#GODDDD HE IS SO *SHAPED* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

himbocoups · 1 year

Text

˗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.”

#✏️ ━ himbocoups #svthub #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #svt smut #svtsmut #woozi smut #lee jihoon smut #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #woozi imagines #lee jihoon imagines #svt imagines #svtimagines #jihoon smut #jihoon imagines #seventeen one shot

506 notes · View notes

the-cat-and-the-birdie · 8 months

Note

NERD!MIGUEL IS SO REAL I LUV HIM <3333

NERD!MIGUEL IS THERE I KNOW IT

Like...You saw what he said to Gwen when she called it a watch (which IT IS).

[omg she's so tiny small next to him]

He's a NERD. He thinks this stuff is COOL. He's WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK.

Like I imagine he's used to it by now - people's eyes glazing over when he begins to explain something technical or program-y, like Lyla's algorithms or the Multiverse Anti-Glitch feature of the watches.

He's put SO much work into all of this, the whole facility and the tech.

He made Lyla himself, but he knows that most people aren't really interested in that. So he's learned to simplify things.

If you ask a question, like how he made Lyla - he'll answer it basic and to the point.

_-_ 'She's an AI. She's my assistant and the notification system within your watch.'

He probably won't even look up from his work, thinking it's just the routine questions everyone asks before moving on to the next thing.

BUT IF YOU ASK FURTHER - Miguel's like

Because it's not often someone actually like...does that.

It's probably very rare that someone shows interest in his technological, engineering, or physics studies - all of which he's INCREDIBLY talented at and actively working on

You ask him how long it took him to make her, he says a year or two.

You tell him how impressive that is and BOOM NERD!Miguel.

He's telling you how her voice detection took the longest, and how her multiverse-monitoring probability algorithm was something he had to tweak twenty thousand times.

You compliment him about the design of the watch, he's like

_-_ 'I still have the protypes.' And he's ready to show you different ones, different shapes and materials he considered using, but eventually ruled out through experiments and tests

AND DON'T GET HIM STARTED ON THEORIES OH GODDDD

You mention the words 'String Theory' or 'Time Dilation' around him and you will NEVER hear the end of it.

He has so many opinions on it he's never had the chance to share.

Ideas and theories about things like fourth dimensions, worm holes, black holes, and dozens of other theoretical scientific concepts.

I mean, he MADE time travel. He is an EXPERT in that stuff.

I would KILL to have a Time Travel Movie Marathon with Miguel.

Sitting on the couch and watching things like Back to the Future, and he describes what they got right, what would be impossible, how it could work in theory.

He probably talks through the whole movie, and picks each one apart. You watch Doctor Who and he WILL NOT SHUT UP.

He's probably AMAZIINNGG at math.

Like math IS science. It's the answer for science. So he's probably a natural master.

You can be like 'Miguel, What's 34% of 12,967?' - Without blinking he'd be like

_-_'...I'm guessing 4408, or something? I don't know, am I right? Ask Lyla, don't ask me.'

But you don't need to ask Lyla cause HE'S RIGHT

HISTORY TOO!

I mean... the man time-travels. I think he'd have at least a good grasp on history, and time periods. Thinks like ancient roman historians and how their thoughts effect modern science, and how certain events effected the flow of time throughout history.

I imagine he finds it so fascinating, seeing the vast differences that can span in universes, just from one small change. Maybe he even finds comfort in it, seeing how histories and stories have a natural flow in a way fiction can only hope to imitate.

I love me some Nerd!Miguel.

I wanna get in bed with Miguel and by that I mean I want to sit next to him as he sits in bed reading a book on the Theory of Relativity with reading spectacles and a mug of sleepytime tea okay

A Miguel who runs up to his partner like 'Read this,' and he's all proud as he hands you a notepad full of numbers. But to him it's a formula he's been working WEEKS on, one that'll make Lyla run smoother, and everything much easier and he wants you to think he's cool for it

A Miguel who spends date nights watching NatGeo documentaries for fun

NERDY NERD MIGUEL DORKY MILD NERDY MIGUEL

#hes a DORK your honor #'its color than a watch'#ok sorry to hurt ur feelings i guess #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #atsv #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #spiderman #spider man #spiderman 2099

296 notes · View notes

sadhours · 1 year

Note

I stg I need a fic with billy and his lil housewife and (possible) breeding kink.

Just imagine he's coming home from work everyday and you've got his dinner made and everything. And not the abusive kinda housewife shit. But you love being his lil wifey. Love cooking him meals and preparing his clothes and lunch every morning before he leaves for work.

And the first thing he does when he comes home is giving you a big ole kiss on the cheek and thanking you for all your effort around the house

"Dinner looks so fucking good, love when you cook for me like this. You're absolutely amazing."

And oh godddd when he tells you he wants a kid (took lots of thinking for him) and he's expecting you to say no because you're both so young still. (20-22) but you say yes and now you're starting your own lil family.

big fan of the housewife thing. 🥵

18+ minors dni!!! Smut!

Falling into the role of Billy’s doting housewife was easy. Hell, you were doing it before he even put this beautiful ring on your finger. It shimmers in the sunlight as you smear mayonnaise on bread while you prepared his lunch for the day and you feel so warm and fuzzy at the memory of your wedding day. How absolutely gorgeous Billy looked in his tuxedo and the way his eyes lit up, all glassy when you walked down the aisle. You heave a happy sigh, layering meat and cheese on the bread. You’d requested the ham be sliced as thin as possible, almost shredded, just the way Billy liked it. You close the sandwich up and slide it into the ziploc baggie, zipping it up before delicately placing it in his lunch pail, along with a bag of Lay’s and a can of coke. You grab the pad of heart shaped sticky notes and press a sharpie to it.

I hope your day is as lovely as you are, you scrawl onto it in practiced cursive.

You carefully lay the note on top of the lunch and close the lid, latching it closed before hurrying to the bedroom and opening the closet door, meticulously retrieving Billy’s uniform from the rack and laying it out on the bed for him. Your long, satin nightdress sways with your movements. You hear the bathroom door open as you’re placing a pair of socks and briefs on the bed and you’re overtaken with the warmness of Billy’s body pressing into yours from behind. He places delicate kisses to the back of your neck, chills running up to meet his lips.

“Mmm,” he purrs, “Thank you, darling.”

You melt in his arms, leaning up to smooch his lips. “You’re so very welcome,” you grin.

