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ereardon · 1 year ago

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When I'm Done With You [Bob Floyd x Reader]

Gif cred: @delopsia

A Bob Floyd frat AU

Summary: At a fraternity mixer, you lose your (admittedly shitty) boyfriend in the crowd. That’s when Bob Floyd, president of Alpha Tau and your boyfriend’s personal nemesis, finds you and decides to make you his.

Pairing: Bob Floyd x reader

Warnings: Cursing, fraternities, SMUT, gambling

WC: 5.5K

A/N: This was entirely written because of the new Lew frat photos. I have no self control. We are sluts in this household for Lewis Pullman.

“Say it,” he demanded. Bob’s eyes were dark, his fingers rough against the delicate skin of your chin as he tipped your gaze toward his.

His voice was low and hoarse and it forced a crop of goosebumps up and down your bare arms, and the exposed flesh of your thighs.

“Say it,” Bob repeated and you squeezed your legs together, mouth hanging open as he slipped a thumb inside, pad of his finger pressing down softly against your wet tongue. You instinctively closed your lips around the digit, sucking loudly, and Bob’s blue eyes grew darker.

He removed his thumb, sliding the saliva over your cheek as his hand gripped the back of your neck tightly. The beat of the music in the house mixed with your rapid heartbeat and you were pulsating from the inside out.

Bob stood, waiting, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you condescendingly, the popped collar of his button down shirt nudging against the curling edges.

“Fuck me, daddy,” you whispered and his lips pulled back in a smirk. A Cheshire Cat grin.

“Beg.”

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you moaned, stepping closer, brushing your body against him, desperate for his touch.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he said.

“You.”

“That’s right,” Bob said and you couldn’t help but lean forward, your pelvis aching for him even though you had no idea what he would feel like inside of you. All you knew in that moment was how all-consuming the idea of Bob fucking you was. “You belong to me. Not him, me. You’re all mine.”

You nodded weakly and Bob leaned down, ghosting his lips over yours.

“When I’m done with you,” he whispered, “tell your boyfriend I say hi.”

*One Day Before*

“Get in, we’re going to be late.”

You sighed, sliding across the hot leather seat as Seth reached over and yanked the door shut before dropping the Jeep into gear and peeling off before you could even get your seatbelt on. “Fuck,” you groaned. “Relax, we’re like two minutes early still.”

“Would be earlier if you could learn how to read a clock.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to look out the window. Campus flew by as Seth skidded down the road before pulling over in front of the Sigma Chi house. “It’s just a stupid meeting,” you said as he shoved the car into park.

Seth’s eyes burned as he turned to you. “I’m the president, Y/N. How would it look if the president didn’t show up on time?”

“You’re the president of a fraternity,” you huffed, dropping down onto the gravel driveway and slamming the door shut, “not the president of the United States.”

Seth tossed a dirty look over his shoulder as he jogged up the stairs, pulling open the double wood doors to reveal the house’s imposing front room. At the far end, directly within your sight, was a stone fireplace so tall you could stand under it, like a medieval ballroom. Or maybe it was the long hallway of framed composite photographs of former fraternity council members lining the walls that gave off the castle vibes. Either way, you always noticed a chill in the air the moment you entered the Sigma Chi house, even on a sweltering day.

Today was no different.

Seth strode through the wide room toward the staircase. “Babe!” he called out. “I’ll be back in thirty.”

You nodded but he had already rounded the corner, descending the stairs to the basement. You shivered at the thought, instead shaking your head and making your way across the room toward the door at the far end which led out to the side yard where a small garden with chairs sat facing both the back and the road in front of the house.

Sometimes, especially on a day like today, you wondered why you were with Seth at all. It wasn’t the fraternity thing. Some girls swooned over frat guys. But the parties, once you stripped away the veneer of loud music and dark lighting, were more disgusting than you could ever imagine. And only someone who had witnessed the space first-hand the day after, drinking coffee while watching pledges scrub vomit and caked in dirt and rivulets of beer from the wooden floors, could attest to that fact.

It wasn’t that he was particularly charming or nice. It wasn’t that he was all together handsome, although you supposed he was decently good in bed.

Perhaps it was the fact that you just didn’t want to be alone. Being with Seth was the perfect amount of commitment. He was busy half of the week with fraternity business, and there was always somewhere to go on the weekends.

He was a safety blanket.

You sat perched on an adirondack chair, a pair of sunglasses slipped over your eyes, turning your head when you heard a few voices coming from near the front of the house. Squinting, you spotted a gaggle of guys walking down the sidewalk. They weren’t stopping, so they definitely weren’t Sigma Chi.

Upon closer inspection, you recognized a few of them. Namely, Bob Floyd. President of Alpha Tau.

And Seth’s personal rival.

The two of them had gone head-to-head in more ways than you could count. In the economics department last semester for a research fellowship.

Bob had won.

At the spring fraternity wrestling contest.

Seth had somehow beaten Bob, but only after several rounds of close calls on both sides.

Seth had made it crystal clear that Bob Floyd was not someone you were allowed to speak to. So when Bob stopped, his gaze locked on yours, your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth, as if to call out to him, but words died in your throat. He lifted up his sunglasses and winked, before taking off down the road, falling seamlessly back into conversation with his friends as if nothing had even happened.

You couldn’t explain why. But you felt your pulse quicken, an ache developing in your pelvis. You shook your head.

Bob Floyd was the very last person who should make you feel this way.

***

You turned in the mirror, examining your short dress. “Are you sure this looks OK?”

Annie nodded from where she sat on your bed. “You look perfect. Going to make those frat boys lose their minds.”

You rolled your eyes and smoothed your hands over the silky fabric, adjusting the skinny straps. “Are the shoes too much?” You wiggled your ankles and the stilettos you had on.

“You know you’re fifteen times hotter than Seth, right?” Annie said and you looked up with a gasp. “Oh, don’t give me that. He’s kind of a tool and we both know it.”

Annie had been your roommate for two years and she’d seen everything unfold with Seth. From the first time the two of you met at a party to the first time he broke your heart and you took him back.

To say she wasn’t a fan was an understatement.

You leaned down, filling your purse. “You should come tonight,” you said. “It could be fun.”

“Absolutely not.” Annie jumped up and strode to the door. “But call me when shit hits the fan, OK? I’ll come pick you up.”

You smiled. “Love you.”

Once she was gone, you looked at your reflection in the mirror one more time. A part of you was dreading tonight. The annual frat mixer, where fraternity brothers from all of the different chapters mingled together on Greek Row. Tonight’s party was going to be hosted by two neighboring houses: the Delta Kappa Epsilons and the Alpha Taus.

You grabbed your purse and headed for the front door, calling an Uber. Seth had claimed he was too busy to swing by and pick you up for the party.

Just to torture him, before you left you reached down, slipping off your black thong and flinging it into the corner pile of laundry. You pulled out your phone and texted Seth.

See you in a few, you wrote. PS — I’m not wearing any underwear.

***

By the time you got to Greek Row, you could feel a bubble of anxiety building in your chest. Events like this always made you tense up. Before Seth, you hadn’t stepped foot near a fraternity. It still wasn’t your vibe, but you had become somewhat acclimated to Greek life.

You pulled out your phone after stepping out of the Uber. No text. Sighing, you made your way down the sidewalk toward the DKE house.

It was already bustling, and through the large glass windows at the front you could see people already filling up the house, the lights turned down, the music turned all the way up.

Stepping up to the door, it swung open before you could even knock. The boy in a bow tie and jacket smiled at you. “Come on in.” He recognized you. That was one thing: you were Seth Landon’s girl. You were untouchable. There was almost a secret club, the girlfriends of fraternity presidents. You were protected and watched.

Wandering through the rooms of the house, your eyes flitted around for Seth. Everywhere you looked there were couples and stray frat guys, drinking and vaping. It felt oddly civil, considering some of them were mortal enemies.

You made it through the whole house with no sign of Seth and no text. He hadn’t even read your original message. He was the only person you knew under the age of forty with read receipt on.

Sighing, you filed out of the house and down the stairs, shaking your head and making your way over to the Alpha Tau house. Their house was darker, all wooden beams and imposing brass knocker. Again, the door swung open before you could reach up to knock, another frat lackey recognizing you and letting you in.

“Have you seen Seth Landon?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry. Check the back, I know a poker game is starting up.”

You groaned. If there was one thing you knew was Seth’s downfall, it was gambling. He’d bet on anything.

Slowly, this house was more crowded than the DKE one, you stumbled down the halls toward the back. At one point the crowd was too thick, and you cut over through a small hallway near the staircase. You stopped, back to the wall, looking down at your phone, checking again for a message, when an arm came out, hand pressed against the wall behind your head.

You looked up.

Bob Floyd stared down at you. Unlike most of the other guys, he had foregone a blazer. Instead, he wore a blue button up with the collar popped, a pair of khakis molded against his round ass, a needlepoint belt holding in his trim waist. He had a large silver watch on the wrist of the arm next to your head and his blue eyes bore into yours. “Lost, baby girl?” he asked, his voice thick.

You narrowed your eyes. “No. And I’m not your baby girl.”

His free hand rubbed against his mouth and you watched as the veins in his hands and forearms buldged. When he pulled it away, his lips pulled back in a wide grin. “Trust me, I know. You’re Seth Landon’s girl.”

“If you know that, why are you here?” you whispered. “He’d kill you if he saw you talking to me.”

Bob leaned in closer until he was practically caging you against the wall. “I’m not scared of that jackass,” he said.

Your eyes met his. Bob ran his tongue over his pink lower lip. You didn’t even care to look around and see if others had spotted you and Bob in the narrow hallway. For some reason, standing there with Bob, not touching, was the singular hottest thing you had experienced in months, maybe years.

He leaned down, tracing your jaw with one finger and you found yourself mewling at his touch. He grinned. “Sensitive, aren’t you?”

Your eyes went wide as you remembered where you were. Who you were with. More specifically, who you weren’t with. Your boyfriend.

Bob took a step back, lifting his hand from your face, but the ghost of his touch lingered. He slipped his hand into his pants pocket, tilting his head to the left. “Landon’s that way,” he murmured.

You nodded, hiking your purse higher onto your shoulder, your legs like gelatine beneath you.

“Baby girl?” he asked. “Come find me when you’re done with that tool. I’ll be upstairs, second floor.”

And then he disappeared, out through the end of the narrow hallway. The minute Bob turned around the corner, air rushed back into your lungs. You pressed one hand to your chest and found that you were trembling.

A couple burst through the door at the end of the hall and you jerked your head, watching as they flitted past you. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself off of the wall and heading toward the back of the house and the poker session the guy at the door had told you about.

It was little surprise that you found Seth sitting at a legitimate poker table, green felt top littered with chips and cards, Seth’s tanned face pinched as he examined the cards in his hands. He tossed in a stack of red chips and let out a grunt when the dealer dropped a two of hearts on the table as the last of five cards. “Fuck!” he said, tossing in his cards. “I’m out.” He looked up and spotted you. “Hey baby, come here.”

You stepped forward and he pulled you onto his lap. His thigh was angular and uncomfortable, his hands were too warm, bordering on sweaty, and he smelled like a pack of Marlboros. “You were supposed to wait for me,” you complained.

His face darkened. “I was busy, Y/N. I have responsibilities.” He looked at the table before nudging you off of him with one hand. “Gotta finish this round, babe. Grab a drink, I’ll come find you.”

“I want to leave,” you said, arms crossed over your chest.

Seth didn’t even look up. “We’re not going.” The five other guys at the table looked up with grins. One let out a low whistle.

You held your ground. “You didn’t even pick me up. You made me chase you through both houses. I’m tired of this.”

“Then leave,” Seth said, his eyes never deviating from the cards in front of his face.

You were seething. The air was thick and tense around the card table as everyone waited for your response. You shrugged. “Fine. Fuck you, Seth.”

Another low whistle. A few heads turned. Seth still refused to face you. “You’re being childish, Y/N,” he said calmly. “Have a beer, chill out. I’ll find you after the game.”

“No, you won’t,” you hissed. “Have a good life.” You peered over his shoulder and then at the cards on the table. “By the way, he’s got a busted straight.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He tossed his cards down in fury, eyes blazing. “What the fuck!”

But you were already halfway out the door, trailing down the darkened hallway, toward the staircase. You sucked in a breath and climbed the wooden stairs, your heart pounding.

All you knew was that you had to find Bob. Your anger was making your head spin. You turned at the top of the stairs, looking both ways before peering out over the railing, legs shaking. After two years, you thought there would be tears. At least some kind of sadness. But you felt nothing for Seth.

Only anger.

You swiveled around, starting down one dark hallway. Everywhere you looked it was wood paneled. Imposing. Borderline threatening. You wandered all the way down the hallway, passing a slew of closed doors, before finding a door at the end of the hallway that was ajar, warm light seeping in through the crack.

Softly, you nudged it open to reveal Bob Floyd standing in front of a massive fireplace, one forearm resting against the mantle which held a large framed frat composite from that year’s class.

And even though your steps were silent, he heard you. “How did I know you’d come looking for me?” he said before turning around, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

You lingered by the doorway. Stepping inside further would only seal your fate.

Bob’s gaze never left you. Several moments passed, just the two of you in the study, before you finally stepped forward, closing the door behind you.

You had just signed away Seth in a single movement.

Bob crossed the expanse of the room in a few long strides. For perhaps the first time you looked at him, really looked at him. You had spent so long avoiding Bob because of Seth’s hatred toward him. But somewhere deep down you knew why Seth hated him so much. Because Bob was better. Smarter, smoother, more charming. He was everything Seth wanted to be and couldn’t.

He walked you backward until your back was pressed against the supple leather arm of a dimpled couch that sat in front of the wide wooden hearth. You felt the clammy coolness of the leather stick to your bare skin.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice slow. Deliberate. “Tell me what you want.”

You shook your head, denying him. It felt good. For the first time in a long time you were striking out on your own. Seth couldn’t put you down or keep you boxed in.

Bob didn’t want to hold you back. He didn’t want to tame you. What you didn’t know was that while you had been avoiding him, he had been seeking you out. Watching as you made your way through the dining hall, eyes combing the long tables for Seth, glazing over him entirely. What you hadn’t seen was the way Bob’s body pulsated when you were closer, like an alarm that only he could hear.

You had decided five minutes ago that you wanted Bob. He had decided two years ago that he was going to make you his.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You parted your mouth, letting him slip his thick thumb against your tongue as you tasted him, sucking greedily. He slid his finger out from your puckered mouth, across your face, grabbing your neck, drawing you closer.

What you thought was condescension crossed his eyes. But it was lust. It was pure, unadulterated lust and excitement.

“Fuck me, daddy,” you murmurred and Bob grinned. He hardened in his khakis as you begged him.

Bob reached down, sliding one arm around your waist, pulling you in tightly as his lips descended on yours, ravishing you, moving off of your mouth onto your neck as you cried out in pleasure, his fingertips squeezing your waist, desperate for you. Before you could even moan his name, Bob spun you around until your hands came out to hold you up from against the couch as he pressed, hard, on your back, sending you curled, face-down, onto the dark leather.

He sank to his knees, shoving up the short hem of your dress, practically combusting when he saw you were naked beneath it.

“Fuck,” he grunted, pulling out a hand and smacking your round ass cheek, hard. You cried out. “Do you want more?” he asked and even though he was rough, you knew that he would stop if you wanted him to.

You buried your head against the cool leather. “Yes, daddy.”

Bob pulled his hand back, landing it again on your soft skin, eliciting a groan from you as you instinctively wiggled away, digging your bare core against the curved arm of the couch. He lurched forward, pressing his soft lips to your ass cheek, nipping at the flesh softly as his hand nudged your knees further apart until you were spread wide for him. “Good girl,” he murmured, tracing his hands over your bare thighs. “Now tell me what you want.”

“You.” It came out broken but Bob knew exactly what you meant. His hands migrated up your thighs until his thumbs were spreading you apart, your slick juices already starting to drip down his digits as he shoved his face between your legs, tongue nudging your entrance as you gasped against the couch. “Oh!”

Bob pressed forward, his tongue coming out to lick your folds as his fingers gripped you tightly, holding your trembling legs apart. “Be still,” he commanded as you whined against the couch before reaching up and pressing one thick finger into your throbbing cunt, a scream echoing through the room as you adjusted to him. Bob immediately began to thrust his finger in and out of your tight pussy before pulling out entirely.

Just as you were about to whine at the loss of contact, you felt his hands on your waist, dragging you up and spinning you around. Bob dropped back down to his knees, pushing your dress up to your hips, yanking you forward until you were teetering on the edge of the couch arm.

“Come here,” he whispered gruffly and your head fell back in a moan as Bob licked up your folds, tongue dancing along the nub of your clit instantly.

“Oh, fuck!”

“That’s it,” he murmured, sucking your clit harshly before driving two fingers this time into your squelching pussy. “Fuck yes.” Bob curled his fingers inside of you, your spongy walls gripping him tightly as his tongue slid in tight circles around your clit until you were wiggling, whining, moaning above him, your legs shaking where you stood with your stilettos pressed against the ground.

“Bob!”

His name on your lips set Bob on fire. He pressed inside of you deeper, sucking tightly on your clit until you were coming on his fingers and face, screaming his name.

Bob drove you into overstimulation, unable to tear himself away from between your legs until your fingers were threading themselves into his long hair, a string of begs falling from your lips. “Please, please, please, fuck it’s too much.” Finally, he lifted his head, mouth slick with your juices, rubbing at his lips with the back of his hand. You remained on the edge of the couch arm, legs spread open, pussy on display, as Bob stood, wrapping one hand around your neck. “Always knew you’d like my mouth on your pussy,” he murmured and you blushed.

Before you could object, Bob had his arm around your waist, tugging down your dress, hand on your hips, guiding you toward the door. You looked back at him over your shoulder and he nodded reassuringly.

“My room’s across the hall,” he said, voice low. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

And then the two of you were locked in his bedroom. It was a near clone of the room you had just been in, but with a bed against the far wall instead of a couch and fireplace.

You turned to face Bob. His eyes watched you carefully.

Bob reached out, both hands grabbing your waist, dragging you closer until the two of you were only millimeters apart. “Bob?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you doing this just because of how much you hate Seth?”

“Are you?”

You didn’t know. So instead you trailed your hands down to his belt and Bob’s eyes widened, but he remained silent.

Silent as you unfastened his belt, fingers reaching for his zippered fly, feeling how hard he was already beneath his khakis.

Silent as you eased his pants down his legs, kneeling at his feet, coming face-to-face with his barely covered cock as he bulged against the tight fabric of his boxers.

Silent as you yanked the waistband of his boxer briefs down, gasping as his long, thick cock sprang to attention, practically hitting you in the face. You hesitated. “Are you going to suck my cock, baby?” he asked mockingly.

To Bob’s surprise you leaned forward, one hand reaching out and cupping the base of his cock, your mouth immediately surrounding his length until you could feel the tip of him bashing against your throat as you choked on him.

