and ruffles the tops of the several rows of trees below him can also whisk him away from this conversation. 

“Acting, Jihoon. It was just us acting.” She can’t believe the productive conversation she imagined having with his is taking a turn for the worst. 

“Why don’t you just date him instead because, apparently, I’m not your boyfriend anymore.” His retort is unfairly childish, but it implies some of his underlying concerns are slowly making their way to his surface. His mouth tastes dry and the warm and fuzzy high he felt before she disturbed his peace is already gone. He taps the ashes away against the brick edge before bringing the bud to his lips again. 

“Is this what was bothering you the whole time? The scripted radio show?” She sighs and brings her hand up to her temple to pinch and rub away the pain. Instead, she only feels a swelling sensation form and collects in the inner corners of her eyes. “It was the first time I met this new agent. And I had to listen to him because of his experience in the industry. He said that revealing our relationship might ruin my career, especially taking into consideration how hard I’ve worked for it. So I couldn’t discuss the boyfriend thing with you ahead of time because it was sprung on me the minute I sat down with him.” 

To her side is a man who had grown accustomed to having a cup of tea every morning instead of his usual cup of coffee after learning that his girlfriend doesn’t drink coffee. A man who regularly keeps his kitchen shelves stocked with various teas around the world as his way of saying how much he loves her, he could help but appease his curiosity as to what some measly leaves could offer to a person. The difference in caffeine made him feel a bit woozy at first, a remarkable We should call you Woozi with an I from the way you keep slipping in and out of consciousness from the one called Vernon. But now, he finds pleasure in walking around with a white mug, the tea bag’s string expertly looped twice around the top of the mug’s handle, tucked between his knuckles and mug.  

She knows how much of an asshole he can be, how hard it is for him to physically say “I love you” when others are around, and how he finds it challenging to even begin to open up and talk about his problems. But it may be her greatest downfall, believing that she could completely change a man whose flaws drew her in like a moth towards an open flame.

“I hate it when you smoke,” her voice quivers. She feels small next to the well-built man beside her, but she doesn’t know whether or not she should continue to try to reason with a brick wall. “It’s bad for my lungs.”

The thing is, Lee Jihoon is a good listener. Probably trained by his sister after taking care of her by himself for so many years, his listening skills make up for his lack of good communication skills. And he snuffs his half-burned cigarette against the brick edge, tossing it to the floor of the roof and rendering it destroyed with the heel of his shoe.

When he wraps her in his arms as a way of saying Sorry, I was in the wrong, she notices how cold he must be feeling. His cold skin immediately burns hot the moment it comes into contact with hers.

“I’m sorry. Don’t cry.” His apology is muffled against her strands of hair. “I really do love you.”

“Do you think we’ll be fine?” She asks him. It’s more of a need for confirmation – the reason for confirmation is murky.

“I don’t know.” His heart feels like it’s beating harder than usual, and he’s pretty sure she can also feel it. “I’ll try.”

Jealousy is a vile disease that can overtake and completely alter a person. And she realizes that the man who usually instills jealousy in those around him is also capable of being infected.

eight - winter

Tonight’s drink of choice is his usual Manhattan poured into a whiskey glass and garnished with a fresh slice of lemon instead of his usual olive, cherry, or lemon peel twist. However, it sits untouched on a handmade coaster on the desk in its owner’s office while the owner is nowhere to be found. Condensation on the outside surface of the glass pools at the bottom of the circular glass, held together in a ring thanks to cohesion forces. The cubed block of ice that sat in the middle of the sink now floats to the top in a sort of watery layer just above the alcohol. Pitch-black is what describes the office – nobody would even know Lee Jihoon considered drinking alcohol tonight, let alone visited his office.

Joshua thinks his boss is probably in his office calculating the cost of each ounce of alcohol against the recipe for every drink, knowing how stingy he can be. He also notices the lack of a cheerful presence that makes his boss’s ears flush bright red. But he doesn’t say anything about it, after all, bartenders are always here for the gossip but never participate in spreading gossip.

Jihoon sits in the dark of his grocery store near the entrance where the porch light shines brightly through the glass windows. His shoulder blades, especially the upper area towards the middle of his neck and shoulders, are screaming in pain. And the empty crate he uses as a stool is anything but comfortable.

It’s not a particularly big grocery store. It’s more like a rectangular hole-in-the-wall about the size of the speakeasy's kitchen. There are open crates of neatly stacked fruits and vegetables in front of the counters for customers to choose themselves while all of the other goods are behind the counters. Where walls of groceries line the four walls and the walking space is only large enough to have five different customers comfortably shop at once, Jihoon feels that the tiny front for his speakeasy becomes his sort of personal sanctuary. His sister is barely at home now that she’s in the process of moving most of her stuff to Seokmin’s place, and the tiny changes he made around the house to accommodate his girlfriend remind him too much of her. His office is much too cold and stress-inducing to be in alone during Winter. And the speakeasy is noisy and rowdy where his presence only instills fear in others or causes him to be whisked away in some conversation he doesn’t want to take part in.

So sitting in the only place he can seem to find comfort may be the only way he can truly accept the fact that in the ninth month of getting to know the woman with the big dreams and fake pearls, she is slowly becoming a stranger to him as he is to her.

A single kiss, a peck on the cheek is what she would leave him with before parting every time he dropped her off at the backdoor of the matinee. Now she has a private chauffeur who picks her and her agent up to bring them to wherever her schedule needs her to appear. And it tore out a piece of his heart when she told him that it was for the best especially when she started developing a strong hatred towards speakeasies. In fact, most of their more recent fights were about his job and how she can’t be around people who are associated with something so illegal and vile.

For two people who spent the majority of the year together, each recent meeting feels like an awkward exchange between two people whose lives are moving ahead with barely any space for the other to exist. Where one is preparing for the end of her musical run and the new musical production she’s been cast in, the other one is busy switching seasonal grocery stock and preparing his speakeasy for a VIP. She’s been on more fake dates in a week with her co-star in an industry-fueled scheme to generate more revenue before the musical run ends than she has in a month with her real boyfriend. Even the thrill of sneaking around with each other seemed to have worn off.

One is a woman who came from nothing and now has everything she ever wanted and wants more. The other is a man who came from something and is content with what he has.

Perhaps the thing he most wants is to understand her just a little more. He doesn’t understand the new words and phrases she integrated into her daily jargon and wonders about what or how she thinks of him now that she is on the way to having everything she ever wanted. It’s not like he wants more, no. He’s truly content with what he has. But he can’t help but wonder if love is just the beautiful landscape she spends some time driving through on her road to the glitz and glamour of stardom. If he is simply a backdrop, then why did she even want to pursue him in the first place? Why did he allow himself to fall in love? Why was she so adamant about picking up all of her phony loose pearls when she doesn’t care about buying real ones anymore?

Jihoon knows that life is as fragile as the soft waxy pear he holds in his hand – how a fruit could be so delicate to the touch, but farmers still swatch on a layer of protective wax to keep it from getting bruised and dehydrated with hopes that the fruit would journey safely into somebody’s grocery bag. One single and firm squeeze of the fruit in his palm could turn it into mush and have the juice drip down his fist in globs. Driving a single stomp through the barrel of neatly stacked pears would not save them from becoming absolutely demolished. Protective wax does nothing. Trying to protect himself from getting hurt like that thin coat of fruit wax does absolutely nothing as long as he is in love. And love may just as well be something as fragile as life.

Hand reaching for nothing and hitting the inside of an empty crate, Jihoon quickly retracts his hand while feeling a bit embarrassed for not noticing that he’s done stocking the pears. Having nothing to do causes a wave of loneliness, no, nostalgia to wash over him like the moonlight over the tumbling ocean waves. The fact that she brings up the fact that he owns a speakeasy every time they argue is frequent enough that the thought always lingers at the back of his mind. He can’t comprehend how she somehow started hating speakeasies almost overnight and hates the fact that he is the owner of one. She tells him that it would be better if he left the speakeasy to Seungcheol to manage the grocery store full-time. Looking at everything around him from the walls of products to the shiny wooden floors to the long flowerbeds placed against the walls of windows, he doesn’t know if he could ever give up the speakeasy to work at a place he loves so dearly. Maybe one day in the future when the Prohibition gets lifted, he would turn the speakeasy into something else.

Right now, he is not willing to give up something that he loves. The Diamond Glass is his home, and his employees are his family members. Giving up something as precious as his speakeasy is not something that he would even consider putting on his bargaining table even if it means losing the love of his life. Unwillingness to give up on something he loves for someone whom he loves results in him thinking about the version of his love in the darkness of the grocery store. The version of her with the flimsy dress, the version of her as a fling, the version of her he was afraid to love, the version of her as his love, the version of her he is growing apart from – he thinks about them all. Imagining an alternate universe where she is as unchanging as he is, a version where they can wake up in bed together only to laze around till four in the afternoon – it might be a selfish concept, he thinks. Previously uninhabited space in his brain, now filled with her to the brim, he’s not strong enough for it to spill over until it empties.

A flood of light washes into the grocery store at an angle when the employee door behind the counter opens. Choi Seungcheol stands at its opening with an unsmiling look on his face. Jihoon looks back at the older man, pausing before he sighs and wipes his hands on his pants.

“They’re in your office,” Seungcheol tells his boss.

“Who the hell let them in here?” Jihoon sighs while standing up, stretching his back before heading towards where his employee stands. It doesn’t take many contexts to fully understand what Seungcheol meant when he used the pronoun. Even more so, Jihoon immediately deduced the topic of the incoming conversation and the approximate amount of time the less-than-amicable conversation would take.

“I dunno,” the older man shrugs. “It’s not like we can turn them away. We do need business with them.”

nine - winter

Bursting through the office door and swinging the door open with so much force that the door ricochets off the wooden doorstop and wobbles while being supported by its hinges, she stomps with a fury unmatched by no other. In her wake are a scorching fire and the apologetic part-time bouncer who tried his best to stop her without ever laying a hand on her.

“I-I’m sorry. I tried,” the bouncer with the circular glasses tries to explain himself to his boss. “I-I told her that today’s not a good day, and that you’re-”

“I’m going to make you develop a complex,” the boss seethes through his teeth without moving his mouth to attempt a straight and dignified-looking expression in her presence. Capping his solid gold Sheaffer pen from the old gift set, dropping the expensive item on his stack of papers, and leaning back in his office chair with an annoyed expression on his face is more than enough to send bouncer out the door, scrambling and slamming the door shut behind him.

Jihoon doesn’t respond to his girlfriend, though he makes sure to look at her, studying her smudged stage makeup and the new expensive decoration that hangs from her neck. Silence between the couple becomes a waiting game, a game that anticipates the drop of a guillotine strong enough to cut the tension developed. Pulling the lever, she slices through and continues the journey she embarked on since her last show.

“Lee Jihoon,” his name cracks like a lightning strike – powerful yet lonely – emitted from her atmosphere. “How could you?”

Outside the guarded office door, the VIP speakeasy crowd roars in laughter and cheers. Glasses clink and specially ordered wooden chairs scrape against the sticky floors while speakeasy singers entertain their audience for the night. If Lee Jihoon is the owner and boss of this establishment, then the middle-aged woman who sits at the circular mini table right in front of the stage is the king.

This middle-aged woman with a kind face whose deep smile lines appear when she smiles at others in her acknowledgment is the sole supplier of the Diamond Glass’s alcohol. One misstep, one thought of collusion against her, one simple miscalculation on proposals can erase the Diamond Glass from existence including its workers, leaving the local police with a cold case unsolved for years because they would have nothing, to begin with. Hoping to never upset the king before the Prohibition ends, Lee Jihoon will do anything to maintain his healthy and trustworthy relationship with her and her cohort.

Right now, with her in his office, there is so much more than just simply trying to be business partners with the speakeasy’s current private clients. Because of this, agitation is what makes his leg shake. Fear is what causes him to snap at his girlfriend. Ultimately, this sparks a negative chain reaction foreseeable by anybody since the beginning of Autumn.