He gives a loving tap to your rear before dropping the towel from his waist and snatching the briefs you’d picked out for him. You kiss his cheek, turning to return to kitchen and pouring him his cup of coffee and dish up his breakfast. It’s the same breakfast every weekday, hash browns, extra crispy bacon and sunny side up eggs. On the weekends, Billy spoils you by making French toast and mimosas, bringing it to you in bed.

You set it at the table as he’s walking into the kitchen, gifting you with a wink before he sits down, “Thanks for cooking breakfast, darling. Looks amazing.”

You flush at his never ending gratitude and praise, dish your own plate and sit across from him at the table, waiting patiently for him to salt and pepper his eggs before grabbing the shakers yourself.

“So what’s my gorgeous wife’s day look like?” he inquires, lovingly.

You bite your lip, his compliments never fail to make you feel hot and bothered, “I think I’ll do a bit of light reading. I’ve got to go to the grocery store and then I’ll clean before starting on dinner.”

Billy shovels hash browns in his mouth and smiles as he chews, a tender glint in his eyes as he looks at you. He swallows, “Make sure you have some fun. Not too much without me, though.”

He shoots you a wink and it goes straight to your heart and nether regions… You can’t help but giggle, “I think I’ll go to Sears before I go to the grocery store. I need a dress for that work thing you have.”

Billy lifts his asscheek, retrieving his wallet from his back pocket and hands over his credit card, “Here, doll.”

You take the card between your fingers, “Thank you.”

You two finish up breakfast and you take his plate, bringing the pair to the sink. You grab his lunch pail and follow him to the door, kissing him deeply while handing his lunch to him.

“Have a good day, love,” you sigh dreamily, cheeks flushed from the goodbye kiss.

“You too,” he smiles and heads to his Camaro.

You linger in the doorway, waving to him as he reverses out of the driveway.

You peer at the row of mannequins sporting the new spring collection, tulle and floral catching your eye as you reach to feel the material. They’re cute dresses but you’ve got a goal in mind. You trail to the formal collection. The event is a charity event that Billy’s workplace is sponsoring. It calls for something that doesn’t currently exist in your closet.

An emerald gown calls your name, the velvet number with a draping neckline and a subtle slit up the side. You file through the rack until you find your size, trying it on and imagining Billy standing beside you in a dark suit. You melt at the thought, missing him intensely. You’re sold and after you exit the dressing room, you make your way to the display of ties in the men’s section. You find an exact color match to your dress, giddy at the luck. You drape it against the gown and search for a twin handkerchief.

You make it home after your purchases, hanging the dress up and displaying the tie and handkerchief on the dresser for Billy to find. You get started on your routine of cleaning the house; picking up clutter, scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms before making quick work of the vacuuming, dusting and mopping the place. You step back proudly as you gaze at the house. Glancing at the clock on the stove, you realize your time is waning before Billy will be back home. You hurry to get started on dinner, prepping the vegetables and marinating the meat.

As it nears six o’clock, you light the candles on the table and move to find the right record for dinner, flipping through the vinyls until you land on a collection of Paul Anka. You lift the needle on the machine before delicately placing the record on the platform. You start it and your hips begin swaying with the music, dancing your way back into the kitchen to set the table. You retrieve the bottle of white wine you’d been chilling in the fridge since returning home. You’re pouring both glasses when the front door swings open and with it, you’re breathtaking husband walks in. He strolls over, placing a hand on your hip and kissing your cheek.

“House looks incredible, dinner smells wonderful and you look ravishing,” he purrs.

You do it all for him, for this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. He treats you so well, gives you absolutely everything he can and it’s so easy to repay him with making his home a home.

“Thank you,” you squeak, cheerily as you take the lunchbox from his hand and placing it on the counter.

After dinner, Billy enjoys a cigarette at the table and you retrieve an ashtray for him. As you’re placing it down, he grabs onto your waist and pulls you into his lap. He showers you with kisses, earning a fit of giggles from you.

“God, I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he beams.

“I’m the lucky one,” you tap the tip of his button nose with your finger before forcing yourself up to get started on the dishes.

As you’re finishing up, Billy snakes his arms around your middle and kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

“Dance with me,” he requests and you accept gratefully, pulling your baby pink rubber gloves off before turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands rest on the small of your back as he sways with you in the kitchen, eyes gazing into your own. His ocean blue eyes are the prettiest you’ve ever seen, turning you to putty in his hands. He spins you around, dipping you and lifting you back up to kiss. Then he’s pressing you against the counter, still moving his hips in time with the music.

Don’t Ever Leave Me rings through the house, setting the mood perfectly for Billy to confess what he’s had on his mind since he married you.

“I want you to have my baby,” his voice is stern yet full of yearning.

It catches you off guard, eyes widening and he quickly babbles off, “I know. We’re young. But fuck, darling, I want to get you pregnant so goddamn bad.”

Heat rises up between your thighs while your chest tightens, you’re so pleasantly surprised. You’d been thinking about taking prenatal vitamins when your mom had told you it makes you more fertile. You’d wanted to start a family the second you got hitched.

“Yes,” you agree, “I wanna have your baby, Billy.”

He’s giddy at the prospect, lifting you up and placing you on the counter as he kisses you through his face splitting smile. Your legs wrap around him, hands pulling him even closer as you part your lips when his tongue prods for entrance. Your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his tongue swirl around yours. God, he’s all yours. You can’t believe you’ve been blessed with Billy. You thank every omniscient entity you can think of while he continues his invasion of your mouth. He pulls back and admires you, longing in his eyes. You’re floored under his gaze, extreme devotion to this man oozing from every pore.

“Get me pregnant, Billy,” you plead.

He picks you up from the counter, carrying you the bedroom and kicking the door open with his foot. He lays you down and begins kissing your legs, staring at your ankles and reaching your thighs. He shoves your dress up and hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down your legs and exposes your glistening core. He takes it in with hungry eyes, gentle fingers brushing through your folds. You toss your head back, moaning breathlessly as your fingers frantically grip onto the duvet beneath you. Billy rests his cheek on your thigh, observing his motions while he swipes languidly up and down. His fingers briefly connect with your clit and you writhe against it, but he moves his digits down to your eager hole. He heaves a sigh as he feels the slick leaking out. Billy places a sloppy kiss to your thigh before placing another over your sensitive bud, he flicks his tongue against it and you’re falling apart beneath him as you pant out his name and spreading your legs further apart.