“Fuck,” Bob murmurred, fingers grabbing your hair, yanking you backward. You looked up at him expectantly and he almost growled. “Suck me good,” he whispered, “and I’ll fuck you like the little slut I know you think you are.”

You moaned, licking your lips before diving back in, bobbing up and down along his length, using your hands to grip his base, twisting up and down as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him in.

Above you, Bob closed his eyes, using his hands to surround your head as he fucked into your face, causing you to moan and pushing saliva out of your mouth down the edges of your lips, tears springing to your eyes as he pushed his cock further into your throat and you gagged. “Taking me so well,” he murmured, looking down at you at his feet. “Fuck, look at you. A fucking mess.”

You whimpered on his length and Bob drove himself faster into your mouth, both hands pressed against your scalp as he thrust his hips toward your face, your nose buried in his pubic hair until he could feel himself coming undone.

“Shit, fuck, yes!” he cried as he shot thick ropes of cum into the back of your throat, spilling down your throat and filling your mouth, seeping out the corners as he looked down, thrusting one last time into your mouth until you were gagging around him, mouth full.

He pulled out of you and you swallowed harshly. Bob reached out and dragged the pad of his thumb beneath your eyes, wiping away the tears that had gathered there. He reached out a hand, helping you to your feet.

“Take off your clothes.” It was a demand, not a request. You shed your dress quickly, stepping out of it and standing naked in front of Bob.

His eyes slowly worked their way down, from the top of your head to your feet in the stilettos.

“Shoes.”

You kicked them off. Bob pushed away his pants, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt desire bubble up inside of you as he shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it onto the ground, reaching out and laying you back onto the bed.

Bob suctioned his lips to your neck, slotting himself between your legs, your ankles crossing over behind his perfect ass and you could feel him, hard again, against your inner thigh as you rolled your hips up toward him.

He kissed down the column of your throat, landing on your breast, sucking the nipple between his teeth as you whimpered.

“So fucking desperate,” he muttered. “It’s like you’ve never been fucked before. Landon probably has a tiny dick, doesn’t he? Never made you feel anything.”

“Don’t talk about him,” you groaned, trying not to lose your focus as Bob skimmed his hips against yours, dragging his fat cock over your folds as you clutched his arms. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Bob pulled back, eyes hard. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

“Yes?”

He reached out one hand, cupping your jaw gently. “Baby, I'm only going to tell you once. In here, you’re mine, you understand? You do what I say, unless you want out.”

You throbbed between your legs. “Yes daddy.”

He nodded. “Good girl. Now get on your knees and face the headboard.”

You did as you were told. Bob positioned himself between you, fingers raking down your back from your shoulders to your waist before dipping down and circling your clit. You let out a sharp whine as he spread your folds apart, nudging your legs wider, settling behind you. There was the distinct sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open and then you felt Bob nudge at your entrance.

Bob leaned forward, pushing the thick head of his cock inside of you, and you moaned. He kissed your back along your spine as he slid deeper inside your tight cunt, stretching you open. Bob reached down, grabbing your waist, forcing himself in further until he let out a deep moan as he pressed the last inch inside, filling you completely, threatening to break you apart.

You whimpered as he pulled back, slamming his hips forward, filling you to the breaking point. “Bob!”

“Right here baby girl,” he mumbled. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You let out a sharp cry as he pounded into you. Bob’s large hands pulled you upright, one arm wrapped around your chest, hand firmly holding your breast.

“Look up,” he demanded and when you did your eyes widened. Above the headboard was a large mirror. You watched as Bob’s eyes followed yours while he fucked up into you from behind, his free hand reaching down and toying with your cunt.

You moaned, shutting your eyes, and Bob slapped your clit harshly.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded and you did as you were told. “Watch me while I fuck you.”

You watched, mouth open, as Bob filled you repeatedly, his moans filling your ear as he panted, fingers squeezing your nipple, thumb digging into your clit in sharp circles as he thrust into you. “I’m going to come,” you groaned and Bob’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head as you shuddered around him.

You slumped back against him and Bob laid you down gently onto the bed before reaching down and digging your head into the mattress, one hand on the back of your head as he sped up his hips, plunging his thick cock into you as you screamed for him, legs shaking from the remnants of your orgasm. “Fuck!” he shouted, pulling out of you and rolling you over, ripping off the condom and pumping his length twice before shooting more cum all over your bare tits, letting it drip off of his softening cock onto your drenched cunt as you laid beneath him, trembling.

Bob tossed the condom out, reaching down and scooping up the white cum from your stomach. He held out his finger near your mouth and instinctively you opened it, letting him push the spend against your tongue. He groaned watching you swallow, tits covered in sticky semen.

“If you want to clean up,” he said, tilting his head toward the bathroom.

When you returned, you frowned. “What is that?”

“A shirt.” Bob stood, holding it out and helping you pull it on. It fell to mid-thigh and he slowly buttoned the two middle buttons.

“What about my dress?” you murmured.

“You don’t need it for what I have planned,” Bob said, pulling you down onto his lap, his fingers tight against your neck.

***

The next morning, you woke up sore and exhausted.

Bob lent you a jacket and the two of you descended the stairs with his jacket draped over your shoulders. On the first floor of the house, pledges were scrubbing the floors and the walls, cleaning up empty beer cans, and mopping the kitchen.

Bob’s hand was warm on your waist as he guided you through the house. “Let me drive you home,” he murmured and you nodded.

Once he pulled his Range Rover up to your apartment, you jumped out and to your surprise, Bob got out too, crossing around the front of the car, closing the door behind you. He opened his mouth just as the two of you heard a voice from over your shoulder.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Seth stood up from where he had been half asleep on your front stoop. His tanned face was pinched and red. Instinctively, Bob reached out, half hiding you behind him, one hand protectively on your waist.

“Get your hands off my girl right fucking now, Floyd,” Seth seethed, “or I will punch your lights out.”

“Would love to see you try, asshole.”

Seth stepped forward but Bob still had four inches on him. He was angry and practically buzzing whereas Bob was calm and cool.

Seth peered around Bob the best he could.

“Where the fuck were you?” he demanded. “With him? You fucking whore.”

Bob’s fist came out so fast you didn’t even have time to think. One second the three of you were standing in the early morning sun and the next minute Seth was on the grass, writhing in pain, blood spurting out of his nose as Bob shook out his hand.

“Fuck! What the fuck dude?”

“Don’t speak to her like that.” Bob’s voice was eerily level. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go fuck your girlfriend for the fifth time this morning.”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you toward your apartment, the two of you stepping directly over Seth’s prostrate body.

Bob waited for you to open the door to your apartment before shutting it tight and locking it, swiveling you around until your back was pressed against the door. His dark eyes bore into yours. “You’re mine now,” he whispered gruffly.

You nodded. You were his.

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sweetprfct · 3 months ago

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The Hate Formula

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Living in the same building, across from each other shouldn't be much of a problem, right? But how come you and Joe tend to always push each other's buttons every day? Is it because you both truly just hated each other or is it because there was something more to it?

Author's Note: Well, look who finally decided to open up the last chapter and finish it. I'm so sorry for the delay! Anyways, I just want to thank you all for supporting this series. This one had been a lot of fun! Please let me know if you'd like to get tagged on my next one. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 2.9K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

“Oh, shit!” You cursed under your breath as you ran from the bathroom and towards the kitchen.

Wes and Sara, who were sitting on the sofa, turned their heads, their eyes following your tracks. You have left the mixer on for too long while you have occupied yourself in the bathroom, trying to calm yourself and hold in the tears that were welling up in your eyes. You have been trying to distract yourself by baking a cake but for some reason, your mind had wandered somewhere else and ended up at the thought of Joe.

You tried your best to look strong in front of Wes and Sara because you didn’t want to worry them, so you left the mixer on for a while, thinking it was going to be okay while you go and collect yourself. However, you have taken too long and totally forgot about the fact that you were whipping some whipped cream. Now, here it was.

Turned into butter.

You turned off the mixer and took a deep breath, setting your hands on your hips and shook your head.

“There goes the whipped cream turned into butter.” You complained under your breath, grabbing the bowl and dumping it on the bin.

“What is she doing?” Wes turned to Sara.

Wes wasn’t used to seeing you like this yet. He only had known you for a few weeks. Every time he had seen you the last couple of days, you were in the kitchen baking like you were catering to some birthday party.

“Stress baking.” Sara replied, laying her head on Wes’ shoulder. “I don’t know what she has done to the other two double layer cakes she made the last two days.”

“Wait, those two cakes were already gone?”

Sara nodded her head, “Yeah, I don’t see it in the fridge, so I don’t know where it is.”

“Do you think she ate it all?”

Sara laughed softly, gazing up at Wes. “No, she just bakes. She barely eats whatever she bakes.”

It has been two weeks since you haven’t seen Joe. He had been trying to contact you ever since that night, but you kept ignoring him. Whenever he saw you in the middle of the hall, you’d make up some excuse not to see him. You didn’t really know what else to do because your heart was still in pieces after what he had told you. How could you face him after that? How could you act like it was just nothing? He only wanted to hook up with you, and you wanted more than that. You had to cut it off before this could hurt you even more.

“Hey.” Joe gave you a small smile when he saw you coming home from work one night.

“Hi.” You replied, nonchalantly as you unlocked your front door.

“How are you?” Joe asked. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

It was small talk, and you couldn’t even look at him. You kept your eyes on your front door and forced yourself to not look at him at all.

“Yeah, I've been so busy at work.” You opened your front door when Joe grabbed your forearm lightly.

“Is everything okay?”

You nodded your head, “Yeah, sorry I’m just really tired.”

You gave him a small smile before you slipped your arm away from him and entered your apartment. Seeing his face made your heart swell every time. You didn’t want to keep hoping when it came to Joe. You have already gotten your heart broken before, you weren't about to experience it again.

So, here you were stress baking and trying to distract yourself with something else but somehow, it wasn’t helping at all. It usually would but this time, even baking wasn’t helping you mentally.

“Hey, do you need some help?” Sara interrupted your thoughts as you poured heavy cream in the mixing bowl.

“No, I'm fine.” You said, your attention focusing on the mixer in front of you.

“Hey,” Sara set a hand over yours. “I’m worried about you.”

You turned your attention towards her, finding Wes standing behind her with a concerned look on his face. He set a hand on Sara’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

“Joe’s been asking about you.” Wes added.

You raised your brow at Sara as she took a deep breath and said, “He knows.”

You slumped your shoulders, walking towards the dining table and pulling up a chair. You wiped your hands on your apron and sat on the chair, letting out a sigh.

“He thinks he did something wrong.” Wes said. “I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

You played with the fabric of your apron and hung your head low. Your mind had been running a thousand thoughts ever since you left Joe’s apartment that day, and you thought maybe Joe would be okay with you disappearing from his life. After all, you two were just hooking up right? Why would he care this much? It was easy for him to let go of those other girls he had before.

“I just need… space.” You got up from the chair and excused yourself.

Wes and Sara watched you slide your apron off, setting it on the kitchen counter and walked towards your bedroom. Sara and Wes didn’t know what to say or do besides just let you and Joe solve your own battles at the moment.

“Hey,” Wes greeted Joe that night when he had gone back home.

Joe was sitting on the sofa, his eyes focused on the television. Wes grabbed himself a bottle of cold beer from the fridge and settled himself next to Joe. He could see the concern in Joe’s eyes and the fact that he wasn’t even focusing on what was on the television said a lot about what he was feeling.

“I think I found a flat a few blocks away.” Wes said.

Joe immediately turned his attention to him, his eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

“Well, you know I was only here temporarily.” Wes stated. “You need your own space, mate.”

“I don’t mind you being here.” Joe shrugged, his attention back on the television.

Wes side eyed Joe for a moment before reaching for the remote from the coffee table and muted the television. He turned his body to face Joe as Joe threw his head back on the sofa. He already knew what Wes was about to say right before the words could slip off his lips.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Wes.” Joe groaned softly.

“Seriously, what the fuck happened?”

“I fucked up.” Joe shrugged. “When did I ever not fucked up?”

“So, what did you exactly tell her?”

Joe took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment and said, “She asked me about the different women that I brought in here before, and I told her it was because I had commitment issues.”

Wes’ eyes widened from his explanation. “So, you’re telling me that you still haven’t told her that the only reason why you were doing all that was because you wanted to get over her because you fucked up when you first met her two years ago, and you have been trying to get over her since, but you can’t?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Joe exhaled a sharp breath. “I fucked up… again.”

“Talk to her.” Wes insisted. “Talk to her and tell her the truth!”

“She won’t even talk to me, mate.” Joe shook his head. “Just let it go. It’s over. I fucked it all up.”

“You’re not the only one who’s feeling like shit about this.”

Joe turned to Wes, his brow raised at him. Wes gave him a look as if he didn’t know what he was talking about. They both knew Joe knew exactly what Wes meant when he said that.

A conversation between him and Wes had flashbacked in his mind when Wes had first moved in the apartment building. Before Wes and Sara even dated. Wes had moved in the building because of the job opportunity he had accepted, and he was staying in Joe’s apartment temporarily. Joe had told Wes about you when Wes had witnessed Joe grumbling about you one night.

“Who is that girl anyway?” Wes had asked him one night. “Why are you two always arguing?”

“I just like to tease her.” Joe chuckled softly.

“You like her?” Wes’ expression had turned into excitement when he had seen the emotions that washed over Joe’s face.

“I’ve been trying to get over her.” Joe murmured under his breath. “But every time I walk out my front door, she’s right there.”

“Well, yeah. She lives across the hall.” Wes said sarcastically.

Joe rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant!”

Joe shook off the memory of that conversation and saw Wes’ encouraging smile slowly creeping up on his face.

“Talk to her, please?” Wes said. “Tell her the truth.”

Joe bit his lower lip and got up from the sofa, looking out the window for a moment. Wes had a point. Joe had been trying to get your attention ever since you ran out of his apartment a couple weeks ago, and he needed to tell you the truth.

Grabbing his jacket, he gave Wes a thankful smile before walking out the door and walking across the hall. Knocking on your front door, it was Sara who immediately greeted him at the door.

“Oh, hi.” Sara smiled.

Sara could tell that Joe’s eyes were studying the empty apartment behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she pursed her lips and looked back at Joe.

“She’s at Central Park. She said she needed some space.”

Joe nodded his head and right before he could walk away, Sara called out his name. He paused in his tracks as she ran back inside the apartment for a moment, grabbing an umbrella and handing it to him.

“It’s supposed to rain in a few minutes.” Sara said.

Taking the umbrella from her, Joe gave her a thankful smile and said, “Thank you.”

“Good luck!” Sara called out as she watched Joe walk away.

As soon as Joe walked out of the apartment building, the dark clouds were already covering the city of New York. Light raindrops started falling from the sky as he made his way down the sidewalk and down to Central Park.

The park was 840 acres, but he knew exactly where to find you. You had mentioned it to him once from one of the nights where you two would just cuddle and talk about anything that could fill the silence of your bedroom.

He held the umbrella over his head as rain started to pour and made his way towards Bethesda Terrace. On a bench, he found you sitting alone under the old architecture, watching the raindrops fall from the sky. You gazed up at him as he slowly walked over to you.

“Hi.” He murmured.

“Hi.” You whispered.

Getting up from the bench, you stood in front of Joe as he stared at you for a moment. He took a deep breath and gave you a small smile.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Looking for you.” Joe replied, shrugging lightly. “What are you doing out here in the rain?”

“I needed some space.” You said, looking down at your feet.

You wondered why Joe walked all the way here but then again, from the conversation that you had earlier with Sara and Wes, you sort of had an idea why. You took one step closer to him and took a deep breath.

It was time.

You needed to ask him this time. You needed to at least tell him how you really felt.

“I heard what you said.” You muttered.

“What exactly are you referring to?” Joe asked, taking a step closer to you.

“The three little words that you probably only said because you were in the moment.” You fiddled with your fingers nervously.

You could feel your heart beating right out of your chest as Joe stared at you. You didn’t know what was going on inside his mind, and it was killing you that he was just standing there without saying one word. You could only hear the raindrops hitting the pavement and the silence blanketed between you two felt like eternity.

“Did… Did you mean it?” You asked, your voice shaking slightly.

Suddenly, a small smile tugged on Joe’s lips. His eyes were filled with love and affection for you.

“I meant it.” Joe stated. “I meant it with all my heart.”

You felt your lungs give out when Joe finally answered your question. Joe cupped your cheek with his hand, brushing your cheek softly.

“I love you.” Joe murmured. “I love you so much it consumes every part of me. I love you with all my heart.”

You hitched your breath, staring into his eyes.

“But what about what you said…”

“The commitment thing?” Joe raised his brow. “Yes, I have a commitment issue but that was before I met you.”

“R…Really?”

Joe took a deep breath and nodded his head. “I’m sorry if I made you take that the wrong way. The reason why I’m always bringing girls is because I just wanted to get over you. I know it was wrong. I didn’t mean to hurt any of them at all, but I wasn’t like this before.”

You bit your lower lip and waited for Joe to continue.

“When I first met you when you first moved in, I fucked up.” Joe explained. “I stupidly brought home a girl the night before because I was drunk, but I didn’t mean to lead her on like that. Then, I met you the next day, and I thought I was still having a hangover because I saw this beautiful girl moving in across the hall—”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as Joe did too. You shook your head, taking both of his hands in yours and intertwining your fingers together.

“I’m serious.” Joe laughed. “Then, I went ahead and fucked it all up.”

“Yeah, you did.” You joked as Joe laughed with you, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry.” Joe murmured.

You shook your head, smiling softly before pressing your lips against his. Smiling through the kiss, Joe kissed you back softly and pulled you close in his arms.

“I love you too.” You murmured the moment you parted from the kiss.

Joe smiled, grazing his nose over yours as you both chuckled together before he pulled you into a tight hug. Burying your face on Joe’s shoulder, you took a deep breath, feeling relief from all the overthinking thoughts you have been thinking of.

Cupping your face between his hands, Joe grinned happily at you as he kissed you again, letting your surroundings blur around the both of you. The sound of the raindrops were the only thing you could hear as you smiled through the kiss.

“Maybe I’ve loved you all this time too.” You laughed softly, letting your forehead pressed against his again.

Joe grinned widely, kissing your forehead softly before intertwining his fingers with yours. Holding the umbrella over the both of you, you both walked back towards the apartment building. Your eyes admiring the raindrops that were falling from the sky. Raindrops softly dropping from the leaves of the trees. The wet pavement shining as you both continued down the park. Your heart pounding in your chest as you enjoyed Joe’s soft fingers intertwined with yours.

It almost felt like a dream.

Stopping in your tracks in front of the building, you gazed up at the tall skyscraper and smiled softly, remembering the first day you had moved in here with Sara.

Who knew two years ago, it would be the beginning of something special in your life? Even if you didn’t know about it then. You couldn’t help but smile when you remembered all the times the both of you had bantered in the hall.

“What is it?” Joe paused in his tracks, looking over his shoulder.

You shook your head and entered the building with him. “Nothing.”

