#and then dorothy ends up leaving

[hecatesbroom]

I just watched that s7 episode where Rose, Dorothy and Sophia will have to move out if Blanche doesn't make them co-owners of the house and oh.... oh my god. I knew Blanche's grand gesture would hit hard, but Dorothy's talk to Rose before then?? Giving her an excuse for why she has to say, only to shrug that off and softly tell her the truth ("we love you") and proceeding to tell the permit guy that they're family!! They love each other so much & they can't be separated!! Rose's face throughout the whole thing!! It's so much

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

I just finished watching S2E13 The Stan Who Came To Dinner, and there's a scene I didn't remember before in which Stan asks for Dorothy's forgiveness for all the times he cheated on her, because he wants to face his operation with a clear conscience. Which is,, yikes, of course, but also not the thing I want to talk about right now.

What surprised me is that Dorothy seems to be shocked at his revelations? It seems like she really didn't know about Stan's infidelity? I mean, the whole dialogue begins with her saying:

"I've already forgiven you for that, Stanley. Besides, in the grand scheme of things, it's not bad to wait 38 years to make your first big mistake."

I initially thought his mistake was divorcing Dorothy (since his line before this one is 'I love you, Dorothy. That sounds crazy because I walked out on you, but it's true.' ), but then he admits that the divorce wasn't his first mistake, because he's cheated on Dorothy before -- and she seems genuinely taken aback:

"I cannot believe this. I cannot believe that I am hearing this. I always assumed something like this could happen, but..."

And this was so strange to me, because I always sort of assumed she did know. She even caught him one time! In S7E8-9 The Monkey Show, she recounts this episode about Stan:

"[...] I rehearsed my speech and I made arrangements to meet him at a coffee shop. I got there five minutes early and caught him necking with a waitress."

So... she does know (of at least one time)? But then, why didn't she say anything?

I feel like there's three possible answers:

She really doesn't know. She thought the incident with the waitress was a one-time occurrence, and she's believed him all throughout their marriage when he said he was 'going at a convention' or 'working late' or whatever excuse he used to cover his actions.

She's lying to him in the S2E13 scene -- and she's lied to him all throughout their marriage. She does know about his affairs, and never confronted him because she wanted to keep their marriage and their family together more than she hated his guts; she didn't want to rock the boat, so to say. What shocks her in the S2E13 scene is that he's admitting this stuff out loud, with plenty of details.

She lied to herself all throughout their marriage. As trustful of him as Dorothy can be (and as trustful of him as she was in her youth, especially), she's also a smart cookie, and Stan's not really the sharpest tool in the shed. It's hard for me to believe that she never figured out that he was cheating on her, especially after catching him with that waitress; it's easier to think that she forced herself to believe his gaslighting, as part of her efforts to be a good wife to him. When Stan (sort of...) comes clean, she's shocked because it's sinking in, in real time, that she was right.

I'm not sure which option is more likely; I feel like it's probably a mix of the three. At the beginning of their marriage she likely didn't think it possible and believed everything he told her; once she caught him with the waitress, she had a sort of transition phase where she tried to believe he was faithful to her even though she knew the truth, deep down, and then by the end of her marriage she was over it, and simply chose not to let him have it. She's shocked in S2E13 because she can't believe he's admitting this stuff out loud, but she doesn't seem as shocked (and angry) as she would be if she was just finding it out in the moment, imho.

I also feel like her knowing about his infidelity doesn't change the meaning of the first mistake line, because, well... he's always come back before. He's come back to hurt her again and again, but he has come back -- and then she gets a phone call, and suddenly, for the first time, he's not coming back anymore. It's the one time that's so devastatingly painful it eclipses everything that came before -- no wonder she counts it as his first mistake.

[paperbackribs]

tags: steddie, nsfw, the homoeroticism of knowing you could treat them better

🥵🍆💦

"Okay," Robin smirks at Eddie as she pops the open button on the microwave in Steve’s kitchen, "But you understand how pathetically gay you sound right now, yes?" She pulls out a fragrant paper bag of popcorn; she says that she likes to have an extra bag before retiring after one of their movie nights.

Eddie scowls, forgetting that Steve's in the next room as he becomes revved up over a pet peeve that is less pet and more a wild animal, "It's not gay to appreciate a work of art." He gestures wildly, the lights above catch on his heavy silver rings, "It's not gay to understand that a sweet, beautiful boy is tragically unloved."

Robin snorts, pulling open the edges of the paper bag, releasing a plume of buttery steam, "No, pretty sure that's pretty gay. Next thing I know you'll declare 'no homo' while sucking his dick."

"I'd suck his dick better than Brittany or Betta or Betsy or whatever her name was," Eddie declares, sore at the memory of Steve's broken brow as he'd explained that his latest date had ridden his face and then gave him a pat on his shoulder, explaining that it was a nice time but not to expect a callback.

What an idiot, Eddie fumes to himself, neglecting to notice the shifting shadows in the hallway behind him; who doesn't enjoy a man who vehemently and vocally declares his love for going down on his partners? Eddie would kill for a partner willing to suck him dry.

Eddie may have blamed the deficiency on the female of the species, but Steve had allowed Eddie in the inner sanctum a few months ago: letting him know that it wasn’t only Robin and Eddie who were vehement friends of Dorothy, even if it was only Steve who enjoyed the full spectrum of the rainbow. And while B-whatever-her-name-was may be the source of Eddie’s ire right now, he knows that Steve has had likewise lousy luck with men whenever they’d ventured for their weekend nights out to Indy.

Each and every time Eddie had to endure Steve’s sad face a week or two later as he’d admitted that he thought his night’s partner may be up for more than just a brief bit of fun. And each and every time he’s been left dumbfounded because—

Eddie pulls at his hair, trying to work it out because—

Well. He can only imagine that every single person that’s walked away from Steve’s beautiful lips couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a fucking canon with the intelligence left over in their little pea brains. Because Steve Harrington is a goddamn catch and every one of them has let him escape their grasp.

Eddie’s too busy scowling down at his Reeboks to see Robin look over his shoulder and softly laugh. She scoops a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she swiftly leaves the kitchen, calling out, “I’m claiming the spare bedroom tonight—the one at the far end—see ya.”

Eddie looks up at the last minute, wondering at her sudden exit.

The air shifts again but Eddie doesn’t realise it until Steve’s right behind him. "Her name was Bella," Seve says in a low caress, close enough that his warm breath rustles Eddie's loose curls.

He stops, frozen, the touch of Steve's words making Eddie ache for something that he's wanted for such a very long time even as he’s unwilling to allow himself to think that Steve could mean anything by leaning in so close. But he can’t help but shiver, a tiny movement that brings his lips against Steve's sharp jaw, nearly stuttering, "Who?"

Strong arms wrap around him, bringing the broad planes of Steve’s chest against Eddie’s back, blunt fingers coming up to grip his jaw, directing Eddie’s lips to just under Steve’s.

Eddie freezes again in desperation, every single fantasy converging at once to break his brain and body while he tries to understand that the arms, hands and fingers wrapped around him are not an invention of a daydream.

"I’m saying,” Steve says patiently, eyeing Eddie with a dark gaze over his firm grip, "That I want you. Not Brittany or Betta or Betsy."

Eddie swallows around the knot in his throat.

"Just you," Steve repeats, a steady weight holding down his words that has Eddie’s gaze flying up to meet the hard pressure of hazel eyes bearing down on him. A force that has Eddie’s heart knocking heavily against his ribs, his breath shuddering against his frame, pressing taut and bullying against the thin of Eddie’s skin as he meets Steve’s expectant gaze.

And suddenly Eddie is angry.

Furious.

He’s had to endure weeks and months of listening to Steve be sad. Listening to Steve tell of glum exploits where women and men haven’t appreciated his freely-given love. Where it hadn’t mattered how quickly and devotedly Steve would put himself forward, that his partner would pat him on the back and distance him or herself after.

Eddie is furious and he glares at Steve’s beautiful hazel eyes, so close to his own and suddenly wide at the clear fury in Eddie’s eyes. Steve stumbles back, “What…” But Eddie lowers himself decisively, knees falling to the ground with a clear thump and thighs spreading as he knows with a deep conviction that he’s finally interpreting Steve’s actions correctly.

He looks up with dark eyes and presses into the tentative hand that falls against Eddie’s nape; Steve’s brows pull together, doubt drawing at them, “Eddie…”

Eddie glares up at Steve with all the strength of emotion running through him like the swift currents of a river. “No Steve, that’s it. That’s fucking it.”

He determinedly wraps his fingers around the zipper of Steve’s Levi’s and, as Steve chokes out his name again, Eddie glares up at him, daring Steve to take his prize away. “No, I’m done. You’ve given me permission now. You’ve given me a sliver of hope, and you’re not fucking taking it away.”

Eddie swiftly draws down the zipper, pulling down denim and soft cotton until Steve’s already hard cock bobs in front of him and he reaches forward quickly, hand already at its base and mouth open as he’s about to swallow him down but Steve’s hand buries itself in Eddie’s curls, gripping him tight.

“Do you want me?” Steve breathes and Eddie somehow finds it in himself to glower deeper, scowling up at Steve while refusing to speak. Inching forward until the tip of Steve’s cock hovers over Eddie’s open mouth. Steve curses and a heavy pearl of fluid drops from the tip to Eddie’s outstretched tongue. Eyes closing in contentment, he hears Steve choke as Eddie almost hums around the welcome flavour.

“Right,” Steve rasps roughly before pushing forward to rest against Eddie’s lips, he traces the heavy beads from his weeping slit against the petals of his mouth, breath running ragged before pressing further.

Eddie gasps, stretching his lips wide and pushing in and forward to embrace the cock intruding his mouth. His lashes flutter as he finally has the heavy weight of Steve’s cock resting on his tongue, stretching his mouth obscenely open before peering up to check where Steve’s at.

He needn’t have worried because Steve’s own mouth is hanging open with eyes darkly trained on Eddie. “So fucking pretty,” Steve gasps, gripping Eddie’s head to pull him closer. Choking Eddie as he moans, “Yes, fucking, yes, baby. Take it.” And Eddie does. Gratefully. Happily. Fucking swallows and devours and pistons back and forward until the bitter musk dripping from Steve’s dick is greedily consumed, taken within.

