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sesamestreep · 4 months

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can’t do my homework and i can’t think straight

(read on AO3)

(read the series in order)

SUMMARY: Foggy spends a month and half thinking about that New Year’s Eve kiss with Matt and resolves to do something about it, finally. A/N: a Valentine's Day follow up to my New Years fic/1960s AU! Hooray!! LOVE! Content warning for some period-typical homophobia stuff but not a lot honestly and nothing explicit/violent. Mostly it’s just idiotic pining and being excited to kiss your BFF! Enjoy! MWAH! 💋♥️

People warned Foggy that something like this would happen. They said that his last semester of law school would be the toughest, not just because he’d have to worry about the bar exam and finding a job on top of his schoolwork, but because he’d find that he suddenly wanted to give up on all of it and do nothing instead. And he does! He’s getting precisely nothing done for any of his classes and even less done for his other responsibilities. He, apparently, wants to squander twenty-something years of hard work in school, tank his grades, and abandon all of his ambitions at once. But that’s unfortunately not the worst of it. Foggy has a bigger problem. It’s one thing to not want to deal with his responsibilities, but the thing he does want to do instead is…dangerous. It’s not something he should be considering at all.

On New Year’s Eve—or, rather, in the first moment of the New Year—he’d done the most foolish, drunken, idiot thing that he’d ever come up with in his whole natural life and he’d kissed his roommate at the stroke of midnight. It wasn’t a serious kiss—he’d been going for Matt’s cheek, trying to be friendly about it, but Matt had turned at the last second and he’d caught him on the mouth instead. All told, it had only lasted a moment, but it had been on his mind ever since. Neither of them had gotten carried away, or done anything really that Foggy regrets, except the part where they eventually broke apart and acted like nothing had happened. That had been regrettable and, if Foggy’s being honest with himself, it’s the breaking apart that he most regrets.

In the month or so since, they’ve successfully gone back to normal. They’re the same as they’ve ever been, except now Foggy knows what it’s like to kiss Matt—earnestly and chastely, sure, but a kiss is a kiss. And the really dangerous thing is that he wants to know more. He wants to know what it’s like to kiss Matt with the guarantee of privacy, when they’re not in uncomfortable party clothes at a stuck up classmate’s apartment, when they don’t have the excuse of New Year’s Eve. He wants to know what it’s like to kiss him just as earnestly but not so chastely. He’s distracted by daydreams of pinning him to his bed and kissing him for hours and then—he doesn’t know what, then, but he’s thinking about it rather than studying right now and he doesn’t have the faintest idea what he’s supposed to do about it.

It’s proven to be a persistent distraction. In the library, he thinks of talking Matt into sneaking off and kissing him in the dusty old reference section where no one would interrupt them. When they’re grabbing food on campus, he thinks of kissing Matt briefly on the lips when he thanks him for grabbing him a cup of coffee or passing the salt shaker, like Foggy has seen old married couples do. When they’re alone in their apartment, trying to get ahead of all their work for this semester, Foggy thinks about sitting on Matt’s bed, where he does most of his studying, and gently taking off his glasses and putting them aside so he can kiss him until they both forget about law school and the bar exam and the future.

It’s a wonder he hasn’t flunked out already.

It’s just nerves, he figures. Foggy doesn’t want to deal with reality, where he has to graduate and get a job and become an actual adult in the next six months, so he’s picked something outlandish and impossible to distract himself with. He’s never wanted to kiss another guy before this, so it’s odd that it’s started now. Too odd to be a coincidence. It has to be some sort of avoidant behavior.

Then again, he has spent the last six years of his life talking about how great Matt is and grumbling good-naturedly about how all the girls want him instead. Was this something he was always thinking of in the back of his mind during those moments? He calls Matt handsome a lot, after all. And why had he even gone to kiss him on the cheek that night anyway? Matt had talked about not wanting to kiss someone at midnight that he’d never see again and Foggy had been, well, a little drunk but also unimpressed. Matt loved to flirt with girls and never see them again. It was a constant source of annoyance among the female population of their acquaintance. Foggy had just felt fed up with Matt’s excuses and reckless and drunk and he’d…well, he’d thought it was his right, as Matt’s best friend, to shock him out of his bad mood and cheer him up. And so he’d kissed him. No matter how much he tries to do the math, he can’t make it add up right.

Foggy’s not the sort of guy who cares about these things, usually. He’s been called a pansy and a sissy and a lot of less nice words his whole life, because he’s a little soft and a little sensitive and he doesn’t care about a lot of the things guys his age are meant to care about. He can’t keep the rules of football straight enough to care about catching the game, he doesn’t know anything about cars because he grew up in the city without one, and he wants to be a lawyer to help people, not to be able to afford a country club membership one day. That’s apparently enough to be considered effeminate these days, as some men are only too happy to tell him. Foggy doesn’t let it get to him often; he knows who he is and he earned that the hard way. People that don’t get it don’t have to bother with him.

He never felt weird about it growing up. He was always a mama’s boy anyway, and his mother didn’t try to toughen him up or anything silly like that. She appreciated the help in the kitchen and with the housework and she insisted that if he was going to go off into the world, he would know how to hard boil an egg and sew a button and iron his own clothes, so that he wouldn’t be dazzled by the first girl who could do those things for him. It was, she claimed, to ensure he ended up with someone worthy, someone he actually liked and respected. Respect was a big thing with his mother, for obvious reasons, he supposed. She’d been insistent with teaching him and his brother how to act right around girls. She taught them to take no for an answer, and to listen when girls talked about their dreams and their needs. She’d had to teach their father these things after they got married, and she considered herself lucky that she’d got herself a husband who was even willing to put in the effort, but her sons were going to do better. They would be respectful and kind and decent. They would be gentlemen.

Foggy’s brother got married right out of high school and started providing his parents with grandchildren immediately, so the pressure had been off Foggy for a while. Thankfully, too, because Foggy met lots of nice girls who were interesting and pretty and none of them seemed to feel the same way about him. He’s dated, of course, but it always stalls out somewhere. The closest he got to something serious was with Marci during their sophomore year but she ran hot and cold on him for a almost a year before they ultimately called it off. Foggy wanted someone who wanted him all the time, and he suspected Marci also wanted that too. That she wanted to want him more than she actually just wanted him. She got engaged to someone else a few months ago and Foggy had drank himself into a stupor about it more out of general dissatisfaction with his life than personal injury to his pride. Matt had rubbed his back and lied through his teeth about how Foggy would find someone too someday during the subsequent hangover.

Which brings him back to Matt, like always. Foggy’s comfortable around Matt, in a way he’s never been around any girl, but he always assumed that was pure socialization. His mother and everyone else on earth had been drumming into his ear from the age of 10, if not earlier, that he wasn’t to take liberties with girls, that he should never be alone with them, that they were different creatures from him and that they wanted different things—nicer things and softer things, purer things—and that they’d be insulted by his base desires so he’d better keep those damn things on a leash around them. Foggy doesn’t mind being respectful, but he’s met his fair share of girls in college and law school, and some of them want things that make him blush. Some of them, he imagines, would be just fine with the things he wants to do with them, if their parents and teachers and whoever else could just ease up on the expectations every now and again.

He doesn’t feel that guilt when he thinks about Matt. He doesn’t feel like he’d have to lie about what he wants with another guy. He wouldn’t have to avoid or acknowledge the specter of marriage if he was with another guy, because it’s not a possibility. He wouldn’t have to panic about getting anyone into trouble—well, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant, at least. Fooling around with a man is, technically, illegal, so he could get someone into a lot of trouble, actually. But he and Matt already live together. There’s a lot less danger with that kind of thing in your own home, or at least he thinks. He doesn’t know for sure.

He’s only ever been with girls, and only a few. He doesn’t even know any gay men, as far as he knows. He just…gets hot when he thinks about it, and he suspects that’s enough. Maybe it’s the sort of feeling that only matters when you act on it—maybe if he finds a nice girl and settles down and never thinks about doing something filthy to his best friend in the law library again, he can safely claim he’s just a straight man for as long as he lives—but Foggy already thinks that’s bullshit and he hasn’t even done anything yet. Just the thought is enough, for him. Maybe not for other people, that’s not really his business, but the minute he started thinking and feeling this way, he knew something about himself. Maybe not something he’d necessarily been hiding or ignoring, but something that was true nonetheless, whether it was new or not.

And now he’s thinking about Matt and running his hands up his sides and combing his hair with his fingers while he kisses him senseless for endless stretches of time and his essay isn’t getting done and he’s hard underneath his desk. He leans back in his chair, disappointed in himself as usual, and counts back from one hundred by threes until he calms down. Something must be done about this, he decides, then and there. This is getting out of control.

By the time Matt comes home an hour later, he’s come up with a plan. A stupid plan, probably, but a plan nonetheless.

“Matt, thank God,” he says, as Matt strips off his coat to hang it up by the door. That action alone does not make his heart race, at all, and he would swear to it under oath. “Save me from this essay.”

“Going that well, huh?” Matt asks, coming to stand by his shoulder, and smelling of the sharp, cold winter air.

Foggy leans back in his chair, until his head rests against Matt’s stomach. Matt puts a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him sympathetically. “Spectacular,” Foggy says. “My best work yet.”

“Good to hear,” Matt says, giving him a friendly, encouraging pat before starting to turn away. “I’m going to take a shower to thaw out. You mind?”

“No,” Foggy replies, definitely not thinking about warming Matt up himself. “I mean, it’s not like the heat in this place is anything to write home about.”

“I meant, you don’t need the bathroom before I go in there?”

Foggy shakes his head, clearing out the cobwebs. “Oh, no, go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait, Matt…”

“Yeah?”

Foggy licks his lips, thinking about his incredibly stupid plan and decides he’d rather get it over with now, so that if it crashes and burns, Matt will go take his shower and Foggy can suffer his embarrassment alone and in relative peace. He can even sneak out of the apartment, if it goes really, really poorly.

“I just remembered, I, uh, had a question for you,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant about it.

Matt shifts to face him more fully and crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Are you doing anything Friday?” Foggy asks, feeling like his heart is beating in the vicinity of his throat. “Night, I mean. Friday night.”

“Uh, no?” Matt answers, hesitantly. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“I was thinking we could go to the movies,” Foggy says. “I mean, I want to go to the movies and I hate going alone, so if you’d—it’d be my treat, since I want to go and you maybe don’t—but if you’d go with me, that would be, well…good.”

“Oh,” Matt says, softly and with some confusion. “Well, I don’t really go to the movies much, for…obvious reasons.”

Foggy’s face heats. “Right, of course. I know. I just…I could describe stuff, when there’s no dialogue. I’ve done that before…with you…”

“Sure,” Matt says, looking slightly uncomfortable. “But the, uh, other thing is…well, Friday is Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, I hadn’t actually realized,” Foggy replies, faintly. He had known, of course. He was counting on everyone around them being gooey in love to embolden him and maybe soften the ground a little. Holiday love rituals had gotten him this far, after all. “You probably have plans, or you want to keep it open for a girl, or something.”

Matt shakes his head, frowning. “No, no, it’s not that,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. “It’s just that the movies will be packed with people on dates and we’ll be ruining the mood talking through the whole picture.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, sadly. “You’re probably right. I, uh, just thought…well, I needed a carrot on a string to get me through this essay and I thought if I said I’d go to…never mind. I’m acting nuts and I hadn’t realized, about Valentine’s Day and all, so it’s—”

“Foggy,” Matt interrupts, gently, “you know, if you’re still upset about Marci getting engaged and Valentine’s Day is going to be tough for you this year, you can just say that.”

Foggy just blinks at him, utterly surprised by this. “What?”

Matt huffs, like he doesn’t really want to have to say any of this but he has to. “I just, you don’t have to lie,” he explains. “If you need company on Friday, just say so! I don’t mind. Valentine’s Day puts ideas into girls’ heads anyway, so I don’t mess around with it. We can do something the two of us. But be honest enough to tell me the real reason, okay?”

Foggy is nodding along with all of this like it makes all the sense in the world, when really his insides are in turmoil. Because his lie absolutely didn’t work and Matt saw through it immediately, but he’s also given Foggy the perfect new excuse—a better one, even. Matt will absolutely forego any other plans to support Foggy in his time of need. He’d get what he wants, which is to spend Valentine’s Day with his…well, his crush, and he wouldn’t have to admit anything right now. But he’d get it by lying, and that’s the sticking point. Because Matt just asked him not to do that and Foggy’s stupid and idealistic and, deep down, honest. He wants this thing, but he wants even more to get it honestly, which is just not going to happen.

He’s still nodding when he says, “That’s sweet of you, Matt, but you—you’re wrong. I mean, that’s not why I asked.”

Matt’s head tips to the side in interest. “Oh?”

The nice thing about being in love with someone who’s blind, Foggy realizes now, is that he doesn’t feel any pressure to look Matt in the eyes when he confesses his feelings. He’s staring at the floor, in fact, when he says, “I asked you out because I want to take you out. On a date.”

“You want to—on a date?”

Foggy laughs, a little bitterly, at the shock in Matt’s voice and doesn’t check to see if it’s visible on his face. Everyone wants to date Matt; how could this possibly be that much of a surprise?

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Why?”

Foggy laughs again and then sighs. In for a penny… “Well, what I’d really like to do is kiss you again and I think the old adage is that I should buy you dinner first.”

There’s a pointed silence after he says that, like Matt is trying to make him think about what he’s done and really stew in it. And it should be brutal, really it should, but the truth is, he feels better than he has in at least a month. It’s hurt more than he’s realized to keep this in, to lie and make excuses when he stares at Matt a little too long or wants him too much. There’s a chance this will ruin their friendship forever, that Matt’s actually deeply offended and sickened right now and will demand he leave or something equally dramatic, that Matt will react violently, as some men do, to the idea that another man wants him like that. But, more likely, it will just make things weird between them for a while, it will change their dynamic in some ways, but mostly, Matt will just know. About Foggy. And that feels…nice, in some way. Just to tell someone, to not be alone with the idea anymore. Even if he doesn’t get what he wants out of it.

“I thought a movie ticket would suffice,” Foggy continues, since Matt clearly isn’t going to say anything. “And a popcorn. I’m not a cheapskate, after all.”

“Foggy,” Matt interjects, sounding raw. It’s only then that Foggy chances to even look at him and his expression is open and…hurt. That’s not what Foggy was expecting at all. “Please…”

“Please what?” Foggy asks, breathless. He doesn’t dare to hope…

“Please don’t do this,” Matt says, and crushes that faint ember of hope immediately. “It was one kiss. It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to—“

“I know we don’t have to, Matt. I’m saying I want to. I want you.”

“You don’t. You’re confused, and lonely, and it’s just—“

“Matt, please,” Foggy says, holding up a hand to forestall him, “it’s okay. You can reject me, that’s fine, but do me the courtesy of not telling me how I feel, alright? I know how I feel, much better than you do.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt replies, shakily, like he’s trying hard not to cry and of all the things in this conversation that could break Foggy’s heart, it’s that. Not the parts about him or his own feelings, but knowing that he’s made Matt want to cry. Matt’s his favorite person in the whole world. Foggy never wants him to cry, least of all because of him. That’s the worst case scenario. “I’m glad you told me, really—“

“Okay,” Foggy snorts. “There’s no need for you to lie either.”

“I mean it, though! I am glad. And I’m—I love you, Foggy. This doesn’t change anything.”

It will change plenty, Foggy thinks, but he knows what Matt means. He means that they’ll still be best friends, and roommates, and they’ll still be here for each other. It means that Matt doesn’t mind that he’s…well, queer and that’s…something. It would be worth a lot more to him if it wasn’t on the heels of a rejection, so Foggy imagines one day he’ll be able to appreciate it, once the hurt of the other thing fades. If he’s good at one thing in this life, it’s brushing off rejection. He’s had his fair share of practice.

“Thanks,” is what he manages to say, staring at the floor again.

“It’s for the best,” Matt says. “It wouldn’t be like you think it would. I’d disappoint you, I promise, and then we’d ruin everything.”

Foggy picks his head up at that. As rejections go, it’s an odd tact to take. He’s had more than one girl do the whole ‘you’re too good for me and that’s why we won’t work’ routine with him and it never feels genuine. Matt’s talking like that now, except he’s shaking and stuttering his way through it, which either means he does genuinely believe it or he’s the world’s greatest actor. Foggy assumed the genuine feeling in what Matt’s saying was because he genuinely loves Foggy as a friend and hates to hurt him. But what if—?

“Matt,” Foggy says, softly, “I need to ask you something. And I promise I’m not being a sore loser or anything like that, but I need you to answer honestly.”

Matt fidgets where he’s standing, looking very much like someone who’s going to lie no matter what. “Alright,” he says, instead, the word coming out like a breath.

“Are you saying no because you really don’t want me at all?” Foggy asks, heart in his throat again. “Or are you saying no because you think you should?”

Matt’s expression turns pained. “Foggy…”

“Because I’ve been listening to what you’re saying—really, I have—and I haven’t actually heard you say that you don’t want this. That you don’t want me, I mean. You’ve just said it’s a bad idea, and it would go wrong, and you’d disappoint me, but you haven’t actually said no…”

“Don’t make me say it,” Matt whispers, with a white knuckle control over himself that Foggy envies. “Just, please, don’t.”