The look on Wes and Sara’s face was something you would remember forever the moment you and Joe had entered your apartment. They were in the kitchen microwaving some popcorn when they had turned around and saw the both of you entered, fingers intertwined together.

“Oh, good!” Wes exclaimed happily. “Finally!”

You laughed softly as Sara quickly ran towards you and embraced you happily. You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around her body and hugged her tighter.

“Thank you.” You whispered to her.

“I’m so happy for you.” Sara whispered, squeezing you softly before parting from the hug.

“Does that mean we could do a double date movie night now without you two arguing?” Wes joked, shoving a piece of bread in his mouth.

You looked over your shoulder and saw Joe shaking his head as he grabbed one of the throw pillows from the sofa and chucked it at Wes. You and Sara laughed softly as Joe walked up behind you, rubbing both of your arms softly.

Looking around the room, you smiled happily before the four of you settled on the sofa. Wes browsed through the movies on the tv screen, while Joe had wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his side and planting a soft kiss on your hair. Sara gave you another happy smile before moving herself close to Wes and laid her head on his shoulder as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders.

In here, you were warm and safe in Joe’s arms. In here, you were with the people you loved.

In here, you were finally home.

The End.

*********

Taglist:

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#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joseph Quinn Fanfics #Joe Quinn Fanfics #Joseph Quinn Fics #Joe Quinn Fics #Joseph Quinn rpf #Joe Quinn rpf #The Hate Formula #part ten #sweetprfct

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chrisbitchtree · 1 year ago

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Inspired by this post from @ariesbilly!

***

Growing up with Neil Hargrove as a father, Billy was almost too scared to even think about being gay, let alone what his type might be, but he certainly never thought his type would be Just Some Guy™️.

Yet, now that he’s finally away at college and free to explore his sexuality, here he is in the cafeteria with Heather, barely two weeks into his first semester, trying to discreetly point out to her the guy he’s crushing on in his Intro to Psych class.

Steve Harrington. He of the shaggy brown hair constantly covered in a worn baseball cap, circular plastic glasses, and basic t-shirts and jeans. The most exciting his look ever gets is when he wears the baseball cap backwards. Billy swoons a little bit every time he sees him.

“Him?” Heather asks, after he’s confirmed that Billy’s not talking about the fifty other guys with plastic glasses and baseball caps dispersed around the space. “He’s so boring.”

“I know,” Billy replies, sighing. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about him. Last night I had a dream that he was about to take off his glasses before he fucked me and I asked if he could keep them on.”

“Jesus, Hargrove,” Heather laughs as she steals a fry from his plate. “You’ve got it bad. So, what are you going to do about it?”

Billy has no clue. They watch Steve in silence for a couple minutes, until he’s joined by a girl that couldn’t be any more the opposite of Just Some Guy™️. She’s got on bright red Converse that appear to be completely covered in doodles, carpenters pants that are splattered with paint, and the world’s ugliest tie dyed bucket hat. Steve leans over to say something to her and she’s instantly laughing, swatting his arm.

“I don’t even know if he’s into guys,” Billy finally replies. “That could be his girlfriend for all we know. Opposites do attract.”

Heather gives him an affronted look. “First of all, bisexuality exists, jackass, and second of all, unless she’s cheating on him, she’s not his girlfriend. How do I know this, you ask?”

“How?”

“I fucked her last night. And we’re going on a date tonight.”

Billy’s shocked, but recovers to give her a congratulatory high five. His girl’s got game.

“How did that happen?”

“I saw her at that mixer I went to, thought she was hot, asked if she wanted to get a room and that was that.”

Billy shakes his head, laughing. “If only it was that easy for me.”

Heather stacks their trays and grabs them. “Follow me.”

Billy does, curious to see what’s going to happen next. His curiosity turns to horror as she marches over to Steve and his friend. Billy wants to run, but he takes a deep breath and follows her instead, trying to be brave for once.

“Hey Robin, can’t wait for tonight.” She greets the girl before turning to Steve.

“You into guys?”

Steve looks confused, but still nods slowly.

“Great,” Heather says. “You think my boy is hot?”

Steve nods more vigorously than before.

“Perfect,” Heather replies, a smile curling over her lips as she turns to Robin. “Bring him tonight. It’s a double date.”

Billy finally works up the nerve to look directly at Steve and sees a shy grin on his face. Their eyes meet and Billy grins back. Steve might be just Just Some Guy™️ to most, but he’s The Guy, The Only Guy, to Billy.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove ficlet #robin buckley #heather holloway #chrisbitchtree writes

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swissboyhisch · 1 year ago

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Drunken Mistakes

Pairing: Mathew Barzal x Reader

Summary: After receiving some bad news, you just wanted to not be alone. After a couple drinks, what most likely is a bad decision, starts to sound too good to miss.

Word Count: 2576

Warnings: Alcohol, friends with benefits, bad thoughts

NEXT PART >>

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Alcohol. Something to numb the pain. Anything honestly.

After the news you just received, you wanted some kind of distraction. You didn’t want to stay in your hotel room alone. Being in the city, away from your home. You wanted some kind of comfort. Sure, you had some friends living in the city, but everyone was busy. Leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Mat then popped into your mind. An ex-fling. Your childhood best friend that you had reconnected with. One you had a friends-with-benefits situation with. After nights of constant talking and hours-long phones on the way home from work, you had caught feelings for Mat. In return, he ghosted you. Yes, he had warned you not to catch feelings, but it still hurt.

Neither of you had messaged each other for months. The last thing you discussed was your travels through Europe and how you were doing amazingly. During that conversation, Mat had admitted he was lonely. But something was telling you to text him at this very moment. Maybe it was just your desperate need not to be alone.

Hey

Within minutes Mat had replied. When he asked how you were going, you told him the truth. Not good… Well, more like horrible. With that admission, Mat drove to your hotel to pick you up. Promising to be there as quickly as he could.

You grabbed some clothes for the night and the phone charger before heading down to the lobby to wait for Mat. It didn’t take long before the familiar mop of hair weaved through the few people standing about the lobby.

“Hey,” Mat muttered, pulling you into a hug. He could tell you weren’t doing the greatest. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You relax into his body. Your body goes slack in Mat’s arms, holding you against him. “Can we go to yours?”

“Let’s go,” Mat replies.

The brunette grabbed your bag from your hands and placed his hand on your lower back to guide you out of the hotel. His luxurious car was parked in the valet. Mat opened your door, allowing you to slide into the passenger seat and get comfortable. Once Mat pulled out of the hotel, he drove through the city. The music playing on Bluetooth became the soundtrack to your life as you stared out the window.

“The new place,” You finally spoke up, seeing the building come into view.

“Yeah, the new place.”

You noticed things that were not Mat’s when you walked into his apartment. A pair of shoes near the door that wasn’t his style. A pair of keys to a car that wasn’t his. Well, that you knew of.

“No roommate?”

Mat chuckled at the question, “I got a roommate, one of the traded guys.”

That made your heart hurt—more than it already was. Anthony Beauvillier was one of your closest friends, especially when you and Mat were hooking up. And now he lives in Vancouver. If you were hurting, you could only imagine how Mat was taking the whole ordeal.

“Have you talked to Tito recently?” You ask.

“Every day. Want a drink?”

The yes flew out of your mouth faster than you could predict. After looking through Mat’s vast selection of expensive alcohol, you decided to have a Jack and Coke. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and mixer, a glass from the cupboard, and a shot glass.

“How strong?”

“At least a double,” You answered.

Then the tour began. He started in the kitchen and living room. The occasional picture of his family is scattered on the walls and shelves. Next was the balcony. Quite considerable and well-decorated. The area's main feature is a comfy couch facing the city's view. The last room on the list was his bedroom, which was very Mat: simple colours, well shades of black and white. The wardrobe with mirrors for sliding doors was on the left as you walked in. Across the room was a large window. A dresser with a tv opposite his bed sat centre on the wall to your right—every bit Mat as you’d like.

“My teammate isn’t home, so do you wanna watch a movie in the lounge room?”

“Let me get comfy first,” You mutter, placing your drink on the dresser as you put your bag in the corner of the room.

After changing, you joined Mat on the couch. His feet kicked up on the poof he had, and an enormous blanket lay over his lower half. Without saying anything, you slid under the blanket and sat directly beside him, despite the space on the couch.

“What movie?”

You look at the options on Netflix, “I don’t know.”

“You choose,” Mat decided, handing you the remote.

“Why?” You laughed.

“You’re the guest.”

“Come on, Mat.”

You gave up on that argument quickly and just flicked through the app. Nothing piqued your interest, and Mat wasn’t any help. Then you came upon Molly’s Game. From the description, it was about an Olympian who runs a high-end poker game for the mafia and prominent stars who ends up on the radar of the FBI. It sounded exciting, and you hadn’t watched it, so you pressed play.

The two of you sat watching the movie, alcoholic drink in hand. The occasional comment or questions asked between you about things that had happened recently. After a bit, you finally got comfy. You were leaning into Mat’s side, head on the shoulder. His arm slides up and around your shoulders. He was holding you tightly against his side. Both of you were settled. You came to trace shapes on his chest as you focused on the movie. His lightly ghosted up and down your back.

It was quiet until Mat broke the silence between you both. “I forgot how easy it is with you.”

You felt that deeply. Whenever you and Mat had spent time together in the past, you didn’t have to try. Didn’t have to actively think about what to do. You both just worked so well together. Sometimes you wondered why he didn’t want a relationship with you if that was his thoughts.

“Me too.”

You finished your drink quickly. It's likely quicker than you should have. Mat didn’t hesitate to grab your empty glass from your hand and get up to make you another drink. You watched as he walked around the couch and to the kitchen. Even twisting so you can lean on the back of the couch and watch him. He saw you looking at him and smiled at you. For a quick second, you felt those butterflies in your stomach, similar to when you two had first hooked up.

“Want to do a shot?” Mat asked as he finished making your drink.

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion. Quickly joining Mat at his alcohol stash. “Of what?”

“I don’t know.”

After having a flashback to having had many nights when you were younger doing shots, you knew what you wouldn’t shoot. “Anything but vodka.”

“How about Fireball?” Mat asked as he grabbed his half-empty bottle.

“Sounds great.”

Mat poured out the two shots. Pouring on the smaller side as the shooters were quite large. You both clinked your glasses before throwing back the amber liquid. Cinnamon. Quite pleasant, you thought. You both put down the glass before sharing a laugh. That was when you looked up at Mat and saw how close you were. Without hesitating, you went in for the kiss. Sure, neither of you had discussed how the night would end between you, but it seemed like there was an underlying tension, sexual.

You both smiled at each other and settled back onto the couch. You were drinking and paying little attention to the movie on the large screen. Most of your attention was on Mat. Your hand started to wander. Starting on his chest and then making your way up to his jaw. He currently had more stubble than you had seen him with in the past.

“I like the scruff,” You comment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then silence once more. Both yours and Mat’s hands wandered, touching each other lightly. Nothing too inappropriate. Even the occasional snuggle into Mat’s chest resulted in his hand coming to scratch the back of your head lightly. Just comforting touches that you needed after the news you had heard earlier.

You watched Mat skull the last bit of his beer, then place the empty bottle on the coffee table to his right. After handing him your drink to place on it, you struggle to get out of the tangled mess of blankets and legs. You made your way through the dark, well, low light, to the kitchen to grab a beer for the fridge. Mat watched in amusement as you walked a little tipsy.

“You didn’t have to,” Mat stated as you opened the fridge.

You grabbed the beer he was drinking, “Twist top?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” You hum before opening the bottle and returning to Mat’s side, handing him his drink before snuggling back to his side. Not without a quick peck to his lips.

Midway through the movie and a few more drinks later, the kissing intensified. Your hand cups Mat’s scruffy jaw as he pulls you in closer. Fingers tangled into your hair.

“Wanna move to the bedroom?” Mat mumbles against your lips.

“Sure.” Mat turned off the tv and placed the empty glass and bottles on the kitchen counter. You went to the bedroom while he did that. Placing your phone on charge and climbing in under the covers.

Mat walked in and slipped off his t-shirt, revealing his abs. A sight you had missed. God, he was so good-looking. Angelic really. The light was changed to red, a staple between you and Mat when you were hooking up. It also doubled as a warning to Tito that you two were fucking.

“Looking hot,” You grin as Mat makes his way to bed with you.

With a hard tug, Mat falls on top of you. He dipped his head once more to capture your lips with his. You pressed your hips against him, feeling his hard-on under his sweats. Hands slid under your jumper. Pulling up the hoodie. Mat broke the kiss to slip off the article of clothing and throwing in the direction of your bag before returning to kiss your lips.

“Mat,” You moaned as the brunette moved to kiss down your neck.

He gently bit that sweet spot he had memorised, then smirked as you moaned again. “Found it.”

His words made you laugh lightly. Then cut off again by a moan since Mat slid a hand up into your hair. A tangled mess and slight tug. A staple move by the big-shot hockey player. In retaliation, you grazed your hands over his cock under his sweats, making Mat halt in his movements, a silent moan. You tug his sweatpants a little.

“You want them off?” Mat smirks.

“Of course.”

Mat listens to your needs and stands up, gripping the waistband and sliding them down. His hard cock sprung out of the waistband. Slapping his abs with a satisfying skin-on-skin sound.

“Your turn.” You lifted your hips, allowing Mat to slide off your sweatpants. Mat chuckled at your underwear. “You planned on getting some, didn’t you?”

“Can ya tell?”

Without saying anymore, Mat slipped off your underwear and pulled your legs, sliding your body to the edge of the bed. You wrapped your legs around his waist. You needed him closer.

“Mat…”

You reached your hands up and pulled him down to your lips. Lips. Tongues. Wandering hands. A little biting on your part. After you and Mat hooked up last time, you knew to hold back on the biting. You moved to kiss down Mat’s neck, nipping and sucking as you went.

His fingers tangled into your hair to pull you away, “Careful. No marking, you know that.”

“I know, I know. I wasn’t planning on doing it.”

The following day you awoke to Mat lying shirtless beside you in bed. Little snores were the only sound echoing around the room. Your phone was suddenly receiving notifications, buzzing on the side table.

“What time is it?” You mumble to yourself. Leaning over to look at your phone. The glowing white numbers. 6:00 AM. “Fuck.”

You had forgotten to change the sleep focus for last night. Usually, you’d be up for work at this time hence why your phone turned notifications back on. You flicked it back onto sleep focus and rolled over to curl into Mat’s side.

“What’s the time?” He mumbles, barely even awake.

“6.”

“Go back to sleep,” Mat huffed.

For the next two hours, the pair of your drifted in and out of sleep. Either you would shuffle and wake Mat or vice versa. Then it got to the point you couldn’t be bothered to try to go back to sleep. Instead, you pulled up Instagram to scroll through whilst Mat slept. You knew Mat liked his sleep, and he had a later morning skate at 10 AM if you remember correctly.

“Mat, it’s 8:30,” You mumbled when you noticed the time. Both of you needed to shower before leaving. And Mat had offered to drop you back at your hotel on his way to practice.

The two of you fell into a routine of getting ready for the day. You showered before changing back into the clothes you wore to Mat’s. Mat jumped in the shower after you. He came out of the bathroom dressed in jeans and one of his many Islanders hoodies. Something that made him look so good.

Mat came over to where you were sitting on his bed, slipping on your Apple Watch. He leant down and pressed a kiss to your lips once more. Probably the final one of the morning. “Want some food before I drop you off?”

“That sounds good.”

You grabbed your bag, and the pair of your made your way to Mat’s car. He had mentioned a bakery near your hotel that was good. It didn’t take too long… in city time that is. The two of you entered the cafe. Browsing all there was to choose from. After looking at all the baked goods, you decided to get juice—something to quell your unsettled stomach, hopefully. Mat stood before you, eyeing up something in the glass case.

“What do you want?” Mat asked.

“Oh, I’m just getting a juice. Don’t feel like getting any food at the moment.” Mat plucked the juice bottle from your hands and placed it on the counter with his drink. You groaned, going to try to grab the drink back, but he smacked your hand away. “Mat, I can get my drink.”

“Don’t stress about it. I don’t mind.”

You didn’t expect Mat to pay for your stuff. Honestly, you hated having people pay for things for you. Mat was a good person, and you knew that. So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. After he paid for your things, you both returned to his car, and he started to make his way to your hotel. It was quiet until you pulled into your hotel driveway.

“Thank you for last night,” You stated as you grabbed your bag. “I need it.”

“Me too,” Mat smiles.

“Good luck for tonight.”

Mat says a quick thank you. “Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

“Bye.”

You send him one last smile. “Bye.”

TAG LIST:

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings @barzyblogbabe

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Wasted 2

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Part of The Club AU

You’ve reached the next plain of existence. That special level of drunk where you forget just enough of your doubts and problems to truly unwind. You don’t think about your dress riding up or how the strap of your dress slips down your arm. You are free.

There’s only one problem. You have to break the seal. You set aside your empty cup and shout above the remix of Rihanna to Heidi and Faye. Neither of them offer to come with you as they bounce to the beat. Oh well, you can handle a trip to the bathroom.

You turn on your clunky heels, wobbling a little before you get your feet right. You steady yourself and strut between the dancers pulsating around you. You giggle as you see a particularly eager guy grinding on a girl without a sliver of interest.

You mind the step on the way down from the dancefloor. You don’t want to be kicked out for being overserved. Again.

You stroll past the bar and eye the man behind it as he shakes a metal mixer. You could probably go for another drink once you pee. You just need to clear the way.

You head towards the bright doorway on the opposite end of the bar and as you peer around the line of stools, your eyes meet those of another. You recognise the man from earlier, even as his face is shrouded in shadows. He’s the reason your skin is sticky with vodka and juice. Is he checking you out?

You shrug it off and roll your eyes. That’s the thing about clubs, they’re always full of creepers. If the guy wanted to buy you a drink, he had a perfect opportunity earlier.

You refocus on your destination. Your bladder makes it hard to forget. You sigh as there’s no queue for the bathroom and you quickly dip into the only free stall. You pull down your panties and hover above the seat as you urge yourself to let go.

As the pressure lets out, you hang your head back, eyelids drooping as your vision doubles. You feel good, very good. Why can’t you feel like this all the time?

You finish up and stumble out to the sinks. You blink at your reflection as you wash your hands. A girl comes out of the other stall and wavers up beside you. She looks at you in the mirror and grins.

“I love your dress,” she chimes.

“Oh, thanks,” you slur, “like yours too.”

You shut off the sink and grab some paper towel. You dry your hands and float out of the bathroom, high on the compliment. The best kind of praise is that from drunk girls in bathrooms.

You fan yourself as the heat of the crowd surrounds you. The coolness of the bathroom makes it even more obvious as you emerge. You should get a breath of cold air, maybe sober up before you get a refill.

You grip your purse, keeping it from bouncing on your hip, and sidle along to the stairs. You go down to the door and greet the bouncer with a smile. You look at your hand and hold it out.

“Washed my stamp off,” you chirp, “please and thanks.”

He doesn’t say a word as he presses another inky smear to the back of your hand. You wink and go out onto the street. The line is all but gone as the early hours tick by. Last call soon.