Get out are the only two words he can manage to snap at her. His right pointer finger pointed at his office door and his right arm trembles in its extension. Himself, the man sitting in his office chair, feels nothing but anger and fear from seeing his girlfriend in a place in which she should not be seen – a place she upbraided and proclaimed to be untenable in its legality.

“How could you?” she asks again in an accusing tone, her hands forming into tight balls of fists so that her knuckles visibly pale. “You liar. You promised you would be there for my last show. Why weren’t you there? You have so many employees working for you, and you’re not even out there. You’re just sitting in your office doing something you can do another time. Everybody’s partners were there for them at the afterparty yet I rushed here.”

Jihoon sits up from his seat, folding his hands on his desk. He takes a good look at the musical actress in front of him – prim and proper looking, her hair styled in neat curls, and the elegant and flowy black Lanvin Robe de Style which he finds to indicate she took time to change out of her costume into something non-inconspicuous. Paris’s House of Creed’s Angélique Encens set to be released in the early 1930s floats around her like a thin veil of mist. The sensual powdery-floral cut by the salty ambergris beautifully blended with vanilla and tuberose was said to be a pre-release gift from the founder of the perfume house. He thinks about the time when she accidentally dropped the perfume bottle she bought back in ’17 on her wooden floors. She thought nothing of the accident – no indication of dejection while picking up the broken pieces of glass and causally mentioned the perfume incident in an interview. The next day, a fresh bottle and a bouquet of roses were gifted to her from the perfumery. He’s not sure if the new bottle ever made it out of her closet. He’s not the type to compare himself to others – no, his confidence and self-assurance are too high for that – but he can’t help but wonder whether or not he can say her name the way he used to.

When you love someone, a name isn’t formed from the mouth but from the heart. The image of her in his head, once formed and sculpted from his skinny love, still exists in his hippocampus. Happiness when he sees her, the rush of dopamine when he feels her fall asleep again him after a long day, never originated from the limbic cortex. Fully believing it, even now at this moment despite the circumstances, he believes it was passed to him by her. Where her name is formed from his heart, she is his entire heart. And it hurts him to even consider the fact that she he holds close to his heart may just as well walk away with a piece of him that would never be returned.

It is the last time he says her name from his heart. He tells her to leave, that it’s not safe. He doesn’t want his bodyguards to ever lay a hand on her. It’s for the best, he tells her. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. He’s afraid of the fact that literal gangsters in the building would scare her, and he’s not about to compromise her integrity. For her sake, he feels that keeping the fact to himself, letting her walk over him if she has to, may keep her safe.

“But there’s no tomorrow,” she almost wails, stomping her feet even. She’s frustrated that she had to attend the party celebrating the end of the season alone, frustrated over his stolid attitude over everything. She just wishes he could’ve been there with her experiencing one of the most important moments of her life.

Shooting out of his chair, sending it backward from the force with which he pulls himself up, he slams his hands on his desk. “Leave,” he yells at her.

“Choose,” she lays down her ultimatum for him. “Me or the speakeasy.”

“Diamond Glass,” he chooses without hesitation. Albeit, the expression he notices form on her face causes him to feel restive in his response. “Me or your fake boyfriend?”

“Fake boyfriend?” She feels her skin prick with coldness. “Do you have to bring him up every time we get into an argument?”

“What?” The tone of his voice is anything but amicable. “So you’re only here to argue with me for a little bit before you storm off to your little boy toy. What happened to compromise? What happened to me being the most important person in your life?”

“Compromise?” She seethes. “I literally told you that my new agent sprung it upon me when I met him.”

“The easiest phrase you can say as an actress is ‘no comment.’ Or are you so far up your ass and your glitz and glamour that all you can do is be hotsy-totsy with all the men around you? Do you even think about me? Or do I only appear in your mind when you need me?”

“So what about me living the life I always wanted? So what if I have to fake date rich men while keeping this persona they built for me? Men, any men, regular men, rich men, they can all get in and out of relationships and marriages whenever they please and they wouldn’t be shamed for it. They can marry whenever and whoever they please and not be looked down upon. This includes you, Jihoon,” her voice dips when she says his name. There is a crack in her voice that Jihoon absolutely hates hearing because it means anything but her happiness. “All they want women to do is marry and have kids. But I get to escape that expectation because of my job. The leading lady was fired because she auditioned for another job. So what if the world found out that the understudy had a boyfriend? I would be a joke. I would be forced out of the industry, blacklisted for not taking my job seriously.”

“Why do you care so much about what other people think?” He almost wants to shout at her, to hurl his chair against the wall. “Given my connections, you would never be forced out of the industry.”

“You don’t get it do you?” Her knees buckle. “I never wanted to rely on you.”

“Then what did you want me for?” He can’t contain himself anymore. He shouts at her in frustration. “A good fuck? A summer fling? Someone to fix because your life was so boring before me?”

“I just wanted you by my side,” she shouts back.

“And I was always by your side.” He’s so frustrated that tears well up in the inner corners of his eyes. “I was always by your side even when I wasn’t in love with you. I was by your side this whole time even if you never felt it. I was by your side even when I didn’t understand. When I didn’t understand why you loved me. When I didn’t understand the words that came out of your mouth. When I didn’t understand why you don’t even look at me the way you used to.”

“And what was the way I used to-” She cuts herself off, stopping so she can point her head to the ceiling so that he doesn’t have to look at her sob. “Fuck.” The realization slaps her in the face.

“Shit,” Jihoon has no choice but to cuss. His face stabs with pain, and his arms feel numb. But heaping globs of tears stream down his face, and he breaks down on his spot – choked sobs and trembling shoulders, unable to look her in the eye. He also realizes the same thing – she doesn’t love him anymore.

Lee Jihoon doesn’t remember how he ended up in the middle of the VIP party’s crowd, drunk off of giggle water. Tonight, he can’t even bring himself to flirt with the woman who he plants himself behind, bringing her ass to his dick while she grinds on him on the dance floor. Everything feels so foreign to him – letting go, straying from his usual Manhattan, people prying him off of someone new, crying, being single, sobbing, crashing on someone’s couch, blacking out. He doesn’t know who he is or where he is. The only thing he remembers is seeing a piece of his heart leave when she left him in his office and the realization that they are no more.

Not even a sense of familiarity can rush over his inebriated self when he feels a heavy blanket cover his shivering body. Seungcheol, no; his sister, no; Seokmin…the king? He can’t quite differentiate whose couch it is that he is laying on or who it is who is consoling him.

“We can never go back to who we were before love,” the unidentified voice reassures him. “After love, we are just as different. But it takes time to create a better us than who we were when we were in love. After all, time and feelings change. You have loved yourself before, Jihoon. And you will love yourself again.”  

“Feel broken,” he manages to slur through his tears. He hasn’t stopped crying since being dragged out of the speakeasy “Gone.”

“But it doesn’t mean you can’t find yourself in the future.”

epilogue - spring '39

Lee Jihoon carries a toddler in his arm, someone whose eyes curl the same way he does when he smiles. He hands him an apple, a gorgeous waxy Red Delicious that is arguably too big for the toddler’s hands.

“Hold tight,” Jihoon tells the child. “Or it would fall and roll away. Then we can’t sell the apple.”

But the fruit immediately falls from the toddler’s hands, bouncing and rolling towards the other side of the newly renovated grocery store.

After all these years, the mom-and-pop grocery store manned by the Diamond Glass’s workers and families still stands proudly while facing the busy street before it. And the Diamond Glass, converted into a bar, has since made a name for itself after the Prohibition. The establishment with its criminal origins, instead of deterring people away, only attracts and appeals to the public.

The bell above the front door clanks when a new customer steps inside. And the quick burst of air caused by the act of opening the door drowns out what the new customer says to their driver.

In the meantime, Jihoon sighs and looks at the child in his arms – the kid whose lips quiver from making a mistake. He decides to let him go and squats to tell him that his mom would send him into exile if he ever made him cry. “Even worse,” he whispers to the child, “Seokmin would cry if he ever saw you cry. And you know how much your dad cries. But go get Uncle Seungcheol for me. We need more people in the front.”

A few minutes after the boss feels a gentle tap on his right shoulder. But he chooses to ignore them and instead calls for Seungcheol to help with the customer. He feels the tap again, this time with a little more pressure. So he turns his head from his stack of apples on the ground, looking up at the customer standing behind him.

She holds the dusty and bruised apple in her outstretched hand. And he notices the freshly coated swatch of lacquer that decorates her nails. His eyes trace up her gams to her tweed Chanel skirt and the matching blazer which sculpts her shoulders. In contrast to her expensive designer wear is the scuffed and faded pearl necklace which sits proudly around her neck – a contrasting centerpiece to her outfit. And he can tell that they’re fake, just like the ones that scattered and clacked against his once illegally sticky speakeasy floors.

Seungcheol’s head pops from the doorframe to the employee door behind the grocery store counter. “Who is it?” he asks his boss.

Jihoon looks at her in her eyes, the same pair of twinkling eyes he could never forget, and answers his question, “An old friend.”

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[laelior]

The Weight of the World

To: Master Operations Chief (ret.) Margaret Shepard

This letter is to inform you that your granddaughter, Lieutenant Commander Bethany Shepard, was presumed killed in action following the destruction of the SSV Normandy by unknown enemy forces on December 5, 2183. 

Lieutenant Commander Shepard’s service with the Alliance was an example to us all and her heroic actions in service both to Earth and the Citadel Council will never be forgotten. 

At this time, we are unable to publicly announce details related to the destruction of the SSV Normandy. At such a time when we are able, rest assured that the Alliance will lay Lieutenant Commander Shepard to rest with full military honors.

Please accept my sincerest condolences for your loss.

Adm. Steven HackettAlliance 5th Fleet Command

Anderson sat in the back of his skycar, numbly rehearsing the words of the letter in his hands over the neatly-folded Alliance flag and Alliance-stamped urn in his lap. God, for such a small jar it must have weighed a ton. Nevermind that it was empty.

His eyes continually wandered to the shallow, formulaic words on the flimsy paper in his hands, hoping that somehow they’d magically rearrange themselves into something less weighty than the gravitational pull of a whole damn planet before the skycar touched down.

Hackett had already sent nineteen letters just like the one in his hands to nineteen different addresses. Letters addressed to Preslies, Dravens, Tanakas and so forth. Letters only confirming what the rumor mill had already been circulating for months. Letters delivered by NCOs and junior officers with black bands around their arms as a thin show of solidarity for their losses. It had been tempting to pass this particular letter off to someone else, too, but some things just had to be done.

“We’re almost there, sir,” the driver said.

The skycar gently touched down on the street next to a neat little house with an immaculately maintained garden. Even in the dead of winter the hedges were neatly trimmed and the flower beds were freshly mulched.

The driver went out to ring the doorbell while Anderson slowly gathered himself for the news he had to deliver.

The woman who came out to the front porch to greet him after a moment was smaller than he expected. He’d never met her before, but Peggy Shepard was a legend in her own right. One of the founding mothers of the Alliance non-commissioned officer’s corp and one of the best damn sniper instructors the service ever had. Hell, her 500-meter longshot record had stood for nearly forty years and had only been broken a few years ago by Lieutenant Coats.

And she didn’t need a letter to tell her why he was here. That was obvious from the hard, steely look in her eyes that flicked to his uniform, the flag tucked under one arm, and the black band around the other. Her eyes lingered on the captain’s stars on his lapel and her hand twitched at her side, fighting the reflexive urge to salute. Old habits died hard, and habits drilled in by a lifetime of military discipline were harder to kill than most. When she looked him right in the eye, though, Anderson had to fight the urge to flinch.

Throughout his military career, Anderson had faced more threats than he cared to count, from the petty political rivalries that riddled the service right up to Saren himself. And just then he would have rather faced down Sovereign itself if it meant getting away from the look in her eyes.