“I’m gonna fill this gorgeous cunt up with my cum,” he growls, eyes peering up at you from between your legs which earns a desperate cry from you.

He licks a broad, firm stripe through your folds and then sucks your clit in between his lips. It feels so good you feel like you’re sinking into the mattress deeper and deeper. His digits slide inside of your pussy, curling when fills you to his knuckles.

You cry out, “Fuck!”

Billy pulls his mouth away but keeps working his fingers inside of you, spreading them to stretch you out. “I’m gonna get you so fucking pregnant,” he bellows, voice deep and husky.

“Please,” you beg, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers drag against your walls. “Wanna have your baby so bad… want you… need you to—“ the words catch in your throat and a loud moan replaces them as he licks against your clit again.

Billy pulls his fingers out, making you feel empty as you clench around nothing. You watch lustfully as he shoves his fingers in his mouth to taste you. You sit up and try to pull your dress up and over your shoulders but you struggle. Your husband chuckles softly and you feel his fingers grabbing onto the material to help you peel it off. He litters kisses along your collarbone as he maneuvers beneath your back to take your bra off, his tongue sticking out of the side of his lips in concentration. You giggle, heart swelling at the adorable sight of him.

“What’s so funny?” he chides playfully.

“Look so cute,” you chirp, your cheeks hot.

He pulls the straps from your shoulders and tosses the bra across the room, lowering his lips to your exposed breasts as he mumbles against the supple skin, “M’being sexy.”

“Mmm, yes, very,” you purr as your fingers tangle in his blonde coils.

Billy licks against your nipple as he cups your breasts, bouncing them slightly, “These are just gonna get bigger too.”

Your back arches as his hand dips between your legs, rubbing against your hole teasingly, it feels so good but you want him to fill it. Billy licks his lips, looking up at you, “I can’t fucking wait to fill this pussy up.”

He was ecstatic. Billy was remarkably well at pulling out. The entire time you’d been together, you’d never had a scare or mishap and you’d never used protection. His mind was reeling at the thought of actually cumming inside of you.

“Need it, baby,” you whine out, writhing beneath his touch.

He straightens himself up and starts undoing the buttons of his work shirt. Your eyes take in the flesh revealed underneath, his toned chest and stomach. He’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen and he was all yours. You sit up to push the collared shirt over his shoulders, he presses his palm to your chest and lightly pushes you back. He just wants you to watch right now. He unbuckles his belt and swiftly pulls it from the loops as you lay on your back, eyes following his fingers when they start to unbutton his pants. You ache to touch him, squirming in anticipation while he unzips and pushes the pants to the bottom of his thighs. He’s straining against his tight briefs, the ones you’d picked out for him. Billy palms himself over the cotton material and you groan softly, loving that you’re the reason why he’s so aroused.

“Lemme see,” you plead, voice so light it’s barely audible.

He smirks down at you, “You want it so bad.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod eagerly, licking your lips as your eyes bounce from his back down to his crotch. “Pretty please.”

“Eager girl,” Billy chides as he pushes his briefs down and you heave a pleased whine as you watch his cock spring out.

Billy’s hand wraps around his base and you watch as he strokes himself. You spread your legs further, an attempt to entice him to give you what you so desperately need. Billy’s eyes drop down when you do so, impervious grin spreading his lips up and he scoots his knees up a bit, inching closer to your drooling core. He slaps his tip against your pussy, sending chills up the back of your thighs.

He speaks low as he drags it through your folds, “I’m gonna pump this pussy full of my cum.”

The filthy words dripping with desire pulls a whine from you as your back arches and your hands grab at the sheets. Billy leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You rip your hands from the sheets and cling them onto his sides, parting your lips when you feel his tongue drag against them. Moaning into his mouth when you feel his cock finally slip inside you, angling your hips up to meet him. Billy grunts, stilling his movements as he looks into your eyes. You squirm, scratching against his ribs as you silently beg him to move again.

“Billy,” you plead, rolling your hips up.

He pushes your hair off your sweaty forehead and smiles, giving a hard thrust of his hips. You gasp, toes curling against the sheets beneath you. Billy closes his eyes tight, laughing softly, “I’m already gonna fucking cum.”

You giggle, “Yeah? Feels that good?”

He buries his face in your neck and mumbles, “Just thinking about filling you up is getting me there.”

You grab into his hair and wildly rocking your hips up. Billy groans, “Fuck…”

He pins your hips with his hands and drills into you, his face contorted and breathless moans tumbling from his throat.

“Billy,” you cry out, “Cum in my pussy!”

He groans out, shooting his thick, hot load into you. Billy pulls out, sitting back on his feet and licking his lips as he sees his seed leaking out of you. He scoops it up with his finger and shoves it back into you. He presses his cock back to your entrance and fucks his cum back into you, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing it in quick circles. You cry out, the pressure building up in your stomach finally snapping as you fall apart around his dick.

Billy collapses next to you, kissing you all over but lifts an eyebrow as you lift your legs in the air and use your hands to hold your ass up too.

“What are you doing?” he asks, curiously.

“I read that if you wanna get pregnant, you should do this after,” you say matter-of-factory. Billy laughs, rubbing your stomach while he gazes at you lovingly.

Billy gets home from work not particularly in the best mood. Nothing really awful happened but it was a long day. All he wants to do is see your gorgeous face and relax.

He walks inside and you’re in the kitchen, dishing up plates as per routine. He saunters over to you, placing his lunchbox on the counter and grabbing a hold of your hips, turning you and pressing your back against the counter, kissing you eagerly.

You pull away and smile at him, “Long day?”

He nods, thumb caressing your chin, “Couldn’t wait to get home to my beautiful wife.”

“Pregnant wife,” you confess.

“What?” Billy’s eyes widen, smiling.

You nod, “I’m pregnant.”

Your husband picks you up and spins you around, kissing you deeply.

#billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x female reader

671 notes · View notes

johnnys-breastmilk · 3 months

Note

Ok wait I low key need to know, do you think Johnny lets his boyfriend play with his ass? In my mind Johnny is a top but that ass! I mean who wouldn’t want to have their face sat on or squish and jiggle it, right?