You lean against the brick and look up at the starry sky. Ugh, you’ll have to pay for a cab home. Or maybe you can crash at Heidi’s, she lives only a block away. That’s the thing about her, you always end up at the place closest to her apartment.

Another figure emerges from the club doors. You don’t look over as it blurs the edge of your vision. You push your head back and blow out a vodka laced breath. The man passes by, only then catching your full attention.

He turns and stops, leaning beside you against the wall as he tucks his hands in his pockets. You peek over at him and sneer. It’s the same guy.

“What do you want?” You snarl.

“I should ask you the same,” his voice is rocky, timbre so deep it rolls through you.

“What’s that mean?” You ask and quickly seal your lips against a hiccup.

“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself,” he remarks, “I got something that could make it even better.”

You squint and shake your head. “I don’t wanna suck your dick, dude.”

“Not exactly what I’m offering but you might change your mind once you get a hit.”

“What are you fuckin’ rambling about?”

You push yourself away from the wall and grab at your purse. You flip the flap up and fish around inside. You ground your heel into the pavement and pull out the pack of smokes; another careless purchase. You only really smoke when you’re drinking.

“Shit’s bad for you,” he tuts as he watches you. You meet his gaze and almost dissolve at the intensity. He slips his hand out of his pocket, giving a peek of a small baggie of tablets, “wanna roll?”

You keep from flicking on the lighter as you consider his offer. You don’t really have the money to be spending on pills. Besides, you’re already pretty fucked up.

“Shit in there is watered down” he tucks the bag back in his pocket, “This stuff’s pure. It’ll get you goin’.”

You let the cigarette dangle between your lips as you stare skeptically.

“I owe you a drink, right?” He smirks.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #series #au #wasted #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #avengers

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jctmachinery · 7 months ago

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#equipment #machine #industrial #mixer #machinery #sigma mixer #chemical #double arm mixer #z blade mixier #sigma blade mixer #polymer clay

0 notes

starlightkun · 10 months ago

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❧ word count: 8.7k ❧ warnings: cursing, mentions of drinking (new year’s eve party) ❧ genre: fluff, new year’s themed, attorney kun, wedding planner reader (i know next to nothing abt wedding planning, sorry!), aged up kun (he’s like mid/late 30s and reader is implied to also be around that age) ❧ extra info: this is the last of my impromptu series of three (and a half) hallmark-esque fics starring kun for the 2023 holiday season. i've made a mini masterlist here for fun ❧ author’s note: i once again wrote this in like 48 hours and had even less time to proof it bc i wanted to get it out before new year’s so im sorry abt any errors! also a happy early birthday to the loml

“Hopeless for the Holidays?” You snorted, reading the email flyer your friend had just forwarded to you. “You told me you had something fun for us to do for New Year’s.”

“This will be!” She pleaded with you. “It’s a mixer for single professionals who, you know, have no other plans on New Year’s Eve. Like us.”

“Hopeless for the Holidays?” You snorted, reading the email flyer your friend had just forwarded to you. “You told me you had something fun for us to do for New Year’s.”

“This will be!” Eunji pleaded with you. “It’s a mixer for single professionals who, you know, have no other plans on New Year’s Eve. Like us.”

“So, an excuse to get drunk and mack on a stranger at midnight. Did that enough in my twenties. Pass.”

“Nooo, it’s going to be super classy; I swear! It’s happening at the old courthouse downtown. It’s so nice there. The dress code is literally festive black tie—”

“What does that even mean? Is it festive or is it black tie? And how did you even get invited to this?” You read the domain name of the original sender, then zoomed in on the details of flyer to double, triple check. “It’s being held by the Bar Association?”

“Attorneys aren’t that bad,” she replied, clearly miffed.

“Yeah, you aren’t,” you said pointedly. “Former debate bros are.”

“There’s going to be so many mature, serious, single professionals there for you, I promise.”

“It’s literally called Hopeless for the Holidays.”

“So it’s a bit tongue-in-cheek.”

“If its tongue were any more in its cheek, it would bite it off.”

“See? You’re so witty, these guys are going to be falling over themselves trying to have intellectual conversations with you.”

“If a single one calls my job cute, I’m out of there.”

“That’s a yes! Thank you thank you thank you!”

On December 31st, you stepped into the old courthouse downtown with Eunji, out of the freezing cold and into a bright, glamorous venue. The main entry had been converted into a ballroom of sorts for the occasion, all the original marble flooring and walls, and oak and gold detailing preserved. Round, standing cocktail tables had been set up all around, a bar to the back and the side, waiters coming around with hors d’oeuvres, and even a live band set up on the landing of the grand staircase at the back. It was decorated in festive, New Year’s appropriate gold, silver, and black decorations, tinsel, baubles, stars, miscellaneous firework-adjacent shapes.

“Okay… not bad,” you muttered to Eunji as you took it all in.

“Told you it would be classy!” She whispered victoriously to you. Latching onto your arm, she pulled you into the crowd. “Come on!”

She diverted your course towards a table, and you saw a dark-haired man standing there in a neutral grey suit with a red-and-green plaid tie.

“Y/N, you remember my coworker, Kim Doyoung.” Your friend gestured between the two of you.

“Of course, it’s good to see you again, Doyoung.” You greeted the man brightly.

The few lawyer activities that Eunji had dragged you to before—more casual affairs—you had been introduced to many of her coworkers, but Doyoung must have been the only one that fit the criteria for tonight: single and hopeless on New Year’s Eve.

“You too, Y/N.” He nodded to you politely.

You liked Doyoung and all, he was a nice man, but you could already tell from the few times you’d met him before that he was a workaholic. Now, you were aware that most lawyers were, but Doyoung seemed beyond that. Eunji brought you to their firm’s Holiday Party last year, where he was recognized for putting in the most billable hours out of dozens of attorneys—and he was only a junior partner. You doubted he went anywhere but work, the courthouse, and home, where he presumably did even more work.

“Eunji, I’m so glad you’re here, actually,” Doyoung pulled out his phone, opening up his email app. “I was at the office right before I came here and—”

“No, Doyoung.” Eunji snatched his phone from hands, turned it off, and tucked it inside his jacket pocket. “No work. Don’t make any work calls, take any work calls, check your email, none of that.”

“But we’re surrounded by other lawyers.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, you can talk about some law stuff, informally. But I want you to actually talk to human people not for the purposes of a file tonight, okay? Sound good?”

“I suppose I can do that for a night.”

“And I want you to find someone to kiss at midnight.”

“What?!”

“That isn’t me or Y/N.”

Doyoung seemed like he was about to pass out. “Eunji, this is very unprofessional—”

“I just said I’m off-limits.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m going to get Eunji and I drinks,” you interrupted their typical bickering.

“Negroni!” She chirped, squeezing your arm before going right back into with her coworker.

With the sounds of their squabbling fading into the din of the crowd, you slowly meandered to the bar on the opposite side of the room. Putting in Eunji’s negroni and your own cocktail order with the bartender, you watched as he got caught by a very insistent older man who clearly thought himself to be very important as he put in what seemed like seven different drink orders as he ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke.

The bartender stopped by you to grab a glass, and you offered, “You can take care of him first, if you need. Seems like he’s in a rush. I don’t mind waiting.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go for it.”

And he moved off to do that, you were happy to turn around and people watch for the moment. You’d always known that law was a boys’ club, but this was just… sad. The few women who were here were interspersed, but you were definitely outnumbered at least 10 to 1. That left a lot of the men to group off and chat among themselves. If Eunji didn’t find somebody tonight after dragging you out here, you’d kill her.

A movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention, and you saw three men coming towards you through the crowd on your left, at least one of them already visibly tipsy. You shifted your eyes forward, trying to gauge if you should just abandon your drinks and find Eunji and Doyoung again wherever they ended up.

Then, someone was sliding up to the bar on your right, a pretty, smooth voice, “Hi. Do you have a moment to talk?”

You turned to your right, the voice matched to a rather handsome man, face framed by chestnut brown hair, and lips pulled into a charming, dimpled smile. He wasn’t too close to you that you felt like he was invading your personal space, a polite distance, just near enough so that you knew he was talking to you. Well that, and his piercing, dark eyes focused entirely on you as if there were nothing else he could possibly be looking at in the room. Not unblinking, but not distracted. He was the only man that you’d seen so far who had figured out the festive black-tie dress code, in a traditional tuxedo except in a deep midnight blue color, with several glittering brooches of fine materials on one lapel. Not overdone, and definitely not Christmas, which was a week ago. He already had a drink in his hand, some kind of dark liquor, neat. Whiskey, scotch, or bourbon, presumably.

“Sure.” You offered a small smile in return. “I’m waiting on my drink.”

The man set his drink down on the bar then, and offered his hand that hadn’t been holding it out to you.

“Qian Kun.” He introduced himself. “I haven’t seen you at a Bar Association event before.”

You shook his hand. It was warm. “That’s probably because I’m not a member. I’m a plus-one.”

“Ah, well that makes sense.”

“Y/L/N Y/N, by the way.”

“So what do you do then, Y/N?”

“I’m a wedding planner.”

“Wow, I’ve heard that’s pretty high-stress.” He actually seemed impressed, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair for a moment.

“I’ve heard the same about being an attorney,” you pointed out coyly.

“I don’t have bridezillas or in-laws to deal with on a daily basis.”

“I’ll take talking down a bridezilla over why she can’t have those specific orchids she saw on Pinterest because they won’t survive the two-hour outdoor ceremony and four-hour reception at her summer wedding due to how sensitive to heat they are over having to argue with my whole chest some position that I don’t even believe in just because I’m being paid to.”

“You think trial lawyers are sleazy?” He asked, the corner of his lip quirking up as if he found this amusing.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” you apologized flatly.

He sipped his drink. “Not all attorneys are trial lawyers, you know.”

“You aren’t?”

“Corporate. General counsel for businesses, contracts, that sort of thing.”

“Paper pusher.”

“You were brought here by a litigator,” he said knowingly.

“How’d you know?”

“Us paper pushers don’t really call each other that.”

“Right. She does insurance defense.” You were interrupted by the bartender finally returning with your two drinks, and you thanked him, opening your clutch for whatever cash was in there to hand him as a tip. Turning back to Kun, feeling the need to clarify something. “I don’t think she’s sleazy, exactly. You know, in criminal proceedings, the defendant is entitled to an attorney, right? And the state provides one if they can’t afford it. I think normal people should have competent representation in civil proceedings, too, just to help navigate the legal system. I think she does something good overall. I just… couldn’t do it myself.”

“A lot of time, it’s not about the facts, or what you believe, it’s about the law. Making the better argument.”

“Yeah, which is kind of what I hate about it.”

“That’s more than fair,” Kun agreed. “So what do you like about wedding planning then?”

“The moment that everything finally comes together, and I get to be the one who delivers the couple’s perfect day to them,” you sighed happily. “Every single meltdown, canceled vendor, whatever, is worth it when I get to see it all come together.”

“You love love?”

“Well, that, and I’ve also been told that I’m a bit of a control freak.”

“Playing to your strengths with your choice of career.”

“I’ve long embraced the control freak,” you declared genuinely. “What do you like about corporate law?”

“I’m not a trial attorney, first of all,” he started, making you chuckle. “And I really like contracts. Reviewing them, drafting them, refining them. I’ve been told I have an eye for detail.”

“Isn’t that a nice way of saying of saying control freak?”

“I suppose it is, yes.”

“And you know why that is, right?” You asked pointedly. “Why you ‘have an eye for detail’ and I’m a ‘control freak?’”

Kun didn’t miss a beat. “Of course. You’re a woman, so the same traits that are desirable in men are things that you get shamed for.”

“Huh.” You hid a pleasantly surprised smile behind your glass as you went to take a sip. So far, he had passed every level on your mental flowchart that you used to quickly weed out men who weren’t worth your time. “So you’re responsible for the Terms and Conditions nobody reads?”

“Possibly.”

“And you’ve definitely heard that one before.”

“Would it make you feel better if I said I hadn’t?”

“No,” you shook your head with a smile.

“It was worth a shot.”

You gathered up both of the drinks you’d been given. “It was nice chatting, Kun, but I do have to get this back to my friend before the ice melts and waters down her drink, unfortunately.”

“By all means; I’m grateful for your time that I did get.” He nodded to you graciously. “It was lovely meeting you, Y/N. I hope we’ll talk again later.”

Taking the two drinks back over to the table that Eunji was standing at, she looked at you with wide eyes and a knowing smirk. Doyoung had disappeared at some point, presumably to get on with his assignment from Eunji.

“Your drink, ma’am.” You handed it to her with mock fanfare.

“So who was that?” She asked lightly.

“Hm?”

“The guy you were talking to at the bar for so long.”

“Oh, uhm, Qian Kun? Have you heard of him?”

“No, I haven’t. He say what firm he works for?”

“Didn’t think to ask. But it makes sense you don’t know him, he’s a paper pusher.”

“Ohh… corporate?”

“Yep. General counsel for businesses, contracts. Guy really loves contracts.”

“Oh boring.” She wrinkled her nose with distaste, then took a sip of her drink. “Ack. Y/N, seriously? You let my cocktail get watered down for a contracts guy?”

“I thought I had excused myself before it got watered down, sorry,” you apologized, rolling your eyes at her dramatics. “But he wasn’t talking about contracts the whole time I was over there, really. He was asking me about my job.”

You opted to not mention the part of your conversation about trial attorneys such as your friend.

This detail piqued her interest again. “Oh, okay. You didn’t walk out, so I assume he behaved accordingly?”

“He… was nice.” You conceded.

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard you say about a guy!”

“Eunji, hon, I didn’t come out here expecting to find my soulmate, alright?” You patted her shoulder. “A couple free drinks, hanging out with you, chatting with some nice people, and I’ll consider it a success, alright?”

“Why can’t you be open to something?” She sighed.

“I am. If it happens to find me. I’m just not exactly looking for it right now, okay?”

“Fine.”

“How about we worry about you in the meantime, alright? Since you definitely are searching,” you suggested, looking around the large room with intent. “What about those guys over there? By the Christmas tree?”

“God, no.” She coughed and turned her head, very conspicuously covering her face with her hair. “You see the tall one?”

“Yeah, he’s really good-looking.”

“And we’re going to be avoiding him all night. Johnny Suh.”

“Wait, as in—”

“Yeah.”

“—your ex from law school.”

“That one.”

“Well. I definitely get it now.”

“Could you be more obvious that you’re staring, Y/N? Christ.”

You casually moved around the table so that both of your backs were to that group as you continued talking. “How have you been attending like any Bar Association functions then? If you’re like this?”

“He just moved here. I heard rumors but didn’t want to believe it until I saw him with my own two eyes. Which ended up being tonight.”

“Okay, well…” You looked around again, spotting another group at a nearby table. “How about them? The guys that Doyoung is talking to.”

Eunji peered over at where you were looking. “I mean, one of them is Yuta, which, ew. He works in international law at my firm but the other three… yes, sure, yeah. I think I did my clerkship with one of those guys, actually. Let’s go.”

After being introduced by Doyoung to the three men with him—Jungwoo, Sicheng, and Taeil—you found out that Eunji had in fact done her summer clerkship under a federal judge with Jungwoo during law school. As they got to chatting, and the others talked about some recent fascinating court ruling, you slowly sipped on your drink, zoning in and out of conversations. You loved your friend, really, but there was a reason that you had met at yoga and not in law school. Hearing lawyers talk about law was going to make your brain bleed out of your ears. Your thoughts drifted back to Qian Kun, and your eyes briefly flitted around the room, wondering where he had ended up.

“And what do you do, Y/N?” Yuta suddenly yanked you back into the conversation.

“Hm?” You blinked. “Oh, I’m a wedding planner.”

“Cool. Sounds fun.”

You immediately looked over at Eunji, and she flashed you the quickest lift of her eyes in an eye roll that would be imperceptible to anybody else.

“So how’s your mission coming along, Doyoung?” You decided to entertain yourself.

Sicheng and Taeil immediately stopped their conversation to look over, confused.

“I’m talking to people not directly about cases at work.” He looked at you with wide eyes, obviously hoping you wouldn’t divulge the other half of it. “I’ve done it.”

“Okay, and who are you kissing at midnight?”

“Huh?!” Yuta let out a comically bewildered noise.

Doyoung groaned, then pointed an accusatory finger at your friend. “Eunji… ordered me to not work tonight and find somebody to… kiss at midnight…”

You shrugged. “I’m checking in on his progress.”

“Are you offering, Y/N?” Yuta questioned teasingly.

“No,” you snorted. “I’m ineligible. Sorry.”

“You came to a singles event and you’re… not single?” Jungwoo cocked his head.

“I am. I’m just not letting some stranger put their tongue down my throat at midnight because of it.” You finished off your drink. “Sorry.”

“And there’s no way I’d let either of you do anything to my friend,” Eunji grabbed your arm protectively, pointing between Doyoung and Yuta. “I know how you live. And I’m not impressed.”

“Gee, thanks,” Doyoung scoffed.

“Yeah, understandable,” Yuta shrugged.

After a bit more mingling, you and Eunji once again ended up by yourselves at a table. She had her cheek dejectedly in hand, visible pout on her face.

“So? Have you liked anybody so far?” You asked her. “Felt a connection? Seemed like you and Jungwoo were getting along… Or that environmental attorney, uhm, Taeyong?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” she sighed, straightening up. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Come with?”

“I can, or I can get us drinks again. Which do you want?”

“Mm, drinks. Thanks.”

“Of course, hon.”

On your way back to the bar, you spotted a familiar blue suit jacket in the crowd and decided to make a short detour.

“Kun.” You approached, stopping behind him at a table.

The attorney turned around, a wide smile coming to his face as he recognized you. “Y/N, hello again.”

“Yeah, hey,” you beamed. “Mind if I chat with you for a second?”

“Please do.”

“I was on the way to the bar to grab another round for my friend and I while she freshens up, then I saw you,” you explained, settling in to lean beside him at his table. “But she’ll be a while…”

“Lucky me then.” A dimple appeared in his cheek. “And honestly, you might want to hold off on the drinks. They’re going to start bringing out champagne at eleven.”

“What time is it?”

He checked his silver, analog watch. “Ten fifty-four.”

“I think I will hold off, then. Eunji loves champagne. Thanks for the tip.”

“Of course.”

“You here all alone?” You indicated the empty table he was standing at. “I mean, I know it’s a singles event or whatever, but people have at least been talking to friends or colleagues too.”

“I was with some others a few minutes ago, we were celebrating a recent promotion, but they all seemed to have left me.”

“Promotion? Whose?”

“Ah, mine,” he admitted, hand habitually smoothing over the lapels of his suit.

“Congrats. And what have you been promoted to?”

“Senior partner. Non-equity.”

“Celebrating your promotion at an event for lonely singles? Bit sad.”

“If I’m being honest, I’m only here because my friend pressured me.” He nodded towards a dark-haired man in an emerald green velvet jacket, who you had seen darting about the event the whole night. “Ten helped organize it.”

