#like before he realized it was a crush crush

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.7

Chapter Seven: What Are You Doing To Me Now?

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, 

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: ISTG last chapter— ya’ll comments had me wheezing and dying of laughter PLEASE— MY BAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO GIVE PEDRO A HEART ATTACK LMAOOOO. Anyways, enjoy this little filler of a chapter. That’s 8k words long LMAO…

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The blue by Gracie Abrams

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

“You still need to change.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into a hole. Out of everything you could have said, that’s what your brain decided on?

Pedro blinks at you.

Then, as if just realizing it himself, he looks down at his suit—a bright, unmistakable blue, the bold insignia stretched across his chest.

Mr. Fantastic.

A literal superhero, walking through the lot, guiding you with steady hands like you were the fragile one. It’s so utterly absurd you almost laugh.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. “Guess I forgot.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-fond. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving a dull ache in its place, and for the first time since the accident, the weight of everything presses in.

The stitches in your arm pull when you move too fast, a sharp reminder that this was real. That you’d actually shoved Pedro out of the way and taken the hit yourself.

He hasn’t let you forget it, either.

Not in the way his fingers still ghost over your wrist, as if testing to make sure you’re solid. Not in the way he keeps looking at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to work through something in his head but hasn’t found the words yet.

And now, on top of it all, you still need to check in with Jess, confirm with Matt that you’re cleared for the day, and figure out if you need to file for medical leave.

So much for an easy afternoon.

You make your way across the lot, Pedro still at your side, his presence warm and steady. When you find Matt and Jess, they’re already deep in conversation with Rob Beggs, the safety manager. The area where the light rig fell is cordoned off now, crew members carefully maneuvering around it as they assess the situation.

The moment Jess spots you, her face crumples into something equal parts relief and guilt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward like she wants to hug you but stops herself at the last second, eyeing your injured arm. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Jess, no,” you interject quickly, shaking your head. “This wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Still, I feel awful,” Matt adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should have double-checked the rigging before calling everyone in.”

“And we’re going to,” Rob says, tone firm but even. “I’m running a full investigation on this. We’ll figure out where the breakdown happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment but also not wanting to linger on it. The last thing you want is for everyone to start treating you like glass.

“I’m okay,” you say, offering them what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Just a few stitches. I’ll live.”

“Damn right you will,” a familiar voice cuts in.

Daisy.

She and Omar appear from the side, both of them looking equally relieved and exasperated.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Omar says, shaking his head. “One second everything was fine, and then—boom. We see you on the ground, bleeding.”

You wince. “Yeah. That part wasn’t fun.”

“No shit,” Daisy mutters. Then her eyes flick to Pedro, who still hasn’t strayed far from your side. Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“You sticking to her like glue for the rest of the day or what?” she teases, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity there.

Pedro doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yep.”

You glance at him, surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. His expression is relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes, something quietly unwavering, that makes your stomach flip.

Daisy arches a brow, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she just shakes her head, smirking slightly. “Figures.”

Omar huffs a laugh. “Well, at least she’s in good hands.”

You feel your face heat, and Pedro, the absolute menace, just looks utterly unbothered, like he was always meant to be standing here next to you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” Jess sighs, rubbing her temples. “You’re cleared for the day. If you need extra time off, just let me know.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now,” Matt adds, giving Pedro a once-over, “please tell me you’re not actually taking her back to the hotel like that.”

Pedro glances down at himself again.

Then he shrugs. “I dunno. Kinda think it adds character.”

You groan, covering your face with your good hand.

“Just go change, man,” Omar snorts.

Pedro grins, but then his attention shifts back to you, and the humor fades just slightly, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, voice low. “Stay here, okay?”

You nod, and the second he steps away, you exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle just a little heavier on your shoulders.

Daisy nudges you.

“So,” she drawls, a knowing glint in her eye. “Anything you wanna share?”

Your face burns.

“Nope.”

Omar snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you don’t say anything else. Because honestly?

You’re not sure how to explain what just happened.

Or how you’re supposed to go back to normal after it.

You don’t know how Pedro managed to convince Matt and Jess to call it an early day, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was the way he asked, firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument, or maybe they saw the concern in his eyes—the kind that couldn’t be faked. Either way, production had been shut down for the day.

Besides, Rob had said they needed to check the cameras, review the footage, and determine exactly what went wrong.

Now, you were surrounded by Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph, their voices overlapping as they checked in on you.

“Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” Vanessa asked, wide-eyed, her hand hovering near your arm as if she was scared you’d break.

“Yeah, you took quite the hit,” Ebon added, shaking his head. “Looked bad from where we were standing.”

Joseph crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “They need to get that sorted out before we continue filming. It could’ve been worse.”

You nodded, offering them a small smile, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and the way their concern made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured them. “Just a couple of stitches. No big deal.”

But your voice wavered slightly, betraying the truth. Your hands were still cold, your heart still hadn’t settled into its usual rhythm. You wanted to be strong—to be the girl who brushed things off with a laugh. You’d always been that girl.

Then Pedro emerged from his trailer.

He’d finally changed out of the Mr. Fantastic suit, trading in the blue spandex for a soft black sweater and dark jeans, but he still had that look—the same one he’d had since the moment the accident happened. Like he hadn’t been able to let out a full breath since.

His eyes found yours instantly.

“Hey.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Pedro ignored everyone else, his focus entirely on you as he closed the distance between you. The warmth of his presence was immediate and grounding, and when he reached out—his fingers ghosting over the bandage on your forehead—you felt yourself sway slightly.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer, meant just for you.

“I’ll rest when I get home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but something in your expression must’ve given you away, because Pedro exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face before he could think better of it.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You were very aware of the way the others had fallen silent, watching the moment unfold. But Pedro didn’t seem to care, and you... you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than you intended.

His brows knit together like he was about to say something else, but then Matt called out from the other side of the lot, breaking the moment.

Pedro sighed, dropping his hand, but not before giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “Let me take you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this right now.”

Your instinct was to protest, to insist that you were fine, that you could handle it. But the truth was, the idea of getting away from set, from all the eyes and whispers, sounded... nice.

So you swallowed your pride, glanced up at Pedro, and nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders loosened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to agree. “Okay.”

And just like that, he was guiding you toward the parking lot, his hand ghosting over your lower back, protective, steady, like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean into the warmth of him, just a little. Just for now.

The black van was already waiting at the curb, engine humming softly as the late afternoon light spilled golden streaks over the lot. Pedro kept a firm but gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.  

Albert, the driver, glanced back as you climbed in. “Miss,” he greeted with a polite nod, his eyes flickering briefly to Pedro as if silently assessing whether you were okay.  

You gave him a small smile. “Hey, Albert.”  

Once everyone was settled, the doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you into the familiar bubble of the ride back to the hotel.  

“I think after today, we deserve drinks.” Joseph stretched out his legs with a groan, his head thumping lightly against the headrest. “Preferably something strong. Maybe something that could wipe today from my memory entirely.”  

You let out a quiet laugh but shook your head. “Thanks, but no alcohol for me.” You scrunched your nose, pulling a face. “Kind of wanna keep all my blood inside me for now.”  

Pedro made a noise next to you—something between amusement and disapproval—as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, no tequila shots for you, querida. Not when you just got stitched up.”  

“Ugh, I was gonna say wine, but sure, make me sound like a total mess,” Joseph quipped.  

Vanessa smirked. “You are a mess.”  

Ebon chuckled. “At least you admit it.”  

The conversation carried on, the lighthearted teasing making the tension from earlier slowly fade. You felt yourself relax, your body sinking a little deeper into the seat. But even as the laughter filled the van, you remained acutely aware of the warmth beside you—the way Pedro’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, the way his arm rested along the back of the seat, close but not quite touching you.  

And when you glanced at him, you found his gaze already on you, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes.  

You looked away first.

The drive back to the hotel stretched longer than expected, traffic turning the usual route into a slow crawl. London streets, thick with impatient drivers and red taillights, blurred into a haze outside the window. Rain had started to drizzle, streaking the glass with soft, uneven patterns. The low hum of conversation filled the van, punctuated by the occasional groan from Joseph whenever the vehicle lurched forward, only to stop again moments later.  

You let your head rest against the window, watching the world pass in slow motion. The warmth of the van, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet murmur of voices lulled you into something close to drowsiness. Your body ached—not unbearably, but enough that exhaustion tugged at you with each passing second.  

Pedro shifted beside you, the movement drawing your attention. His arm, which had been loosely draped along the back of the seat, dipped slightly, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder in a touch so light you almost imagined it.  

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for you.  

You hummed, turning your head slightly but keeping your gaze on the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. Just tired.”  

His fingers flexed, the briefest hesitation before he let his hand settle—gentle and warm—on your arm. Not overbearing. Just there. Just enough.  

You should sit up straighter. You should move, make some joke, shake off the way his presence settled around you like something protective, something safe. But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself relax, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavier against you.  

The next time the van jolted to another stop, your body leaned instinctively toward the nearest solid thing—Pedro.  

You felt it the moment your head made contact with his shoulder. The way he stiffened, just for a beat, before exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. You started to move away, an apology forming on your lips, but before you could, his hand found your knee—just the lightest touch, grounding, reassuring.  

“Stay,” he murmured.  

You weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it.  

But you did. And you stayed.  

The voices around you blended, fading into the background as your eyelids grew heavier. Pedro’s breathing was steady beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort. His scent—faint traces of cologne and whatever they used to take off the makeup from set—wrapped around you, familiar and warm.  

Outside, the rain kept falling. The city moved in slow motion.  

And in the middle of it all, you slept, tucked safely into the space Pedro had made for you.

Pedro stilled when he felt the full weight of you against him.  

At first, he thought you were just resting your eyes, letting exhaustion settle in after the long, chaotic day. But then your breathing slowed, deepened, the kind of rhythm that only came with sleep.  

Carefully, he glanced down at you. Your face was relaxed now, lips slightly parted, the tension that had clung to you all day finally melting away. A soft, barely-there snore slipped past your lips, and—fuck—his heart clenched.  

Then he felt it.  

A faint warmth against his shoulder.  

He shifted ever so slightly, and sure enough—yep. You were drooling.  

He should probably mind. He should probably shake you awake or shift you off of him. But the thought didn’t even cross his mind.  

Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stayed perfectly still.  

Because if this was all he got—this fleeting moment of quiet, of you trusting him enough to let your guard down, to lean on him like this—he wasn’t about to ruin it.  

Still, guilt gnawed at him. The scene kept playing in his head. The accident. The way his stomach had dropped when he saw you hit the ground. The way you had looked up at him afterward, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though he knew better. Even though he knew you.  

He could have lost you today.  

The thought made his grip tighten ever so slightly against his knee, his other hand twitching with the urge to reach for you. To make sure you were really here.  

And then there was that look.  

The one you had given him. The one that sent something sharp and undeniable curling in his chest. The one that told him—without words—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t just in his head.  

He could have kissed you then.  

He should have.  

But it hadn’t been the right time. Not after what had happened. Not when you were still reeling from it, still patching yourself up.  

But fuck, it’s going to keep him up at night.  

He wants you.  

And he knows—knows—that you want him too.  

The van hit another bump, jostling you slightly, and instinctively, he shifted, tucking you closer so your head wouldn’t slip from his shoulder.  

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft sigh, curling the tiniest bit toward him. And Pedro?  

Pedro let himself enjoy it. Just for now. Just for tonight.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

A gentle voice coaxed you from sleep.  

“We’re here.”  

You stirred, warmth pressed against your cheek, the rhythmic hum of the van’s engine fading as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Your mind felt sluggish, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, but then—oh God.  

Your head had been resting on him.  

Panic flickered through you as you jerked upright, realizing with horror that you had not only slept on Pedro’s shoulder but also left a small damp patch on the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my—shit.” You wiped hastily at your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to—Jesus, I drooled all over you. I’m so—”  

Pedro chuckled, low and amused, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” His voice softened. “Just don’t move too much. Remember—your stitches.”  

The reminder stopped you in your tracks. Right. Your stitches. Your ribs ached dully, a reminder of the accident earlier on set. You swallowed, nodding.  

“Right,” you murmured.  

Across from you, Joseph twisted in his seat, smirking slightly. “You good?”  

“Yeah.” Your voice was still rough with sleep. You cleared your throat and tried again. “M’good.”  

Vanessa gave you a sympathetic look, her expression warm. “You should probably head up and rest.”  

You nodded again, still feeling a little disoriented. The van door slid open, letting in the cool London air. One by one, everyone filed out, stretching and murmuring about what to do next. Pedro moved to step out, then hesitated, glancing back at you.  

“You coming?” he asked, voice low, just for you.  

You blinked, forcing yourself to move. Your limbs felt heavy, your body still craving rest. As you started to climb out, your footing wavered slightly—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the dull ache in your side.  