“I need you to,” Foggy says, and is disappointed to feel tears in his own eyes now. “I need you to, Matt, so I can stop hoping.”

Matt shakes his head, and Foggy prepares himself for it. To hear the word ‘no’ and start living in a world where he was stupid enough to ask for this in the first place. He thinks he’s tough enough to bear it, but it will be something to bear. He won’t be able to carry it off lightly, not for a long time, he imagines.

Matt takes another shaky breath, and lets it out slowly. “This is a bad idea,” he says, and Foggy’s never crossed a room faster in his life.

He’s never going to forget, not as long as he lives, the way it feels to take Matt’s face in his hands and move to kiss him, only to find him waiting for it, eagerly. The last time had been an accident, a mistake, a surprise and it had been clumsy and shy as a result. It hadn’t been his most passionate and artful kiss in memory but it had haunted him nonetheless. This kiss is something else. It isn’t artful either but it is the expression of a month’s—of who knows how long’s—worth of passion contained haphazardly, stuffed away where it wouldn’t bother anyone. If saying what he felt out loud for the first time was freeing, this is reality altering.

He knew Matt could kiss. Of course, he could. Being handsome could get you dates, but the sort of passionate pursuit Matt so often inspired could only come from being an actual good time. But Matt can really kiss, Foggy’s just now understanding. He’d normally be more gracious and more deferential about just slipping his tongue into someone’s mouth right away, but Matt’s parting his lips and allowing him in instantly, begging for it, really. Foggy knew he was passionate, but there’s a difference between knowing and knowing and now he knows. It’s like he’s holding fire in his hands.

“Still think this is a bad idea?” Foggy asks, against his mouth. He can feel Matt’s teeth against his bottom lip, not biting down, just there as they indelicately pant into each other’s mouths.

Matt groans, and Foggy feels it like it’s everywhere. “It’s the worst fucking idea of all time,” he says, shaking his head.

Foggy nods and moves to give him a series of brief, but equally messy kisses, all of which Matt meets just as eagerly as the first one. “We could stop,” he says, “if you want.”

“You can’t—“ Matt laughs, kind of miserably. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair? We can stop! I’m not kidding.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Matt replies, burying his face in Foggy’s neck. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Foggy! You know I don’t.”

Foggy threads his fingers through Matt’s hair, his first fantasy to come to life so far. “I don’t know anything you haven’t told me, baby,” he says, emboldened by Matt swearing. He almost never does that, and he always looks all guilty and repentant afterwards. He doesn’t look guilty now, though.

Matt groans into his neck, which feels incredible, and Foggy takes the chance to kiss his temple where he can reach it. “Oh, God,” Matt says, not sounding pleased.

“What?” Foggy asks, maneuvering him so he can see Matt’s face again. “Was it the ‘baby’ thing? Because that just came out, but if you don’t like it…”

Matt shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face. “That was—I don’t know. ‘Fine’ is definitely not the right word, but…I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t mind it?”

A charming pink color rises in Matt’s cheeks. “I liked it,” he grumbles, as though it’s been bullied out of him.

“Then, what’s the matter? And don’t say nothing, because you took the Lord’s name in vain back there, so I know it was something.”

Matt shakes his head again, like he can keep whatever is bothering him at bay by just denying it enough. “It’s just…such a mess,” he says, quietly, like reality can hear them.

“It’s not such a mess, is it?”

“I don’t—I’ve never—I didn’t know you—“

“Matt,” Foggy says, holding his face, “baby, breathe, okay? It’s not—we don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

“Right, but—“ Matt pauses, chewing on his lower lip. “Everything’s different now, isn’t it?”

Foggy considers this, because a rash answer seems like the likeliest way to cause harm here. He’s had a month of thinking this over, deciding what it means in relation to who he is, figuring out how he feels about it. If he knows Matt, and if he’s had any sort of similar feelings since their first kiss, he’s shoved them somewhere dark and deep and refused to think about them at all. He’s trying to make sense of it all right now this second, which is a tall order for anybody and an even taller one for the likes of Matt.

“Some things are the same,” Foggy says, brushing a thumb over Matt’s cheekbone tenderly. “You’ve got me, same as always. We’ll figure out the rest eventually, okay? There’s no rush.”

Something about Matt’s expression says that he really wants to argue about this, but the daunting task of parsing everything this could possibly change for both of them, individually and together, must outweigh his stubbornness, because he eventually surrenders and nods. He lifts a hand up to curl around Foggy’s wrist where he’s still holding Matt’s face, his fingertips brushing against Foggy’s pulse point.

“Okay,” he says, sounding entranced by Foggy’s false confidence. “So, what now?”

“Well, I was going to let you take your shower, finally,” Foggy says, stepping back a little, “after I rudely distracted you.”

Matt wets his lips and nods, looking very distracted. “I’m not really cold anymore,” he says, with a laugh.

“One of my many talents,” Foggy replies, smiling. “I’m basically a furnace.”

“I already knew that.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I could probably still use the shower, though,” Matt says, thoughtfully.

“Yeah, go ahead. I need to work on this, anyway, and like I said, I didn’t mean to—“

“I think,” Matt interjects, slowly, like the idea’s still coming to him, “you should join me, actually.”

That stops Foggy short. “Join you?”

“Yeah,” Matt replies, licking his lips still, which…he really needs to stop that immediately.

“In the shower?”

Matt hums in agreement, and waits expectantly. “You don’t want to?” he asks, sounding surprised and…yes, disappointed.

“I don’t, um…is this something—is this code for something?” Foggy asks, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing! I just thought if I acted like I was confident, it would—“

Matt comes closer again, and wraps his arms around Foggy’s middle before pressing a kiss to his sternum, which is covered in a thick, cable knit sweater and a few other layers besides, but he feels it like it’s directly on his skin.

“You’ve never showered with a girl, then, I take it?” Matt asks, and it’s very clear he’s trying to be patient and maybe not laugh, which Foggy appreciates, all things considered.

“Uh, no,” Foggy replies, mind reeling. No girl has ever offered and he’d never thought of it. He feels very sheltered all of a sudden. “I haven’t. Is it—is it fun?”

Matt clearly tamps down on his smile for Foggy’s benefit. “It can be,” he says, gently, “but if it’s too fast, we don’t have to…”

“Not too fast,” Foggy interjects, even though his heartbeat is already galloping away at the idea. Excitedly, though. Matt, naked. Matt, warm and wet in his arms. He can see the appeal. Easily.

“No?” Matt asks, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. Foggy’s excitement was maybe too obvious, in retrospect.

“I mean, it’s one way to conserve hot water,” Foggy says.

“Ever the pragmatist,” Matt says, and kisses him again, searching and slow and deep. Like he’s trying to pull Foggy under with him. “We can still take it slow,” he adds, when he’s got Foggy good and pliant.

Foggy nods, obedient. He’s struggling to think what Matt could ask for right now that he wouldn’t give him, but that doesn’t matter. They seem to want the same thing at the moment.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, against Matt’s mouth. “Together.”

“Together,” Matt agrees, as they continue to get lost in each other.

After they’ve showered and gotten themselves decent again (which takes…a while, obviously), Foggy makes them both grilled cheese sandwiches and heats up some leftover soup while Matt sits on the counter, telling Foggy about his day and looking pretty. It’s the happiest Foggy can remember being in a very long time.

Once dinner’s done and eaten, Matt banishes him from the kitchen so he can clean up and orders him to work on his essay again. It’s been a productive and rewarding study break by any metric, so Foggy doesn’t argue, even though he wants to. He doubts his professor gives extensions for lovesickness, anyway. Not without a doctor’s note, at least.

Matt’s iron will only lasts an hour, until he comes to find Foggy working in the living room and starts kissing his neck without preamble. It’s pretty clear from that that the studying portion of the evening is now over, so Foggy picks him up and presses him into the couch cushions and does his level best to get Matt to take the Lord’s name in vain some more.

A few hours, and a lot more fooling around, later finds them in Foggy’s bed, because the radiator in Matt’s room has been making weird noises that they’ve had no luck talking their super into fixing so far. There’s the comforting sound of the functioning radiator running in the background, and the light rhythmic tapping as sleet hits the windows, and the noises of traffic on the street below, but mostly Foggy is just listening to Matt breathe as they lie together in the dark. He’s also playing with Matt’s hair again, because his daydreams didn’t do justice to how soft it would be and how quickly Matt would turn into a lap cat when he did it.

“Foggy,” Matt says, into the quiet, his voice soft and nearing sleep.

“Hmm?”

“You said something about Valentine’s Day.”

“When?” Foggy asks, wondering if he’d somehow fallen asleep and muttered to himself without realizing it. “Just now?”

“No. Earlier. You said you wanted to go to the movies.”

“Oh, right,” Foggy replies. “I was just…we don’t have to do that, I mean…”

“I still think the movies might not be a good idea,” Matt says, carefully. “But I, uh—I’ll still be around, you know. If you wanted to do something else…”

Foggy’s heart flips over in joy and excitement and a dozen other emotions he can’t identify, but he tries to maintain an outward appearance of calm, at least. “Are you saying you want to be my Valentine, Matt?” he asks, smiling unrepentantly.

There’s a long pause that very clearly telegraphs whatever Matt says next will be a lie. “I’m not saying that,” he replies, finally, almost a full minute later.

“Right,” Foggy says, just barely suppressing a laugh. “You’re just saying that you’re free on Friday, which just so happens to be Valentine’s Day, and that you’d like to spend it with me…”

“Right.”

“But you don’t want to be my Valentine.”

“I’m not saying that either.”

“So you’re not saying you want to be my Valentine, but you’re not saying you don’t want to be my Valentine? Have I got that right?”

“More or less,” Matt mumbles.

“I’d be your Valentine,” Foggy says, “for what it’s worth.”

Matt nods distractedly, looking slightly seasick and completely out of his depth. “Okay.”

Foggy decides then that the nice thing to do here is to put Matt out of his misery for the time being. “How would you feel about maybe staying in?” he asks, leaning in to kiss him again. “Rather than going out?”

Matt meets him in the middle, happily, qualms momentarily forgotten. “I feel strongly in favor of the idea,” he says, as their lips meet.

“It’s a date, then.”

#please imagine me putting a daredevil themed valentine sealed with a sticker #with a heart shaped lollipop taped to the front into the makeshift mailbox on your desk at school #because this is my valentines treat to you #I know it’s early but I wrote this in like December so…#I have been chomping at the bit to share it #30 days challenge resumes tomorrow or whenever I get my shit together again #here is a longer and dare I say better fic to tide you over until then #mattfoggy #daredevil #matt murdock #foggy nelson #valentines day #valentines day fic #series: having a coke with you #homelywenchsociety #that’s my writing tag! don’t worry about it!

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m0e-ru · 1 year

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(reading my own ao3) wow this bitch is so correct and on point i wish there was more . cmon guys look at this shit https://archiveofourown.org/series/2536405

#kommento #// blatantly promoing my writing . i miss my 2021 early 2022 era i wrote so good #// not to shit on myself but i kind of lost my charm on that latest one from december #// but like woww ughhhh i wish there was more <- the writer #// FIVE MINUTES LATE I LOVE YOUU yorue the fucking epitome of the ever i loveyou kissing you #// AND ANTIHISTAMES !! AND EXTRA TIP and youre lost i love all of you i lveo you all mwa mwma mwamwamwa #// kind of fell off and lost the writing style i liked on dont let it rain BUT STILL i wrote something so IM STILL WINNING !!#// when i finish my kitchen fic it's over for all of you (shes almost at 2k and shes still going)#// when i finally finish something so au specific so self indulgent IT'S ALL OVER !!!!!#// i forgot my love for serialization and seeing things come together and whole i just wonder if i'll still have the ambition after that lon #// (in the corner) wow i wish theres more content of adachi and th attendnatn being friends #// besides the /wildly gestures at whatever the hell goes on in the iznmi tags/ whatever the FUCK this is #// i have ao3 svior btw theres so much shit censored when i open up the tag after 27 years and i do Not want to know what's in there #// sometimes i wish i could start all over and feel That Rush again where everythings so good and fun and whimsy #// learning new things one after the other like it's SO EXCITING !!!! just without the horrors this time #// and that i have YOU GUYS !!! (youre standing across me from the convenience store counter while i flop at using the barcode scanner)#// i wouldnt even KNOW adachis place in fandom i'll just be like LOOK AT HINM !!! hes so fucking terrible these two should be besties #// OKAY enogh remensicneing i need to GO !! BACK TO ACTUAL WORK !!! i love you all i hope youre all healthy

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doctorbeth · 2 months

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A happy colorful monster

Have you heard of My Pet Monster? It's a cartoon from 1986, which had one season (also apparently there's a live movie). You can stream it if you like. But for the purposes of this story, the most important fact is that the star was a very colorful smily, monster. And in January of last year, one of the cuddly plush versions was discovered in the back of a closet (so I guess he was a moonlighting as a closet monster?).

In any case, his original person found him, and wanted to gift him to his own daughters, but this monster had clearly had a rough time in the closet. Here is one of his diagnosis photos:

You can see the wound on his chest, and that his teeth are coming out. His feet and hands were vinyl, and had gotten that sticky feel that old vinyl sometimes gets.... and he needed a bath!

It took almost a year, but in December, the monster's family wrote again. Could we schedule treatment and an appointment for him?

Of course! The hospital was pretty full at the beginning of the year (not uncommon) so we scheduled his appointment for early March.

He arrived and the first step was a spa. He's quite large, so he got the large pink tub. :-)

Next he got restuffed, with a heart of original stuffing included ... who knows where his magic is stored, so it's important to keep at least a bit of original stuffing!

For his feet and hands, I can't replicate the printed nails on vinyl, but we didn't really want to do vinyl again anyway for the feel. So his person and I agreed to recover his feet and hands in new black velvet and then give him new nails from felt in the same teal as the originals. Here he is showing off his manicure and pedicure:

And here he is all better... even his fabric surrounding his tusks has been reglued:

and so he flew home to Colorado!

#my pet monster #1980s #1980s cartoons #stuffed animals #stuffed animal repair #stuffed animal hospital #stuffed animal cleaning #monsters #closet monster #monster toy #plush monster

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punkshort · 6 months

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i'll be home for christmas | part one

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

Chapter Warnings: no outbreak, modern day but Joel is 40, language, fluff, flirting, reader has a childhood nickname only her family uses, Hallmark tropes up the wazoo, soft!joel, reader's sister is pregnant, talks of infidelity, talks of divorce, alcohol use, kissing, (smut in part two)

WC: 9.1K

A/N: this is my take on a cheesy, fluffy, soft, smutty, Joel Miller Hallmark Christmas movie. It's just sweet and silly and makes me smile, and I hope it does the same for you. I also wrote this in less than 2 days and didn't really edit it much, so sorry in advance if there's any errors.

Found the pic on Twitter but can't remember the source, if you know please send me a message and i will credit them

Series Masterlist

It was the second week of December as you stood inside the airport in Austin, Texas, waiting for your luggage to emerge on the conveyor belt. You thought by coming home early, you would have avoided the holiday traffic, but you were wrong. All around you, people squealed with excitement and embraced, dragging their worn out luggage behind them as they made their way out of the bustling airport. You tried to keep the scowl from your face as you watched, but it was next to impossible, so you wrapped your Burberry scarf around your neck instead, hoping to hide your displeasure.

This was not the plan you had for Christmas. You should be in New York in a high-rise apartment in front of a roaring fireplace with a glass of wine and your fiancé - ex-fiancé - not back in Austin with your parents, who begged you to come visit for the holidays after you told them the news.

Coming home to visit wasn't your favorite thing, but you felt guilty having avoided the holidays with your family for so many years, and you would have ended up all alone in the city anyway. So you caved, using up all the PTO you saved for the wedding, and took the rest of the year off from work.

Your designer luggage stood out like a sore thumb when it tumbled down the conveyor belt. You winced after watching the impact and snatched it up quickly. Glancing around, you saw a beacon in the storm: a familiar green, glowing sign in the distance - Starbucks. The line was long, but your flight was early, so you waited and got a latte, hoping it would lift your spirits a bit before you had to face your parents.

You tapped the side of your coffee cup anxiously as you rode the escalator down to the first floor, scanning the crowd for your mom and dad. There were a few people holding up signs with names on them, and when you saw the sign that said "Bucket" on it, you cringed.

Your dad's tall, round frame came into view when the people in front of him dispersed. He looked almost exactly the same, except a little greyer. Still sporting a shockingly full head of hair and his signature thick mustache, he grinned and pulled you into a warm hug.

"Really, Dad? 'Bucket'?"

"Well, that's what we call you, ain't it?" he said with a smile. You rolled your eyes and tried to be annoyed, but you had to admit that you were happy to see him.

"Where's Mom?" you asked.

"She's waitin' in the car, didn't wanna pay for parking so we're in a pick up zone, let's hustle," he said, wrapping his arm around you as he led you outside. "How was the flight?"

"Long," you said, then gasped when the cold air hit you. "Wow, I didn't think it would be this cold yet."