She was no stranger to this ritual. A casual glimpse at the Shepard family tree told him how many of its branches had been pruned like this. But that never meant it was easy to be the bearer of this particular news.

“Ma’am,” he intoned formally. Formalities were good. They were safe. He held up the folded flag and offered it to her with both hands. But before he could so much as open his mouth to say the words that were the next part of the ritual, she held up a hand and drew in a shaky breath.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What they’ve been saying?” She asked quietly. No need to ask what they were saying.

Anderson could only nod stiffly. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

She quietly accepted the flag, taking the weight from him and hugging it closely to her chest. 

“The Alliance offers its sincerest condolences for your loss,” he intoned, getting back to the words of the ritual. “If there’s anything we can do for you….” He trailed off. There was nothing the Alliance could do for her that would remotely make up for the magnitude of her loss, and there was no point pretending otherwise. 

She nodded in acknowledgement of the harsh, unspoken truth that passed between them.

“I need to make arrangements,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, before turning back into her house and letting the door slam shut behind her. The large wooden door closed with a resounding thud that made him flinch with its finality. He set the urn and the letter down on the porch table next to the door and went back to the car, his duty thus discharged.

If it was a tragedy for a parent to bury their child, then it was an utter goddamn travesty for a grandparent to lower their grandchild’s casket into the ground.

The driver cleared his throat, cutting across the uncomfortable silence that filled the car. “Where to next, sir?”

“Norfolk,” he said, picking the closest Alliance base he could think of off-hand. The car began its ascent, leaving the view of the Shepard household behind.  “Drop me off at the officer’s club, and tell them to have a glass of Ardbeg 16 ready, no ice.”

Something to wash away the ashy taste of having been the one to send Peggy Shepard’s granddaughter to her empty grave.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

The Other Shoe Drops (part 21)

Previous | Masterpost

As much as Jason and Danny did not want to get out of bed the day after their engagement, there were a lot of people who would be very upset if they found out about the engagement through the villain rumour mill, and Harley could not keep a secret like this. So after breakfast they turned their phones back on to start making calls, first to Alfred and Ellie, then Roy, then making their way down the line of various family and friends. They were ecstatic of course and Roy immediately started talking a mile a minute about planning an engagement party for both of them before forgetting to say goodbye before hanging up making them both laugh. 

Who knew when that party was coming and if it would be a surprise party (purposefully or because Roy forgot to tell them), but they were looking forward to it. Roy knew them both really well by then, he would do a good job.

“Should I be upset he just assumed he’s going to be my best man before I had the chance to ask?” Jason joked to Danny. 

“Hey if you don’t want him I’ll take him,” Danny said, draping himself casually across Jason’s lap, letting out a soft appreciative groan when the arch made his back pop a little.

“Fuck off, he’s mine,” Jason laughed shoving Danny’s shoulder, he didn’t budge an inch as he grinned up at Jason.

“Good, I want Harley as my best woman anyway,” Danny agreed easily. 

“She’ll do a great job, your bachelor party is going to be fucking wild!”

“Excuse you, it'll be my Bachelorette! And I’ll go with the Gotham Sirens,” Danny sniffed in lighthearted disdain. 

“Of course it will,” Jason chuckled indulgently. “Have a great time, Beloved. And when you do I hope you’ll wear the new gloves I made for you.”

“You made me new gloves?” Danny asked, eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

“Yes, I made us both new gloves, with bands carved into them so even when we have to wear our gloves over our rings people will know we’re taken,” Jason explained with repressed pride. 

“Aww you sap,” Danny teased with deep affection and pulled Jason down to kiss him  passionately. 

 ---------

They had a week to enjoy life as new fiances, they told all their friends and family and started discussing colours and potential venues. There would almost certainly be legal complications since Jason was pretty sure they were both legally dead, they’d have to hire lawyers to be officially married as Jason Todd and Danny Fenton, but they didn’t want to talk about that now. They were planning to have a long engagement anyway so for now they could just banter about if red was too cliche of a colour. 

But of course the universe wouldn’t let them get to their engagement party in peace before another one of the balls they had in their air dropped on their head. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Danny asked, dangerously soft into the phone. The tone immediately catching Jason’s attention from across the room. He got up and went to sit next to Danny, asking with his eyes if everything was okay. Danny gave him a look and shook his head slightly, then switched the phone to speaker so they could both listen. 

“-know how but they convinced the UN to have a meeting to hear them out. They’re pushing back much harder against the Justice League than we expected and want to prove ghosts are a threat and they’re methods are justified. We didn’t expect them to have enough resources to do anything like this, especially with our more covert operations ongoing.”

At least the voice coming out of the phone was J’onn and the disdain dripped from his tone. Jason thought that if it had been any other member of the JL calling to warn them about this situation Danny might have gone into a full rage. J’onn knew how awful and triggering this was and made no attempt at neutrality like some might, he was fully on their side in this. 

“Ghosts aren’t a threat though. The last time they tried to prove that, Dan and I worked it out without causing any damage to anything. That’s better than most heroes,” Danny responded flatly. “Most people in the world don’t even believe in ghosts, how can they say we’re a threat if we make so little impact we’re not even a certainty!”

“I know, and we will tell them as much. We will do everything we can to make sure the UN sees the GIW for what they are, and no matter what they decide I swear we will not allow their actions to continue unchecked. The Justice League is Moral, not lawful,” J’onn assured the two of them firmly. “I just wanted to ask you permission to use the presentation you gave to the Justice League to give a more human face to the real harm the Ghost Investigation Ward has done.” 

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll attend the meeting,” Danny said flatly.

Silence weighed heavy in the gentle electrical static of the phone, louder than usual in response to Danny’s anger. “I… Am not sure that would be wise,” Martian Manhunter said as gently and reasonably as any parent. 

“I don’t care if it’s wise this is my people we’re talking about J’onn. Someone should be there to represent them, and I think it had better be me rather than Dan or Ellie. She’s too young and he’s… well, Dan.”

Jason could feel J’onn’s hesitation through the phone as he tried to come up with an argument. “I assure you we will represent your case, and Deadman will be in attendance. But I just-”

“J’onn you can’t keep me out. Will it look better if me and Jason show up with you or if we crash the party?” Danny cut in impatiently.

J’onn sighed heavily through the phone, and Jason winced sympathetically, he suspected the Martian had one hell of a headache brewing. “I believe I’ll let you decide your own path,” J’onn said delicately. 

“Thank you, Sorry in advance J’onn. I have a feeling this is going to suck, for all of us,” Danny said. 

“Yes, I am sorry too Hyena. This is not how any of us wanted this to go,” J’onn lamented, and hung up without saying goodbye. He still sometimes forgot human politeness, and the conversation was clearly over.

Danny dropped his phone on the couch and immediately crawled into Jason’s lap and hid against Jason’s chest. When Jason wrapped his arms around Danny he could feel the smaller man trembling violently. Jason made a sympathetic noise and held him close, rocking them both slowly as Danny let out an involuntary wounded-animal whine.

“Breath Baby, breath,” Jason crooned when Danny started to hyperventilate. He couldn’t fast track through this panic attack, Danny needed to work through his feelings, no matter how much it hurt Jason to see his lover like this. It wasn’t, and couldn’t be, about him right now.

They rode out the waves of panic together, with Jason supporting and holding Danny together, and even once Danny was calm again they didn’t separate. Danny lay against Jason’s chest, his breathing slow and deep almost as if he was asleep though Jason knew he wasn’t. He was just too exhausted to panic anymore, so Jason waited for Danny to be ready to talk.

“Will you come with me?” The question softly muttered against Jason’s chest.

“Of course I will,” Jason agreed without hesitation. “I would never let you face this alone.”

“I have to go,” Danny insisted.

“I know Danny, I’m not going to try and stop you. You should be there. You have to know Ellie will probably come too though right? If anyone lets slip this is happening, if she finds out we won’t be able to keep her away, just like you.” Jason reminded, she was Danny’s clone after all. She was just as stubborn and selfless as he could be, and this was her fight too. 

Danny hesitated and sighed. “Well, let’s hope no one lets it slip to her, but be prepared for her to be there.”

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

Unsurprisingly they weren’t invited to the UN meeting, and no one communicated with them about it anymore. But that didn’t matter, Jason may not have been as good of a hacker as Timmy but he had still been a robin and he knew his way around a security system. They could have asked Tim for help, but that increased the channels through which Ellie might learn about the meeting and they didn’t want that, so Jason just did it himself and found out where and when they’d need to go to crash the party.

They didn't bother to go through the front door when they crashed the meeting. They wouldn't be let in anyway so they skipped the scene they would inevitably cause at the door and just walked through the wall and into the hall where the leaders were already gathered. They were dressed in full Red Hood and Hyena garb, they had considered coming as Jason and Danny, but Jason was still protective enough of his identity that he would rather not and Danny hadn’t fought him on that.

“Don't mind us,” Danny said cheerfully, waving away the ripple of fearful and angry murmurs that spread through the room. “This decision will affect both of us since we’re both flavours of undead, so we’re here to see how it goes,” Hyena said cheerfully. 

“So have I,” Said a familiar voice from closer to the ceiling.

Danny’s shoulders tensed for just a moment when he heard Ellie’s voice but then he forced himself to relax and turned towards her as she swooped down to join them. “And my little sister Phantasm is here too! Just be glad we didn’t also bring our big brother as well.”

“We don’t have any chairs for you,” Diana told them with gracious resignation, accepting but not condoning their presence. 

“That’s alright, we’ll stand. Or float in her case I suppose,” Hood said, gesturing casually to Ellie when she hovered next to him.

“Right, well, let’s carry on,” Diana sighed, turning back towards the podium.

“What? No! We can’t continue with them here. They are violent and dangerous creatures, it’s like casually having a meeting while there’s a bomb in the room!” One of the GIW representatives blurted. And to his credit, he did seem genuinely scared, maybe he did actually believe the bullshit they were spewing. 

“They are not, the justice league has worked with them multiple times. Phantasm is an established and well loved member of the Teen Titans and Hyena has been an invaluable consultant and ally when we’re in need.”

“Ya, like when you people purposefully released Dan from his containment before he was ready in hopes he would go on a rampage to add some legitimacy to your crackpot theories,” Hyena piped up helpfully. 

“Hyena, that is conjecture, we have no proof that they did that,” Batman warned, low and gentle. 

“Ya, except that they totally did right?” Danny said, getting a scowl for his trouble. He held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, I’ll shut up. Please carry on.”

Everyone continued to shoot nervous looks in their direction, besides the members of the Justice League who were forging ahead and forcing everyone around to keep up or get left behind, which no one could afford. So they carried on the debate with the JL going first, presenting the information they had on ghosts, and the evidence of the GIWs crimes. The evidence was extensive, if the world leaders believed that ghosts were sabient, or even could just feel pain, there would be no doubt about their unethical actions.

Hyena, Red Hood, and Phantasm managed to stay quiet, even while they showed the presentation Danny had made to show the JL. It was Ellie’s first time seeing it, but Danny was so proud of how well she held it together! When he wrapped an arm around her he could feel her trembling a little and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but she kept a stiff upper lip and she didn’t make a sound. He wondered if it was cold to hope her emotion would play well to their audience. 

Unfortunately the worst was still to come, because the GIW had to present their case against ghosts, though Danny had no idea how the hell they were going to try to justify their actions. Danny had stopped breathing already because it helped suppress the rising panic as the GIW were called to present. Ellie had stopped breathing as well, and on his other side he could hear Jason breathing fast and shallow, the only one who still needed to breath betraying their collective fear. Danny hated that he caught himself practically praying to Clockwork that this would go well. Surely if this was going to go badly he would have interfered right? He’d done it before.