Steve cries out, throbbing powerfully and pouring into Eddie. Spilling and overflowing, fucking against his face until beads flood and stream out of his mouth. Eddie lets out a long, guttural and broken sound, grateful for the blessing that Steve fills him with.

He’s so consumed with the feel of Steve in him, surrounding him, that he barely registers the hardness in his own black denim until Steve drops to his knees too, meeting Eddie face to face before falling forward, fingers working his zipper open and mouth swallowing him whole.

Eddie gasps at the sudden sensation of the hot welcoming cavern of Steve’s mouth. He bucks, lightning shooting up his spine and overwhelmed at the attention as he thrusts once, twice and another before shuddering as he releases into Steve’s warm embrace.

Gasping, Eddie’s head falls forward to stare down at Steve in wonderment. In clear awe as he stares down at the beautiful boy in his lap. Mind blissed but still a niggle worries at the back of his mind, enough to have his hand reaching forward to Steve’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing him up to meet Eddie.

“Sweetheart,” the endearment drops from Eddie’s mouth without his permission.

Steve’s lips tug up, spreading in a grin and widening his eyes, “You want me, don’t you?” He asks, almost breathless.

“Yes. Fucking yes.” Eddie has nothing but honesty to his name at this point.

Steve smiles. Smug and fucking so proud of himself. He leans forward, “Then take me,” he whispers.

And Eddie does.

❤️ More steddie here

[chrissdollie]

little sister sturniolo hcs C:

chris 100% found ways to trick you into doing things for him

ex: “if you don’t clean my room, that monster you saw on tv is gonna come into YOUR room!”

well.. he made you do everything except for his chores

you always did that, and not just for him. you love doing little things around the house with your headphones in. so after eating, he’d definitely leave his dishes in the sink because he knows you’ll wash them

walking trevor with matt :(

u scared away justin’s first girlfriend when he brought her home for dinner simply because you didn’t like her

u were probably one of the first ppl nick told when he was still in the closet

ur reaction wasn’t surprising at all, nick had a feeling u already knew. u merely shrugged, “i know.” 

one year for halloween, you all were the group from the wizard of oz EEEK

matt was tin man, nick was the scarecrow, chris was the cowardly lion, and you were dorothy! (puppy trevor was put inside your basket)

matt helping u with ur homework !!

he was so gentle too, you never went to nick for help again

u were your parents little princess ! therefore you were definitely the most spoilt. meaning that whenever chris, matt, nick, or justin wanted something from mom or dad, they asked you to ask for it

that ended by the time you were 7. you went up to jimmy and exclaimed, “matt wants to go to the arcade!” 

as you got older, you began keeping tabs on everyone. you had blackmail on each of your siblings and had no problem using it against them

“can you drive me to the mall?” *sassy face* “no, yn. ask your friends for a ride.”  “i have a video of you helping chris cheat on a test-” “when do you wanna leave?”

i see the triplets totally playing pranks on u when u were too little to recognize who was who. they’d purposefully switch up their styles to confuse you (matt started feeling bad when u got too frustrated and told the other two to go back to normal)

IF the triplets decide to put you on their channel, everybody is so in love with u!! especially ur accent omg. since they moved to LA, they hadn’t really heard much of your brothers accents but yours sounds like your father’s without a doubt!

[its-wabby-stuff]

Mikey Goes To Oz

<Time spent: 49 hours 17 minutes>

When Mikey takes some time away from a loud family squabble he accidentally ends up getting “flushed” down the sewers. This winds up sending him to the colorful land of Oz where he meets a good witch, a wicked witch, a brainless scarecrow, a heartless Tinman, a cowardess lion, and a powerful wizard, all disguised behind very familiar faces.

A canon adjacent spin off set before the season one finale but after they discover Splinter is Lou Jitsu

I wanted to fit each of the boys into their “you’ve had this all along” category. Leo isn’t brainless, in fact he’s pretty clever with a street smart, people reading ability on par with Donnie’s intelligence. Donnie isn’t heartless, he just has a tough time expressing his feelings. They are complex and unalgorithic but he can get just as excited or sad or angry as anyone, as much as he may deny it. Raph isn’t a coward, but being brave sometimes means admitting you’re scared and that you maybe don’t have all the answers. You dont have to be strong all the time and you don’t have to do it by yourself.

In the movie Dorothy’s journey home is also a representation of her running away. The important thing was to remember there were people who cared about her. Mikey is experiencing a similar phenomenon, wanting the escape the bad vibes in the lair. His “you’ve had it all along” is interesting because it is an object, since the Ruby kneepads could’ve taken him home the whole time. And sometimes getting home means going on a journey only to realize you never left.

I put April as Glinda because Glinda appears as a defender of the weak, and I see April in a similar light. Always willing to help and beat someone up if it is so required. Splinter as The Wizard of Oz represents Splinters own willingness to hide behind different personas, his running from the past and the pulling back of the curtain for Mikey in timeline. The Wizard grows through the movie, albeit quickly, and ends up leaving Oz to go home leaving his legacy with the scarecrow, the Tinman, and the lion. In this case the passing of the baton to his sons.

Meanwhile Draxum as the wicked witch felt much more how Mikey sees Draxum at this time in the show, mostly just an antagonistic force who wants something from them. Fun fact: I imagine throughout this dream, Draxum is uninterested in being the wicked witch but is pressed into it via plot. Hence his disinterest in being “melted.”

Additional characters not pictured: Big Mama as the Wicked Witch of the East (those were her Ruby kneepads!!) and Todd as the Mayor of Munchkin Land. If you can think of more, feel free to leave them in the comments or tags.

[anniebeemine]

three's company- s.r. x fem!reader

Summary: Motherhood is hard. Spencer is there to make it all better.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, Spencer being the sweetest

It had been a long day of running after your two children who seemingly had no interest in anything today. Usually, it would be Alexander who would be riled up and loud. Today, it seemed as though his little sister Dorothy wanted to join in. From the moment they woke up, it was a nonstop whirlwind of energy. You tried everything—reading their favorite stories, setting up an elaborate train set, even letting them indulge in a bit of screen time. But nothing seemed to hold their attention for long. They were bouncing from one activity to the next, their giggles and screams echoing through the house.

By the time Spencer came home, you were at your wits' end. The screaming and yelling from their games had been enough. He kicked his shoes off at the door, the familiar sound of his keys hitting the bowl in the hallway bringing a slight sense of relief. He found you in the kitchen, looking exhausted, your shoulders slumped and eyes weary.

You’d left the BAU after Dotty was born. Motherhood had taken its toll and with two parents in the FBI, you didn’t see them much. Spencer had supported through both pregnancies, and now your decision to stay home. It had been a tough choice, leaving behind the job you loved, the team that had become like family. But you wanted to be there for your children, to give them the stability and presence you felt they deserved.

He greeted you with a kiss and a hug, lingering over you for a moment, his touch warm and comforting. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle, concern etched on his face.

You sighed, picking up another celery stalk to chop. “They’ve just been so… energetic today. It’s been a lot.” You sniffed, unable to hide your feelings anymore. “I love them so much and I’d never trade them for anything. They’re just—” Your voice cracked, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

He shushed you gently, moving to lean against the counter so he could look at you. “You are an amazing mother. Do you hear them right now?” Another fit of screams and laughter cut through the air, a chaotic symphony. “That is the sound of two kids who are happy because someone special has made them feel safe and comfortable.”

You stayed quiet, his words touching a tender spot in your heart. He was being kind and honest, which only made you feel worse for not being able to enjoy their happiness. Spencer noticed the tears forming, pulling the carrot and knife from your hand. He pulled you into another hug, holding you tight, his arms a protective cocoon around you. The warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his breathing, provided a solace you desperately needed.

The two of you stayed like that for a minute, the noise of the children fading into the background. You pulled away, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. He held the side of your face for a second, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I’ll finish this,” he said softly, his eyes full of understanding and love. “Just go relax.”

You hesitated, looking at the half-prepared dinner on the counter. “Are you sure? There’s still a lot to do.”

He nodded, his smile reassuring. “I’ve got this. You go take a bath or read a book. Whatever you need to unwind.”

You gave him a grateful smile, the weight on your shoulders lifting just a bit. “Thank you,” you whispered, leaning in for one more kiss before heading upstairs.

After Spencer’s comforting words, you decided it was time to check on the kids and let them know their dad was home. You headed towards the living room, the sounds of their laughter growing louder with each step. As you turned the corner, you were greeted by a scene of absolute chaos. Books had been tossed around, pages crumpled and covers bent. Toys were scattered everywhere, a minefield of blocks, dolls, and cars. The sofa cushions were upturned, forming makeshift forts, and there was a fine layer of talcum powder covering everything, giving the room a ghostly, white sheen.

In the middle of it all stood Alexander and Dorothy, their faces beaming with pride at their handiwork. Dotty’s face was covered in what looked like your eyeliner, dark streaks crisscrossing her cheeks. Alex had red ink on his skin, his arms and legs marked with what you could only assume were his attempts at tattoos. The sight was both endearing and exasperating.

“Hey, guys,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm and composed despite the mess. “Daddy’s home!”

They turned towards you, their eyes lighting up even more. “Mommy, look!” Alex exclaimed, holding up a marker triumphantly. “We made art!”

Dotty giggled, pointing to her face. “I’m a kitty!” she declared, her whiskers and nose drawn with surprising precision for a toddler.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at their enthusiasm, despite the disaster zone before you. “Wow, you’ve both been very busy, haven’t you?”

They nodded eagerly, not a hint of guilt or remorse in their expressions. Just pure, innocent joy. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of what Spencer had said. This chaos was a sign of their happiness, their creativity.

“Alright,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Why don’t we go show Daddy your artwork?”

They cheered, racing past you towards the kitchen, leaving little powdery footprints in their wake.

As you headed upstairs for that much-needed break, Spencer watched you disappear around the corner. He heard your bedroom door close softly and decided to give you some time alone. He knew how hard you worked every day and sensed that you needed a moment to yourself.