“I was forced here by my friend too, Eunji,” you laughed. “She just about dragged me in kicking and screaming.”

“I didn’t put up that much resistance myself, admittedly,” Kun chuckled.

“Oh? You secretly wanted to come?” You half-joked and half-asked.

“Something like that.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“When Ten was first telling me his plans for the event, I thought, knowing him, it was just a convoluted way to get wasted and make out with a stranger,” he shook his head. “But the promotion sort of put some… things into perspective. And I feel like the New Year always makes me reflect more than others.”

“Why is that? You feel like you reflect on New Year more than other people?”

“My birthday is January 1st.”

“Oh…” You nodded in understanding. “Time marches on.”

“Yes, it does. I get the hit of a New Year and getting older on the same day.”

“I know we just met, but I feel like you’re already sharing something pretty personal, so I’ll ask: How old will you be? At midnight?”

“Thirty-six,” he said it like he was in a confessional, quietly, dipping his head down to looking down at his feet, then straight up at the ceiling, tilting his head back.

“Kun… You know that’s not even half your life, right? Statistically?” You arched an eyebrow.

“I’m aware. I’m not ashamed of my age, really. I’m quite happy to be out of my twenties. But now, about to be closer to forty than thirty… there’s things about my life that twenty-year-old me thought would’ve been quite different than they actually are.”

“Is this connected to your new perspective from your promotion?”

“Yes. A lot of people take their promotion as an incentive to work harder but… I think I’m going to cut back.”

“Does your firm know about this?”

“My new position comes with a certain amount of security.”

“You’re a damn good lawyer, Kun,” you chuckled.

Kun seemed caught off-guard for the first time in your conversation. “Well, I mean, yes, I suppose—”

“You’ve been talking around your point for the past five minutes. Now that you’re at a certain place in your career, you want a family. When you were twenty, you promised yourself you would do it all, career and family, then along the way you slowly started conceding more and more in order to get ahead, and now you’re looking back and realizing you wanted to have more in your life than just work by now. So you let Ten talk you into coming out to this singles mixer hoping that maybe you’d luck into your future spouse in one go.” You poked him on the chest. “Sound about right?”

He raised his gaze from your finger on his dress shirt to your face, a wonder-filled smile on his lips that turned into a knowing smirk as he challenged, “Seems as though you’re… familiar with similar circumstances.”

You took your hand back before giving a casual shrug. “Maybe. How close was I?”

“Scarily accurate. Did my mother put you up to this?”

“No. But, let me guess, she’s been not-so-subtly asking for grandchildren?”

“Only for the past decade.”

“Ouch.”

A waiter then came by carrying a plate of champagne, offering some out. Kun grabbed two flutes off the tray and offered one to you. You accepted it graciously.

“Thank you.” Tilting the golden liquid back and forth contemplatively, you asked, “Do you happen to know if Ten got real champagne or sparkling wine?”

“Whatever real champagne is, he probably did not splurge on it, no,” Kun chuckled.

“Nobody actually knows the difference, I was just curious.” You took a sip. “Good quality wine.”

“What is the difference?”

“Technically, real champagne can only come from the Champagne region of France,” you explained. “Whenever a couple comes in insisting on real champagne, but without the budget for it, I have tell them that they’ve probably never had real champagne in their lives anyway, and their guests will not know the difference between real champagne and a good sparkling wine.”

“Your job must require you to be knowledgeable about a lot of different things, doesn’t it? Wine, flowers, food, logistics.”

“Money, budgeting, color theory, weather, you name it, I probably have to know at least the basics, maybe more.”

Kun’s admiration and interest once again seemed genuine. “And what sort of degree do you get to be a wedding planner? Is there a degree for it? Certification program? I mean, it’s not as linear of a path as being an attorney…”

“There’s some event planning associate and bachelor programs. I have a degree in hospitality, and then mentored under a wedding planner to learn the ropes before going off on my own.”

“So you own your own business?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Wow…” He trailed off, eyes focused on you, beholding you.

You laughed self-consciously. “I don’t think I’ve ever made anybody speechless with that information. You alright, Kun? How much have you had to drink?”

“I’m quite sober, this will only be drink number two.” He lifted the champagne.

“Really?”

“I do need to drive myself home tonight.”

“I’m DD as well. And I’m also past my ‘getting shitfaced in public’ days,” you chuckled, lifting your drink to your lips again, looking out over how many of the other partygoers were more than tipsy.

“You’re beautiful, by the way.” Kun’s voice brought your eyes back to him, his eyes twinkling under the lights as he looked at you.

Your skin felt warm, and your heart jumped a bit. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I was thinking about, when I trailed off a moment ago.”

“You didn’t open with that. Earlier, by the bar,” you commented. “Why not?”

“I needed to know if you even wanted to talk to some random man first.”

“But after that.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was walking up to every woman here tonight and telling her that.”

“You’re not?” You teased, the corner of your lip quirking up.

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

“Well, you’re a paper pusher… so I suppose I can take your word for it.”

“I appreciate that.”

Checking the time on your phone, you then got up on your tiptoes, peering around for Eunji.

“Looking for your friend?” Kun asked.

“Yes, she should’ve been out by now.” You frowned.

“Do you need to go look for her?”

“Let me shoot her a text first. She might just be taking a while fixing her makeup…”

[you: jiji, you fall in? everything okay?]

Thankfully, but much to your surprise, she texted back almost immediately.

[jiji: i’m okkkk! chatting with taeyong from earlier! sorry for leaving you!]

[jiji: GREAT champagne btw 🍾🍾🥂🥂]

[you: that’s fine. you two have fun! call me if you need anything]

“She’s alright,” you chuckled, turning off your phone. “Found a friend. And the champagne.”

“Does that mean you’re free right now then?”

“Why yes, yes it does.”

“Lucky me.” He grinned. “So have you ever been in the old courthouse before this?”

“No, I haven’t. Never been to an event here, and it closed before I was born.”

“Well, we have…” He looked at his watch again. “Fifty-three minutes until midnight. How would you like a personal tour?”

“Can you do that?” You raised an eyebrow. “There’s ropes blocking off the hallways.”

“Ten’s part of the event committee for the Bar Association, and I’m part of the historical committee. We’re in charge of the preservation and restoration of the courthouse. I know which parts we can go in and which ones we can’t. Besides, if we were caught, the person they would report us to would be me.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, sure. Sounds fun.”

“I will have to ask that you leave the champagne. No liquids.”

“Of course.” You nodded, stepping away from your drink.

Kun cordially offered you his elbow, and you took it, well aware that the giddy, warm buzz in your body wasn’t from the few sips of champagne you’d just had. He led you through the crowd, and as you approached the black velvet ropes cordoning off the hallways, he looked around to make sure nobody was watching, then stepped over it. He offered his hand out to you, and you placed yours atop for him to steady you as you also stepped over the rope. You took one more look over your shoulder before you two quickly ducked around the marble column and out of sight.

The darkened hallway you entered was much smaller than the grand foyer you had been in for most of the night. In the dim light being let in through the windows, you could make out the multitude of frames along the walls, sconces clearly meant for oil lamps, and a few pieces of furniture—mainly chairs and tables pushed against the wall.

“This is where the clerk’s office was,” Kun explained. “The door at the end of the hall. But first—”

He stopped at a frame, and with your eyes adjusted to the low light, you could see the art that was in it. It was of the courthouse itself, but a whimsical interpretation, with flying chariots in the sky above it, and mermaids swimming in a river in front of it that certainly had never been there.

“It’s a beautiful etching,” you commented. “Do you know who did it?”

“We think a local artist, but they didn’t sign it,” he sighed, gesturing to the four corners, all blank. “And there’s nothing on the back. It’s something we’ve been working with local art curators and historians to try to track down.”

“That’s… sad.” You couldn’t find a better word. “I mean, it’s incredible that their work survived all these years and is still being seen and people are working to find out who created it… but it’s still sad that their identity was lost in the first place.”

“One of the experts we had look at it believes it’s a first or second state that the artist never intended to actually be the final piece, so that’s why they didn’t sign it.”

“It makes you wonder if they never made the finished piece or if the finished piece didn’t survive.”

“Also makes you imagine that artist all those years ago looking at this and thinking that it wasn’t good enough to put their name on, and now we’re looking at it wishing we knew who made it because we think it’s so beautiful.”

Your eyes scanned over the chariots and puffy clouds and mermaids swimming among the waves, then drifted over to Kun. “What was your undergrad degree in, Kun?”

“History, why?” He looked over at you inquisitively.

“Just curious.” You shrugged. “I know you can do anything before going to law school, so I thought I’d ask.”

“A lot of my peers did Political Science or Criminal Justice, but you don’t actually learn much about the law in those programs like people think you will. Everybody starts on a pretty even playing field when it comes to stuff that’ll be on the tests. But as for practical skills... majors that give you good research, writing, and critical thinking skills were really the best ones to go with. So the humanities majors were honestly running laps around everyone else the first semester or so.”

“You’re on the historical committee, so you just like history, too. Right?”

“Yes, I do.” He nodded, slowly guiding you further down the hallway. “I like knowing how we ended up here. The people that came before us, how they’re still influencing us even today. I think we have a duty to remember them, learn as much as we can, and preserve that knowledge and pass it down. Because I would want somebody to do that for us as well. I know we have cameras, and phones, and can document things so much better now, but that’s probably also what they thought a hundred years ago. But things still get destroyed, and lost, and people pass, and stuff gets forgotten. So I hope we never stop being curious about where we came from.”

“I like that, Kun.” You squeezed his arm. “I really do.”

He smiled almost bashfully, looking down at his feet, then back up as he stopped in front of the door at the end of the hallway, gesturing in. “This is the clerk’s office. We can’t go in since it is very much still pre-restoration and I’m afraid you may get injured.”

“That’s fine, I’ll peer in from here,” you chuckled, looking around from the threshold. There were floorboards haphazardly strewn about, but you could see one main desk, in the same dark oak color as everything else, multitudes of filing cabinets, and several different large, old manual machines that you weren’t quite sure what they did but you were sure there were probably an electric version of most, if not all, at any office building in the city.

“So this is where all the court documents were filed?” You clarified your knowledge that you had picked up from knowing a few attorneys in your life.

“Yes. Court documents were filed, real estate documents, and notary applications. They also did a few other things in this building that weren’t just trials, but weren’t handled by the clerk. I’ll show you in a second.”

Around the corner, Kun showed you where business licenses used to be processed, and where motor vehicle and driver’s licenses were taken care of before they got their own office long before this courthouse closed. In between all of these rooms, there were various pieces of art, painting, photographs, drawings, maps, or historical documents to look at on the walls as well.

The next room was a bit larger, and you were able to actually walk into this one, the first out of all of them. It had higher ceilings and a skylight, but not quite the infrastructure and grandeur to make you think that you were in the courtroom yet.

“The historical committee has been focused on getting this one ready sooner, with some pressure from the event committee. They think it’ll bring some outside business in,” he explained, guiding you towards the front, where there was what looked like a wood countertop of some sort. The windows on the far wall had a funny sort of tint to them, and you realized they were stained glass in various colors. They didn’t depict any specific religious imagery, but they were the only ones you had seen in the entire courthouse, almost giving the impression of a chapel.

“Why is that?” You asked Kun curiously. “Also, why is this the only room with stained glass windows?”

“This was where all the marriages in this jurisdiction were performed for hundreds of years. At least the legal part, the signing of the certificate. The actual wedding ceremonies were obviously up to the couples.” He said, then gestured to the wood countertop. “That’s where the certificate was signed. The stained glass was to emulate a religious setting without directly referencing any one religion. The event committee thinks people will want to hold their actual weddings here.”

You looked around at the room, already thinking about how many people would fit in here, how you would set up a possible wedding ceremony in here.

“So what do you think, wedding planner?” Kun prompted you.

“You want my advice for free?” You teased.

He held his hands up. “I’m humbly making conversation.”

“As a favor for taking me on this lovely tour, I’ll tell you what I think,” you giggled. “It’s pretty small. This area attracts a lot of big money weddings. It might work for a couple who wants an intimate ceremony but a bigger reception, if they can also use the foyer for the reception. Especially couples who aren’t necessarily religious, but don’t want to completely go off-book by not having a church wedding, since it feels similar to a chapel, and a courthouse is still formal like a church. You’ll also attract the kind of couples who are looking for unique venues: old bank vaults, railroad stations, cemeteries, that kind of thing. But again, the size of the room for the ceremony is really going to be a limiting factor for booking.”

Kun looked at you with wide eyes. “You can get married at a cemetery?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, unfazed by that factoid at this point in your life. “Halloween weddings are pretty popular in a certain crowd.”

“I don’t think I’d want to get married on a holiday.” He shook his head. “Christmas, Valentine’s Day, anything. Or one of our birthdays. It’s…”

“Tacky?”

“There we go.”

“I agree. I think the only special date that I can make an exception for would be an anniversary. Anniversary of getting engaged, anniversary of our first date, anniversary of when we met, that kind of thing.”

Kun had the same look in his eyes as when you told him that you owned your own business, like you were the most incredible thing he had ever witnessed, and he couldn’t imagine ever looking at anything else for the rest of his life. “What if one of those is on a holiday?”

“Then we’d just have to pick a different date. Can’t be tacky.”

“Oh God, of course not,” Kun chuckled jokingly. “My worst nightmare.”

Still gazing around the non-denominational not-chapel, you were overcome with a feeling of unease, suddenly being overwhelmed with memories that you hadn’t thought of in a very long time. You glanced down at your empty left hand, then wrapped it back around Kun’s arm, looking up at the stained glass windows again.

“I was almost engaged once. In my twenties,” you stated into the stillness.

Kun took this pivot in conversational tone in stride. “And how do you almost get engaged?”

“He had me pick my ring and then… never proposed with it.”

“Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

“Mm, could’ve been worse. I could’ve married him,” you laughed. “You know what’s funny?”

“Tell me.”

You turned to him still with a grin on your face. “He was a lawyer.”

“What kind?” Kun asked, then immediately followed up with, “Don’t say a trial attorney.”

“Nope.”

“Family law.”

“A wedding planner and a divorce lawyer getting married? That sounds like a pretty savvy business model. Or a really great rom-com.”

“You like rom-coms?”

“I’d call it a guilty pleasure, but I’m at the point in my life where I can’t be ashamed of the things I like.” You confirmed your love of the movie genre. “I just can’t watch any that are about wedding planners.”

“Too inaccurate?”

“Yes! It’s always about falling in love with the best man or brother of the groom or something. I’m way too busy to find my soulmate on the job.”

“So was I right? Family law?”

“Nope.”

“IP. Intellectual property.”

“No.”

“I can keep going, there’s practically infinite areas of civil practice that are non-trial.”

“I’m not the one who turned this into a guessing game!” You guffawed incredulously.

“Wait, was he… a corporate attorney?” He let out a fake gasp. “Do you have a type?”

“And who says I’m attracted to you?” You fired back immediately.

“That’s fair, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Kun laughed, smoothing down his lapels. “So what kind of attorney was he?”

“He wasn’t.”

“Wait—”

“He went to law school, so he’s a lawyer, but he never took the bar in order to practice law, so he’s not an attorney,” you declared victoriously through chuckles, much to Kun’s disbelief.

“I can’t believe you got me with that.”

“Don’t contracts require precise language or something?” You feigned cluelessness, making him snort as he knew that you weren’t that dumb.

“Yeah, they do.” He was shaking his head at himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You really got me with that one, goddamn.”

That was the first time you’d heard him curse all night, you realized, despite the fact that you’d already done so multiple times.

“I do… think you’re attractive, by the way, Kun,” you admitted. “And you’ve been great company tonight. I’ve had a wonderful time on this little impromptu tour.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings, attorneys need their egos checked every once in a while. I’m honored to have such a stunning woman checking mine this time.”

“Well, any time you need me to lie to your face and say you’re not one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen, I’m there.”

Kun patted down the front of his tuxedo jacket almost self-consciously, a pleased smile coming to his face and both of his dimples making reappearances. “Really? Well…”

“And I haven’t been walking up to every man tonight saying that, by the way.”

He laughed with his whole chest, eyes and nose scrunching up as he leaned forward, hair getting knocked out of place with his sudden movement. You smiled fondly as you watched him laugh so genuinely, so unrestrained, not in the practiced, manicured way as before. You didn’t think that they were necessarily forced laughs earlier in the night, you were sure that he did genuinely think what you said was funny, but he presumably had a laugh for these formal types of scenarios. And you’d been right, as the sort of laughing he was doing now was far different, warm, joyous, mirthful. It made your heart full to know that it was because of you.

As he caught his breath, the thought occurred to you of how much time you’d spent on your tour already.

“What time is it?” You questioned.

He checked his watch once more. “Eleven thirty-five. I should hurry this tour up to get you back in time for the countdown.”

“Lead the way.”

You and Kun slipped back into the main party with five minutes to spare, and grabbed a couple more glasses of champagne off a waiter as he walked by. You looked around to see if you could spot Eunji now that you were on the opposite side of the room as before. Funny enough, you saw Taeyong and his colleagues that you had met earlier, but not your friend.

“Is something wrong, Y/N?” Kun asked.

“I’m sorry, do you mind if we go talk to someone?” You couldn’t shake the feeling of something being off, despite the large screen set up behind the band displaying the timer now at less than four minutes.

“Of course not.”

Pulling Kun through the crowd by the arm, you landed in front of Lee Taeyong out of breath, offering him a wide smile. “Hi, Taeyong. I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Y/N, we met earlier.”

“Of course, yes, you’re… an event planner, right?” He offered you a bright smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” You didn’t have the time to correct him. “My friend Eunji that was with me, have you seen her? Is she with you?”

The man’s features immediately turned confused. “No, she’s not with me. But I have seen her.”

“Oh, good. Where?”

“Over there,” he nodded behind you. “With Johnny.”

You turned around, eyes zeroing in on a corner of the foyer where Eunji was in fact pressed up into Johnny Suh’s side, giggling and laughing, his arm around her shoulders. He looked about as tipsy as she was, pink-cheeked and giggling too.

Looking back to Taeyong, you smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Taeyong, one more thing: To the best of your knowledge, she’s been with him for the past hour or so?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.” He nodded. “They look like they’ve been having a, uhm, pretty good time together. Not to be indecent...”

“Cool, thanks.” You walked off, taking Kun with you.

“So what was that about?” Kun questioned.

“Johnny Suh is Eunji’s ex from law school,” you explained the gravity of the situation. “Not a pretty breakup. Or second breakup. Or third breakup. From what I heard, I didn’t know her then.”

“Are we going to do anything?” Kun questioned as you were very clearly not walking over to Eunji and Johnny.

“I only got Eunji two drinks spread across two hours, so unless she has been chugging champagne at superhuman rates for the past hour, she’s probably only had one or two glasses, which with her alcohol tolerance would put her at mildly tipsy,” you responded with a shrug. “I’m not going to let her leave with him. But otherwise… she can deal with her choices in the morning. It would be way more trouble than it’s worth if I went over there and tried to remove her right now.”

“Gotcha.” He nodded.

