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caesium-55 · 8 months ago

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—seven days. [ vi.iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: updating bc i love yall. lol jk i dont want to study for my engineering management long quiz yet. sum1 yell at me to start studying or smth.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2021 is a little dramatic in Max’s opinion. Some would say controversial. A lot of restarts. The issue with the safety car. Hamilton and Verstappen goes neck to neck. 369.5 points to 369.5. In the end, Verstappen overtakes Hamilton and wins the 2021 World Drivers' Championship.

The team celebrates with him after winning and in the sea of Red Bull employees, Max searches for you.

He won! Max Verstappen won! He’s a WDC now! He finally made truth of the world he told you in 2019.

Kelly appears and kisses him square on the lips. Max sees you in his peripheral vision, pulling your ball cap lower on your face before turning around and leaving. He wants to call you but Kelly keeps him in place.

Max visits your hotel room later, all happy and he holds the canned bottle of beer to you when you open the door.

“I’m not the sour loser anymore.”

You smile at him and Max feels like he’s on top of the podium again.

“Told ya you’ll be champion one day. Congrats, champ. Very happy for you.”

Champ.

Max decides that he likes Champ over every name you call him.

2022

you: go to fucking sleep u degenerate gamer

you: its 3 in the morning you have a race at 8

max: youre not my mother

you: i am ur manager u ass

you: and i have ur mom’s cell no

you: i will fucking call her if ur stream doesn't turn offline in ten seconds

you: 10…

max: you wouldnt dare

you: 9…

He moves into a penthouse at the beginning of the year and purchases a jet, Dassault Falcon 900EX, to make the traveling easier. Flying commercial absolutely sucks, even first class.

When he mentions the money he spent; the penthouse rental cost, the price of the jet plus maintenance of the private plane service, you have stood up and went to the balcony to stare at the Monaco scenery to gather your thoughts. Max laughs as he watches your brain overheat. He tells security that you’re to be given an immediate pass into the building and his penthouse without the need of going through the strict security checks. He gives you a keycard that you barely use because you knock on the door every single time you come by. A month later, Kelly and Penelope move in and this is the beginning of the little family charade.

“What are you doing?”

“Is it not obvious?” you gesture to the iPad in your hand. “Readin’ a Lestappen fic in AO3.”

Max’s brows furrow.

“Lestappen?”

“The ship name between you and Charles. Lestappen. Leclerc, Verstappen, Lestappen,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and he’s stupid for even asking, waving your hand in a complicated flourish. “It’s good. Top-tier literature. Want me to send you the link?”

Max’s nose scrunches, “So there are people who ship me and Charles?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Romantically?”

You nod, “Want the link?”

“Absolutely not.”

You shrug your shoulders.

“Your loss.”

Max wins P1 (as things should be) in Austin, Hamilton P2, and Leclerc P3. The team holds a private drinking party in the hotel bar. Max sits with Leclerc, whom he has invited, and Lando, who came with Daniel, and Daniel because he’s Daniel and he still gets a free pass in Red Bull parties even though he’s in McLaren now.

Daniel passes him a bottle of Heineken and Max searches for the bottle opener on the table but it's nowhere. He reaches for you, who sits on the neighboring table with the PR team. Max grabs the hem of your polo shirt sleeve and tugs slightly to get your attention. He opens his mouth to ask if you’ve seen the bottle opener but you got to moving, not even giving Max the chance to speak.

Without even interrupting your conversation with the PR people or even breaking eye contact with the person who is talking animatedly, you take the beer bottle from Max’s hand, toss a hand towel on top of it, then you use your teeth to remove the cap. It opens with a loud click. You wipe the rim of the bottle, pocketing the bottle cap, before returning the Heineken to Max.

Max looks at the Heineken bottle in his hand.

You know, Sophie, Max’s mother, always say that there's a certain type of intimacy existing when two people are able to communicate without the use of words. People associate intimacy with bare skins and basking in the fragility and vulnerability of a person, but intimacy goes deeper than mere nakedness and showing all the bare parts of you to the other person. Intimacy comes hand in hand with truth. When you admit your truth to the other person, that's intimacy. Her knowing his truth, his needs, without him telling her. That's another kind. If that's not the purest form of love then he does not know what is.

Charles pats his shoulder to pull him to reality.

At that moment, Max decides he’s an asshole because he just realized that he likes his manager after she opens his beer bottle and he has a fucking girlfriend now.

Max wins WDC for the second year in a row. Leclerc is at second and Perez at third. He’s on the top of the fucking world. Everything feels right now that he’s standing at the top.

His eyes search for you in the crowd but he doesn't find you. Only Kelly. He kisses Kelly, celebrates with the team, and visits you in your hotel room later with a cold can of beer in hand. It's a little past midnight, his watch tells him. You open the door seconds after Max knocks.

“Have you talked to Horner?” you ask, accepting the beer and opening it. The loud click when you open it feels satisfying in his ears.

You’ve changed out of the Red Bull polo now and instead, you wear a black shirt.

“No,” Max shakes his head.

“When will you?”

“Soon.”

That's the only truth he can offer. Because the bigger truth is this: Max doesn't want you going anywhere, not even the engineering team who works closely with him. He only wants you here, beside him, behind him, at all times.

One more year. One more year and he's going to tell Christian to move you to the engineering team. One more year to have you and he’ll let you go.

(That's what he told himself last year, too.)

“Okay,” you nod and it relieves Max that you’re not arguing with him about it. “Congrats, Champ.”

You don't fly with him to Monaco. You don't fly with the team either. Instead, you fly to Texas immediately straight from Abu Dhabi. Max calls you once in the middle of break to greet you happy holidays and you mail him his gift—a clay keychain figure of him. He adds it to his keys, sitting right next to the beaded keychain you gave him back in 2020 and a bottle opener keychain in 2021.

2023

“Should I break up with Kelly?”

Your head snaps up at a speed that should be considered a hazard, stunned. You give Max a look that can be translated as: Did the g-force finally catch up to your brain?

“What prompted this?” you question, slowly setting Max’s laptop aside. You’re working on fixing his laptop’s wifi connection while he’s getting his makeup done for the Heineken ad filming. Once the makeup artist deemed him done and left the room, he immediately took the chance to ask the question.

“Nothing,” he lies.

“I’ll throw away your laptop if you don't tell me the truth,” you threaten.

“It's just—” Max pauses. His mouth feels dry. He licks his lips before continuing, “It’s just… I don't know how to explain it. It feels like I don't love Kelly anymore.”

I think I love you, [Name].

“Aight,” you grab a monoblock chair and drag it until it's right beside Max’s chair and plop your ass down. You sigh deeply before your face schools into complete seriousness. “Can't believe I’m the one givin’ you this talk. Uh, Max, you see, in a relationship, you typically experience this period called the honeymoon phase.”

Max nods slowly. He doesn't know where you're trying to get at but he clings on each word that leaves your mouth.

“The honeymoon phase can last anywhere from months to years and when it's done, the strong feelings and infatuation you have for Kelly decreases and that's natural. This is the stage where your bond with Kelly is strengthened,” you explain. “It's not all sunshine and rainbows. It can get boring. But the love is still there. It's just…well, less intense than before.”

He wants to ask if this happened to you and Leo as well, but he bites his tongue and says a different thing instead, “You give advice like a relationship guru.”

“Baby, I have a long list of ex-lovers. Kelly’s your first girlfriend. You don't have a say.”

Your birthday is near. Daniel shares to Max that he’s buying you a new ball cap this year, signed by your favorite professional billiard player. Max needs to give you something better.

He thinks about the things you like. He makes a list. It's a short one.

Beer

A spot in the engineering team.

Your family

He cannot give number three. He cannot give what you already have. He can give you number two but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want you to be anything other than his manager. He can give you number one but it'll be very lame of him if he gives you beer for your birthday. What is better than Daniel’s gift? What would you like more than a ballcap?

Max calls his sister that evening.

“Shoes,” she says. “Oh wait, that's a little hard. You might get her shoe size wrong.”

“She’s size 7. In Euro, 37,” Max states a little too quickly and a little too sure.

“How did you know her shoe size?” Victoria wonders.

“I don't know. I just watch her feet?”

“So, you estimated her shoe size by watching her feet like a creep?”

“I watch her feet a normal amount, Victoria,” Max insists.

“Max, I can't even tell my husband’s shoe size even if I stare at his feet for hours.”

“Maybe you just suck at estimating measurements.”

Max ends up getting the shoes with Victoria’s help. Victoria gets too irritated with him midway because he is too indecisive. He thinks all the shoes that’s displayed do not suit you.

It's not even this difficult when he’s picking shoes to give Kelly. Normally, he just asks the saleswoman to show him the most expensive or the latest in their stock and he buys it, instructs the storespeople to wrap it up and make sure the brand shows because Kelly likes it when the brand is big and bright and attention-grabbing.

“If you think nothing’s pretty enough then go get a custom made shoe,” she advises and then sighs in exasperation. Victoria shakes her head at him. It's not supposed to be a serious suggestion but Max takes it to heart.

Instead of black, Max goes for white. You rarely go in white clothing but when you do, you become so beautiful that Max has to stop himself from kneeling down in front of you and risking everything.

It has pearls and diamonds and satin. All beautiful things that reminded Max of you. Max wants, no, needs to see you put them on. He’s the one who puts it in a box. White-colored with peach stickers and a peach-colored ribbon.

Max plans to give them to you after he wins the Miami Grand Prix. But your family arrives just as he’s about to retrieve it from his driver’s room.

Max meets your family. A family that consists of happy parents and three brothers. You are your family’s unica hija.

Julio [Last Name], your father, is a big man and his accent is thicker than yours and he doesn't call you by your name, only the most affectionate-sounding mija. He reminds Max of a giant teddy bear. A giant teddy bear who crushes rocks for a living.

Your mother, on the other hand, is a stern-looking woman. Sally, her name was. She’s short, compared to you and her sons and her husband.

You have three brothers. One older—you call him Damiano. Two younger—Rafael and Dominic. You are more your mother than your father, Max notices. Appearance-wise anyway. Damiano, too. Sharp-looking, both of you. Your sharpness makes you look charming whereas your Damiano’s sharpness makes him look intimidating. Your two younger brothers are carbon copies of your father, a little round and with kinder looking features.

“Papa, Mama, Bro one, two, and three, this is Max,” you introduce him, smiling widely and you're doing that smile where you’re showing too much gums and your eyes are shaped like crescents. Happiness looks good on you.

He lets out an oof sound when your father engulfs him in a hug. Max hears you exclaim: “Papa!”

Max laughs and waves his hand to tell you that the hug is fine and is very much welcomed.

“Congratulations, Maxwell!” Julio claps Max’s shoulders.

“Papa, please,” you shake your head at your father’s antics. “It's just Max.”

“Ya want to join us for [Name]’s birthday?” Julio invites. Max catches your eyes. You mouth a no but Max shrugs and says, “Sure.”

Max joins the family dinner. It's held in a Mexican restaurant somewhere downtown. Originally, your family reserved a table for ten. But Max has gone ahead and reserved the entire restaurant by paying upfront. You slap Max’s hand but Max laughs and says, “Happy Birthday [Name].”

Over dinner, Maxs learns that Rafael, Dominic, and Damiano are the biggest motosport fans so they all talk about Formula One and occasionally MotoGP. He finds out that they're a big fan of Marc Marquéz. Max tells them that he knows Marc personally and shares his experiences with the man. He promises to send them the man’s signatures. You tell him that he doesn't have to. He tells you that it's his pleasure.

Max listens in attentively as Julio narrates his amazing tales about his work experience. You laugh at the surprised Pikachu face Max makes when Julio is telling the entire table about the creepy call he responded to just the other month. You and your mother occasionally join in on the conversation but are more comfortable with listening to the boys.

Later, you stand up to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Max stands from the table five minutes after you leave. He’s drunk too much soda so now he needs to take a piss.

“Are you okay?” Max asks as he catches you reapplying a layer of lipstick—a shade of nude rose—on the sink in front of the washroom.

You hold the lipstick in one hand but the other is holding your right arm, palm covering the word MANAGER printed on the sleeve of your Red Bull polo shirt like it's something to be ashamed about.

“Yeah.” A lie.

The rest of the night goes the way Max wants it. He almost wishes it won't end.

Kelly waits for him in his hotel room. She gives him a gift for winning P1. The shoe box in Max’s backpack remains untouched.

He’s got every country except Singapore, Saudi, and Azerbaijan under his belt. His third WDC is secure even if he loses Abu Dhabi, but Max is selfish. He still wants a P1 in Abu Dhabi so he fights and fights until no one can catch up because of how fast he was.

Kelly comes with him this time to watch him race and support him because it's the final race of the season and she also knows that Max is going to win WDC this year. P is over at her father right now so it's just the two of them.

“Babe!” Max looks up from his laptop. Kelly comes running in and Max’s eyes widened, horrified, when she sees that Kelly is holding it.

The white shoes.

Max stands abruptly. The laptop in his lap falls to the floor and shatters. He curses and crouches down to pick it up and save what he can save. When he looks up, Kelly is sitting on the bed now and is trying the shoes on. Max shoves the damaged laptop aside and strides towards her. He’ll deal with the laptop later.

“That's not—”

“Oh?” Kelly’s face morphs in confusion. “It doesn't fit.”

Kelly chuckles yet it sounds empty and dread pools in Max’s stomach.

“You bought me shoes many times already. There’s no way you’ll get my shoe size wrong.”

Max takes the shoes from her hand quickly and he puts them back carefully in the box.

“That's not for me,” Kelly states.

“It’s not for you,” Max echoes.

“Then who’s it for, Babe?”

Max doesn't answer. Instead, he avoids her gaze.

“Max Emilian Verstappen, who’s the shoes for?” Kelly is seething now.

For the first time in their two nearly three year long relationship, Max and Kelly get into a screaming argument. They get into arguments as all couples do, but never ones with screaming and crying and too much anger in one room.

“I can't go on like this anymore,” Kelly cries. “I can't. I let it go when you made me wait because you celebrated her birthday with her family. I let it go when you made her that crochet bag. I let it go when you bought a billiard table and brought it into our home because she likes playing billiards—”

“I tried breaking up with you!” Max roars and he sees Kelly flinch. “And you told me not to. You used Penelope so I wouldn't break up with you—”

“Do not even say my daughter's name—”

“It's true!” Max throws his hands in the air like a man gone mad. “I told you in fucking July that I think I’m losing feelings for you! You told me to not break up with you because Penelope already thinks of me as her father and it’ll break her heart if I kick you out of my house! I am NOT her father, Kel, her father’s Daniil! You only want me because I can give you everything you want! Money, pride, and a fucking father figure for your child!”

Kelly strikes his cheek. Sharp, fast, and strong. Max remains still in shock and stares ahead.

Kelly has officially become the second person in this world who has raised a hand at Max.

“I hate you,” Kelly utters it with so much intensity. “I hate you. We’re done.”

She leaves quickly.

Max’s phone buzzes.

you: hey champ. race is on in an hour n a half. u good to go?

max: yeah

max: i’ll be there soon

you: i’ll wait for u

max: you always do

Max races with the guilt that he's a cheating asshole. His mother will not be proud of it once she learns that her son has dated a girl and idiotically realized that he’s in love with his manager halfway through the relationship.

Despite the emotional turmoil that swirling inside him, Max takes P1 and becomes a third-time WDC. He celebrates with the team. You excuse yourself, saying you have something important to do, and Max doesn't bother asking you to stay because he knows he’ll visit you in your hotel room later with a cold can of beer. It’s become your ritual now.

He drinks with Daniel, Yuki, and Checo. Five bottles in, he spills everything. He pukes. It tastes disgusting. His world turns into a hazy blur. You came to his rescue because that's what you always do.