The GIW agent, a professional looking woman wearing a white dress suitable for business rather than the usual cheap looking white suit, walked to the stand, her white heels clicking ominously on the wood floor. She carried a small stack of notecards and a usb, the contents of which Danny absolutely dreaded. He did not want to know what footage they had, what ‘experiments’ they’d done that they would bring up today. He just hoped neither he or Ellie would have a panic attack.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed leaders. My name is Amy Watson, called agent W, and I’m here to present on behalf of the GIW,” The woman said as she put down her things. “You have heard a lot today about what our organization has done, none of which I will deny. Because it would be foolish to do so with the evidence presented. The Justice League have done their research, and with the information they have I’m sure they’re being genuine. However I suspect  they have been manipulated as well because you were told what we did, but not why, and we stand by all our actions no matter how gruesome they first appear.”

She plugged in her usb and pulled up a clip and Danny sucked in his breath when he recognized himself in the thumbnail, from before he was Hyena. It was a fight with Skulker, there had been no casualties but the show of force was impressive. Then that bitch Penelope Spectra, she really was a piece of work worthy of trying to prove ghosts were evil. Finally him again, as Hyena, fighting Dan, there were no casualties in that fight either but damn did it look bad. And last but certainly not least, footage of them in Penguins bar, which was much worse.

Wait, how did they have the fight? Penguin had cameras but he wouldn’t have given the footage to a government organization. And how would they have even known that would happen unless. Danny inhaled sharply and leaned into Jason’s side. It had been them, they had organized the whole thing for the same reason they had let Dan out. They were hoping that if Jason died Danny would go on a rampage retroactively justifying all the shit that they had done, and even if they hadn’t gotten the rampage they wanted the fact that Danny had actively killed a human in that fight did not look good. 

“Looks like we owe Penguin an apology,” Danny murmured to Jason who scoffed, but nodded.

“Ghosts are incredibly powerful and unkillable by all conventional weapons. They cannot be stopped by even the most advanced of our earth security systems. Without specially developed weapons they are unstoppable, and as those videos show, they are capable of tremendous harm. It is our firm belief that ghosts are simply the imprint people left behind, an emotionless echo no more capable of feeling pain than a recording. But even if it could be proven that they have feeling and thought, and that’s a big If, what we do would still be more than justified in the name of global, maybe even universal defense. 

“Through our experiments, and yes, a few sacrifices, we have been able to develop weapons, shields, and restraints that work on these beings. If it comes down to it, we might just be capable of defending our planet against these extra-dimensional threats now.”

“With all due respect ma’am earth does have defenses against this sort of threat,” Deadman spoke, floating into a standing position and nodding to those around them. “I have been part of a branch of the Justice League known as Justice League Dark for years, we have been in charge of handling all supernatural threats to this world and I assure you we have some very powerful members, capable servants of the public good.”

“Ya including me,” Hyena spoke up, gesturing to paused the video. “All three of those clips you saw involved me, either as I am now or when I was younger since I’ve been the GIW’s enemy number one for years. The first two fights involved no human casualties at all! Penelope Spectra- the spirit in the second clip, is a criminal who probably would have killed someone, but we have our own ways of dealing with our criminals and she is now serving a century in prison for her crimes. Brought to justice by myself and the ghost warden, Walker. The GIW have tried to paint us all with the same brush but we’re not all bad! There are bad ghosts like there are bad people, because ghosts are people, just dead ones.”

“I’m not sure that matters,” One of the world leaders mused, staring at the screen. “If ghosts are such a threat then we need a way to defend ourselves against them. Relying entirely on the Justice League is not always possible, or wise. Some of us might feel much more comfortable with the ability to defend ourselves.”

The Agent W nodded graciously, “Rightly so. Though the American Government has funded our efforts up until now we are willing to share information, or even set up branches in any countries willing to partner with us.”

“Wait, no, that is not what this meeting is about. It is to determine if the GIW and the US government are guilty of violating human rights laws and the meta-protection acts, not to get them new partnerships!” Diana interrupted with barely controlled rage.

“If they have, there are countries that would offer them sanctuary, because they value the safety of their own people over the hypothetical feelings of ‘ghosts’,” Someone else piped up in a tone of barely concealed disdain.

Danny could not believe what he was hearing! And judging from the way Ellie was trembling and Jason had clenched his fists they agreed. 

“You cannot be serious,” Martian Manhunter said. “This is another sovran species who has caused you so little trouble until now that most of you didn’t even believe they were real and you're willing to condone war crimes against them? Outside of an active war zone? Just because they have not been officially declared sapient does not excuse this especially when no independent tests have been done!”

“They’re hardly a sovran species, at best they're a bunch of thugs but truly, they're little more than animals.” Agent W dismissed. “And I assure you we have conducted extensive experimentation, all of our notes have been made available to you to look over for yourself. Please feel free to come to your own conclusions.”

“Conclusions from biased and unethical “Science” are bound to be just as biased and unethical,” Batman added in his low familiar rumble. But Danny wasn’t sure how many people had heard him, there was sounds of paper rustling around the room as leaders started to look through whatever research the GIW had provided. Things were quickly starting to devolve into bickering and whispers, the facade of dignity and poise quickly cracking and falling away.

Danny did not like the way this was going, the JL was losing control of the audience. Fear was a stronger motivator than righteousness and the GIW had a lot of practice in making people afraid. Maybe it was time to give them something else to fear.

[i-am-baechu]

♬ Summary: Y/N doesn’t really care about Valentine’s Day but Jungkook loves the holiday. He just wants to show her how much he loves her.

♬ Pairing: Established relationship; Jungkook x reader 

♬ Rating:  Explicit (18+) 

♬Genre: Established relationship, comedy, angst?, fluff, and smut

♬ Warnings: Smut and fluff (lol) 

♬ Part of, ‘ His Fan Girl

Even when Y/N was with her ex-boyfriend, she never understood why people took Valentine's Day so seriously. She thought it was cute of course but she didn’t understand why this day was the day that someone showed they loved someone, it should be every day they showed it. Even though she was with Jungkook for two years, she never really spent Valentine's Day with him. Sure she texted him happy Valentine's Day and he would send roses to her with a note saying sorry that he couldn’t make it. In all honesty, she was actually kinda happy that Jungkook never really did something crazy for her. She didn’t know how her anxiety would react to a surprise from him. 

“You got the band at the rooftop, hyung?” 

“Yes, you brat. Not even a thank you.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and glanced at Y/N who was sitting on the couch with Bam in her lap. Today was Valentine's Day and he was going to make this the greatest one for her. Operation Jungkook loves Y/N, was made the week before with his members (he wasn’t really good with names). He had everything planned out for today, a romantic dinner on top of the Hybe building with a band playing her favorite Red Velvet songs and a big heart that was made out of roses. Oh, how could he forget, fairy lights everywhere. It was perfect. 

That morning, Y/N made him his favorite pancakes (chocolate chip) with whip cream and strawberries. She even cut some strawberries to look like roses and asked Jungkook if he would be her Valentine, of course, he said yes. She even had Bam bring him a stuffed animal dressed in pink pajamas with red hearts all over them. He thought it was very cute and he sent a picture in the group chat of everything she did for him. Jin said he was jealous and Taehyung asked if he could come over for some pancakes. Jungkook told them both to fuck off.

“Thank you hyung. You think she’ll love it?”

“Jungkook, it’s Y/N. She would love anything you give her. Shit, you could give her weeds from the backyard and she would love it.”

“I just want this to be the greatest Valentine's Day she has ever had.” 

“Question?”

Jungkook let out a frustrated sigh and rolled his eyes, “What grandma?”

“Did you ask Y/N what she wanted to do for Valentine's Day? YAH! STOP CALLING ME THAT! I raised you!” 

“No...I wanted it to be a surprise. Anyways, bye.”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder and saw Jungkook in the kitchen still, “Baby! Are you still talking to Jin? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is okay! No worries, Jin just wanted to know how to make the strawberry roses.”

Jungkook entered the living room and plopped down next to her with a smile. He placed his arm over her shoulder and kissed the side of her head as she let out a small giggle, “You missed most of the movie, kook.” 

“Blame grandma for that.”

“Be nice to Jin.”

Jungkook scoffed and looked down at his phone to look at the time. His bunny smile appeared and she tilted her head at him with curiosity, “Hey baby, we need to change. We have dinner.” 

“Oh? I thought we were going to stay in and watch movies together.” 

“I wanted to give you the greatest Valentine's day ever! It's our first baby.”

Y/N let out a small laugh and nodded her head, “Okay...I’ll get change. What should I wear?”

“That dark purple dress.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, “I want you to wear that black dior dress shirt.”

“See through one? How kinky.”

Y/N felt her whole body get hot and she shook her head, “NO-NOT THAT ONE! The black one with the charms on the collar.” 

“Okay baby. Whatever you want.” 

The two changed in their bedroom and Y/N felt like she had to get a squirt bottle to keep Jungkook away from her. They went inside the car after saying their goodbyes to Bam. The drive to Hybe building was a peaceful one, Jungkook was playing soft piano music as Y/N hummed with the tune. Her eyes widened when saw that they were in the Hybe parking lot, “Baby why are we here?”

“Oh, dinner is here.” 

“Oh, no they wanted to have a meeting with me.”

“What baby, no. The dinner is in a special spot.” 

She let out a breath and nodded her head, “Okay. I was so nervous to meet your boss or manager. I don’t think they would like me.”

“Baby Yoongi likes you.” 

Jungkook and Y/N made their way through the empty parking lot. They went up in the elevator and she leaned her head against his arm as he placed random kisses on the side of her head. The doors opened to the roof and Y/N eyes widened at the sight. There were red roses scattered all over the roof and she looked up to see a band in front of a table softly playing Queendom. She covered her mouth when she saw the big heart and her head whipped to Jungkook, “Yo-You did this all for me?”

“Of course I did.”

“I-I’ve never had this before...I-I..I love it.” 

Jungkook smiled and leaned down placing a kiss on her forehead, “I love you, Y/N, my future wife.”

“I love you, my future husband.” 

After dinner, Jungkook brought her down to his studio. She was begging to see his workplace and he couldn’t say no to her. He held her hand tightly as he opened the door and her eyes sparkled at the foreign items. Sure, Jungkook has a studio at their home but she doesn't want to step foot in the room because that's his space. She didn’t want to invade it. Her face softened and she walked up to his desk. She gently picked up the frame and her heart swelled up, “My graduation picture?” 

Jungkook’s face turned red and rubbed the back of his neck as he closed and locked the door, “Yeah, you just looked so damn pretty.”

“Aww, Jungkook. I have our first date picture on my table.”

She put the picture back down and walked over to Jungkook. She went on her tippy toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, “I love you so much, kook.”

“I love you too, baby. I also love this dress on you.”

She glanced down at her dress and shook her head, “Stop it...”

“You would look so good with it off.” He leaned down to kiss under her ear as he separated her legs so he could stand in between them. She glanced away and felt her body getting hot from his small action but he let out a small chuckle, “Y/N, look at me.”

She swallowed her spit and hid her face in his chest, “I-I can’t.” 

He gently grabbed her chin and made her look up at him, “You know I love seeing your shy eyes...you just look so hot.”

“Ko-Kook...Kiss me?”

He leaned down as she placed her hand on the side of his face before connecting their lips together. She softly moaned against his soft lips as he sucked on her bottom lip, something he knew she liked. She was shocked when she felt the leather couch behind her knees, she didn’t even realize they were moving. He gently laid her on the couch with him hovering over. 

“You know, you're my favorite thing in the world.”

“D-Don’t say things like that...”

He sat up on the couch pulling her up with him, his hands were on the dark fabric and looked up at her, “Is this okay?”

“Are we going to do it here? In your work? Isn’t that bad?”

“Baby, I don’t give a fuck. I locked the door.”

“But this is your office...doesn’t it feel dirty?”

“No, it’s hot. Do you want to wait till we go home?” 

She shook her head and looked down at the floor, “No...this is okay?” 

“It’s okay baby.” 