“Besides…” You looked over at the countdown, which was now at 1:30. “It’s almost midnight.”

Kun tapped the side of his glass, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Y/N, I don’t want to be presumptive. Just being able to enjoy your company tonight has been more than enough—”

“Kun, I would be offended if you didn’t want to kiss me at midnight.”

“I do, I do,” he chuckled, clearly relieved. “I’m just aware that you had your reservations about coming here tonight, and about the entire premise of the event.”

“Well I said I didn’t want to get drunk and mack on a stranger. I’m not drunk, and I wouldn’t exactly call you a stranger. I feel like I know you a little bit.”

“Yes, I feel like I know you as well.”

A bauble nearby refracted the light into Kun’s eye just right and turned it a rich honey brown color, and the crowd around you began chanting the final countdown from ten. You and Kun both set your champagne flutes down on a nearby table, and you happily stepped into his personal space.

On one, you leaned forward to slot your lips with his, the cheers of the crowd fading out to silence. Kun’s mouth was gentle against yours, even as you curled your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, resting your other hand on his lapel, fingers mindlessly messing with his brooches. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You squeaked into his mouth as that arm around your waist was suddenly used as leverage to dip you, the other supporting your back. You laughed against his lips as you wrapped your entire arm around his neck instead of just one hand, before kissing him again.

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” he murmured.

“Happy New Year, Kun,” you stole another kiss. “And, Happy Birthday.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.”

When he pulled you back up to stand on your own two feet, you were still grinning like a madwoman, and stayed pressed against his side. “I have to say… I’ve never been dipped before.”

“Seriously?” Kun seemed dumbfounded.

“Seriously.”

“Every man in your life has been dropping the ball, Y/N. Absolutely unacceptable that you hadn’t been dipped before that.”

“I’ll keep that it mind,” you giggled. “Find a guy who’ll dip me when he kisses me more often.”

“Y/N…” He sighed taking both of your hands in his.

“Yes, Kun, I would love to see you again. Specifically, to go on a date.”

“Wedding planner and a mind reader.”

You laughed, cupping his cheek to kiss him again, letting him slowly, tenderly move his mouth against yours. Just as he went to deepen the kiss, you heard a throat get cleared much too close for it to be coincidental, and you damn near jumped out of your skin.

Breaking the kiss, you dropped your hand down to his shoulder and turned towards the source. Eunji was standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow raised. Except she wasn’t alone, as Johnny Suh towered behind her.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying about getting wasted and letting a stranger stick their tongue down your throat?” Eunji cocked her head to the side, eyes flicking back and forth between you and Kun.

“I’m sorry, and what were you saying about Johnny Suh?” You snorted, pointing to the man with her.

Johnny looked down at her, surprised. “Yeah, what were you saying about Johnny Suh?”

“Nothing you didn’t deserve. Good or bad,” Eunji replied dismissively.

“Okay, that’s probably fair.”

“Anyway, I think it’s JiJi and I’s bedtime, so, goodnight, guys.” You took Eunji’s arm and backed away from both Johnny and Kun. Eunji went willingly on both hers and Johnny’s parts, which you were relieved for.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Kun immediately offered.

“We’ll walk you to your car,” Johnny tacked on, flashing you a million-dollar smile that you were sure had done a lot for him in life.

And so you and Eunji headed out, Kun and Johnny on either side of you. As you were heading for the front doors, you saw a familiar face though, and just had to stop.

“Hey, Doyoung!” You called out to him. “How’d your mission go?”

He stopped, and despite the fact that it was you who asked the question, it was your friend that he focused his stern gaze on. “It’s done, Eunji. Happy?”

Her jaw dropped. “Who was it?!”

“It would be improper of me to say.”

“Oh come on. I’m just supposed to believe you?”

“The deal had no clause for supplying proof. Only that I find someone.” He straightened his tie. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’m going to kill you, Kim Doyoung!” Eunji lunged forward, but Johnny easily caught her and kept her from her intentions of presumably ripping Doyoung limb from limb.

“Maybe you should’ve had a paper pusher like Kun there, Eunji,” you snickered, squeezing Kun’s arm.

The four of you continued your journey outside, Kun holding the door open for the other three of you, as Johnny was still restraining Eunji, just in case. Once the doors had closed behind you all and Doyoung was contained on the other side of them, he let her go.

“God, you get corporate dick one time and you’re brainwashed,” she complained. “Y/N, come back from the boring side! Please!”

“You’re drunk and dramatic,” you deadpanned, leading the way in the direction of your car. “Stop embarrassing yourself more than you already have at your big age.”

She immediately became more serious, but with a slight pout to her bottom lip. “Fine.”

Approaching your car, you slowed to a stop.

“This is us. Thanks for all your…” you paused, looking at Johnny, “…help, guys.”

Johnny flashed you that same million-dollar smile. “Anytime. It was nice meeting you, Y/N. Eunji talked a lot about you.”

“Yeah, sounds like you two were doing a lot of talking from what I heard,” you replied lightly, opening your passenger door for her.

“You’re not subtle, Y/N,” Eunji grumbled, willingly getting in.

You handed her the seatbelt buckle. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

After she had gotten herself situated and you gave her the keys to start the car and the heating, you walked around to the driver’s side, where Kun was waiting for you. Eunji had rolled down her window, and Johnny was bent over, leaning his elbows on the open window to talk to her.

“I have to say, I did not expect to meet someone like you tonight, Y/N,” Kun chuckled, his laughter coming out as fog in the winter air. “You’re… amazing. More than amazing.”

“I think I made it more than obvious that I wasn’t expecting to meet you either,” you laughed. “But thank you, for making this night not only tolerable but incredible. Unforgettable.”

“We uhm, got interrupted earlier, but if we want to see each other, we’ll need to contact each other…?”

“Right, right.” You brought out your phone, handing it to him with a new contact open. “Here.”

He quickly typed in his number, then handed it back to you. “I’ll let you go, since it’s cold and late and you have to get Eunji home.”

“Thanks. I have your number now, so I will definitely be using that.”

“I’ll patiently be awaiting that time then.”

“Goodnight, Kun.” You went to hug him. “And Happy New Year and Happy Birthday one more time.”

“Thank you.” He squeezed you back. “Happy New Year, goodnight, and drive safe.”

“Will do.” You pulled back, giving him a final peck on the cheek. “See you.”

“Bye.” He was beaming, and you took in the beautiful sight of his dimples one last time before turning around to get in your car.

As Eunji took over the Bluetooth in your car to change it to her own phone so she could play her music, you did one more thing on your phone, going into Kun’s contact that he had just created. Qian Kun, and his number. You had one slight correction to make.

Qian Kun 💍

Putting your phone away, you drove away from the curb, looking at Kun waving to you out the rear window. Yeah, you had a good feeling about this one.

⤷ 2023 hallmark movie marathon | blog masterlist

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desceros · 11 months ago

Note

Mikey and reader baking Christmas cookies together and turtle of choice watches feeling all soft and warm seeing their significant other being close with their family

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, Leo watches you with what he knows has to be just the dumbest, sappiest face in the world.

"Oh, god," you say, looking down at your clothes where you're covered in flour. Stupidly, you look up at Mikey, who does a double-take when he sees you and starts dying of laughter, hands on his knees and bent in half. "Mikey! I have a date later!"

"Well, at least Leo can thank you for the, uh, flour," Mikey says, making you groan and roll your eyes.

"The lamest pun I've ever heard. Literally. Zero out of ten. And I'm dating Leonardo."

Hell yeah, you are, he thinks fondly, lips quirked into an adoring smile as he watches you pluck your sweater away from your torso with despair. You're so fucking cute, and the pout you send Mikey when he starts giggling again has his stomach twisting with delight.

He's known, always, that you were special. But this—seeing you with his little brother, seeing you give up looking perfect and roll your sleeves up to help him mix the cookie icing, seeing you burst out laughing when the mixer explodes a bit and this time Mikey's the one who gets covered in confectionery...

God. He loves you. He loves you.

He's said it before. Casually, after a quick kiss, before hanging up the phone, when you giggle into his mouth as a greeting. But this—this immense, impossible thing swelling inside of his chest as he watches you grab a handful of cookie dough and shape it into the ugliest lump he's ever seen in his entire life, even with Mikey's careful instructions over your shoulder—is so, so much. He wonders, a little, how he's still able to breathe when his heart has surely taken all the room in his chest for how full it feels.

...And then, with his eyes slowly drifting to your bare left hand, watching you smear some food coloring onto Mikey's shell with a snorting laugh, he makes a mental note and smiles.

#OKAY LAST ONE #thank you everyone this was v helpful omg #ask tag #fragment tag #leonardo/reader

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dontsh0vethesun · 2 years ago

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emily, i’m sorry

boy genius (the record) masterlist

emily prentiss x reader

18+ : super mild smut, kissing, alcohol consumption, implied alcohol use as a coping mechanism, smoking, angst, right person wrong time, a double dose of mommy issues, happy ending

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i started writing this so long ago and i feel like i only really like the last 500 words or smth 💀

You’d been sitting behind Emily since the beginning of the semester, two months in without an introduction, merely observing from afar. You’d never thought yourself to be a person to fall into those romantic clichés with your chin resting in the palm of your hand and your eyes on the side of her face instead of the professor at the front of the class.

Finding yourself smiling at the sound of her laugh, eyes darting away from her direction when she’d glance towards you. Because she’d noticed you too.

By chance your paths finally crossed at a party, a spilling of your overly strong drink from the red cup onto her arm and a rushed apology.

“Get me another drink and all is forgiven.” She smiled with a hand on your waist to keep you close as you made your way through drunken college students into the brightly lit kitchen. You’d never seen her this closely, her dark hazel eyes lined black and equally dark hair pushed behind her ear.

“So, what can I get you?” You asked, looking over the options scattered messily on the kitchen counter, space taken up by tipped over plastic cups and spilled liquor and mixers making the surface sticky. “We have beer, cheap vodka, something blue,” you twisted bottles to see their labels with a shrug at the poor selection the student budget could afford. “Or cheap vodka.”

“I’ll have what you’re having then.” Emily laughed, leaning her hip against the counter as she watched you pour bottles into two cups. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You lifted a brow at her statement with a small smile as you passed her the drink. “You have?”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t wanna talk to a pretty girl like you?” She was bolder than you’d expected, what with the way you’d seen her blush.

“Well I’m glad you finally did.”

“Oh, so you’ve been waiting for this then, hm?” She smirked, keeping a fixed gaze on you over the top of her cup as she swigged at its contents.

“No, I was just getting a little tired of you staring at me so much.” You huffed mockingly, grinning into your drink at the way she stumbled over a response.

“I find that hard to believe,” she finally uttered, inching closer with a hint of alcohol on her breath. “I know you’ve been pining after me. It’s cute.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Emily.”

Her name sounded delicious as it rolled off your tongue and she just had to hear it again. She was overcome with a need for you, to talk with you and dance with you and learn each centimetre of your skin.

Neither of you were very good at dancing, especially with the liquor pumping through your veins, heads dazed with the buzz and a coating of sweat lining your foreheads. She kept you close, a hold more possessive than you’d expected on your hips moving your bodies together.

She dragged you away to somewhere quieter where you could actually hear the mutterings of one another’s voices. You got to know each other as well as two drunk people could, conversations barely scratching the surface but in the back of your mind you knew there’d be more time for that. You could hardly let her go now.

The closeness of your bodies set your skin alight, hardly able to keep your eyes off her. The way her fingers held a cigarette and her lips parted with a stream of smoke. You could taste it on one another’s tongues when she finally kissed you, escaping to a bathroom with your body perched atop the counter; the flavour of ash and coca cola, the bitterness of vodka and the sweetness of cherry lip gloss.

The way she slotted her lips with yours was sublime, a heat pulsing through you at the hand on the back of your neck. Her hair was soft and perfect between your fingers and the sound of a moan falling from her throat to yours made your stomach flip.

Movements were sloppy and fuelled with drunkenness and lust, a building tension of the evening finally being untangled in the transference of warm hands beneath your shirt. Her touch wandered desperately and yours was just as hungry, grabbing at any part of her you could reach, the material of her t-shirt clenched in your fist.

Neither of you thought it through, giggling in your tipsy haze when she haphazardly pulled your jeans down your legs and trailed her nails upwards across the skin of your thighs. Her breath was hot against the column of your throat where her lips lay kisses and licks of her tongue, her teeth grazed the crook of your neck while her fingers inched past the waistband of your underwear.

Your head fell backwards and your hands kept her head where it was, where she made you dizzy with sucks against your flesh. It was as though she’d already learnt your body off by heart with the way her fingers pulled noises from you that the both of you could only hope were kept within the four walls of the bathroom. With your legs wrapped around her waist you were as close as you could be, the heat of each other’s bodies pulsing through you like lightning and a thick tension simmering.

It was a moment you’d come to find amusing, being walked in on by a girl stumbling over her heels. It would become a memory of that first night together, that fateful night you met and you’d laugh wondering where that stranger was now.

–

It was routine by now to be sprawled on the living room floor with textbooks and papers scattered in front of you. Overused highlighters scratched across printed sheets with a bright pink left behind, less and less information seeping into your brains as the hours would add up.

You’d forgone buying desks, using your shared apartment floor as an infinite display of university work - it was a definite benefit of sharing a degree with your girlfriend.

Your evenings were either spent with bleary eyes straining to read for hours on end, shooting one another questions to test knowledge whilst you drank copious amounts of coffee. Or you’d be dancing together tipsily with a bunch of other students, rooms blurred with smoke, smelling like cigarettes and the sourness of cheap beer.

You were happy together, you could never imagine your love for Emily to fade away.

There was a perfectly intimate domesticity between you; smiling conversations half asleep over breakfast and evenings watching tv, lighting incense and candles to mask the smell of nicotine.

She’d smiled to herself this evening at the sight of you staring at the ceiling in frustrated boredom, lying on your back on the ground with an open textbook face down on your chest. You’d been studying for a while and she could see the burnout all over you.

She went to the kitchen wordlessly and poured two glasses of the cheap wine from the kitchen counter; she always swore she’d be able to afford the good stuff when she was older.

When she came back you took it from her with an appreciative smile.

“You read my mind, Em.”

“Reading your mind is a stretch, I just saw you staring at the ceiling despondently and I know you like the back of my hand.” She laughed and you shrugged - she wasn’t wrong.

“I bet you can’t guess what I’m thinking now then.”

“I think I have an idea.” She smirked, letting you take another sip of your drink before she took your glass and set it aside, lowering herself to straddle your legs. She pushed your back against the ground with her lips ghosting yours with her voice. “Something like this?”

The taste of her lips was so familiar, cigarettes and wine. They pushed into yours sublimely with her hand cupping your cheek while yours held her closely by her belt loops. The kiss grew heated as it always did, that perfect electrical heat that never failed to make your skin alight with goosebumps and your body arch into hers in an effort to get closer than possible.

“There’s a party across campus. Wanna go?” Emily muttered once she’d pulled away to catch her breath. Of course you agreed, diving head first into a night of liquor fuelled sex, rooms misty with smoke. Intoxicated by each other, dizzy from the lust.

—

And now you’re walking home alone, feet scuffing against the loose debris along the cement with your dazed steps, struggling to keep your footsteps linear with the way your head buzzed with the swill of unmoderated alcohol.

It wasn’t the same without Emily. Parties were just an excuse to get drunk, to let your mind finally drift away, distracted by the overly loud music and crowds of people hiding you away. They used to be fun, a way to let yourselves loose, drinking together and laughing and enjoying the night before giggling drunkenly on your way home.

But you were here and Emily was at home, her head buried in textbooks as she crammed for the same exams you should be focussing on.

It’s hard to know when it began to go downhill, when the parties stopped being fun and the stress of graduation overtook you both. When you started to spend more and more time apart with different focuses and goals.

All you’d yearned after for so long was a freedom your bones ached for. Free from the judging gaze of your mother, living up to the expectations she loomed above your head. And you’d found it, you felt liberated, truly able to smile and laugh and party with friends. You were finally figuring out who you are with this freedom you’d always wanted, who you are with Emily and on your own; who you are in your own apartment and in the cafe down the street.

You just want to be free but even this freedom is dotted with downsides.

While you’re making your way home to her, Emily is finishing another cup of coffee, blinking away the exhaustion in her eyes in hopes to unblur the words on the paper in front of her.

She could only sigh when she looked at the clock. 1am and you weren’t home, it wasn’t new but it was frustrating. It was frustrating how your newfound freedoms had led you down different paths.

Sure, she was no longer living with her mother, peering over her shoulder with bated breath waiting for her to fail. Her freedom may be literal, oftentimes in a differing country to the ambassador, but nothing had truly changed. Elizabeth’s voice was always there in the back of her mind, with each assignment and exam. Each time her phone would ring she’d prepare herself with a deep breath before trying to appease her mother on the other end.

Keep her happy, keep her proud and satisfied at her academic progress. She’d placate and be agreeable, thanking her for helping her pay for the apartment all whilst fidgeting with the lighter in her pocket, desperate to ease the anxious tension her mother never failed to arise in her.

With each passage highlighted, page turned and hand cramped from scribbling notes for too long, she thought of Elizabeth. The standards she couldn’t help but stare at with each decision she made. She’d tried to let herself live and breathe but she wasn’t ready to be free yet. She knew she would be eventually but for now she needs to get her degree, excel or disappoint, and let herself be free with you.

You were the only true freedom she could hold on to but she could feel it slipping away.

The door closed behind you when she poured herself another cup of crappy coffee and she habitually grabbed another mug - your favourite one with the chip in the handle.

You took it from the counter with an appreciative smile when she pushed it towards you and you both sipped without a word. It was quiet. Too quiet. Neither of you knew what to say, there were so many words you wanted to utter yet neither of you could form any.

“I thought you weren’t gonna be out so late tonight.” She murmured to break the silence.

“I lost track of time.” You shrugged with the slightest slur decorating your words.

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

“I didn’t realise I had a curfew.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” Emily sighed. “We’re about to graduate and you’re out at any party you can find while I work my ass off. You’re not taking it seriously.”

“My grades are fine, Emily. I just want to feel like I have a life outside of all this.”

“Well I can’t keep being woken up with you stumbling in at night. I can’t keep being interrupted by you coming back drunk when I’m studying. You know I can’t afford to fuck this up.”

“I know.”

“It’s like we’re on different wavelengths.”

“I know.”

You couldn’t meet each other’s eyes with the way they stung with tears, so scared that you’d both break with just a glance.

“I love you so much but it’s as though we’re different people now, y’know?” Emily uttered through a shaking voice, wiping at the tear on her cheek with the end of her sleeve.

“Mhm.” You nodded, clearing your throat to find your voice again. “We’re not who we were at the beginning. We’ve changed.”

You’re so right for each other. Perfect. But the world is cruel and time is painful and sometimes things don’t align the way they should.

“I love you, Emily. I’m so sorry. I wish I could be better for you. I wish I didn’t feel so suffocated and trapped in this hole that I’m trying to climb out of. The hole my mother buried me in. God, I wish I could be better for you.”