Pedro was there in an instant.  

His hand hovered near the small of your back, not quite touching, but close enough to steady you. Close enough to say, I’ve got you.  

You inhaled, just for a moment, letting yourself take comfort in his presence. 

The warmth of the hotel lobby wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filling the air. Pedro stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance, his hand hovering near your lower back again, never quite touching, but there.  

You made your way toward the elevators, pressing the call button. When the doors slid open, you stepped inside with a sigh, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You tapped your keycard, pressing the button for your floor before instinctively pressing Pedro’s as well.  

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.  

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”  

“You’re staying with me tonight.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”  

Pedro sighed, like he had already expected you to put up a fight. “Someone needs to look after you.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pedro, I’ll be fine. They’re just stitches. I’m just gonna head to bed early—” You punctuated the statement with a yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro gave you that look. That firm, stubborn, no-room-for-argument look, the one you’d seen him use when he was absolutely set on something.  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“Just stay in the suite,” he said, softer this time. “Please. You can use your old room.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Pedro, my stuff is still in my room.”  

“Then I’ll stay with you.”  

Your breath hitched. “What?”  

Pedro shrugged, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “If you won’t stay in my suite, then I’ll stay in yours.”  

You stared at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears. The idea of sharing a space with Pedro for the night—of waking up knowing he was just a room away, of the quiet intimacy of existing in the same space—made your stomach flip.  

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quieter now.  

He tilted his head, studying you. “I want to.”  

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor. The doors slid open, but neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something there.  

You hesitated. He was giving you a choice.  

You exhaled, already knowing you were going to give in before the words even left your mouth.  

“Fine…” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If it makes you feel better.” You glanced up at him and sighed. “Now put away your puppy eyes.”  

Pedro grinned, all smug warmth and victory, but there was something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe. Like he was glad you weren’t pushing him away.  

“I’ll just grab some of my stuff. I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping back toward the elevator panel to press his floor again.  

You shot him a teasing look. “Better hurry, or I might just pass out before you get there.”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seven minutes,” he said, like it was a challenge.  

You smirked as the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the hallway.  

By the time you got to your room, exhaustion was already creeping in. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes before flopping onto the bed, sighing into the plush comforter. You told yourself you’d just close your eyes for a moment—just a second.  

Then, exactly seven minutes later, the sound of your doorbell rang through the room.

You rolled off the bed with a groggy sigh, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, Pedro was standing there, looking so effortlessly comfortable it made your stomach flip.  

A plain black tee stretched across his broad chest, the soft fabric hanging loosely over the curve of his arms. Grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, the kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second longer than you wanted to admit. He’d traded his usual contacts for his square-framed glasses, the ones that made him look just a little too good, like a university professor who knew exactly how to ruin you with a well-placed argument.  

In one hand, he held a small duffle bag, the strap slung over his shoulder like he belonged here, like this was routine. Like you’d done this before.  

Pedro’s gaze flicked over you, taking in your half-lidded eyes and the way you leaned against the doorframe, still fighting off the edges of sleep.  

“You didn’t pass out,” he noted, amused.  

“Almost did,” you mumbled, stepping back to let him in.  

Pedro walked past you, his familiar scent trailing after him—clean, warm, a mix of something woody and subtle, like cedar and spice. He moved easily around the space, setting his bag down by the chair, toeing off his sneakers before glancing back at you.  

“You should get some rest,” he said, softer now.  

You folded your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in the clothes you wore earlier, your sweater slightly rumpled from your half-nap. “I was resting until someone rang my doorbell exactly seven minutes after leaving.”  

Pedro just smiled, unapologetic. “I said I’d be quick.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips.  

Then, as if the weight of the day finally caught up to him, Pedro let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before tilting his head at you. His gaze softened, the humor fading just a little.  

“How’s your side?”  

You hesitated, glancing down like you could see the stitches through your clothes. “Fine,” you said, but it wasn’t very convincing.  

Pedro’s brows pulled together. “Let me see.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“Just—let me check, make sure it’s not bleeding or anything.”  

You frowned, the shyness creeping back in. “Pedro, I can—”  

“You could,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “but you won’t.” His voice dipped into something quieter, something coaxing. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”  

Your breath hitched.  

You should’ve argued, should’ve batted away his concern with another stubborn insistence that you were fine. But he was looking at you like that—like you were something fragile and precious, something worth worrying over.  

And maybe a part of you wanted to be taken care of.  

You swallowed, nodding once.  

Pedro exhaled, something unspoken passing between you, before he gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”  

You did.  

He knelt in front of you, hands careful as he helped you lift the hem of your sweater, just enough to check the bandages covering your side. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but it was enough to send a shiver up your spine.  

Pedro stilled.  

His gaze flicked up to yours, like he’d felt it too.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.  

Then, finally, he spoke—voice rough, quiet.  

“You scared the shit out of me today.”

“So you’ve said…” You mumbled.

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he carefully smoothed the fabric of your sweater back down. His hands lingered for half a second too long, fingertips brushing against your waist before he pulled away.  

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, something fond underneath.  

You swallowed past the warmth creeping up your neck and cleared your throat. “I, uh—I need to shower.”  

Pedro’s expression shifted instantly, concern knitting his brows together. “Careful with your stitches.”  

“I know,” you sighed, already pushing yourself up from the bed. “I just—” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how gross you felt. Your sweater was stiff in places, dried with sweat and blood, and your skin itched from the grime of the day. “I just need to wash this all off.”  

Pedro’s gaze softened, but his jaw ticked, like he was biting back a hundred different things he wanted to say.  

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”  

You quickly gathered your pajamas and underwear, started toward the bathroom, then paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t—” You hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t leave, okay?”  

Pedro blinked, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded again. “I won’t.”  

That was all you needed.  

You closed the bathroom door behind you and exhaled, pressing your forehead against the cool wood for a second longer than necessary. Your heart was beating too fast.  

You shook it off, moving to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot—you didn’t want to irritate the stitches. The mirror caught your reflection, and you winced. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, dried blood streaked near your collar. No wonder Pedro had been hovering.  

Carefully, you peeled off your clothes, mindful of your injury as you stepped under the spray. Warm water cascaded over you, washing away the dirt and the tension, and you sighed in relief.  

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, warmth wrapped around you—not just from the plush hotel robe you’d thrown on, but from the scent of food lingering in the air. Something rich, comforting.  

Pedro sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up the second he heard you. His eyes flickered over you, scanning for any signs of discomfort, lingering too long on the bandages at your side before he forced himself to meet your gaze.  

He offered you a small smile. “I ordered room service for dinner. Figured you needed something to eat before your next set of meds.”  

Your stomach answered before you could, a low grumble betraying just how little you’d eaten today.  

Pedro smirked. “Guess I made the right call.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were grateful. The thoughtfulness of it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches.  

“What’d you get?” You padded over, tucking damp hair behind your ear as you settled onto the small couch beside him.  

“Chicken soup, because, you know—doctor’s orders.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, steam curling into the air. “And some pasta, just in case you wanted something more solid.”  

Your lips twitched. “You really thought this through, huh?”  

Pedro shrugged, too casual. “You’re my responsibility tonight.”  

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. He didn’t say it like it was an obligation. He said it like it was a fact. Like he wanted it to be.  

You looked away, focusing on the soup as you picked up a spoon. “Thanks,” you murmured.  

Pedro watched you for a beat before nodding. “Anytime.”

The silence between you was warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

You focused on your food, spooning up the broth, letting the heat soothe you from the inside out. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, easing away the tightness that had been there since the accident. Pedro had been right—this was exactly what you needed.  

Across from you, Pedro twirled his fork through his pasta absentmindedly, but he wasn’t eating much. His eyes kept flicking toward you, like he was checking, making sure you were still here, still breathing.  

“You should eat,” you murmured, not looking up from your bowl.  

Pedro let out a small breath of amusement. “You sound like me.”  

You lifted a brow. “Guess it’s contagious.”  

He smirked but didn’t argue, finally taking a bite of his food. You kept eating, but the weight of his gaze never fully left you. It sat there, unspoken, lingering between the spaces of your breath and the scrape of silverware against ceramic.  

After a while, you set your spoon down and leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out. Pedro’s eyes flickered to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

Pedro’s gaze flickered down to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

“You have no idea how much you worried me today,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.  

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”  

“I mean it,” he said, setting his plate aside. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you. “One second, you were fine, and the next…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “I keep thinking—if things had gone differently…”  

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm. You reached out without thinking, resting a hand over his. His fingers twitched under yours, like he was resisting the urge to hold on.  

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “It was just an accident.”  

Pedro let out a humorless huff. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”  

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly over his. “I know.”  

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the city hummed beyond the hotel window, the murmur of footsteps passing by in the hallway. But here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just the two of you.  

Pedro’s fingers twitched again, then slowly, finally, curled around yours. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold too tightly. Just enough to tell you he was still here. That he wasn’t letting go.  

Your throat felt tight, emotions tangling up somewhere in your chest.  

“Pedro,” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.  

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time all night, you didn’t look away.  

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something real. It made your heart stumble in your chest.  

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to drink your meds.”

“Right.” You nodded and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and twisted the cap off with a sigh. Pedro, ever watchful, pushed the packet of pills closer to you with two fingers.  

“Go on,” he urged, tilting his head.  

You huffed but took the meds anyway, popping them into your mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. The whole time, Pedro watched you like a hawk, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of barely restrained concern.  

“There. Happy?” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro narrowed his eyes slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Very.”  

“You’re being a little much,” you teased, setting the bottle down.  

He arched a brow. “A little much?”  

“You’re hovering. You’re being—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like a mother hen.”  

Pedro let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I am. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not out here trying to tough it out on your own.”  

You looked away, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He wasn’t wrong. You’d spent so much of your life trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle things on your own. But having him here, fussing over you, making sure you took your meds, ordering you food—it was… nice.  

Really nice.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Well, thanks,” you muttered, voice softer this time.  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he saw right through you.  

You busied yourself adjusting the pillows, trying to ignore how much your heart was racing. But then you froze.  

There was only one bed.  

Your eyes darted to Pedro’s, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, too. His lips parted slightly, gaze flicking from you to the bed and back again.  

“Oh,” you said.  

Pedro exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can take the floor.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“The floor,” he repeated. “I’ll sleep there.”  

You frowned, looking between him and the thick, undoubtedly uncomfortable carpet. “Absolutely the fuck not.”  

Pedro smirked, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. “Wow. Strong words.”  

“I’m serious, Pedro.” You crossed your arms. “Your back will hate you forever.”  

His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you calling me old?”  

Your mouth opened, then closed. “No! I—I’m just saying, you’ll wake up sore as hell and—ugh.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”  

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Not funny.”  

“Very funny.”  

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like a damn idiot.  

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” you grumbled, trying to regain some of your dignity.  

Pedro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But if I wake up with an elbow to the ribs, I’m filing a complaint.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.  

One bed. Pedro Pascal. You.  

You were doomed.

You climb into bed first, carefully maneuvering around your injury as you settle against the pillows. Pedro follows soon after, turning off the last of the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The space between you is small—closer than what two people who are just friends probably should be—but neither of you move to fix it.  

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the hotel settling. Then, Pedro shifts slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looks at you.  

“Isn’t it weird?” he murmurs.  

You blink sleepily. “What?”  

“You changed rooms… and now we’re in the same bed.” His voice is thoughtful, like he’s only just realizing the weight of the situation.  

You snort. “Maybe I’m cursed.”  

Pedro chuckles, low and warm. “Nah, can’t be cursed if you end up spending more time with me.” His grin is downright smug.  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, superstar, calm down.”  

Pedro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying. If this is a curse, it’s not a bad one.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because really, who just casually says things like that?—but the words catch in your throat when you realize how close he really is. His face is relaxed in the dim light, his eyes dark and unreadable, his curls a little mussed from the day.  

Your heart stumbles.  

It should be weird, lying here with him like this, but somehow… it isn’t.  

Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of the night settles around you, the warmth of the sheets and the steady presence of Pedro beside you making it all too easy to forget the chaos of the day.  

You should be sleeping, but instead, you’re scrolling on your phone, the dim glow illuminating your face as you read. The soft, rhythmic sound of Pedro’s breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep—until his voice rumbles low in the quiet.  

“You always do that before bed?”  

You nearly jump, clutching your phone against your chest. “Do what?”  

Pedro’s lips twitch in amusement. “Read.”  

You swallow. Shit.  

“Yeah?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Pedro props himself up on one elbow, peering at your phone. “What are you reading?”  

Your body goes rigid. Oh god.  

You’re reading fanfiction. Specifically, his character’s fanfiction.  

Absolutely not. You cannot let this man know.  

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, locking your phone and placing it screen-down on the nightstand.  

Pedro raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you turn away, mumbling, “It’s nothing important.”  