Turning his attention back to the kids, he smiled at them. "Alright, team, let's get cleaned up and then we'll have some dinner." He managed to corral them into the bathroom, wiping off the eyeliner from Dotty's face and scrubbing the red ink from Alex's skin as best he could. The children squirmed and giggled, making the task both challenging and endearing.

Once they were reasonably clean, he set them up in the kitchen with their dinner. He made sure they had their favorite foods, hoping it would keep them occupied. After they finished eating, he handed them each a bottle of milk and led them to the living room. He put on some soft music and a movie, hoping to create a calming atmosphere. The kids settled on the couch, their eyes drooping as they drank their bottles, eyes trained on Tarzan.

Satisfied that they were winding down, Spencer took a deep breath and headed upstairs. The house was quieter now, but he knew you were still carrying the weight of the day. He approached your bedroom door and knocked softly before entering. He found you sitting on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down your face. You looked up, trying to smile but unable to hide your guilt and exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said, your voice breaking. “I was so absorbed in annoyance and exasperation that I didn’t notice they were able to create such a mess. I feel like I’m failing them.”

Spencer crossed the room quickly, sitting beside you and wrapping his arms around you. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, holding you close. “You’re not failing them. You’re doing an amazing job. They’re happy and healthy because of you.”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his embrace soothing your frazzled nerves. “But look at the mess they made. I should have been paying more attention.”

“They’re kids,” Spencer said gently. “Mess is part of the deal. And you’ve been doing this all day by yourself. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You’re allowed to have moments where it feels like too much.”

You sniffed, nodding against his shoulder. “I just want to be a good mom.”

“You are a good mom,” he assured you, pulling back to look into your eyes. “The best. And part of being a good mom is knowing when you need a break. You’re not alone in this. We’re a team, remember?”

You managed a small smile, the weight of his words easing the burden you felt. “Thank you, Spencer.”

He kissed your forehead, brushing a tear away with his thumb.

“I have an idea,” he said with a smile.

Spencer kissed your forehead and stood up, heading to the bathroom. He turned on the taps, adjusting the temperature until the water was just right, then added some of your favorite bubble bath. As the tub filled, he returned to the bedroom and took your hand. “Come on, your bath is ready. I’ll give you some time alone, and I promise I’ll be back with a surprise for you.”

You smiled gratefully, letting him guide you to the bathroom. The scent of lavender filled the air, and the sight of the warm, inviting bath made your shoulders relax. “Thank you, Spencer.”

He kissed your cheek. “Enjoy. I’ll be back soon.”

As you sank into the tub, the warm water enveloping you, Spencer quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He made his way downstairs to find the kids still in the living room, now fully relaxed with their bottles. “Alright, you two, let’s get ready for bed,” he said, scooping up Dotty and holding Alex’s hand.

He led them to their room, where they nestled themselves into bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? Just stay here and get cozy,” he said, tucking them into their beds. They nodded sleepily, their eyelids heavy.

Back in the kitchen, Spencer washed the kids’ bottles, making sure everything was clean and ready for the next day. He then prepared a small wine and cheese platter, selecting a few of your favorite cheeses and a bottle of wine you both enjoyed. He arranged it all neatly on a tray and carried it up to the hall, leaving it just outside the bedroom door.

Returning to the children’s room, he found them both still awake but looking drowsy. He sat on the edge of Alex’s bed and stroked his hair. “Where’s Mommy?” Alex asked, his voice small and tired.

“She’s already asleep,” Spencer lied gently, not wanting to disturb your peace. “But she loves you very much and will see you in the morning.”

Alex nodded, satisfied with the answer, and snuggled deeper into his blankets. Spencer kissed his forehead, then moved to Dotty’s bed, doing the same. “Goodnight, my little kitty,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Dotty mumbled, her eyes already closed.

Once they were both settled and quiet, Spencer slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. You’d been sitting at the vanity, eyes closed as you brushed through your hair.

“Knock, knock,” he said softly, peeking his head in. “I brought you something.”

You opened your eyes and smiled at the sight of him. “Come in.”

He entered with the tray, setting it down on a small table by the bed. “A little treat for you,” he said, pouring a glass of wine and handing it to you.

You took it, your eyes welling up with gratitude. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Glass in hand, you crossed over to the bed, motioning for him to join you. He obliged, lying down beside you. You ran a hand through his hair, complimenting the smell of his coconut shampoo. You whispered sweet nothings, thanking him for coming home. His eyes began to droop, sleep imminent for him. You thought about how you met, staring at each other from across the bullpen on your first day. It took you an entire year to ask him out, instantly falling for him the moment he picked your favorite restaurant. You cherished the warmth of his body next to yours, the gentle rise and fall of his breath, the comfort of knowing he was here, with you. In these quiet, shared moments, everything else seemed to disappear. You wished you could hold onto this feeling forever, make it last, but you knew it was the rarity of these times that made them so special.

Spencer took a deep breath, sitting up. “I want some.” He climbed off the bed to retrieve a small plate of cheese and crackers. He carefully balanced his own glass of wine as he returned to his spot on the bed. You reached for a piece of cheese from the platter, your movements slow and deliberate. You nibbled on it thoughtfully, savoring the creamy texture and mild flavor.

Spencer watched you for a moment, noticing the way you held the glass without taking a sip. A thought crossed his mind, and he nodded to himself, realizing you weren’t angry or annoyed—you were just exhausted. And suddenly, it all made sense.

“Are you…?” he began, his voice soft as he plucked a few grapes off the vine and offered them to you.

You looked at him, your eyes widening slightly before you nodded. “I found out yesterday,” you admitted, setting the wine glass down untouched. “But you were gone, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

Spencer’s heart swelled with a mixture of excitement and concern. “Three kids,” he said, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Wow. How are you feeling about it?”

“I don’t know how to do this with three kids, Spencer,” you confessed, a hint of fear in your voice. “I’m already struggling with two.”

Spencer took your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Then maybe it’s my time to be a stay-at-home dad,” he said with a light chuckle, trying to lift your spirits.

You laughed softly, the tension in your shoulders easing a bit. “I can just imagine you trying to juggle the BAU and three kids.”

He grinned, placing a hand over your stomach. “Three kids. That’s going to be a big change. We’ll be outnumbered.”

The shared laughter brought a sense of relief, a moment of connection that reminded you of the strength you had as a team. But before the moment could settle, a small voice interrupted.

“Mommy?” Dotty stood at the door, her blanket in hand, looking small and sleepy. “I can’t sleep.”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, both of you smiling at the sight of your daughter. “Come here, sweet pea,” you said, opening your arms to her.

Dotty shuffled over, climbing into your lap and snuggling against you. Spencer sat beside you, wrapping his arm around both of you. “Looks like someone needs some extra cuddles tonight,” he said softly.

You kissed the top of Dotty’s head, feeling a surge of love and determination. “We’ll be okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

Spencer nodded, his eyes full of support and love. “Yes, we will. One day at a time.”

Just as you were settling into the peaceful moment, you heard another small voice from the doorway. “Mommy?”

Alex stood there, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t sleep unless you tell me goodnight.”

You laughed softly, looking at Spencer with a mix of amusement and affection. “Come here, Alex,” you called, opening your other arm.

Alex ran over and climbed onto the bed, nestling himself beside you. “Can I sleep with you and Daddy tonight?”

You exchanged a warm smile with Spencer. “Of course you can,” you said, smoothing his hair. “But just for tonight, okay?”

Alex nodded, his eyes already drooping as he settled in. Within moments, he was fast asleep, his small body curled up against you.

Spencer scooted over, making more room on the bed, and looked around at the cozy, albeit crowded, arrangement. “You know,” he said with a playful grin, “we might need to buy a bigger bed.”

You chuckled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. “You’re probably right.”

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Post S4: If All That's Left of Steve in the Final Battle is Ashes—

...are they REALLY JUST ashes? 🔥 

The final battle—like the last part of the very final battle—ends with shattering, and with dust.

It starts, the first bad dream and the first bloody nose and the first Code Red on the radios: well, that’s three months into something, for the first time in Eddie’s sorry-ass-but-honestly-actually-since-almost-not-having-any-life-at-all-any-more-and-miraculously-making-it-through-a-night-then-a-week-then-a-month-then-rehab-then-chronic-pain-then-more-friends-than-he’d-ever-had-before-and-frankly-in-the-beginning-more-than-he-could-count-plus-three-new-mother-figures-and-two-maybe-three-extra-maybe-father-figures-plus-one-friend-of-Dorothy-who’s-the-platonic-soulmate-of-maybe-the-love-of-Eddie’s-not-actually-still-sorry-ass-life: he’s about three months into something wild and reeling in his chest, brushing hands and lingering looks and flushed cheeks and little secret smiles ducked in toward shoulders or behind stray curls, or falling asleep pressed arm-to-arm only to wake up in one lap or another, and the whole of it’s shameless and intentional and giddy somewhere low in Eddie’s belly because it’s not uncertain, it’s honestly just fucking bashful, it’s shy and it’s the both of them wordlessly leaning into it, careful but sure, and almost all the more buoyant for it.

It’s three months in, and when they step up to that last battle—that final turn, do-or-die—maybe Steve pulls him behind a truck Eddie doesn’t even know the owner of, where it came from or why it’s there; but maybe Steve pulls him behind and draws him close without a word and kisses him relentless, drags his teeth and draws a little blood for the force and leaves them both raw, and panting, and desperate: it couldn’t really go any other way, like this—here.

Now.

“Live through this,” Steve had breathed against his angry red lips, hard enough that it stung; “so we can pick up where we left off.”

“I will if you will,” Eddie had shot back, defiant; still begging.

And Steve had kissed him again, and Eddie’d watched as Steve walked away with the lightest smear of Eddie’s blood on his lower lip as he’d spoken:

“I’ll hold you to it.”

And they’d parted, to do their fucking jobs, to play their fucking roles. They’re come back together, ready to take the final boss down as a unit, and Eddie remembers that he’d felt hopeful, he’d felt so fucking relieved because this was it. They were gonna nail it, all for one, and—

So it might be near the end, actually—they may have almost done it, finished the job and killed every last bit of this hellscape, every beast big and small, crushed what’s left of the husk of Vecna orchestrating it all: it might happen near the end. Or maybe just shy of the beginning. Somewhere in the middle.