YES YES YES 1000% yes. anyways I wrote a lil somethin' on it cause it was too too good ~1k words, just shortness because godddd I need that ass

Johnny didn’t like it at first—all the touches that you gave him. He was used to handling his work with care and compassion, and here he was, undone by one squeeze. Your hand just found its way to him when he came in through the planks making up the door hinged on his quiet shack. He had taken his shirt off, and his shoulders were a gruesome sun-smacked red, the black fabric covering one side since he slung it over. It went down to about his shoulder blade but didn’t stay there long. He reeled it forward and balled it up in his hands, patting his damp face.

There was a swagger to his walk that you couldn’t see before thanks to the loose, but as soon as he came through the door, it was blatantly noticeable. And all of it came from the hips. He must not have known about it though, how it immediately drew your attention to him from across his little shack. You were in the middle of tidying up, trying to compensate for all of his work outside by making everything nice for him to return to. You had yet to get to the dishes, and he was already at the sink by the time you turned to greet him. Without even a hello, you were motioning closer to him. In all your time of dating, you have never seen the way he really filled himself out from the back.

Maybe it’s because Johnny liked to do things traditionally—fucking you while you were face to face or making sure that your hands never wandered where he didn’t want them to go. He was a by-the-numbers kind of guy, and he didn’t leave room for exploring things. The sex was always on his terms, but this was the one time where you could approach him while his guard was down. He was bent over, hands moving dishes out of the way so that he could cup his hands under the running faucet. He let out a sigh of relief and you could see his back muscles loosen as the cold water hit his hands, and then his face when he lowered himself into his own embrace. That’s when you took your chance to strike, your eyes honed in on ass. It looked so good, and it felt soft and squishy, even through his rough denim jeans.

“The hell d’you think you’re doing?” He asked, reaching for the hand towel draped over the oven door’s handle not far from the sink. Johnny positioned himself upright and turned back, you noticed his arch even more as he did. He tried to look intimidating, but you could only think about that view from behind. You had seen his back a million times, traced over curves of his shoulder blades and his scars and scratches from his the thousand other lives he lived while he sat and told you about them. Now you had a new reason to see it—looking at it and watching it become a roadmap with all signs guiding you to something new about him.

Turns out, all Johnny needed was a push in the right direction. He found it when he was pushing you onto the floor right in front of his couch, all tidied and ready for someone to sit on thanks to your work. You had done all the convincing one could do, reassuring him that he’d still be in control and that he wasn’t surrendering any power to you in any way whatsoever. He must not have had the energy to fight it, because he walked you over to his couch, removing his jeans in the process without adding another word to what had already left his lips. Then, he spoke up, “Lay your head back.”

You listened to him and leaned back onto the cushion of his couch—matted fabric and the marred shape of the cushion from how old it was made it a little uneven to rest your head on, but Johnny approved. “Yeah, like that.”

Johnny wasted no time moving in front of you, his huge ass that you were just staring at crowding your view of the messes you had yet to get to. He was the biggest mess to your concern, a polished sheen of sweat coating his ass, and full-on dripping when you reached up to part the mounds in front of you. They filled out your hands completely and there was still more to grab at, spilling over the space between your fingers and it felt as soft as you expected it to be. You wished you had more hands, more eyes to stare at him, more tongues because the one you had could only do so much work at once.

He started moving closer, his thighs slipping out of view as his pale moons blocked every direction you looked. It was like a pillow was being brought down to smother you—his weight pressed down on you but his ass softened the blow. Your nose caught a whiff of his ass, and it wasn’t anything you were unfamiliar with. Sweet and sour with hints of his musk penetrating through the inconsistent breaths you took, nothing you hadn’t smelled before when you were in the neighborhood to give him a blowjob or doing his laundry with yours.

This was his way of still being in control—still topping you without making you moan. He still made you squirm under him, made you work your tongue over him in laps. Johnny would occasionally put himself completely down on you, taking away any room you hand to lick him and just rocking himself back and forth over your face. By this point, you could feel him tugging on his dick. The giveaway to it since you couldn’t see was the feeling of his balls bouncing on your chin, going lower and higher and lower and higher. One minute, you felt them, coated in sweat and in need of a good wash, and the next, they were jerked up and away from you when he pulled on his dick. In occasional bursts, you would lay your tongue out flat when he raised himself off your face, and he was enjoying this new type of control.

Johnny would moan, and he finally spoke after losing all sense of words, “Aw hell, I’d get a beer but you feel too damn good.”

#johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw game #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter x you #johnny slaughter x male reader #johnny slaughter drabble #x male reader #x reader #fanfic #.txt

60 notes · View notes

imrllytootiredforthis · 1 year

Note

i loved that sub!yandere chan thing you wrote godddd.

the mind games idea is a lot of fun. i also love the idea of like. shamelessness that it could provoke?

like say you found out about his creepy lil photo folder and his panty collection. he's stoked bc /finally/ he's going to get the punishment he's been yearning for and maybe he even gets it initially. spanking, degradation, being made to hump your leg or pillow (side note. he'd totally have rutted against your pillow or fave plush toy before)

but AFTER THE PUNISHMENT.

he'd get ignored and told he's scary and you don't want him around anymore. he'd be absolutely devastated. quick to piss off so all the boys give him a wide berth. god help any of them that mention or hang out with you during that time.

as a last resort, bc he has no shame when it comes to you and would do anything to get you back it would result in him begging and grovelling in public. an effort to make YOU look like the bad guy and thus forcing you to give him the attention he's sure he'll die without.

finally, finally you find out everything chan's been doing.

every dirty picture and stolen pair of panties, every time he's watched you sleep and stood outside your window while you slept,

every creepy and messed up thing he's done

he can hardly contain his excitement, enjoying it way too much when you call him a dirty disgusting perv, falling to his knees in front of you as you continue to berate him,

crawling ever so closer all the while, entranced, captivated and extremely fucking horny at the way your cheeks are red in an angry flush, in the way you look so utterly angry and downright mean glaring at him

a moan slips out and he can hardly contain himself, whining as he comes into contact with your leg, rutting and humping against you like a bitch in heat, the same way he did it to your pillow in secret but this way, against you, the real thing, it feels so much better

you look down in complete disbelief at him, at his actions, at the way he looks so dumb looking back up at you with glossed over eyes, begging you to punish him, begging you to make him regret being such a perverted little whore

you kick him away in disgust, pushing him onto his back, his thrusts not stopping even so as he continues to roll his hips into nothing.

he enjoys the punishment too much

enjoys how you step on his chest, telling him to stop being so dirty and gross, telling him to be good and strip down for you.

enjoys how you take a sharpie and write all over his skin, branding him with all sorts of names, making him shudder with every line. in fact he enjoys it so much that he's cumming before you even finish.

but of course, that isn't a sufficient punishment. he's in for a long, long night.