Pedro hums, amused, but thankfully doesn’t push further. Instead, he settles back down, stretching one arm under the pillow.  

“Alright, secrets,” he teases, voice laced with sleep. “Guess I’ll just have to wonder.”  

You groan. “Go to sleep, Pedro.”  

He chuckles, the sound warm and deep. “Fine, fine.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavier. The warmth of Pedro beside you—solid, steady, real—only adds to it, pulling you deeper into rest.  

And before you know it, you’re asleep.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The muffled chime of your alarm cuts through the quiet, dragging you from the depths of sleep. You groan, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand, smacking at the screen until the sound dies out.

As you settle back into the pillows, intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep, that's when you feel it.

Warmth. Solid and everywhere.

Your drowsy brain takes a second to catch up, to process the strong arm slung over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a broad chest against your back, the way his legs are tangled with yours, locking you in place.

And then—oh.

Something hard presses against the curve of your ass.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Heat floods your face instantly. The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train. Pedro is wrapped around you, his body flush against yours, and—yep, there’s no mistaking that.

You go completely still, hoping—praying—that maybe, maybe he’s still asleep, that he’s not aware of how intimately you’re pressed together.

A slow, deep inhale against your shoulder tells you otherwise.

Shit.

You can feel the moment he wakes up, the way his breathing shifts, the faintest tensing of his muscles. And then—

A sleepy, raspy groan vibrates against your skin.

Pedro shifts slightly behind you, his grip on your waist tightening for the briefest moment before his entire body goes rigid.

Silence.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his still half-asleep brain.

“…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

His hand flexes against your stomach before he very, very slowly starts to pull away, but in doing so, he shifts again—and you feel everything for a split second longer than you should.

A tiny, humiliating sound escapes the back of your throat.

Pedro freezes.

Oh, god. Kill me now.

“…Did you just whimper?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough and laced with amusement.

“No…” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He shifts slightly, just enough for you to feel him again, solid and unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

Pedro lets out a low, knowing chuckle, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmurs, “Mmm. I think you did.”

You want to die.

Or maybe kill him. Either option seems preferable to this moment.

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, voice strained as you try to ignore the way heat licks up your spine.

“Am I?” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, his fingers splaying against your stomach in a way that makes your breath catch.

God, he’s so warm.

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs. “Pedro.”

Pedro hums in response, low and teasing, the sound vibrating against your skin.  

You shiver, heat pooling deep in your stomach. He’s still so close—his breath warm against your jaw, his fingers resting against your waist, firm and grounding.  

You don’t know who moves first.  

Maybe it’s you, tilting your head just slightly, your lips parting in anticipation. Or maybe it’s him, the way his nose grazes your cheek, the way he exhales shakily, like he’s been fighting this just as much as you have.  

And then his lips are on yours.  

Soft at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can spiral into something neither of you can take back.  

But you don’t pull away.  

Instead, you press into him, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Pedro groans low in his throat, something almost desperate unraveling between you. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, not pushing—just holding. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, intoxicating glide.  

You sigh into him, utterly lost in the way he tastes, the way he feels.  

Then he shifts, leaning more of his weight onto you, and a sharp twinge shoots through your side. You inhale sharply, wincing.  

Pedro immediately freezes.  

His lips break from yours, breath warm and uneven against your jaw. “Shit.” He pulls back, eyes scanning your face, concern flickering in the deep brown of his gaze. “Did I—did I hurt you?”  

You shake your head, blinking away the haze of want clouding your thoughts. “No, I’m okay. Just… a little sore.”  

His lips press into a thin line, and then he’s pulling away completely, his hands gentle as he brushes a thumb over your hip. “I shouldn’t have—”  

You cut him off with a soft laugh. “Pedro, you didn’t break me.”  

His brows pinch together, still looking unsure. But then his gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand, and he mutters a quiet fuck.  

You glance at the time. “What?”  

“I have to be on set in thirty minutes.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I gotta get dressed.”  

Your heart sinks.  

You don’t even try to hide it, the disappointment settling deep in your bones. But it’s not just that he has to leave—it’s the way he pulls away so fast, the way his hands are gone from your skin, the way reality rushes back in like a cold slap to the face.  

What if that kiss was a mistake? 

What if he didn’t mean it, not really? What if it was just the heat of the moment, an impulse he already regrets?  

You swallow hard, trying to school your expression, trying not to let the spiral show on your face.  

But Pedro catches it anyway.  

He stops halfway through buttoning his shirt, his gaze snapping to yours. His brows furrow, that warm, knowing look settling into his features. “No.”  

You blink. “What?”  

He shakes his head, stepping closer, voice firm. “No. I know that face.”  

You press your lips together, looking away, but Pedro doesn’t let you retreat.  

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face back toward him. His eyes are soft, earnest, searching yours. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake.”  

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.  

Pedro exhales, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I like you.” His voice is rough, almost exasperated, like he can’t believe he even has to say it out loud. “Fuck, I like you.”  

Your stomach flips. “You do?”  

His lips twitch into a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breathy chuckle. “And I really wish I didn’t have to leave right now.”  

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Me too.”  

Pedro lingers a second longer before groaning, pulling away. “Okay. I really do have to go.” He finishes buttoning his shirt in record time, shoving on his jacket, running a hand through his messy hair.  

And yet—before he reaches the door, he turns back, pointing at you. “Take your meds. We’ll talk more later when I get back.”  

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”  

“I’m serious,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “Rest, take your meds, don’t do anything stupid.”  

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”  

Pedro smirks, walking backward toward the door. “Yeah? And you really like it.”  

You grab a pillow and launch it at him.  

He laughs, catching it before it can hit the floor, and then he’s gone—leaving behind the ghost of his touch, the lingering taste of his lips, and the undeniable truth that you are absolutely, utterly screwed.

The moment the door clicks shut, you stare at it for a solid five seconds.  

Then—  

You let out a muffled squeal, practically throwing yourself onto the bed, hugging your pillow close to your chest as you kick your feet.  

Oh my god.  

Oh. My. God.  

Did that really just happen? Did Pedro fucking Pascal just kiss you? Did he say—no, did he actually say he likes you? Out loud? Like, in real life?  

You bury your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. This has to be a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination from the painkillers, because there is no way this is actually happening to you.  

Your stomach flips as you replay every second of it—the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he groaned into your mouth. Jesus. Your body feels like it’s buzzing, and you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this.  

Then, like a bucket of cold water, a terrifying realization crashes over you.  

He doesn’t know. 

You push yourself up, staring blankly at the wall as the horror sinks in.  

He doesn’t know you’ve been reading fanfiction about him. About his characters. About him doing things that— 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  

Oh God.  

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  

What if he ever finds out? What if he ever catches you again, peeking at your phone, and this time you don’t have the composure to hide it? What if he sees the ungodly amount of saved bookmarks you have?  

You flop back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow.  

Oh. Oh no.  

The fanfiction was bad enough. But then—  

Your stomach drops.  

The TikTok edits.  

The candid photos.  

The folder.  

You physically sit up in bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The folder on your phone—hidden in the depths of your camera roll, labeled something totally inconspicuous like Receipts or Taxes—is filled with candid pictures, behind-the-scenes clips, and so many thirst edits of Pedro Pascal set to unholy audio.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing so hard your whole body tenses.  

You can never let him near your phone.  

Ever.  

What if he finds the one edit with him as Jack Daniels? The one that made you short-circuit the first time you saw it? Or the compilation of him laughing, looking stupidly charming, set to some overly romantic Taylor Swift song?  

Jesus Christ.  

You groan, flopping back against the pillows, dragging your hands down your face.  

This is bad.  

Like, really bad.  

Because not only have you been a lowkey (very highkey) fangirl for years, but now you’ve kissed him. Now he likes you. Now there’s a very real possibility that this could actually go somewhere.  

And if he ever finds out just how deep your obsession goes?  

You’re changing your name and moving to a remote island.

End Notes:

Well… IT HAS BEEN HINTED AT. TIME AND TIME AGAIN. That you are a fan girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh God, what if he finds out 😃

Ya’ll they kissed! YAYYY!!

Awww you have a week off to rest and heal up girlieeee heuheuh

Look at Pedro being a mind reader. Love that for you!

We love a reassuring king. Gimme that shit. 

Yes, this is a little filler chapter before absolute chaos… oh hrm I meant… nothing what?

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi

[keferon]

Writing this before I go to bed lolll anyways ~~

The ocean was much darker, much colder than Jazz had remembered. It spread out in all directions, no concrete walls to keep him trapped, no ceiling above but blue-black sky. Stars glittered, the moon’s light rippling across the surface of the water. He was free.

A few meters away, Prowl floated, gazing at the mer who’d been deprived of the sea for years. He hurt for Jazz in a way he couldn’t describe. The weight of it crushed him, knowing the mer had been kept in captivity since he was a calf and remembered next to nothing of his life before. Staring at Jazz now, Prowl could see wonder in his expression. Could see the realization dawning on Jazz that he was out, he wasn’t in captivity anymore. How could anyone do this to someone? Hold them hostage for years for entertainment? His blood boiled thinking about Jazz floating at the surface of his – their – enclosure, eyes empty and staring at nothing, bored out of his mind. He swam to Jazz’s side, concern apparent on his face.

“Are you okay?” Not the best question perhaps, but Prowl had to know what Jazz was thinking.

“I missed the stars,” the mer responded, blue eyes still fixated on the sky. “There are so many out here, I’d forgotten…” Jazz stopped then, lowering his gaze to level with Prowl’s. “I’ve forgotten everything.”

Prowl lurched at that, unsure at first how to respond. “You haven’t forgotten everything,” he told Jazz, “You have been trapped in a concrete box for years. That alone has done so much damage to your psyche.”

Jazz’s eyes lowered to the waves before he muttered, “Yeah, I’m damaged alright. Flopped fins and unable to remember my own mother.” With that, he dove beneath the waves, leaving Prowl concerned he’d scared his friend away. He dove down after Jazz.

“I am sorry, Jazz, I shouldn’t have phrased it that way,” Prowl whirled to face Jazz head-on. “You are not damaged. The way you’ve been treated is horrible, but you are not the problem.”

Jazz huffed and crossed his arms, looking away from Prowl’s unflinching gaze. “I can’t even remember their songs,” he whispered into the dark. “I can’t remember. I know my pod sang, I know my mother sang, but for the life of me I can’t remember them.”

He shut his eyes, biting back tears. He then felt a gentle pull on his wrists. Prowl pulled his arms away from his chest, taking Jazz’s hands in his. A high-pitched, warbling melody emerged between them. Prowl’s voice dipped lower, holding longer notes. He clicked occasionally, seeing through to what felt like Jazz’s very soul. The melody reawakened the memories buried deep in Jazz’s mind. He pulled at the strings, beckoning them to return to him, to remind him what the song meant. Note after note Prowl sang, and the two mers drifted together, resting their foreheads against one another. The meaning slowly came back to Jazz.

I’m here.

I will not leave you behind.

I love you.

Prowl’s voice echoed in the water around them, the melody burrowing into Jazz’s being, down to his very marrow. He felt as though his soul was being cleaned of all the dust that had gathered in the corners through years of neglect. The meaning was so clear then, Jazz buried his head into Prowl’s shoulder. The memories, his memories, of his pod and his mother and the love she had for him returned, and he ached. The need to sing erupted within him.

With a trembling heart, Jazz offered his own voice. His song was different, reminiscent of the supposed ‘calming melodies’ the aquarium played while humans were visiting. His clicks were lower in frequency and uneven in rhythm, but they fit in with Prowl’s long, higher notes. Their combined voices created a melody all their own, one that could grow and change as they did.

Prowl and Jazz held each other that way for a long time, singing softly to themselves in the dark. The ocean stopped to listen, to warm the water around the mers and keep them safe. These two, at least, had made it.

Hoping this wasn’t too inaccurate lore-wise, I haven't been able to read everything about this au, all I know is I LOVE IT. This is,,,my first time submitting a fic to someone, so I hope it isn’t terrible ^t^ thank you for reading!!! Love what you do, Keferon!!!

Oh man oh man OH MAN THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL HFCBHDBJUFD PLEASE I WANNA INJECT YOUR WRITING STRAIGHT INTO MY VEINS

[promiscuousg1rl]

LOVE ME NOT — TWO

Rafe Cameron x Childhood!Bestfriend!Reader Social Media AU

Summary: Since sandbox days, it has always been you and Rafe. The only person who can put up with his selfish bastard ways, you became one of the boys. However as the two of you grew older, you started to realize you don’t see him as another one of the guys. Harboring a crush on someone is universally awful, but having a crush on your best friend is worse. Especially when he doesn’t reciprocate. Deciding to save your friendship, you settled on time apart, spending your summer in the Bahamas. When you return, you are a whole different person—jewelry, makeup, and chic clothes—you became an ugly duckling story turned right. But time apart have given you insight, and you aren’t sure if you still love Rafe.  While he realizes he's loved you this whole time.