Max is so dumb for taking so long in realizing that he's in love with you. It's always been you. You and your dumb considerate attitude and your snarky personality and your crude mouth. He never realized how horrifyingly enormous his desire for you is until its right there in front of him with its mouth wide open, ready to swallow him whole.

you: landed

you: thanks for the jet

you: talk soon gotta get to papa 1st

max: ok

max: stay safe

max: your dad will be alright dont worry

you: i hope so

It has been seven days since the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, three days since you left Monaco, two days since your last conversation in Instagram, and a day before Max flies to Belgium to celebrate the holidays with his mother and sister and his sister’s family.

max: are you okay?

max: just landed in belgium

max: mum and vic says hi

max: hey it's been a week now

max: is your dad okay?

max: im worried

max: call me soon please

max: happy holidays

max: or merry christmas

max: whatever you celebrate there in america

max: yeah i greeted a little too early

max: you didn't answer my call

max: im friends with logan now by the way

max: we talk at times

max: im trying to get him into sim racing

max: maybe it'll help him improve

max: happy holidays

max: i called your cell

max: you know christian just told me something funny

max: he sent an email this morning with a list of candidates for my 2024 manager

max: he said you resigned

max: very funny

max: please tell me you didn't

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv33

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raz-writes-the-thing · 7 months ago

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Star-Crossed (Doctor Who One-Shot)

Eleventh Doctor x GN!Reader (fluff/angst)

Summary: You and the Doctor find out that neither of you are on the same page when it comes to defining your relationship.

EVERYTHING: @winchxters

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @stilestotherescue @madspads @catlynharper@merrilark @jaziona92 @yeehawbrothers @mochabonesblog @iguirisu @thegen3sisark @wereallbrokenangels @florduarte @pansexual-imp (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Star-crossed lovers. That's what people called the two of you. After you'd both averted some new catastrophe on a random moon or planet and the people you'd befriended on this particular adventure dragged you away to ask what it was like- travelling with the Doctor.

"It must be nice, travelling the stars with such a handsome partner."

"You're both so lucky to have each other."

"Tell us, is he a good kisser?"

On and on it went. Planet after planet, moon after moon. And you wish you knew if he was a good kisser or not. You wish you knew what it was like to cuddle under a ship window and listen to him tell you stories. You wish you knew what it was like to sleep next to each other and have him cuddle you back to sleep (if he slept at all, of course). All of these things and more, but from what you could tell- he just wasn't interested.

"Come on, now," the Doctor broke you from your sulking. You took a deep breath and looked over at him. "What's that face for? It's a new day, new adventure, new hijinks. We've got it made, you and me."

You forced a smile onto your lips, feeling incredibly overwhelmed by a lot of things right now.

"What face, Doctor? There's no face. Promise."

The Doctor clicked his tongue, brows furrowing disapprovingly at your very obvious lie. Abandoning his post by the console, the Doctor came to sit by you, throwing his arm over your shoulders comfortingly.

"All right," he acquiesced as you turned your head to face away from him. You craved this kind of physical affection from him, but it also hurt. A lot. "Pretend for a second that I believe you, what could I do to make your great day even better, hmm?"

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and suddenly the Doctor's thumb and forefinger were under your chin and turning your head towards him.

"What's wrong, Petal? I can't stand to see you hurt like this."

"I just- look, it's silly, but I get tired of hearing people mistake us for a couple all the time," you explained, eyes downcast. Then, the Doctor's arm was no longer around you and the cool of the TARDIS interior made you shiver.

Forcing yourself to make eye contact with him, you were very surprised and frightened to see hurt on his features. This confused you, and you reached for one of his hands which was currently picking at his nails anxiously.

"You don't want to be a couple anymore then?" He asked, struggling to not look away from you.

"Well, I-" you started and then abruptly stopped. "Anymore? What do you mean 'anymore'?"

Now the Doctor looked just as confused as you did. You could see the gears trying to turn in his brain but struggling.

"I've spent a great deal of my time around humans," the Doctor said, processing. "Do you mean to tell me... I've been considering us a couple going on four or five months and you didn't know?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. You were seeing error.exe messages in your mind's eye. What was happening right now?

"But- I- we've never even kissed?" You protested, windows computer noises playing over your brain as you tried to figure out how this miscommunication could have happened.

"I thought you wanted to take things slow," the Doctor answered.

You couldn't help it. You burst into laughter. Raucous, loud, boisterous laughter that filled the room and out into the hallways. The Doctor followed, little giggles that turned into full-bellied laughter in no time.

You couldn't believe the ridiculousness of the situation. How could he have thought that? How could you have thought he wasn't interested? Gods, there was a lot of miscommunication there that needed to be seriously looked at as some sort of Ripley's believe it or not record.

When you were able to stop your giggling long enough to take a breather, the Doctor took your hand.

"Given we didn't do this the right way the first time," he said, looking equally as mystified by the situation. "I feel it's my duty to ask... would you like to go out with me? Complete restart. From the beginning."

"Yes," you grinned, wiping the tears of laughter from your cheek with your shoulder. "I would love to go on a date with you."

"Excellent!" He exclaimed, jumping up and heading to the console. "Now, you go put something on. Something... fit for a nice dinner and a movie, and I'll put the coordinates in. Go on, off you pop."

You hopped up, feeling giddy with excitement. A fresh start, this was just what you needed. Maybe you were star-crossed lovers after all.

#doctor who #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #x reader #doctor who imagine #eleventh doctor imagine #doctor who drabble #matt smith #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfiction #eleventh doctor x you #eleventh doctor x y/n #matt smith doctor #ms doctor #geronimo

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djarins-cyare · 6 months ago

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Never Look Down

Part 1: Din’s Evening

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+) with a smidge of explicit

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 5,330

Tags/warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, vomit (no description), numerous references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, non-explicit smutty thots, Din carries OFC a short distance, masturbation (male, semi-explicit, but I don’t think enough to push up the rating), 3rd person POV (part 2 will be 2nd person POV and OFC will become reader/you).

Author’s note: This was originally supposed to be for @beskarandblasters’ Din Djarin Fic Club Drabble Event, although drabble this is not! Kel said there was no word limit, but it grew so long that I couldn’t even call it a one-shot anymore, so I’m uploading it in two parts to make it easier to read and I think that probably disqualifies it from the Drabble Event. But Kel, thank you so much anyway for the prompt – it resulted in me finally pushing through my writer’s block and finishing/uploading something new, so I’m eternally grateful!

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

He’s panicking. It’s stupid, really – he’s been in situations far trickier and more critical than this. But Karga said he needed help urgently, and now his babysitter isn’t answering her comlink.

Should he just go and leave Grogu here? It’s not like he never left him alone on the ship.

Except… something’s changed since the adoption. Din has started to care what others think of his parenting style. He hears people whisper that fatherhood clearly isn’t coming easily to him (he thought he was doing alright). He watches how his babysitter closely monitors every move the kid makes (the Mandalorians never watched him that closely). He listens when people talk about how they raise their own children (he hadn’t realised it was such hard work). And it’s made him feel as if he’s… lacking.

He hates feeling less than adequate in any area of his life, but somehow, failing as a father cuts deep. Perhaps it’s because he grew up without one. Plus, that scolding Peli gave him after she found Grogu alone on the Razor Crest still haunts him.

Although the Mandalorian method of letting them learn from their mistakes has merit (and it never did him any harm), he wants to be there for his son. So, no. He won’t leave Grogu here alone. He can’t risk him waking up and wondering why nobody comes if he calls. The kid has probably had enough of that in his past.

Why isn’t Maia picking up?

Din paces the cabin’s length, listening to the gentle ping of the comlink as it tries to connect with the one he gave her. Even the soothing pulse doesn’t ease his frustration. Diligent parenting is hard.

Just as he’s wondering if he can wake the kid and bring him along, the comlink crackles to life.

“—know what the stinking stang is wrong with it! Ah, frotz! Hello? Is this thing totally borked?”

For a baffling moment, he can’t work out whether he’s shocked or thrilled. She certainly doesn’t use that type of language around the kid, but he’s delighted to hear her voice nonetheless.

“Maia!” He interrupts her frustrated confusion as loud as he dares, lest he wake the sleeping child downstairs.

“Shiny, hi! It works! What’s up, my metal man? It’s late… is this a booty call?”

Once again, Din can’t decide if he’s shocked or thrilled. However, his dick’s instant twitch of interest proves that it, at least, is clearly siding with the latter. Dank farrik, he wishes it were a booty call. “No, Maia, I need—”

“Course it’s not!” she interrupts, giggling inanely. “Sorry, that was ridiculous, ignore me. Go on, you were saying?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to push past the stab of dismay at her labelling the idea of a booty call as ridiculous. At least she sounds in a happy mood.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late, but Karga has some kind of crisis. IG-11 is still with the Anzellans for repairs after the last crisis, so he’s asked for my help. Grogu’s asleep, but I’m gonna need you to come over and wait at the cabin until I return. I’ll pay you double your usual rate. I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“Suuure! I’ll haul my jets over to you now. Five, ten minutes, tops. If you wanna take off now, I know your door code. I’ll check on the li’l bug as soon as I arrive.”

Din breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank you, I owe you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Happy hunting, Beskar Boy! Or happy dispute settling!” Maia signs off with a melodic laugh that instantly makes him grin beneath his helmet, despite the stupid nickname.

The grin fades as he processes the meaning of the words preceding her addictive laughter, and he sighs. She’s probably right, although he hopes he’ll at least need his blaster for whatever mess the High Magistrate wants him to clean up.

Karga was once able to intimidate the townsfolk, but these days, they see him as purely a leader and captain of industry. They respect his ability to govern and improve the town – he’s more than proven himself capable in those roles. But whipping out a blaster from beneath those ridiculous robes now gains him little more than dubious raised eyebrows. By contrast, Cara was a fearsome and capable law enforcer, and now IG-11 keeps the citizens in line.

Except a reptavian tore off both of IG’s legs a few nights ago. Apparently, whatever the droid equivalent of ‘sick leave’ is, he’s taking it.

Din doesn’t mind helping out when he’s not on jobs for Carson. As long as Karga doesn’t solicit his help too often, it’s an easy way to make a few extra credits. He supposes that kind of makes him a part-time deputy, though he’ll never accept a title or a contract. But if tonight’s job is nothing more than a neighbour dispute, he’ll be a little peeved. His friend is aware of his skillset and wouldn’t contact him unless it required weapons and armour. He hopes.

He checks on Grogu once more, then equips himself with his usual arsenal, making sure to lock the weapons cabinet behind him. For some reason, his blasters fascinate Maia. He’s given her several shooting lessons, and she always asks to hold them whenever the cabinet’s unlocked. Although he doubts she’d handle them without his permission, he’d rather be present if she’s caressing his things.

Truthfully, he’d prefer it if she handled and caressed something else entirely, though he buries that thought for now. He has work to do, and an ill-timed hard-on would be awkward at best, if not downright perverse. He can torture himself later.

Din wraps up the problem in less than an hour. It does require his blaster, in fact, and he does have to shoot someone. Okay, it’s in the shoulder to disarm him, but the guy is only on his drunken vendetta because he’s heartbroken. He doesn’t deserve to die.

A year ago, he would’ve just shot him in the head and gone home. But he’s lived among the citizens of Nevarro for several months now, and he’s almost starting to feel like part of the community. Passing through it to visit the old covert was different. The Mandalorians were a separate (secret) colony, and he was merely a visitor who lived on his ship. Even though his new home is still on the outskirts, Grogu attends the school in town, and he already knows many of the other parents by name. These days, the market stall owners try to chat with him instead of looking away in fear as they used to.

The guy standing on a table in the cantina tonight with a blaster trained on his ex and her new flame is someone Din recognises. He can’t recall from where, but disarming rather than killing him feels like the right thing to do.

Once he has him in binders, he delivers him to Karga and hurries straight home. The lava flats are quiet and peaceful this time of night, free from the nocturnal bustle of the town and lit only by the celestial display above. There’s no sulphur fog tonight, and the air smells fresh.

But as pleasant as it is, he doesn’t dawdle. Just like every other time he’s left Maia in charge, he relishes the chance to walk into his home and see her there. As if she belongs. He finds that image far more dazzling than the constellations sparkling above him. It’s far sweeter than the fresh air he inhales through his helmet filters as he hastens toward his cabin.

He can’t pinpoint when his interest in her changed from professional to passionate. Grogu made it clear that he liked her best out of the several childminders they auditioned, so he gave her the job. At some point between then and now, he became enamoured with her.

But he can’t do anything about it.

His loyalty to his son means he can’t fuck the babysitter, so for now, Maia belongs to the kid, and Din sleeps alone.

Even though he’s had no serious relationships in the past, he imagines he’d be willing to try it with her. But since it’ll never happen, it’s not worth dwelling on. He’s noticed a few locals checking him out, so he can always approach them if he’s looking to get laid. He’s much more used to casual encounters.

But none of that stops Din from thinking his babysitter is beautiful. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could run his hands over her welcoming body, indulge in her tender touch and heady scent, sink into her depths over and over until she’s crying out his name as they shatter together in ecstasy….

Dank farrik, he’d better quit thinking like that. He has enough trouble controlling his physical urges around her as it is. In fact, it’s starting to become a problem. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to dash off and furtively rearrange himself so his stomach padding hides his boner. He can’t wear the flight suits with the tight pants around her anymore, so the looser-fitting ones are getting much more use. In fact, he’s wearing his last pair. (That reminds him: he needs to do laundry tomorrow.)

Maia teases him whenever she can, but it’s always friendly, not flirty, and it doesn’t come close to being sexual. He’s never caught her looking anywhere other than directly at his visor. Still, he can’t help feeling embarrassed whenever something she says or does causes his cock to harden. He simply can’t control it.

Din reaches the cabin and punches in the door code, happy to note that his guest has locked it from inside. Her diligence and attention to detail certainly helped him trust her in his home from the outset of her employment.

Stepping across the threshold, he notices all the lights are out except for the one above the kitchen sink, which is unusual. Stranger still, all it illuminates is a near-full cup of water standing in a pool of condensation.

Nonetheless, it’s bright enough for him to survey the rest of the room cast in shadowed shades of grey.

He can’t see Maia.

Instantly, his heart rate rises, although he doesn’t panic. She’s probably just in the refresher or the kid’s bedroom with him. But the amount of moisture surrounding that cup shows it’s been sitting there almost as long as he was gone, which is curious. And there’s no light coming from downstairs either.

The cabin is small, with an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a staircase leading down to two bedrooms and the refresher. Din’s priority is his son, so he creeps down the ferrocrete steps, well-practised at following the route silently. With his night vision on, he can see that Grogu’s door is open a crack, and he pushes it wider. Little purring snores verify that the kid is sleeping soundly, and he slides the door fully closed to ensure he stays that way. Good.

Since his babysitter wasn’t in that room, and she wouldn’t invade his private space without permission, there’s only one other option. He bypasses his own bedroom opposite Grogu’s and heads to the door facing him – the refresher. He can’t pick up any sounds from within, but he’s not about to invade her privacy by listening too intently. The door is fully shut, but there’s a faint glow through the ventilation grill at the bottom, too weak to be the usual lights. A glowrod?

That’s rather odd. He’s grateful that Maia avoided putting on the hall lights while Grogu’s door was ajar, but she could’ve switched on the refresher lights once inside.

For an unsettling moment, Din isn’t sure how to proceed. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her if she’s busy. But… his instincts are telling him something is off, and he wants to know she’s okay.

He’ll give her a little longer. He’d rather be cautious than a perv.

He retreats upstairs again, conducting a thorough check of the living space and kitchen but finding nothing abnormal or suspicious. Nothing besides that abandoned cup of water, at least. Next comes his nightly check of the cabin’s weak points – the windows and entryway. He secures them all, figuring he can escort Maia out when she’s ready. Tipping away the water, he runs a fresh cup, turns his back to the stairs to lift his helmet and drink, and refills it. Finally, he disarms himself of most of his weapons, leaving one blaster in its holster and his vibroblade in his boot. He likes to bring some of his usual arsenal downstairs with him, even though he has multiple spares in a secure cabinet near his bed.