All Eddie knows is that it happens. There’s light, and people floating in the air and then more light, dragged back down by the same lightning-spark power, and it’s back and it’s forth and when it hits anyone, Supergirl pulls them back to the ground and fights back harder, her face blood red dripping to her neck, her teeth bared all wrath and fury, and then—

Then there’s something that shoots different, hits Steve and he doesn’t float. It looks different, so it probably is different, and he doesn’t float when it hits him.

And so: Eddie holds to the bargain.

But Steve.

Steve…Steve Harrington, with the bitchiest glare and the brightest smile and the goofiest laugh and the biggest fucking heart, the bravest of all of them and the best part of Eddie’s whole soul—

Steve gets hit, and disappears from the world in nothing but a cloud of dust.

No one tries to shush Eddie, when he screams, when he wails and sobs; drops to his knees and fucking howls.

No one tries to stop him when he crawls to the space that held his whole heart, and now lies empty, save a dusting of something almost shiny, coarse to the touch but fine to the naked eye, hard to distinguish from the dirt on sight alone—is that him? Is that his Sweetheart, all that’s left of him—

Eddie thinks maybe they try to stop him halfway through the way he starts frantically sweeping, scooping up the ash and filling every pocket he has with as much as he can. He vaguely feels a hand on his shoulder, maybe the sound of his name, but it’s all white noise because Eddie’s picking up the pieces of his heart, here, Eddie’s trying like hell to hold on to something of the man he loves and anyone who doesn’t like it, or thinks he’s crazy, or wants to rush him, ask him to leave any little pouch in any layer of his clothes unfilled, less than overflowing with all that remains?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. Because Eddie kept his side of the deal.

Live through this.

I will if you will.

And now he has to live with the way his Stevie…didn’t.

——

The rest of the Party sticks together after it’s done. Dustin is inconsolable, Erica and Max scowl in each other’s direction but not really…at each other. Mike’s having a weird…frenzy response, denying Steve’s dead at all and demanding Lucas help him get El to look for him, he has to be somewhere, he has be saveable like Max, like Eddie. Robin’s fucking catatonic—the real adults take most of the burden, trying to figure out who to call, because Steve’s their only casualty, the beating heart at the center of all this and it’s gone, no wonder they’re breaking—

The Party stays together. Eddie falls back on what he knows.

He runs.

Specifically: he runs home, carefully though, he can’t jostle his pockets, and he knows exactly where he’s looking when he gets to his room, crawls to the farthest corner of his closet in this still-weird-to-be-so-big bedroom after the trailer: and he finds it.

His mom’s old little hope chest.

There are a million little fake velvet pouches inside, a couple pieces of actual jewelry kept in an empty film canister, and then a smaller jewelry box type thing meant for a dresser or something: Eddie doesn’t think he can fill the hope chest.

But the rest…

He starts with the jewelry box, since it’s already empty, carefully cups his palms to fill it with the precious dust until the lid doesn’t close.

Then he sorts the pouches, puts aside the ones that don’t pull tight enough shut for his liking. The rest…those will be temporary. He’ll find a better home for the ashes soon, but for now they’re safe, and all that’s left is…

The film canister is special.

It’s stupid and plastic and like every other fucking black-and grey tube thingy that smells like vinegar on the inside of you hold it up too close. But this one—

He’s always gotten a little teary-eyed to think that this was the one his mother kept.

Because he’d poked a hole through the rough little peak in the top of the lid with a fork, took a piece of thread from the junk drawer and made himself a necklace to match the one she had and she’d smiled at him so bright, poked another hole next to his, and threaded his string-chain through the back of the lid so it’d close up tight, to keep all your most secret prized possessions, my sugarbean and he had. For years.

Now it held what was left of her jewels, mostly cheap stuff with sentimental worth he couldn’t calculate—but now he has to take the faulty pouches and give the jewelry a new home.

Now he’s never had something more prized and precious to keep.

He finds fishing line in Wayne’s stuff, stronger than the thread worn and aged over a decade and a half, swaps it out with the string. Covers the inside with electrical tape to make sure nothing can sneak out of the holes, even so.

And then he fills it. Last of the ashes, and it all only just fits but the lid pops on perfect.

Then he pulls it over his head, and lies down on his bed.

And fucking sobs when the canister falls to settle right over his heart.

——

Some of the kids try to coax him out, argue grief is better shared or whatever, but Eddie’s deaf to the knocking, the way they try to yell at his window—not even cracked open, he won’t risk a rogue bird or a stray breeze disturbing all he has left of his, his—

The kids go away, eventually.

Wayne finds out through the grapevine what’s happened—he comes into Eddie’s room and holds him even if Eddie doesn’t want it, doesn’t ask. He’s grateful, though, even if he doesn’t say it, and Wayne sheds more than one tear; he’d been warming quick to Steve, called him son.

That wasn’t something Wayne did lightly. Not that anything Wayne did was done lightly.

However many days pass, Eddie doesn’t keep track. He wakes and runs to the little box on his dresser, just to make sure it’s safe, clutching the film tube around his neck while he does, weighing it desperately until he can be sure the bulk of the ashes are undisturbed. The rest of his time is spent lying in his bed and rolling the little canister across his fingers, taking off all his rings so he can just…touch it. Be close to whatever lifeless pieces of Steve—and likewise, then: pieces of Eddie—remain anywhere at all. He passes the hours like that, largely. Sometimes he thinks he’s hungry, like his stomach aches in that pang kind of way, but thinking of eating in a world where Steve doesn’t breathe makes him sick every time, so he doesn’t follow through. Wayne pesters him to at least drink something, so he sometimes shuffles to the bathroom, or the kitchen, drinks from the sink because glasses are for people who make plans for the future, who intend to drink things over the course of a lifetime, a life maybe with a purpose, a purpose that—

Eddie throws himself back into bed again, every time. Presses his film-canister-talisman tight to his sternum until the hurt of the pressure blurs with bigger hurts, and ultimately blurs into black.

Until one day, he opens his eyes. And after he’s done with the subtle disappointment that he had to, that morning came at all; when he gets up and checks the box?

The lid’s flipped off.

And there’s a tiny pile of dusty ash, glittering next to it, when there’s no light in the room to even catch it.

Eddie’s heart drops, then seizes in his chest.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

No one comes in but Wayne, and he just pokes his head in. Nothing can get in, either, unless…but they closed all the gates, there is no Upside Down anymore—

Eddie’s hands are shaking as he tries to brush the little pile into his hands, pulse tripping when the thinks of what it is, inside his hands, and he carefully lets it sift back into the jewelry box, tries to judge if any’s been lost, closes the top when he starts breathing too heavy, when his anxiety threatens to make the situation worse as he tries to bend down and see the furniture at surface level, find any precious speck of—

Not a speck. Not a…mote.

The escaped ashes were on top of something, though. Something Eddie’s never seen before. About the size of a notecard but, kinda like…ancient, weathered; that yellowed look you can never fake just right, traced alone with…some kind of calligraphy out of fucking Camelot or some shit, metallic gold in script:

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.  

The…fuck?

Eddie tries to squint, because the text is weirdly positioned; it does look like something’s worn off, and some of what’s actually there is brighter, bolder than the rest, and then there’s a whole other style, almost backward, like a mirror-image of handwriting, and Eddie lifts the card up to the mirror instinctively, only to see…

There’s writing on the other side.

Eddie’s breath catches when he recognizes the handwriting. Small, and more words than should be able to fit but…it fits. It’s dried blood in color, and Eddie’s not convinced it’s just a color for how it’s a little raised and flaky, but it doesn’t come off when Eddie touches it, traces it because the cramped little letters, tall and short all mixed and mismatched, so familiar, so tight in Eddie’s chest—

It’s…Eddie…

Eddie’s eyes skim the first few lines in Steve’s handwriting, and he cannot fucking breathe—

Hey, wow, that’s some crazy shit there on the other side of this piece of paper, my gran says it’s a warning even if I don’t personally get it, but I’m pretty sure it’s enchanted? The paper, I mean. The warning’s probably about being too close to…this, without being prepared. But that’s, whatever. Point is, I don’t think I can make new enchanted paper, so here’s the deal: First, thanks for grabbing the ashes? I didn’t actually expect anyone to do that. I hope it was intentional, like that you weren’t sweeping or the ash got stuck in your shoes or something, because intentional will make the rest of this way easier (hopefully, or like, maybe), and if you’re a part of the bigger Hawkins fuckery it’ll be way easier to believe at the least so, fingers crossed I guess but: I’m kind of a phoenix? Firebird? Thing? It’s a bloodline “curse” but especially since the, umm, incidents with the Lab I’ve been thinking maybe it’s actually kinda cool? Like insurance. But the extra fucked up thing is that someone has to grab the ashes without being, like, told to. Free will or some bullshit. And apparently we’re not a very spontaneously likable bunch of dungeons-and-dipshit-type creatures, because not many of us even get to re-birth ourselves. Because of the ash…thing. But you! You did that! And now I can do the rebirth thing! Which I hope is okay. There are a lot of, like, bond-type things that go along with the person who ‘cares selflessly to gather ash unbidden’—I think that’s what makes someone more than a ‘mere human’ consumed by the Fire and they won’t get burned, they’ll be…well, if they wanted. Bond-stuff. Not important. I’m not gonna hold you to any of that shit, like, nothing you don’t want to happen will happen because of this, I 100% promise. Except maybe I’ll do some over the top gestures of gratitude—and on the off chance you already know me, at all? Over-the-top is kinda how I do most feelings, so. Should not be a surprise. Only thing I will ask, and if it’s too much no worries, the whole resurrection shebang was a gamble from the get-go but, if you can just keep this pile of ashes safe for a little bit? It takes longer to heal based on how old you are when you, y’know. Kick it. So…yeah. I never learned how to come back as a baby because that sounded weird. Quicker, but weird. I only learned the slower way so I can just…come back how I left, like no time passed. But if you can keep the ashes safe until then that’d be totally cool. Anyway, thanks, whoever you are. Kinda owe you my life, here. I’ll show you the appreciation you deserve when I’m, you know. Not-ashes. Once I have opposable thumbs again and stuff. But really. Thank you. See you soon, hopefully (if that’s cool, I mean, I can get out of your hair ASAP too if you’d rather, just say so soon as I pop up)— ~SH

Eddie…falls to the floor at some point, nearly ripping the note, no: no, actually, he should have decimated it, macerated it the with the way his hands clench and his tears have fallen and made not a single mark: enchanted paper.