Content: social media au, unrequited love trope, inspired/based on Love Me Not by Ravyn Lenae

Rafe anxiously taps his against the wheel as pulls up across the street from your house. He can't even tell if you're there or not, but your parents' cars are gone.

He huffs as he puts his truck in park and pulls out his phone. Every single text still unanswered.

He recalls the apologetic look you gave him as Kiara pulled you away from him, and it further makes him wonder why you haven't reached out yet. If you were having regrets then what was keeping you from him, from explaining what the hell that was last night.

Just as he goes to open his car door, the familiar sound of your cackles coming from across the street stops him in his tracks.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches you.

Just like last night, you're dripped out in your newfound wardrobe; a tight corset-looking top with a jean mini skirt and some kind of heel that matches the top. He's never seen you wear this many gold bangles before but they look good against your skin-tone.

He almost steps a foot out of the truck, until he sees that you're not alone.

taglist: @zyafics @inthelibrarybtw @st4rkeyl0ver @memoirofasparklemuff1n @drewrry @dreamybabbyy @m1-na @angzls @drewstarkeyslover @emdstarkey @hannaa20002000 @crvcified-kinx @hannieskzzz @jkrafe @love4mattheoriddle @marinrscomplex @vmpt1ts @congratsloserr @wtfisastiles @mattyskies @sluttybrigitte @locallyhateddoll @pulchraa @vicki1031 @pogueprincesa @flirtism @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @mofusandme0w @melody1370 @saviorcomplexrry @jjasmiineee @laniirackssss @doompost @ltristessedureratoujours @aaronhotchenerswife15

let me know if you'd like to be added 🩵

[simpforrooster]

this is so much better.

jake 'hangman' seresin x f!simpsonreader

summary: jake and reader are trapped in an elevator, much to jake's excitement, and reader's demise. t/w: mentions of claustrophobia, on-page panic attack, some fluff. 18+ content mentioned.

“hold the door!!” a southern drawl calls out to you, his handsome face barely visible as the elevator doors start to close.

as you punch the close door button, his strong forearm stops the door, and he runs in.

jake “hangman” seresin feeds you an annoyingly beautiful smirk. you answer with one of your best eye rolls.

“thanks, sugar,” he drawls. his flight suit is unzipped to his waist, showcasing the tight black shirt stretched across his chest.

“in a hurry?” you ask, keeping your gaze straight ahead, watching the numbers countdown.

“i could ask you the same. coulda’ sworn i saw your finger reach for the close door button.” his blonde brow arches up.

god, he’s infuriatingly handsome. and your favorite verbal sparring partner.

“just trying to deliver these reports to, Dad. he left them on the counter and called me in a tizzy,” you reply. “you?”

“oh, i heard you were making an appearance on base and had to see you,” he winks. “couldn’t let the pretty simpson go without a little flirting.”

“don’t call me that,” you say. “hey does the elevator feel like it’s—“

before you can get the words out, the elevator lurches and throws you into jake, the papers you were holding scattered all along the floor. the lights dim out, replaced by a red emergency light.

his strong arms lock around your waist, holding you up. your gaze is locked on his chest where his shirt meets his collarbone. your breaths start to come in short spurts.

“is this a bad time to tell you this is my worst nightmare?” you murmur.

“is this a bad time to tell you i’ve never been happier with the way you’re clinging to me for dear life?” he whispers back, his breath soft on your ear.

for a moment, your fear is replaced with longing. you look up into his green eyes, and he gives you another smirk. you remove your hands from him and try to step back.

he matches your step, not unlocking his arms from your waist. one hand cups your neck.

“your pulse is racing,” he comments. "i didn't know you felt this way about me, simpson." his lip quips up in the corner.

the walls of the elevator feel like they're closing in. in a matter of seconds, you are going to be enveloped between the lacquered wood walls. the roof of the tiny box is joining the walls, ready to squish you into your eternal doom.

"please don't be a smart ass, jake," you managed to say in between your gasping breath.

jake pulls back to take in your features. his green eyes roam over your face. your hands are in fists against your own chest, rising up and down in time if your hyperventalations.

jake reaches for your hands, and you don't fight. he flattens out your fists, enveloping them between his own. realization falls over his beautiful face.

"you're having a panic attack." it's not a question.

in an instance, the jake you know and hate--err, love--is gone. in his place is lieutenant seresin, the aviator with three confirmed kills. the man who is going to rise in rank in no time.

"listen to me, simpson," he says your last name as if he's speaking to your dad, not trying to get into your pants like usual.

his green eyes lock and hold yours. you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

"the walls are closing in. we're going to be crushed," you admit your fears, feeling the tears you've been trying to keep away roll down your cheeks. saying the fear aloud helps you reason with the absurdity of it.

"they aren't," he murmurs, continuing to rub your palms in his. the sensation pulls your thoughts from the elevator, keeping your present with jake.

"the roof too," you whisper. jake shakes his head. there is no sign of the flirty pilot. no sign of raised brows questioning your sanity. lieutenant seresin believes you. he believes this illogical fear.

and he's helping you through it.

"we're stuck," you croak. this time, jake nods. you sink to the floor, and jake goes along with you. he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. reaching over your shoulder, he pushes the call button.

"power outage on base," the collected voice announces. "working as fast as they can. who is in the elevator?"

"lieutenant seresin and y/n simpson."

"noted. hang tight, you two. might be a little while."

a little while. the phrase has your pulse ramping back up. how long is a little while? thirty minutes? an hour? overnight?

as if he can read your mind, jake begins rubbing your palms. you meet his eyes and your breathing starts to steady.

"it's okay. you can be scared. i'm here," he whispers. "you are safe. your biggest enemy right now is your mind."

"i know," you admit. one of his hands lets go of yours to rest on your neck. he slides the hand up to your cheek. immediately, you lean into the touch. he calloused hand rough against your cheek helps to keep you from exploring all the ways this elevator could hurt you. his thumb brushes under your eye, removing a tear.

"i'm sorry," you say, embarrassment replacing some of your anxiety.

jake looks startled. "you have nothing to apologize for." jake looks around the elevator, and in a stage-whisper says, "i used to feel so claustrophobic in my jet."

the admission catches you off-guard. "you don't have to make me feel better, hangman."

he shakes his head. "i'm not. it was a huge thing. i thought i would never make it through the academy."

"but you did."

"i did."

"thank you, jake," you murmur. the serious mask of the lieutenant slips, and your jake is back feeding your soul with that insufferable smirk.

jake's hands are still on your body, and now that you're convinced the elevator is not alive and wanting to crush you, the weight of him fills you with longing.

a longing you have tried to ignore.

jake must sense this too, because he pulls you over to straddle his lap. both hands settle on your face, and yours holds onto his wrists.

"is this how you saw your 'flirting' playing out?" you whisper, leaning into him, stopping millimeters from his mouth.

"did i see the pretty simpson straddling my waist? i can't say i did. i'll admit, i did fantasize about kissing you against the wall." his hands fall to your outer thigh, running his hands slowly up and down them. "this is so much better."

"you fantasize about me?" you ask, your restraint waning.

jake rolls his eyes and slides his hands up to your waist. your body betrays you by shivering under his touch, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. his lips spread into a smile. a genuine smile.

"oh, baby, please." the pet name sends another thrill through you. he's called you baby before. but it's never had the want behind it like it does now. "i know for a second you don't believe i haven't."

his eyes roam your face again, this time, searching for consent. "are you feeling okay enough for me to kiss you?"

"i am dying for you to kiss me, jake," you say. jake's mouth collides with yours in a mixture of relief and wanting. the tension in your bones releases as you press yourself further into him. the groan at the back of his throat causes one of your own to meet it.

jakes hands move to your back, pressing you against him. you are in his lap and still feel like you can't get close enough. his erection presses against his flight suit, a deep flush filling your cheeks.

reading your emotions, he murmurs against your ear, "i can't even attempt to hide what you do to me, but i'm not doing anything you aren't comfortable with."

"i'm certainly not comfortable with the idea of my father pulling the camera footage of his daughter and one of his pilots," you laugh into jake's neck.

"hmmmm," he hums against your ear. "yeah, that'll do it." jake helps you off his lap, and you settle into the side of him. his arms envelope you, pulling you close. "join me at the hard deck tonight? you know, given we're rescued in time to join everyone?"

you answer him with a kiss on the cheek. another wide smile forms, and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

a/n: i hope you enjoyyyyeddddd.

[myrleius]

love letter — iwaizumi h.

iwaizumi h. X shy fem!reader│word count: 1.9k

synopsis: You’ve had a crush on Iwaizumi for a while now and finally decided to confess through a letter. But to your surprise, he rejects it.

notes: first attempt at fanfic after so many yrs. This is more of a Iwaizumi appreciation fic than a romance though.

cw/tags: pure fluff, misunderstandings, light angst (resolved quickly)

Today was the day. 

The mirror reflected a face that wasn’t sure whether to look determined or terrified. You adjusted the collar of your uniform for the third time, smoothing its nonexistent wrinkles, then clipped a small, colorful hair clip into your hair–a small attempt at looking cute.

You sighed and stepped back, moving around to check your overall appearance. It wasn’t bad but it looked like your usual ordinary self. You were never one to obsess over your looks, looking clean and simple was usually enough. But the thought of meeting him, of him knowing who you are, made you want to put in a bit more effort. Alas, Seijoh had a strict dress code so you didn’t have much room for experimentation anyway.

Your bag caught your eye sitting on your desk. Inside, the letter waited. You had checked a million times, both night and morning, making sure it hadn’t somehow disappeared. Maybe you hoped it had so you wouldn't have to go through this. 

But no. There was no turning back now. 

You’ve thought about this for months, prepared for it for weeks. You didn’t want to throw away your efforts, and you definitely didn’t want to regret not saying anything like you’ve done with your past crushes. With a determined huff, you grabbed your bag and headed out before you could second guess yourself further.

Classes passed in a blur, your mind too busy daydreaming to focus. You rehearsed the plan in your head over and over, making sure you knew exactly what to say and what to do when you approached him. It wasn't until lunchtime that the nerves started crawling into your skin. What if this was a mistake? What if you weren’t ready? What if you messed up?

Truthfully, it wasn't about his reply (though that's a big deal too)—you were more afraid of how he’d see you after this. 

The two of you only met once at the cultural festival. You had wandered into a classroom hosting a raffle draw, unaware that claiming the prize required completing a dare. By the time you had realized it, it was too late. Your name was called and the attendant asked you to do a cute idol pose. It was simple but it didn’t mortify you any less.

You hesitated, feeling your palms grow clammy and your heart pounding against your ribs. The murmurs of the students behind you heightened into a roar of complaints in your ears, and it made you want to run off and just disappea–

“You’re overthinking it. Just go for it.”

A voice murmured behind you, steady and matter-of-fact. You turned and met the gaze of the guy next in line, his expression unreadable.

“No one’s going to remember in five minutes,” he added, hands in his pockets. “They’re too busy worrying about their own dares.”

It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but it was grounding. He spoke like it was simple, like this wasn’t something worth spiraling over. And somehow, that made it easier.

You did the pose—quick and awkward, but done. And the moment passed yet the world didn’t end. When you turned to sneak a glance at him, he wasn’t even looking anymore. That small exchange lingered in your mind long after. It wasn’t the fact that Iwaizumi had helped, it was the way he had done it that impacted you the most. No coddling, no teasing, just quiet confidence in you, like you were already capable.

And now, standing outside his classroom with your love letter behind your back, you at least wanted to leave a good impression on him as he had on you, even if he does reject your affections in the end.

Taking a deep breath, you slide the door open just enough to peek inside. A student near the door glanced at you, his brow raised in curiosity.

“Um, sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for Iwaizumi-san?” you asked, shifting nervously on your feet.

The student nodded, looking around before his eyes fell on the volleyball player in the corner. “Oi, Iwaizumi!” he called and jerked his head over to you. “Someone's looking for you.”

Iwaizumi's head snapped up. The moment your eyes met, your breath hitched. He stood and walked towards you, his footsteps syncing with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“What is it?” he asked, his tone serious and stoic as ever.

You didn't answer at first, too dazed with the fact that this was really happening. Your friends had never understood why you were so smitten with Iwaizumi (even after telling them the story of how you two first met) especially when Oikawa, the team’s captain, drew all the attention. Iwaizumi wasn’t flashy or outgoing, but that was exactly what you admired about him. There was a quiet yet solid confidence in the way he carried himself, and to you, that was way more captivating.

“Uh, yeah, hi. Can I talk to you?” you managed to say once you’ve regained your composure, gaze shifting to his classmates. “Alone... if that's okay?”