Which is where he’s headed now. Din sets the drink on his nightstand, switches off his night vision, and switches on the dim bedside light. His guest has seen him armourless a few times before, so he begins removing his beskar and the rest of his kit. He’s almost finished – just his armourweave stomach padding to go – when he hears a thump from the refresher.

In seconds, he’s outside it again, listening intently for any further clues. He’s been in the business of handling unconscious bodies for decades, and that sounded like an unconscious body.

“Maia?” he tries, keeping his voice low to ensure he won’t disturb the kid.

Nothing.

He knocks gently, giving it a few moments.

Still nothing.

Okay, now he’s really starting to worry. He returns to his bedroom, grabs his vambrace, and flicks through his visual settings until he’s replaced his night vision with the thermal overlay. He hopes he isn’t crossing a line here, but what else can he do? Walking to his doorway, he takes a deep breath… and directs his visor at the refresher.

Dank farrik, she’s on the fucking floor. Why didn’t he check sooner?

Jabbing off the thermal overlay, Din throws his vambrace on the bed, then rushes to the refresher door. He keeps his voice low in case he wakes Grogu, hoping it reaches her anyway. “Maia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in.”

He gives her five torturous seconds to respond or get decent if she isn’t already, and then he keys in the override code. The door slides open, revealing his unconscious (but blessedly fully clothed) babysitter slumped near the toilet, lit by a glowrod on the floor next to her. He can now hear her breathing heavily, though it doesn’t sound laboured, just a deep state of sleep.

His helmet isn’t sealed, so straight away, he’s able to detect the lingering smell of vomit. A somewhat grim consequence of being both a bounty hunter and a father means Din can also distinguish types of vomit. Although she has flushed, there’s no air filtration with the lights off, and the residual odour tells him that Maia has been drinking alcohol.

It also explains her unconscious state, so his worry dissipates a little, and mild annoyance starts to creep in.

She agreed to look after his son when she’d been drinking?

He kneels down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Maia. Wake up.” He shakes her, but she doesn’t stir.

He assumes she slipped from a propped-up position against the toilet, and the thud he heard was her slumping onto the ferrocrete floor. Did she bang her head? If that didn’t wake her… shit.

He tries shaking her again with as much force as he dares, and she groans and curls up even more. She’s fighting it, but he sees consciousness sluggishly returning.

“Maia, it’s Din. Can you sit up?”

“… y’can’t make me sing for the cup….” She’s still half asleep and confused, but that’s not surprising. A few seconds later, she cracks open her eyes, becomes aware of her situation, and slams them shut again. “Oh… fuuuck… no no, m’sorry… so so so s-sorry… please don’t be mad at meee….” She’s tearful and rambling but mostly coherent, even though she’s still curled on the floor with her eyes squeezed closed.

“What happened?” He can’t think of anything else to say until he’s established her culpability. He knows she wouldn’t drink on the job, so she must’ve been drinking earlier this evening. It certainly explains her overzealous response on the comlink. Dank farrik, he should’ve realised. But, no, he was busy revelling in his own drunken high from her joke about it being a booty call. Idiot.

“It was accidet— ac-ci-den-tal,” she continues from her foetal position. “Tried to call you back, but m’comlink’s busted… figured better I’m here drunk than not at all… ’m sorry sorry sorry, kark, pleeease don’t hate me. I jus’ wanted to make sure the li’l man was okay. I didn’t realise how much I’d had till I stood up, n’ it hit me worse on the way over. But Grogu’s fine, I checked. But I’ve grossed up your ’fresher, ’m sorry…”

Din sighs. In the scheme of things, Maia did the right thing. He’d rather she was here puking in his refresher than risk his child waking up alone. And it occurs to him that she achieved a surprising amount while seemingly drunk as a pirate. She secured the cabin, poured herself some water, stomached a few sips, managed to descend the stairs unscathed, and checked on the kid. Then she sealed herself inside the refresher and threw up neatly into the toilet bowl with no spills, even managing to flush before she passed out. And she did all that by the light of a glowrod so she wouldn’t wake Grogu.

In many ways, his babysitter’s actions tonight were more responsible than some of his own questionable choices regarding his son’s safety. He can’t be mad at her.

He tells her so. “I’m not mad, Maia. Thank you for coming over anyway. Can you sit up? I need to know you’re okay.”

Her eyes are still clamped shut, but she cracks them slightly as she tries to push herself off the floor. It doesn’t go well, so Din reaches forward to help, and together, they get her into a stable sitting position. Nevarro’s volcanic environment means the basement maintains a cosy warmth, so he’s not surprised she passed out down here. It’s not exactly soft, but those who grow up in the Outer Rim spend their lives making do. He likes that she’s a survivor. Like him.

“Everything’s s-spinning,” she groans. “N’ my mouth tastes like bantha balls.”

Din suppresses a snort. “Hold on.” He climbs to his feet, retrieves the cup of water from his bedroom, and then passes it to her. “Here, sip.”

After she’s taken a few delicate sips, Maia gives him back the cup. “Don’t wanna puke again.”

“You won’t,” he assures, placing it in her hands again. “Pretty sure you got all the alcohol out of your system already. You gotta rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”

Kneeling down next to her again, he watches her try to follow his instruction, pleased she trusts him. He can’t help but admire how adorably dishevelled she is. Her hair is mussed, her clothes are wrinkled, and she keeps pouting between sips… but it’s all so… cute.

Once she’s had half the cup, he accepts it back, though she follows it up with more apologies. “M’so sorry… , m’such a karkin’ idiot… I get it if you don’t want me to look after Grogu anym—”

“Stop,” Din interrupts sharply, unwilling to let her beat herself up. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I didn’t ask you if you were busy. I demanded you come over and bribed you with extra credits. I didn’t question why you sounded different on the comlink. And I didn’t wait for you to arrive. If I’d done any of those things differently, you might not have ended up on my ’fresher floor. So I’m sorry too.” Maia doesn’t reply besides blinking at him a few times, so he asks, “What was the occasion? For the drinking, I mean.”

“One year of freedom from a terrible relationship,” she states resolutely, and for a moment, she seems a little more sober. “Me n’ Zandi, we were both in deep with some mudscuffers who locked us in when we were too young to know any better. But we got lucky. Marshal Dune caught them dealing spice, and now they’re spending a decade mining the asteroid field at the edge of the system. The Nevarran tribunal sentenced them a year ago today, so we drank to celebrate our freedom.”

Din doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s made some previous passing remarks about the toxic relationships she and her friend escaped from, which he’s always taken as hints of her wish to remain unattached. It’s yet another reason he wouldn’t feel right about making any sort of move on her. He settles on, “You… deserve to celebrate.”

“Thanks, Shiny.” He bristles at the nickname out of habit, but he secretly likes that Maia has numerous nicknames for him. “N’ you deserve a ’fresher without a woman on the floor. I should get outta your way, Beskar Boy.”

She tries pushing herself up but instantly becomes dizzy and topples to the side. Din’s naturally quick reflexes kick in, and he positions himself to catch her, letting her fall into his chest as his arm snakes around her back. Before he can even process what he’s doing, he’s slipping his other arm beneath her knees and lifting her up.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, grabbing onto his flight suit with one hand while the other flies to grasp his neck. He almost shivers from feeling her clutch at him so keenly. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love it! Thanks for the lift, muscles!”

He’s glad his bold move has amused rather than perturbed her, so he doesn’t answer, too busy willing his cock to remain unreactive to this sudden closeness. His main goal is to get her off the ferrocrete floor and put her down somewhere softer as fast as possible. As he elbows open the door and navigates out of the refresher, he makes a split-second decision. His bed is closer than the couch.

“Shiny! This is your bedroom!” Maia whisper-shouts as he steps through the door. At least she’s lucid enough to keep her voice low in case Grogu hears across the hall.

Din grunts in agreement as he approaches his bed and starts carefully lowering her onto it.

She keeps going in a gleeful whisper. “Is this…? Are we…? Kriff, I never thought I’d actually end up in your bed, metal man! I mean, it’s been a dream, sure, but I figured your creed thing meant, like, no sex or whatever. But holy frotz, I guess tonight really was a booty call! Count me the fuck in!”

He’s already laid her down by the time he fully processes her words.

Dank farrik, he’s a fucking idiot.

He will never have sex with any woman in this state. He’s not that kind of guy. The fact that being with Maia is a dream for him too is meaningless, and so is the possibility that she might actually want him. Because does she really? Maybe this is still the alcohol talking. It has to be. Right?

It doesn’t even matter. All Din needs to do is extract himself from this situation in the least awkward way possible and without having to reject her verbally.

But how?

He points a finger at her. “Stay put.” She bites her bottom lip and acknowledges his order with a sloppy salute.

Damn it, the image of her lip caught between her teeth is now burned into his brain, haunting him with forbidden promise.

He pads back to the refresher in his socks and closes the door, relieving himself, flushing, and then pouring some cleaner down the toilet to sit overnight. He then washes up at the sink as fast as possible and refills the cup of water. Returning to his bedroom, Din places the cup on the nightstand along with the glowrod that belongs to his guest.

Speaking of whom…

In his brief absence, Maia has toed off her shoes, stripped naked and strewn her clothes across the floor, and burrowed under his covers. She’s still bleary from the booze, but he sees fire and lust behind her hopeful gaze as she blinks up at him.

It kills him.

He remembers he never finished removing his armour, so he retrieves the vambrace from where he threw it and places it on its shelf. Then he finally removes his stomach padding and puts that away too, directing his visor anywhere except at the naked woman in his bed. He’s doing everything possible to deny the physical reaction her presence is giving rise to.

When he’s done, Din approaches the bed again, acutely aware that she’s tracking him with a hunger he shares but can do nothing about.

Fuck, this is torture. The blanket has slipped down (or maybe Maia has arranged it) so low that it’s daringly close to exposing her nipples. She’s right there, waiting for him. Wanting him.

But she’s drunk. And she’s his kid’s babysitter. He tries to quell his ache by thinking about how she’s thrown up this evening, which would make kissing gross. It helps for a second, although the idea of kissing her at all ends up eclipsing the negatives, and he hardens even more.

Shit, he cannot think about kissing her. Or how naked she is. Or anything like that. Vomit. He should focus on vomit.

Okay. Din taps off the bedside light and picks up the glowrod, then heads to the door in the dark, stumbling over her clothes strewn on the floor. He can’t activate his helmet’s night vision without his vambrace control, but he won’t put it back on just to navigate his escape. Nor will he switch on the glowrod yet because he doesn’t want to see any dismay or regret in her eyes as he leaves her. He wants to remember the hunger he witnessed there.

Hazardous garments notwithstanding, he finds his way to the exit.

Crossing the darkened doorway’s threshold, he whispers, “Get some rest, Maia.” Then he fumbles for the control and taps the door close button, releasing a sigh as it swishes shut behind him.

Switching on the dim glowrod, he traipses upstairs. It’s going to be so kriffing awkward in the morning. Nonetheless, one thought keeps repeating itself to him above all others, one he can no longer prevent his dick from swelling at the prospect of.

Is she really attracted to him?

He has to know.

Din extracts another blaster from his cabinet, knowing he won’t sleep without one beside him. Then he sits heavily on the couch, thinking about how often he used to sleep in his helmet before this cabin became his home. It’s the first place he’s felt secure enough to remove it at night, so he’s no stranger to sleeping beneath his beskar mask. It’s almost a comfort in a way.

With his face covered in a darkened room lit by nothing but a glowrod while those he cares for slumber downstairs, more memories return…

Sitting in the Crest’s darkened cockpit, fucking his fist by the swirling glow of hyperspace, chasing a release during those first stressful days as a fugitive. In theory, if something had pulled him out of hyperspace, someone could’ve quite literally caught him with his dick in his hand. But the odds of anyone being close enough to peer in through the transparisteel at that very moment and notice his furtive actions were slim. Back then, he was so untethered that in his weaker moments, he desperately sought anything that made him feel good. Fleeting moments when he could pretend his life wasn’t falling apart yet again. The risk was worth it.

Here, too, although he’s locked up the cabin and closed the shutters, there’s a risk of Maia sneaking up the stairs and finding him. But a similar desperation fills him now – the utter frustration of loss. Back then, it was the loss of a stable income, the loss of his covert. Now, it’s his missed chance – the loss of what could’ve been with the woman downstairs. And maybe even the total loss of her in his life. Perhaps she’ll be too embarrassed about this evening’s events and quit. Din couldn’t take that, nor could Grogu. It’s why he tried to avoid this.

Can they get past this? Maybe he ought to find someone else to care for the kid. Would that be best? This is getting too complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

So, right now, he’ll imagine the positive and lose himself in the fantasy, just like he used to. He’ll think about the hunger he saw in her eyes and let himself believe it wasn’t merely the alcohol. Just for tonight, he’ll believe it’s the truth. The risk, once again, is worth it.

He’s already tenting his loose flight suit pants, so he fumbles to expose himself and relaxes against the couch cushions behind him. The wet spot on his underwear displays just how profoundly turned on he is simply by the idea of being with Maia.

After all the temptation it’s endured this evening, his cock is extra sensitive, so he begins with measured, lazy strokes. Whilst he’d love to revel in the fantasy, he knows he won’t last long. As he imagines joining her in his bed, filling his palms with those half-exposed breasts he saw, pressing his naked body against her, his movements begin to speed up and his pressure increases. Very soon, he’s plummeting toward the edge of ecstasy like a podracer pilot with the finish line in sight.

His helmet tips back to stare at the ceiling as he pictures how it would feel to sink into her warm depths, and the notion ignites his fuse, burning rapidly. It only takes a few more strokes before the powder keg within him explodes into a million tiny raptures. His hips stutter, his muscles clench, and his orgasm tears through his body. He comes hard, and a fractured groan far louder than he’d intended escapes through the modulator as he spills forth his pleasure…

Fucking. Bliss.

Din’s mind is blank for some time, just a sense of fulfilment and contentment gently rippling throughout his relaxed form.

As the real world filters back in, he’s able to think clearly, and he now knows what he has to do. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the mature and sensible option. It’s also a fucking daunting prospect, but he’s faced worse. Has he? Yes, he has. He can do it.

He tucks himself away and finds a cloth to wipe down the mess on his flight suit. That task makes him realise he’ll have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow without waking Maia to grab his armour and some fresh clothes. And now he really needs to do laundry tomorrow. The only pants he has left are the tighter ones, which he tries to avoid wearing around her. Great, there’s another reason to dread the morning. Although it’s not as if he’s ever caught her checking out his package – she may tease him verbally, but her gaze is always polite.

For now, he’ll enjoy the security of darkness and the lingering swirl of happy chemicals in his brain.

Din lays down on the couch and switches off the glowrod. With a deep sigh, he surrenders to the relaxing state of comfort brought on by his orgasm, letting himself fall into a contented sleep. Before he drifts off, his last thought is of Maia’s beautiful lips… leaning in for a kiss….

If only.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2 →

Those of you who've read my work before will be familiar with my copious end notes:

As usual, it’s British spellings I’m afraid. Demographic stats say about 60% of you are American, but I can’t help where I was born, so sorry about all the extra ‘u’s and ‘l’s and for using ‘s’ where you would expect ‘z’. However, I’ve channelled my inner linguist and used American language and speech patterns since the show is filmed in the US and Din’s accent is American. All other wording is internationally neutral, including Maia’s dialogue (since the next chapter is written from her POV and I’ll be switching to second person reader insert for that, e.g. you/your pronouns). I’m a little sad I didn’t get to include any Mando’a linguistics in this fic tbh. Maybe another time.

The cabin’s layout is inspired by the concept art by Christian Alzmann that appeared in the closing credits of s3e8, in which there appears to be a staircase leading down to a lower level. That makes sense to me, as Din would need total security to sleep without his armour on, and a windowless underground room seemed appropriate. I also like the parallel that on the Razor Crest he used to sleep on the lower level in a windowless room too.

I know Carl’s absence is going to be felt when we finally get the movie, so I wanted to write something where Karga is still around. If this had been a longer piece, I would’ve had him actually featuring in it instead of being in the background, but in any case, Karga lives forever in the universes I write.