"It's been a cold one so far this year," he nodded, directing you to the left where you could see your mom smiling and waving from the passenger seat of their white SUV. You waved back and grinned. Maybe coming home wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

"Hiya, Bucky!" your mom said happily, leaning out of the window to give you a half hug while your dad loaded up your belongings in the back.

"Hey, Mom," you replied. "I like your sweater."

She was wearing one of her tacky Christmas sweaters that she wore every year - unironically. It amazed you how some things never change.

You climbed into the back seat as your dad carefully exited the parking spot and joined the line of cars that were slowly inching towards the main road.

"We're so glad you decided to come home this year, you can finally see the new house!" your mom said excitedly. They had built a brand new house, and the way she provided updates and pictures to you over the phone for the past year, you felt like you had already seen it.

"Yeah, can't wait," you said, staring out the window.

"Hope you don't mind, but we're throwin' a party tomorrow night," your dad said, glancing at you in the review mirror. "Wanted to have our friends over to see the place and have an early holiday party. They'll be so happy to see you, it's been so long since you've been home, Buck."

You had been hoping to spend most of the next three weeks in bed moping and scrolling on your phone. The thought of a party and seeing all those people looking at you with pity made your stomach turn. Your mom must have sensed your discomfort.

"It's alright, honey. They won't say anything," she said softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Okay," you replied, your voice pained as you opened your eyes to stare at the passing traffic on the thruway.

You'll make an appearance for an hour, and then try to sneak back upstairs until the party ends, already fabricating a headache to blame it on.

The house your parents built was impressive, even you had to admit. It was a two story colonial with four bedrooms and three bathrooms. The open floor plan was stunning as you made your way from room to room. The first floor alone had a spacious living room with vaulted ceilings, a kitchen with an attached dining room, and a separate family room off the back. There was even a small office by the front door that you missed the first time around, and a pantry as big as your closet back home.

You cringed at the thought, reminding yourself that it was no longer your home. That was part of the problem. You had moved in with Will, and when you discovered he had been cheating on you, you crashed at your friend Melanie's place. When you tearfully told your parents the news a few days later, they asked you to come home. Just for the holidays, your mom had said. Just to give you time to figure out your next move.

"This is beautiful, Mom," you said honestly, admiring the fine details on the cabinets.

"Thank you, sweetie. Took a long time, but Joel built it just right for us," she said, beaming.

"Oh, the contractor, right?" you replied, distracted now by the backsplash above the counters.

"He's such a sweet man, he was so patient with us when we changed our minds a million times over every little thing."

"Well, tell him he did a great job," you murmured, opening and shutting different drawers.

"You can tell him yourself, he'll be at the party tomorrow," your dad said, opening the fridge to scrounge for some snacks.

"You invited your contractor to your holiday party?" you asked in disbelief.

"Sure we did. We either saw him or spoke to him almost every single day for a year. He's a good man."

"Okay," you said slowly, still finding it a bit strange, but reminding yourself that things worked a little differently in the south.

"Bucket!" you heard your sister call from the front of the house. A smile plastered across your face instantly as you rushed to the door, both of you squealing as you wrapped your arms around each other and jumped in a circle, unable to contain your excitement.

"Cassie!" you said, pulling back to look at her, brushing her sleek, dark brown hair over her shoulder. "You look fantastic!"

"Ugh, I feel like shit," she said, and you laughed, glancing down at her barely swollen belly.

"How far along are you again?" you asked.

"Twenty weeks, but I'm ready for this to be over! I'm so tired all the time, it sucks," she said, flopping down on the couch in the living room after she gave your parents quick hugs.

"Where's Josh?" your mom asked, referring to your brother in law.

"He's still working, he'll be by later," Cassie said, waving her hand. "Gives us a chance to catch up," she added with a wink.

"You girls do that, we need to go to the store for tomorrow night. Do you need anything?" your mom asked, and you shook your head, eager for them to leave so you could be alone with your sister.

"Tell me everything," Cassie said the moment the door clicked shut.

If it were anyone else, you wouldn't have been in the mood to talk about the mess that was currently your life, but you've always been able to talk about anything with your sister. You trusted each other implicitly and there was no judgement, no matter if you had cheated on a test or gotten drunk during prom, you told each other everything.

So you did. You told her how for months, you felt like something was off with Will. How he would stay out late and say it was for work, but none of his work friends ever posted about going anywhere those nights on social media. He grew more distant and you tried to ignore your paranoia, but when he collapsed into bed one night, too out of it to wash up, and you saw the lipstick on his neck the next morning, you lost it. He hardly even tried to explain himself, barely even attempted to lie, and you began to think maybe he wanted to get caught. Maybe he wanted you to do the dirty work and end things so he didn't have to. Fucking coward.

"What a piece of shit. I never liked him," Cassie said when you were finished. "He acted like he was so much better than everyone when he was here, do you remember the comments he made about the wine mom had? It was so fucking rude."

"Yeah, I know," you agreed.

"So why were you even with him?"

"We had been together since college, Cas," you said, exasperated. "I knew him before he was like that. He used to be sweet and fun. Then he got that finance job and met all those assholes and he became just like them."

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't end up married before finding out what he's really like," she said, shifting her weight on the couch with her hand cupping her small stomach. "That would have been a huge mess."

"It's still a huge mess, I have no where to live now, and I can only couch surf for so long," you said, burying your face in your hands.

"You'll figure it out, Buck. I'll help you look for places online while you're here. Maybe set up some appointments so you can tour them when you get back."

"Thanks," you said, giving her a weak smile. "That would actually be great."

"Now, on to more important things," your sister said, slapping her palms against her knees to stand.

"Baby names?" you asked.

"No! Let's figure out what you'll wear to the party tomorrow," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "I wanna look through all your fancy designer clothes."

You giggled and stood to join her.

"Fine, but I'm still dropping baby names while you look," you replied.

After spending a majority of the next day helping your parents decorate and prepare food for the party, you finally were able to excuse yourself to shower and get ready. Cassie had picked out a Ralph Lauren lace cocktail dress that Will had bought for your birthday last year. You slipped it on, running your hands over the fabric as you adjusted the dress in the mirror. Just because he bought it didn't mean you couldn't wear it again. You snatched the glass of wine from your dresser and took a sip, trying to push the thought of him from your head as you made your way downstairs.

Cassie and Josh were already in the kitchen, munching on appetizers and chatting with your parents. Cassie let out a low whistle when you entered the room. You waved her off and gave Josh a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Good to see you," you told him with a smile. "All ready for the baby?"

"Getting there," Josh replied, wrapping an arm around Cassie's waist. You tried to ignore the ugly, jealous pit in your stomach as he told you how the nursery was coming along. You wasted so many years of your life on Will. Your sister was already married and starting a family, and here you were, basically homeless and starting over. Pathetic.

Family friends slowly began to trickle into the house, luckily being whisked away by your parents to give them a tour after you meekly greeted them and hid back in the kitchen. As more and more people arrived, you began to wonder how your parents kept so many close friends when you barely had a handful back in New York.

A few kids raced by you in the kitchen as you made your way to the bar to refill your wine. Even though it was loud, you could still hear your dad's booming voice as he regaled a friend with a fishing story. You wandered around a bit, trying to find Cassie and Josh so you didn't look out of place, but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw them chatting with Mr. Tanner and his son, Troy, backing away before they could see you. Troy used to have the biggest crush on you when you were kids. If he found out you were single, you wouldn't be able to shake him all night.

You eventually found yourself alone, back in front of the snacks. You picked at the chips on your plate, not really interested in eating but hoping to avoid any awkward conversations, so you kept your eyes down, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Apparently, it wasn't good enough because you felt someone sidle up next to you.

"Those any good?" a deep, unfamiliar drawl spoke from your side. You looked up to find the softest pair of brown eyes you've ever seen on a man. Blinking, you took a moment as your gaze raked over his patchy beard and the dark, tousled curls on his head. They looked so soft, you had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. What was wrong with you?

"Huh?" you managed to squeak out after you realized you had waited too long to reply. Idiot.

"The, uh, chips," he said, pointing at your plate before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh!" you said, looking at your plate, completely forgetting you even had it. "Yeah, they're alright."

He nodded and glanced around the room, unsure of what to say next. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"How do you know Paul and Martha?"

Distracted, you watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, stretching the fabric of his red flannel over his shoulders, pulling the material taught. You had to remind yourself to pay attention and stop gawking at this man like he was a piece of meat. Jesus, maybe you should stop drinking.

"They're my parents," you said after a moment, your eyes flicking across the room, finding them with a group of their friends with your dad's arm wrapped around your mom's shoulder as she giggled and gazed up at him adoringly.

"Oh, you're Cassie," the man said, his eyes dropping from your face to your stomach, and you swore you saw a glimmer of disappointment.

"No!" you said quickly, your hand subconsciously resting on your midsection. "That's my sister, I'm their other daughter." You told him your name and briefly explained you lived in New York and were just visiting for the holidays.

"They must be real happy, havin' you home for so long," he replied, and you shrugged.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've come home for a visit. I was feeling pretty bad about that," you said, choosing to leave out the biggest reason you were there. This stranger didn't need to be burdened with your love life drama. "Besides, they were so excited to show off the new house," you continued, waving your arm around the room.

"Took us long enough, but it finally came together," he replied with a smile.

"Oh! You must be Joel," you said, realization finally dawning on you.

"Yeah, sorry," he said, shaking his head and stretching out his arm. "That was rude of me, don't know what I was thinkin'." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you shook his hand.

"My parents always have such wonderful things to say about you. The house is beautiful, I was blown away when I first saw it," you told him. "I especially love the little details on the cabinets."

"Thanks," he said with a soft smile, averting his gaze to look at the cabinet behind you. "I actually did that myself. It's kind of a hobby of mine. Closest to art I'll ever get, I guess."

"I don't think it's just 'close' to art, I think it is art. It's stunning," you told him, running your fingertips over the intricate floral design. "You're very talented."

"Well, thank you," he said sheepishly, rubbing his beard to hide his smile. You could see the blush creeping up his neck and you bit your lip with a grin, turning your head to try to give him a moment. Were you making him nervous? He was painfully good looking, could this guy actually be into you? Were you even interested? The break up was still so fresh and it had been so long since you've dated anyone besides Will, you hadn't even considered it yet.

"So, how long have you worked in construction?" you asked after a minute, discarding your plate on the counter to give him your full attention.

"Oh, my whole life. Me and my brother started the business when we were in our twenties. Only thing we were any good at, and luckily it pays the bills," he told you with a shrug, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "What do you-"

Joel's question was cut off by a young girl with curly brown hair in a red velvet dress bouncing up to him.

"Dad! Can Uncle Tommy take me outside so we can look at the pool?" she asked. Dad? You looked down when he pulled his hands out of his pockets, palming one of the girl's shoulders to quiet her down, and noticed the gold wedding band. Of fucking course.

"The pool? Sarah, it's freezin' out," Joel said, and she grinned.

"I'm not going in, Dad, I just wanna see," she said, rolling her eyes. She glanced over, noticing you for the first time, and smiled. "I really like your dress," she said.

"Thank you," you said, running your hand down the fabric. "I like yours, too."

"Uh, yeah, that's fine. Just make sure Uncle Tommy sticks with you, alright?" Joel relented, and she clapped her hands gleefully before running off again.

"She's cute, how old is she?" you asked him, looking around the room to see if Sarah had run back to a woman who could be Joel's wife.

"She's sixteen," he said, eyeing you carefully. He hadn't thought this far ahead and hoped he wasn't scaring you off.

You turned to him, startled, having guessed she was younger.

"You must have had her young," you said, the words slipping out before you could catch them. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that like it sounded-"

"No, it's alright," he said with a chuckle. "I did. I'm forty."

You nodded and took a sip from your glass, letting your eyes drift away, rethinking your conversation. Maybe you misread him and he was just being friendly. There was no way he would be flirting with you at a party with his kid right there. But then he cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.

"Listen, I hope I'm not bein' too forward, but are you here with anyone?"

You raised your eyebrows at him over your glass. There was no misreading that. Blinking rapidly, you tried to formulate a reply that wouldn't cause a scene. Was he seriously hitting on you with a ring on his finger? You put your glass down on the counter and opened your mouth to reply when your sister's voice interrupted you.

"Bucket! Come here, you remember Troy, right?"

You cringed, at both the nickname and the person in question, before slowly turning your body towards her and forcing a fake smile.

"Of course. How are you?" you said with a hug.

"Doing great, just got a new job with a law firm downtown," Troy said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans and shifting his weight nervously. He began to ramble about his new job as your sister introduced herself to Joel behind you. You resisted the urge to strangle her, reminding yourself she was carrying your baby niece or nephew and that you'll have to wait until after she gave birth to kill her. She knew you couldn't stand Troy, but she probably couldn't get rid of him, either.

You stood there, draining your wine glass while he prattled on for the next twenty minutes. By the time Troy's dad walked over and ushered him away, Joel was nowhere to be found.

Probably for the best, anyway. You were getting really sick and tired of only attracting unfaithful men.

You hadn't considered how annoying it would be to have your parents hovering around you all the time, worried that you were slipping into a depression and trying to get you to join them on activities outside the house. After you felt forced to go sledding with them the day before, you decided to make yourself scarce today, which is why you found yourself at the mall in downtown Austin browsing for a Christmas gift for your future niece or nephew.

As you were looking through a storefront window, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Taking it out, you saw a text from a friend back home.

Sydney: You'll never guess who i just bumped into

You were typing out your response, chin tucked into your chest, when you felt someone knock into you. Startled, you looked up only to lock eyes with Joel the contractor.

"Oh!" you managed to stammer out. His deep brown eyes lit up and a warm smile spread across his face when he looked up and recognized you.

"Sorry, wasn't payin' attention," he said. "How, uh, how are you?"

"Good," you said, nodding and clutching your phone in your hand. "You?"

"Good. Was actually just thinkin' about you," he admitted, looking down and shifting the bag he was carrying from one hand to the other. "Never got to say goodbye to you the other night."

"Yeah, it was pretty crowded. I didn't realize my parents were so popular," you joked. "Is Sarah with you?"

"No, she's in school," he replied, and you bumped the heel of your hand against your forehead, rolling your eyes. Of course she was, it's the middle of the day.

"Duh," you said quietly, finding it hard to hold his gaze without getting butterflies, so you looked away.

"So, uh, I hope this doesn't sound creepy, but I asked your sister if you were seein' anyone the other night," he began, and you felt your face instantly heat up. Why didn't Cassie warn you?? "-was wonderin' if I could get your number."

"Huh?" you asked, your eyes widening as you tried to control your breathing. You glanced down at his hand again when he looked away and saw he was definitely wearing a ring.

"Thought we could go out sometime? If you're interested?" he asked, his own nerves wreaking havoc as he shifted his weight and chewed on the inside of his cheek, praying his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Are you serious?" you asked him, narrowing your eyes. The audacity of some men!

"'Course I'm serious," he said with a nervous smile. "Thought we hit it off the other night-"

"Joel, listen. I'm not going to say what I'm really thinking for the sake of my parents and everything you did for them, but I am not interested in dating married men," you said with a scowl. He frowned, giving you a confused look before you turned on your heel and stormed away, joining the crowd of Christmas shoppers bustling by.

He looked down at his hand, making a tight fist before swiveling his head around, trying to locate you in the crowd before he lost you.

"Hey, wait!" he called out, pushing past clusters of people as he jogged to try and keep up with you. He called out your name as he got closer. You stopped suddenly but didn't turn around, causing surprised shoppers to have to redirect at the last minute to avoid running into you.

"Hey, I'm sorry-"

"You should apologize to your wife!" you said loudly, causing a few people to turn their heads in your direction as they walked past. Joel looked around nervously.

"I'm not married," he clarified quietly. You looked down at his hand again and he flexed his fingers.

"Can we get a coffee or somethin'? And I'll explain," he begged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each second that passed as you considered your answer. "Please."

"Fine," you agreed, and his face relaxed once again.

You sat down at a coffee shop within Barnes and Noble as Joel ordered you both something to drink. As you watched him at the counter, you admired his long legs and broad shoulders underneath his brown coat and wondered what possible excuse he was going to come up with.

Oh my god, what if she died?

You rubbed your eyes, hoping you didn't just insult a widower in the middle of a crowded mall.

Joel joined you at the table and set your coffee down in front of you with a smile.

"Thank you," you said softly, fiddling with the cup and avoiding his eyes as he shrugged his coat off, revealing a navy blue V-neck sweater underneath. Your eyes drifted to the small patch of bare chest that was exposed and your stomach clenched. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, but he was staring down at his ring finger.

"I'm not married anymore, just wanna make that crystal clear," he began, still staring at his ring.

"Okay," you said slowly, waiting for him to continue. He sighed.

"We've been divorced for a few years now," he said, finally looking at you. "It was... hard. Really hard. I, uh," he scratched his beard as he struggled to find the words. "I've had a tough time lettin' go. Thought for a while we might get back together, so I didn't take it off. Then I guess I just got so used to it, I never thought... I'm sorry, I sound like a mess," he said with a sad smile.

"It's alright, I think I understand," you told him, and he looked at you with renewed optimism, encouraged to continue.

"I never took it off because I never thought 'bout askin' anyone out til now," he said. "Didn't realize how that would come across, you just took me by surprise that night and I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you."