Iwaizumi stared at you, his expression hard to read, before nodding. You nodded back, somehow finding comfort in mimicking his action, and began to lead him to a more secluded spot behind the school building.

Once you were sure no one else was around, you turned to face him. Little pins prick at your cheeks, a sure sign that you were already blushing furiously. You took a deep breath, it was now or never. Shutting your eyes, you held the letter out toward him. 

“I-I, uh, the reason I…” you fumbled, the script you rehearsed in your head drawing blank and you start to feel the panic set in. “Can... Can you take this for me!?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew you had messed up. That wasn’t how you had planned to say it at all. Your heart pounded as embarrassment washed over you. Was that too abrupt? Too demanding? Oh god, what if he thought you were rude? 

“Sorry! Oh gosh, I didn't mean it like that!” you blurted out, frantically waving your hands. “Wait. Let me start over—”

“No.”

You froze. The word had hit you harder than it should have. “I... What?”

“I won't take it,” Iwaizumi repeated, more stern this time.

You suck in a sharp breath, your fingers curling slightly at the letter that was supposed to be in his hands now. 

“But why…?” you asked, your voice coming out more quieter than you intended. You knew he didn't owe you an explanation, but asking was the only thing keeping your composure from cracking entirely.

Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I'm not trying to be mean but you should really do this by yourself. You won't raise your chances at getting with him through me. Trust me, that jerk would be way happier receiving that love letter from you directly. Would probably inflate his already shitty ego too.”

“... What?” you asked, blinking in confusion. 

“What?” Iwaizumi asked back, just as confused.

“What do you mean by ‘giving it to him’?” Your brows furrowed. “Who?”

“Oikawa?” He said it like it was obvious. “Weren't you talking about him?”

“Oika—Of course not!” you said quickly. “I was talking about you!”

The words hung in the air, its impact resonating.

Iwaizumi's eyes widened, a blush creeping up his cheeks. You were just about to think it was cute when your mind screeched to a halt. 

Oh.

You confessed to him. 

It was roundabout, super awkward, and completely unintentional, but it was still a confession.

Your heart stuttered in horror.

“I, uh…” Iwaizumi trailed off, visibly struggling to respond. “Sorry for assuming? Most girls usually talk to me for... that.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t expected that. You knew he wasn’t as popular as Oikawa, but somehow, the idea of Iwaizumi being overlooked made your chest tighten. “It's okay. I... kinda didn't say it clearly so I understand why you misunderstood. Sorry.”

“No! It's my fault for jumping to conclusions,” he said quickly, stepping forward as if to further insist his point–only to freeze when he realized how close he got, a deep red spreading up to his cheeks. “I-I should've heard you out more properly.”

“No, it's not your fault, Iwaizumi-san.”

“It's not yours either, er…”

“Yn,” you supplied, realizing with a quiet chuckle that you hadn't even introduced yourself.

“Yn,” he repeated and you nearly forgot how to breathe. There was something about the way he said your name that made you like it ten times more.

“It's really not your fault,” he added firmly.

“Can we just say that we're both at fault?” you offered with a hesitant smile. “Because I don't think I can blame you entirely. Or at all.”

For a second, you were worried the tension would linger, but then–

Iwaizumi laughed.

It was short and awkward, maybe sounding more of a soft snort than a laugh? Still, you found yourself drawn to it. Like it's the best thing you've heard.

Feeling a bit braver, you offered the letter toward him again, wincing slightly as you realized it was a little crumpled from how tightly you’d been holding it. “So… are you okay with taking this?”

Iwaizumi eyed the letter, his gaze lingering on the small doodles you decorated at the edges. You suddenly felt embarrassed. Was it too childish? Maybe too much?

"Y-You don't have to give me a reply now,” you added quickly. “I know it's sudden, and I don't really think I did the best job at putting my feelings out there, but I'd appreciate it if you answer me honestly after thinking about it. Even if just a little.”

Iwaizumi was quiet for a moment. Then, he smiled.

“Sure,” he said, finally taking the letter off your hands. “I'll tell you when I've made up my mind.”

You felt your shoulders sag in relief and you returned his smile with one of your own. “Thank you.”

That night, Iwaizumi sat at his desk for hours, staring at the letter. He'd read it four times already, to the point where he could anticipate the next compliment, his eyes tracing her neat handwriting once more.

It was his first time receiving something like this. He couldn't really call it a 'love letter' per se. He'd seen those before–notes littered with flowery and gushing phrases–when Oikawa received some from his fangirls. Yn’s letter wasn’t like that. It was more like a letter that said she saw him.

Sure, it was also filled with praises that inflated his ego more than they should, but the way she worded it felt more like respect rather than infatuation. It was weird. He never saw himself like she did. To him, he was just doing things normally. 

But as he read through her words, a realization settled in–maybe he really was someone worth admiring. 

To know that his kindness, passion and earnestness reached someone he hadn’t even known existed until today filled him with a quiet, humbling warmth. It was proof that even the smallest gestures could ripple through the lives of others.

He sighed and folded the letter neatly back into its envelope, the smile on his face still lingering even after hours had passed. Now, he understood why Oikawa liked the attention. It was both amazing and terrifying how a few words from someone could make him feel invincible.

Iwaizumi leaned back in his chair, glancing at the letter one last time before tucking it safely into his drawer. He wasn't sure what answer to give yn yet. They've only just met after all. 

But he was sure of one thing.

He would carry her words with him, knowing that who he was, as he is, mattered to someone.

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Know You Want My Touch For Life

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

You and Eddie meet at an awards show and realize that you have much more in common that you initially thought.

This is based on the song "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) breeding kink

The lights begin to dim as you sit down at your designated table. You have a drink in hand as you try your best to act like you’re sober. You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had but you’ve been downing them like they’re water, feeling all giggly because of all the effects. 

The show is starting and you make small talk with the other people at your table, all of you yapping away as the host comes out on stage. It’s an actress who you can’t remember the name of because to be honest, something, or someone else has captured your attention. 

Eddie Munson is across the room, sipping on something before laughing half-heartedly at a joke the host has made. Everyone but you is in on the joke but you’re not paying attention. Eddie has captured all of it. He looks so good in his suit and you honestly can’t believe that he’s real, that he’s in the same room as you, because for a while, you were convinced that your brain has just made him up. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. The alcohol has definitely taken control of your brain because before you can stop yourself, you’re pulling your phone out of your clutch and pulling up his instagram account, curious to see if he’s following you back and to your surprise, he is. 

He knows who you are. You’ve been crushing on him for so long and you know he likes you too. Well, he did. You vividly remember him saying that you were his celebrity crush a few years back but you’re not sure if that’s still true. 

Because of your drunken state, you end up liking basically every photo on his profile, commenting nonsensical emojis on every one you’re liking which is something you’d absolutely never do if you were sober. 

Once you’ve looked at his profile for long enough, you go to DM him, trying to think of something to say but just come up with the word “hot” in all caps which is all you seem to be thinking as you go back to his profile, continuing to like and comment on his posts. 

Eddie sees you out of the corner of his eye and now he can’t seem to stop looking at you. His very obvious crush on your is getting even bigger and as he watches you from across the room, he wishes that he could be the one sitting next to you and not that guy who you’re giggling with. 

He doesn’t handle his jealousy well, always acting impulsively, usually doing something he shouldn’t. He’s actually sober tonight for once which actually makes him feel calmer than normal. He’d definitely do something he’d regret if he had a few drinks in him which he squally would have by now. 

“You should ask her out,” Grant whispers to Eddie as he follows his line of sight. Eddie just scoffs then turns back to the stage, suddenly remembering that there’s a show going on before him. 

“Right,” is all he says as he claps for the girl heading towards the stage to get her award. Holy shit, it’s you. And you’re stumbling as you try to get up the steps while still somehow looking so graceful. 

Before Eddie can stop himself, he’s rushing towards the stage, reaching out to help you up since clearly no one else is going to do it. You’re putting your hand in his and suddenly it feels like electricity is moving through his body. He’s quick to gather the train of your dress which is the reason why you’ve been tripping and he follows you up the steps, watching your every move to make sure that you’re okay. 

He’s following you to where the presenters are standing, admiring how you take the award so gracefully. You grab hold of his hand and pull him close to you as you stand in front of the mic. 

Your mind is nothing but hazy, foggy from the alcohol and you’re trying your best to think about your speech that you had written up, leaning into Eddie, making it impossible for him to resist your touch, how good you smell. It’s intoxicating. 

“Oh my gosh,” you gush, smiling wide as you look down at the award in awe. You can’t think anymore, all of the words evaporating from your brain as you look out into the audience then over to Eddie who’s smiling down at you like you’ve hung the moon. 

“I can’t believe I won,” you slur, much more drunk than Eddie realized and he doesn’t want you to make a fool out of yourself, suddenly feeling protective over you. You haven’t been in this industry for as long as he has and he would hate for you to make the same mistakes as he’s done. 

“C’mon, honey,” he says, leading you back towards the stairs and you feel your cheeks getting hot at his nickname. To anyone who doesn’t know the two of you, it almost looks like you’re a couple. You’re eating that up, wishing that you were a couple like you have been for years. Maybe this will be the night you finally make a move. 

Eddie leads you back to your table where there’s conveniently an empty chair next to yours. You invite him to sit and he does, wanting to look out for you, to make sure you’re okay, especially after having so much alcohol in your system. 

He makes you drink some water to help sober you up and you actually kind of like him bossing you around. You don’t usually like being told what to do, but with Eddie? Oh, you’ll do anything he says as long as he’s looking at you with those pretty brown eyes. They’ve quickly become your weakness. 

Once the water is drained from your cup, he seems satisfied so he stands from the table only for you to reach out and grab hold of his hand to stop him. You’re giving him pleading eyes, close to batting them to get him to stay. 

“You can’t go,” you tell him. “We’re having fun.” Eddie feels bad for leaving, but he’s gotta get back to his table, feeling guilty for abandoning his band mates for a girl. 

“Tell you what,” he says, sitting back down only for a second. “There’s an after party at that hotel down the street. Meet me there and we can have some fun.” You feel yourself getting wet just thinking about it as he pulls away, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before heading back to his table. 

-

Eddie finally gets the chance to check his phone that had been vibrating constantly throughout the show. When he does, he’s in shock seeing your name so many times in his notifications. There have to be at least fifty just from you amongst the thousands he gets every single day from fans. But this is different. It’s you. And you were spamming him. 

It’s strings of nonsensical emojis but he gets the gist. You’re clearly thirsting over him and he’s eating it up. He could tell you were into him when he was sitting with you, but now he’s got proof. He’s really hoping that it wasn’t just how you were feeling when you were drunk and that you’ll actually take him up on his offer. God, what he would give to have his way with you. 

He desperately wants to see that pretty dress of yours on the floor of some random hotel room, his own clothes strewn across the room as he’s got you pinned to the dresser, pounding into you from behind as he forces you to look into the mirror that’s on top of it. 

And when he finally opens the DM from you, well, fuck, now he’s got to have you. It’s not an option anymore. 

So does your name Eddie “the freak” Munson mean that you’re actually willing to get freaky or am I reading it wrong? 

He’s honestly impressed you were able to write that out without any errors and now he’s gotten even more hard as he wonders what kind of stuff you’re into, what he’ll let him do to you. What you’ll do to him. 

He’s scanning the place for you, keeping an eye out for that beautiful dress of yours. He spots you over by door talking to Gareth. And even though he loves the guy, he’s now an opponent. Jealousy is coursing through him, something he’s never been able to handle well and now he’s not sure how he’s going to get his band mate to go away by speaking to him nicely. 

“Hi,” you beam when Eddie approaches and he has to compose himself when he sees your hand on Gareth’s shoulder. 

“Hi,” he replies, mimicking your smile, hoping he looks as cute as you do but knows he doesn’t. 

He’s so hot that it’s unfair. Even after sobering up, you still want him so bad, still wanting an answer to your question. You’ve seen him so many times at events like this and now more than ever, you do desperately want to pin him to the wall and take him right there, not even caring who’s watching. 

Your attraction to him that’s been building over the years is so strong that it’s almost tangible. You’re so wet that it’s almost uncomfortable, your need for him growing by the second. You hope you didn’t weird him out with your emojis and DM and that he’s still willing to give you a chance. 

“Hey, Gareth, I think that blonde you were talking about earlier is checking you out,” you subtly point to the woman who’s closer to the stage and Gareth whips his head in her direction just in time to see her wave him over. He’s quick to flee, finally leaving you and Eddie alone. 

He steps closer, his eyes darkening as he does so. He’s biting down on his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slowly rake over your body before pulling it flush to his. His hands rest on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck. 

The want is there but neither of you are making a move, just staring each other down with lust filled eyes. It’s like you’re waiting to see who’s going to make a move but neither of you wants to be the first to do so. 