The reference to Din wearing looser pants is, weirdly, Canon. One of the ways you can tell it’s Brendan Wayne in the suit is because he seems to prefer these weird baggy clown pants. Contrast to Pedro who likes them tight (Din Peña?), as does Lateef Crowder, and as did Barry Lowin in season 2. Since Brendan did the majority of season 3, we saw Din in the loose-fitting style a lot more, so I decided to write in a reason for that beyond actor preference.

Though we have no information on Nevarro’s judiciary system, they’re an independent world who have a marshal and a magistrate, so my guess is they’d adopt the New Republic’s system of having a tribunal. Generally, group decision-making is favoured during this era, in contrast to the single-judge system of the Imperial era, so it seems more likely that Karga would encourage citizens to serve on a tribunal rather than unilaterally passing judgments himself.

Apologies to @the-mandawhor1an for using the name of your longtime established OC – it was coincidental, I promise! I chose it after looking up the most common female names in the world, one of which is Maria, and I settled on the variant Maia because it sounded like a more Star Wars-y version (and for another reason which you’ll see in part 2). I only realised when you reblogged my WIP Wednesday snippet, and it was a bit late to change it by then. I guess it’s a common name in the SWU too! But I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel like I’m muscling in on your domain. Your Maia is of course the original Maia 💖

I made the GIF myself. Sorry it’s a bit blurry, I’m not very good at making them yet. I tried to use Tumblr’s GIF-making function, but it wouldn’t let me crop out Grogu’s ears, so this was my alternative attempt. It’ll have to do.

Definitions: Comlinks are those little cylinder comms they all use. Glowrod is a catch-all term for anything portable that produces light. All the swears/insults (stinking stang, frotz, borked, kriff, kark) are from the Legends list of phrases and slang this time (it’s longer than Canon). Nevarran reptavians are the ones that Grogu saved Karga from in s1e7 and that the Mandalorians were roasting in s3e7. Ferrocrete is a compound building material (Canon and Legends) made from concrete and iron, used in roads, reinforced bunkers and building foundations. I figured Din would only be happy with something strong and defensible, so Karga had the cabin built with it. Transparisteel is used for windows and ship viewports, as well as helmet visors.

Part 2 is written and will be uploaded next weekend once proofing/editing is complete. What do we think? Is Din gonna be dumb and tell her she can’t babysit Grogu anymore? Deny himself what he wants for Maia’s own good?

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@foomoosworld @jude77 @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an

Those tagged below showed interest in my masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs), so I thought I’d sneak in some extra tags. Apologies if it’s too forward, if you’d prefer I didn’t tag you in part 2 just let me know…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

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palajae · 1 year ago

Text

on my mind.

PAIRING... skater!niki x skater!reader | GENRE… figure skating! au, romance, angst, fluff, unconditional love.? | WC... 0.6k | “please, let me know what’s wrong.”

you don’t care that niki spends a lot more time with his girlfriend.

you don’t care that all of your fans are in denial and still ship the two of you together.

you don’t care that haerin posts even more of her and niki online in response to said fans.

what you do care about is the change. the change in your practices, your dynamic, your relationship with niki.

you can’t just hug him whenever you want. you can’t borrow any of his clothes when you forget your own. you can’t be truly yourself around him anymore, constantly holding yourself back.

you knew your relationship wasn’t exactly normal, but it worked. it’s what gave you guys years of success and what you thought would last.

but you miss his playful pranks, his sweet hugs, and most of all, the look of pure affection in his eyes. it’s not that he wouldn’t, that he didn’t want to. niki would do anything you asked in a heartbeat. but you knew with his girlfriend and being in a relationship, it couldn’t be the same.

you missed your friend. both on and off the ice.

so much to the point where you actually stalked the two of you online. for the first time, you let outside influence get to you.

you were surprised by the amount of support for the two of you (and the most random ship names and edits).

all the photos, videos of your performances, and the old comments niki used to post on your posted photos— always borderline romantic but something you two always brushed off as platonic—it all came back.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two of you were madly in love as well.

but you did. and the two of you probably never would be.

so you call it a day and make a promise to never look up your name with his again.

you surely kept that promise, until the next morning pre-practice you couldn’t help but see your phone blow up.

all the links and posts people were tagging you in didn’t help.

even worse was seeing articles online stating that nishimura riki was reportedly leaving you to partner up with his current girlfriend, kang haerin.

your coach greets you with a smile, clapping her hands. “let’s get to work! where’s niki?”

you shrug, right as you hear scuffling onto the ice.

“sorry i’m late,” niki’s breathless voice makes you swallow. “lost track of the time.”

you (clearly) already knew what he was doing and who he was with.

still, you avoid his gaze. during warm up you barely speak to him, and of course he notes it.

after an awkward and silent practice, your coach leaves the two of you alone. almost like she knew there was something going on with the tension between you.

after every performance—most practices even—niki would hug you and press a kiss to your temple. it was a habit, a good luck charm and a warm goodbye until the next day.

but this time you start to leave before he even gets the chance to. niki catches up to you, taking your hand.

“hey, what’s going on?” you dislike how concerned he sounds.

“i don’t know, shouldn’t you know?” you coolly respond to your partner.

“i don’t. could you please tell me dear?”

you ignore him—his term of affection was not going to work on you this time.

niki was so stubborn. and so were you. ever since the first day you guys were assigned partners and were obviously not happy, he was stubborn. it took a long time to get the both of you to warm up to each other.

so he takes your other hand, grip tight so you’re forced to face him.

he calls out your name. “please, let me know what’s wrong.”

you sigh. why was seeing him everyday, always having to act like this, so tiring now?

you let go of his hands, looking down at the ice as your blade scrapes up bits and pieces.

“niki, we need to talk.”

a/n ▸ i did not expect this much love and support on this miniseries so thank you guys 😭😭insert are you ready for this in wendy’s voice during zimzalabim intro

part 2/4 | previous. | next.

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @kynrki @heesterical @jungwonize @rerequire @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount @hoeshii @love-4-keum @nyanggk @luvhyun3 @dimplewonie @yjjungwon @who-tf-soddhi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s

@kflixnet

series tag list ▸ @en-chantedtomeetyou @czlluvriki @berry-and-kkami @jungsunkiggfhffr @wzy3ka @fakeuwus @k1ttylvr @beomsbeanie @geraldsmochi @ohsjy @jend3uki @enhalovie @sweet-kisses-and-bloody-screams @haechansbbg @mini-garden-won @enhastolemyheart @seyoran @kyanmeai @june-pop

@jayhoonvroom @tomomorin @hrts4riki @abcancanc @ionlyreadforfanfics @sunoodior @ivshypen07

@paleegggoopstatesman @contyynishimura

#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #niki x reader #niki x you #niki fluff #niki scenarios #enhypen niki #niki imagines

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eddiemunsonslibrary · 2 months ago

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K | 30s | 18+ Only Please 🔞

This is my fanfic rec side blog where I will be reblogging Eddie Munson fanfics. I don't get a lot of time for reading anymore but want to share the love and help spread fan fictions further so I will be reblogging pretty much every Eddie Munson Fic I see with a simple system to make it easier to search for them on this blog.

Ship Tag + General Tag + Fic name

The aim is essentially to make a tumblr archive of Eddie Munson Fics all in one place, where people can come find exactly what they're looking for.

Please if you enjoy spending time at the Eddie Munson Library, consider doing your part to spread the love and reblogging the fics you enjoy to help share them even further! 💚

Please feel free to tag me or send asks with fics I haven't reblogged yet. I will just be periodically going through the tag and reblogging/queueing fics to post here but there are already thousands out there before I've begun.

Ship Tags I will use:

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Eddie Munson x Male Reader

Eddie Munson x GN Reader

Eddie Munson x OC

Eddie Munson x Reader (if gn or a gender is not tagged)

Eddie Munson x Canon (e.g Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington)

Ship Name (e.g Steddie, Hellcheer)

General Tags I will use:

Eddie Munson Smut

Eddie Munson Angst

Eddie Munson Fluff

If fics are untitled I will tag them as "Untitled"

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sweetbunpura · 27 days ago

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Hey, I have something I'd like to ask. If you're uncomfortable with this question, feel free to delete this, but I wanted to ask for some advice from an older twst fan.

I've seen so many people judging others for liking x Readers in Twst since much of the main cast are minors and many fans in the Twst community are adults.

I'm not even talking about smut fics, just.. regular cute romance stuff.

And I'm feeling stupidly conflicted about this because when I first got into Twst, I was still a teen, around the same age as most of the cast, so it felt ok for me to ship myself or a self-insert oc with them.

But I'm almost 21 now, I'm almost older than Leona which feels... so weird...

I just...

I don't know what to do...

I've know these characters since I was in highschool. It felt like I was going to school along side them, but I'm an adult now and most of them are still the same age, despite how many of their birthdays have gone by.

I fell in love with them and I still love them, but I'm changing and growing and they... aren't and it hurts.

And even more, I've seen people yelling at others in the community when they try to age characters up so they can write those stories and saying they can't do that because that's still weird and gross and that they just need to let go because the game 'isn't for them anymore'.

I don't know how to deal with this...

Am... Am I weird or strange for still wanting to romantically enjoy these characters?

No, not in the slightest.

I'm 29 and I love the living hell out of Leona. Is that weird? To some people, but I've been in enough fandoms in my years to just ignore what people say about stuff like that.

I've noticed throughout the months of being in the TWST fandom, how many people stick their noses into other people's business and then complain about it to someone else. You guys have a block button and a blacklist tag for a REASON, please use it instead of insulting people for liking something you don't.

If people like KaliJami, let them. Don't sit here and insult them for liking it, don't point out very loudly how liking that ship is wrong and people should be shunned for it. It's so easy to mind your business and stay in your lane.

If people like an AU someone made and you don't? Cool, block the tag and move on. Don't sit there and yell about how wrong people are.

And if people like x reader? Cool, it's fun to imagine those scenarios cause guess what? They're not real and it's not harming anyone.

Let people have fun in a fandom and stop trying to police everyone, fix you up a nice reading nook and sit there and enjoy that space you made.

From a fandom veteran to anyone new coming into the fandom. Please curate your experience.

#twisted wonderland #thorn answers #ive been on so many fandoms and i can tell you the best thing to do is fix you up a little space

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all-things-jily · 9 months ago

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Ok but we get harassed for tagging ships that are in the post too just because there’s other ones mentioned

The fandom is supposed to be fun! You guys support harassment and bullying over fiction! The problem that needs addressing is the people who harass not the people who tag! There’s a way to get people not to tag btw it’s tell them nicely! Not act horribly! Jily fans been sending jegulus writers hate & writing “if you wrote jily maybe you’d get treated better” the problem lies with the way jily fans act & people will start biting back because people can only take so much.

OK so I was looking at this for some minutes, truly dumbfounded. Because it's like no matter what we say we're not being heard.

Rant below for those who want to avoid it lol

"You guys support harassment and bullying over fiction!"

I'm ?????? Where in the world have either of us who have spoken up done that? When have we ever said anything other than "tag your posts properly"? Don't these two sentences have completely different meaning? Who are these people that are harassing? Because harassment is never ok and we have not encouraged that. But if you think that simply telling a person who used incorrect tags to remove the extra ones is harassment, I'll have to tell you that no, it is not, it is a very normal thing to do actually.

Yesterday there were a few posts about asking people to tag properly and in response we got that "Jily fans are horrible and inhumane, they harass and bully, they're the worst people ever" and actually got harassed in response. Do you think there's anything normal and fitting in what happened and in that reaction?

"Jily fans been sending jegulus writers hate & writing “if you wrote jily maybe you’d get treated better” this is actually wild because NONE OF US in our community have done that or WANT that, we want to stay as far away from all of that as possible. If you have some anon trolls going around in the community, that has nothing to do with us, most of us are grown people who have been fans since books came out and ain't nobody got time for that, I'm sure most of us don't even know who your writers are or their accounts. In fact, you can tell just by wording of that message that it's clearly a troublemaking troll and not a serious fan, no normal human talks like that.

As for fandom being fun, YES, it's supposed to be fun! But this is where my words about it not being a group project come in, because what's fun for you is not fun for us! In fact, it's the opposite of fun, we dislike it immensely, it upsets us and puts us in a bad mood and it doesn't even belong in our tag. So why should we be upset every single day, going into our tag that's supposed to be a place of comfort and fun, seeing things that are not supposed to be there, when people can simply --- tag properly according to Tumblr guidelines? And this is not new, we've been put through this for years now, and we've been asking politely over and over and over and nobody is listening, and now that we've gotten louder - in our own tag - suddenly we're the bad guys and harassers. When should it be enough? So this part of the ask "people will start biting back because people can only take so much" was incredibly ironic, because we've been taking it for YEARS and now we aren't even biting back, we're simply asking to tag and posting silly memes in our own space but are still getting vilified.

I will also address the first point because I think it causes a lot of general confusion about tagging:

"tagging ships that are in the post too just because there’s other ones mentioned"

A ship tag is for posts that have positive mentions of that ship.

If a post mentions multiple ships and is "X is great, Y is good, Jily is bad, I don't like it anymore" - this is not for Jily tag;

If a post has "Jily were together for 2 minutes, broke up and then *insert 3 paragraphs gushing over another ship that were true loves*" - this is not for Jily tag;

If a post has a poly ship that includes James and Lily - this is another ship, not Jily;

If a post is a huge fanfic dedicated to another ship with James or Lily and then has the last sentence about Jily basically settling together - this is not for Jily tag, though I see how there could be arguments about it;

There are many other instances too that I can't think of right away at this moment, but basically there's nuance here and just because Jily is brought up in a post doesn't make a post about Jily and the tag is for people who love the ship and want to celebrate their love, and the last thing they want to see there is completely unrelated posts with random Jily cameo in them that do not even portray them in a good way. This last topic is a bit of a complicated one with slippery edges, but I hope it was still comprehensible.

#imagine how tired we are #petty tag

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 year ago

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The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #my fic

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nalyra-dreaming · 2 months ago

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What do you think about Jam RPF? I don’t know why, when some people voice out their opinion about being uncomfortable that others shipping Jam irl on X, then they will get bullied by majority of the fandom there like, it’s just a joke etc but then keep making sexual tweet about Jam wanting to do each other so bad like ??? And they normalize it there on X where Pippa or Jacob could see it. Back in 2022, only few in the fandom doing RPF, now that this show is getting bigger I feel like majority of this fandom now support this Jam RPF thing *sigh* not about friendship anymore but they even make tweet hoping Jam cheating on their partners like stop it kids

Okay the latter is out of line, definitely.

Generally, and while RPF isn’t really for me, I am of the mindset that it’s to each their own as long as it’s not where “they“ can see it, if that makes sense.

RPF has always existed, and it happens in all fandoms I believe.

Jam are in a league of their own, in many things, and they gave us that Jam Reiderson name themselves. In a way it was inevitable 😅

But everyone should still take that mental step back and remember they’re talking about real people and not the fanon version that’s in their heads I guess. Not just in RPF, but also other things like tagging and comments etc.

These are real people.

Treat them as you would if you would encounter them personally. Imho.

And keep anything else in private spaces or on Ao3.