Ashes that…maybe are Steve?

That maybe mean Steve could come…will come back?

Eddie really can’t breathe, now, and when the black swallows everything, he’s still on the fucking floor.

——

When next he comes-to, Eddie splashes water on his face after he checks on the jewelry box, reads the letter again, clutches the ash-filled pendant in his hand as he drinks, considers eating—no.

No, not yet. His stomach’s still unsteady. His chest is swollen, pressed with something like hope for the impossible because what the fuck, first and foremost, but then, then…

There was a horrorscape under his feet for years before it came for him personally, before he almost died at its hands once, and then again by proxy when, when it took his…

His maybe-love-of-his-life-and-also-possibly-something-like-a-phoenix-who-might-be-coming-back-to-Eddie-which-would-mean-Eddie-could-keep-breathing-and-his-heart-would-be-returned-to-his-chest-by-the-hands-of-the-man-he-loves-because-he-thinks-it-died-with-Steve-but-if-Steve-isn’t-dead—

He basically almost died again when…maybe his Steve—who Eddie fully acknowledges at this point he’s absolutely fucking gone on with his whole heart and soul, because there’s no other real explanation for his total and complete shutdown as a human for the sake of Steve’s loss—when his Stevie died, but maybe didn’t.

But then now, now maybe…

Maybe the impossible could be something that saved them, saved him, instead of something that only sought to ruin.

Eddie doesn’t think he can believe he’s that lucky.

But it’s easier to entertain the possibility, than to continue just…knowing Steve died before Eddie could acknowledge with his everything that he—certified cynic and self-deceiving dumbass Edward Elliot Munson—was ass-over-ankles in love; and more than that: before he could tell Steve as much, because of anyone Eddie’s ever met, Steve Harrington deserves to know how impossible it is not to; how ineffably much he is loved.

“Hey,” Eddie ultimately finds himself curled up back in his bed again, clutching his film canister to his chest, tight enough to leave an impression on his skin.

He wants it to. Right over the way his heart slams against his ribs. He wants a bruise. He wants a scar. He wants inviolable proof.

“Umm, so I don’t know if this is real,” Eddie’s eyes flicker to the jewelry box of ashes, the strange potentially-enchanted note on his dresser; “or if it is, how this works?”

This apparently being talking to the cobbled together film-pendant around his neck, he…he’s so fucked, isn’t he, this is insane—

But it’s not like that’s ever stopped him before.

And before never had love in the mix. So.

“If you can hear me,” Eddie runs his thumb around the circumference of the cap, over and over; “I pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you,” and it’s maybe fucked up, how it feels as nervewracking to say it to a plastic canister of ashes as he imagines it’d feel looking into those stupidly-wide amber eyes, but yep: said plastic ash-pendant’d be fucking bouncing with his heartbeat if he wasn’t holding it so tight to the furious drumming of his pulse.

“I know it’s fast? But,” and Eddie swallows, shakes his head for reasons that are maybe about dispelling the idea that anything’s too fast or too much in the life they’ve led, one where more might be possible, where a future might still exist beyond all possibilities, all hope except for the fragile frail thing in Eddie’s chest written in blood red, in Steve’s hand on Eddie’s fucking bones:

“I don’t think losing someone hurts like this if your heart’s not in it all the way,” and that’s, that is…

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it. His heart is the heart of it.

“Sorry, about that, if you,” Eddie swallows, sour around the idea that maybe, even if the impossible’s possible, this part, where he feels like this, is just…maybe not too far but in the wrong direction.

But he wants to believe. He wants to think Steve saw something pointing in this direction when he told him to survive, so they could have, so they could finish, so they—them, together—could…

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s voice is hoarse enough to hurt, now, so he lifts his little film canister to his lips and presses them hard, sure: it’s weirdly warm against his mouth, held too close to his chest for too long.

Not long enough. Not close enough.

“Be careful about taking care of yourself, about, coming back and,” Eddie grips his pendant of ashes back tight to the center of his sternum;

“I’ll watch over it, watch over you,” he promises; “long as you need.”

And he breathes, holding the canister close before he brings it back to his mouth again and whispers to it like it matters, or…just in case it matters:

“Come back to me,” his words come out in a shudder, all trembling; “I’m just a mere human, maybe less than,” and that’s true, that is so fucking true but:

“But you already consume me,” Eddie speaks it honest, and kisses the rim of the cap— if there’s any chance of getting in, it’s there:

“So burn me up, as much as you need to,” and Eddie means it, he fucking means it with everything he is; “just,” and his voice cracks, and he shoves the canister back tight to his shaking heart when the first tear falls on it, covers it with both hands and cups it safe and damn-near painful as he whispers to whatever might listen:

“If any of this is real,” he barely fucking breathes: “please come back.”

He loses the battle for consciousness to his tears, but awake or asleep: he doesn’t once let go of the pendant pressed to his heart.

——

Eddie’s warm. Like, fell asleep in the sunlight, swaddled in a blanket, embraced and held and wrapped up in pure comfort warm.

“You’re more than a mere human,” a voice exhales right behind his ear: also warm, also comfort, also fucking impossible and he turns, frantic and even more so when he feels the lack of his film canister against his chest, and he tries to scramble for it but he’s…he’s held the whole time in strong arms that he knows, same as he knew that voice, same as it’s clear that he’s warm because he’s wrapped up in a body, tangled from the legs up with, with—

“How,” Eddie barely speaks, more mouths as that chest lifts, those lungs fill, that mouth curls warm and sweet and his Steve is watching him, those eyes so alive and then those strong hands are reaching for him, cupping Eddie’s cheeks and marveling like Eddie’s the wonder, here, like Steve isn’t lying in his arms like a full-on fucking miracle.

“You offered burning, and pledged your heart unasked,” Steve says it in this…this way that is exactly that simple, and exponentially more profound.

“That is some lore shit,” Eddie breathes out almost on instinct because…that’s some lore shit.

And Steve—Steve, his Stevie, wrapped around him and moving and breathing and being and definitely one-hundred-percent naked but that is totally irrelevant right this moment because Steve—

Steve laughs at him, soft and fond and god, god but Eddie thought he’d lost it. He was so sure, and his heart was so broken but now Steve’s heart is strong against his skin and Eddie can, he can…

Eddie can fucking breathe.

“I don’t think anyone expects our kind to be…cared about, like that,” Steve shrugs a little, and Eddie wants to protest because Steve Harrington isn’t only cared about, he is adored, and fuck anyone who says different, who so much as thinks otherwise—he wants to push the point, but Steve’s eyes are so intent, so saturated with feeling.

And fuck, but Eddie missed those eyes.

“Speeds the whole re-personing thing up, apparently,” Steve’s smile is a little wider before he shakes his head with a cute little toss of that hair.

“Old magic things,” he dismisses; “for later,” and then he draws Eddie back down close to his chest and snuggles him in so, so close.

“Tired,” Steve sighs a little into Eddie’s mess of curls; “and you need taking care of.”

And it’s…out of everything, the protective certainty in those last words are maybe the most unshakable proof that settles in Eddie’s chest and reminds the still-reluctant, still-too-scared parts of Eddie’s heart to commit and start back to beating because: only Steve Harrington is protective��quite like this.

“You’re really here?” Eddie whispers, wondering and hesitant all at the same time.

“Thanks to you,” Steve kisses Eddie soft, sure: taste strangely of smoke and cinnamon but underneath—all Steve.

His Steve.

He folds into Steve’s chest and just, fucking, clings.

“So fast,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin, because the heartbeat under his lips is almost indecipherable, one beat to the next. “And you’re so warm, are you,” Eddie props his chin up and looks up at Steve, anxious and flooding with worry before he sees Steve’s smile, still sweet and steady.

“Bird,” Steve drums his fingers against Eddie’s forearm, lightning quick; “fire bird, so,” and the heat makes sense then, too, as Steve wraps him up again tighter and sighs, satisfied as he envelopes Eddie’s frame.

“Also extra energy, I think,” Eddie listens to Steve’s words around his heartbeat through his chest; “like, I couldn’t make it past your kitchen but, I don’t know how I know it, but I know I can give some of it to you while it’s settling.”

Magic. Steve. Can share his phoenix magic. To take care of Eddie. Immediately after coming back from the fucking grave.

On brand, Eddie guesses. Jesus fuck.

“I am pretty damn positive I’m in love you with you, too, by the way,” Steve shakes Eddie back to his body, to the moment, to the soft sure way he breathes those words and kisses Eddie’s temple like Eddie’s pulse doesn’t trip around the sentence, the sentiment.

“Also thank you, for,” Steve adds, and drops another kiss while Eddie reels, floats in the moment of hearing the words, of knowing for sure, of feeling it: “for loving me, somehow, enough to,” and Eddie can imagine where that’s headed, the way Steve says somehow like an unthinkable thing.

And there will be none of that, so he stops it and kisses hard, wet, open-mouthed at the center of Steve’s chest, over his bird-flutter heartbeat.

“It broke me,” Eddie breathes there, cracked open and still raw; “I already mostly figured but,” and his voice breaks, and Steve pulls him closer, so warm, and the bird-heart-flutter feels more like full broad wings, majestic, almost embracing and ensuring Eddie of all things is safe, and kept.

And warm.

Fuck if Eddie doesn’t fall into the feeling, full body; whole heart and soul.

“If there was any question whether I already loved you with everything, the way I fell apart,” and Eddie just moans a little because there aren’t…he doesn’t have words for it at all, he—

“Let me put you back together?” Steve murmurs low in a way that’s so soft and gentle but trembles the marrow inside Eddie’s bones.

Timeless. Endless.

Eddie kisses Steve’s chest again and hopes Steve knows that means yes, and please, and forever.

Unequivocally.