“No. You don’t have to be sorry.” She returned with tears matching your own and her arms wrapping around your body. “You haven’t done anything wrong. We’re just not ready for the same things. The timing isn’t right, no matter how much it fucking hurts my heart to admit.”

The taste of salt coated your lips when you kissed and each breath that sounded in the room was stuttered, lingering in an embrace you so desperately wished to last forever. It was unspoken for now, you’d work out the formalities another time but for tonight you let yourselves live the night with freedom. Teary freedom with each other, kisses and touches so perfect, falling asleep entwined with puffy eyes.

“You are the truest love I could have ever imagined.” Emily whispered. “Nothing could ever take away this feeling I have for you. I think it was created for you. I think that you were made for me.”

“You will always have my heart, Em. I can only dream of one day being able to take it back.”

—

Years passed. So many years with an Emily shaped space looming near. Though she lived in the back of your mind it wasn’t uncommon for her to be the only thought your brain could focus on. But that was a different time. You hadn’t seen her since graduation and even that was merely a smile across the room, you couldn’t bear anything more, not with the inevitable ending. You’d thought it best to interact as little as possible, sparing yourselves of the agony. There was no cure for the pain, only the numbing of time.

The ding of the elevator closing behind you was the beginning of your new job, the career you’d been working towards. A bubbly blonde grinning at you from across the room caught you off guard and her excited announcement made you want to hide your face in embarrassment.

“You must be the newbie.” She smiled with quick steps carrying her towards you. “I’m Penelope Garcia.” She introduced with an excited shake of your hand with hers as she guided you towards the others.

She looked the same. Her jaw was sharper maybe and her eyes sported lines of laughter but it was still her. Emily Prentiss, the one who’d kept your heart. Perhaps you could feel the thumping in your chest again if she’d be so gracious to let you. If she could forgive you.

You didn’t quite know what to expect. Would she pretend your past was nothing, brush you off like a tarnish? Would she unleash some kind of anger she’d been holding onto, send you running, wishing you’d never even applied to this job? You felt your palms grow clammy with the way her eyes were so set on yours, unwavering for what felt like eternity.

It was like it was just the two of you, soul peering into soul. And then you had your answer, as though nothing had soured between you. Like the clock that once was broken had been repaired and the time that once controlled you was being steered into place by your own wanting hands.

She smiled that smile you’d been dreaming of for all this time; a beaming upturn of her lips that told you all she wanted you to know, that she still held your heart for safe keeping. That just seeing you again, both of you free, standing on the line of time with one foot in front of the other, was all she ever needed. You were the same people but time had changed for the better.

And in that moment, for the first time since that night, you had your heart again.

And you smiled back.

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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wheels-of-despair · 2 years ago

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@funsonmunson-again's Birthday Week Writing Challenge The Eddie: Janitor!Eddie The Prompt: #3: janitor!eddie tries to make a cake for teacher!reader's birthday. as mentioned in 'love me tender' he's not a chef lol, so it's a disaster. Words: 1.7k?! Oops. Contains: Baking mishaps, cuteness, and a sugar coma.

"Shit!"

Oliver's jaw dropped.

"I said shoot."

Oliver grinned. He was standing on his stool at the kitchen counter, watching Eddie prepare to make a birthday cake. He'd greased the edges of the pan a little too high, and had dropped the slippery metal on the floor with a loud clang.

Eddie had everything he needed lined up and ready to go. Oliver had helped him double-check: a greased pan, a mixing bowl, a little bowl containing three eggs, a bottle of oil, two measuring cups, a whisk, a box of cake mix, and a container of icing. Using a boxed mix wasn't really the same as starting from scratch, but he knew you'd appreciate the effort anyway.

He measured the oil and water, and began cracking the eggs into their little bowl. ("Always crack eggs separately," he'd heard you tell Oliver once. "Otherwise, you'll get shells in everything, rather than just the one bowl.")

It's a good thing that bit of advice stuck with him, because all three eggs had left bits of their shells in the bowl. "This one's not on me, there must've been something wrong with the chicken," he joked as he fished them out, causing a giggle from Oliver.

And finally, the bag containing the mix… which ripped weird, and showered Eddie's shirt and the counter with a fine layer of chocolate powder.

Oliver, wearing his apron, covered his mouth with his little hand so Eddie couldn't see him laughing.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" Eddie asked with a playful grin. Oliver shook his head, mouth still covered, laughter barely contained. Eddie licked his finger, swiped it across the counter, and came at Oliver with a chocolate-coated mess. The child shrieked, leaped off his stool, and retreated to the safety of the living room.

With a laugh, Eddie returned to his cake-making alone.

Eddie dumped the dry mix into the big bowl and carefully added the water and oil and eggs, not wanting to cause another cake mix cloud. Next time, he'd buy a backup box. Just in case.

He mixed the batter by hand, not brave enough to attempt the high-powered electric mixer. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

When the lumps were gone, he gently poured the batter into his greased pan, and opened the oven.

Which he'd forgotten to pre-heat.

He turned it on with a sigh, and called Oliver back to the kitchen. They each grabbed a spoon and went to town on the mixing bowl. Mom had warned them about the dangers of eating raw eggs, as all moms do, but it was just a little bit. And it was the best part of baking. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. They licked their spoons clean, and Oliver returned to his toys on the living room floor.

When the little red light came on the oven, Eddie slid the cake onto the rack and started on the dishes.

After he finished cleaning up his mess so far, he leaned on the counter and watched Oliver play. He was such a good kid, with a great imagination. He could sit and entertain himself for hours. Kind of like Eddie when he was little, but much quieter.

Soon, the cake began to smell like cake, and Eddie looked at the timer… which, of course, he forgot to set. He opened the oven door to take a peek. How was he supposed to know when it was done? He didn't even know how long it had been in there.

He wished they'd picked out a vanilla cake. Those get brown when they're done, like toast, right? How were you supposed to tell with chocolate?

He pulled out the cake and gave it a poke with his finger. Still jiggly. He sucked the chocolate off his finger - hot, but not bad - and stuck the cake back in the oven.

He leaned against the opposite counter with his arms crossed, deciding to check on it every minute. Even though he didn't really know what he was looking for. When he finally decided it was done, he removed it from the oven and set the pan triumphantly on a towel.

The smell of cake summoned Oliver back to the kitchen. "That's it?" he asked.

"Yup," Eddie said proudly. "Careful, it's hot." Oliver looked at the cake with wary eyes, making Eddie suddenly self-conscious. What was wrong with it? Sure, it was a little dark, but it was chocolate. It was supposed to be!

"It just looks weird because there's no frosting on it yet," Eddie assured him.

"Oh!" Oliver said brightly, restoring Eddie's faith in his cake a little bit. Oliver returned to his toys, and Eddie opened the container of frosting and slathered it on… and it disappeared. He picked up the container and read the instructions. You're supposed to wait until the cake cools. Dammit.

Eddie looked at his wet chocolate monstrosity and wanted to cry. He tried. He really fucking tried. He didn't even know why it was so important; you could whip up a cake anytime you wanted. You did it for his birthday, and for Oliver's, and for Wayne's. He just thought it would be nice if he did it for you too. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wondered if he had time to run to the grocery store and buy a cake. Or even just the dollar store, for a box of Little Debbie cakes. Birthday tradition demands a cake!

And then you walk in the front door, back from your birthday brunch with the girls.

"Hi, boys!"

Oliver jumps up and runs over for a hug. He buries his face in your stomach, and you sway back and forth with him a few times.

"Wow, did you really miss me that much? I was only gone for a few hours!" you tease with a tussle of his hair. Your eyes meet Eddie's, and you give him a smile. The kind that makes him weak at the knees.

"We made you a cake," Oliver informs you.

"You did?!" you ask with slightly exaggerated surprise. "Show me!"

Oliver leads the way into the kitchen, where Eddie is seconds away from crawling into the oven to hide in shame. Oliver's stares at the cake's current state, and cuts his eyes at Eddie. Even the kid knows he screwed up.

"Ooooh, looks chocolate-y." You look from the cake to Eddie. "Did you help, or did Oliver make this all by himself?"

"This one was allll Dad," Oliver says, making a quick exit. Traitor.

Eddie blows out a huff of air. "I tried," he shrugs.

"It looks great."

"The frosting melted."

"That's okay. It's still there, it'll just make the cake a little wetter."

Eddie looks at you in disbelief. He royally screwed this up. Even Oliver knew it. How are you always so optimistic?

"Have you guys had lunch yet?"

Eddie nods. They'd wolfed down sandwiches and chips before they started gathering ingredients, for baking fuel.

"So can we try it now, or do we have to wait 'til after dinner?"

"You don't have to eat it," Eddie says, "I'll go get you a real one."

"This is the one I want."

"It's going to be terrible."

"Have you tried it?"

Eddie shakes his head. You open the silverware drawer and retrieve a fork, sticking it in the edge… where it does not penetrate. You move the fork a little closer to the middle. Still hard. You keep stabbing, moving a few centimeters closer to the center each time, until the fork finally sinks in. Eddie is mortified. And then he notices your shoulders shaking.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," you laugh, not looking at him.

"You are so!" he accuses, and you stop trying to hide it. You let out a laugh and attack him with a hug, leaving the fork sticking in the chocolate disaster. Soon, he's laughing with you. Oliver watches with fascination from a safe distance. Grown-ups are weird.

"Alright, moment of truth," you announce, returning to the counter and lifting a forkful of cake out of the pan. You offer it to Eddie.

"Not it!" he calls before covering his mouth. You turn to Oliver, who ducks behind the counter.

"Wimps!" You take a bite and chew thoughtfully. "Hm."

"Hm?" Eddie asks.

"Hm," you repeat. "Give me a bowl."

Eddie reaches in the cabinet behind him and offers you a cereal bowl.

"We're gonna need bigger bowl."

He grins and swaps it for the mixing bowl in the dish drainer. You nod, and give him a kiss on the cheek as he hands it to you. You turn to the chocolate catastrophe and scoop out the soft middle of your cake, and some of the melted frosting that hadn't completely sunken in, and drop it in the bowl. Then you walk to the freezer and pull out a carton of vanilla ice cream. Eddie fetches the ice cream scoop from its drawer and hands it to you, watching silently.

You cover the cake in ice cream, then grab a handful of chocolate chip cookies from the cookie jar. You crumble them on top of the ice cream, then add a little whipped cream, and some sprinkles for a dash of color.

"Three spoons, if you please," you request as you pick up the bowl with both hands. Eddie pulls three spoons from the silverware drawer and follows you into the living room. Oliver's eyes widen when he sees the size of the massive birthday sundae. You set it on the coffee table with a thud, and take a seat on the couch.

"Alright boys, I'm gonna need some help with this."

Eddie hands out spoons, and you all crowd around the bowl.

Thirty minutes later, Oliver has lapsed into a sugar coma. His snoring little body is stretched out across both of your laps. Your and Eddie's feet are propped up on the coffee table, legs touching, and your head is resting lazily on his shoulder.

"Thank you for the cake," you whisper.

"I tried," he says again.

"I know, baby. And it was perfect."

#writings of despair #funsonsbdaygame #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #janitor!eddie munson

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thetrashbinseries · 10 months ago

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— Fahrenheit Part Three ( bangchan x reader )

rated - mature | minors dni

parts - one, two, three

warnings - idol universe, name changed idols (ones unrelated to skz), mature themes, drug use, alcohol use, sexual themes, mentions of mental illness, slight angst, internet bullying and harassment

x x x

The biting chill of New York City doesn't stop the crowd from forming outside the Mixer nightclub. Glittering dresses cling to shivering bodies, and the line snakes around the corner. Men with cross earrings, edgy tattoos, and silky updos chat, their breath visible in the frigid air. My Uber Black rolls up to the front, and I observe the scene.

Despite being a newcomer, I am now qualified to step into this world. Retrieving my phone from my black clutch, my coffin-shaped nails tap out a message to Jake.

outside now

As I glance out the window, I ponder if the Uber driver's patience stems from the luxury vehicle or my personality. People treat you differently when they think you have something they don't – that disingenuous feeling irks me. I haven't changed; I am still the same person without a record deal or viral singles. The driver doesn’t even likely care that far—if I’m paying for an Uber black, dressed the way I am, I must be somebody.

Rarely stepping out, recognition brings a wave of anxiety. Medication eases my nerves tonight. A text from Jake illuminates my screen.

out front?

yeah where else would I be?

private entrance in the back.

He double-texts.

ill get you from there

“Oh?” I voice my surprise. Leaning toward the driver, I request, “Can you take me to the back, please? This is the wrong entrance.”

With a nod, the driver obliges, and we pull away. Eyes follow the tinted windows, curious about the occupant. The relief washes over me; a private entrance awaits.

As we circle around, a black door with a colossal bouncer in a sleek black suit comes into view. Standing over six feet tall with broad shoulders and flowing black hair in a ponytail, he exudes an imposing presence. Stepping out of the truck, I smooth my little black dress. I hate dresses.

“Hi,” I greet the bouncer with a friendly smile and wave, but his stoic response hints at slim chances of entry. There’s no way he’s letting me in here.

Just as I am about to ask, the door swings open. Jake emerges, looking more expensive than the other night at my house. In a satin cream-colored outfit, he leaves the top unbuttoned over a black tank. Sunglasses push into his styled hair, makeup accentuating his eyes and flawless skin.

“What’s up, beautiful?” he greets, arms outstretched, a confident smile on his lips as he embraces me. I pull away, handing him his knitted hat from my clutch.

“You almost had me fucked,” I say, referring to the way he carelessly left it at my place, after being adamant about no evidence of another guy being there.

“Aww, sweetheart, if he didn't fuck you after flying across the country, I hope you're here to tell me you two broke up.” Jake chuckles, taking the hat.

“You know what I mean,” I reply through clenched teeth. “It’s freezing. Take me inside—”

“Jake?!” A girl's voice jolts me. “Jake Wong?!” Two girls emerge, probably aware of the private entrance and eager for a chance encounter. The bouncer moves to intervene, but Jake waves him off, effortlessly engaging the girls in conversation.

One of them jumps excitedly, phone in hand. “Oh my god, can we get a photo? Please? I'm obsessed with your new album!”

The other rambles on, “I went to see you on tour twice! In Dallas and in Jersey, do you remember me? We met afterwards at the hotpot restaurant!”

“Of course, I remember you, beautiful. How could I forget such a pretty face? Come on, let’s take a group shot.” Jake signals the bouncer to be their photographer, dropping his shades back over his eyes. He positions himself between the two girls, arms around their shoulders as they hug him closely, posing with big smiles and peace signs.

“It’s cold out tonight, you should keep yourself warm—here.” Jake hands one of the girls the knitted beanie, and she can barely contain her excitement as she steps in place.

Officially never have to worry about that again.

I slip into the club before anyone else notices me. Being photographed with Jake would only attract more attention, and I'm not a k-pop idol; it would only lead to unnecessary questions.

Chris would've advised against coming, but he's not my keeper. Jake is a good friend, guiding me through this lifestyle. Chris, who spends most of his time in Korea, can't offer the same advice as Jake, who's immersed in American media.

Speaking of which, I get a notification on my phone.

babydaddy: *2 attachments*

babydaddy: it rained last night and the streets looked like that painting in your bedroom

babydaddy: I know it's random, but it’s real artsy. Might try my hand at photography hahaha

Cool air rushes in as Jake returns. He pushes his glasses back up atop his head. “Sorry about that, you good?”

“Yeah, I just... these places give me anxiety. Too many people, you can hardly move, you know? I don’t really club anymore. It’s not as fun as it used to be.” I hold my phone close.

“You don’t have to worry about that with me. The VIP section here doesn’t get like that. Come on, you've been in that house too long.” Jake takes my wrist, and I follow him, glancing at my phone and opening the photo attachments from Chris.

Wherever Chris was when he took the photos, it’s empty, the dead silent of night. It looks like an alleyway, with neon signs and storefronts. Their glow reflects on the pavement like glittering lucky coins.

A small smile stretches my lips, and I lock the phone, almost tripping and ripping my wrist away from Jake, slapping his arm. “Careful, asshole!” I chide. He shoots back, “Get off your phone and maybe you can be careful too.” He’s not wrong.

Now, back in my environment, I notice a red rope blocking an open doorway. The music is louder, and I wonder how much louder it can get once we’re inside. Were clubs always this loud? I can hardly remember. I’m not that old, am I?

Ugh. This might totally be Jake’s thing, not mine.

Another bouncer. I know their job is to protect the wealthy and influential, but do they all have to be so massive? Where do they find these guys? He steps aside, unhooking the rope by its golden clasp, and I enter, this time voluntarily clutching onto Jake’s arm and pressing my body as close to his as possible.

Sure enough, the VIP section, and this club in general, is a dazzling spectacle. Talk about over-the-top—the mirrored ceilings above the booths reflect the money and gold bars encased in the clear flooring. Crystallized lighting sconces stand outside each booth, offering an option to be covered by a curtain, with lavish black velvet couches inside each. In the darkness, I can't discern individual colors; it's so dark that I'm surprised Jake can navigate us to his table. Even the sconces emit a barely-there, almost tea-light glow.

As I arrive, I see several other folks sitting around—some laughing and talking, others engrossed in their phones. Suddenly, a strange and familiar voice pierces the music, prompting me to let go of Jake as he greets another artist.

Oh, I know this guy. Well, I don’t know him, but I sure do recognize his wavy hair and tattooed arms and hands proudly displayed on the visible parts of his skin showing from his wifebeater top.

“What’s up, Jake?! Inju said you were here, I said—I gotta go say what’s up to my boy!”

It’s an infamously problematic former idol that runs in these circles parallel to Jake in America. Known for shameless and repeated counts of cultural appropriation from black American culture, amongst other questionable moral offenses. He was all but exiled from Korea years ago but seemed to have become even bigger on his own in America and internationally too.

“Good to see you, Ray,” Jake replies, confirming my suspicions.

Ray Park. I look around, but I see no flashes, no cameras, not even any phones directed in our direction. I’m still paranoid about being seen in any close proximity to Ray. I’m quite vain to believe anyone really cares that much about me, but because I’m new, I wanted to observe from the background more than anything else. See how things moved around these parts. I quietly step away while they converse, giving them privacy as I sit down on the couch. About an arm’s length away, there’s another girl. She’s beautiful, a girl with long black hair that falls into her lap. She’s on her phone, and I figure I might have a chance at talking to her to at least figure out where the alcohol is at. A little liquid courage could do me well right now; I feel way too uptight.

“Hey,” I say, raising my voice over the music as I lean over to her. She looks up with wide, glitter-lined eyes, her phone illuminating her blue dolly lenses. “You know where I can get any tequila?”

“Oh yeah! Gimmie a sec.” She jumps up, maybe a little too excitedly for the request, but I figure, that must be her personality. She seems cute. She tugs at the bottom of her silver dress to adjust it before she sidles over to the other side of the couch where a white guy in a fitted cap is sitting. I can see a tattoo going down the side of his neck, but otherwise, he’s pretty covered, including sunglasses. Something about him gives me stay away vibes. She whispers something in his ear, and he affirms her, standing up and nodding to Jake before leaving the section.