#anonymous #rpf #jam reiderson #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire

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euphoricvampirism · 2 months ago

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BLOG INTRO

[BASIC INFO]

name > jay pronouns > they/she biracial ; queer ; taken by my beautiful, sweet girlfriend ; neurodivergent

[INTERESTS]

biggest hyperfixation at the moment > mouthwashing

RED > not active in/apart of fandom

shows, movies, games > x-men, voltron legendary defender, the last of us, aphverse, the owl house, daisy jones and the six, lego monkie kid, the hunger games, the book of life, sally face, minecraft, the folk of the air, stardew valley, genshin impact, spiderverse/spiderman, monster high, my hero academia, demon slayer, the case study of vanitas + more i cannot remember

music > fleetwood mac, stevie nicks, paris paloma, ethel cain, artic monkeys, nirvana, chase atlantic, hoizer, rihanna, beyonce, the neighborhood, t-pain, mitski, glass animals, chappell roan, the weeknd, panic at the disco (do not support urie), taylor swift (not often anymore), epic: the musical, hamilton, heathers, ride the cyclone, i listen to practically anything

activities > writing, drawing, reading, playing video games, spending time with friends/my girlfriend, sleeping, making ocs, watching youtube

[DNI / BOUNDARIES]

DNI LIST > basic DNI (racist, anti-lgbtq+, terfs, pedophiles, etc.), proshipers/comshippers, zoophiles, people who IDENTIFY as animals (not furries u guys are cool), anti palestine/pro-israel, extreme gore/horror, people who hate on unproblematic ships/ocs for no reason, "cringe culture" believers, rude people: if you don't have something nice to say, just don't say it

BOUNDARIES > do not flirt with me, even jokingly | messages/asks are okay! just be kind and use tone tags if possible (emphasis on sarcasm) | do not ask for personal information (personal social media, where i live, stuff like that) | do not trauma dump to me | simply stop doing something if i tell you it is making me uncomfortable

if you are on the DNI list and interact with my blog or if you break my boundaries repeatedly: you will be blocked, no exceptions

[LINKS]

[OTHER SOCIALS]

[MASTERLIST]

[WIPS]

[REQUESTS]

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skzhua · 2 years ago

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fool ('your eyes' series)

♡ "I might be a fool too, then."

pairing: han jisung x reader.

genre: fluff, a bit of angst.

word count: 11,377

warnings: swearing, drinking, failed dates, suggestive. (not proofread yet!)

summary: being your closest friend on campus, jisung has been through thick and thin with you, and so the opposite. thus, he has seen your multiple attempts at dating, your numerous failed dates and the guys who had never called you back. what can be any better than a night in with him to cheer you up?

a/n: another one of my favourites of this series. we only have two more to go!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Jisung was done with school for the day, finally. Not that he didn't like his major, in contrary. He was one of the few to know what he wanted to do with his life and to actually like it. However, the comfort of his room seemed much more appealing for him, especially after a whole day of socializing with his friend, Chan. Again, it's not that he didn't like the man, but he was definitely an extrovert. To add it to the lot, he was being especially friendly with the new girl who had just transferred to the school. He endured tagging along for a while, until he couldn't anymore. So he left.

It was in times like this that he was glad to have gotten a dorm near the music department. It only took him under ten minutes to walk home and drop dead on his bed. Turning on his phone, he saw a notification coming from his favourite person, you.

He met you during your freshman year. For being an introvert, you were shockingly talkative when the teacher had paired you up with him for an assignment. For once, he was thankful for being forced to work in teams since it led to having one of the greatest people he met as a friend. It was undeniable that he took a liking for you quickly. He simply could not avoid falling for you. You were smart, pretty, funny, lazy (just like him), bubbly and very touchy. He thought of himself as someone who liked skin ship, but you were on another level. After being friends for less than a month, you had already started to cling onto him like a child and to give him hugs each time you met up.

Clicking on the message app, he read your texts with a grin on his face. Once again, you were complaining about work as per usual. You were colleagues with a girl named Chunhwa with whom you had grew a nice friendship as you had ended up sharing a dorm with her. One thing about her was how unproductive she would be at work. Sure, you were a lazy potato too, but you actually wanted to keep your job unlike her.

Jisung: I don't get how she didn't get fired yet.

Y/N: Me neither, honestly...

Y/N: Are you done with school? Can I come over?

Jisung: You don't have to ask! Get your ass here!

Jisung was messy. The first time you saw his room, you had to restrain yourself from picking up all his trash to throw it away. With time, you got used to it and gave up on trying to make him clean his mess. Needless to say you were taken aback when you saw he had cleaned up the place when you barged into his room.

"Damn, I'm impressed." you yelled out.

"Jeongin forced me."

"Not surprised." you shrugged and sat next to him on his bed. "So, I have kimchi and friend chicken." you pulled out each item from the plastic bag.

"You stopped to get food before coming here?"

"Obviously." you laughed. "And I did not forget your jjajamyeon this time." you took it out for him to snatch it from you immediately.

"You're the best." he hummed, hugging his food.

"I know." you snickered. "Now, get your laptop. It's my turn to choose the movie."

Jisung stared at you fondly as you wrapped yourself in his blanket and cutely scrolled through his Netflix account. It was moments like these that compensated with his aching heart of seeing you go out with so many undeserving people. Yes, for him, none of them deserved you because you were that precious. He even thought himself wasn't good enough for you, which is one of the reasons why he had not told you about his feelings.

You ended up choosing a random anime as you had already been searching for a good 30 minutes. Eyes focused on the screen, you opened your box full of chicken and munched on it, not caring of how unclean it looked. It was Jisung, anyway, not like you were trying to impress him. Plus, he had seen you in worse states. Three episodes in, you heard the front door open, and you knew immediately that Jisung's roomie, Jeongin, had just come back home. It was a few seconds later when you heard an agressive knocking. You got up to answer and there was Jeongin, fuming in fury.

"You're here again?" he huffed rudely.

Uneasy, you managed a shy smile as you answered. "Yeah, I brought kimchi with some jjajamyeon and fried chicken."

"Smells like shit." he muttered and searched for Jisung behind you. "Dude, we talked about this. We cleaned this morning!"

Intimidated, Jisung hurried to talk. "I swear I'll clean up the trash after."

With that, he went to close the door in his face, and dragged you with him back into the soft blankets. You let out a laugh you didn't know you were holding back, and he copied your expressions.

"You are making him go through so much, poor thing." you said after the laughter toned down.

"We're fine, I know he loves me." he snickered.

You shook your head in disapproval. "Keep telling yourself that, Ji."

Jisung was at Chan and Changbin's place as he stared impatiently at his phone. The others had gathered for their usual chillings, them being Sora, Minho and Chunhwa. As for you, you were on a date. The guy was from your English class, and had asked you out after you did a schoolwork together. Although your best friend never met him, he already knew he was going to be bad news.

And, somehow, he was right. Junsoo was, indeed, a total jerk. He asked some inappropriate questions about your relationship with Jisung as if he wanted to make sure you were available. Then, he didn't pay for the bill since he had just paid for his next semester, which you knew was a lie because all students have their school bill coming at the same time. He ended the night by touching every inch on your body after you had specifically told him to back off after the first time.

"Do you want to come back to my place?" he asked you when you got into his car, licking his bottom lips.

You stared at him in disgust. "Actually, I have plans after this. Just bring me back on campus."

He did insist, but stopped when you told him you were heading to Chan's dorm. Chan was a bit of a legend. He had contacts with everyone, and he was also buff as hell. Him being friends with Changbin also came handy in situations like these.

"I'd like to take you out again." Junsoo told you once you reached Chan's building.

You forced a smile, and nodded. "Sure. I'll see when I'm free."

You tried extra hard to not cringe when he kissed the back of your hand. As soon as his lips detached from your skin, you ran out of his car, and directly inside.

Jisung, who was still staring at his phone, finally got the call he had been waiting for all night. He did not hesitate one bit to answer, and asked how your date went, worried.

"Y/N?" he asked again when he didn't get a response.

"Ji..." you trailed off when a sob took over.

He got up from his seat in panic, and started to gather his things. "Y/N, baby, where are you? What did he do?"

"I'm downstairs. I was about to join you all, if you don't mind."

With that, Jisung calmed down and let go of his belongings. "Of course, we don't mind. Come right up and I'll make you some tea. Does it sound okay for you?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Ji."

"Come up quickly."

Changbin raised an eyebrow at the younger man. That's when Jisung realized everyone had stopped what they were doing to observe the scene. Unfortunately, this was not the first time something like this happened. In fact, it occured about a week prior from that moment.

"You can go in my room, if you want." Chan offered. "I'll sleep at Minho's instead."

"When did I agree with this?" Minho huffed, but apologized when Chan sent a glare his way.

"Thank you. Can I use your boiler to make her some tea?"

The man gestured to the whole kitchen, as if to tell him to make himself at home. He prepared everything in a hurry, and jumped when he heard a knock at the door. He quickly let you in and engulfed you into a hug. Your quiet sobs were breaking his heart, and he really wondered what the man had done to you for putting you in such a state.

"Your tea's ready." he said softly. "Do you want to stay with us, or do you want to talk in Chan's room?"

You shrugged your shoulders before wiping your tears. Your puffy eyes were enough for Jisung to know you'd rather not be seen crying your life out by everyone. He got your cup of tea and carefully walked with you to Chan's room. He leaned on the desk as he put down your beverage and let you inside. When you sat down on the bed, he hesitated whether he should speak or not. Your small sniffles were still the only thing that could be heard, and they were becoming louder and louder.

After a while, you finally talked when your crying reduced. "Am I some kind of magnet to assholes?"

Jisung knew he shouldn't be laughing, but he couldn't help but let out a muffled chuckle. Thankfully, you didn't take it personally and smiled with him.

"You're far from being a jerk magnet. Your best example would that you have me and the boys around." he said more seriously.

"It's not the same..." you mumbled.

Jisung sighed, knowing well you meant he was only going to remain your friend. "Are you going to tell me what he did to you, now?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

You knew he was going to insist until you spill it out. You loved how you could count on him anytime, but it also made you worry that you put too many of your problems onto him. Anyway, you were not going to get away easily from his interrogation.

"He..." you started, but a knot formed in your stomach. "Let's say he stepped over some boundaries."

You could see him fume already. He straightened his posture and walked closer to you, encouraging you to develop furthermore.

"What boundaries?" he asked when you were not answering, and you were still not. "Did he touch you?"

Slowly, you nodded your head. You couldn't prevent him from exploding in anger, and it was not an enjoyable sight. As much as he can be the softest cinnamon roll, Jisung was impulsive when something that wasn't right would happen.

"Ji, it's okay-"

"For fuck's sake, Y/N." he yelled out, interrupting you. "Do you really think it's okay for someone to touch you without your consent?"

"We touch each other all the time-"

He cut you off once again. "It's not the same. You initiate skinship, and I never touched you in an inappropriate way. Plus, we talked about it, and you told me you were fine with it."

"I said I was fine with it with him, too."

He scoffed. "Were you thinking it, or were you being nice because you felt bad if you said no?" You didn't answer to this one because he knew you too well, and he had hit at the right spot. "Fuck, you're so dense. When are you going to realize you can set your limits?"

"Are you saying this is my fault?"

You didn't really think when saying that. Part of it was your fault, and you knew that very well since it wasn't the first time you let a guy touch you when you didn't want to. But a bigger part of it was the guy's fault. You knew Jisung meant well by saying you shouldn't let them do something you don't want to, because that was the truth. Anyhow, your mouth spoke before your brain could process your thoughts. And now Jisung had stepped away from you, and dropped himself on Chan's desk chair.

"You know damn fucking well I will never say this is your fault. I'm just trying to tell you to not let yourself be so... accommodating."

You rolled your eyes. "I don't need you to act like my dad, or something."

"I'm saying this as a friend." he looked at you with a serious face. "I don't want you to end up in a bad situation where I can't do anything about it."

"Well, maybe don't do something? You don't decide for me, Jisung."

He chuckled in disbelief. "You came here so I could help you, right?"

"And you're doing a great job at it."

"Do you expect me to not get mad when I learn an asshole was trying to fuck my best friend without her consent?"

"I would expect you to be more gentle with the situation, yes."

This seemed to do the trick for Jisung to switch back to his usual state. He took a big sigh as he looked down, and joined you on the bed. You could already see he was much calmer, so you brought him into a hug.

"I just want you to comfort me, that's all."

He sighed even louder as he hugged you back. "I'm sorry. I just hate seeing you suffer like this."

"Just hold me, and I'll feel better."

He complied as he hugged you even tighter. "How about we do like last time when that jerk called you an annoying piece of shit?"

You grunted and pushed him away from you. "Don't remind me."

"Hey, I'm only suggesting to do something to get your mind off of him."

You shook your head. "I'm already tired as it is, let's just go to sleep?"

He nodded. "I'll be your pillow again."

"Thank you, Ji."

"You two fucked?" Chunhwa said in disgust. "I'm glad I left earlier."

You groaned in frustration, as you were attempting to explain what happened a few days ago. "No, we slept together. We always do."

"Putting the emphasis on the 'sleep together' part does not help." You deadpanned at her, but she only shrugged her shoulders. "Girl, you're not being clear."

"Is it that hard to get? I cried, he held me, and we fell asleep in the same bed."

"There you go, that's much better." she snickered at you, but your expression remained the same. "You'll have to thank Chan for letting you take over his room. Again. And, please, do not argue like this again? We literally heard everything."

"Yeah, yeah." you rolled your eyes at her. "Sorry about that, I guess. It's just that... Jisung can be so reactive sometimes."

"He cares about you." the girl put her hand on your shoulder. "And just so you know, he hates seeing you cry about a man every two weeks."

You slapped her hand away in a playful manner as you stood up from your bed. "He'll hate it if he wants to. I have join him now, anyways. Catch up with you later?"

"Sure."

You ran outside to go at the local café. Ordering an iced coffee, you sat at a table to wait patiently for Jisung to show up. Knowing him, he was most likely going to be late. You didn't mind, though. You had some personal schoolwork to do in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to get some of it done.

"Hey." A voice startled you.

You looked up and saw a guy. You swore you had seen him before, but you weren't sure from where. Noticing your confusion, the man chuckled shyly before extending his hand out for you to shake.

"I'm Minyoung, a friend of Junsoo."

You shook his hand in a reluctant manner. "Y/N."

"I know." he laughed out. "I saw you and I just wanted to apologize for my friend's behaviour towards you. He has a bad habit of not being able to keep it in his pants."

Your mouth formed an 'o' shape as you started to get why he started talking to you. "It's all good, no worries."

"Okay, good." he chuckled.

He stood there, uneasy, and seemed to hesitate to speak. The moment he was about to say something, you spotted Jisung behind him. He was a mess. Hair disheveled, glasses on meaning he didn't have the time to put his contact lenses on, bag dragging behind him... You laughed at the sight of him, causing the man in front of you to turn around, laying eyes on your best friend of a mess.

"I'm so sorry, I know I'm late. I slept in and I should have texted you, but then forgot, and my bus was about to leave so I ran and-" he breathed out heavily, chest puffing.

"It's okay, Ji." you laughed. "It actually allowed me to get some stuff done in the meantime."

He nodded his head, reassured. But then, his eyes stopped on the man next to him. Eyeing up and down, he frowned.

"Am I interrupting something, or..?" he trailed off.

"Oh gosh, of course not-" you spoke.

"Actually, kind of-"

You and Minyoung exchanged gazes, laughing awkwardly in the process. "Can you give us a second, Ji?"

Your friend sighed and left to go to the counter to order himself something. He knew where this was going and he did not like one bit of it. While he didn't know Minyoung that much, he knew enough to be certain he was bad news. Captain of their basketball team, handsome as hell, and grades that only a genuis could get, he was a jackpot for any girl on campus. Jisung watched the two of you from afar, unsure if he should be coming back to avoid yet, another failed date.

"Hey, Jisung!" Seungmin said from the other side of the counter, breaking him off his thoughts.

"Seungmin." he gave him a nod before his gaze went back on you.

He tried to hear a bit of your conversation and magically caught on what you were saying.

"Did you want to tell me somehing?" you asked the guy.

"Actually, I'm not sure if this is appropriate, but I'd like to take you on a date? I know you don't know me much, but I can assure you I'm nothing like Junsoo."

Did you believe him? No, of course not. However, one thing about you is that you always gave someone a chance even if they came off as bad people. Another thing was that you always tried to see the positive aspects of anyone, because you truly believed everyone was good.

"Alright, sure." you smiled.

"Oh, wow, great." he grinned. "Are you free tonight? No, wait, next Tuesday evening?"

You did have plans with Jisung, but he would understand if you cancelled, right? Plus, you saw him pretty much everyday. What could one day without seeing him do?