You blushed and looked down at your coffee, trying to hide your smile behind your cup, but he saw it and grinned.

"Are you still in love with her?" you asked him. You didn't want to get wrapped up in something that would end up hurting you in the end.

"No," he said firmly. "I mean, I'll always care for her. She gave me Sarah, how could I not? But I'm not in love with her anymore."

You nodded as you absorbed his words, glancing around the little coffee shop before dragging your eyes back to his. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to ask anything else that would make you comfortable with accepting a date from him.

"Well, thank you for being honest with me, but I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship just yet."

Joel tried to hide the disappointment in his face as he nodded in understanding. The first time in five years he asked someone out and he got shot down.

"It's not you," you clarified. "It's bad timing. I just got out of a really long term relationship. Well, I was actually engaged, and I caught him cheating," you explained with a wince, not expecting to bring this up today. "Probably why I was so sensitive about the wedding ring," you said with a half smirk. He nodded quietly and looked down at the ring on his hand, twisting the metal around with the pad of his thumb as you spoke.

"Sounds like we've both been through a tough time," he murmured, and you quietly agreed.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping your coffees and trying to figure out how to end this awkward interaction without making things worse. You were going to lie about having plans so you could leave when he suddenly spoke up.

"No pressure, but, uh, what if we just went on one very casual date?" He looked at you with those soft, brown eyes and you felt your resolve crumbling. "Sounds like we could both use some practice. You're leavin' at the end of the month anyway. Could just be fun, help get us both back out there."

You paused, not expecting that. He had a good point. It's been so long since you've gone on a date with anyone, and it sounded like he was just as rusty. Besides, what else would you be doing with your time over the next three weeks?

"Okay," you agreed softly. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, parting his lips slightly as he straightened up in his chair.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said with a grin. "Why not?"

Early the next morning, you heard your phone buzz on the nightstand next to your bed. With a groan, you cracked an eye open to look at the time, then reached for your phone.

"7:30? Who the hell..." you grumbled, squinting at the bright screen, your eyes widening when you saw Joel's name. You sat up in bed, fully awake now, and slid the notification over to open the text.

Joel Miller: Morning. Are you free tonight?

You grinned, flicking on your light so you could see better to respond, then you paused. Should you make him wait before replying? Would you look too desperate if you answered right away?

You shrugged, deciding to answer him. It was casual, you both knew it wouldn't go anywhere, so who cares how it looked?

You: Good morning, you're up early! And yes, what did you have in mind?

You chewed your thumb nail as you waited for his answer.

Joel Miller: This is nothing, I've been up since 5. For some reason, clients expect me to be at job sites early. How about ice skating?

You giggled and tapped out a reply.

You: I'd love to!

Joel Miller: Great - I'll pick you up at 7

Realizing you forgot to reply to Sydney the day before, you switched messages and shot her a quick answer before sliding back down under the covers to scroll on your phone.

You resisted the urge as long as you could - a whole fifteen minutes - before you typed Joel's name into Facebook. His name popped up with two mutual friends and you rolled your eyes. Of course your parents were friends with him. Clicking on his name, you scrolled down his page, tapping through photos of him and Sarah that looked out of date. He didn't seem like the type to update social media often, and his page reflected that hunch. He didn't have many pictures so it didn't take long until you scrolled all the way to the end, presumably his first photo from when he joined. It was a grainy picture of him with a huge smile and his arm slung around a woman with dark, curly hair, just like Sarah's.

She was pretty, you couldn't deny that, and you vaguely wondered why they broke up. He made it sound like he didn't want a divorce, and you figured he would have mentioned cheating since you brought it up.

You closed the app. If Joel wanted to tell you, he would.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way downstairs on the hunt for coffee. Pouring yourself a cup from the machine, you burrowed into the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket as you waited for your coffee to cool down and flipped through the various streaming services your parents subscribed to.

"Hey Buck, you're up early," your dad said as he descended the stairs and headed to the coffee.

"Hey, Dad," you said, taking a sip from your mug and wincing as you burned your tongue.

"What're you up to today? You wanna come to dinner with your mom and me?"

"Actually, I have a date," you told him, bracing for the reaction.

"Whoa-ho! Been here not even a week and you got yourself a date? Don't tell me... Troy?" he asked with a big grin, sitting down at the other end of the couch.

"Ew, no!" you said, scrunching your nose. "It's, um, Joel," you said quickly, taking another sip from your mug.

"Our contractor?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, we met at the party," you told him. "Then I ran into him at the mall."

"Ran into who at the mall?" you heard Cassie's voice from down the hall.

"When did you get here?" you asked as she rounded the corner and gazed at your coffee enviously.

"Just now. Who did you see at the mall?"

"Joel," you said, glaring at her. "Got something to tell me about that?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "He was asking about you at the party. I made sure to let him know you were single."

"Yeah, he told me, thanks for the heads up, by the way," you said. "We're going out tonight."

"I didn't realize he was single, I just assumed he was married because he's always got Sarah around," your dad said, beginning to zone out to the movie that was on the TV.

"He's single," was all you said, picking your phone back up.

"He's cute," Cassie said, and you blushed. "I'm glad you said yes, mom and dad already love him, so he'll fit right in."

"I don't even live here. It's a casual thing, we're just hanging out," you told her.

"Yeah, okay," she said, giving you a wink. You rolled your eyes and pinched her as you passed by.

"I'm going to shower, then maybe you can help me pick out something to wear," you told her over your shoulder, walking back upstairs.

Joel arrived at your parents' house promptly at 7, just as he promised. He pulled into the driveway, checking his hair in the review mirror quickly before sliding out of his truck and making his way up the porch. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this nervous as he glanced down a the green flannel he wore, praying he didn't miss a button or a stain. He was with his ex for so long that he could barely remember a time when he was nervous around her.

But with you, he felt the butterflies the moment he saw you at the party. You didn't notice him at first, but he saw you enter the living room and freeze in the doorway, your eyes locked on someone across the room before backing out the way you came, as if you were looking to avoid them. He couldn't catch who it was, having hardly known more than five people in the whole house, but he felt compelled to follow you. To see if you were maybe looking for a husband or boyfriend. But when he saw you alone in the kitchen, staring down at your phone, he couldn't stop himself from saying something to you.

Joel never did things like that. He always kept to himself, very quiet and reserved. He was content with his work during the day and hanging out with Sarah at night.

For the most part, he was happy. It was only at night when the loneliness crept up, when he tucked himself into his big, cold bed and tried his best to fall asleep as fast as he could, so he wouldn't lay there wishing someone who cared for him was just in the bathroom washing up.

Tommy had been encouraging him to get back out there, always offering to watch Sarah if he caught Joel looking a little too long at a waitress or a neighbor. Sarah was old enough to be on her own for a few hours, but he still asked Tommy to stop by, anyway. Maybe part of him wanted his brother to know that he was going on a date, if only so he would stop trying to set him up all the time with women he had no interest in.

Joel reached out to ring the doorbell, cringing when he noticed it was one of those camera doorbells. Paul must have installed it after the house was finished. He heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the door and held his breath, realizing he hadn't thought about your dad's reaction to your date.

Paul swung the door open, greeting Joel with a deep scowl as he leaned up against the doorframe.

"What's up, Joel?" he asked. Joel cleared his throat.

"Hey, Paul. I'm here to pick up your daughter," Joel replied, bracing himself. Paul just stared at him, breathing deeply as he looked Joel up and down. Joel wasn't a small man, but Paul had at least sixty pounds on him. He tended to have an intimidating look until you got to know him.

"Oh, yeah? For what?" Paul asked, clenching his jaw. Joel froze, wondering if there was a reason you didn't tell your parents about tonight, unsure what to say. Finally, Paul's face broke into a huge smile as he began to crack up, doubling over at the waist.

"I'm sorry, Joel, I had to," he wheezed, standing back up and clapping Joel on the shoulder. "Couldn't help myself. Come on in," he said, still laughing as he led Joel down the hall and towards the kitchen.

"Jesus, Paul, scared the shit outta me," Joel admitted, his heart racing as he rubbed his forehead.

"Beer?" Paul asked, and Joel shook his head.

"No thanks, I'm drivin'," he replied, and Paul raised his eyebrows with a nod.

"Good man, passed the first test," he said with a wink as he twisted open a beer for himself. "Hey, uh, in all seriousness, I just wanna talk with you before she comes down."

"Yeah, 'course," Joel replied, leaning up against the counter.

"I ain't sure what she's told you about the asshole she was with before, but he really hurt her. Now, I know it ain't got nothin' to do with you, what's in the past is in the past," he said. "But just keep that in mind, will you? I can't stand seein' my little girl hurt like that again."

Joel nodded solemnly, understanding completely.

"I ain't like that, I'll be respectful, I promise," Joel replied. "Besides, we both know she's goin' back to New York in a few weeks. We're just gettin' to know each other, is all."

"Yeah, she said the same thing to her sister earlier, but then she spent all damn day on the phone, pickin' out an outfit and gettin' herself ready," Paul said with a sigh. "I'm just sayin', be careful with her."

Joel felt a flutter in his chest and tried to hide his smile when he found out you had been thinking about him all day. He was glad he wasn't the only one.

"I hope you weren't waiting long," you told Joel as he backed out of your driveway.

"Not at all," he said with a smirk. "You're worth the wait. You look beautiful." He glanced down again at the light pink sweater with a small designer logo he was unfamiliar with in the corner.

You blushed and bit your lip, quietly thanking him and trying to hide your reaction behind your scarf, but he saw it. He always does.

Now that he knew you were looking forward to this date just as much as he was, he felt a little more confident.

"Did you have a good day?" he asked, giving you a sideways glance as he merged his truck into traffic.

"Yeah, did you?"

"It was alright," he said, slowing the truck down at a stop light. He turned to face you now. "Couldn't wait to see you, though."

You turned a darker shade of pink and he smiled, pleased to see that he could elicit that reaction from you, the same way you do to him.

"So, ice skating?" you said, trying to take the heat off of you. You looked at his hands on the steering wheel, noticing he made sure to take his ring off.

"Yeah," he said, pressing his foot on the gas as the light changed. "Thought you could teach me somethin'."

"Teach you? How do you know if I can even skate?" you asked teasingly.

"Just a hunch. Was I right?" he replied, his mouth turning up into a half smirk. You giggled and he felt his stomach tighten. He needed to hear that again.

"Yeah, you were right," you relented. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and slapped the steering wheel in victory, making you giggle again, and his chest filled with warmth at the sound.

"Where's Sarah tonight?" you asked him as he pulled into a parking spot at the skating rink.

"My brother's watchin' her," he replied, disappointed that you got out of the truck so quickly. He had planned on opening the door for you.

"Does she like to ice skate?" you questioned as he led you inside to the counter to rent your skates.

"Oh, of course she does. But I usually sit it out and just watch her have fun," he said, picking up your rentals and heading over to a bench.

"You should have brought her, I wouldn't have minded."

"We don't have to talk 'bout her, you know," he said quicky, and your fingers froze over your laces.

"Why wouldn't we talk about her? She's your daughter," you asked slowly, straightening back up to look at him.

"No, I know. What I mean is, I know it ain't every woman's fantasy to go out with a single dad and all the baggage that comes with that. So, if you don't wanna talk about her, I get it," he said, casting his eyes down as he focused on tying his laces. You reached out a hand and gently placed it on top of his, immediately making him freeze at your touch.

"She's part of your life, so I want to hear about her. You shouldn't think like that, Joel. It's really not a dealbreaker for most women," you assured him, gently rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, his eyes glued to your hand as he listened. "And if it is, fuck 'em."

His eyes snapped up to yours now, then a slow smile spread across his face.

"Okay," he said softly, and you smiled, pulling your hand back, leaving him wanting more.

"Besides," you said, standing up on your skates as you made your way to the rink. "You have no idea what kind of fantasies I have."

You turned to give him a wink as you effortlessly stepped out onto the ice, holding out your hands encouragingly for him to follow. It was a miracle he was able to move his legs after that comment, but he managed just because he knew he would feel your warm hands on his again.

Joel was a quick study. He was nervous at first, you could tell that he didn't want to embarrass himself, but he did surprisingly good. Especially considering how crowded the ice rink was and how fast people were skating by. After about half an hour, he was able to skate - albeit, slowly - around the rink next to you without any assistance. Part of you wondered if he pretended to need more help than he really did just so it would make you feel good.

"So, anyway, that's basically what I do for work. It's pretty boring," you said with a sigh.

"Not boring. Marketing in New York City sounds like a dream," he replied.

"Yeah, except I work on all the behind the scenes stuff. It's not really as fun as it sounds," you admitted, not missing work in the slightest since you've been back in Texas.

"Well, d'you work with some fun people, at least?"

You paused, considering his question for a moment, before shaking your head with a dry laugh.

"Not really," you said, but he still tried to help you find a reason why you would put up with it.

"You were able to take off almost a whole month, that's pretty great. Not many places'll let you do that, can't be that bad," he offered, and you scoffed.

"It's the time I saved up for the wedding I was supposed to have," you told him sadly, and he groaned.

"I'm knockin' it outta the park tonight, ain't I?" he said, rubbing his face before almost losing his balance. You giggled and he couldn't stop the huge grin that plastered itself across his face.

"It's fine, you didn't know," you said, waving him off. And for the first time, you really didn't mind talking about it. Something about him made it easier.

"What'dya say we get some hot chocolate?" Joel asked, jutting his chin towards the vendor where you first came in.

"Yeah, that sounds great," you replied. Joel turned towards the exit without looking when a teenage boy, who was speed skating around the rink trying to impress a girl, smacked right into him, sending him flying backwards on the ice.

"Joel!" you exclaimed, rushing to his side. He groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hey, why don't you watch it!" you yelled angrily at the teenager, who had managed to only stumble a bit upon impact.

"Sorry, man," the kid mumbled before taking off.

"I'm gonna kick his ass," you said, about to stand up to go after him, but Joel reached up to grip your arms, holding you in place.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he said with a chuckle. Sweetheart. Your heart skipped a beat at the term.

"Are you sure?" you asked, your brow furrowed with concern.

"Yeah, just gimme a hand," he said, and you stood to give his arm a firm yank, allowing him to stand.

"Let's get you off the ice," you told him, ushering him carefully to the exit and finding a bench.

"Does your head hurt?" you asked, sitting down next to him. Your fingers reached up to graze the back of his head.

"No," he said breathlessly, staring at you as you continued to study him for any injury. God, you were so beautiful, he couldn't force himself to look away.

"That's good. How about your vision?" you pressed, still so focused on the fall and not seeing the way he was looking at you. But when you finally locked your eyes on his, your breath caught in your throat.

All the laughter and playful yelling surrounding you faded. You couldn't look away from his heated gaze, his deep brown eyes boring into yours so intensely, you almost forgot to blink. He brought his hand up to gently cradle the side of your face, his calloused palm meeting your soft skin. Your lips parted to accommodate your sudden need for more oxygen, and his gaze fell to your mouth.

"Joel," you whispered, and the way his name sounded coming from you was so damn sweet, it almost did him in.

"Yeah?" he whispered back, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He leaned forward, eyes sliding shut and slotting his lips against yours, deeply breathing in your scent so he could remember it tomorrow. He was determined to commit every second to memory, knowing that by morning he would be aching for you, aching for this. Against his better judgement, he pressed himself into your lips harder, unsure if he will ever get to feel like this again when you inevitably came to your senses. The idea of this feeling being taken away from him spurred him on, desperate and eager for every second you were willing to give him.

Your hand came up to the back of his neck, holding him against you as his lips massaged yours tenderly. You inched closer to him on the bench so you could tuck yourself into his broad chest. He was so warm and soft and strong that it was making you dizzy. Your fingertips stroked the curls at the base of his neck as you tentatively opened your mouth just enough to suck his lower lip between yours. The quiet noise he made when you did that made your insides clench with need, and against all odds, you felt yourself falling, completely losing yourself in him and the moment.

A startling voice over the loudspeaker announcing that the rink was closing in fifteen minutes finally snapped you out of it. You both pulled back but kept your foreheads pressed together as the world around you slowly melted back into focus. His hand still cupped your face and he lifted his thumb to gently trace your swollen lips.

"I should take you home," he murmured. At first, your stomach flipped, thinking he meant his home, but you realized he wasn't that type and he meant your parents' house.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and you sat back reluctantly, breaking away. His hand dropped from your face to the hand in your lap, his thick fingers wrapping around yours for a moment as he collected himself with a deep breath.

Finally, he forced himself to stand, still clutching your hand and helping you up. You glanced down at the floor and smirked.

"We should probably take our skates off," you said, and he chuckled, breaking the tension and sitting back down, his hand reluctantly letting go of yours to undo his laces.

After you turned in your rentals, his hand quickly found yours again, unwilling or unable to let you go as he led you back to his truck, this time making sure to open the car door for you. Thanking him quietly, you jumped up into the cab and watched him round the front of the car, running a hand through his hair and sucking in deep breath.

You grinned and bit your lip as he started the truck, swinging his arm around to grip your headrest and twisting his body to back out of the spot. It took everything in you not to scoot across the seat and tuck yourself into his side.