---

he didn't know what he expected to come after. never thought that far ahead. but he definitely thought that with the words you wrote all over him still present, the bruises and hand shaped red marks stamped onto his skin that you'd at least acknowledge him.

that you'd still stay with him.

you don't.

you stop talking to him. block his number, tell everyone some bullshit excuse about a falling out. give all of his things he left at your place to his friends and tell them to give them to him.

but you know better than to talk to them for any more than a few quick minutes, especially when chan's around. paranoid and wary of him like he wasn't under you whimpering for more only a few nights ago.

he wasn't what you thought he was.

he was the one sneaking around your house at night, doing so many things unbeknownst to you in the name of 'love'.

but wasn't he still the sweet boy that brought you soup when you were sick, or the one that came to check on you when you overworked yourself, bringing you food and making sure to take a break.

wasn't he still him? or was he something else entirely.

he can hardly believe that you're ignoring him. everything's gotten worse since then.

he can't sleep, he can't get any work done, he can't talk to anybody else without wanting to clock them out within a few sentences of talking to them, because they're not you. and he doesn't want to even see anybody that isn't you

but you seem set on ignoring him.

avoiding him like the plague, not answering your door when he comes and knocks for hours on end, even going so far as to shouting out that you're going to call the police if he didn't leave.

how could you do this to him?

how could you hurt him like this when he just wanted you? wanted your love and attention and to see you happy?

was that too much to ask?

apparently yes, so what's his last effort for you? his last effort to get any ounce of attention, even if it's because you're looking him like you wish you could choke him with your own two bare hands (which he wouldn't be entirely opposed to)

he makes a scene.

shows up to your workplace, in front of all your coworkers, your boss and a handful of customers.

falling to his knees at your feet.

why do you do this to him? when he's loved you all this time? when all he's done, it's all happened because he cared for you, because he wanted you, because he wanted to be seen and loved by you.

tears slip down his cheeks, a performance worthy of an oscar, truly. a performance that you yourself can almost believe. that you can almost be fooled by until you remember everything.

every little trick and mindgame. every lie and secret and disgusting little perverted habit.

and even though your eyes are full of pure hate. of a type of anger that can only be produced of being betrayed by someone you thought you could trust.

it's all okay for chan.

all okay because you're looking at him. seeing him.

and he swears, that one that he'll make you love him.

how did this get so long???💀

#inbox💌#bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #sub bang chan #sub chan #chan x reader #sub yandere #yandere chan #chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids hard thoughts

268 notes · View notes

neverchecking · 11 months

Note

Oh my godddd I love your writing sm

And I also love @welcometothefairgrounds , I am her 🧚‍♀️ anon. May is a lovely person

If you’re doing requests, could I get yandere time? My daddy issues are calling lmao

If not feel free to ignore, I got too excited and forgot to read lmao

- @fairly-linked-buffet (don’t want this on my sfw acc and tumblr is being dumb so here)

I love her sm! She is honestly a gem. I'm glad to have someone from her page here with us! And don't worry! Requests are currently open so you're all good!

Some Father Time to bless your day, Darling~

I really liked how this one came out so I hope you do too! Personally, one line in this- Idk, it hit me and I wrote it and I still am just :O everytime I read it.

(IDK if I got his sword right??? I think I did, but idk-)

CW: Just some disturbing imagery, but it is Yandere!

Anything

Warrior's Hyrule was just as nice as it was last time he was here. The people still bustled as they always did, calling out demands, or bargaining for a better price, maybe haggling over a trade. It kept the streets busy and full, foot traffic flowing in every which way. Exactly why Time needed to keep an eye on you at all times. Not only an eye, but a hand. Your fingers, delicate and slim, were kept interwoven with his own, feeling so soft against his calloused digits.

Every bit of you was so soft when compared to him. From your gentle movements as you walked, with the sway of your hips and head, to the calculated movements of your hands whenever you patched him up, not that he ever wished for any blood, let alone his, to sully your perfect skin. It always pained him whenever you had to see him injured in any capacity. The pinch in your browns and the furrow of your lips, all of it enough to make him internally panic before trying to fix it. Having you upset in any capacity was enough to poison his mood. He was built and formed to be a weapon of destruction, unbeatable and a figure invincible to anything thrown at him. A weapon fit to protect only the finest of jewels bestowed upon humanity. You. He was convinced he was put on this wretched world for you. To protect and love and cherish someone as soft as you. Till his dying breath and even then he would be hard-fought to not crawl out of his grave to ensure your safety.

All of that to say, he kept your hand clasped tightly in his with no intention of letting go. Not when the risk of you getting lost, or run over or goddess forbid hurt was too high. While he was more than happy to escort you wherever your heart desired, he was not willing to risk your wellbeing in any way, shape or form. That was too far beyond what he could allow. At least when he was with you while you went from stall to stall, he could watch over you. He could use his stature and his attitude to ensure your safety.

Time knew he was tall. And Built. And looking every bit a soldier the other knights of this time wished they could be. And he knew how to use it. He knew how to angle himself in a way to shadow over anyone who thought they could fool you into spending three times what the object was worth. He knew how to set his jaw and level his brows to...dissuade any possible passerby's from leering at you. He knew how to be intimidating to anyone but you.

Sweet, perfect you who saw through all of his defenses and touched him like he was a porcelain figure. Like he was capable of laying down his weapons and being a regular civilian. Like he was nothing more than the man you proclaimed him to be.

Like he was not a pagan of war but rather a child of peace.

It's what made you so perfect for him. Someone so akin to a saint saw something worthy of loving in him and clung to it. And he'd be damned before letting your love go to waste. Why waste it when he could use it to live? Live for someone, something, other than himself and that damned duty bestowed upon him. That destiny he was cursed with by that fraud of a Goddess. Why waste his time and feelings on hating the circumstances placed around him by a fake, when he could devote his being to his real goddess?

That's not to say everyone else saw you the same way he did though. He saw you as an otherworldly being worthy of his respect above all else.

Apparently that went above other pests comprehension though.