“So jealousy is what motivates you to make a move,” you observe and Eddie just leans forward, his lips right by your ear. 

“No, it’s actually dirty DMs, but seeing you with Gareth did make me act faster.” He pulls away just in time to see your gaze moving to his lips and he purposely wets them to make them look more inviting, his tongue swiping across them slowly as if to tease you and it seems to work because you’re pulling him in before he can even finish. 

It’s desperate with roaming hands and breathy moans, definitely not suited for a public space but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in each other to notice the dirty looks that are shot your way. Eddie’s backing you out of the room and towards the elevators before it can get too inappropriate for anyone to see and you’re pushed into an elevator as soon as it opens. 

Eddie’s got you pinned to the wall, his tongue flicking into your mouth as you let out a moan as he grinds against you. Your hands are tangling in his hair as he scoots to the side to press the button that will lead to the floor he’s staying on. You’re then back against the wall in a flash and he grabs hold of your legs, wrapping them around his waist, mumbling something against your lips that you can’t hear as he carries you out of the elevator. 

You’re still wrapped around his waist as he uses his key card to unlock the door to his room. As he’s occupied with that, you’re sucking on his best, trying your best to leave a mark so people know exactly what he’s gotten up to tonight. Another trophy for the night. 

Once the door is unlocked, he heads inside and lets it slam behind him as he sets you down on the bed. He drops to his knees to help you take off your heels and you smile at him, admiring how he can be such a gentleman. Once he pulls them off of your feet, he sees the imprint that they’ve left behind and begins to massage them, his cock somehow hardening even more when he hears you moan at how good it feels. 

You lie back on the bed and Eddie kisses up each leg, giving them some love before spreading them, pushing up your dress to see the wet patch that’s formed in your panties. The white fabric is now almost see-through because of how wet you are and he decides that he’s got to have you right now or he’s going to explode. 

He pulls down your panties and tosses them to the side to find that you really are wet beyond belief and that only makes him want you more, especially when you’re looking up at him like you want to devour him. And he thinks he just might let you. 

Eddie pats his pocket for what you assume is a condom and even though you feel crazy for suggesting what you’re about to, you do it anyway. It’s spontaneous, but hasn’t the whole night been that way. Certainly neither of you planned to be here like this tonight, but you supposed that it’s just fate. 

“I don’t want to use a condom,” you tell him and he’s now intrigued. “I know it sounds crazy, but I-I kind of like the idea of having a baby with you. I know we just met, but-“ 

“You don’t have to convince me,” he shakes his head, cutting you off. He’s down on his knees again, placing himself between your legs as he pulls you to sit up. “Whatever you want,” he presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll give it to you. So if you want a baby, let’s have a baby.” 

“You’re serious?” You honestly didn’t think he’d agree and especially not so quickly. You’re strangers, after all and you’ve never even thought about having kids, especially not with your career, but having a baby at the height of it all with the man you’ve been crushing on for years just feels right. 

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours as he helps you lie back. His clothes are off in a flash and he’s helping you take off your dress in the blink of an eye, taking a moment to take in just how beautiful you are. Oh, he’s going to love this. 

He lies on top of you slowly as he pushes inside of you, his hands finding yours as he begins to thrust, slowly at first, but once you get into a rhythm, you’re moving fast and hard, trying to keep up with each other as the only sounds that can be heard are your filthy moans and skin slapping against skin. 

Eddie is not shy about letting you know how hot he thinks this all is, that he’s actually obsessed with you potentially getting pregnant, how much he wants to fill you and it only makes you want his baby even more as the filthy words fall from his lips. 

“I like the way you fit,” you tell him as you run your hand over where you’re connected and his eyes darken as he watches you, pushing his cock even farther inside of you until he’s bottoming out. 

“Me too,” he rasps as he somehow moves even faster, even harder. “Fuck, I’m going to love filling you.” He leans down so that his lips are right by your ear, his breath making the hair on your arms raise. “Fuck, you’re gonna look so hot, sweetheart. I’m so honored that you asked me to do this, but how did you know I had a breeding kink?” He bites down on your earlobe before pulling away, so close to coming just by looking at your fucked out face. He’s already made a mess of you and he’s barely done anything. 

“Swear you’re going to be the death of me. When you showed up in that dress tonight, I swore I was done for. I mean, jesus, you have no idea what you do to me. When you dmed me tonight, swore I was going to explode in my pants. And by the way,” he leans down and presses another kiss to your lips. “The answer to your question is yes.” 

“What?” You ask through a breath. 

“You asked if my nickname “the freak” means that I’m willing to get freaky and the answer is yes.” He kisses you again and you feel even more dizzy and this time, it’s not from the alcohol. “But we can explore that some other time because right now, this is all about getting you knocked up.”

“You gonna make me Juno?” You asks as you buck your hips against his and you just know that he’s close. You can feel it. You can see it on his face as his eyes are practically rolling into the back of his head. 

“Fuck yes,” he whines as he begins to unload, still pounding into you as he orgasms, pumping in and out until he collapses on top of you, both of you absolutely spent, just lying there until he eventually pulls out and cleans the two of you up before climbing back into the bed, pulling you to his chest with a contented sigh. 

You lie discussing the possible future and there’s just something about being there that just feels right, almost as if it’s fate that brought the two of you together. Baby names are thrown back and forth as you both begin to feel tired. 

“Hey,” Eddie speaks up as you pull him closer to you, lying your head on his chest. 

“Hm?” You ask, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Juno would be a really cool song name,” he suggests and you laugh it off but you begin to think that maybe he’s onto something.

[meet-me-backstage]

𓃗

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ꥟ Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ꥟ It had been years since you ran away from Joel Miller, a hunter, frightened for your life and of who he had become. Before the infected roamed he was the grumpy single father of a chirpy little girl who lived across the street from you and kept himself to himself… until he didn’t, not with you at least when you began watching over Sarah while he couldn’t. He became someone who you could talk to, a friend dare you say, a silly little crush and your lifeline at the beginning of the apocalypse.

Now you are residing in Jackson, a slice of heaven in a cruel world, the perfect distraction from your past and the hell you went through to get away from it. However, you realize that the past really does always come back to haunt you when all too familiar faces arrive at Jackson and you have no other choice but to face Joel again, who makes it his mission to fix your broken friendship.

Unable to fight your heart, feelings resurface and lines blur when it becomes clear that you are just as much Joel’s lifeline as he is yours.

𝑨 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ꥟ Horror themes, not strictly following the first game/season + not at all following the second season/game so kinda au, reader can sing and play guitar, weapons, bad language, death, grief, angst, mentions of pregnancy and stillbirth, blood, mention of vomit, violence, nightmares, PTSD, a lil smidge of dark!Joel, Jackson!Joel, soft & protective with a bit of a dad bod!Joel, unrequited love until it isn’t, jealousy, mutual pining, age gap (reader is 36 and Joel is 56) and smUUUUT (‼️) so you must be 18+ to read❗️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ꥟ 12.6K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ꥟ Bad language, mentions of pregnancy and stillbirth, mention of death, angst, horror themes, (very brief) mention of smut, another Platonic (with a capital ‘P’‼️) reader x Joel pre-apocalypse flashback / reader having a lil unrequited crush on Joel, mention of weapons, grief, parental neglect, mention of nightmares and PTSD symptoms.

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! <𝟑

⇜ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

NOW

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

You watch on as Joel and the teenage girl, who you'd just found out is named Ellie, trotted towards the stable’s exit with Callus, who's white stripe along the centre of his forehead bounced in time with his movement. Tommy is walking alongside them with Callus' lead in his gloved hand while the three of them have a conversation that you aren't involved in - you're stood by Old Beardy's stall again with a broom in your hand, sweeping away at excess hay that has creeped its way out through the stall’s half-doors.

Joel, as he walks past you, nods - his way of saying 'goodbye' or 'I'll be back' before his eyes land on the stallion next to you... it's like you're watching Joel look in a mirror. Joel feels the intenseness of Old Beardy's stare on him while his head is protectively peeked over the fence of his stall facing you.

To your surprise, when Joel stops walking and reaches out to stroke his hand over Old Beardy's muzzle, the usually difficult horse complies with the man's silent command and leans forward to be petted.

All that time it took for Old Beardy to open up to you, to Rick... and he opens up to Joel in just one fleeting moment, instantly recognising him to be the human equivalent of himself.

Ellie observes too with a curious look on her face which is mostly directed at you rather than Joel and Old Beardy... probably because of the way that you and Joel's hands slipped from each other’s and flinched at the sound of her and Tommy walking into the stable. She was packed and ready to leave Jackson just as Joel had told her and his little brother to the night before... but alas, he was here waiting for her and looked to be in the middle of a rendezvous with the stable hand who fainted at the sight of him yesterday.

'It's too late to make things right', your mouth had opened to scream at the top of your lungs, but couldn't - then all in one second, both you and Joel jumped a step away from each other, your survival instincts kicked in in sync which earned you both dumbfounded looks from Tommy and Ellie.

You looked like a deer caught in head lights.

Joel slipped his gloves on, avoiding their stares.

'You came here to say goodbye or something?' The girl asked Joel, not at all content to have bumped into him.

That made the two of you.

'No - I came to steal one of these horses and go.'

'We already gave you one?' Tommy chirped.

'I know - anyway, I was - stopped.'

He'd lied about Rick's approval and you couldn't help the small gasp in response, which caught Joel's attention while he nervously fiddled with Callus' saddle.

Joel also noticed Ellie and Tommy's heads had turned to face you too.

'Who are you?' Ellie asked before Joel could stop her.

'Ellie,' he scolded her like a father would.

The possibility of her being his daughter crossed your mind like a wrecking ball to your brain.

'I'm just askin'. Does everyone land up on the floor cause of your smell when they meet you Joel or just us two—'

'Ellie.'

Not his daughter, but she looked up to him like a daughter would, like Sarah did.

'Seriously, do you two know each other or what?'

You stayed silent while Joel hesitated before nodding, 'we go back a long time.'

'Oh shit - what's your name?'

'I'm - I gotta get back to work,' you stuttered, avoided all three pairs of eyes on you, hastily grabbed the broom that rested on the fence of Callus' and retreated as far as possible from the trio while still being in the stable.

'What's her problem?'

'She don't like me very much.'

'Well then I don't blame her - you're an asshole.'

'I know.'

'What're you still doing here, Joel?'

'You deserve a choice—' from afar you'd watched them interact, how Joel approached Ellie with his proposition, 'still think you'd be better off with Tommy—'

'Let's go,' Ellie dropped the bag she'd packed into Joel's arms.

'Okay.'

Joel looked at you the way he is looking at you now with his gloved hand still rested on Old Beardy's muzzle... his dark whirlpools for eyes flicker frantically over every inch of your face over and over again, studying all of your features while he can, like he'll never see them again, like he hadn't just told you that he'd be back whether you wanted him to be or not.

All of a sudden he didn't seem so confident about going out there and risking his life again as if he hadn't done exactly that for the last twenty years.

It’s because of her; Ellie.

She depends on him like your baby depended on you, a weight that planted a seed of doubt within you out there too.

You recognised that look all too well, it was one that had been plastered on your own face all the way from Boston to Colorado with Charlie - when each milestone became less safe - when you ran out of supplies because you'd both underestimated how long it'd take to get to the mysterious female voice you'd heard on a radio that Joel had taken from one of his victims on a hunt with Tommy and Tess - when the possibility of dying became so much higher after Charlie crashed the car you found and had to hike the rest of the way to your destination, eight months pregnant, injured and exhausted, as there were no cars or gas to be found in the snow… when the possibility that you'd lost your baby became clearer with how still he was inside you - when snarls of a horde could be heard behind you and you couldn't run any further, then Charlie sacrificed herself so you could give bir—

You almost choke on your own saliva, diverting your focus back onto Joel's fingers soothingly stroking through the hair draped over Old Beardy's forehead, causing the horse to snort softly in response.

"H-he likes bein' scratched under his chin - like this," you rest the broom you'd been holding against the fence of Old Beardy's stall and reach under Old Beardy's chin, raking your fingers through the short beard that named him.

Joel blinks at you before copying your own actions, sliding his hand under Old Beardy's chin and scratching it at the same time you are; Old Beardy makes content little sounds and pouts his lips, showing his large teeth... he has never looked happier.

"'S a fine horse," he chuckles breathily and you can see that the pesky seed of doubt within him is momentarily gone, he's just as content as Old Beardy is.

You nod in agreement, giggling with him while timidly admiring the interaction between Joel and the stallion. "His name is Old Beardy."

Joel directs his gaze at you, doing the same thing as before, flickering over all your features. It's the first time he'd seen you smile since he'd arrived in Jackson, albeit it doesn't last, it fades almost as soon as you notice his eyes on you, "Old Beard-y?"

"'Cause of the beard."

"Coulda guessed that."

"I didn't name him - Rick did."