He let his arm drop loosely on the seat in between you as he drove down the street, one hand on the steering wheel. Your fingers inched forward, sliding your palm underneath his hand, lacing your fingers together. The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile and you drove in a comfortable silence, your hands intertwined the whole time, until he pulled into your driveway and cut the engine.

You sighed as you stared at the darkened house, already missing him and he wasn't even gone yet. He peered over at you, trying to think of a way to prolong the date, but aside from the obvious, which he wasn't going to do just yet, he was coming up empty.

"Lemme walk you up," he said finally, and you nodded, reaching for the handle of the door but he stopped you. You furrowed your brow, confused, until you watched him rush over to open the door, and you grinned, taking his hand so you could slide out of the seat.

You stared at the ground as he led you up the path to the porch, your heart pounding in your ears. You weren't sure what you had been expecting tonight, but it definitely wasn't this feeling. This was so much more.

"Well, thank you for tonight," you said as you reached the door, turning around to look up at him through your lashes. "I had a really good time."

"Yeah, me too," he said, his soft, brown eyes trailing over your face, locking away every little detail. Unable to resist, he stepped forward, his rough hand skimming around to the back of your neck. He tilted your face up, ducking down slightly to meet you halfway and brushed his lips gently over yours.

Your hands flew up to grip the collar of his flannel, keeping him pressed against you as you leaned against the front door. God, for someone who claimed to be rusty, he was a really good kisser. He was gentle and slow and it took your breath away both times. You knew you were getting in over your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. All you could think about was him and how badly you wanted more.

Nervously, you opened your mouth and flicked your tongue against his plush lips. He responded by parting his lips and allowing your tongue to dance with his own, his mouth applying more pressure than before as the heat flared between you.

Before you could stop it, a soft moan rumbled from your throat, causing him to pull back, panting slightly as his gaze flickered between your eyes. You gazed up at him, eyes dark and desperate, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly.

You weren't sure what he was searching for, but after a moment he seemed to find it because his mouth came crashing down on yours once again, this time with more yearning and desire. His tongue probed inside your mouth, licking past your teeth and in the back of your mind you realized he tasted faintly of mint and you wondered when on earth he popped a mint into his mouth but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered except the two of you in that moment, each seeking something within the other that you never expected to find.

His chest ached knowing he would have to stop kissing you soon, or else he would never leave. He always considered himself a strong man, after everything he had been through, how could he not? But something about you made him realize he wasn't nearly as strong as he thought. Your lips were so soft compared to his, so sweet and perfect that it made him want to cry because in that moment, he knew he could never let you go.

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adascore · 4 months

Text

Sweet Dream Was Over

pairings: lionesses x young!arsenal!reader / beth mead x arsenal!reader / vivianne miedema x arsenal!reader

warnings: swearing. reader acts hostile with viv after being knocked out of the nations league by the netherlands.

author's note: wrote this right after the match to deal with the heartbreak :(( but proud of all of them anyway!

masterlist

•••••••

December, 2023

''They scored a last-minute winner- we're out.'' The staff member read out loud, the scoresheet open on his phone.

The huddle, once filled with echoes of celebration, now hung heavy with disappointment. Their Olympic dreams were over, even after winning the match 6-0. Their win at Wembley had given them hope that they could do it, but the Dutch team pulled through, winning their fixture against Belgium 4-0.

One goal.

One goal is what it took for Y/N's world to fall apart.

Teammates exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the shared sense of loss. The collective effort and triumphs all seemed to dissipate into the air, leaving behind a bitter taste of what could have been.

She could feel Lucy next to her falling to the ground, her older teammate groaning as she took in the news. Y/N patted her shoulder, a lame attempt at comfort.

Sarina started speaking, but she wasn't listening. Her head replayed each moment in their six matches where the young player could have made a difference, but didn't. Y/N knew deep inside that she was not solely to blame for their early exit, football is a team sport and they all had the carry the burden of ''what if”.

As the team dispersed, players walked toward the section where the dedicated fans had stood, expressing their gratitude for the unwavering support they had given them throughout their UWNL journey.

Y/N could feel an arm wrapping around her shoulders, suddenly feeling the warmth of another individual.

As she glanced aside, she smiled at who she found next to her. ''Hey, Beffy.'' The youngster mumbled.

''Hi, darling,'' The Arsenal star sounded just as dejected as she did, ''how you feeling?''

“Not good.” Y/N's usually monotone voice lacked its usual humor, a reflection of the heavy atmosphere.

The winger nodded in understanding. “I know, me too.” She pouted, sharing in the collective disappointment. ''At least we'll get a break next summer.''

''I don't want a break, I wanna play.'' Y/N immediately objected, her tone almost sounding like how a toddler would whine.

Beth remained quiet, knowing that nothing she would say could cure the current heartbreak going through her teammate at the moment. Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words.

In the midst of said silence, Beth gently squeezed Y/N's shoulder, offering a supportive presence.

The next day, the car ride back to North London wasn't the traditional gossip session it normally was. Beth carried the conversation, her younger housemate nodding or muttering a single word once in a while. As they drove through the familiar streets, Beth tried to lighten the mood with a subtle joke or two, attempting to elicit a smile from Y/N. The atmosphere in the car, however, remained heavy with the weight of the recent defeat.

The ringing of Beth's phone interrupted her thoughts on the upcoming Chelsea game, however, a soft smile appeared on her face once she saw who was calling her.

''It's Viv,'' She announced, briefly glancing at her teammate, ''hey, sweetheart.''

Y/N turned her head, attempting to admire the view, but the English weather was making it hard for her. She sighed loudly, the name of the Dutchwoman bringing her back to the group huddle of the day before.

''She's sitting next to me,'' Beth's words pulled her out of her trance, ''sure.''

The blonde tapped her arm, making Y/N turn back around. ''Hmm?'' She confusedly hummed.

''You wanna say something to Viv?'' Beth asked, sweetly.

The teenager simply shook her head, shifting in her seat so she could look out the window again.

The older one frowned at the action, expecting her to want to talk to Vivianne. ''Uh, Viv, she's sleeping, sorry.'' Beth lied, coming up with the quickest excuse she could find.

''Oh, that's okay, I'll see her soon.'' The Dutch striker answered, slight dejection audible in her voice.

They talked for a couple more minutes, but Y/N drowned their conversation out- daydreaming about the day she actually gets to play for Team GB, and winning the gold medal with them.

It was again Beth who took her out of her haze she was in. ''Hey, you okay?''

''Yeah, just tired. Don't feel like talking.'' It had been the longest sentence she had said all day.

Beth nodded understandingly, deciding not to push further, occasionally glancing at Y/N, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Eventually, they made it home and their chauffeur helped them with their suitcases.

As soon as they stepped into the house, Y/N swiftly retreated to her room without much interaction. Beth, sensing the weight of the recent disappointment, decided to give her space.

The house felt unusually quiet without the usual banter and laughter. Beth, while sympathizing with her need for solitude, couldn't shake off the somber atmosphere. She figured she would wait for her partner, who wouldn't arrive home for at least another hour.

Beth settled on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television absentmindedly. The sound of a key turning in the front door signaled Vivianne's arrival.

The Brit immediately got up, greeting her girlfriend with a warm embrace.

Vivianne reciprocated, sensing Beth's need for comfort. They held each other for a moment, finding solace in one another's arms.

They moved to the couch, catching up with one another and either offering each other consolation or congratulations. Vivianne noticed the lack of noise in their home- their teenage teammate usually filling the space up with whatever had happened to her that day, and if it wasn't her voice, it was the music from her speakers.

''Is Y/N taking a nap? She must have barely slept if she was already sleeping in the car.'' She asked Beth, frowning.

Her partner sighed at the question. ''Uh, no, she's just… she's having a hard time with it. She really thought we'd gone through to the final four,'' she explained, resulting in a sullen look on Vivianne's face, ''she was actually awake in the car, but she wasn't in the mood to talk.''

Vivianne's expression shifted to one of understanding, but also concern. “I get it, it's tough for her right now.”

''Maybe you can go check on her? We've been home for a while now, maybe that's helped.'' Beth suggested, believing the youngster to have come to terms with it by now, or at least more than in the car.

The striker gently knocked on Y/N's bedroom door, but there was no response. She cautiously pushed it open, finding Y/N laying sideways on her bed, scrolling on her phone.

''Hey,” Vivianne spoke softly, ''can I come in?''

Y/N didn't take her eyes off of her phone, not a single acknowledgement. ''Don't feel like talking.''

''I understand, just wanted to check how you were doing.'' The Dutchwoman sighed.

''Hmm.''

It's like pulling teeth, Vivianne thought to herself.

She hesitated for a moment before deciding to sit on the edge of Y/N's bed. Her eyes stayed fixated on the teenager, hoping to find a sign of openness or willingness to share her feelings.

''Football is cruel. We all wanted to win, and have a chance to qualify. It hurts when it doesn't happen.'' Vivianne tried her best to convey understanding, her voice gentle. ''I wish all of us could go next year.''

It was quiet for a few seconds, the uneasy tension growing. ''Yeah, but we can't.'' Y/N responded, an uncharacteristic harsh tone in her voice.

Vivianne was taken aback by the sudden change, never having heard that tone come out of the girl's mouth. ''I get it, it hurts.''

''You already got to go to the Olympics. It's not fair.''

The older woman sighed at the frustration steaming off of her younger teammate. ''I know it doesn't feel fair, but you have to keep pushing forward. There will be more tournaments, more chances.''

''I wanted to go with Beth. She didn't get to go last time.'' Y/N wasn't directly answering to what Vivianne was telling her, still present in her own world of disappointment.

The older one could sense the resentment. ''Y/N, I get it, I really do. It's not the end, though. You'll have more opportunities, and you'll get to share those moments with Beth.'' She spoke softly.

''Who even says that? The next one is in 2028, Beth might not even play by then anymore.'' The teenager retorted.

''2028 is still a possibility. She has a lot more football left in her, and I'm sure you'll get to experience all of it together.''

Y/N rolled her eyes, dismissing Vivianne's attempt at reassurance. “Just save it. Your team already ruined our chances. Don't pretend like you care about my opportunities.”

“Come on, don-“

Y/N seemed stuck in her moment of frustration. It was hard to think about the future, when the present had become such a huge letdown. ''Viv, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but can you please leave? You're just making me more upset.''

It felt equal to being slapped in the face, in Vivianne's opinion. However, she nodded and gave Y/N's foot a little pat before quietly leaving the room.

Beth noticed Vivianne emerging from Y/N's room with a weary expression. “I think I made it worse.” Vivianne admitted, sitting next to Beth on the couch.

“Why? What did you say?” Beth asked, concerned.

“That it's tough, and that I wished that all of us could go. She just thinks it's really unfair that I already went to the Olympics, meanwhile she and you have never been.” Vivianne explained, her tone dejected.

Beth furrowed her brows, a mixture of frustration and empathy in her eyes. “She's not in the mood to listen, huh?”

Vivianne nodded, “Yeah, she's being a bit… resentful, I don't know.”

The Brit wrapped her arm around her partner, pulling her in as she caressed her arms. “Just give her a bit time. She'll come around. Losing hits her hard. I think it's been a bit much with the World Cup and the Champions League.”

Vivianne agreed. “Yeah, you're right.”

As dinner time approached, the Dutchie decided to prepare a meal, hoping it might lift the heavy atmosphere in the house. She opted for Y/N's favorite dish, a small attempt to lighten her mood. However, the teenager remained in her room, showing no interest in joining them.

Beth decided to bring the plate to the youngster's room, figuring she still wasn't ready to be in other people's presence.

A soft knock on Y/N's door preceded Beth's gentle voice, “Hey, I brought you some dinner.”

Y/N, still upset but hungry, mumbled an acknowledgment.

Beth smiled, and put the tray of food on her desk. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said, trying to break the tension. “It's your favorite.”

Y/N glanced at the food, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks, Beth.”

“Viv made it.” She revealed.

The younger one chuckled. “Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“How come?”

“It looks and smells nice.”

“Hey!” Beth jokingly slapped her arm, offended. “You liked that omelet I made you a few weeks ago.”

“I was being polite, Beffy.” Y/N said, a small grin on her face.

The offended woman rolled her eyes. “Whatever, enjoy your nice-smelling food.”

Beth lingered by the doorway, wanting to see her younger companion eat the food with her own eyes.

“You know, Viv spent quite some time making sure it's perfect.“ She spoke up once she noticed Y/N just picking at the food.

Her gaze shifted from the plate to Beth, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “That's very sweet. I'll thank her later.”

Beth smiled, appreciating the subtle shift in her youngster's demeanor. “I'm sure she'd like that. She put a lot of care into it.”

As Y/N began to eat, Beth hesitated before speaking again. “You know, it's okay to be upset about the game. We all are. But you don't have to take it out on her.”

The teenager looked up, meeting Beth's gaze. There was a moment of vulnerability in her eyes, a silent admission that the disappointment weighed heavier than she let on. “I know,” she whispered, “it's just too much at the moment.”

“I understand, lovey,” Beth stepped away from the door, walking over to Y/N, “we're here for you, okay? You can come talk to us when you feel ready.” She pinched her cheek, hoping her affection showed her genuineness.

Y/N couldn't help but crack a small smile. “I know, Beffy. Thanks.” She mumbled between bites, grateful for the comforting presence of her older teammate.

“You can come and put your plate in the dishwasher once you're done, and maybe apologize to someone…” Her eyebrow was raised.

The Arsenal prodigy chuckled, knowing exactly who Beth was referring to. “Yeah, I will.”

“She doesn't like when people are upset with her, especially you.” Beth admitted.

“I'm not upset with her. I just wasn't ready to be told that everything would be fine and that there would be more chances to go.”

Beth smiled at Y/N's words. “She cares about you a lot, you know? I understand it was a little too early- I'm also still upset. But she meant well, she hates it when you're sad. She wasn't trying to tell dismiss your feelings or anything, she just wants to be here for you.”

Y/N sighed, appreciating her perspective. “Yeah, I know. I'll talk to her later.”

“Good. Now, enjoy your meal, and take your time.” Beth said, leaving Y/N to her dinner and thoughts.

“Does she like it?” Vivianne asked as soon as her girlfriend walked back into the dining room, eager to know the answer.

Beth nodded. “She's eating from it, and said she would thank you later.”

Her partner smiled, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing her features. “I'm glad. It's hard seeing her upset.”

“She's still young. You know how these young players get when they lose.” Beth noted.

“Yeah, but still. She also deserves a chance to go to the Olympics, I'm sad for her.” Vivianne knew how much the teenager worked each day, one and off the pitch.

“I know, but we knew from the start that it was only gonna be one team.”

Vivianne nodded. “I just hope she'll understand that it's not about her abilities or efforts. Sometimes, it's just the way things go in this sport.”

Beth squeezed her hand in reassurance. “She knows deep down.”

The couple started their own dinner, taking their minds off the last couple of days and just focus on one another.

It was about two hours later that the Arsenal homegrown came out of her room to go put her plate in the dishwasher- most of that time was spend trying to find the right words to apologize to her Dutch housemate.

As she walked into the living room, she could see that the tv was running, but neither half of the pair was there. Y/N hesitated for a moment, debating whether to disappear into her room again. However, she resumed her walk to the kitchen, not wanting a dirty plate in her room.

In the kitchen, she was met with Vivianne, who had her back turned while being busy trying to make tea.

The teenager awkwardly moved to the dishwasher, and put her plate in, closing it afterwards. The noise startled her teammate.

Vivianne turned around to where Y/N was standing, her hand on her heart. ''Jezus, you scared me.'' She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

''Sorry.'' Y/N nervously smiled.

The older woman simply shook her head. ''Don't worry, you just caught me off guard.'' She chuckled.

''Oh, okay.'' The youngster cringed internally at her tense answer. Vivianne offered a smile at the kid's obvious distress, but went back to focusing on her tea-making.

The kitchen atmosphere felt slightly awkward, although it might just have been all in the youngest's mind. Y/N cleared her throat, attempting to break the silence. “Uh, thanks for the food. It was really nice.”

Vivianne turned to face Y/N, her expression softening. “You're welcome. I'm glad you liked it.”

''Uhm, Viv,'' she started fiddling with her hands, ''I'm sorry for earlier. I was upset about the outcome of the matches, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You and your team really deserve to go to the Olympics. I'm really sorry.''

The Dutchwoman appreciated the apology, relieved Y/N recognized her behavior. ''Thank you for saying that. I understand it's a tough situation, and I would have had a hard time with it as well, so don't worry about it.'' She told her with a warm smile.

''Thanks, Viv.'' Y/N moved from where she was standing, approaching Vivianne and wrapping her arms around the striker's waist. ''And congratulations, by the way. I'm really happy for you. You worked really hard.''

Vivianne welcomed her hug, reciprocating with a gentle squeeze. ''Thank you, that means a lot to me.''

The tension from earlier had disappeared, and Y/N could feel all the anxiety from earlier, leaving her body.

''Oh, mijn meisjes!'' (''My girls!'') Beth broke the silence, running over and joining the embrace, relieved to see Y/N having followed up on her words. ''I'm so happy to see this. Only smiley faces!'' She exclaimed, her infectious enthusiasm spreading through the room.

''Beth, we were having a moment.'' Vivianne said in a monotone voice, but with a smile on her face.