Time had been keeping an eye on him the whole time, with his greasy, clicked back hair and sunken eyes. Looking every bit a rat Time thought him as. He slithered about like a worm as well, watching you and your every step. Nothing seemed to deter him. Not any of the glare's Time shot him, not any of the ways he stepped as to cut off his view from you, not the Biggoron sword clunking against his hip in an unsaid, but no less serious, threat.

He just wouldn't let up.

He even looked brave enough to consider approaching you, one foot stepping past the shadows of the stalls and alleyways.

Kill him.

He need to take care of him. Take him away from you before he could sully your divine form. He could feel the power of the unspeakable buzz beneath his skin as he stepped closer.

KiLl HiM.

He could do it. He could easily do it. Take care of the pest. Drag him behind one of alleyways after finding one of the boys to look after you for the time while he took care of this degenerate.

KILL HIM.

It would be elementary. He had probably faced Bokoblins that put up more of a fight than he would. He was short and stout, something Time's own broad form shadowed at least twice over.

KILL HIM

His sword would just slice right through his flimsy flesh, painting his surroundings a dark red as his worthless body slumped to the ground, before being left to the wolves to pick apart. He doubted even those feral beasts would touch such a slimy creature such as this merchant, who was still inching closer.

KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMHESGETTINGTOOCLOSEKILLHIM

Just as his hand raised to the hilt of his sword, your hand, perfect and soft and light and grounding, settled on his forearm. "Ooh, look, Time!" Your eyes, gorgeous pools of every color he saw in his dreams, were alight with excitement as you remained completely oblivious to the stray in the background. "There's a bakery! Can we go, please?" You then turned your pout to him, melting his fiery rage into a simmering pool.

It wouldn't disappear, oh no, but it would be lowered from a boiling rage, full of livid restlessness and cold turmoil, to a stewing annoyance. Something he would nurture and let grow into a full fledged plan to dispose of this creature. It no longer had to be quick, not anymore, now it could be a slow and painful demise worthy of daring to creep on his Goddess.

He smiled, that special smile just for you, as he used his free hand to gently angle your chin upward to meet his eye just a little more. "Of course, darling, your wish is my command." If only you knew what you could wish from him. What he would do to ensure it came true.

Anything to see you smile.

(Anything. Including sneaking off in the late of night, nodding to Wars and Twilight, who were on watch, and disappearing into the night.)

(Anything. Including breaking into a non-assuming house, full of dust and mold, vines crawling up the sides. Doing so practically silently.)

(Anything. Including pulling out the Biggoron sword and holding it high enough the moonlight reflected off of it just enough to gently light up his target. )

(Anything. Including plunging the tip of his blade into their shoulder to pin them to their stack of hay and blankets, holding a hand over their screaming mouth as they shot to the conscious world.)

(Anything. Including spending the late hours making sure this filth understood exactly where he went wrong. Exactly why this was happening. Making him think he had a chance at life. Making him believe that Time would let him go. Only to snuff that pathetic life away with just enough time to clean up and get back to you.)

(Anything. You just had to wish it.)

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #lu time #Yandere time x reader #Yandere LU time x reader #link x reader #Loz #legend of zelda #yandere legend of zelda #yandere legend of zelda x reader

270 notes · View notes

wildpeachfarm · 1 month

Note

ARE WE SPEAKING XDNF CAUSE OHHHH BOY XDNF IS MY FAVORITE THIG EVERRRR

the fact that GOD is stealing ur ex bfs face just to mess w you and get closer to you oh my godddd and gnf first is like omg it’s Dream in my dreams but slowly figures out that it’s xd and it isn’t dream but doesn’t tell him to stop they’re both so greedy and I love them for it

Not to mention loveeee XD being jealous of Dream (which technically would be his own creation AND his first creation that’s shaped after him probs) is just soo good

And if you tie it with HD lore HCs????? It gets wayyy more spicier it’s fucking amazing soo much potential….

Also speaking of CDNF as well I think my fav thing that like haunts me to this day is this convo they had

Ohhh my god the but you didn’t even ask 😭😭😭😭😭 IM GONNA CRYYYY FUCKKKK CDNF MAKES ME GO BALLISTIC AND CRAZY SOMEONE SAVE ME

THEY ARE SO TRAGIC AND IN LOVE BUT IT GOT SO FUCKED UP 😭😭😭😭

I love the HD headcanons they're so interesting because of XD only going after george because HE looks like HD and then george only going after XD because he looks like Dream??? Ohhh they're both so in love with their own respective partner but instead they're chasing after each other in delusion ohhhhhhh

#ask

43 notes · View notes

kbrick · 1 year

Text

Peak Drarry: Celebrating Incredible Writers - lettersbyelise

Peak Drarry is a series of posts celebrating the absolute treasure trove of talented writers in this fandom, and a reminder of how lucky we are to have them here with us. Find last month’s post featuring @aibidil here. This month features a fan-and-personal-favorite, @lettersbyelise.

✨lettersbyelise✨

I was introduced to Elise’s writing when they returned to the fandom in late 2021 after a little haitus. Being fairly new to Drarry at the time, I had not yet heard of Elise, though plenty of other readers were chomping at the bit to get their hands on Elise’s new work. I kept hearing good things, so I figured I’d check it out—and immediately fell in love after reading Burn the Witch. The fic was poignant, exciting, and, above all, full of dreamy, delicious romance. So, why should you read Elise’s fic? Here are a few reasons:

The ungodly levels of UST

Elise’s Harry and Draco are fully in lust from the first, even if they still despise each other. In Unfold Me, Harry hates his roommate Malfoy so much that he can’t stop thinking about him or the smell of his laundry detergent. And then, when Malfoy accidentally includes his own t-shirt in Harry’s clean laundry pile, Harry has had enough. He sleeps with Malfoy’s t-shirt under his pillow (and does other, unspeakable things while sniffing it) as retribution. In Cabin Fever, Harry doesn’t like Malfoy or anything, but he can’t help but notice when a sudden gust of wind “whipped through Malfoy’s burgundy, standard-issue Auror cloak and exposed his shapely posterior for Harry to admire.” Okay, and fine, he’s also noticed the way Malfoy laughs, how he strides “through the Auror department corridors like a young prince perusing his future kingdom” (Harry’s words, not mine), and sometimes runs a hand through his “short, stylish, impossibly blond hair.” But don’t worry! Malfoy’s also lusting over Harry, a fact that he accidentally lets slip when he calls Harry ‘pretty’ out of nowhere (which obviously makes Harry lose his damn mind).