"He Rick's?"

"Sorta—" you ignore the glint of confusion that flashes across Joel's face, though the intenseness of his stare is still unwavering, "he's - sorta mine too."

"Hm." He awkwardly glances downward in front of him and his scratches under Old Beardy's chin halt for a millisecond before he continues, but his eyes stay trained on the black buttons of his checkered green flannel shirt peeking from under his coat.

"Joel—" the girl, Ellie, interrupts impatiently, "are you taking me or not?"

Joel briefly looks over his shoulder and nods before turning to fix his eyes on you again, the doubt in them present when he drops his hand from Old Beardy's chin to his side, "I'll er - see you in two weeks."

You find yourself nodding apprehensively even though you'd been shaking your head at his proposition just seven minutes ago. You're still adamant that the past that you shared is something that could never be mended, a time that cut into and sliced you open, leaving a wound that Joel could not just appear out of no where after almost two decades, stick a bandaid on it and pretend it's not there anymore... but after last night, this morning, you're too exhausted to fight against him, "see you."

Joel inches forward instinctively. Slowly. His hand lifts slightly in line with your own and you find yourself responding subconsciously to his presence too by reaching for him just to feel the burning sensation of his touch - the touch that gave you endless comfort before. You remember how he'd held you close whenever you were cold - how he'd hold your hands in his tightly to reassure you that he'd be back with more supplies - how he'd caress your swelled stomach - how the only touch your baby would respond to was his. Before your fingertips touch your breath hitches and you back away at the same time he retracts his hand and turns away to join Ellie and Tommy.

You shake your head, internally reminding yourself:

It's too late to make things right.

You follow close behind until you reach the stable doors, watching the scene from a distance because whatever they were talking about, whatever business that Joel needed to 'take care of' involving the girl - it is no business of yours.

Nothing to do with Joel concerns you...

Not now.

Joel boosts Ellie up onto Callus, passes her the rein attached to his bridle and instructs her to hold it with both her hands.

It's too hard to block out the image of the boy you imagined your son to look like if he'd made it to Silverton with you all those years ago. A dimpled smile he'd inherited from his father that had the ability to paint gloomy clouds with sunshine hues during winter and eyes like yours that'd fondly observe Joel's every movement, teaching him the ins and outs of riding a horse and your son clinging onto him, afraid to fall while Joel laughs but after reassures him sincerely with a confident and endearing 'I've got you'.

"Mornin'," you hear Rick's voice from behind you and approaching footsteps that dissolve the clear image playing inside your head from in front of you.

You blink profusely and scrunch your nose, trying to wipe away all evidence of glossiness in your eyes and sniffling away the sudden drop in temperature after picturing a warm moment in time that could never be.

"Didn't think I'd find you out here."

"Oh - hey," your eyes are still glued ahead, but Joel, Ellie and Tommy are no longer there - they're gone. By now you can't even catch a glimpse of them, it's almost as if they'd never been there, but Callus' horseshoes had left a 'u' shaped trail in the thin bank of snow that needed clearing this morning before the remaining horses could be let out into the pasture to graze. Rick is standing beside you now with a shovel in his hand, also looking ahead, but you drag your eyes away and admire the way his chiselled jaw clenches at the cold suddenly hitting his face, "Rick, I - I know you said I should take it easy today and I still am - I just - I'm better off doin' that here than at home... and I was gonna sign in but—"

"I get it, there's no need to explai—"

"Joel tried to make a break for it on Callus—" Rick looks at you, his blue eyes piercing into your soul which causes you to gulp and lower your voice to a mutter, "I stopped him."

"Where is Callus now then?"

“He's borrowin' Callus to get to a university in Eastern Colorado—" Rick gives you a dumbfounded look, "they'll be gone for two weeks I thought you knew - didn't Joel—"

"Didn't Joel what?"

Your jaw drops at his impatient tone. It's not like you'd never been on the receiving end of it - Rick has the tendency to be harsh with his workers but that is what makes him such a good leader, his dedication and seriousness towards his role is why Jackson Ranch usually runs so smoothly - no one wants to let him down, including you, but you have a feeling that his frustration has more to do with Joel Miller than Callus going missing. "Didn't Joel already tell you all this?"

"Is that what he told you?" He raises his brow and tilts his head in question, "that he did?"

You nod meekly, "so he didn't?"

"If he did I'd have told him not to come back," Rick confesses with no trace of uncertainty on his face or in his voice.

"Even if it meant losing Callus?"

Rick exhales. There is sincerity in his eyes now, "even if it meant losing Callus."

"Oh."

"Does that - bother you?"

You ignore the singular pound from your heart as much as you possibly can, "n-not at all."

But god it does, it bothers you so much and you can't even admit it to yourself.

It gnaws at you knowing that Joel had lied, and if you hadn't have stopped him then he would've stolen Callus and you'd have never seen him again, just as you wanted. It bothered you that he was going to leave even though it was exactly what you told him to do hours before, and you convince yourself that your blood is boiling only because you were the one that stopped him, not because he was on the verge of taking the easy way out like Tommy always did... Joel was not like that, Joel was stubborn and determined, he didn't just run away from the people he cared about with his tail between his legs when things got hard.

Is that what sixteen years had done to him?

Is that what you had done to him?

No - nothing to do with Joel concerns you anymore.

"I'll see you later then?" Rick asks, noticing the worry that had plagued your system - you never were a very good liar.

"For our - um - date?"

Rick's thin lips twitch up into a side-smirk that could have the entire population of Jackson on their knees in a heartbeat if they got to see it right now, "yeah, what else?"

Your cheeks flush, though you're not sure whether it's because of the date tonight or the thought of being on your knees for Rick. Since leaving Joel in 2007 you'd not let your imagination run wild or get carried away in any kind of sexy fantasies - it just felt... wrong, juvenile. For a long time you felt stupid to think of how many times you'd dreamt of all the things you wanted to do with Joel, to just spend one night under him on the damp and cold floor of your gross tent, to feel the slow drag of his cock filling you, to have him feel the same way. All of those silly fantasies invaded your mind for years out there, but the reality of it came crashing down on you when you landed up here... alone - and without a hope of having those fantasies again...

Until you'd stumbled into the ranch-owning hunk that was Rick.

"I - I dunno - I had a long night so forgive me if my head is a little foggy," you giggle shyly between words.

He awkwardly chuckles in response before smoothly turning on his heel, his hips twisting and swaying as he starts to walk backwards into the grazing grounds, facing you - stop ogling his hips - you meet his eyes instead, "I'm gettin' off at six—"

"Six?" You express shock, playfully widening your eyes and dropping your bottom lip. You recall the late hours you'd left the stable since you started this job, but never had you ever left after Rick - he always found something to do. You're convinced he doesn't even sleep he's just that committed to his work, so the surprise you felt when he asked you on a date in the first place had been valid and entirely genuine, "that's not like you."

"I know—" about two metres away from you, Rick bends his knees and lifts the shovel before diving it into the snow in front of him with a grunt, scooping and chucking it towards the stable's exterior walls, "but Jean told me she'd take care of lockin' up tonight so—" he repeats his last action, scooping up even more snow this time and staring at you with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, "I'll be at the Tipsy from seven if you're still up for that drink," the snow he flings towards the pile makes a thudding sound similar to the way that your heart is beating with anticipation.

The sight in front of you alone is enough reason for you to still be up for it.

You nod, casually pouting your lips and directing your attention elsewhere before your insides combust.

The beauty of your surroundings.

The delicately intricate patterns of the snowflakes falling around you.

The yellow rays of sunshine threatening to impale the white sky above you.

The speckles of vibrantly green grass peeking through the snow below you.

Anything.

Those arms - those veins - those hands.

It's not working.

"Err - where is Jean anyway I haven't spoken to her in aaages?"

Rick stops shovelling for a moment, keeping the spade buried in the snow to focus on you, amused with a sceptical look in his eyes, he also puts the hand that isn't holding the shovel on his hip, "you spoke to her yesterday?"

You did.

Fuck.

Your mouth is stuck in the form of an 'o' shape, unable to find an excuse for your attempt at diverting the conversation to avoid giving Rick a final answer.

Rick's smile only widens at your gobsmacked state, "she should be with Pearl and Shimmer - how about you go check on 'em for me."

He's giving you an out. "Oh - okay," you nod, making patterns in the snow with the tips of your boots before unsurely turning in the direction of the maternity barn. Something doesn't feel right, leaving him without a proper answer and him appearing to be okay with it, like he doesn’t care whether you stand him up tonight or not… maybe he had heard too much of yours and Joel’s back and forth last night, maybe he’d heard too much about your son too. To clear the air, you decide in the moment that you’ll try and tell Rick all about him tonight - about your baby boy. "Rick?" You call, looking over your shoulder, he'd already resumed shovelling.

Your name leaves his lips after another grunt.

“I’ll see you later,” you assure him before heading towards your favorite place in Jackson with a skip in your step.

As you near the half-door of the barn you aren’t greeted by Shimmer, but you assume that she’s already being preoccupied by the excitable Jean as you can hear the filly’s high-pitched little neighs inside.

Shimmer is galloping and jumping circles around Jean when you enter the barn, and Pearl - she’s watching over her baby like always, but she also looks like she hasn’t caught a break from the noise for a while. Pearl’s tropical blue eyes thank you when Shimmer’s attention is diverted to you. The filly hops towards you, completely abandoning Jean, at the same time you drop yourself to your knees and outstretch your arms for her to burrow her head into your chest.

You really needed this - a Shimmer cuddle, a specialty of her’s.

You smile with your eyes closed and engulf Shimmer in your arms, being careful not to squeeze her young and brittle bones while she nuzzles her muzzle against your collarbone with her eyes closed too. She stays content in your arms for a little while longer than she usually does, like she’d especially missed you, or understood that you’d not caught a break since you disappeared on your way to feed her and her mom yesterday.

“Oh, Shimmer - I love you,” You mumble into her silky brown mane. Pearl snorts between taking large mouthfuls of hay from the rack in the corner of the room, when you peek an eye open you see that the mare is side-eyeing you expectantly, “you know I love you too, Pearl.”

“And what about me? You love me too right?” Jean chimes from behind Shimmer.

“Debatable,” you mumble.

“What about Rick?”

Your eyes fling open and your arms open for Shimmer to go to her mom, who beckons the filly over with a neigh to eat beside her. “Too soon, Jean - wayyy too soon,” you breathily laugh, falling into a sitting position on the floor and hugging your knees to your chest.

Jean takes a few steps towards you before dropping down to her knees in front of you, shuffling for a few seconds until she’s comfortably ready to make your palms sweat with embarrassment. “If you did I wouldn’t blame you - he’s seriously hot I think I could be in love with him too,” she teases with a playfully sly grin tugging at her lips.

“Jean—”

“Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?” Jean brings her palm up to her ear and dramatically pushes her neck forward, squints her eyes and bites her lips together in order to listen closely to the sound of… nothing. Nothing but the repetitive munching of hay from the mother and daughter to your left.

The overly dramatic sight before you is familiar, triggering a vague memory, though you quickly shake it off, amused at the absurdity of Jean's question. "Jean - he asked me out on a date, he didn't ask me for my hand in marriage."

"So he did ask you on a date," Jean's eyebrows rise and fall quickly.

You lift your hands up in surrender... she'd got you exactly where she wanted you, and you had to hand it to her - you walked yourself right into that trap. "How'd you even find out?" You tilt your head as you ask, furrowing your brows too.

"I heard it straight from the horse's mouth," she states proudly, crossing her arms on her lap.

"What?" You blink.

"I figured there was something going on between you when he valiantly rescued you from that other seriously hot guy yesterday - Tommy's older brother I think - what was his name? Jason? Joe? Jeremy?" the words fly out of her mouth in a tangent that gets louder and she gets more out of breath. Then she stops and looks at you, worry written all over her face, "I'm a terrible person I haven't even asked how you are - is your head okay?"

"'S fine. I can hardly feel it - the pain, I mean," you wrap your arms back around your legs, squeezing your knees under your chin - she lets out a sigh of relief in response. "And it's Joel," you mumble against the flat part of your knee.

"What's Joel?"

You fight the urge to spring back up onto your feet and run a mile from here. The pads of your fingers dig into your calf muscles, "the other—" your throat bobs up and down before lowering your voice to a murmur that sends a buzzing sensation through your leg, "seriously hot guy." You clear your throat and lift your mouth away from your knee, "his name, it's - Joel," your voice falters, cracking when you say his name.

Jean shuffles closer to you until her knees are brushing your shins and she rests her head on both her palms, the entirety of her attention on you, "Joel," she hums, then silence falls between the two of you - the eager look in her eyes tells you that she expects you to fill the void with any information that you're willing to give her.

You're internally battling between two sides of you.