“Could we maybe talk about that, um, bond stuff, that the letter…” Eddie eventually speaks muffled into the hair on Steve’s pecs, after soaking in the heat and pulse and realness of him.

“I meant it,” Steve murmurs straight into Eddie’s skin; “I’m not holding you to—”

“I want you to.”

Eddie did not for a second think or feel otherwise, from the moment he saw the words, before he even started to believe at all: his mind was filled with possibilities by those words. His chest was…

“You…” Steve nudges Eddie’s head up from his chest and studies his face, reads something in his eyes before his breath catches, this time; before his bird-pulse skips, something light and giddy against Eddie’s weight and Steve huffs, disbelieving but…maybe happy for it.

Maybe…maybe overjoyed, even.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and leans to kiss Eddie full on the lips again, consuming: familiar for it.

“Yeah we can talk about that. But later.”

And then he settles Eddie back against him and wraps him in his bare skin, the still-radiant warmth.

“Now you sleep, and when you wake up, I feed you, you shower, you put on new clothes,” Eddie wrinkles his nose, doesn’t even know how many days it’s been since he cared for those things; abandons any shame for it when Steve feels him recoil and presses him closer, chuckles once and nuzzles his hair;

“Then I feed you again, and then,” Steve kisses his head once, and then twice, and then three times and Eddie feels it tingle through his goddamn veins like a vow, filled up with promise when Steve whispers, so alive:

“Then, we can talk.”

For @klausinamarink, who requested '"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and also for @steddie-week for the Day Seven prompt 'Free Space'

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @mensch-anthropos-human @micheledawn1975 @lumoschildextra @dotdot-wierdlife @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @grtwdsmwhr @eddie-munson-addict

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[hmslusitania]

Ted Lasso is a portal fantasy

I know, I know it's not in any way a speculative fiction show. I know. Bear with me for a second. Ted Lasso is a portal fantasy, but the real question is whether this is the story we know from the Wizard of Oz, or Mary Poppins. Ted himself is at once Dorothy and Mary, and I think my reaction to the end of Ted's story, specifically, depends on whether you take the show at it’s title, that it’s about Ted Lasso (Dorothy) or take the show at Ted’s word that it was never about him (Mary Poppins).

To Ted, he is very literally Dorothy.

He’s away from Kansas, he’s surrounded by the reminder that “there’s no place like home”, and he spent the finale wearing honest to god ruby red sneakers. The evil wizard stalked down from his curtained owners box and was removed from power. The lion got her courage, the tin man for his heart, and the scarecrow got his brain, and Dorothy went back to Kansas (leaving Toto behind). But unlike Dorothy, we didn't really get the build up that Ted had to go back to Kansas to get what he wanted -- Henry back in his life. Rebecca even offered him the choice to stay, and the means to bring Henry and even Michelle back to London with him. Exactly zero compelling reason was offered to explain why Ted wouldn't take that offer. But he's Dorothy, in a portal fantasy, and that's what Dorothy does -- she goes home. It is the ending of the vast majority of portal fantasies, no matter how much it will fuck up the protagonist (there's a whole series detailing that damage and undoing it by tumblr's own Seanan McGuire which I highly recommend btw). To me, this is an unsatisfying ending for Ted himself, since no reason was given for him to turn down Rebecca's offer.

However.

To the Richmond family, Ted is Mary Poppins.

One of the complaints I’ve seen about this season is that we don’t know where Ted is, emotionally. Much like Mary Poppins, whose internality as a character is, at best, an afterthought. Mary Poppins is not the point of Mary Poppins. The children she helps are the point of Mary Poppins, and when she leaves at the end, although you’re sad to see her go, you know the kids she left there have grown as people and will continue to grow by her example and her benevolent Julie Andrews ways. And by and large, you don’t really worry about the place Mary Poppins goes to. She’s Mary Poppins and she’ll do what she does and ours is not to question etc. ("Mary Poppins isn't a portal fantasy" yeah, I know, technically, but it's kind of an inside out portal fantasy since there's a character who came from another kind of realm, who swept in to be the answer to some problem, and then went home {or, wherever}; it's just we're seeing it from the pov of the locals rather than the person from the other realm.)

The Richmond Team have all grown as people under Ted's stewardship. As we’ve seen in the character progressions particularly of Roy, of Nate, of Rebecca, they will continue in the Richmond way that they’ve developed. Forever changed by Ted sailing in on his parasol, missing him certainly, but able to continue. More narrative weight is given to the Mary Poppins side of the story, and in this scenario, I take much, much less issue with Ted's the character's ending.

In conclusion, Ted Lasso is the story of Mary Poppins staring Dorothy Gale in the titular role.

[lyranova]

Hii! I love your fics!! May I please request a oneshot where yami's squad member (y/n) turns into a baby / child (whichever is better), and brings her to the captains ' meeting as he has no other choice? (y/n) calls everyone dad / mom and it makes them all super soft for her? like yami is first annoyed then softens up, nozel is straight up rude as usual but everyone glares at him for that (cause they're so protective of her already uwu) and he ends up being soft for her too. idk, this was a 2 am thought im sorry!! thank you for taking requests 😭💞

Hiya anon! No worries 2am thoughts are always fine and fun, tbh I tend to get them a lot myself 😆! Aw thank you so much I’m so glad you like my fics, and you’re welcome, I enjoy taking requests! It gives me something fun and different to do 🥰! Of course you may and I hope you all enjoy~!

Word Count: 1,325

Warnings: None

———

Yami didn’t know how this happened, she was fine when she left on a mission with Asta and Noelle, but when they all came back she was a baby! When he asked them what the hell happened Asta and Noelle explained that it was the bad guys magic; he could make people really old, or really young!

Yami had ordered them to take her back to the mage and force him to change her back but Noelle explained that they tried, but the mage said his spell would only wear off in 24 hours. So for now…they were stuck with her being a toddler!

She was still able to walk at least, talking on the other hand…well she was only able to say a handful of words, mainly ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’. Which kind of bothered Yami since he didn’t want to be called ‘daddy’ by a member of his squad, but she wasn't really eager to learn ‘Yami’ at the moment he would have to deal with it for now.

Yami fully intended to leave her at the squad as he went to a Captain’s meeting, but when Yami began to ask who wanted to be in charge of their toddler squadmate every single Black Bull scattered like leaves in a gust of wind.

Which was how he ended up in his current situation; in the Captain’s meeting room, with his toddler squadmate sitting in his lap, as the other Captain’s ‘oohed’ and ‘awwed’ over her.

“ Aw look how adorable she is! I didn’t know you had a baby Yami!” Dorothy said as she began to use her Glamour World magic to create small toys to keep her entertained. Charlotte crossed her arms as she looked at the child.

‘Yami had a child?! Why didn’t he say anything? Does that mean he’s married or has a committed partner? Or is the child a product of a one night stand? Yami doesn’t seem to be the type to do that though, so he must have someone! Why didn’t he say anything, I’m so jealous of her, why didn’t I confess to him sooner?!’ Charlotte’s mind raced as she stared at the little girl, she didn’t look like Yami, but that could easily be explained away. The girl looked at Charlotte with wide eyes before she smiled brightly and reached her arms out towards the Briar mage.

“ Mommy?” She asked cutely before her smile widened. “ Mommy!”

Charlotte and Dorothy’s hearts quickly melted and they both couldn’t help but say ‘How Cute~!’. Yami sighed and shook his head.

“ The Prickly Princess ain’t your mom, and I’m not her dad. She’s a member of my squad who got turned into a toddler on a mission earlier. The other brats took off running when I asked them to baby sit her.” Yami explained as he held the small girl still. She looked up at him with a pout but did stop moving.

“ I see, so how long will she be like this?” Fuegoleon asked as he placed a thoughtful hand under his chin, the girl looked at him for a moment before her bright smile returned.

“ Daddy!” She shouted brightly and with a giggle, Fuegoleon’s brows raised in surprise and a small smile appeared on his face.

“ I’m sorry to say that I’m not your father little one.” Fuegoloen told her gently as he patted her on the head, the little girl pouted.

“ She seems to only be able to say ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’, which makes sense since she’s only like 1 or 2.” Yami said in an unsure tone, Rill tilted his head.

“ I think she’s closer to a year and a half! Babies are generally able to walk by the time they’re one, and can talk in short sentences by the age of two, so logically she should be somewhere in between since she can walk but not really talk!” Rill said thoughtfully as he stared at the young girl.

“ How the hell do you know that kid?” Jack asked with a frown and Rill suddenly laughed sheepishly.

“ Me and my squad sometimes volunteer at the orphanages in the city and the sisters explained it to me when I tried to have a group of kids tell me about their paintings.” Rill explained and the others nodded.

The little girls eyes moved to Nozel, who was sitting in his seat with his eyes closed and arms crossed, ignoring her effectively.

“ Daddy…?” She asked hesitantly and Nozel’s eyes shot open and he glared coldly at her.

“ I’m not your father, and I wish you would refrain from calling me that.” He told the girl, his tone as cold as ice, the little girl jumped for a moment before her eyes welled up with tears.

The girl began to cry and wail at the top of her lungs, everyone glared openly at Nozel.

“ What the hell did you do that for braid boy?!” Yami asked as he and the others tried to console the toddler and Nozel’s eyes widened a bit.

“ Geez Nozel she’s just a baby, can’t you be just a little nicer with her?” Dorothy asked as she put her hands on her hips and had a angry look on her face. Nozel’s cheeks turned a shade of pink and he looked away.

“ Don’t listen to him brat,” Yami said to the toddler as he gently patted her head. “ You can call of us ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ as much as you like. And ignore him.” Yami instructed them as his hand moved away from her head and began to wipe away her tears.

“ Yeah! Nozel’s just jealous because he doesn’t have a cool baby of his own!” Rill said as he crossed his arms, and Jack looked over at the Silver Eagles Captain.

“ Even I’m not that big of a jerk to kids bird boy.” He muttered with a shake of his head, Nozel sighed loudly before turning to look at them all.

“ I’m not jealous and I’m not angry at the child!” Nozel shouted accidentally, causing everyones eyes to widen. “ It’s just…” He glanced over at Dorothy, and she suddenly realized why he was acting the way he was.