Sometimes Harry and Draco’s lust is very inconvenient, like in Draco Malfoy’s Stupendous Seduction Seminar, when Draco recalls a time Potter was pressed against him in the lifts and afterward, Draco had to “walk around with a manila folder held in front of his crotch for a good fifteen minutes.” Poor Draco. Sometimes, Harry is so hot that Draco’s body can’t handle it, like in Burn the Witch, when Draco sees Harry for the first time in years and his heart skips a beat. Literally, “[s]kipped a fucking beat, like in a cheap romance novel.”

Thankfully, Harry’s usually in the same boat. He’s cursed with having a sort of sixth sense when it comes to Malfoy. He can “walk into a room and know Malfoy is there before he even sets eyes on him.” (Draco Malfoy’s Stupendous Seduction Seminar). The back of his neck prickles whenever Malfoy’s around, okay? It’s not his fault. Malfoy only encourages it, doing things like wearing body-con leggings during a play (Upstaged) so that Harry is basically forced to go and see him perform a bagillion times in a row.

Further complicating matters, Elise’s Harry has typically been thinking about Malfoy for a very long time, in very R-rated ways, like in Laws of Gravity, wherein he muses over the fact that Malfoy kneeling in front of him in a cloakroom is “every fantasy Harry has ever blocked coming to life with an incandescent lack of warning.” Oh, generic gay fantasies, you ask? Hardly. We’re talking Malfoy-specific fantasies that involve “the version Harry’s always kept in the back of his mind, all these years—a hungry, debauched version…” Mm hm. This lust has been brewing for ages.

Occasionally, Elise likes to throw in they-almost-go-there-but-stop-themselves moments that make the UST levels fly off the charts altogether. I literally wrote in my notes on Had To Be You, “oh my god! No!! No! Just have sex! Oh my godddd!!!” (look what you’ve reduced me to, Elise). But Harry and Draco did not have sex at that time. Instead, they proceeded to eat dinner together, sporting what I can only imagine were horrendously painful blue balls. Don’t worry, though—it’s worth the wait when it happens.

Because, listen, if you’re sitting there thinking that all this UST buildup must lead to some scorching hot smut, then you are one hundred percent right. I’m not going to spoil these sexy, delicious, smutty scenes for you here by telling you too much about them, but as a preview, here’s Harry narrating in Had to Be You:

Harry’s heart keeps wanting to escape his ribcage, or at least burst it open, it’s beating so loud. He’s never felt anything like this — this anticipation, like the second before a kiss, only drawn up for minutes, for hours, for bloody months, if Harry’s perfectly honest with himself. There hasn’t been anyone else than Draco for months, maybe years...[T]he back of Draco’s hand brushes his, soft and warm and secret, and Harry nearly gasps, because just that tiny touch of Draco’s is the most erotic thing he’s experienced.

A brush of Draco’s hand does that, ladies and gentlemen. So, yeah, the smut is good.

All that sweet, sweet pining

Listen, I’m not going to say that Elise enjoys torturing readers—I can’t see into their mind! But if I had to guess, I’d say maybe they enjoy it a little? Because Harry and Draco pine so hard in Elise’s fic. Oh, sure, they’ll eventually come to experience a life-changing, soul-filling love for the ages, but first they are going to suffer. If you are anything like me, though, you’ll eat it up because it’s beautiful in its own right, and because it makes the payoff so, so sweet. But first, the pain.

Sometimes jealousy is involved, like in Had to Be You. For years, Draco and Harry watch each other date around and absolutely hate it. This results in various degrees of tantrum-throwing. When Harry makes out with Draco’s friend at a music festival, Harry notes that Draco is in a black mood the next day, and that it has “nothing to do with the weather.” Draco stops talking to Harry for a month after that. A month! When Draco sets off on an Italian holiday with a boyfriend, Harry stomps around until he gets a text from Draco that says Draco misses him (yes, Draco’s texting Harry that he misses him while on a holiday with his boyfriend, and no, neither one of them realizes what this means at this point).

Other times, there is no one else in the picture, and yet our dear boys still pine. They yearn for the thing they think they cannot have (even though they definitely, definitely can have it). In Laws of Gravity, Harry is completely obsessed with Malfoy from the start, although he’s sure it won’t work out because Malfoy’s a pickpocket, and also because he’s Malfoy. Harry thinks maybe the feelings will fade? Fat chance, when he readily admits that his life is “bisected into before and after Malfoy’s mind-boggling blowjob.” Harry. Buddy. You’ve divided your entire life (which included a starring role in a war, mind) into pre-blowjob and post-blowjob. I’m pretty sure your feelings are here to stay.

And the reality is, sex is never enough for these two. Nothing short of lifelong love and devotion is ever enough. After Malfoy keeps putting out for Harry in Laws of Gravity, Harry tells him he’s sending mixed signals. Malfoy points out that he’s given Harry not one, but two blowjobs at this point, and he very clearly wants him. Harry argues that it’s “not the same as liking someone.” Because see, Harry and Draco want everything from each other in Elise’s fic. Not just blowjobs, not just friendship, not just casual dating. They want everything.

They’ll make you believe in true love

Which brings me to my final point. Elise’s stories are about the most unabashedly romantic things I’ve ever read. In their first fic on AO3, Had To Be You, Elise notes that it’s inspired by When Harry Met Sally, a film they admit to having watched ‘a hundred’ times. This is not surprising to me. Because if you love When Harry Met Sally, you are someone who loves love, who has a tender center and a soft heart. And after going through Elise’s fics one by one, let me tell you: Elise loves love. Elise loves romance. And this comes through in all their stories, which are, at their core, tender and beautiful depictions of true love.

In Elise’s fic-universe, Harry and Draco were always meant to be, and literally everyone around them knows it. In Had To Be You, Hermione has a heart to heart with Harry in which she makes him acknowledge his feelings for Draco. “I’ve seen how you’ve been practically drooling over Draco for months now,” she says. “And you’ve been obsessed with him…for years. It was the weird thing you had for him in Sixth Year, and now it’s this very intense friendship.” Harry argues with her about the intense friendship, but eventually has to concede the point. In The Generation Who Lived, Neville and Luna scheme to get Harry and Draco alone in their house so that they’ll reconcile (again, because everyone knows they’re meant to be). My favorite fic in this vein is Re: Harry’s Crush, wherein the entire Ministry is emailing back and forth about how obsessed Harry and Draco are with each other. It’s common knowledge. Everyone else can see it, it just sometimes takes Harry and Draco a while to catch on.