She nodded her head and lifted her arms as he quickly took off the dress that he loves. He gently placed the fabric on the floor because he knew she hated when he tossed her clothes. She was wearing a light pink lace bra and the color just made her look so innocent. Her shaking hands started to unbutton his shirt, even though they had sex so many times, she never got used to it. When his shirt was off, he leaned down into a passionate kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck, “I love you, Jeon Jungkook.” 

“I love you, L/N Y/N,” 

He moved his head to place a kiss along her neck as she ran her fingers through his hair. His tattooed hand started to go down to her underwear. As they shared kisses, they undressed each other until they were completely bare. She glanced down at his tattooed arm and smiled when she saw her initials. He saw her eyes and looked at what she was looking at and smirked, “And you were mad that I got the tattoo.”

“I wasn’t mad, just shocked.”  

He rubbed his erection against her and looked up at her, “Is this okay?”

“I-It’s okay.” 

He entered her slowly and even though they had sex so many times, she never got used to his size. She clenched at the leather and closed her eyes as he bottomed out. He licked her shoulder and gently bit the skin, “You always feel good.” 

“S-Stop it...”

His grip on her thigh tightened as he adjusted it higher, giving him more access to her, “My pussy, forever.”

Her nails were digging on his back as she held him close, chest to chest. He leaned down and wrapped his mouth around her nipple. She let out a loud moan when she felt a bite from him, she liked when he did that. He suddenly sat up and she sat perfectly on his lap, “Ride me, I know you can do it, baby.”

She still hasn’t mastered the position but Jungkook stated that she has gotten better at it. She nodded her head, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him. He gave her an encouraging smile and she smiled back. She started moving and Jungkook let out a loud moan, “Keep going baby, you're doing good. You look hot like this.”

She shook her head and leaned forward and hid her face in his neck. He gripped her hips to make her move faster, “I’m close babe.”

“M-Me to...”

One last move and Y/N accidentally bit his neck as she came. This new action from her caused Jungkook to groan out loud and pushed him over the edge. He came inside of her and kissed the side of her head. They sat like that for a while until she pulled away with a frown, “I’m sorry. I-”

“You know you never left marks on me before.”

“I try not to...I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

He let out a small chuckle and leaned forward placing a kiss on her nose, “I don’t care.” 

She shyly looked down to see him still inside her and looked back at him, “Did I do good?”

“You lasted longer, that's a good improvement baby. Also so fucking hot.”  

“S-Stop it. We need to go home...we need to finish our movie.”

“Of course baby, happy Valentine's Day.” 

“Happy Valentine's Day, kook.”

[mystic-writings]

right where you left me (no choice but to stay here forever)

PAIRING — wilbur soot x fem!reader

SUMMARY — wilbur sees you, his ex, at your favourite café three years after breaking up with you

WARNINGS — angst, hurt/no comfort, a little fluff

WORD COUNT — 2,281

SONG — right where you left me - taylor swift

NOTES — this was supposed to be a reggie peters fic from two years ago but uh. well now it’s this i guess

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It’s been ages since Wilbur’s been back to the Harbour Café - over two years, to be exact. He felt like he was an entirely different person compared to the last time he walked through the door, and he wasn’t sure if it was for the better or for the worse. 

The last time he was here, he was with you. Just a boy, barely a man, with the woman he loved. There was nothing special to the outing - classes were cancelled due to a strike and you both slept in, spending an hour just laying together in bed before getting breakfast here. You had insisted on getting a cupcake despite it being mid-morning, and he couldn’t help but wonder if things would always be like this for him. 

Now, he was walking in as a famous streamer, working on an album with his band. It was the entire reason he was in town, after all. Well, that and to visit George. 

Near silence filled the cafe, aside from the chatter of the few patrons and employees that mixed with the music and machinery operating behind the counter. It felt odd to be back, like Wilbur didn’t know where to stand, put his hands, or what to do with himself. His eyes wandered for a place to sit, and in the back corner, he spotted someone he didn’t think he’d ever see again.

You were sitting in a booth at the back wall, tucked closely into the corner of the cafe, near the pastry case. The sun shone in through the windows, highlighting you as you turned the page of a book - one that Wilbur recognised instantly. It was your favourite. In fact, it was the special edition he bought for you for your birthday; the last one you spent with him. The only thing on the table in front of you was a mug. 

Like there was some invisible string pulling him along, Wilbur moved past the counter entirely, and quietly slid into the seat across from you. It was an idiotic thing to do, especially with how things ended, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to talk to you, even if it didn’t end well. He needed to have just one more conversation with you. 

You barely registered that someone had sat across from you, but when you finished the page you were reading and glanced up, an immediate shock of pain jolted through your chest. Your mouth ran dry as you tried to process the sheepish look on Wilbur’s face as he sat across from you with his hands tucked into his lap. 

Swallowing, you finally gained the will to say something, but all you could say was his name. It broke coming out, quiet and breathless, like a final whisper of a life left behind, haunting. 

“Didn’t know you were still around,” he said, voice small. 

You nodded, sliding an old receipt into the book and placing it on the table, next to your full cup of coffee - definitely cold by now. You had yet to touch it. You never did. You never would. “I, uh, decided to stick around. Couldn’t bring myself to go, I suppose.” 

“I get it,” he nodded, gnawing on his lip and avoiding your gaze. When he finally did look up, you could barely maintain eye contact. “How’ve, uh-” he cleared his throat, speaking louder, “how’ve you been?”

“As good as I can be.” You shrugged. 

“That’s good.” Wilbur muttered, nodding his head as he pursed his lips. He didn’t know what to say. “How’s everything been?” He said it slowly, like he was unsure of his words. 

“Uh- good, I think. I’m working now, doing well with that. My sister’s married now; had a baby in June.” 

Wilbur’s brow raised, a smile slowly taking over his face. “Has she? I always liked Mark. Wonderful lad.” 

You nodded, wrapping your hands around the cold mug before you. “Yeah. He’s been wonderful to her this whole time. And me. Helped me get work. Their daughter looks just like him.” 

“That’s lovely.” Wilbur said as he leaned forward, placing his clasped hands on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing pretty good, myself. That streaming thing sort of took off, and I’m making music now.” 

“I know.” You admitted with a shrug, smiling sheepishly at Wilbur’s confusion. “I’ve always supported you, Wilbur, you know that. No matter what. I knew you had it in you. And I… I’m proud.” 

“You’re proud?” 

“Yes. I’m proud of you, Wilbur.” You told him. “It doesn’t matter how we ended or… what happened. I always will be. And I like your music, by the way.” He downturned his gaze, a blush forming on his face. “Though, I have to say, the melody for Jubilee Line sounds familiar.”

He could see the knowing look on your face. He’d played the melody for you a few times before, but he never read you the lyrics. He didn’t have any for a long time, not until after you’d broken up. But he could see that shine in your eyes. The one that told him that you knew. You were imbued into that album. Every line, every note, every beat, you were there. And so was his pain. His regret. The regret he still had for leaving you. 

He only nodded, letting the silence settle for a moment. He didn’t know what to say anymore. He never did with you. You were so high above him, so wonderful and ethereal to him, that even in the years you spent together, he never felt like he was able to appease you. To make you happy. But he did. More than he could ever know.

“So, other than all that, how’ve you been?” You asked, picking at the skin on your fingers. “When things… I mean, you weren’t in the best place.” 

“Better.” Wilbur said. The word was so final, punctual. “I sort of… I dunno, I realised what a shitty person I was after you were gone.” He shook his head, almost scoffing. “It took a lot to get to a point where I was okay with going to therapy, but I did. I still am. And I’m sorry, for the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it.” 

You reached out, resting a hand on his clasped ones. It was the first contact he’d made with you in years, and it still radiated comfort. Your hands were cold, and Wilbur recalled how they never were. He remembered how you always stuck them under his shirt or into his own hands, just for a semblance of warmth to comfort you. “It’s okay, Wilbur. I understand, more than anyone.”

Wilbur unclasped his hand and took yours in one of his, unable to stop it from shaking as he did. His large hand wrapped around your smaller one, and almost instinctively he tried to warm it up. His mind was reeling, wondering, thinking, of where you would be if he hadn’t done what he did. If he hadn’t forced you out. 

Would you be married? Would you have been considering kids by now, or would you already have one? Would your life have mirrored the perfect picture of your sisters? He had plans for you both. For your future. But he let his own mind get in the way of it. 

It didn’t help that he was planning to propose. The ring sat, every day, at the bottom of a drawer in his desk where he streamed from. It gnawed at him 24/7, feeding his already poor mental state with constant anxiety. It tore at him until he couldn’t take it anymore. And he regrets it every day. 

“I’m sorry.” Wilbur whispered, voice trembling as he hung his head. “I’m so sorry.” 

You gripped his hand as tight as you could manage, reaching your other one out as well. Hearing his voice, so thick with tears like it had been so many times before you broke up, tore at your still broken heart. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I forgive you, Wilbur.” 

He gulped, squeezing back, sniffling and clearing his throat before he looked back at you, eyes a little more red than they were before. “I, uh, I feel like I’ve got some things to tell you. I think you deserve to know them, you know?”

Your heart jumped and your stomach twisted, waiting for whatever Wilbur had to tell you. It didn’t sound good, or like it would benefit you in any way, but you nodded anyway, clinging to Wilbur’s hands and the warmth they provided like a lifeline. 

You nearly died when his thumbs started stroking the backs of your hands. 

“I had plans for us. For the future. With you.” He told you, and you froze. “There was a ring, I was hiding it in the bottom drawer in my desk for months. Four feet from where you slept. And sometimes I considered just proposing to you in the middle of the night, just to get it over with and be happy with you, you know? But I never could, and it made things worse, all that anxiety.” 

You stifled a noise, a mixture between a laugh and a sob caught in your throat. 

“And I was gonna wait until I got more money from streaming to have the wedding, so I could give you as big of a wedding as you wanted and we wouldn’t have to worry about anything.” He gulped, pausing for a moment to blink tears away. “And I wanted kids with you. A house, a cat- or whatever animal you wanted, really- and a life. Something that meant something to us. Whatever you wanted. And I just- God, I was an idiot. And I threw it away.” 

This time, you laughed, wet and sad, soft and quiet. You squeezed Wilbur’s hands, short and bittersweet. You were the one to pull away, wiping a tear from Wilbur’s cheek, hand lingering on his skin. He leaned into it, breathing deeply as he did, resisting the urge to plant a kiss on the corner of your palm. 

For a moment, Wilbur could believe he was back there. Before he ruined everything for himself - for you. He could trick himself into thinking he was back in that old apartment, sunset painting the bedroom walls gold, your cold hands warming his heart even with the simplest touch. 

But he couldn’t be there forever. Neither could you. Both of you had people that needed you, that loved and cared for you, independent of one another. And Wilbur had someone he cared about, too. 

And she wasn’t you. 

As much as he wishes she was. 

So, he pulled back, taking a second, clearer breath in and opening his eyes. His hand pulled away from yours, landing back in his lap. The cold leeched back into your skin immediately, missing the warmth Wilbur provided. You shrunk back, too, and the moment was over. It was like the conversation you’d just had with Wilbur didn’t happen, and you were back to the beginning. 

You knew what he was trying so hard not to tell you. It was written within the guilt on his face. “How’d you meet her?”

Wilbur looked up. “What? How did you-”

“Don’t worry about it, Wil. It’s fine.” You lied, shrugging your shoulders with casualty as if some part of you didn’t just break down within. “It doesn’t surprise me, you know. I mean, it’s been two years.” 

“We met a few months after I left.” He muttered, pushing the hair from his eyes. “I remembered that you told me about how you got your feelings out with art sometimes, and the university offered night classes. So I went. She was there, next to me, and we had a lot of fun.” He told you, and you felt another piece of the heart you worked so hard to rebuild fall off. “We got each other through lockdown, too. We started dating last May. I mean, she doesn’t quite approve of my career, but it pays the bills, so,” He shrugged, and your heart tore in two.