The Brit jokingly rolled her eyes. ''I'm joining your moment.''

Y/N and Vivianne gave each other a glance before speaking. ''No!''

ideas are always welcome for this series!

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal x reader #engwnt

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dokries · 23 days

Text

my boo

pairing: boo seungkwan x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.08k (with bonus)

warnings: seungkwan being embarrassing in public, going to the beach/sea, mentions of food in the bonus

author note: hi i know it’s may but. here’s a first snow seungkwan fic? i wrote this and originally posted it in early december so…basically, i don’t want to keep this in the drafts until then HAHA once again, this is a repost! if you think you’ve seen it, you probably have :D (it is still my work though of course)

masterlist

“IT’S SNOWING!” you hear seungkwan’s voice right before you get tackled by him on the couch, his limbs trapping you underneath him.

you giggle at his excited expression before looking over his shoulder, seeing the white flakes fall outside through the window. “you’re right, it is. the weather report said there was a 80% chance of snow today.”

he gets up, untangling your bodies before pouting at your cool demeanour. “you’re not excited. why are you not excited?”

you shrug before getting up, groaning from the use of your legs after the time you had spent sitting down. “i mean, it’s not like it doesn’t snow every winter.”

seungkwan gasps before putting a hand to his chest, offended. “are you telling me that your first winter with me isn’t important? we haven’t even had a date in the snow yet! or—or literally anything wintery! i can’t believe this. why do i even love you?” he finishes ranting with a huff, turning his body away from you.

you roll your eyes fondly at your tangerine boy before pulling his hand towards you, urging him to look at your face.

“it’s nothing like that kwannie, i promise,” you say before grinning widely. “and you love me because of my amazing sense of humour and just because i’m great, of course.”

he sighs and gives you a fake annoyed expression before smiling mischievously. “so this means you’ll let me take you to the beach so we can have a photoshoot right? yeah,” he says, pulling your arm to the entryway, giving you no choice but to put up with his antics. (you would anyway; it’s him after all.)

“wait…in this?” you look down at your silly moose pyjamas, and at seungkwan’s matching ones before shaking your head. you knew seungkwan didn’t care—he loved to be open about your relationship, and these pyjamas definitely helped that. besides, it’s winter! you would be wearing a jacket on top anyway.

you let seungkwan put your coat on you (not without a little peck on your forehead to let you know he wasn’t actually mad; you knew he never was when he acted like this) and your socks when you struggle before putting on his own winter gear and opening the door. he lets out a low breath before taking your hand and putting it in his pocket, both your hand—and hearts—warm together.

…

in the car, you clap every time after seungkwan finishes belting out a christmas song from a playlist you had found (how he managed to focus on driving while doing this, you had no idea) and when he parks in the small lot the beach has, you grin, fully excited for your little date.

after your hands reunite in his coat pocket, he takes you to your favourite spot whenever you both went to the beach; a place not too close to the water where you had to worry about getting wet, but also one where you could still see the serene beauty of the ocean clearly.

as you take your phone out of your pocket to take pictures of the icy sea, you hear the sounds of seungkwan’s phone clicking in your direction. when you turn to look at him with a question on your face, he shrugs before saying, “just making sure i take pictures of the best view around here.”

soon enough, your photo taking session comes to an end, and you walk back to your parked car, laughing at a silly picture you took of seungkwan. he takes a look around before running over to a small field nearby covered in fresh snow, before slipping and falling.

“seungkwan?? you okay, honey?” you ask as you run over to his side before your worried expression turns into a deadpan, seeing his pose. he was on his side with his elbow propping up his head, and before you can say anything about how silly he looks, he wiggles his eyebrows. “that was a perfect reenactment of how i fell for you, my pookie dookie snookie pookums.”

before you can shush him and remind him that you’re in public, you hear a loud gasp and a little girl’s voice say, “mommy, look! they’re flirting!” from behind you.

you turn your eyes back to the trail you were walking on with your boyfriend just a few minutes ago, and see a mother cover her young daughter’s eyes from seungkwan’s antics before hurriedly walking away from the scene you two were making.

thankfully, as soon as they leave, there’s no one to see the way you crouch down and smack seungkwan’s shoulder. “what was that for, kwannie?!”

he pouts before sticking out his tongue at you and pulling you down onto the snow beside him. “i was just showing my love for you, my sweetheart plum sugar with two eggs five cups of flour—”

you shut him up with a small peck to his cheek before shooting his lovestruck face a dirty look. “that’s enough out of you now. i’m telling your mother that you embarrass me in public,” you huff, fully knowing that seungkwan’s mother simply adored you.

you giggle when seungkwan makes a sound of indignation and instead peck his cheek again. “fine, fine, i won’t. but…you have to stop using those corny pet names.”

he huffs before sighing dramatically.

“fine. i’ll stop, my five large egg yolks, one and one third cups water…okay i’ll stop,” he finishes off, seeing your face before leaning in to peck your cheek, making you giggle and him smile. “there’s my boo.”

bonus!

in the car, you remember to ask seungkwan something. “what were you even saying? my 2 cups of sugar…was that even an actual recipe?”

he looks at you while fixing his rearview mirror. “yeah, it’s from a recipe for lemon meringue pie.” his neck flushes a bit as he continues, “i was planning to make it for you one day…so it was the first thing i thought of.”

the next day, you wake up to the smell of something burning. you quickly get up and sprint to the kitchen, only to see seungkwan putting something in the trash sheepishly. “…i burnt the pie.”

though it takes a while to get the smell out of your home, and the window needs to be open in the cold weather, you have an excuse to cuddle up with seungkwan in your warmest blanket. (he would anytime you asked anyway; no need for burnt baked goods).

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan scenarios #boo seungkwan imagines #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan scenarios #seungkwan imagines #seungkwan fluff #boo seungkwan fluff #dokries works

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shieldofiron · 2 months

Text

Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979.

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,”

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes:

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it.

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #steve x billy #harringrovefic #harringrovefanfic #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove fanfic #stranger things #my writing #DJATS au #Daisy jones and the six au #tw drugs

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darkjediqueen · 1 month

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I've been in fandom for a long time. Outside of a few outliers, none of my ships have ever been canon. For the few that were, they were always established pretty early in the canon.

The arrival of Buck/Tommy as a canon pairing is still kind of throwing me. I still think that it's a fever dream. I first wrote Buck/Tommy for the first time in my Like Ripples From a Small Stone series for the Quantum Bang in 2022. So, I started to write it in November/December of 2021. It was mostly a friends-with-benefits thing, but I really liked the idea of them and was still pretty enamored with Buch/Eddie.

I started to see the spec for Buck/Tommy a little while before the premiere of Season 7, and I was like, "That's a long shot and a half; it's impossible. My little crack ship would never become canon. They have never MET IN CANON."

Then 7.04 aired. I was halfway through the episode, and I was getting a little more on edge cause I was seeing what I was seeing, but I thought I had somehow put on my Buck/Tommy slash goggles without noticing.

When the knock came on Buck's door, I thought, "If that's Tommy, they are kissing at some point. I know it." And it was. I was still only mostly hopeful. Then Buck and Tommy kept on getting closer, and I was like, "Fuck My Life."

And then they kissed.

I still really haven't come to grips with my crack couple that hadn't ever met in canon becoming a canon couple. I still sit in wonder sometimes and rewatch the GIF of them kissing.

#911 spoilers #bucktommy #911 abc

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hai7ani · 6 months

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橘 (TACHIBANA/JÚ) haitani rindou

nsfw (no smut), complicated relationships, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, wounds & abuse please proceed with caution

thank you for 300 followers! i thought i might as well upload this today ^^

masterlist | playlist

part iii / your lips, my lips; apocalypse

2004

Rindou had experienced true homesickness when he was 16.

Middle of December when the snow had just started falling in Tokyo, and he is home alone, disassociating to some Mozart playing at max volume along some other things (or thoughts) while laying flat on his bed. If Ran was home to hear the kind of music he is currently playing, he'd be a dead man by then.

But he doesn't care about Ran, no. He cares about you. You're the one who's been plaguing his mind -- so sticky and frustrating -- after he'd left your pouty figure back home in Kanagawa with kiss-swollen lips 5 months ago. You and your stupid, pretty lips that has taken his first kiss, your laugh that feels a lot more effective than those pills his Mother tells him to swallow for his migraine, your soft, shaky hands when they reached up to cup his cheeks as you open your mouth wider to allow his tongue in . . .

Requiem in D Minor reaches its peak, and he finally finds it in him to turn the volume down with a click of his tongue -- he's to become a madman if he continues this any further.

It's been 2 years since the boy's moved up to Tokyo alone with his brother. Rindou doesn't think he's struggled much in adapting to the lifestyle -- in fact, it suits him a lot more than he's expected it to. He likes to think he's adapted to it sooner than Ran, although the older seems to be much more put together than he is -- judging from the listening habits and different lifestyles both brothers have chosen to adopt in this big city as two young teenagers -- because Ran is actually doing something useful right now: staying back at school for extra Physics lessons and then attending his Track and Field club meeting after class, and Rindou is here: still dressed in his uniform, still not yet finished his McDonald's that he'd abandoned at the dining table before retreating back into his room to sulk because he's been missing a certain somebody a little too much.

He admits that things are more fun in the city -- the nightlife that he finds himself getting excited to when walking past the centre of Roppongi to get back home after night class, easily accessible skate parks that he frequents with a few friends after school in his half-buttoned uniform, the drifting culture he's taken up after spending most of his savings on a second-hand MX-5 to drift illegally on weekends where he doesn't have to get up early . . . It is all so different and fresh, and Rindou thinks he hasn't felt this good while having fun before.

But you wrote him a letter 2 months ago for his birthday and he still hasn't replied to it yet.

I still think about our kiss in summer. I also miss you a whole lot. See you next summer, and again, happy 16th, 竜胆.

You'd wrote it in the ending paragraph of your lengthy four-paged letter -- all the things you wished he was there back home to experience together with you, your stupid little thoughts flashing by your head while laying flat in bed at 3 in the morning, your already-planned new year resolutions that he knows you're never going to finish despite your sudden burst of motivation, recent hobbies that you've started picking up due to extreme boredom now that December is here and everything outside is cold and slippery -- and Rindou finds himself thinking about you and you and you over and over again.

Summer of 2004 -- when he finished his can of beer and crushed it in his hands as he silently admired you through the curtains of his eyelashes. When you caught his eyes and bit your lip before shifting closer to him on the floor while fixing the loose strap of your tank top. When he inched closer to your face and smirked, before puffing out a small, warm air that smells like beer with a hint of peppermint over your cupid's bow.

When you blushed and decided to be bold by placing both hands on his sturdy chest as you knocked your forehead against his very warm and red cheek. When he looked you in the eye one last time before pressing his dry, boyish lips tight against yours that tasted a lot like your favourite honeydew flavoured lip balm and he'd smiled into it.

Sweet, peachy, and the kiss wasn't perfect; it was merely just a quick peck, but it was so lovely that he finds himself growing warm at the memory of your eyelids fluttering open when he pulled away, only to lean back in and peck at your lips once or twice more before shoving in a tongue and getting you all worked up in the process, because he just couldn't help it -- you were so addictive. You were so pretty.

You are so pretty.

The boy sits back up in one swift motion and looks out the window to his right. He stares down at the bustling, happening city below from the comfort of his high rise.

A train passes by through the underground tunnels of Roppongi. Pristine, white snowflakes falls heavily from the sky and lands on the ground before slowly piling up on the sidewalk as a young child happily tugs on her mother's hand while pointing at it. The yolk of the sun is hidden behind thick clouds, but it is still bright outside.

The wires connect. Stars align. Clouds fade away.

He blushes.

Rindou wants to kiss you again.

He glances at your crumpled letters still splayed across his desk for the past 2 months, and the boy comes to a realisation.

Things are fun in Tokyo.

Life isn't.

And the next thing he knows, he is shoving a bunch of winter clothes and a few bags of expensive taiyaki into his black Jansport, before leaving a quick note on a yellow Post-it to Ran on the coffee table while finishing up his leftover McDonald's.

Going back home for Xmas *a badly drawn Christmas tree*

Will be back before the new years... or not

Depends on my mood. C u

🖕 - ur 弟

He throws the pen down, not before doodling yet another huge, ugly and messily drawn middle finger on the remaining space in the Post-It, and he slaps it on the table.

Rindou leaves for Kanagawa in the earliest train at 5 in the evening with your letters folded, safely tucked into the left pocket of his puffer jacket with a bag of warm chocolate chip muffins placed into the confines of his jacket to keep warm on the ride home. An elderly lady sitting beside him points it out with a teasing laugh and a silly pat to his forearm.

"Who are these for?"

He says it with a lopsided smile.

"My girlfriend."

Three more days to Christmas and Rindou is standing outside of your school gate.

He'd came straight after he arrived, not bothering to phone his parents or inform his brother of his safe arrival back home. Seeing you seemed to weigh far heavier to him, judging from how he's waiting patiently in the cold for you to get out of night class. Rindou knows of your schedule well -- he's memorised it ever since you showed it to him the last time he visited home.

"Fuck," he cusses, nose growing redder and patience growing thinner with each passing moment that you don't appear at the entrance. "Did I get the wrong time?" He murmurs to himself and pulls out his phone to check. Did he perhaps be smart that day and snapped a photo of your timetable? But he's sure you finish at 8 on Tuesdays, with Math being the last period -- he remembers you complaining about it because you have always been one to hate Math, while him on the other hand, is an absolute beast at it.

White snow slowly covers his two-toned hair as he shuffles his weight from one foot to another, and a deep crease forms between his brows after realising that his stupid ass did not, in fact, be smart that day and snap a photo of your timetable.

Rindou clicks his tongue. He's contemplating on leaving -- to turn around and just go over to your house right now. Maybe you are actually home this whole time as he's stuck here pondering his thoughts and you're getting bored out of your mind.

He thinks he cannot waste another moment to see you.

And after a few more analysing and breaking down on what would be the best option to do, a voice calls out for his name. A girl's voice -- smooth and filled with so much excitement, it seems -- and he turns around to look at her.

Himeko approaches him from the entrance -- dressed in her cozy uniform and a heavy book bag is slung over her shoulder. "Rindou, you're home." She jogs up to him, leg warmers falling off her calves as she runs and stops just right in front of him. There's a wide grin stretched across her face as she stares up at the much taller boy and doe eyes squints a little from the lamppost shining down into them. Light snowflakes cover her eyelashes and she simply dusts them away with a little smile.

"Oh, hey." Rindou blinks. He then turns on his heel to head towards your house and Himeko follows along with a finger hooked onto a strap of his Jansport. "Why are you back home? It's not Summer." She states, and she soon realises that the last sentence had sounded a little stupid -- so she attempts to make it less awkward for her by asking more questions and attempting to converse with Rindou, to which the boy doesn't oppose on answering.

"It's the last week before winter break." She states while picking up her pace behind him to catch up with the boy's wider steps.

"I know. How's school?" He asks, his vacant hand shoving down into the pocket of his jacket to keep warm but Himeko nudges his elbow. He looks down and sees that she is handing him her book bag.

Rindou fishes the hand out to get a hold of the strap and he slings it over his shoulder -- just as habit allows. Himeko seems delighted at this, as she crosses her hands behind her body and starts skipping beside him on the sidewalk. But a brown bag hanging off his left hand catches her attention and curious hands starts inching towards it without him knowing.

"Just fine. It's been a little boring though, even the teachers are getting ready for the holidays." She replies. Rindou simply hums at it. He's never been great at conversations -- always the listener with you as his speaker.

And he feels a sudden jolt at the bag in his hand. He snatches it back quick, eyes sharp and movements turning defensive as he stares at the girl who is clearly shocked at his behaviour over a bag of chocolate chip muffins.

". . . What?" He clears his throat and stops in his tracks. He's getting irritated. Himeko tilts her head to the side. She points at the bag of muffins with a pointer, "Are those for me? I like muffins."

"'S for Mom. She wanted me to buy 'em before coming back." And with that, Rindou hands Himeko back her own bag to take. He doesn't say anything further, and he shoves its strap back into her hands, the weight pushing her arms down and she furrows her brows at his suddenness.

It's so awkward. But she is Himeko -- always the peacemaker of the group -- and she decides to clear the atmosphere with a change of topic.

"Ran didn’t come home with you?"

Rindou remains quiet for a while -- obviously feeling a little pissed, but ultimately, he decides to reply to her anyway.

"Nah, he's still in Tokyo. I came back without him."

"Why’d you come home then?"

"I just missed Mom's cooking, 's all." He shrugs. A lie, but Himeko doesn't need to know that. Though she beams at his response, "I went to your house for dinner yesterday. Your Mom's cooking is way too good." My house, dinner?

"Did Y/N go, too?" He asks a little too quickly, the steady beat of his chest growing quicker at the thought of you most probably sitting on his chair at his dining table while enjoying his mother's cooking before finding ways to sneak up to his room and mess with his DJ set that he'd purposely left home for you to play with. He smiles a little at the possible scene playing in his head.

The smile on Himeko's face falters a little at his sudden burst of emotion with the mention of you, but she fixes herself fast and shoots back a response just as fast.

"No, her father came home on Sunday. I haven't seen her since."