"Yeah, I'm available."

"Great. How about we meet here at 5pm?" You nodded happily, which caused him to smile even more. "I'll see you next week, then."

"See you."

By then, Jisung had come back and watched the man leave the café, daggers in his eyes. "I got you a latte." he said in an unpleasant tone.

You took it from him as a frown formed on you face. "Thanks... Are you okay?"

"You agreed to go out with him?" he scoffed while sitting down in front of you.

"Ji-"

"Y/N, we talked about this recently. Was he being insistant? Do I need to file a restraining order for you?"

You rolled your eyes at him as you let out a snort. "It's fine, trust me. He seems more decent than Junsoo."

"We'll see about that." he huffed. "Now, where are we with the project?"

You opened the Word file on your laptop and turned the screen to show it to him. "I did most of the layout and I took some of the ideas from your document, if you don't mind."

"It's a team project, of course I don't mind." he deadpanned at you. "You marked me to write the conclusion? You know I suck at that!"

"You would have complained if I put you the introduction too, so it doesn't matter."

You truly loved Jisung with all of your heart, but as a school partner? He was the absolute worst.

Things with Minyoung were simple. At school, he started to walk you to your class and buy you a snack once in a while. He would ask if you ate breakfast and just come to entertain you when he would spot you reading alone. Most of the time, it was only him and you but it did happen that Jisung had to third-wheel.

"Hey, pretty." Minyoung said as he incrusted himself between you and your best friend.

Jisung huffed as he watched you bat your eyelashes at the man who has just interrupted your conversation. Not only that, but he had the guts of sitting as to separate him from you.

"Hey." you smiled admirably. "How was your class?"

"Good, but I had something else in mind." he nudged at you. "I've got everything covered for tonight."

"That's nice. I can't wait."

"I'm sure you'll love it. I'll see you tonight." he said while sending a wink your way.

He got up, still staring at you, while you waved at him. Jisung sat right back closer to you even if the bench had plenty of space.

"What is happening tonight?" he asked which broke you off from your trance.

"Oh." you blinked a couple of times. "I forgot to tell you, but my date with him is tonight."

He frowned. "I thought you already went out, hence the weird flirting since last week."

You shook your head. "It's tonight."

"But, Y/N." he whined. "The next episode is out tonight and then we go to the guys' dorm and play games, remember?"

"I know that and I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise." you rubbed his shoulder.

"We had planned this already, did you just say yes because he came up to you all cute and shit?" he asked but your face was enough to answer his question. "You're unbelievable." he shook his head and got up.

"Ji." you called him out.

"You know where I am if he breaks your heart." he sighed and walked away.

You did feel bad, but like you had thought previously, you saw Jisung ever single day. It was with a weird feeling that you left the school grounds to go back to your dorm. As you stepped inside, you almost rushed into Chunhwa who was about to leave.

"Watch out." you yelled out and she stepped aside just in time.

"You're in a hurry." she laughed. "Is tonight your date?"

You nodded happily as you found balance on you feet again. "Minyoung told me to meet at the coffee shop but I don't know what he planned out for us tonight."

"Have a good night then, but don't be stupid and use protection!" she waved as she walked out.

"This applies to you with Changbin." you shouted to her as the door was closing leaving just enough time for her to send you the middle finger.

You laughed at yourself and then proceeded to go to your closet. You didn't have much that you could work with since most of your decent outfits were in the laundry. Your eyes scanned through your selection of pants and you opted to go for a cozy look. Picking a pair of large ripped jeans and a shirt with a low-cut, you changed quickly before changing your hairstyle into something more fancy. Adding some jewelry to the whole look, you looked at yourself through the mirror with a satisfied smile.

Your phone ringing interrupted your moment and you answered without looking at who was contacting you. "Hello?"

"You're sure you're not coming tonight?"

Of course he was going to try and convince you. "Ji, I'm not going to change my mind."

"The episode is out now! You expect me to wait an entire day for you to be available to watch it?"

You huffed. "Watch it by yourself then."

"It's our show." he insisted. "Plus, Chan cleared his schedule to hang out for us. The least you can do is actually show up, no?"

He did have a point. In fact, you missed hanging out with the gang. And since he brought up Chan who you had barely seen in the past months, you were on the verge of calling off your date and go with your friends. But your phone buzzed which indicated another call was coming in.

"Can I hold you for a second? I have someone calling me." You heard an annoyed "yes" from his end before accepting the other call. "Yes?"

"Hi, Y/N! I'm letting you know I'm here already so I'll be waiting."

You checked the time and cursed at yourself. You had taken too long to prepare yourself that you didn't notice the time passing by so fast.

"Right, I had a few things to do at home so I'll be late by a few minutes."

"It's all good." Minyoung reassured. "Do you want me to order something?"

"Not yet. I'm coming as soon as I can."

"See you, pretty."

You blushed and hung up. Hearing the familiar music of Mario Bros, you remembered Jisung was also waiting after you.

"Ji?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Listen..." you started, the guilt building up.

Of course, Jisung knew that tone. The number of times he listened to you apologizing for cancelling plans with him to go out on dates made him familiar with this sad voice of yours. He knew what you were about to say.

"It's alright. Like I said, you know where to find me if anything."

"I'm sorry."

Without adding another word, he hung up. While the weird knot in your stomach was still present, you shrugged it off quickly and left your place to head to the café.

Arriving to your destination, it didn't take you too long to spot your date sitting at a table as he scrolled through his phone. He looked very good as he had changed into a clean white shirt with a jean jacket to go over it. His hair was styled differently than usual. Instead of the messy state it was usually in, he parted it on the side and put some gel for it to stay in place.

"I hope I didn't make you wait for too long." you said as you came into his view.

"Y/N! Of course not, it was barely ten minutes." he chuckled before eyeing you up and down. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you. You look great too."

He rubbed the side of his neck in shyness. "I tried to dress up, yeah. So, I hope you like bowling because that's our plan for tonight."

"Sounds good. Lead the way, Mister."

He smiled widely before putting his hand on your lower back to guide you towards the exit. Felix, who had taken the evening shift at the coffee shop, watched in silence from afar.

Of course, it was not in Jisung's plans to keep track on what you were doing. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if you were okay. Not feeling in the mood of socializing if you weren't going to be there, he had texted Changbin in advance to tell him he won't make it to their game night. And that's how he found himself in front of his laptop with a soda on the side, watching your favourite show alone.

Until Felix texted him. He wasn't close friends with the guy. They had only met the year before at one of Chan's parties and bonded over the fact their birthdays were only a day apart from each other. They still kept contact afterwards, texting each other every once in a while.

Felix: She's out with another guy? I thought I saw her with Junsoo last week.

Jisung: You're talking about Y/N? Yeah, she blindly agreed to go out with him.

Felix: When are you going to stop doing this to yourself?

Jisung: Doing what?

Felix: Don't act like you don't know.

Jisung sighed. What was he going to do anyway? You made it very clear that you could not see him in a romantic way and he had buried the idea of asking you out the moment he got the message. Plus, he was nothing like the guys you went out with. Jisung was weak and barely did any kind of exercice. He wasn't that popular or anything and his life consisted mainly of staying at home to watch anime.

Jisung: I want her to be happy. If dating a popular basketball player is what it takes, then so be it.

Felix: But in the meantime you're hurting.

Jisung: Because you're dating the prettiest girl on campus doesn't mean you need to meddle in my love life.

Felix: I'm not dating Hyunjoo.

Jisung: Right, and I don't like Y/N.

Felix: Aha! Admitted.

Jisung: I like her, yes, but it won't change a thing.

Felix: Alright man. Just saying, the guy seems to be into her a lot. Don't miss your chance.

Jisung: It's fine. I'm happy for her.

Lying to himself was a better option than facing his own pain. Whether he wanted to or not, seeing you with someone else hurt like hell. But for your sake and his, he never said anything, and he was determined for it to stay this way.

As for you, the date was going smoothly. This might had been the only guy who was treating you with respect. He bought you snacks while you were playing and encouraged you with sweet words when you'd miss a shot.

By the end of the game, he invited you to go to a park to walk and get to know one another. On the side of the trail, he picked up a flower and placed it on your hair. Gestures like these were the absolute perfection in normal situations. But for you? It did nothing. You did get shy and fluttered a little bit, but it wasn't like genuine feelings blooming. You decided to not mind it for now. Since you were still feeling bad for ditching your best friend, you assumed it might be the cause of your mixed feelings.

"I always wondered what's the thing you have Han." Minyoung blurted out of the blue.

"What about him?"

"You know what people say around campus."

In confusion, you shook your head. "Other students talk about us?"

"Yeah, I thought you knew." Your face still having the same expression, he sighed before speaking. "You're always together and because you two are pretty good looking, people assume you are together. I have some girls from the cheerleading team that are actually quite jealous of you."

You scoffed. "Jealous of me?"

He nodded. "Jisung is quite a catch, you know?"

"He's the most antisocial person on Earth." you argued in disbelief.

"It doesn't change the fact girls think he's hot. I'm only telling you what my friends said about it."

You sat on a bench near by as this conversation was getting a little bit overwhelming for you. You did know Jisung was handsome. Heck, you saw that face every day, you weren't blind. The surprising point was how much he was a heartthrob unlike what you thought. With how he had always put it out, he was the biggest loser ever.

"And people say we're... a thing?"

"Almost everyone, yeah. But you've gone out with a couple of my friends, so I suppose those rumors are false." he affirmed and sat next to you.

You chuckled. "Very far from the truth, yes. Jisung and I are nothing more than friends."

"So I can do this without worrying of getting my ass kicked?"

"Do what?"

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours. They tasted a little bit like strawberry, probably due to the beverage he drank beforehand. Strangely, it reminded of of the time you had attempted to make a strawberry cake with Jisung, which ended in a failure obviously.

"I think we should go back, I'm starting to get tired." you said as soon as the kiss ended.

"Oh, okay. Do you want me to walk you home?"

"It'd be nice, yes."

He walked you to your dorm safely and kissed you once more as a farewell. Luckily for you, it looked like Chunhwa was still out at Changbin's place. You took the opportunity to use your shared television to put on your show. Jisung had probably watched it on his own, so you didn't feel bad doing it alone. It still felt wrong, though. You never missed an episode together.

Little did you know that at the same moment, your best friend was already at the end of the episode, having the worst time of his life as he felt guilty for not having waited for you.

You couldn't believe that finals were already coming up. Although you hated the amount of stress it added to your already high level, you were glad to see the end of the tunnel. It was even better because Minyoung had finally asked you to be his girlfriend after the multiple dates you went on.

"You said no?" Jisung almost screamed which caused you to shush him.

You gave an apologetic smile to the librarian before glaring at your friend. "I said I'll think about it."

He groaned. "I thought you liked him and if you want my opinion, he's the first decent contestant we've had so far."

"You act as if dating me is a competition or something."

He deadpanned at you. "With the amount of people who asked you out throughout the time we've known each other, yes it is."

This made you remember your conversation you had with Minyoung on your first date. You had been dying to ask Jisung if what you heard was true, if he really was as popular among the female students as Minyoung claimed him to be. You just never had the opportunity to bring up the topic, but this was your chance.

"I could say the same about you."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Have you seen me go out with someone?"

"No, but apparently your good looks are attracting people."

He smirked. "Finally admitting that I'm the most handsome student at school?" he joked.

"I'm only repeating what Minyoung told me about you."

His smile fell. "What did he say about me? Y/N, you swore you'd only date someone who is okay with us being so close."

"He's fine with it, don't worry. No, he said girls from the cheerleading team are crushing on you."

You didn't expect for him to react much other than tell you it was all false but as he focused back to writing down in his notebook, you started to doubt. He might not have told you everything about him after all.

"Han Jisung." you said in a warning tone but the only response you got was a hum. "It's true?"

He finally dared to look up at you. "No? Maybe? Fine, yes. They're pretty insistent, you know? One of them told me that the fact I get shy when they ask me out only makes me more attractive. Have you seen me, Y/N? I'm a low-life dude who eats ramen 24/7 and whose best friend is one of the prettiest girls in college who is, by the way, very out of my league. But really, when you think of-"

"Woah, stop here." you said as you raised your hand up. "What do you mean I'm one of the prettiest girls here? So everything Minyoung told me was true?"

He rolled his eyes as he was, by then, annoyed by how clueless you were. "Why do you think you get dates only by snapping your fingers? Why do you think I always want to avoid the sport center?"

"Because you hate sports?"

"Fair point, but it's really only because I'm avoiding the cheerleaders."

You were in shock. All of this time, you thought he was just bad with asking girls out which would have explained his lack of activity in this department, but in fact, he was the one turning them down.

"None of them interest you?"

He scoffed. "I don't have time for that. Besides, I'm most likely going to embarrass myself if I actually go on a date. Now that we have covered this very useless part of my life, can we focus on the project? The due date is in two days might I remind you."

"Right, sorry."

Some time passed until the two of you got tired of it. You packed your books in your bags and headed out of the library. Jisung left first and told you he'd wait for you at his dorm with food to watch your show.

"I'll go find Minyoung if you don't mind."

He sent you a knowing look. "Should I get a bottle of champagne to celebrate?"

"Go." you pushed him towards the exit as he laughed loudly.

After having gathered everything from your locker, you went to make your way to the sport center. You remembered Minyoung told you he had a practice if you wanted to tell him your answer then. When you entered the gym, you found it empty. Logically, practice was done so you went to go next to the changing rooms to wait for him to get out.

"I thought she liked you enough to say yes."

You recognized Junsoo's voice speaking. You didn't feel anything but disgust by hearing his voice so you were about to leave. But another voice caught your attention.

"I didn't lose the bet yet, she might say yes." Your heart sank as you heard Minyoung talk. "But this Han guy is really getting in the way."

"I told you so!" Junsoo replied. "She's impossible to get because Han keeps us away. Have you had the talk?"

"What talk?"

"He came to me after our date and he might be small but he's scary and strong as hell."

"What did he say?"

"It was mostly insults and shit like I don't deserve her anyway or something. If anything, it's kind of sad how he's being such a simp for her."

When you thought you've heard enough, the door suddenly opened wide with Minyoung coming out first. The instant his eyes laid on you, you could see the regret in them.

"Y/N."

You were glad you didn't let tears flood out because you surely felt them coming. You could not face him in such a vulnerable state, not after what he had said about you.

"Are you in high school or something to be betting on someone as if they're objects to collect?"

He shook his head. "This is not what it looks like."

He tried to approach you but you backed away. "I'm glad I came here to tell you I don't want to be with you. I guess you just added more reason for me to tell you to fuck off."

You turned on your heels and started to walk away. Your eyes were starting to get filled with tears, but you wanted to say one more thing before letting them out.

"By the way," you said as you stopped on your tracks. "Jisung was right to go after you all because you are fucking desperate to be betting on a girl."

Jisung, on the other hand, was happily preparing the room for your night in. He had asked for Jeongin to go out but he already had a night shift at the convenience store which allowed him to have to dorm to himself. When he heard a knock on his door, he opened it with a wide smile. However, it was soon wiped off his face when he recognized the familiar tears coming down on your cheeks.

"Y/N, baby, what happened?" he asked and brought you into his embrace. "What did that son of a bitch do?"

It was only then that you let yourself sob out without holding back. "I hate men." you simply said.

Jisung seemed to have gotten the messages that you didn't want to talk about it and he led you to his room. You were in awe as you caught sight of the setup for watching movies with a tray set on the desk filled with your favourite treats.

"You're the best, oh gosh." you exclaimed, melting at how affectionate the gesture was.

"It was originally to congratulate you for your new relationship, but it can totally be to cheer you up."

"I love it." you smiled and hugged him.

"We can move to the living room if you want. Jeongin's working."

You nodded in approval of his suggestion and you helped him carry the blankets and pillows to his couch while he transported the tray of food. Quickly, you settled with playing Mario Kart as you would always do. He would never tell you but he did let you win a few times only to see a happy grin on your face. He was competitive but never with you.