Seeing that little girl was bringing up a lot of painful memories for him, so all he knew to do was lash out in order to hide his true emotions.

“ It’s just that a Captain’s meeting is no place for a child as young as her. Here, we talk about and see so many terrible things that it could easily traumatize someone as young as her for life. Don’t you think it would be better for her to remain innocent to the horrors of the world just a little longer?” Nozel asked with a sigh.

“ Uh, she’s already seen the horrors of the world remember? She’s actually a Magic Knight?” Yami pointed out in confusion, causing Nozel’s face to turn a brighter red.

“ Nozel does have a point. A Captain’s meeting is no place for a young child,” Fuegoloen agreed before he reached out to take her from Yami. “ So I suggest that she stay with Marx for the time being, and once the meetings over Yami can take her back. Alright?” He watched as all the others nodded and he carefully carried the child through the doors and to Marx.

The meeting ended fairly quickly and now Yami was heading back to the Black Bulls Hideout. After being full of energy all day she had finally wore herself out and was sound asleep in Yami’s arms. He chuckled a bit as he looked down at her, as much as he didn’t want to babysit her at first, he had to admit it was a nice change of pace and he was actually going to miss her being this small.

At least until she woke up and began to torment everyone again, then he wouldn’t be able to wait until she transformed back into her normal self again.

———

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[bullywugprincess]

This is completely random and unrelated to anything but the other day I was watching “isn’t it romantic”, an episode from Season 2 of golden girls where they have a lesbian character, and while I think the fact it was a single episode with a token lesbian to push the message that being a queer woman isn’t a bad thing is something that not as relevant to contemporary audiences, it amazes me that it’s honestly aged better than your average 2000s/early 2010 lesbian rep.

The most hated thing about 2000s lesbian rep is the “predatory lesbian” troupe. Think Cynthia-Rose Adams from pitch perfect chasing the other girl around while everyone is freaking out while she runs from her and blows her rape whistle, or Nicky Nicole’s and Big Boo from Orange is the New Black (I am saying this as an OITNB fan who loves these characters). Jean is presented as a sweet, harmless, caring woman who actively avoids doing anything that would make the other women uncomfortable, for example when Dorothy says they’ll share a bed because there isn’t enough rooms she instantly offers to sleep on the sofa, and when she ends up having to share a room with rose she admits her feelings for her before getting into the bed with her, and upon not getting a response decides to sleep on roses chaise lounge instead. She also decides to leave once she realises she’s developed feelings for rose, but when they discuss it rose isn’t afraid of her in the slightest and says she is fine with her staying unless Jean feels friendship alone with rose isn’t something she can live with, to which Jean responds that she would happily just be friends with rose.

There is also zero fetishisation from men, in fact I don’t think we see a man the whole episode. Not saying any lesbian movies should write off men, but it’s so refreshing to see lesbian portrayal completely removed from the male gaze.

A small thing but something else I liked- Dorothy admits she didn’t know if Rose would know what a lesbian was and she simply responded “well I could have looked it up!”, and when her and Jean discuss it she admits she doesn’t fully understand jeans feelings, but she recognises that she feels that way and that’s ok- PEOPLE WHO DONT KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT PRONOUNS AND DIFFERENT OR NEWER LABELS TAKE NOTES! You can simply google what something means and respect it without needing to know the nuisances!

I just think it’s wonderful how a show from 1986 made by and catered towards more middle aged/older watchers can beat modern shows with a younger target audience, and it really goes to show that having an open mind and simply accepting others means a lot more than being overly educated on such matters. Love golden girls

[waheelawhisperer]

Bottom 5 workout spotters in Rhodes island?

I can't pick just 5 with this one

Minimalist: Pathetically fucking weak

Kal'tsit: Will talk at you the entire fucking time. Also probably has nerdy noodle arms and will make Mon3tr spot you instead. Mon3tr doesn't have hands. This will not end well.

Gnosis: Pathetically weak. Also, good luck getting him to go to the gym.

Lappland: Will drop the bar on you on purpose.

Sora: Pathetically weak.

Swire: Refuses to spot you because she might chip a nail

Rhine Labs nerds: Pathetically fucking weak.

Jessica: Just fucking pathetic. Also, she will cry the whole time and her tears will both soak you and lubricate the weights, making them hard to hold. This is a recipe for disaster.

Chongyue: Does a great job spotting you but won't shut the fuck up.

Mostima; Will fucking leave in the middle of your set because she's allergic to commitment

Nightingale: In a wheelchair.

Specter: Will spot you just fine, you will never be in any danger, but she will spend the entire time making fun of you for being weak.

W: See Lappland, except the bar will also explode.

Ceobe: Will get distracted by food.

Whislash: She has a bad arm

Gravel: May start humping you mid-set. This does not generally help with technique or concentration.

Ch'en: See Lappland.

SilverAsh: See Gravel

Mlynar: Cares more about his newspaper than your safety. Spotting you properly would require giving a shit about something.

Skadi: Do not let her spot you on the bench press. Her facewarmers will be right above your head and you will get distracted.

Pallas: Drunk.

Warfarin: see Gravel

Aak: Oh God no

Ling: Drunk.

Dorothy: Will turn the gym and everyone in it into some kind of unholy abomination.

Platinum: Can't even use a fucking ab roller. How the hell is she supposed to spot you?

[himbocoups]

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

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

member: lee jihoon

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

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

wc: 15k

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

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

himbocoups's masterlist

one - spring

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t do dates, princess.”

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

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

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

two - summer

Standing ovation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plink. Puh-link. Plink. 

The answer to her original question is still left unanswered.

three - summer

“So, when is your girlfriend coming?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Hey, be honest. What’s eating yo-”

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

“Oh…OH?” She doubles back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From the audition?”

“Yeah…the audition.”

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

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

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

four - summer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whore.”

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

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

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

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

five - fall

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

“You’re upset,” she points out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

six - fall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

seven - fall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh- FUCK!” she gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch your mouth,” he mutters. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eight - winter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nine - winter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epilogue - spring '39

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Hi there, I just stumbled upon your posts and I’m in love with the Sons of Leonardo one! 🤍 can you write more about Leo and his family, maybe about how his brothers get along with their nephews and niece? 💙💙💙

Plz and thank you!!

Love Of Uncles (Fluff)

Bayverse!Leonardo x reader

A/N: I most certainly can! Hope you didn’t wait too long💙 I’ve had this idea, that even when the guys get married and have children, they would still live together as a sort of collective, each with their own area/rooms where they, their partners and the kids sleep. With that being said, they see their uncles, aunts, grandpa and cousins everyday, making them pretty close💙

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Warnings: Spelling💙

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“Are you sure you got her?”, Leo asked in a worried tone, watching as Donatello hugged Valentina closely against him, the 2 year old happily resting her head against her uncle.

“I got it, Leo”, Donnie answered, leaning his head towards his niece, causing the young girl to giggle. “I have twins. I know how to take care of a child”.

“I know, I know”, Leo said with a sigh, the worry still clear in his eyes. “But if anything happens-”.

“Nothing is going to happen Leo”, you said, cutting your husband off. “Like Donnie said, he got her”.

Leo looked at you with an almost pained expression on his face. He had never been a big fan of leaving your kids behind in the lair, without at least one of you to look after them. Especially not while your youngest was still a toddler. In the two years that had made up Valentina’s life so far, Leo had gone up an extra step in his protectiveness, both him and your sons making sure that there was nothing that could harm her in the slightest.

You and Leo had finally decided to go spend some couple time alone in April and Casey’s cabin. It had been his brothers’ idea, seeing how having four kids at very different ages was starting to take a toll on you. Sure, you had 18 year old Romeo to help out, but with his new found freedom and enjoyment for the world above, you did not want to force him into staying in the lair and taking care of his siblings.

“Don’s right, Leo”, Mikey said, walking by carrying Luis and Gerardo under each arm, the 12 year old cousins laughing and having the time of their life, as 10 year old Ragnar followed behind, poking at their feet. “We got them, like we always do. Isn’t that right, Raph?”, Mikey called out for the turtle in red.

“Sure we do”, Raph said, watching with a proud smile as Joan and Marcello showed Minerva how to punch a punching bag, exactly the way he had taught them.

“I’m still not too comfortable with it”, Leo sighed, already imagining all the ways things could go wrong while he wasn’t there.

“Leonardo”, sounded Master Splinter’s voice from the entranced to the dojo, 16 year old Galileo and 18 year old Romeo’s heads poking out of the door as Splinter made his way over to his oldest son, making sure he did not step in Dorothy, Marie and Sunny’s little get together at the end of the staircase. “There’s no reason to be worried. You and (Y/N) can safely go on your trip while we look after the kids”.

“Not that we need any looking after”, Marcello called out from the other side of the lair. “Last time I checked, it was only Valentina that still wore a diaper”.

“Hey!”, Romeo yelled out from the dojo sliding doors, his attention directed at his younger brother. “Be nice!”

“I did nothing!”, Marcello yelled back, starting a loud argument between the two, yelling from each side of the room. Leo sighed loudly and rubbed the bridge of his beak. This was one of the many things he feared would happen.

“Romeo! Marcello!”, Splinter yelled with a stern voice, tapping his cane against the ground with a loud bang, causing your sons to cease their fighting. “No fighting!”

“Sorry, grandpa Splinter”, they both mumbled, looking sheepishly at their feet. You tried to hide your smile as Splinter turned to Leo, a smug smile on his snout. “I believe we got them under control”.

“Well”, Leo said reluctantly. “I guess you’re right…”

“Of course he’s right!”, you said, tossing your bag in your husband's direction, causing him to blink in surprise when he caught it. “Now, let’s go. We should have left 20 minutes ago!”, you continued, pushing him towards the exit of the lair, as he called out the last few reminders to his brothers.

“Donnie! Remember that Valentina has sensitive skin! No soaps with perfumes! Remember what I told you about her sleeping schedule! Mikey! No milk to Gerardo! He’s lactose intolerant!”

“I’ve known that for the last 12 years!”, Mikey called back with a big smile, enjoying the laughter of Luis, Gerado and Ragnar as they hung onto the back of his shell.

“Raph!”, Leo continued, almost playing tug of war with you in order to get him out of the door. “Remember Marcello’s bedtime! He gets grumpy when he doesn’t get his sleep!”