“That’s,” you started, clearing your throat when you felt your voice about to betray you. “That’s nice, Wilbur. I’m glad.”

The man before you only nodded. The silence settled between you again, neither of you two knowing where to go with the conversation anymore. Neither of you looked at the other, the guilt and heartbreak that was resurfacing and healing all at once being too much for either of you to stomach. 

Until, the bell rang at the top of the door and shoes squeaked against the tile. “Wilbur! Jesus, man, when you said this place was hard to find, you weren’t wrong. Google maps rerouted me twice, and I was walking.”

Both you and Wilbur looked up at the brunet that was approaching your booth. His cheeks were flushed and his smile wide, until it faded seeing you with your ex. 

“Oh, uh, sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“It’s okay, George.” Wilbur gave the man - George - a tight smile. “Y/n’s an old friend.” 

“I should get going,” you said, grabbing your book from the tabletop. Offering a tight smile to Wilbur and a polite one to George, you slid from the booth. “It was nice to see you again, Wilbur. Really. I wish you the best.” 

He smiled back at you, sad and slight, but it was a smile nonetheless. 

With a nod to George, you turned to leave the cafe, catching the whispers of George asking Wilbur who you really were. You were just glad you didn’t hear his answer.

hba taglist: @z0vamp @blancastans

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[sweetfire01]

I know your big thing is yandere agere but I’m just melting over your take on daddy Simmy and Dada Didi and Luci 🥺🥺🥺

How would they comfort a little one who’s scared of needles? I’ve got to get some later this month and I’m in tears just thinking about it

.😭

Oh anon, it sound scaring! You have all my love and support.

And of course your dad's too. They know it's going to be very scary for you, so they'll hold you on their lap, your face pressed into their chest, while the doctors stick the needle into your skin. Ooh, they know it's bad, they know, it's okay to cry. Squeeze dad's shirt tight, focus on their hand stroking your hair and it'll be over in no time! Poor little thing, you're so scared. Hush, hush now, look, the doctor has finished! You were so good and brave!

Everyone's aftercare will also depend on the purpose of those needles: were they just for a vaccine/blood test, or were they for an IV or anesthesia? With surgery afterwards? In the first case, it means that you can go home immediately afterwards! Lucifer will hand you a bottle of milk AND CHOCOLATE! Your reward for being so good. You can drink it in your stroller on the way home. And once we get there, a nice nap in daddy's bed. How does this sound, little one? Bet you've already forgotten about the pain. Diavolo bounces you on his arms and showers your face with kisses, making you giggle. He praises you because you were even braver than the knights from the fairy tales he reads to you in the evening. And look what he brought you: a box of colored band-aid! And some even have cute animals drawn on them. Tell the doctor which one you want and he will put it over your wound. Simmy will cradle you in his arms, holding you close until you stop crying. His little lamb was so scared, huh? It's okay now, your daddy is here. Once you've calmed down, he'll lay you down in your pram, placing your favorite stuffie in your arms. Get some rest, baby, and when you get home, there'll be more cuddles, okay?

But if we're talking about some kind of anesthesia, oh dear, they can't even follow you into the operating room. But they won't leave you scared all alone! Absolutely not! They will request that you be given some type of tranquilizing drug, so that you can get to the operating room easier. Sure, they might put you to sleep with their own spell, but, honestly, they prefer to avoid complications with human medications. They don't want to risk you staying asleep hours after the surgery is over. Have you ever heard of those people who see "supernatural" things while they are comatose or something? Well, Simmy is able to appear into their dream and no one can change my mind. He would use this power to continue to stay by your side, stroking your hair and humming as you keep your head on his knees. And when you wake up what do you see? Just your daddy who looks at you smiling! The surgery is over, now it wasn't so bad, right? And he didn't leave you even for a moment, as he promised you! Luci and Didi would too, but they would need their powers and they don't think appearing in their demon form helps you much. They will just have to wait until the surgery is over. Oh, but of course once you wake up they'll give you all the attention they couldn't give you before! Obviously all 3 would use this position to their advantage: they'll put you in diapers because you don't really want to force yourself to get up and walk, do you? Just as you shouldn't have to strain yourself to grab cutlery and feed yourself! Open your mouth and let them spoon-feed you instead, even if you just had knee surgery and you're still able to use both your hands.

And maybe they can even mess with morphine and painkillers, just to make you a little more docile if you don't cooperate.

[acesofspadess]

Write It Out

January 2011

The start of the album making process wasn't easy. The six of you didn't really know where to start when it came to really writing a song. You had some stuff, but nothing that suited the band, so it was like you started over.

There were so many people Simon/Sony had gotten to write for you, when you went off on the X-factor tour but now that you were back it was time for you guys to start getting into it

April 2011

Majority of the album had already been written while you were away but they still wanted some songs by you guys…

Taken-

“No harry we can’t say you only want me because im naked.” Toby, another writer, shut down with a laugh. Harry giggled into your side as you shook your head at him. “What about ‘taken’?” you offered up and they all looked you. “It would change some of the lyrics around but it sounds similar to naked.” you eyed the green eyed boy who had moved his head to your lap. “Sing it Bear.”

Niall handed you a guitar and you held it away from Harry’s head.

‘Who do you think you are

who do you think i am

you only love to see me breaking

you only want me cause i’m taken’

You and Niall were still working on the tune but they got it for the most part. “I like that, Bow.” Liam applauded writing it down. 

Everything About You-

This one came from H….

“H got something to tell us?” Louis teased looking at you then back to Harry.

“Leave him alone Lou. It’s a great song, Haz.” You whispered the last part to him so he wouldn’t be too embarrassed. 

“I think with some tunes up we can get to recording it.”

and that’s exactly what you did. 

You and Harry had a lot of overlap in this song so they boothed you together and Harry was looking at you everytime sang. You internally wondered if this song was about you.

Same Mistakes-

This one was more, here's the premise, write a verse or two. “I don’t know what I'm doing!”  you groaned slamming your notebook down and throwing your head back. They didnt give you a lot of time to write and when they did it was song after song, and reject after reject. “Hey Petal, come here.” you slumped over to Niall and he opened his arms for you. 

You curled into his lap and took a shaky breath that immediately got Harrys attention. He picked your head up from his position next to Niall and saw the tears building in your waterline. “Guys, operation 4B1P.” You had no idea what was happening but before you knew it Liam, Louis, and Zayn were also surrounding you. “Why the tears Bunny?” Louis asked from practically behind you. “They keep having me write all these songs with nothing to go off of and my brain is dead.” you let the tears start to fall as you ranted. “It's like they give us this false time and then I'm running behind, and then I have to make up my mind on what to give them, and then it's like a game of tag. This is good- this isn't good. And then i wait and then they like something and im like yay, but then they tell me to write ten more songs and i make the same mistakes when only one comes out good and then-” you cut yourself off scrambling out of Nialls lap. 

“There it is.” Liam muttered to the boys as you turned on the recording before stepping into the booth.

‘Think that we got more time

When were falling behind

Gotta make up our minds

Or else we play, play, play all the same old games 

And we wait, wait, wait, for the end to change 

and we take, take, take, it for granted that we’ll be the same,

But were making all the same mistakes’

It was time for you decide what song you wanted for you single and after listening to all the songs you knew exactly which one it was.

“What Makes You Beautiful.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags:

@youcan-nolonger-run @ravenclawdirectioner

@luxiorchive  @superlegend216

[theinsanecrayonbox]

FOP: A New Wish e24-30

woooooo more FOP! we got so many things going on, so let's get down to business

Episode 24: The Treble with Rivals

there are schools that have band and orchestra? i thought they were the same thing, just if it was bigger it got labeled orchestra. weird.

there's a Nmusic Phairy...why didn't you run Fairy Idol? are you actually a Muse?? that would explain the stupid spellings...but those are fairy wings...

and wait, isn't wishing for musical talent to do at an audition technically participating in a competition...not that we follow that rule much these days

so the difference between Band and Orchestra seems to be that one is strings and one is wind and brass based...despite orchestra having winds and brass sections

also what school thinks it's a good idea to give children only 1 week of practice before putting on a concert??

ooo musical fae wood.

again why is band vs orchestra a thing?? everything in band is in orchestra normally; is it because orchestra is harder to get into so the left overs get band then? that would make sense i guess...

you know, i'm kind of sad there was no Jets vs Sharks musical number this episode given that it is two musical groups/gangs fighting one another

oh hey it's older brother; makes sense since he's featured next episode. hurray continuity!

so...i think i got too focused on an insignificant detail this episode, but to be fair there wasn't much to this one. not bad, but not one of the stronger stories

Episode 25: Rattleconda Racers

ooo we finally meet the older brother!

haha little sister is jealous of big brother's new girlfriend. classic.

ah the poorly worded unintended wish. also classic.

wonder if Antony thinks he's dreaming right now, because he's far too nonchalant about this

heh Wanda getting too deep into the RP

geeze this is the second rough punk lady of the series

oh NOW it's against eth rules to use magic to cheat huh? yup typical Da Rules logic. but wishing yourself out as a no-go is a classic for the trapped in the board game story, so...

dawwww sweet sibling moment. and very good story beat; so far yeah Hazel's been learning to deal with all eth changes and has adapted well, but she's a kid so of course when her brother is back she reverts only to realize that things are different and even she is different. good story telling.

oh he just thought he was imagining everything, mk

overall, very classic setup and payoff, but it worked very well. good story!

Episode 26: Dig a Little Deeper

subterranean rock monsters huh? we've had those before...like twice (Engine Blocked and The Big Fairy Share Scare i think)...hm...

oh hey Alec Schwimmer is the writer??

oh right, Hazel likes rocks...we haven't touched that since e1 i think

yeah Dev with his O-pair drones and talks of cooperate takeover, that's totally Goblin like...

coolest, shiniest, and out of this world rock...is it a Wonderstone???? and a different universe??? O.o????

Cosmo's argued with his echo before, hasn't he?

another lost wand plot? uhg...i guess it's the least egregious sin they could pull, but still, we just had one of those with the FNaF episode

oh it's a rockman not a moleman...which the synopsis did say, so why is that a surprise to me??

threatening to drop the heroine in lava. heh. and Hazel nerd correcting lol. love you girl. but none of the rockmen look like they're made of laps lazuli (i too am a bit of a rock nerd girl)

oh that triangle one was bluish, i guess they could be lapis

oh and a last second reminder that there's Peri around

so this was an interesting one. technically low magic, and Hazel got to nerd out. i liked it

Episode 27: Operation Birthday Takeback

the return of Vicky! also, nice that we're focusing on a birthday that isn't the main protagonist first; didn't we do that in the original...Tootie's birthday was established before Tim's...in s0 and the main series...and Vicky was the problem in both of those too....huh...

oo this is also a double (full 22 min) episode. fun!

awww Dev, your dad sucks. but still good highlighting how he treats Peri; he thinks Peri should know what he needs/wants since the O-pair drones are programed to do that PLUS the fact that Dev doesn't even know what he wants

adult Vicky...has the earring from her 18 year old self in Channel Chasers...but she doesn't look like she should be in her 40s (oh eye bags, yeah sure that's 40s uhuh)...and being a birthday performer?? that's not an occupation i ever thought she'd had

CHIP SKYLARK!!! and if it was an oldie hit that Jazmine's mother listened to, then yeah it's gotta be 20 years in the future

ok, her using child slave labor does track, but as a party performer? that sounds more like a daycare setup...

we are referencing Nectar of the Odds! so yeah it's very telling that Dale is THAT inattentive if he'd hire Vicky with that being their history

the Dale-cave is funny and so over the top, not gonna lie. but oh yeah, Dale is the new Crocker, and he has the funds to do that (and huh, dad obsessing over the best friend...the Dimmadomes are the Osborns...ok Superverse Dev is a Green Goblin analog)

Dev nearly spilled the beans! but then again he answered the door with Peri not knowing it was Hazel so...not surprising (Foop returns later; does Dev loose Peri and Foop swoops in to take over??). yet he could probably get away with claiming he was a new advanced O-pair drone if he had to

commercial break; there's a commercial for NW and there were clips i don't recognize?? punk adult Hazel?? O.o?? excite! (yet again with the punk ladies; is this going to be a recurring thing?? is that a bad thing?)

why are you guys writing on his white board thing?? even Peri realizes this is a bad idea

heh the under the table graffiti; this show puts cute little details in the environment so well

ICKY VICKY SONG REVENGE MONTAGE TIME!!!