"Stop looking at me and focus." he whined with his mouth full of popcorn. "You've been falling at the same spot three times already."

"Watch your screen, not mine." you nagged and only received mocking from him.

Your kart was approaching the end but Jisung sent a red shell your way which knocked your vehicle down for a second. Victoriously, he surpassed you and was now leading the course. As a way to distract him, you came closer to his face.

"Jisung~" you cooed. "You suck at this game."

He groaned as he tried to push you away. "Y/N, stop this."

Luckily, it did distract him enough as he went off road for an instant which allowed you to take the lead and reach the end. You jumped up in victory and danced a little as to show off your skills.

"I'm so good, shame on you for not being able to beat me."

He rolled his eyes. "Enough gaming for you tonight." he concluded and took the controller from your grip.

"But Jisung!" you whined.

"You won all of the five games we played, time for a movie now." He changed the cables to connect it to his Netflix account. "Stop pouting, I'm letting you choose."

You immediately glowed up at the mention of you choosing. "For real?"

"It's your get-better-night, so yeah." he shrugged. "But please consider that I hate your children movies."

"The Minions is peak cinematography and I will stand by it until I die."

Only to piss him off, you pick that exact movie. He grumbled some curses at you before he let you snuggle into him, not forgetting to bring the bowl of popcorn with him for the two of you. He hoped to heavens that you would be too immersed into the movie to not hear his heart beat so hard. It was during moments like these that Jisung wished he was yours so he could kiss you as if it was a normal occurrence between you two.

"Jisung." you huffed as you received a couple of popcorns on your face that dropped from the handful that he took.

"What?" he said and noticed what you were referring to. "Sorry." he laughed.

You didn't hesitate to take a handful yourself and throw it his way.

"Oh, it's on." he declared.

So for the next thirty minutes or so, the only things that could be heard in the living room were your laughs, insults you threw at each other, and the movie that was still playing in the background. It ended when realization hit Jisung upon seeing the floor in a messy state.

"Fuck, Jeongin is going to kill me."

You laughed at him. "He'll understand."

"Do you know Jeongin?"

You could only laugh more and then dropped on the couch, Jisung copying you soon after. "Thank you for tonight. It helped a lot."

"It's nothing. I told you I'm always here for you." he smiled. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"I was a bet." you kept it short. "I overheard him talking about me with his teammates."

He winced. "I'm so sorry. It's unfortunate, I had good vibes about him."

"Yeah, well, some people are not like what they seem... like you."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, I'm still thinking about how popular you are." you said, not wanting to talk about him defending you yet.

"Let's not talk about that." he groaned. "We can do something else, the movie's over." he pointed to the credits rolling on the screen.

"How about games?"

You went over almost every silly games you knew such as charades, truth or dare, mimes and more. Approaching the end of the night, you went on with playing rock paper scissors as you ran out of ideas.

"Ouch." Jisung exclaimed after you flunked his forehead.

"It wasn't that bad!" you rolled your eyes. "Again."

You showed your fist, but Jisung had his palm opened. He beat your rock with his paper.

"No." you complained.

"Come here, baby." he snickered.

You leaned closer to him and got the hair on your forehead out of the way. He then flicked his finger, strongly enough for you to hear a toc. You gasped in pain and your eyes squinted while you put your hand over where his finger had just hit.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry." he hurried to apologize. "Are you okay?"

He held your face with the palm of his hands. Suddenly, it felt like time stopped. Staring back at his almond eyes, you could not move. He was the cutest as worry was sprawled all over his face.

"I'm sorry." he said and then did something you certainly did not expect.

Bringing your head lower, he placed a kiss on the red spot on your forehead and then pat on it. You could only stare at him still, not finding the words to react.

"There, all healed." he smiled.

When he met your gaze again, it dawned on him that he just kissed your head without asking. His mind went blank as he didn't know what to say to justify himself. But the smile on your own face was all it took for him to relax. His eyes flickered down on your lips before he came closer. He was still approaching dangerously until he kissed you. You didn't even question it and melted into it, almost as if it was natural. Well, it felt like it. Your mouths were moving perfectly in sync with each other and you couldn't get enough of him.

But he abruptly separated himself from you. "I-I shouldn't- I didn't mean-" he stammered, clearly unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Ji..." you said, reaching out your hand to him.

He pushed it away and got up. "I think we should call it a night."

"I think we should talk."

"Y/N, please."

His pleading face hurt you. With a small nod, you took your stuff that was scattered around the living room and went to his front door in silence. You didn't turn the knob just yet.

"Thank you for tonight, I'm being honest."

He looked away, unable to keep his eyes on you any longer. "It's nothing. Good night."

"Good night."

As his door closed shut, he let himself fall on the couch. Why did he have to be so careless and kiss you just like that?

You were patient and understanding, so of course it made sense that Jisung didn't reach out to you yet to talk about what had happened. Nonetheless, you had your limits and more than a week without talking to your best friend, your other half, it was too much. You were grateful for the finals to have distracted you a little but now that you were done, he was the only thing in your mind. Maybe the party Chan was organizing for the end of the semester was going to help.

After your last exam, Chunhwa invited you to hang out with her and Changbin. You wanted to refuse at first to avoid watching them eye-fucking each other. However, it had been a while since you spent time with them so you ended up coming to the coffee shop with them. You took the opportunity to give her a little update as to what happened with Minyoung and Jisung. She didn't seem much surprised but still listened nonetheless.

"And hear this: he didn't even text me afterwards. Can you believe it?" you finished explaining the situation.

You followed her gaze and noticed she was staring at Changbin. Without her seeing, you rolled your eyes at how smitten she was.

"He'll do it eventually, don't worry."

Her response did not help. You only huffed when Changbin came back from the counter with the muffin you asked him to order. In one go, you got it in your mouth and munched aggressively.

"I would have never guess that Jisung was the one who put you in this state." Chunhwa said, taken aback from the quantity of food you managed to put in your mouth.

Still munching your muffin, you shrugged. "Not my fault he ghosted me after he kissed me. You should talk with someone when something like this happens instead of ignoring the issue. For real, it's like you fucked a close friend and then never establish what happens next. And sex is a big deal as much as kissing is."

Not really thinking while talking, you then realized you might have referred to what was going on between your two friends unintentionally. Chunhwa ignored it though as she rubbed your back to reassure you.

"He's such a fool, I swear to God I'll smack him next time I see him." you mumbled under your breath.

"He might come to the party tonight. Take it as your chance to talk to him."

You shook your head. "Forget about him. I'll just have fun tonight."

And Jisung wasn't doing any better than you. In fact, he was enraged with himself for not talking to you. He thought it was too late by then and didn't dare to make the first move. Plus, the only time he got to get a glimpse of you, you had glared intensely at him from the other side of the cafeteria. Needless to say that he didn't feel so good. He tried to hide it since he had one final exam to take.

He came across Eunhee, Chan's potential lover, and he greeted her with a weak smile as they went to do the exam together. It went by quickly and before he knew it, he was done. The two of them walked out together and chatted about the questions to see if their answers were similar.

"I was certain it was d..." he said, confused on his answer.

"By the way," Eunhee spoke, grabbing his attention. "I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You don't look so good to me, no offense."

He looked down on the ground and hesitated to talk for an instant. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just... Y/N and I fought and there is Chan's party tonight. I know she's going but I'm not sure if I want to face her." he admitted as he remembered the death glare you gave him.

"You should go."

"You think so?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I do. You two are practically inseparable from what I see. I think it'll be a shame to not try to fix things."

"You have a point..." he breathed out. "Alright, I'll go. Are you coming too?"

She thought for a moment before nodding. "I guess I can stop by."

For some reason, her words really motivated him. As soon as he got home, he took the time to choose something appropriate to wear. He took all of his clothes out of his drawer and started to discard certain pieces of clothing. From an outer perspective, it looked very disorganized but for Jisung, it was clear.

"What the hell?" Jeongin exclaimed in horror as he stopped in front of Jisung's room. "What is happening here? It looks like a crime scene."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm simply trying to find something to wear for tonight."

"Oh, you're coming in the end? That's good, we'll leave together then?"

"Sure." Jisung shrugged. "Do you know who else is going?"

"Pretty much everyone except for Eunhee. I tried to convince her but she didn't want to."

"Bizarre, she told me she'll come."

Jeongin frowned. "Bizarre, indeed. Anyway, I'll be waiting for you so hurry up."

As requested, Jisung got ready in no time. He had picked a normal t-shirt and put a plaid vest over it with a pair of black jeans. He finalized the look with chains and rings and made sure to arrange his hair in a decent way, unlike the mop he had for the past days.

Before joining Jeongin, Jisung thought it'd be a good idea to send you a quick message to at least let you know he was willing to talk. He didn't expect you to answer, but he was still hopeful.

The two roommates left their flat and arrived about ten minutes before the given time. Chan invited them in by offering them a drink and they went over to the couch where Sora and Youngmi were already sitting. They started to chat about the end of school and other plans they had for the summer. Looking down at his phone every once in a while to see if you answered, he was happy to see Eunhee finally arriving.

"Am I late?" she asked him after they exchanging a quick side hug.

"We pretty much all came in advance. Minho, Hyunjin, Byeol, Hyunjoo and Felix are missing." he informed before drinking what Chan gave him.

"And Chunhwa and Y/N." Changbin added discreetly, nudging his friend's arm. "She told us about what happened."

Jisung's face grew red. "I prefer to not talk about it for now."

"I'll just let you know that she is mad, but like, mad."

This was no good news. And he was right to think so. As more people kept coming, his anxiety only had risen. Mixing a huge party with you being mad at him, he was not doing well.

But on your side, you didn't see that. When you arrived with Chunhwa, the first thing you did was chugging shots after shots before joining other students on the dance floor. Swaying your body to the rhythm, you were more than happy to not be thinking about anything else but that. You eventually lost Chunhwa when you realized she left with Changbin. Instead of trying to look for someone you knew, a guy started to grind on you. Usually, you would be disgusted and would push him away. However, because of the level of alcohol in your body, you couldn't care less. Moving your body with him, you felt his pelvic area become harder. Maybe you were starting to feel uneasy. Nonetheless, you kept on going and he ended up kissing you ferociously.

And Jisung was watching all of it from the corner of the room, his jaw clenching at the simple sight of someone other than him kissing you. By then, he was at his fourth drink of the night. Having grabbed a random beer that tasted like piss, his only goal was to drink his feelings away although he knew it was a bad way to cope.

"Are you alright?"

The voice took him by surprise but once he realized it was Chunhwa, he calmed down a little bit.

"I literally came here to tell her about, well, I assume you know?" he started to rant and she nodded in understanding. "I don't get her."

Taking another sip of the nasty beer, he made a weird face because of the taste.

"Hwayoung truly loves you. Honestly, I think she's scared of things changing between you two. And tonight means nothing to her, I can tell you that." Chunhwa attempted to defend you, but Jisung was having none of it and scoffed.

"I guess I understand, but I can't always be that guy. The one who's around whenever she needs it."

"I get that."

He realized it was the first time he admitted out loud how much he hated being your emotional support every time you got ditched. Just then, Changbin arrived after he had calmed the party down a little due to Chan's argument with Sora. He joined Chunhwa to her side and kissed her on the lips quickly, making Jisung scoff even louder.

"Alright, lovebirds. Rub it in my face." he rolled his eyes.

Changbin chuckled. "We've only just confessed."

"Yeah, well, at least your girl isn't being a total idiot..."

He took it as his cue to leave the couple alone. Spotting Sora leaving Chan, he thought that maybe he should be a good friend and go to him to see if he was doing alright after the fight. However, he didn't make it as someone tripped on his foot and fell into his arms. He clumsily tried to get a good grip to prevent the girl from falling.

"Hi, Ji~"

He cursed under his breath. Of all the students present, it had to be you. By looking at your flushed face, it was a sign that you might have consumed too much. He helped you up on your feet and went to Chan. As the older man saw the state you were in, he immediately helped Jisung to bring you to his room.

"Do you want me to stay with you two?"

Jisung shook his head. "I've got her from here, thanks."

As Chan left the room, you tried to get to the bed alone, but it was no success. Jisung sighed and held your sides to guide you. As you slumped on the bed, you started to hit his chest. He wasn't necessarily taken aback from your behaviour as he did ignore your messages for a while so he simply accepted his fate and let himself get beaten up by you. Well, not beaten up. More like attacked poorly because your hits were so weak.

"You're so pretty." you smiled sheepishly after you were done with hitting him. "Why do you have to be so pretty? I can't stay pissed at you if you look this good."

He chuckled. "Then don't be mad at me?"

"I can't, I hate you."

"Hmm, is that so?"

You looked at him attentively. Grabbing his head, he let out a whimper from how strong your grip was. You brought him closer and pursed your lips. He panicked for a moment as he didn't want to kiss you while you were this drunk.

"Y/N."

"I don't hate you." you whined. "I love you."

Okay, now, he was definitely not doing okay. He pushed your hands away and took a step back.

"I'll go get you a glass of water."

"Jisungie~" you called him out. "Stay with me, please."

He couldn't resist you plea, so he stayed. He took the spot next to you and allowed you to cuddle with him. You happily put your head in the crook of his neck, taking in his scent fully.

"I'm sorry for being such a fool."

He shook his head. "You're not a fool, don't say that."

"I am." you sniffed and that's when he realized you had started crying. "I'm so stupid for going out with so many jackasses. I wanted to forget you."

"Forget me?"

"I love you so much that it hurts." you declared, but Jisung only froze, so you continued. "I'm scared of losing you if I tell you I love you. I guess it's too late now, but yeah. I'm sorry for being a fool by not telling you sooner."

He wasn't sure if you were aware of what was happening but he didn't care. If there was one thing he knew about you when drunk is that you were always honest.

"I might be a fool too, then."

"You're not. You're kind-hearted, attentive, pretty and you give good advices. You're always doing things according to me so you know I feel comfortable and I never thank you for it."

He kept on stroking your hair in silence as you continued on giving him compliments. Maybe you weren't going to remember it, but he wanted to make sure he did by listening to every single word you let out attentively.

"I love you, Ji." you said to finish your monologue, your voice getting weaker as you grew tired.

He smiled to himself for how adorable you were. "I love you too."

"Remind me tomorrow." you whispered but loud enough for him to hear.

You woke up with the worst headache. Opening your eyes slowly, you took in on your surroundings. You were in Chan's room which was a good sign as it meant you didn't leave with a random person. But there was a random person next to you. You then noticed the ball of hair that was too familiar to your liking. Had you slept with Jisung? Checking your outfit real quick, you concluded you did not as you still had your clothes on. So how did you end up in Chan's bed with your best friend? It wasn't the first time you slept in the same bed but with the circumstances, you felt awkward.

It was only a few minutes later that Jisung stretched out his arms as he woke up. He seemed to be doing better than you as he was smiling contently. However, when his eyes opened to meet yours, he jumped out of the bed.

"I wanted to wake up first to not freak you out, I'm sorry. I swear nothing happened." he was quick to explain.

"It's fine." you responded as you sat up, bringing the blanket close to your chest. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah, what about you?" You shook your head and Jisung's eyes widened. "Right, you drank a lot yesterday. Do you want me to get you something? A Tylenol, some water, more blankets?"

As much as you were still angry with him, his caring personality made its way to your heart. So you let him take care of you. He left to go to the kitchen and you heard some arguing with Chan. It was something along the lines of stealing his bed again or whatever. He was quick to come back with a pill and a glass of water. You swallowed it in one-go and then invited Jisung to sit with you. Like a puppy, he did as told and waited patiently for you to talk.

"Why did we sleep together?"

"You were really drunk and I just wanted to tuck you in, I promise. But you kind of forced me to stay and then one thing led to another..."

"Don't tell me we kissed again." you cut him off.

"No! I would never let you do so while intoxicated."

It reassured you on so many levels. "Alright, then what happened?"

"You confessed."