I'm confused; what does that mean?

She sits back down, smooths out her dress, and opens her clutch, pulling out what appears to be a very unusually tiny compact mirror. Maybe it’s the size of a quarter? No, that can’t be a compact mirror; it would be impossible to—

To my dismay, she dips the tip of her stiletto pinky nail into it once she flips the lid open and brings it to her nose, taking a big sniff and wriggling her nose after, sniffling a couple more times before dabbing her nose with the back of her hand delicately.

I immediately avert my gaze.

Oh, I’m in the trenches.

I start to feel uneasy. I pull my phone out and bring up my thread with Chris. I quickly type out a reply.

if you become a photographer, Hyunjin has some competition, those are gorgeous. I kinda wanna get them printed in canvas.

cute way to admit it was raining and you thought of me

I’m thinking of you too ;)

I tuck my phone away, feeling a bit more settled. Suddenly, there’s commotion on the opposite side of the VIP section. The DJ is playing air horn sound effects back to back, and then Jake’s newest single starts booming throughout the venue. He walks over to the balcony and begins waving, and I can hear all kinds of screams. I do love this song, and he’s certainly in his element, which I love to see. I stand up, unable to resist a good groove, and I inch my way out from the couch to have standing room.

More airhorns sound, and a bright flash emerges above the heads of everyone else. I'm confused for a split second until I notice they're sparklers.

“Oh shit?!” Jake exclaims, looking back at some members of his crew. “Which one of you?”

“Your girl!” a guy exclaims, pointing at me.

My eyes widen as I catch the error in his identification. Not only am I NOT Jake’s girl, but I am NOT responsible for the bottle girls making their way over here with what appears to be four bottles of…

Casamigos

Tequila. But I didn’t mean--

I immediately shoot a look at the girl from earlier, but she’s already hugged up on another guy on the couch, holding her finger under his nose as he takes a suspiciously long, hard sniff. Jake enthusiastically embraces me, and I already knew he had been drinking, but now? It’s going to get worse.

“Jake, this is—a lot of attention. I didn’t know you were a special fucking guest here tonight.” I say close to his ear so he can hear me and just how annoyed I am. “I told you me and Chris just made up!”

His arm is around my waist as he leans down to pick up one of the bottles, already fitted with a metal spout. “What? You're not allowed to party without asking your stray kid?” He laughs, throwing back what looked to me to be quite the lengthy pour. “I’m kidding, I’m sure he wants you to have fun too, or is he a controlling, abusive boyfriend?”

“It’s not that, it’s just—“

“Open up,” he says, tilting his chin up at me as he holds the bottle in front of me. “C’mon, girl, live a little!”

I do want to drink. In fact, I’m the reason why four bottles of fucking tequila came prancing into the section to begin with. It’s private up here anyway; I’m being paranoid. This is what I convince myself.

I’m not doing anything wrong.

This is what I keep telling myself whenever I’m doing questionable shit morally.

But why do I keep challenging my morals?

What the fuck even are my morals?

Shaking my head, I let my head fall back, I open my mouth, and I take in as much tequila as I can manage before it’s just completely gross. For some reason, this gets the other nearby people cheering, and they too, start passing the other bottles around and pouring shots into glasses and each other’s mouths.

“Look at you, fucking rockstar.” Jake says, his nose nuzzled into the hair by my ear. I’m not sure what gives me the chills, his words, or how he says them.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” I say with as much strength as I can muster, parting our bodies. “This place is pretty cool, the music’s hot. The people--” I don’t finish that sentiment as I look around at the questionable few that I’ve seen thus far.

Jake can’t stop moving; he’s not full-out dancing, but he’s moving around with an excellent sense of rhythm. It’s got me laughing and moving with him too, spinning me around and catching me just in time before I lose my footing. He leans to my ear again, “You should see the downstairs; it’s fucking huge.” He steps back, his eyes widening as he puts his hands out to show the growth in size. He then jerks his head to the balcony. “Here, let me show you.”

I join him at the balcony, feeling the buzz of top-shelf liquor in my loins. I’m not exactly thinking straight. People start cheering again, and I quickly have a knee-jerk reaction as if I’ve made a terrible mistake, but I don’t know why. Jake leans over the balcony, pouring out from the bottle onto expectant fans below. It’s probably not getting in anyone’s mouth; they’re all just collecting at the wall, clamoring to get a drop poured onto them. I try not to make it obvious as I back up into the safety of the darkness, out of the view of the general public below.

This celebrity shit is exhausting.

I just wanna get drunk and shake my ass.

I don’t even wanna do this part. Can’t I just make music?

“Hey beautiful, I don’t think I got your name?”

Once Ray Park approaches me, I know I’ve about had enough of this scene. I force a tight-lipped smile and nod at him. “Y/N.”

He mispronounces it for confirmation.

“No, Y/N” I say a little more clearly.

“Your name sounds familiar, what, you a singer or something?” Ray inquires.

“Yeah, kinda.” I say before I hurriedly add, “I gotta go to the bathroom. Nice meeting you, though!” And I beeline for the door that we came into earlier. Once I’m in the empty hallway, I feel like I can breathe, not even realizing I was holding my breath. I can feel the alcohol settling in more, and it’s getting a bit tough for me to fake sober. I can feel the inhibitions disappearing.

I should smoke. Yeah, I should smoke so I can think out my next moves. I step out the door and nod to the bouncer who steps aside, and I take out my pre-roll, cupping my hand to spark the flame that engulfs the thin paper twisted end of the joint before disappearing with a couple of light puffs from my lips.

I have to leave for LA in two days. Eli, and the rest of the band members are going to meet me out there, at the rental house. It’ll be nice to see Eli again, and get out to perform again, which is what we love doing the most. We’ll have a couple of meetings too, with the label. That’s the part that’s gnawin’ at me. Music reviews, suits with no rhythm telling me what to change, make it more palatable to everyone but me. I take another drag and my phone pulls me from my runaway thought train. I can feel my heart skip a beat, like I’m a child with a crush.

Stumbling slightly, I retrieve my phone from my clutch.

Damn, did I drink that much?

I blink away the drunken haze, opening my notifications and clicking on the message.

babydaddy: Oh, I don’t know about that, baby. Hyunjin's really good, but thanks lol.

babydaddy: yeah……you got me, I’m definitely thinking about you hehe.

babydaddy: I think about you when it rains.

babydaddy: It’s late over there, you’re still up???

I lock my screen, dropping my phone to my side as I take another puff. No immediate response; the right words elude me.

When a familair call breaks the silence. I roll my eyes and answer.

“If I lose you one more time tonight, I swear to God—”

“What? You swear to God what?” I kiss my teeth. “I told you, being the guest of the night, I can’t hang.” Glancing around, I lower my voice, “Shorty on the couch was doing coke off her acrylics. And Ray Park was there? I’m calling an Uber.”

“You for real right now?” Jake's voice struggles against the thumping music.

“I’m out, Jake. You know where to find me. Call me sober, and not a second sooner.”

I end the call, shaking my head with disappointment. Swiping to my Uber app, I call for a ride back to Jersey, the driver just four minutes away. Moving down the alley, I hold my coat tight, shielding myself from the icy wind that pricks my bare thighs.

My stomach grumbles, a mix of emptiness and a craving for something satisfyingly awful. The tap of my heels leads me to a corner where a man grills hot dogs and sausages. Only one person ahead of me, the tantalizing smells engulf me.

“One with everything, please.”

“Spicy or not?”

“Not spicy, please.” “You were at the club tonight?” he asks, looking up only for a second before returning to his task, arranging my hotdog. “It’s early to be going home, no?”

I chuckle, “It’s eleven at night! That’s late.”

“Ah well, not here. Usually, I have line way down the street at three...yes at three everybody is ready for sleep all day.” He gestures behind me.

“Your food must be good then.” I say, impressed with his narrative as he hands me my meal, wrapped neatly in foil. I give him cash, tell him to keep the change, and with the buzz of my Uber arriving, I bid the hot dog chef goodbye. Walking a few paces to a black Escalade, I disappear into the backseat.

Relaxing only when the door is closed, seatbelt secured, I sit back with a sigh.

“Y/N?” The driver confirms.

“Yes.”

The Escalade cruises through the city, leaving the club and its wild allure in my rearview. The smell of street food wafts through the air, and I feel the warmth of the hotdog in my lap. My FaceTime rings, and I glance at my updated contact photo of Chris—black and white, his bare back on full display as he sits on the opposite end of the bed on his phone, completely unaware of how beautiful parts of him can look candidly.

Something simple, but it was sexy to me. His goofy emojis make my dopamine surge, and I answer without hesitation. "Oop."

Changbin's face appears, eyes wide, hand covering his mouth. Another head pops into view and disappears too quickly to identify, accompanied by muffled exclamations of "Oop" and "Ope." Changbin, the apparent culprit, glances off-screen guiltily.

He begins in Korean, and my rusty language skills catch words like 'phone,' 'really,' and 'answered.' I respond in both English and Korean, demanding answers. "Yeah, I answered! Why do you have Chan’s phone? What did you do?" The chorus of surprised sounds echoes through the call.

"Your Korean is so good!" Changbin exclaims in English. The phone is snatched away, and I hear Chris' muffled voice through his hand covering the speaker. I can't comprehend the words, but Chris quickly switches back to English, apologizing for the chaotic background. "Oh my God, baby, I'm so sorry about that. They start drinking and turn into monkeys, all of them," Chris explains, his voice slightly higher and choppy with movement. The camera blurs as he paces, and suddenly, a door closes, casting the room into darkness. He flicks on a switch, revealing a studio in the JYPE building.

"It's early to be drinking over there, right?" I question.

"That's what I said!" Chris exclaims, finally settling on a black couch. He tilts the phone toward himself, leaning back. "What're you all done up for? You in a car right now?"

"Just went out with a friend, tried a club in New York. Wasn't my thing," I casually reply, avoiding details.

"Ah," he nods, bringing the phone closer. "What club was it?" Jesus fuck why is he asking me all these questions?!

Chris excels at conversation, delving into details with his myriad of questions. It's never intrusive, just genuine interest. "Club Mixer," I respond, watching his reaction through the screen.

"Hmm, sounds kinda familiar. Was it cool? Bump into anyone interesting?"

"Nah, no one mega-famous or anything." I glance out the window, shrugging. "Getting too old for this kinda thing."

"Same here."

I snort. "Come on, you're practically a baby. Your age talk kills me."

"'Cause I am old! I'm twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight. In Korea, I'm already twenty-eight!"

"I thought they ditched that system."

"They did, but I'm still pushing thirty." He's insistent. "I mean, in the real world, that's young. But in K-Pop, I'm..." He chuckles, envisioning younger idols. "I'm climbing up there." His gaze returns to me.

He's got makeup on, just enough to alter the look of his eyes. Dressed in a deep-cut sleeveless shirt, hair tufted above a designer sweatband, two small silver hoops in his ears.

"I'm a cougar then."

"I mean, cougars are hot."

I laugh, and a chuckle from the driver makes me more aware of my surroundings. Peering out, we pass willow trees lining the street near the grocery store minutes from my home.

"Almost home, beautiful babygirl?" He sings, unusually animated.

“Cap, cap.” I wave my hand.

“What?” he asks with a laugh.

“That’s cap, you’re overdoing it. Did you have something to drink too?” I lift a suspicious brow.

“Are you speaking Gen Z at me?” Chris’ laughter increases. “No I didn’t have anything to drink, someone’s gotta keep things under control around here. You do look gorgeous though, I mean that. Wish I was there with you.”

He holds back a smile, licking his lips. "Not a guarantee, but I might be in LA while you're there. How long are you staying?"

"A week. Leaving this Sunday."

A series of knocks startle Chris, and he yells back. Once he identifies the visitor, he turns to me, "Oh, it's Felix. He was out earlier. Wanna say hi?"

"Oh, sure!" I reply. Talking to Chris's members like this isn't my usual thing. Felix is the one I've chatted with the most, thanks to our shared mother tongues, but the others, well, we've had our interactions, even if they involved a lot of Papago (I'm looking at you, Minho). They were a bit awkward, understandably, knowing this wasn't the norm. Still, they supported their friend, their leader, their brother, and just kept to their business, willingly oblivious unless I was around. But I rarely went to Seoul, it's easier to fly under the radar here in America when we’re together.

"Felix? You can come in," Chris calls. The driver slows to a stop at my driveway, and I rush out to get into my home. Giving the driver five stars and a tip, I open my front door. "Hello!" Felix's voice comes through. He waves with a smile as he sits down next to Chris, running his hands through his blonde hair. "How have you been?"

"Good, good, just working on album three. Lots of extra steps now, now that the label’s involved and stuff." I say, matching his enthusiasm.

"Yeah? Chan showed me a little bit of uh—what was it called again?" Felix turns to Chris, nodding to a rhythm he's established from memory. "Gatekeeping the best parts of you from me." He sings, two octaves deeper than the actual song, but I laugh as Chris snaps his fingers, recognizing the tune.

"Constellations!" Chris exclaims.

"Yeah, that's it! Oh, it's so catchy. I'm excited to hear the new album," Felix says. "I still see your songs on TikTok all the time when I'm scrolling. I send them to Chan when I see a really good one."

Chan looks up thoughtfully as Felix talks. "You do send me some really good ones."

"Yeah, but the last few you didn't respond to."

"I didn't? Maybe I forgot. You send so much sometimes. I don't have enough time to go through it all."

Watching them banter keeps me entertained as I take my heels off and sit down on my bed. "You can always just send them to me, Felix. I'm chronically online too," I joke.

"That's not a bad idea. Y/N likes to game too."

"Yeah? What do you play?"

"Oh, he knows I barely have time these days, but I get lost in Stardew Valley, Pokemon, Apex—"

"You play Apex?"

"Occasionally, like I said, when I get a chance." I laugh.

"Who do you main?"

Chris interrupts, "Alright, alright. I'll give you her number, and you two can continue this conversation later. Felix, did you need me out there?"

Felix stands up, "I just brought home food. We're about to eat, if the others didn't already get to it all by now."

Chris lets out a pained groan and sigh. "What is it?"

"BaeBae's Kitchen." Felix rocks back and forth on his knee on the edge of the couch as he awaits Chris's decision.

"I'm not really hungry, but put some away for me?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem." Felix leans down to wave to me once more. "It was nice seeing you again! Enjoy your night!"

"You too, Felix!"

He leaves the studio, and Chris sits back, watching me for a bit on the camera. "Looks like you're back home."

"Mhm, finally." I rest my phone against my bedside lamp as I stand up and work on unzipping my dress. "Did you eat today yet?" I ask, my back turned as I peel out of my dress. I know Chris's appetite is as poor as mine. Sometimes, we just get so busy and stressed that we forget to eat altogether. Friends have had to physically pull me from my computer when I'm hyper-focused, so I'd go to the bathroom and eat something. Chris is no stranger to this method of work. He works similarly.

"No, not yet," Chris replies hesitantly.

"Then you should go eat with the others." I bring my arms to my bra, unclasping it. "You're not gonna eat the leftovers, be for real."

"You're giving me a strip tease and telling me to go eat. Is this a test? 'Cause I'm failing it. Bad."

I look over my shoulder, holding my bra to my chest now that it's undone, and I come over and pick the phone up, safely showing myself from the shoulders up.

"Go eat," I say, firmly. “Now.”

"Fine, Fine." He stands up, stretching his arm over his head with a sigh before he perks up again. "Alright, babygirl, I love you."

"I love you too."

the next day... I'm barely aware of my phone buzzing. Ignoring it, I turn my head, burying it under another pillow. A heavy, gross feeling engulfs me. How long have I been asleep?

The relentless buzzing continues, jolting me awake. My sleep mode has shut off, and notifications flood through at an alarming rate.

Now, my brain is too active for peaceful sleep. I sit up, blinking, rubbing the crust from my eyes, squinting in the darkness. Have I slept into the next evening? Holy shit.

I touch my bedside lamp, dimming it to let my vision adjust. Pulling back the thick comforter and sheets, I expose my bare legs to the cool air. Why did I leave the thermostat so low? I shuffle to the door, pressing the red button to raise the temperature. With a yawn, I pick up my phone to see what's happening.

Great. Did another song go viral? Instagram and TikTok have hit my icon notification limits. I have eighteen missed calls and 88 text messages.

Well, at least the messages aren't hugely overwhelming.

I open Twitter first, a bad habit. As soon as I'm in, I see myself massively tagged, far more than usual. Pulling up the tweets attached to my name, I feel like I could pass out.

"Omg, look, she's in the VIP too."

"So here's the tea: her name is Y/N, and she's the singer in a shitty garage band called Living to Die."

"Bffr Living To Die is not a garage band, Don't Go is a bop."

"She's fucking problematic as fuck?! She tried to break up Stray Kids! Now she's trying to ruin Jake Wong too?!"

"They do anything for clout lmfao, ugly fat bitch."

"How did she break up Stray Kids?"

"Stray Kids isn't broken up. That's a lie made up by cupcake stays who don't like Chan. Lee Know had to go to the military."

"It happened with BTS, and look at them now."

"Jungkook is hella successful, fym???"

"She's the reason why Lee Know went to his military service early."

"Ur making shit up atp Lee Know went in with everyone else."

"Look!!!! I knew I recognized her. Here she is outside JYPE building last yr, Channie got so much hate for it!!!! She doesn't even care, or she wouldn't keep following all these idols around!! She just wants fame for her band."

"Desperate hoe lmfao."

"#keepY/Nawayfromidols."

"If she is the reason why Chan isn't posting on Instagram anymore, I'm gonna fight her ong, he's going through enough :("

"She should kill herself before she fucks up Jake Wong too."

"She used to be a stay; she's just delulu. She's stalking Chan atp lol he doesnt want her or he would tell stays." “Channie tells us everything~~”

"shes fuckin a known sasaeng." “Channie deserves to be happy if he’s in a relationship let him be! He’s an adult???? Be SO fr yall” “whats a sasaeng?”

"Make it make sense u stupid bitch Chan was literally with her at the building; why would he be there if she's a fucking sasaeng?" “A sasaeng is a crazy idol stalker” “She fits the bill ngl lmao”

"Chan deserves better. I don't like Jake Wong, but he deserves better too." “GUYS STOP SPREADING RUMORS!!!! Chan doesnt have a girlfriend!!!! Stop being TOXIC STAYS! Ur giving us all bad names, vote stray kids for VMAs 2027!!”

"I think they were at the Billboard Music Awards together when Stray Kids performed two years ago. They could have met there."

"What an ugly disgusting bitch. I hope she dies lol." -

My hands are shaking so bad; I drop my phone to the floor. I can’t read anymore. I don’t even know how I’ve read this far. My skin is clammy, and I feel prickling all over. I rush to the bathroom and heave over the toilet. First, it's a little from last night's hot dog, then I'm dry heaving yellow bile from anxiety. My body breaks out in a vicious sweat. When I'm done, I drop my head back against the wall.

And I cry.

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