Rindou turns his head to look at the shorter girl beside with a worried expression -- a total contrast to all that he's felt just now. He stops in his tracks, and Himeko stops too -- just two steps ahead of him -- with the smile on her face completely gone now.

"What's wrong?" She asks, face full of genuine concern.

"What do you mean?" Rindou frowns.

Himeko tilts her head to the left, trying to grasp what exactly that he's asking, so she repeats her words from earlier by talking slower.

"Y/N's dad came home on Sunday . . . ? She hasn't attended classes today or yesterday. I haven't seen her since she left to pick her father up from the airport. That was Sunday. But we know how it is. Her dad's probably just looking for some family bonding time with her."

Rindou scowls at it.

No, you don't.

Though she doesn't notice it, she shifts a little awkwardly at Rindou's visible shift in mood.

"Bye." He bids curtly and he leaves Himeko behind. The boy quickens his steps and turns into the road that leads straight to your house. He can see the building from a distance and Rindou can faintly make out that the lights are on.

You must be home.

"Rindou? Where are you-" Himeko calls out, but she pauses after realising the road that he's taking. He hears faint footsteps behind him but he doesn't reply -- his beating heart way too frantic for him to say anything at this point, let alone actually think for a response.

Her words play in his head over and over again, and it gets so overwhelming to the point that he has to take a breather and fix his unruly hair that's starting to block his vision.

Your dad is home.

A step closer to your house. Snow crunches beneath his sneakers.

Your dad is home.

The gate is open. He sees the quick wagging of a fluffy tail just beside the metal.

Your dad is home.

Inu-sama sits by the gate and upon sensing his owner's childhood friend's arrival, it barks at him. And it doesn't stop barking despite Rindou being someone who it has grown so familiar with over the years of your childhood and Inu-sama's place in your family.

"Hey, bud." He reaches down to pat your old Shiba, combing down its fur and giving it a few belly rubs before reaching into the pocket of his Jansport to fish out a little treat for your dog. He's not forgotten its treats despite leaving the house in a rush. "Where's 姉さん?" He asks -- as if Inu-sama could speak -- and it can, actually. It barks again to the door after his question and Rindou takes it as a hint that you are probably inside.

But the gate is open. Weird.

So he kicks off his shoes by the entrance and brings a nervous knuckle up to knock on the door. His hearts thumps fast in his chest, breath stuttering in his throat -- not because the thought of you possibly opening the door for him makes him giddy, but because the thought of your father possibly opening the door for him makes him weak. Scared.

Rindou is scared.

Everyone is afraid of your father. Even Ran who is known to have no fear towards anyone in his life -- not even his elders -- is scared of your father. But everyone except Himeko, though. Somehow through her rose-tinted eyes she still holds on to the idea that your father is just like any other: a man who leads and a man who brings structure. But you can't blame her, for she hasn't seen your father in ages. She hasn't seen the man he has become.

And Rindou knocks again, but still, no response, so he tries his luck by twisting the knob. It's unlocked and he pushes it open. Perhaps it'll earn him a black eye for attempting to enter your house without your father's approval, but he'll risk it just this once.

"Y/N?"

He's half-expected the house to be empty -- from the state of your unlocked door and gate to the awfully quiet and icy cold atmosphere of your house. Rindou doesn't think there's anyone in the house.

That is until he looks down at the sound of a sob.

The monster has done it again.

You're crouching on the floor, surrounded by what seems to be broken shards of glass and a few blood stains tainting the marble white of your floor.

He bolts towards you in an instant, not before throwing off his bag by the foot of the door and stepping over the sharp glass to reach over to you on his sock-clad feet. They cut into his flesh and he hisses a little at the sting, but he ignores the pain, and he diverts his attention back all on you.

You're not moving from your position, but he can tell that you're crying. You're hurt -- the cuts and dark bruises that's starting to swell on your arms and legs cracks his heart at the sight, and you're cold -- God, you're so, so cold when he scoops your frail body up and into his arms, away from the wrecked floor.

Weak, shaky hands immediately move to grip on his shoulder, nails sinking into the flesh as you suck in a deep breath upon realising that there's someone holding you -- someone is touching you. You panic a little, a whine escaping your throat and you try pushing him away with all the strength that you can muster. You hadn't realised that it is Rindou. You hadn't realised that he has entered the house. It doesn't hit you that Rindou is back home in the middle of December. You continue fighting against in his arms with more tears springing up to your bloodshot eyes.

"Stop, Dad. Please. It hurts."

That alone sends the boy into a shaking mess.

But he gathers himself, and he attempts to ground you by sitting you both on the couch and pressing your cold body into his warm chest. He buries his nose in your neck and kisses the skin gently, feeling the quick pulse of your heartbeat against his lips while rubbing warm circles on your upper back -- a means to soothe you, a means to tell you that he's here. "'S me, babe. It's me." He says it so softly -- right next to your ear, only meant for you to hear, meant for you to listen.

You shudder a little at the sudden warmth invading your skin and into your bones, and it then strikes you that the person holding you is Rindou. Rindou is home. The peppermint of his smell that you've long grown to love makes its way in grounding your senses and you eventually relax in his secure hold.

You're safe now.

Rindou is home. You are not alone anymore.

And then you start crying again.

"Where's the bastard? Your mom too." He asks, tone rough but he's gentle when cleaning away the blood on your lips from being busted by no doubt a harsh strike and he wipes it off on his jacket. You hold the other hand of his on your cheek to kiss the palm. "The airport. He says he's going back to the States. Just after a day." Your voice is shaky as you try your hardest to explain to him clearly amidst your choked sobs, "Mom is still in Osaka." And he doesn't make you speak any further after that -- he simply nods at your reply and opting to hug you close to his chest and calm your cries instead.

Rindou sighs angrily at your answer, a deep breath escaping his nose. You only bury yourself closer to him at it.

So your father did actually leave you in here all alone like this and went back to continuing his career. He wonders just how long you have been staying like this, in this state.

He looks around the house to make sure the man is actually gone and his purple eyes don’t miss the heavy stacks of medical textbooks and printed samples of medical reports scattered all over the coffee table. Your test paper -- Math, Tachibana Y/N, Fail -- sits atop of the books, the papers crumpled and a little torn at the sides. The large frames that hangs on the walls of your living room -- none of them are yours, all are his -- are all displaying professional photos of him attached with the many titles and prizes awarded to him.

Doctor Tachibana Hiroji, PhD in Oncology.

Doctor Tachibana Hiroji, board member of Harvard Medical School.

Doctor Tachibana Hiroji.

Tachibana Hiroji.

What a man of noble character and high intellect, but is such a monster behind closed doors to his only daughter, his family.

Rindou turns his head back, and he’s gentle with you - soft hands wiping away the free-flowing tears and light bloodstains off your face.

And he decides that he doesn’t want to see you like this anymore.

Rindou presses his forehead to yours.

"I'll kill him, you know?"

"No, don't. You'll-"

"I'll kill him. I promise.”

Himeko stands behind the two of you -- scared behind the couch -- with eyes so wide and a heart pumping blood so fast underneath the bones of her chest that she thinks she might die.

But a broken sob from you on the couch breaks her out of her bubble.

She looks around the house.

She looks at your state.

She takes it all in.

"But we know how it is. Her dad's probably just looking for some family bonding time with her."

Oh.

tags: @nana-osakii

this took so long omg but i had time today to finish it so here it is ^^

reblogs are appreciated! thank you for reading :3

#解 #橘 series #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader #rindou haitani #haitani rindou #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #haitani brothers #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tr

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yuurei20 · 18 days

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Question, but do you know if anyone has made a timeline for the main game? Like the months that the books take place in, when the unbirthday party was, when was the club fair(or whatever it was called), how long are the winter/spring/summer/fall breaks? Etc etc

I'm pretty sure I'll have to make my own timeline for my fic but if someone else has already made one I can build off it or if not, any info you can give will help lol

Hello hello!! Thank you for this question!

I put together a collection of what months the books take place in (according to the occasional hints we receive from the characters) in response to a question to how often people have been overblotting, and also wrote about a potential reading order (1), as well as a follow up reading order (2), but those incorporate events, so there is some time-weirdness!

For a more straight-forward reference, I believe that this is what we know!

Book 1 takes place at the beginning of the school year, and the beginning of the school year is in September! So while no character says directly, "here in Book 1 it is September," it seems like a safe guess.

Book 2 revolves around the Interdorm Spelldrive Tournament, which Crowley says is in October.

Book 3 is much more vague! We know it begins on the last day of final exams, but that could be anywhere from October to December.

Book 4 starts on the last day of the first semester and ends after school has started for the second semester, implying December-to-January, but I do not think it is ever expressly stated how long the students were away.

The Culture Fair is held in mid-February but Book 5 itself begins "just over a month" before, so early-mid-January seems like a safe assumption!

Book 6 starts "a few days" after the mid-February Culture Fair, the same day that Idia observes that there have been five overblots in less than six months (and then immediately joins the club).

At the beginning of Book 7 the prefect observes that "it's supposed to be spring," but the timing is a little vague! It is presumably sometime between February and May, as there is a Spelldrive tournament in May that doesn't seem to have happened yet.

The question of how long breaks are is a very interesting one! :> I am not sure it has ever been explained anywhere how long the students are away for vacations, and with how NRC seems to be based on a variety of different school systems, it might be best to not make any assumptions yet. Maybe we shall be told someday! :>

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

A Love You Don't Find Everyday Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your wedding week is here, and you decide to give Bradley another one of his gifts early. In return, he fulfills a fantasy for you. When you host your parents and all of those closest to you for Thanksgiving dinner, it really sets in for Bradley that this is what the rest of his life is going to be like.

Warnings: Smut, angst, fluff, and swearing

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

When Maverick cornered him at the end of the day on Monday, Bradley eyed him warily. "Don't tell me you're bringing me more papers."

Maverick shook his head and laughed. "No. Not papers. But I need everyone to complete their flight evaluation paperwork during the first week of December."

Bradley's eyes went wide. He would be in Hawaii with you. Without completed paperwork, he could end up being grounded. "Shit. Can you push it later into the month for me?"

"No. But I set you up in one of the classrooms now to take care of it."

Bradley groaned. He promised you that he would be home to help you finalize everything on the wedding checklist tonight, but this issue could literally prevent him from getting a paycheck later.

"Fuck. Okay, fine," Bradley told Mav. "Thanks for making sure I got it done in time." Bradley texted you a quick explanation while he strolled to Classroom 1 so he could get started, because this would take him about two hours.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: Take your time, Roo. But let me know before you head home, okay? I might need you to stop at the store.

At least you weren't upset. You probably didn't really need his help with the checklist, but he wanted to be there with you anyway.

He settled in and got to work, needing to log into various sites on his phone to pull up his credentials for verification. After two hours, he was finally done, but his phone battery was almost dead.

He sent you a quick text saying he was leaving shortly to find out what you needed from the store, and you wrote back immediately.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: Remember where we first met? Meet me there.

Bradley would remember until his dying day that he first set eyes on you last year on August 14th just before 9 o'clock in the morning. In Classroom 8. That was where you first spoke to each other. That was where he got to hear you lecturing them on software protocols. That was where he started to fall for you.

He was immediately rushing out of Classroom 1 and heading down the long corridor. The building was mostly deserted now that it was after dinnertime, and most of the lights had been dimmed. But when he pushed the last door open, you were perched on the edge of the desk, and Bradley could still perfectly picture how you'd looked up at the podium in your khaki uniform last summer.

But right now, you were wearing the red dress that you wore on your first date, when he had taken you to the hot sauce restaurant and silent disco in Del Mar. You had on matching red lipstick, and you had selected red polish when you got your nails done the other day.

Bradley was frozen in the doorway, looking at you as you smiled at him. "Close the door and take a seat, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," you instructed with a grin.

He closed the door and headed for the seat in the first row, right in front of you. "I thought you were at home, Sweetheart."

"I was," you informed him, sliding off the desk and taking the three steps until you were in Bradley's lap. "Then I thought I would come back to base and give you one of your remaining wedding gifts here." You kissed him softly, your lips barely brushing his. He let one hand come up to the back of your neck to get a deeper kiss, not caring about getting your lipstick on his mouth.

"What's my wedding gift?" he asked before dipping his lips down to your neck. "Getting to look at you in the dress you wore on our first date?"

You laughed at that and started to slide out of his grasp. Bradley tried to keep you on his lap, but you managed to slide down so you were kneeling on the floor between his legs with your hands resting on his khaki covered thighs. He was sure his eyes were bugging out.

"No. I'd let you look at me in this dress anytime, Roo. When I asked some of the guys what they would most like to get as a wedding gift from their soon to be wife, they seemed to universally agree that a blowjob was the way to go."

He briefly tipped his head back and groaned at the ceiling when your hands started to slide up his uniform pants. When you popped open his button and eased the zipper down, Bradley kept his eyes on yours. His hard dick sprang free when you pulled his pants and underwear down a little bit, and you squealed in delight. A small part of Bradley really loved that the guys all knew you were going to suck his dick for him, that you did it all the time.

"You want it sloppy, Roo?" you asked sweetly, licking your bright red lips.

"God, yes," he groaned, his eyes drifting closed as you wrapped your small hand around him and grazed his tip with your lips. "Please."

You just moaned in response, and now Bradley was wishing he'd taken a second to lock the door. "Anyone could walk in, Sweetheart," he told you, stroking your perfect cheek with his thumb while you kissed along his length.

"I know," you told him before swirling your tongue around his head and making him groan. "That's why I wanted to do it here."

You were filthy in the best way, and you were going to be his wife. "Everything you do turns me on. You know that? Everything."

You smiled up at him like he was single handedly responsible for all of the happiness in this world, and then you took the tip of his cock between your perfect, red lips.

Every inch of him was treated the the feel of your lips and your tongue as you sucked on him and took him deep. Bradley watched you take him until you were gagging, squeezing him with your throat until your eyes started to water.

"Fuck, Baby Girl," he growled, eyeing the red lipstick smears along the base of his cock as you pulled him out of your mouth. He watched you open your mouth wide and run his tip along your lips before letting him rest on your velvety tongue. "You're perfect," he praised, running his fingers along your neck. You licked and sucked just the tip of him while you played with his balls. He could already feel the pressure building, and he knew what you were capable of.

"You like that, Daddy?" you asked softly, stroking your fingers along his balls and nuzzling him with your face.

"You fucking know I do." And then his head tipped back again as you took his length deep again, and he felt the sensation through his entire body. You were sucking on him so well, as he palmed the back of your head, encouraging you to keep him in your heavenly mouth.

Bradley watched your half lidded eyes drift closed briefly as you gagged on him. And then you were sucking along his length before taking him deep again. Every time he bottomed out, he could feel the pressure of his orgasm building. You bobbed on his cock, humming and gasping as you picked up speed, and Bradley watched your saliva drip onto his khaki pants.

When you pulled him out with a loud pop, he growled your name, and your wide eyes met his. Then Bradley watched you lick along his balls and suck on him there while stroking his cock with your hands.

"Baby Girl," he groaned. You had lipstick smeared on your face, and Bradley had never seen anything prettier than you cradling his balls and sucking on his dick.

The wet sounds as you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed faster on his length had him thrusting into you. You moaned, eyes wide as he hit the back of your throat. You popped him out again, strands of saliva falling from those red lips as you took a deep breath before taking him to the hilt again.

Bradley swiped away the tears from your cheeks before digging his fingers into your scalp a little rough. "I'm close, Sweetheart," he murmured, teeth gritted in pleasure.

You just grinned around his cock and hollowed your cheeks, sucking on him until he was moaning way too loud. His balls were tense, ready to spill into your mouth, and then you pulled him out one last time. Bradley watched his cum paint your lips and tongue as you gasped and squeaked in delight. You swallowed him down in gulps, and his cum ran down your chin, mixing with your saliva. Your eyes were needy as you delicately licked and sucked every drop as it beaded out of him until Bradley watched you just kissing along his sensitive tip again.

"I love you," he promised, swiping his fingers through his cum on your chin and feeding it to you. As you licked his fingers clean, Bradley caught his breath. The front of his uniform pants was adorned with cum, saliva, and red lipstick smudges. It was almost enough to make him hard again.

After you tucked him back into his boxer briefs, you climbed back onto his lap. Bradley kissed you and licked your lips clean. "Mmm," you moaned. "Let's go home so I can feed you dinner."

"Do you still need me to stop at the store?" he asked as you pulled him to his feet and zipped his pants.

"No, I took care of it. Just wanted to get ice cream to go with the chocolate chip cookies I made."

Bradley laced his fingers through yours and kissed your ring. "For ice cream sandwiches? Are you purposely reminding me of all the things you did when we were dating that made me crazy for you?"

"Maybe," you said with a smirk.

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

"We're gonna be late," Bradley called for the third time. You just rolled your eyes in the bathroom mirror.

"Their flight doesn't even land for two more hours."

Then he appeared in the bathroom doorway with Tramp in his arms. "If you want to have time to go to the Hard Deck for a beer first, we need to leave. You look beautiful. You look perfect. Let's go."