It was as if the words triggered your brain into remembering the moment you were attempting to tell him you loved him, and a slight memory of him saying it back appeared in your mind. You weren't sure whether you were imagining things.

"And I asked you to remind me today about it, right?"

He smiled. "So you remember."

"Vaguely."

A silence settled in the room. You had clearly told him everything on your mind and he did the same. The only thing left to do was to decide what to do now. Neither of you wanted to speak first. For you, it was because you were scared of things becoming weird, but for him, it was because he was scared to death that you'd take back everything you said the night before.

"Kids, breakfast!" Chan yelled from the kitchen.

"In a minute." the both of you yelled back at the same time.

This caused for you to break into laughter, diffusing the tension. Jisung joined you and calmed down a little.

"Listen," he started once you stopped laughing. "I was being serious. I love you and I've been in love with you since... I don't even remember when but it's been a while."

Your cheeks turned pink at his words. "Me too."

"I'm sick of seeing you getting hurt by all of these guys because I know I'd treat you a thousand times better. I know I'm not a jock or anything, but I promise my feelings are genuine."

You rushed you wrapped your arms around his body making you fall on your sides into the mattress. Jisung hmphed at the sudden contact, though he was quick to return the hug.

"I know, you idiot. You already treat me like a damn goddess, I can't imagine how you'll treat me now."

"Does it mean that you love me too?"

You laughed at how clueless he was. "Yes, Ji. I love you too and I'd love it if we go out someday."

"As a date?"

"As a date."

He couldn't contain the joy he felt anymore and grabbed the back of your neck you pull you into a long and loving kiss. It felt even better than the last time and you held him tighter to pull him even closer. You pulled away to get some air.

"I'm sorry but I couldn't stop myself." he said, embarrassed.

"Kiss me again?"

He smirked at you and kissed you again at your demand. You started to pull his jacket away from his shoulders and he took the hint that you wanted it off. As he kept on kissing you, he grew more confident and moved his hand down to your thigh. He grabbed it tightly which caused you to let out a gasp. He smiled into your lips, satisfied with your reaction. You decided to play as well and you started to graze your fingers across his abdomen. You had seen him shirtless many times but feeling his abdominal muscles was much different than admiring them from afar. You moved your fingers to the hem of his pants, trying to find the button to undo it.

"You want to do this here?" he broke the kiss and grabbed your wrist to prevent you from moving any further.

"I've been wanting to fuck you ever since the first time you changed clothes in my room." you admitted and it only made him smirk again.

"You liked what you saw?"

"Yes. Now, can we get to business?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You never knew being called like this would do something to you, but you felt like you were melting. He continued to touch you all over your body, always making sure you were comfortable, and he finally got your shirt off. He flipped you to be on top and started to place a few pecks down your neck to your bellybutton.

"Guys, I said breakfast is-"

Jisung was quick to bring the blanket over you, covering your body that was half-dressed.

"For fuck's sake. Guys, this is the last time I'm letting you both stay in my bed. Get dressed now!"

You stayed in silence when Chan closed the door abruptly.

"Is he mad?" you asked and Jisung could only chuckle.

"He's fine." He leaned down to give you, yet, one more kiss. "You have no idea how happy I am right now."

"I think I know, because I couldn't be happier myself."

His smile grew and you were the one to kiss him this time.

"Guys!" Chan yelled from the kitchen again.

"Coming!"

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids college au #stray kids fluff #stray kids your eyes #stray kids han #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung scenarios #han jisung fanfic #han jisung fluff

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detroitbecomeonline · 8 months ago

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Hello to my beloved followers and mutuals and anyone who just sees this post lol hi anywaY I have gotten a few asks recently just chatting about hankcon and I haven't answered them because I'll compile a general answer in this one post <3 Okay SO basically I agree with what everyone is saying and I'll reiterate it here and mix in my own opinion:

People's tastes/opinions are different. It's strange to see people attack and block each other over a fictional pairing, like, I've been on voice call with a Tumblr mate of mine who ships hankcon and we didn't explode. I am on the dad-son end of things, and guess what. She talked to me about all the things she likes about hankcon and I was happy that she was happy. It's fun, ok. It's FUN. FUN. When people argue "oh this isn't even canon" like. Dad-son and hankcon aren't canon, but we get to enjoy them in different ways and in different universes. Which is epic. It doesn't matter what side you're on- harassing someone for having a different opinion to you is not nice. And you're missing out on making friends with others.

Did you know that I follow someone who is self-labelled anti-reed900 despite me being a reed900 shipper? Guess what fuckers. I like a mix of opinions on my dash because I get to experience 5 GUM. This person doesn't post reed900 at all and I haven't seen this person harass others either. And it's all boiled down to taste. Did you know I disliked hankcon when I first got here? I had the tag blocked, but I didn't block others for having fun over in the other corner. Now I'm like, super neutral about it and even reblog it. You know rk1k? I used to dislike that too. Now I ship it. rip me. anyway. I was into simarkus and now I'm not! But I'm still going to do the simarkus arc in Encryption hella justice. So ultimately, I guess my opinion is who cares bro!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Our interests change!! (Like the anon in my asks who said they liked hankcon and now don't anymore!)

End note which is a personal opinion: Posting "I don't like X" is not being hateful. Posting "Anyone who likes X is a [redacted] and Y is superior/canon/the right way" is not cool.

Edit: ur so hot and sexy if you follow me and our opinions clash about anything ever

#this was longer than i thought it would be #i enjoy everyone on my feed #I will admit #I've been blocked by a handful of hankcon shippers for reasons unknown (maybe because I said I didn't ship it rip me) but of course there #are extreme people on any topic.#And to note: I understand some people come online and want to relax in their little bubbles and not experience anything outside of their #opinion hence the blocking. But that makes me sad because now I can't see their posts and stuff lol :((#detroit become human #mine #fandom politics

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blainesebastian · 2 years ago

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because

words: 2,219 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) "reader jokingly brings up the fact that she has always wanted the clichés in a relationship but have never been with someone who would want to give that to her" warnings: none notes: requests are open for now :) thanks to anyone who's left me one! appreciate it xx tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted, @rairaielv

You’re still pretty new to the whole interview thing—this being your first major breakthrough in film with an upcoming project. Not that you’re not proud of everything you’ve done prior, of course you are, those steps are what’s gotten you to this point. Starring in a film you can really sink your teeth into. Great plot, wonderful character development, intrigue and opportunities for growth.

And it certainly doesn’t hurt that your co-star is Austin Butler.

The whole experience of working with him has been an absolute blur, you’re just trying to take things as they come at you—one day at a time. You can’t quite put into words how great it’s been to make this film with him, that he’s so incredibly humble in his experiences, that even though he’s done a film like Elvis, he’s still willing to learn and keep himself down to earth in how he presents himself, how he talks to people.

You’ve become really good friends over this entire process and, admittedly, you’ve been thinking about Austin in a not so friend way either but. How can anyone not have a crush on this man?

Regardless, you’ve kept that (for the most part) completely to yourself. The last thing you want to do is somehow disrupt your working relationship, especially when things are going so well. There was only one slight mix up and Austin’s never brought it up again so you’re ninety percent sure that it didn’t even happen. One too many drinks afterhours with people from set and all of a sudden you’re spilling state secrets out to Austin when he tries to make sure you get home safe. Not your finest moment, though you don’t remember it being too embarrassing?

Definitely something capable of keeping you up at night—that and admitting during an interview that you never had an ex that indulged in all the clichés of dating.

It’s like one of those early hours nightmares, your clock burning 2:35AM into the side of your head, as you stare at the ceiling. Along with your eighth grade prom date fiasco and that one time you told that hot waiter ‘you too’ when he said ‘enjoy your food’. Just…utterly putting you in shambles. And maybe it’s not something to worry about, you’re still getting used to interviews and not overtalking when you’re nervous. Austin’s given you some tips about breathing and really listening to the question, counting to three before replying so you’re sure about what’s going to come out of your mouth.

And you suppose it’s not the worse thing? Not like it’s a childhood story you’ve divulged and overshared that you should be ashamed about. It’s just…you mentioned to the interviewer that you’re actually kind of fond of all the old-school cliché things that come with dating. Fresh flowers, goodnight texts, someone that’ll call just to hear your voice, good morning texts, sending random pictures throughout the day of things that remind you of the other person.

Your past two relationships didn’t bother with any of those things, they were fast paced and kinda…thrown together? It feels so hard to describe them now that you’re outside of it, and it took you a while to actually listen to your heart that you weren’t as happy as you wanted to be anyways. There’s a difference between being single and just settling—you don’t want to do that anymore.

Especially if it doesn’t come with all the romances and small pieces of love languages that you feel it deserves.

It doesn’t have to be overdramatic or complicated…you’re just asking for effort. And the typical clichés? kinda demonstrate that.

“There was literally no reason for me to divulge that on live television,” You place your phone on your shoulder, holding it against your ear with your head. Your friend Katrina gives a soft laugh in response, “I mean, really, all the interviewer asked me was if I had a date to the Golden Globes.”

But that simple question just popped off the whole thing about why you’re single, about why you’re taking time to find someone right and not just jumping into a relationship. Then, of course, there are always those teasing questions about Austin—about your friendship, how sweet and humble he is, how handsome. Like…that’s all very obvious but why do people talk to you like you’re supposed to do something about it?

To threaten everything you’ve already built with him, personal and professional wise? No thank you.

“I think the real question everyone was asking is whether you’re goin’ with Austin.” A loud sigh leaves your lips, tipping your head back to look at the ceiling of your living room as you lie on your back on the couch. “There are no sighs when you have a man that hot in your life.”

A soft chuckle vibrates in your throat, shaking your head because…everyone (meaning Katrina) on the outside thinks it’s easy having a crush on your friend. That you could just…cross that bridge, build that connection if you really wanted to. But this isn’t a movie, you don’t have the script right in front of you, you have no idea what’s going to happen if you decide to do that.

And you’re not sure if it’s worth that risk.

“You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

“Oh my god,” You exclaim, amusement wrapped around your tone, “Are you my best friend or relationship therapist?”

“I get the privilege of being both,” Katrina grins, you can almost hear it as she speaks, “For free.”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but smile, playing with a loose thread in the sweater you’ve got on. “All I called you for was to ask if we were still on for brunch tomorrow morning and if you think I made a fool out of myself on TV.”

Katrina sighs softly and hums and you can tell that she’s backing down, for now, “Yes always to brunch and no, you did nothing that was embarrassing. You were just honest—nothing wrong with that.” Then she pauses…and you already know she’s back at it again,

“Besides, maybe someone was watching and taking notes.”

You run a hand over your face, shaking your head—God, “Goodbye.” You laugh gently, pressing the red button before she can start herself in on another rant.

Setting your phone down on your coffee table, you’re considering ordering take-out or conquering laziness and going down your street to the taco counter on the corner when there’s a knock at your door. Your eyebrows draw together in confusion because you’re not expecting anyone…unless it’s your neighbor. She’s older and her cat is constantly getting stuck in the closet and she always has trouble getting her out. Sighing, you draw yourself up and off the couch, wandering over without looking through the peep hole.

Which is how your jaw almost ends up on the floor.

It’s Austin, which is not exactly surprising, he’s been to your apartment plenty of times—just not like this. He’s got a giant bouquet of black roses in his arms, almost kinda comical for him because he’s tall and skinny and it feels like it throws him off balance somehow. He’s also got a small white teddy bear, a maroon heart sewn onto its chest and you kinda…open and close your mouth because you’re so confused and slightly overwhelmed, you have no idea what to say.

Except the first thing that comes to mind, “Well, you’re definitely not Mrs. Deborah.”

He laughs lightly, pulling the flowers away from his face a bit so that they don’t obstruct his view as he steps forward into your apartment. “Was hopin’ I had the right door,” He jokes, “Hard to see around these things.”

Closing the door behind him, you’re still completely thrown off as to what exactly he’s doing here with these things like, “It’s uh—it’s not my birthday?”

Austin raises his eyebrows, “I know that,” He replies warmly and then begins talking about the roses, “I know gettin’ black ones is a little strange but I figured with all the…horror movies you like and Halloween aesthetic that you have up all year—”

Amused laughter wraps around your tone as you speak, “Halloween is a feeling, not a season.”

“—I figured you’d appreciate these.” He smiles and hands them over.

Your stomach does this ridiculous flip-flopping, cheeks kissing pink because you’re so confused and stunned. You take them carefully, pressing your nose and lips into a few flowers, breathing them in. Austin smiles and uses the bear to press a kiss to your cheek before giving you that too.

“I…not that I’m not completely in love with these,” You say after a moment, almost hesitantly, “But why?”

Austin hums, shrugging his shoulders lightly as he pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “Because.”

And that stirs something heated and distinct in your chest. You’re attempting not to overthink such a simple answer. Because.

Letting out a breath and preventing yourself from spilling your thought process out, you give him a soft smile and bite down on the inside of your cheek. You turn to take the flowers into the kitchen, finding scissors to cut the ends of the stems off.

“Not sure I have a vase big enough.” You chuckle, wondering if it’d make more sense to split up the large bouquet—some out here, some in your bedroom. You settle for a smaller black glass vase you’ve got dried flowers in by the windowsill and swap them out, letting the rest of the bouquet rest in the sink until you’re ready for them.

You lean against the counter, taking a long look at the flowers as the word because spins around in your head. And while you’re touched at the sentiment, at the explanation that Austin has given you—you can’t help but wonder…

“I’m assuming you saw the interview?”

Austin smiles a little, the prettiest of blushes kissing his cheeks, highlighting some of the freckles he has on his cheekbones. It’s ridiculously attractive and your stomach does a full swirl before you have to look away. There’s this itch to run your fingers through the blonde curls above his forehead.

“I did—but it’s not the main reason why I brought you those today.”

A soft self-deprecating laugh leaves your throat, “Oh no? Not because you’re pitying me?” And even though you’re joking, kind of, attempting to smile through it—you’re worried that’s the only reason he’s even here, that he somehow feels sorry for you.

“No, hey,” Austin says softly, taking a step towards you to reach out and touch your arm. He gently grasps your elbow to keep you from backing up, squeezing, his thumb rubbing back and forth. “It’s actually uh—you probably don’t even remember this but, that time when we went out to drink with the cast and crew?”

And your cheeks instantly flush red because of course you know what he’s talking about. You thought for sure you could safely assume you hadn’t said anything that’d come back to haunt you. Which is worse? This or the interview? You shake your head, running a hand over your face,

“You remember that?”

He smiles a bit and moves his hand to play with a few strands of your hair near your cheek, curling them around your ear, “Kinda hard to forget.”

And while you feel like that should somehow make it worse…it doesn’t. Austin takes a step forward, keeping the proximity close between you. You can feel the heat from his skin radiating off his body, kissing your own, pressing against your pores like a gentle embrace. It’s dizzying.

“I mean, who knows what I even said,” You attempt to play it off with a small laugh, your eyes looking into Austin’s soft blue ones.

But given where this conversation has been going, maybe you should have been prepared for Austin to reply with, “You said you had feelings for me but you were afraid to tell me.”

God. “I really need to never be allowed to drink again.”

Austin smiles, shaking his head, “Did you mean it?”

You let out a slow breath, holding his gaze as your heart begins hammering in your chest. Here’s the moment of truth, right, where there’s no barrier of a long night or too many drinks to hide your emotions. There’s no taking it back after this, and yet you feel like Austin already knows what you’re going to say.

You lick your lips before a soft laugh echoes, “Of course I meant it.”

“Good,” Austin hums, cupping your cheek with his one hand, “Because I mean this.”

He leans down to kiss you, heat exploding pleasantly in your chest, slipping between your bones and making you melt towards him. You wrap your arms around his waist, keeping him close, and you can’t help but smile against his lips as he continues the kiss before you both pull back slightly to breathe. There’s butterflies in your stomach and you feel slightly dizzy from this turn of events. All these clichés that you never thought you’d be able to experience.

Then, unable to keep the smile off your face, you lean in and nip at his lower lip.

Just because.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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