Chinfinity War poster in Dev's room! and is that baby Poof as Darth Maul in the other poster?? O.o i know he dressed like that before, but that feels super random

yeah get Dev a lemonade, he can't have a milkshake remember

awww Dev saved Hazel, so sweet...to bad a third act breakup is happening again

the fairies finally learn that Vicky is here, and a Timmy name drop! but Peri's reaction is actually kinda gold lol

Vicky kissing up the perceived parents, yup. and hey Peri did turn into an O-pair drone. and a coupled decades, so yup 20 years minimum

and here comes the third act breakup. but very interesting that he thinks she manipulated him...because that's all anyone has ever done to him

ok we mentioned 2001 (when the series proper started), and if this is set in real time, it's 2024 so that's 23 years...ok so yeah, NW is 20 years after the original series up to at least season 7 (since that's when Foop appeared). we are slowly figuring out the timeline folks!!

awww Peri is trying. and Dev once again self sabotages himself because he doesn't know how to cope (so that's why Foop comes later, he wished Peri away). i gotta say, i think Dev might be the best character

this was practically a perfect episode. low magic, but the problem wasn't caused by magic. it's very character heavy, but deep in lore. and it advances the central plot points. A++ team!!

Episode 28: Potazal Pohtahzal

weird name, but ok. also the return of Mother Nature huh? is this yet another redesign (spoilers: yes it is)

Sparky?? "when did we get a dog"??? O.o!!! nonononononononono!!!!!!! oh wait it's the trash can she's mak pretending, ok, that's safe. DO NOT give me a heart attack like that show!!

ok so the wish of the day is unlimited french fries. so...this is Just Desserts light, since only she's getting them not the whole world, and it's about eating only 1 food type instead of a healthy balance

oh a musical number, ok i guess

oh hey a map!!! and not a very...correctly cut up map...so don't know how accurate this is, but it looks like Dimmadelphia is in Illinois...yeah this isn't a good map, i don't seem to exist on it so *shrugs*

Da Rules says you talk to Mother Nature about when your godkid turns into a food item huh? how does that make sense?

and yup new redesign for Mother Nature. not a terrible one i'll give, much better than the others so far (Cupid, Father time)

of course she'd go and eat the source potato. so to fix it she's...going to chop herself up??? O.O!!! SHOW!! child dismemberment??? of course it wouldn't happen, but still! i love you

and we just grow a new one and everything is fixed. that's fine

the moral of the story is moderation and sharing and eating properly

the trash can actually barked/talked....no, nopenopenopenopenope, idc if it was just a button gag, nope. we do not want (all of) s9 to be canon to this timeline. no

Episode 29: The Haunting of Wells House

lol another horror movie parody title, nice. also Marcus focused, and ghost focused, ok, i'm into it (can't be scarier than them threating to canonize Sparky last episode after all)

Hazel filming youtube videos with her dad. cute.

daww i was almost hoping the scary movie Cosmo and Wanda was gonna give them would be the one from Timmy's 2-D House of Horror about the haunted volcano. but zombie fairies is cool too i guess....we did have a zombie plague earlier in eth season after all...

oh haunted fairy video tape. fun

and now we're a ghost hunting show, even in the night vision green

i like the detail that Ghost Pepper (heh the multi level puns of that name, great job) has limbs that disconnect

HA! Jorgen's a priest to perform an exorcist. that's great, and funny, especially in his camo smock

does Jorgen have a whole haunted collection of VHS tapes?? wut?

so this one was alright. it was a quick one and done romp.

Episode 30: Best of Luck

the return of Foop!! or, Irep now...why would he stick with the mirrored name instead of changing to Anti-Peri? as a baby, that's silly, but ok sure, especially since Poof changed his name as an adult, maybe that's normal so the Anti-faries do similar. and c'mon, Anti-Peri sounds like Anti-fairy even...maybe that's why they didn't do it? and also, his full name is Periwinkle, so it should be...an unpronounceable mess backwards...why not just Anti-Peri??? meh, oh well, lets just see how this goes i guess.

who's hands are on the title card?

oh NOW we are siting Da Rules about taking a competition prize. also, peri came back after being wished away? mk, won't argue that. but yeah Da Rules prevent chaos, thus why the djinn are more annoying. but i get it, Dev's annoyed by Da Rules, giving the opening for Irep to arrive

and arrive he does...and looks like an idiot being a block head. Peri didn't stay a ball, despite circular heads being a thing.

wait when did that calendar start...it's currently May huh? interesting...why were orchestra/band tryouts in the middle of the school year? or should that have been an earlier episode, since there was no clear evidence of Peri to time stamp it...but there was glasses-less Dev...still, this means that summer break is getting close, so interesting...also means that Anthony's visit would've probably been spring break, so again why was band/orchestra tryouts in the middle of the school year??? if it was one or the other maybe, implying that they share the same class timeslot so it's a half year program, thus the kids that play instruments in both go full year-why am i STILL hung up on that??? (it's like when i got stuck on e1 of BNHA about how the goo guy's volume should've exceeded the soda bottles and was his brain a thing was every cell of his body sentient...) MOVING ON!

wow i think this is the first time Da Rules has stated that they can't kill anyone with magic. that's kinda weird...especially since Marrianne did do that (by starting WWI)...oh maybe she's the godchild that made that a rule, ok i can buy that

also you guys have dealt with Anti-fairies before, why wasn't that a go to idea?

this rock paper scissor game has move moves than the Big Bang one, geeze

dawww Dev lashing out because he's sad and falling back to his old ways

oh hey we're following the rule about "when a fairy quits any magical being can fill in"...just like Fairy Idol where another blue chaos entity took over...i wonder if we'll get genies in this series

oh Jorgen swoops in to save the day! because no 2 weeks notice...that was never a thing before...dumb, but oh well, we didn't want Irep to stay around.

dawww Dev still lashing out even as Hazel tries to extend the olive branch. and ooo he's gonna be researching Anti-fairies...he gonna break out Irep isn't he....ANTI-FAIRY PLAUGE UPON THE WORLD!

so hey good setup for a future plot point i hope! and again, it does make logical sense to evolve things in that direction. very fun!!

oooo next week says there's an episode with multiverse stuff??? exciting! still loving the show, keep it up!!

[b-ritney]

At The Airport With Eddie Before He Leaves For Tour

not proof read lmao

~~~~~~

The entire crew sat by the windows watching the planes as they took off and landed. A huge family of metalheads getting ready to travel the world together, saying their final goodbyes to the ones they'd have to leave behind, which for Eddie included you.

Normally he would have loved to watch the planes, he had never seen one up close before but all he cared about now was soaking up every last second with you. He had tuned everything out, right now he was focused on the color of your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the freckles on your left cheek that looked like the little dipper. You were his baby and as excited as he was it still didn't stop the ache in his heart knowing he had to leave you for so long. The person operating the overhead speaker called out the first boarding group, that's when he noticed your hands were trembling, he pulled you into his lap whispering little encouragements to keep you strong. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled into him for the last time.

"I can't believe I've gotta get in one of those things." he said nodding toward a plane that had just landed outside.

"I think you'll like it, it'll all be worth it when you get to where you're going in two hours instead of ten."

the next boarding group was called

The tremors in your body continued as you held in those unspoken words. The reality you never dared to utter out loud, holding off until the very last second to accept the fact that he was leaving.

"You know we wouldn't be able to do this without you," he said smiling down at you.

"What are you talking about?"

"If it hadn't been for you running around with all those hand-drawn fliers every weekend we never would have made house band... and if that never happened that agent never would have been called to check us out."

"That's really sweet Eds."

His boarding group was called

He rubbed your leg one more time to politely tell you it was time to let go. He slung his carry-on over his shoulder as the group made their way to the gate. "Can I tell you something?" he asked. You nodded in response, he bent down and whispered through your hair, "I don't wanna do this without you." when he pulled back his eyes were brimming with tears, the undeniable force of emotion finally breaking through the barrier you had both built to protect you from the pain of this moment. He interlocked your fingers and squeezed your hand tight, willing with all his might for you to be connected.

"I'm so scared Eddie. It could be six months before we see each other again," you said, the cracks in your voice making Eddie's chest tight.

He cradled your head against his chest as he waited in line to board, every beep of the ticket scanner was a bitter-sweet reminder he'd have to let go soon. "It'll be ok sweetheart, I promise." he kissed away the tear that cascaded down your cheek as the attendant scanned his ticket. "I love you baby, be brave for me ok? I'll call you as soon as we land."

He kissed you deeply holding your face in his hands, "I love you too, have the best time, please be safe." He pressed one last kiss to your forehead, letting go of your hand. For as much as it hurt to see him go, you knew it was what he had always wished for. Now that he had his dreams within reach you couldn't bring yourself to be truly sad.

~~~~~~

What you didn't know was Wayne was one step ahead of both of you, back at the trailer he was loading up his car right now, with his luggage and two tickets to Corroded Coffin's first show in Florida. All he needed now was for you to get home and pack your bags. :)

[lemoncrushh]

The Entertainer - Track 05 - It's Always Been About The Music

Summary: Set in the 70s, Sky Jones, a young woman from L.A., meets Harry Styles, an up-and-coming musician and frontman for the band Wildfire. Told in first person from Sky’s point of view, she shares her journey and what it’s like to fall for a rockstar.

STORY PAGE

Track 05 Word Count: 2.8k

Despite the thick, green motel room curtains, I could tell the sun shone brightly outside. I wiped my eyes and rolled over. Harry was still asleep, lying on his stomach, his plump lips puffing out quick breaths as he dreamed. I stared at him for a while before carefully rising from the bed and grabbing my pajamas that had been discarded the night before. I slipped them on and tiptoed to the bathroom. When I finished, I snuck another peek at Harry to find him still snoozing, so I quietly unzipped my bag to pull out my toothbrush. In the middle of brushing, I jumped when I heard Harry curse.

“Aw fuck!”

“Whath wrog?” I asked, my mouth full of toothpaste.

“’s after ten!”

“Tho?”

“So, we were leaving at ten.”

I turned around and spit into the sink.

“Who’s we? The band?”

“Yeah. Bloody hell.” Harry grabbed the phone on the nightstand and asked the operator for the number to another motel I’d never heard of.

“They probably already left,” I commented just as Harry must have gotten a hold of someone on the other end.

“Room…shit, I don’t even remember the room number. Um…I think the reservation was under Deacon McMillian? Yeah? They did? Shit. Nah, it’s okay….thanks.”

“They left?” I raised my brows when Harry hung up.

“Yep. Fuck.”

“Harry.”

He rolled over onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes and groaned.

“Hmmm…” I sounded, trying to make light of the situation. “Good thing I have a car, then.”

Harry chuckled then, his chest shaking.

“‘m sorry,” he said, lowering his arm. “I wasn’t…”

For the first time since he’d woken up it seemed, he finally got a good look at me.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What?”

“C’mere.”

He held his hand out for me which I took shyly. Then I climbed onto the bed next to him. His gaze was glued on me as he pulled me onto his lap, only the sheet covering it. I straddled him, giving him a sweet smile. He slid his hands up my thighs to the edge of my pajama bottoms, then back down to my knees.

“‘m sorry, love. I woke up and looked at the time without even remembering…” He swallowed hard, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“It’s okay.”

Harry lifted his hand to push some hair from my shoulder, a small strand lingering around his finger.

“You’re beautiful.”