You capped your mascara. "Fine." You had been subtly trying to make sure nobody was making plans for Friday afternoon without actually giving away any wedding information. You were getting really antsy that one of them wouldn't be there, so giving them one final reminder today would be a good idea. "I can't believe tomorrow is Thanksgiving. And then our wedding. Are we out of our minds? Planning it the way we did?"

"Nah," Bradley replied with a crooked grin. "The only thing that's bothering me is that I know for a fact that the caterers won't make the Marry Me Rooster as good as you do."

You started laughing as you grabbed a denim jacket to wear over your dress and followed him out to the driveway. "Well if that's your biggest concern, then I'm sure Friday will be a lovely day for you."

Bradley opened the passenger door of the Bronco and buckled you in. "It's going to be the best day of my life," he promised with a kiss.

When you got to the Hard Deck, you could tell you were annoying all of the aviators at this point. And when you mentioned one more time that you were hoping everyone could make it 'to hang out on Friday', they all groaned.

"Angel, yes. For the millionth time, we will be there," Jake drawled as he took a shot at the pool table. You examined his forehead where he had a scar from his deployment. He must have had the stitches removed today.

"I'm not even talking to you. I don't trust you anymore after how much you let me drink at the club."

"Here," Bradley mumbled, nudging a beer into your hand when he returned from the bar. He kissed your cheek before taking the pool cue Phoenix held out for him. You heard him double and triple checking with her that she was going to stick to the plans for Friday. You didn't even want to think about how shitty Bradley would feel if his best friend wasn't at his wedding.

"Hey, Jake?" you asked quietly.

"Angel?"

"Can I borrow your keychain? The one with the Super Hornet?"

He dug his keys out of his pocket and unclipped the beat up metal keychain that you always thought was so cool. "You thinking about getting one for Rooster?"

"Yeah," you lied smoothly. "I'm going to look for one online. I'll give it back in a few days."

You sat quietly with Bob and talked about plans for Christmas while Bradley played pool. He kept stealing little glances in your direction, and it made you smile every time. And then he started grinning, too. Then it struck you; this would be your very last time hanging out at the Hard Deck before you were married.

So much had happened here. You remembered which stool you were sitting on when Bradley initiated that first, flirtatious conversation with you by knocking your beer all over your lap. And you kept a little mental catalog of all the songs he had ever played for you on that old, out of tune piano.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips while he waited for Phoenix to take her turn.

You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him close. "Next time we hang out at the Hard Deck with everyone, we will be married."

He rested his forehead to yours and smiled against your lips. "Less than two days," he whispered, running his hands along your hips and waist. "Then I'm yours, for real. Like actually a family."

You glanced at everyone playing pool and Bob eating his peanuts. "We have a huge family, Roo."

"You're right," he said with a chuckle, kissing your nose.

Then you licked his bottom lip gently, and Bradley's demeanor immediately changed. You felt his hands tighten on your waist, drawing you closer to his warm body as he hummed. When his hands found their way to your lower back you nibbled on his lip before licking him again.

"Sweetheart." His voice had a tone of warning behind it, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't go right to your core.

"Yes, Daddy?" you replied, not even trying to be quiet. The fabric of your dress was bunched up in his hands, and his brown eyes dipped down to look at your lips.

"If you want Daddy, just say the words."

You licked your lips and said, "I want my Daddy."

Bradley took your half empty bottle of beer and set it down along with his empty one. With one hand pressed firmly to your lower back, he ushered you past the pool table. "Gotta get to the airport. See some of you tomorrow and all of you on Friday!" he called out, not even giving you a chance to say anything at all.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder. "Where are we going?"

"The Bronco." His voice was commanding. He was in Daddy mode now, but you loved to give him an attitude.

"No. Meet me in the sand. In our spot." You wove through the crowd ahead of him and out into the cool night air. There were some people out on the deck, talking and smoking, but you breezed right past them and ran down the side steps and into the darkness.

A moment later, Bradley's heavy footfalls could be heard on the steps as well, and then he found you in the dim light filtering down from the deck, your back pressed to the wooden pillar.

"Hi, Daddy," you whispered, and he reached right for the hem of your dress, pulling it up and yanking your underwear lower until the lace slipped down your legs and onto the tops of your boat shoes.

"Hi, Baby Girl." His words were soft and raspy as his fingertips teased along your wet slit.

"This is our spot." Your head tipped back against the pillar as he dipped his middle finger inside you. "But you've never fucked me here before." The voices and laughter above you on the deck had you more turned on than you'd like to admit.

"I'm about to change that," he promised. "I'll fill you up all the way. Put a baby in you."

You groaned as he withdrew his finger and spun you around so you were facing the deck post, palms planted against it. You had a visceral reaction to the sound of him unzipping his jeans, and you were instantly panting and pushing your butt back toward him.

"You're so fucking needy, Baby Girl. I love it." And then his big hands were up your dress, teasing along your ass before he guided himself inside you with a hiss.

"Bradley!"

"Quiet," he commanded, pumping into you. "I know you like this. Being out in the open. Listening to people up on the deck."

The noise that escaped you was something filthy that lived in the back of your throat. But he was driving you wild, because he was right. You loved that someone could look over the side of the deck and see Bradley fucking you. The idea that someone could hear your little whines or Bradley's grunts and come to investigate made your pussy wetter.

"That's what Daddys do, Baby Girl," his voice was low and next to your ear. "They give you exactly what you want, fuck you in public when you need it. As long as you're so sweet to Daddy the rest of the time."

"Oh my god," you groaned. Bradley's words, and the feel of his fingers on your clit, and the slapping of his thighs against yours... it was all too much. "I'm so close," you whimpered.

"I'll get you there, and then I'll take my share, too," he promised, and almost instantly you felt yourself clenching his cock with your pussy from the release of pleasure he caused with his fingers. You bucked your hips back against him, riding out your orgasm.

And then, just like he promised, he took you by both hips, his fingers digging into you, and absolutely railed you. All you could do was grip the wooden post and hang on as he rocked into you, letting you feel every inch of him in your overstimulated pussy.

You were whimpering as he growled your name, filling you up with cum. You could already feel the mess leaking out of you as he pushed your hair away from your neck and pressed his lips there. "I love you, Roo," you whispered, and he gently pulled you away from the deck post.

He whispered in your ear how much he loved you and wanted to marry you while he eased himself out of your pussy, and you could feel the wetness on your legs.

"Shit," he mumbled as he zipped up his pants. "We need to get to the airport to get your parents."

You giggled. "I'm a mess now, Roo."

"Yeah," he agreed, taking you by the hand. "And that's your fault. You always pull this Daddy stunt right before we have to go pick your parents up from the airport." He sounded firm, but when he led you into the lit up parking lot, you could see the satisfied smirk on his face.

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

Bradley and you had dropped your parents off at their expensive hotel last night, and he didn't regret a single penny he was spending. It had afforded him the ability to take a very leisurely bath with you, during which you and he sipped some beers and talked about the wedding.

Then on Thanksgiving morning, you and he were up early, drinking coffee and starting to get the kitchen organized for dinner preparations. The parade was playing on the TV, and Bradley occasionally wandered away to play along to a song on the piano.

But the best part was, you and he were in your underwear the whole time. And you agreed to take a break and ride his dick on one of the dining room chairs after he helped you peel potatoes. He was seriously hoping one of these times it did the trick, because he couldn't wait until you were pregnant.

"Mm," you hummed, kissing his lips and running your fingers through his hair. "You need to go pick them up at the hotel, and I need to take another shower. I don't think I have gone more than six hours without your cum dripping out of me since I told you I stopped using birth control."

Bradley groaned and helped you stand up. "I told you I was gonna keep you full, Baby Girl. Just wait until we're on our honeymoon."

"Oh, I have plans for you, Roo," you told him over your shoulder as you strolled naked toward the bathroom. He watched you spread the mess on your thighs with each step you took, but when he tried to follow you, he was met with your palm on his chest. "Go pick them up so my mom and I can make dinner," you said with a laugh before you disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

So he got dressed and went to the hotel to pick up your mom and dad. He took the scenic drive on the way back, letting them get a good look at the ocean and all the beach trails. It was a perfectly clear, sunny day, and Bradley hoped tomorrow would be just as good.

"How many are coming for dinner tonight?" your mom wondered out loud, already worried about the amount of food as Bradley pulled into the driveway.

"Should be eleven of us," Bradley replied before jumping out to open both passenger side doors for your parents. "It'll be okay. Your daughter is a kitchen wizard. She's got it all under control."

"Hi!" you called out when he led them inside. "Mom, I need help with this stuffing!"

And after that, Bradley was relegated to the couch with your dad to watch football and drink beer. The Baltimore Ravens were playing, and your dad was invested. And soon Payback arrived with some bottles of wine. And after that Coyote was there along with Jake. Pretty soon, Bradley was smashed into a spot on the couch between Nat and your dad, and everyone was talking and laughing at the same time.

Jake made his way into the kitchen with the offer to be the official taste tester. Mav, Penny and Amelia arrived with four different kinds of pies. The house was full and noisy, and Bradley knew it was all because of you. The only reason he was here and healthy and happy was because you loved him. You were the main reason he did anything now.

Bradley found you in the kitchen, laughing at Jake when he burned his tongue on some macaroni and cheese. As soon as Bradley smiled at you, there you were, in his arms. He just held you and rested his chin on your head.

Your mom turned away from the gravy she was making to look at you in his arms. "Please tell me you've decided on a wedding date."

Bradley opened his mouth to try to distract your mom, but you were already saying, "I think we should have a lot more information by tomorrow, mom. Can you help me set the table, Roo?"

"Sure, Sweetheart," he replied, reaching to gather plates and glasses for you.

You squealed at him as he followed you around the table, setting down plate after plate. "I don't think any of them know about tomorrow," you whispered with wide eyes.

"Just Mav. Just what we wanted."

"It's perfect! Seriously, Bradley. It's going to be so perfect!"

Then you were in his arms again, and Bradley's tongue was in your mouth. He was about to suggest a detour to the laundry room when your mom walked in, and Bradley tried to back away from you as he blushed.

But your mom was just laughing. "Maybe you two should just get married tomorrow. I'm surprised I don't have a grandchild already."

"Mom," you groaned, stepping out of Bradley's arms and finishing setting the table.

"What? With how beautiful you are and how handsome he is, I'll have the most adorable grandkids!"

Bradley just blushed more and mumbled, "I'm trying," before heading back to the living room.

But pretty soon dinner was ready, and you had everyone sitting at the table which was filled with food that you and your mom had made with minimal help from Jake. Bradley brought in your bottle of hot sauce, just knowing you'd probably want to dump it all over your turkey. The way your eyes lit up when he remembered to do silly little things like that, made him even more excited for tomorrow.

It was a tight fight for eleven people, and Bradley was sitting in a folding chair at the head of the table next to you. But it was actually kind of perfect. So he stood up for a beat to simply say, "We're both so happy to have all of you here. I hated holidays for a really long time, but now I like them again. So thank you."

Nat raised her wine glass and said, "To family." Everyone else raised a drink as well, and Bradley watched as your parents shared a kiss. He eased himself back into his chair and sipped his wine before setting the glass down. He reached for your hand and laced his fingers gently with yours.

"Thank you," he whispered, and your eyes met his, a puzzled look on your face.

"For what?"

He shrugged, searching for the right words as tears pricked behind his eyes. "Everything. You've made everything better."

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

WEDDING CHAPTER IS NEXT! I want to thank all of you so much, especially everyone who has been reading along with Roo and Baby Girl for a long time now. I have so much fun creating this little world that they live it, and you all make it even better! They have come so far together!

PART 20

@mak-32

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine

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dduane · 8 months

Note

Ok so

1. I’ve only ever read one book you wrote (So You Want To Be a Wizard) but it was very good and I love it. Big fan.

2. Both out of curiosity and on behalf of my sister, as a writer of Barbie Fairytopia, did you invent Bibble. Because my sister has Bibble as her Home Screen and my whole family had a conversation about Bibble yesterday.

Thank you. Ur books are cool.

Thank you! Glad you liked SYW... . 😊

Now, about Bibble (and a nod here to @the-best-of-the-geeks, who also inquired about this):

The answer is... maybe. At this end of time, it's hard to tell.

I took a few moments off from today's* graphic arts work to go digging in my archived project files. What I can see from a quick glance at them is that Bibble (or the character who'd eventually be Bibble: there were a lot of name changes throughout the writing process) doesn't appear in any of the drafts of the worldbuilding bible I wrote, or in other associated background material. If it had, that would've been—not absolute, but at least fairly strong circumstantial evidence—that I was the character's creator.

The problem is that when you're working on a big-IP project like this, there are so many people involved in the creative process that it can become really difficult to accurately trace any one character's or story element's "lineage". It's possible Bibble originated in a note to me from one of the creative team, which would have been one of hundreds of archived emails. Or it might have been something suggested to me in a phone conversation... of which there were many. Without sifting through all those emails (and please forgive me, that's not something I've got time for at the moment) it's tough to say.

What I am sure of is that Bibble definitely turned up on my watch. I have a premise file dated 30 December 2003 which does not contain the character, and then a second-draft premise dated 10 January 2004... in which, with a slightly different name, Bibble first appears. Bibble (as Bobble) is also in my first draft screenplay, which was turned in in early February 2004.

So that much, at least, we can be sure of. Bibble's personality and speech style is clearly spelled out in the script (as is the suggestion that Bibble be voiced by Frank Welker. It's a shame that didn't happen: I'm a huge fan of his).

But this still doesn't constitute proof that I invented the character. Bibble could very well have been suggested to me by someone else—and suggestions and notes are so free-flowing in a project like this that it's possible we'll just never know. (sigh) Such is life.

What I do want to emphasize here was how extremely pleasant this whole project was, from beginning to end. There are screenwriting projects that will make you shudder decades after the fact just on hearing their name. But there are others that unfailingly make you smile when someone mentions them... and this, for me, was one of those.

The giveaway of how much fun I was having lies in some stuff that happens in the script and would, to those unfamiliar with tropes in animation writing, look like nothing in particular. But a recurring joke among animation writers back then (and maybe still) was designating a character's speech as a walla. In this case, it means not just a description of some kind of crowd noise—the usual definition—but of that particular character making speechlike noises. It's the kind of thing you don't bother doing if you're not feeling playful. (Or at least I don't.)

...Anyway: hope this has helped, at least a little. :)

*This post was written at the very beginning of May 2023, around the time the WGA strike was starting. During the strike period I haven’t been comfortable with doing long posts about my screen work… but the strike’s over now. 😄 Thanks to @violet-yimlat and @the-best-of-the-geeks for being so patient.

#Fairytopia #Bibble

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formulapai · 7 months

Text

TULIP SEASON !

an Oscar Piastri fluff scenario 🧡

scenario: mid-November, the start of the tulip season OR you’re obsessed with tulips and your boyfriend is suffering

warning: none

pai’s words: While the beginning of the tulip season is officially at the end of November, where I work, in France, we don’t have tulips until the end of December. I’m well aware that this is not the same way for everyone, even in cities next to mine, but I wrote what I knew best :) 🫶

It was still chilly outside, nights slowly becoming longer, days slowly becoming shorter. Monaco was sporting her winter coat, shiny lights and cozy perfumes adorning the streets of the monegasque capital.

Inside a tall, charming building, a new found energy was buzzing, something bright and vivid. A young adult was getting ready, almost sliding down the corridor leading from the bedroom to the living room, seemingly not able to keep their energy at bay. With thick pants and mismatched socks, the human embodiment of sunlight was ready to go out, only if their boyfriend would hurry a little.

“-Oscar, please, your hair is fine, we can go !

-I’m coming, I’m coming..”

Sighing, the young Australian man finally made his way to his partner, bundled up and ready to fight the crisp, cold air. Slipping their shoes and taking their bags, the couple exit their apartment and went on their merry way to the very heart of the city, searching for a very specific item.

“-You know, if it’s the very beginning of the season as you said earlier, I don’t think they’ll have those yet..

-What kind of flower shop do not own tulips in November ?

-…If you say so.”

Oscar knew that their searches would be unfruitful, still too early for the shops to stock up some tulips. He also knew that his lover was well aware of that fact and was, at this point, just trying to prove him wrong. Still, winter walks with them was something he had grown specifically fond of and he didn’t have the heart to refuse the person holding his hand, so he’s going to have to suck it up and search the whole city to please them. After all, he was only a man in love, or as his teammate would say, a real disgusting simp.

They rummaged through six shops before the tall man saw his partner’s shoulders drop, and he knew it was the end of their adventure. Puppy eyes then stared at him, silently asking him for something.

“-I know you really wanted them, baby. Want some coffee to cheer you up?”

Obviously, he didn’t have to ask. If there was something even bigger than their love for tulips, it was their love for coffee. So away they went, looking for a cute coffee shop suiting their taste, still holding hands. And when they finally settled, rosy cheeks getting hit by the warm air inside, he listened to his dearest complain halfheartedly about their lack of flowers and how it really, really wasn’t fair that tulips only grew later in Monaco. With a lazy smile on his face and hearts in his eyes, he knew, deep down, that he’ll have to listen to the exact same thing the next year, even when he didn’t even like tulips to begin with. But for them, he’d pretend to do for the rest of his life.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri fluff #mclaren fluff #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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starlightkun · 5 months

Text

❧ 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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