But Harry and Draco do know, deep down, even when they don’t admit it at first. It comes out in flashes, like when they have sex for the first time in Had To Be You and Harry notes that “the connection was something [he’d] never felt, not with any of the many lovers he’d had in the past, and it left him feeling raw, exposed and shy, despite the deep pleasure coursing through his veins.” Or in Paper Rings, when Draco reminisces about his Eighth-Year fling with Harry and how he knew, even at the time, that it had been both “inevitable” and that he would never recover from it, emotionally. Or in Laws Of Gravity, when Harry realizes he doesn’t want Malfoy to go, even though he doesn’t know what that means. (It means you love him, Harry!).

One of the things I adore about Elise’s fic is that there is always this fantastic, pivotal moment when things click. It’s the moment when our guarded main characters let their walls fall, let themselves see what everyone else has known for so long. And then this thing—this love—that has felt so impossible suddenly seems easy. There’s a surety that comes flooding in, a recognition that yes, this is the person for me, and yes, they want me too. It’s even said tongue-in-cheek (although we know it’s hilariously real) in Kill, Fuck, Marry when the boys wake up after their first night together. They’d been playing the titular ‘marry, fuck, kill’ the night before, and Draco says, well, you’ve already tried to kill me and you’ve already fucked me, so “[t]he only thing left to do is marry me, I suppose.” Does this scare Harry off? Not at all. “You’ve already got more birthday presents than you deserved Malfoy,” Harry says. “This one will have to wait until next year. If you’re good.” One date and shag, and they’re already joking about getting married. God help us.

But lest you think this is some sort of shallow insta-love, it’s not. Elise, particularly in their long fic, depicts a love of equals, of two men who root for one another and stand up for one another, who have each other’s backs. It’s lovely, the way they see one another so clearly, the way they advocate for one another. Whether it’s Harry in Burn the Witch fighting against a Ministry that’s unfairly targeted Draco, or Draco in Paper Rings advocating for Harry in Harry’s divorce, these are two people who admire and respect each other. It's evident in Harry’s thoughts about how brave Draco is regarding his sexuality in Draco Malfoy’s Stupendous Seduction Seminar. Or, beautifully, in Draco’s thoughts in Paper Rings, when he contemplates that “Harry had spent so many years not being appreciated for who he was…not being loved.” He wonders how “blind Ginevra Weasley must have been not to see how good [Harry was]…how utterly perfect in every one of his complicated ways.” They know that the other is not actually perfect (after all, they, more than anyone, are familiar with the other’s faults), but they love them just the same. In Fire Meet Gasoline, Draco spells out his shortcomings to Harry—all of them—and Harry just says, “Do you think that frightens me? ‘Cause it doesn’t. I told you already. I want everything you are.”

Incidentally, after that gorgeous bit of dialogue from Fire Meet Gasoline, Harry asks Draco to stay with him. Draco thinks about how he doesn’t do love, but Potter was the exception (sort of like how Harry muses that he’s “Draco-sexual” in Paper Rings). Then he says, “I couldn’t leave you if I tried…I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now, Potter.” Cue the violins. Le sigh.

Ahhh, Drarry in its best and most natural state. Soulmates, each other’s one and only, together forever and ever, amen.

And one of my favorite things about Elise: they will get you there every time, no matter how improbable it seems at the start.

You can count on it.

Recommended For…

Lovers of love. Connoisseurs of quality, emotional smut. Anyone who wants to get swept up in an epic sort of romance, who believes that romantic partners should lift you up and bring out the best in you. People who believe in soulmates. Those who believe (or want to believe) in happily ever after. Here are a few you might want to check out, but honestly, you can’t go wrong with anything Elise has written.

Top 3 Fics Over 25,000 Words (by kudos)

Burn The Witch (E, 96k) - When Harry Potter is sent in to investigate Draco Malfoy’s successful potions company, posing as Draco’s bodyguard, he doesn’t know the case will launch a series of events that will change his life — and Draco’s. A story about choices, scars, Chopin piano pieces, and finding all kinds of love in the most unexpected places.

Had To Be You (E, 59k) - Draco Malfoy is possibly the last person Harry expects to find at the wheel of a Muggle car, on a beautiful summer day on the road to London. This is the story of how Harry runs into Draco once, twice, three times, and how he doesn’t leave their next meeting to chance. A fic inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

Paper Rings (E, 50k) – When Harry’s in need of a divorce lawyer, he has no choice but to turn to the best in the trade. Draco Malfoy’s reputation for discretion is flawless, and his track record for winning cases is close to perfect. But he’s also ruthless, passionate, and as infuriating as ever, and the brief relationship he and Harry had in Eighth Year still feels painfully fresh despite two decades spent apart.

Top 3 Fics Under 25,000 Words (by kudos)

Kill, Fuck, Marry (E, 4k) - Harry and Draco unexpectedly meet again on Draco’s birthday, years after their last encounter.

Draco Malfoy’s Stupendous Seduction Seminar (E, 2.7k) - Draco Malfoy offers to help his coworkers to improve their seduction techniques, with unexpected consequences.

Re: Harry’s Crush (T, 1.9k) - Ever get that feeling you're being talked about behind your back? Harry doesn't, he's too busy being stupidly, obviously besotted with the guy in the lab downstairs. A fic where the interdepartment betting war at the Ministry gets out of hand, Millicent and Hermione get scheming, Harry Potter ends up wearing black eyeliner, and everybody ends up getting more than they bargained for.

Kbrick’s Picks (in order of obsession)

The Laws of Gravity (E, 31k) - When he runs into Draco Malfoy picking pockets at a charity gala, Harry Potter is forced to face the desires he’s avoided for years — at the risk of shattering the public image he’s so carefully curated since the war.

Fire Meet Gasoline (E, 63k) - When Draco’s anger management issues land him in St Mungo’s, he thinks his Quidditch career is over. But Harry, A&E Healer and notorious workaholic, is faced with a similar predicament. To save their jobs, the two of them decide to fake a relationship. All they have to do is convince their friends and employers… and not fall in love in the process. Simple, right?

#drarry #peak drarry #kbrick recs #lettersbyelise #fic recs

177 notes · View notes