I bit my lip as he continued caressing me, his calloused fingertips catching on the soft fabric of my pajamas. Slipping a finger underneath the strap of my top, he let it fall off my shoulder, exposing half of my breast. My eyes still fixated on him, I lifted myself onto my knees, pulling the sheet away from his body before sitting back down. Harry’s eyelids fluttered as I met his naked erection with my barely clothed warmth.

Taking his hand from my waist, I lifted it to my chest, urging him to touch me. Pushing away the rest of my top, he cupped my breast, kneading it gently. Then he sat up and took my nipple into his mouth. I threw my head back as I began to grind against him, needing desperately to feel the friction.

Kissing me up the neck, Harry finally found my mouth, devouring it hungrily, his hands in my hair.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “‘m sure I have morning breath.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re very minty though. Very nice.”

With a tiny smirk, Harry bucked his hips up against mine. Lifting up once more, I let him push away the thin material between my legs before entering me. Then cradling my head again, he forced me to look into his eyes as we made love.

“You feel so good,” he whined as his breaths quickened.

I watched his face as I rode him, his eyes threatening to pinch closed before he gasped. I felt myself reach my peak just as his lips collided with mine, his tongue thrusting into my mouth as I cried out.

He held me for a while, nipping at my jaw, neck and collarbone until he rolled me over onto the bed. I sprawled out like a rag doll, my limbs like jelly.

“Sweet, beautiful Sky,” he cooed.

Though my eyes were shut tight, I smiled, my insides all aglow. I felt the bed shift as Harry rose from it, humming softly. My smile spread wider as I listened to him while he made his way to the bathroom, his contentment apparent as he started to sing the words…

“If only you believe like I believe, baby Like I believe, we’d get by…”

“Gimme your keys, I’ll go load up.”

“I have one bag. And you didn’t bring anything.”

“Just give ‘em here and stop being so sassy.”

I tossed my keys at him and watched him turn for the stairs carrying my bag, his broad shoulders flexing underneath his t-shirt, the gentle breeze blowing through his long hair. I felt a lurch in my chest before shaking my head of such thoughts, whatever those might be, and checked the room one last time for anything I might’ve missed. Declaring an all clear, I locked the door behind me and headed downstairs to the lobby.

“Everything satisfact’ry?”

“Yes, sir,” I smiled. “Everything was perfect.”

The man handed me my credit card which I returned to my wallet.

“Drive safe!” he called after me as I was halfway out the door. I waved at him, then turned to see Harry standing beside my Volkswagen, the driver’s side door open.

“Are you driving?” I asked him.

“No,” he smirked, placing his hands on my waist and turning me around. “Just wanted to be able to do this.”

With my back pressed against the car, Harry kissed me. I felt my tummy rumble, causing me to giggle against his lips.

“Let’s go get breakfast,” he chuckled.

We drove to a nearby diner where we filled our bellies with eggs and pancakes.

“So studio time tomorrow?” I inquired, taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah. Pretty excited about it.”

“I bet,” I grinned. “Do you think you like recording as much as performing?”

Harry pursed his lips, making a face as he considered my question.

“Can’t really say yet. I do like the writing process. But we’ve only just cut a demo. So I dunno how I feel about recording a full album. It’ll be interesting. But I definitely do enjoy performing.”

“I can tell.”

Harry beamed.

“It’s one of my favorite things about you,” I added. “I like watching you. You put your all into it, and it’s not fake.”

“Thank you,” he nodded. “I appreciate that.”

“Even when you have to play a honky tonk,” I teased.

Harry laughed.

“Whose brainy idea was that anyway?”

“Leon’s. Our manager.”

“Well I sure hope Leon has better ideas up his sleeve. ‘Cause even though you rocked the boots off everyone in there, those kinds of places aren’t where you need to play.”

“I know,” Harry looked down at his food. “We’ve been thinking of replacing him.”

“Hmm. Not with that French guy though, I hope.”

“Shit, no.”

“Good. I mean…I don’t know this Leon guy, maybe he’s a sweetheart. But…and I say this sincerely, not just because I like you…but you’re a rockstar, Harry. You have it in you, it’s in your blood. I can see it. I can feel it coming off of you when you’re on stage. You’re gonna be famous.”

Harry blinked, but said nothing.

“You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied softly.

“Don’t let anyone hold you back from everything you deserve.”

A small smile crept up in the corners of his mouth. “Thanks.”

It was after noon by the time we finally got on the road. It was a beautiful day though, and I enjoyed having Harry in my car. We listened to the radio, giving our own commentary on each song that played. It wasn’t really much of a debate, but rather a discussion of like minds because we agreed on most everything.

“Ah, I love this song,” he announced, turning up a Harry Nilsson tune.

I watched as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, the air conditioner blowing his curls around his face.

“Everybody’s talkin’ at me I don’t hear a word they’re sayin’…”

I smiled and allowed him the silence as I pulled off the highway and turned into a gas station.

“I’ll go pay,” offered Harry opening the passenger side door.

I filled up the tank before he returned, so I decided to go inside thinking perhaps he’d gone to the bathroom. But just as I got to the door, I saw him waving goodbye to the cashier, a grin on his face.

“What’s all this?” I asked, holding the door open for him.

Harry had a shopping bag under his arm so I peeked inside. I saw a few bottles of soda, potato chips, candy bars, and a few other small items I couldn’t quite make out.

“Snacks for the road,” he explained.

I raised a brow. “It’s not that long of a trip, Harry.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “Just in case.”

“In case what?”

Harry followed me to my car where I rounded the front bumper and opened my door.

“In case…we have to stop and help an elderly couple change a flat tire. Or in case we hit a pothole and it damages your transmission or summat and we have to wait for a tow truck.”

“And potato chips and Coca-cola is gonna help,” I remarked with sarcasm.

“Course it will. You’ll get hungry.”

“Me?”

“I’m only looking out for you, babe.”

Shaking my head, I got in the car and turned the key, just as the opening riff to “Slow Ride” started on the radio. As I pulled out of the gas station, Harry reached inside the bag and unwrapped something, taking a huge bite.

“A moon pie?” I eyed him.

“I’ve never had one before,” he said with his mouth full.

“Seriously? Never?”

“Never.”

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s not bad….not great either.”

I laughed as I turned onto the highway.

“Gimme one of those sodas.”

Harry grabbed a Coke from the bag, popping the cap off on the dashboard before handing it to me. Then he did the same with another bottle, gulping it down halfway.

“Ahhh,” he sounded.

“What else is in the bag?” I inquired.

“Um…gum…a map…film.”

“Well, we don’t need a map,” I quipped. “I know how to get home. What’s the film for?”

“I just happened to notice your camera in your bag.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

I made a face. “How? I was with you last night.”

Harry gave a cheeky grin. “When you went to the toilet…after…to clean up.”

“Oh. Well…what makes you think it needs film?”

His dimples dipped deeper, giving him away. “I used up what you had.”

My eyes widened. “On what?”

“Nothing.”

I slapped him on the arm. “Harry Styles!”

“Wha’?” he giggled. “I didn’t mean…it was my feet. The motel room. One of you.”

“Me? When did you take a picture of me?”

Harry bit his lip and blinked. “You’ll see when you develop the film.”

I sighed, my eyes on the road though I could feel the heat rising up my neck.

“What did you bring the camera for, anyway?”

I shrugged. “I guess I thought I’d take some pictures of the band. But I forgot to bring it with me to the show.”

“Oh.”

“It’s too bad, too,” I added. “You looked really cute in that cowboy hat.”

Harry wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Really? Maybe I should’ve asked the bloke if I could keep it.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll end up so rich you can afford a closet full of your own hats. With matching boots.”

I’d meant it as a joke, but the look on Harry’s face told me he hadn’t taken it that way.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Harry lowered his gaze to his lap, then back at me. “You know I’m not in it for the money.”

“I didn’t mean that, I-“

“Or the fame,” he continued. “That’s not why I’m in a band.”

“I know.”

“It’s always been about the music for me.”

“I know, Harry.” It stung a bit that I’d offended him. I hadn’t meant anything by it. I was joking.

I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, then he took another sip of his Coke. I drove a couple miles thinking for sure I’d pissed him off, but once the next song came on, he returned to his animated, happy self and all had seemed forgotten.

“She keeps Moët et Chandon In her pretty cabinet ‘Let them eat cake,’ she says Just like Marie Antoinette”

Suddenly I felt a familiar flutter in my chest, though this time it took over my entire body and I actually thought I might cry.

“You alright, love?” Harry asked me when the Queen song was over. I couldn’t believe he’d noticed.

“Yeah. Just…I love that you know all the words.” Then I shook my head and chuckled. “But of course you do.”

“I love Queen,” he nodded. “Amazing band. I know I don’t nearly have the talent Freddie Mercury and Brian May have, but they’re massive influences of mine. None of their songs sounds like anybody else, nor do they sound like each other. They’re just…bloody fantastic.”

I stared at him for a moment, or at least as long as I could since I was driving. Blinking back the wetness in my eyes, I realized why I felt so overwhelmed. I’d met my match.

I couldn’t tell you what songs played after that. I only remember that Harry reached over and took my hand, giving me a gentle, easy grin. Our joined hands remained between us as we continued down the highway. I was nearing my exit when Harry reached into the bag from the gas station and pulled out the map, finally speaking again.

“Get off here,” he directed, pointing to an earlier exit sign.

“That’s not the way I go.”

“I know. But we should get off here. Trust me.”

I did as he said, turning off into a small town, stopping at a light. Harry gestured to a building across from an ever present McDonald’s.

“Right there,” he said.

“A pawn shop?”

“Yeah. Come in with me. Wanna show you something.”

I followed Harry into the store, a burly man behind the counter. He barely even greeted us, just gave us a nod before Harry took my hand again and led me to the back of the store.

“Ah good, it’s still here!” he exclaimed when we reached a row of guitars.

He grabbed one from the display and began plucking.

“Needs new strings, but isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s very nice,” I nodded. “Oh wow, it’s a Martin.”

“Yeah,” he beamed. “Saw this here about six months ago and wanted it bad, but couldn’t get it yet.”

“I bet it’s expensive.”

Harry licked his lips. “Sure would love to have it to use on the album. But maybe when we get our first check…”

Grabbing a nearby stool, he sat down and began to play one of Wildfire’s songs. I watched him as he sang, the sound ringing through the small town pawn shop. When he was finished, I clapped loudly. With his dimpled grin, Harry set the guitar back in its place between the others and shrugged.

“Just wanted to show you. I knew you’d appreciate it.”

Stepping closer to him, I took both of his hands in mine.

“You don’t know what that means to me,” I whispered.

Kissing the top of my head, Harry murmured back, “I think I do.”

We walked hand in hand up the aisle back towards the register and the old man.

“Maybe next time you’ll buy it,” he commented in a bearish tone.

“I plan on it, mate,” said Harry. “Have a good day.”

I climbed in behind the wheel and cranked up the car, immediately turning down the radio, not bothering to put the car in reverse yet. I still wanted a moment to absorb what had just happened.

“Sky?” I heard Harry say.

Taking a deep breath, I reached over the seat and kissed him hard. He responded by running his fingers through my hair and jutting his tongue into my mouth eagerly. I groaned against him and he echoed it.

“Sky…” he repeated a moment later.

“Hmm?” I sounded, my lips moving across his jaw.

“You’re so sexy…” he chuckled, “but…um…I think we need to stop.”

“Why?” I breathed.

“Um…we’re being watched.”

I sat back and looked where Harry was pointing. The old burly, crotchety man was not only staring at us through the pawn shop window, but he’d apparently gotten his crotchety old wife to join him. I threw my head back laughing and shifted the car into reverse, pulling out of the parking space and out of the small town.

Songs mentioned:

Jefferson Starship - Miracles

Foghat - Slow Ride

Harry Nilsson - Everybody's Talkin'

Queen - Killer Queen

Feedback is appreciated :)