“Dad, I’m 15!”, Marcello yelled back.

“Yeah, but your sleep schedule is still worse than uncle Donnie’s!”, Leo said, causing Donnie’s children to snicker. “Oh! And dad!”, Leo continued, the old rat nodding. “Please make sure Romeo doesn’t get himself stuck in the dojo all night”.

Splinter chuckled as a blush crept up on Romeo’s cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure of it”.

“We’ll call when we get there!”, Leo called out, before you finally managed to pull the loud turtle out of the exit.

“No we won’t”, you retorted, turning your attention back towards your kids. “Be nice to your uncles while we’re gone, and your aunts when they get home from work. We’ll see you on Sunday. Love you all, bye!” And with those words you pushed Leo out of the lair, hurrying towards April and Casey's apartment, so you could borrow their car like they had promised you you could. That left your kids in the care of their uncles, and honestly, it was nowhere as bad as Leo had thought it would be. The only problem they stumbled upon was Valentina asking for you and Leo with the few words she had, followed by a few minutes of crying. However she was quickly comforted in the arms of her uncle, soon giggling and smiling all over again.

After a few hours, the brothers’ partners returned from work for the weekend, ready to enjoy it with their extended family. With their return, Mikey and his wife went into the kitchen to cook dinner, closely followed by Sunny, Luis, Gerardo and Ragnar, all while Raph was throwing a ball to Marcello and Joan, Mini was curled up beside her mother on the couch, watching television as she knitted, while Donnie and his wife was playing with Valentina and his daughters, and Romeo and Gali was training in the dojo with grandpa Splinter.

Once dinner was made and the table was set, the large family gathered to eat together. No matter how big your strange family got, it had always been a rule that the family ate together. Even though each brother may have a hallway, containing bedrooms for themselves and all of their children, the living area, kitchen and dining area was still common areas, where they all would spend time together.

It was a little strange not to have you and Leo at the dining table, but they managed, talking and making plans for the weekend. You and Leo’s kids would have so much fun, that they wouldn’t even notice that the two of you were gone, bringing you some much needed time to relax.

[destielsoulmatebang]

Letters From Eternity

After John Winchester’s first soulmate died, and he got a second soulmate letter, he couldn’t wait to start a new family, leaving his older son Dean to raise younger son Sam. Sam’s doing really well in college. Dean’s working at Bobby Singer’s Auto Shop where he’s well-liked, and well-respected, and good at what he does. He keeps a clean house, and hell, he’s even going to the grocery store to buy fruits and vegetables (take that, Sammy!).

Then he finds The Borderlands, a book and game store opened by Charlie Bradbury and her partner/soulmate Dorothy Baum, and his life changes completely. There’s this book that he picks up while he’s waiting at the cash register that zaps him, and what even is that?

Sam Winchester gets a conventional soulmate letter, and a beautiful blonde soulmate that wants to marry him in some kind of ‘destination wedding’.

Dean, well, he gets a book called “Letters from Eternity” that zaps him every time he tries to take it out of the bookstore, with some kind of weird inscription that Charlie says is Enochian. And all it is is a collection of letters written by people to their soulmates. So why did the book pick him? After all, he’s not even sure he wants a soulmate.

And at the edge of Eternity, a “multidimensional waveform of celestial intent” realizes that the Soul they chose as their destiny at the Beginning has found their communication, but may not want them.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe; Soulmates; Soulbond; Reincarnation; Main Character Death in the context of reincarnation; Castiel and Dean Winchester have a profound bond; Castiel has a crisis of faith; Dean Winchester questions his life choices; Castiel gives up Eternity to be with Dean Winchester; Vaginal Sex; Vaginal FIngering; Oral Sex; Rimming; Anal Fingering; Anal Sex; Pregnancy and Childbirth not graphic; no MPREG; Fluff; Fluff and Smut; Romance and tenderness; noble self-sacrifice; poor communication and miscommunication; angst; hurt/comfort; happy ending

Coming October 18, brought to you by the @destielsoulmatebang, @blackhorsedances, and @thestarsmakemedream-art

[lesbiamano]

i made a funger oc!! their name is dorothy (they/them) more info under the cut!

they’re a weirdguy of sorts. they’re a descendant of d’arce cataliss, and somewhat of a prodigy child, as a result of that, their parents were overbearing and strict, putting a lot of pressure on them from a really young age. eventually, they couldn’t take it anymore, and ran away from their parents, grabbing only a single bag, their notebook, and the sword of one of their ancestors (which just so happens to have belonged to d’arce, and which also happens to be possessed by her, but they don’t know that yet.) they get on the first train they see that’s leaving the city, and end up in prehevil.

they were alll-mer obsessed at one point in their life, not due to them actually worshipping him, it was more of a hyperfixation really, but that’s where the cross in their moonscorched form comes from. (other than that, it was just inspired by d’arce’s S ending picture)

their fighting style (without d’arce’s help) consists of them swinging their sword around blindly, praying they hit the enemy. other than that, they basically let d’arce use their body as a vessel to let her fight in their place, because they’re literally so hopeless in battle, no matter how much she tries to teach them.

personality wise they’re a bit spoiled and stuck up, mostly due to how they grew up around nothing but praise, but don’t worry, they get less annoying as the story progresses and they realize that, oh shit, they could die at any moment.

anyway i think that’s most of the info i can give. if you have any questions abt them tho i’d be more than happy to answer (if i can)

also here’s their profile art alone cuz i rlly liked how it came out

[neppednep]

Hey! If you're busy feel free to ignore this, but could I please get some romantic headcanons for Red Hood? No hard feelings if you don't want to, since she's not on the masterlist or anything, or if you just don't want to do it. But if you do end up doing it then thanks a lot for taking the time out of your life, as well as keeping this blog running.

I wish you a good day, as well as luck in any future endeavors!

Red Hood Romantic HCs

I wanted to make a part for Dorothy too, but I've been busy as hell, so that'll probably come after I get through a couple other asks.

Also, if a charcter isn't in the Nikke masterlist, feel free to still request. I have to remake it one of these days because of the photo limit. Anyways, sorry for being late and hope you enjoy.

》 Being in a relationship with Red Hood can be a mixed bag. On one hand, you two really do love each other, even through the whole alien invasion, pretty much the end of humanity thing. On the other hand, you two don't get as much time together as you used to and even that is an understatement. Between her new duties as a Nikke and worrying whether or not she'll make it back home after her missions, it can get stressful.

》 You would be lying if you said it was easy when she first became a Nikke though. The two of you weren't exactly well off, living in a relatively small village away from most of the fighting. You didn't really think much of it, not realizing just how bad it was until raptures practically appeared out of nowhere, killing everyone in sight. While you were evacuated… you couldn't find her. The only proof of her existence being the cassette player she gifted a friend of yours.

Your breath freezes in your throat as you stare at the red haired woman, proudly walking down the street with a gun damn near twice her size tossed over her shoulder. You don't even know what to feel.

》 Imagine your surprise, spending months thinking she was dead until you saw her and a few others, still alive, receiving a hero's welcome at the city you were staying at.

Relief?

Confusion?

Happiness?

You couldn't even move, practically stuck in place as you stare at the spitting image of your supposedly dead girlfriend.

She scans the crowd, her eyes eventually land on you, having to double take before stopping dead in her tracks. You have no time to react before you see a huge smile on her face. Her weapon falls to the ground with a loud crash and the next thing you know your feet leave the ground as you're taken into a bone crushing huh.

No words really needed to be spoken between the two of you, everyone else in the crowd forgotten. You just bury your head into her large chest, letting reality sink in.

She's still alive and back with you, so you won't complain.

》 It really doesn't seem like much has even changed, besides that hug she goes right back to how everything was before. Immediately dragging you off with strength you didn't think possible. She wasn't a small woman by any means but it just wasn't human. After she introduced you to her squad and catching up, you found out she wasn't. It was a lot to take in. She did die… kind of? Then got turned into some powerful android who fights aliens for the sake of humanity.

》 Irrelevant. By the end of the day you two were in your house, listening to the cassette player she never seemed to get tired of.

》 She did seem a bit different though, only through very small things anyone else wouldn't really notice. Red Hood was definitely more clingy than she used to be, not to mention she was practically treating you like you were made of glass most of the time. It wasn't a bad thing though, just relaxing in her arms, getting the pillow treatment.

》 It did kind of suck when she had to go out on missions. She was on the best and one of the only squads around, but you still worried whether she'd make it back home or not.

》 Dates are certainly fun. Taking you to a shooting range, though not letting you shoot her gun of course, as you'd probably do more damage to yourself than the target. She's quite fond of showing off in simulations, or just going to see a movie or concert, though needless to say those are exceptionally rare these days.

》 Speaking of shooting ranges, out of everyone in her squad, Snow White is someone Red Hood loves to bring around. She's a nice girl, if a bit childish but she definitely looks up to Red Hood, and you to a certain extent. If you like guns or shooting, she'll be coming over a lot to run ideas through you or just hang out, almost seeing you as an older sibling.

》 Definitely protective of you. Not that many people would really try to hurt you. Your girlfriend is part of the Goddess Squad and an android that can tear through even the strongest Raptures with ease. Even then, she won't resort to violence too quickly, usually just using her words to drive them off. If that doesn't work… a flick probably won't kill them.

》 Red Hood is more romantic then her relatively rough and playful exterior lets on. You can't really blame her, you two didn't have the best life growing up, after all. Some nights it'll just be you two staring into the setting sun in a comfortable silence. She does still have a girly side buried deep somewhere in here, though it rarely comes out. She claims doing stuff like that just reminds her of what she’s fighting for, but with the way she stares at you, you know it's deeper than that.

》 It was quite the surprise when one day, out of nowhere, Red Hood approached you saying she was going on her last mission. You were a bit confused, but she brushed it off saying she's been fighting for long enough and wants to spend the rest of her life with you.

》 Was… that some kind of proposal?

》 If it was, you didn't have time to blink, let alone even ask before her face flushed red as she gave her usual smile and speeding off. You just chuckled and shook your head. She was always a free spirit, and you know she'll be back. She always comes back.