One half is telling you to stay silent. As friendly and kind Jean is, her mouth is dangerous and you're wary of the possibility that anything you say to her will accidentally spill out of her mouth to everybody... and by everybody, you mean everybody - Jean is bubbly and makes friends by just entering a room she's that lovable, you're convinced she knows all the residents of Jackson by name.

The other half wants to tell her everything. Everything that transpired between you and Joel this morning, last night, sixteen years ago and even to the very first day you met twenty years ago - all of it, every single tiny detail.

You decide on meeting both parts of you halfway, telling some of the story, enough to keep her satisfied otherwise she’ll refuse to leave you be.

Besides, who better is there to tell than someone who you hardly know, who cheers for your singing occasionally at the Tipsy Bison, who doesn't pretend to be someone she is not. Jean could be annoying, loud - a constant ball of energy, and, rightly, she is unapologetic about it… it's another reason why everybody loves the twenty odd year old.

She knows that she is not perfect, so she wouldn't care if you're not either.

"You know him from - somewhere?" Jean barges into on your thoughts.

You take a long breath, hesitantly nodding after, "I - I knew him before all this."

"By 'before all this' you mean the - outbreak?"

"Mhm - the outbreak—" you admit and if it's even possible, she shuffles even closer before urging you to continue. "He was my neighbor... My dad was on a business trip overseas so I was with him and Tommy—" and Sarah, "when shit hit the fan."

Jean consumes every word that you say, looking only more intrigued after you stop talking. "I don't remember anything from outbreak day. I was only five so all I remember was being dragged in all directions by my mom and dad until we got to a safety zone - I think," she explains unsurely. You see sadness in her brown eyes for the first time, but her curly blonde hair still flows elegantly.

"What happened to your parents - if you don't mind me askin'?"

She shrugs her shoulders, "I lost them - there were so many people - my mom let go of my hand for one second... I never saw either of them again—"

"Jeez - and nobody helped you find them?"

"I guess there were more pressing problems like the world ending - people didn't care about helping a little girl find her mom and dad." With the ruthlessness of the soldiers, the desperation of the civilians and the viciousness of the infected, it isn't difficult to imagine - a mini Jean alone, crying out for her parents and nobody listening... you realize how lucky you’d been, to have had Joel and Tommy get you through the nightmare that was outbreak day. Jean peeks at you through the glowing strands of her hair, "did they - Joel and Tommy let you out of their sight too?"

"Not for one - damn - second—" a short and quiet laugh escapes you, "I was with them for four years and they were protective as hell, especially Joel - back then I thought it was kinda annoying... but I wouldn't have made it without them - him." Joel.

"You're lucky—" she notices the blank look that you give her at those two words, "to have had someone stick with you like that - for better or worse, that’s gotta count for something."

You hum half-heartedly, but in agreement - she's right, it just didn’t feel like it.

Jean lifts her head up, "do you love him - Joel?"

You feel your organs squirm, mostly your heart, at being level to her attentive stare, it's almost like she can see through you - there's no point in hiding anything from her now, you realize and mutter, "I did."

No more - you can’t tell her any more than that.

A small smile forms on her lips at your admission, "and the plot thickens," her voice is laced with anticipation like those exaggerated voiceovers for movie trailers.

"You almost sound excited about it."

Jean shrugs, giggling, "that's because nothing ever happens in Jackson."

You scoff, "plenty happens in Jackson." You'd know because, like you’d been avoiding Tommy, you'd also been avoiding all social occasions recently, all the Christmas festivities... The mere thought of having to join in and watch everyone play happy families was enough for you to not get involved.

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"I dunno - oh - like Tommy and Maria's wedding? I heard the ceremony was nice?"

"Yeah, it was - they didn't have a party after though."

"But you got to be a witness right?"

"Only because you didn't want to be one."

Your lips are pressed together into a line while your nails continue to dig into the skin of your calves but harder. When Jean energetically jumps back onto her feet, nudging your legs with hers as she does so, you un-claw yourself and examine the curved indentations that your nails had left on your skin. "Hey - hold up - where're you goin'?" You ask, turning your upper half after letting your bent legs fall to the side, watching worriedly as Jean skips towards the barn's exit.

Jean looks at you over her shoulder, holding onto the half-door, "I'm going to go find Maria and Hannah and tell them that we won our bet."

"What bet?" You aim a deadpan expression at her.

"You and Rick," she giggles out.

"A bet on me and Rick? Seriously?"

"Dead serious—" she states with a grin from ear to ear before she swings the half-door open, "and don't you even think about trying to get out of telling me all the gory deets about the date tonight - I put a fridge-worth of trades on that bet so it's the very least I deserve." Jean leaves the barn with a devilish cackle.

You're alone with Pearl and Shimmer at last.

THEN

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

"Do I hear wedding bells?" Sarah giggles, pouting her lips and making kissy noises. She pauses while she scoops some of her dinner and stuffs it into her mouth, then resumes once she has swallowed all of the food down.

Like most evenings since Joel and Sarah had invited you over for dinner and a movie a month ago, you're sat once again on one of the cushioned wooden dining chairs that match the circular table carved from hickory in front of you.

The dinner dynamic was the same in the Miller household:

Sarah and you would set the table.

Joel would either bring back dinner from one of the local restaurants or ingredients to cook after work - sometimes he'd forget and order a takeaway over the telephone instead.

You'd help Joel cook if it was the latter.

Joel would say about three or four words during dinner... he wasn't so mean to you anymore at least, only because he didn’t want to upset Sarah again.

Sarah would talk both your ears off, making up for her dad's muted state.

After dinner Sarah would pick a movie to watch.

The three of you would watch it.

You'd go home.

Repeat.

A few times a week.

It's a routine that you easily accustomed to - a place at the table where you feel like you belong, more or less.

Joel is sat in his usual, rightful place in between you and Sarah - the head of the table.

Sarah is directly opposite you with a hand cupped around her ear and a concentrated but mischievous look on her face, which lights up suddenly after, "I hear 'em!"

"Sarah—" a nervous giggle escapes you as heat flushes your cheeks.

"I can hear 'em!"

"He called—"

"I can't - hear you - the wedding bells - are so loud!" She interrupts you again, laughing between words.

"Actually he um - he called to make sure we'd broken up," your voice is quiet but it slices clean through Sarah's laughter.

The room is dead still... except for the sound of Joel's knife and fork scraping against his plate. His neck is bowed and his face is practically in his dinner that you helped make to drown out the sound of a conversation he didn't know how to contribute to - either that or he is just so exhausted that he only has the energy to eat and not talk.

Sarah's jaw drops, "w-what? Why?"

"He wants to date some girl he met at school."

Joel's fork scrapes harshly against his plate. Metal dragging along porcelain. The sound is like chalk to a chalkboard, a squeak that creeps under your skin and alerts you. Your eyes flicker to his hand that is tightly grasping the silverware, then to his eyes, which are now on you and not his dinner, his neck had sprung his head up at your news.

"Oh—" Sarah slowly lowers her hand from her ear and fiddles with the corner of the placemat underneath her plate, "that sucks - I'm sorry."

"It's okay—" you shrug your shoulders, ignoring the dull pain in your chest and sheepishly dragging your eyes from Joel's intense ones - you notice that they stay on you while you address Sarah with a reassuring smile. Without words, you let her know that there is no need for her to feel guilty in any way for joking around. "It was never gonna work out," you add, looking down at the remaining food sat on your plate.

Sarah frowns, awkwardly grabbing hold of her plate and taking it into the kitchen just metres away from where you and Joel are sitting. "I'll go pick a movie out," she announces, attempting to lighten the mood as always, sprinting in the direction of the living room.

Joel sets his knife and fork down onto his empty plate all while keeping his stare on you, then he clears his throat to grab your attention - he has it, immediately, "this boy - he have a name?"

You blink, astounded that six words have left his mouth, let alone the fact that he is actually talking to you without you having to talk to him first, "mhm—" you nod, then he raises his eyebrows, "Max."

"Max," Joel mutters under his breath and you can hardly hear it. "For what it's worth, Max sounds like a real dipshit—"

Max is a real dipshit.

It was too bad you didn't realize it when you first met him in class three years ago. You'd been paired up for a science project, started it off as strangers who glanced at each other from time to time from your desks, being blatantly obvious about your crushes on one another, to a couple. You thought it was forever, you really did... until your dad told you about this new job opportunity in Texas.

That's when it all went downhill. You and Max agreed that a long distance relationship probably wouldn't work on the day that you left with your dad - that wasn't what you had been upset about. When he called today, he'd told you how he'd gotten close to your closest friend at your old school, Chloe, and wanted the 'go for it' from you so he could take the next step with her without feeling bad about it.

As nonchalantly as you could, you told him to 'do whatever you want', then hung up the phone.

"You dodged a bullet there," Joel's voice brings you back to reality. He makes a few grumbly noises as he stands up and the chair screeches against the floorboards, then he reaches an outstretched hand out towards your general area at the table, "gimme your plate."

You blink up at his form leaning slightly over the table, "oh - no, it's okay - I can d—"

"Hand it over," he gestures with his fingers until you place the plate in his hand.

"T-thank you, Mr Miller," you smile up at him shyly, your stomach doing those somersaults that make you feel all giddy around him.

"Joel," he corrects you, stacking his plate on top of yours and taking them to the kitchen, just as he had done all the other times since the first dinner...

'Thank you for dinner, Mr Mill—'

'Joel.'

'Oh - sorry, Mr Joel—'

'Just Joel is good.'

"Joel," you correct yourself, observing Joel, a creature in his natural habitat - you could still watch him like a hawk for ages and you wouldn't get bored - even stuff like washing the dishes, one of the most mundane every day chores.

Your gawking is cut short when a light appears beside the sink on the counter and an agonisingly loud melody rings throughout the room. Joel had set his mobile down over there before dinner and is now cursing under his breath after having jumped out of his own skin. "Fuckin' Tommy," he mumbles, picking up the device, flipping it open, pressing a few buttons with the large, rough pad of his thumb and placing it to his ear, "what is it now, Tommy?"

Tommy, Joel's younger brother and Sarah's uncle - you'd seen him around, you'd not met him yet but he often appeared out of nowhere at Joel and Sarah's home and Joel would always look disgruntled whenever he opened the door to find the younger man who resembled him stood outside... Tommy seemed to irk Joel more than you ever did.

You figured it was just playful sibling rivalry that had escalated into their adulthood, but with every phone call that Joel got from his little brother during dinner or a movie with you and Sarah, he looked more and more deflated. Joel would sink back into the couch, pinch his nose and scrunch his eyes shut as if he were trying to shut out the reality of a situation or trying to wake himself up from a bad dream.

Sarah didn't notice, he tried to hide it from her as best as he could, but you did... you noticed. You knew all about the art of shutting everything and everyone out - everyone but Sarah and Joel.

Tommy's voice on the other end of the line is muffled, but you can hear that it's him - that same Texan drawl so alike to Joel's that you could hardly tell the difference between them, except that Tommy's sounded desperate and Joel's sounded disappointed.

"I ain't a goddamn bank, Tommy - I put you in charge of this one 'cause I thought you could handle it—" Joel grumbles, side-eyeing you and then turning his back on you in attempt to have more privacy… you can still hear every word, "we're treadin' on real thin ice with this business already - if you fuck up one more time we're done, you know that? We're screwed." Joel slams his spare hand down into the countertop and keeps it there. He leans all of his upper body onto his arm and audibly sighs, "yeah - yeah, I'll take care of it I just - this'll be the eighth late payment we've had this month alone 'nd - could be too late for us to fix it - hm - I'll come and get 'em right now," Joel lowers the mobile from his ear and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans. He stays still for ten seconds, hunched and resting his forehead against the small windows in the cupboard doors fixed to the wall.

As soon as he pushes his weight back onto his feet and turns to face you again, you quickly shuffle out of your chair and pretend to be occupied with collecting the placemats.

Joel grabs his door and car keys from a bowl placed at the end of the counter, stuffing them into his back-pocket. "I gotta go get somethin' from Tommy. Would you mind watchin' over Sarah f'me?" He sheepishly glances at you like he's ashamed to ask.

"Sure," you answer with a smile.

He nods, exhaling at the same time. "Tell her I won't be long - please," he adds, speed-walking past you so fast that he's a blur and before you know it, you hear the creak and slam of the front door.

"No problem," you mumble sarcastically, taking the placemats into the kitchen and glancing at the clock on the wall painted cream yellow, an inviting and warm color that served as a background to all of the things that Joel and Sarah had collected over the years during simpler times: concert tickets, posters, postcards, framed photographs of an adorable baby Sarah, a younger Joel and Tommy - a proud Joel watching Sarah take her first steps, your favorite photo of them, art of animals and drawings that Sarah had done... Wholesome memorabilia that made you feel content to know that they were happy even with the trials and obstacles that had been sent their way, you'd seen first hand how Joel and Sarah found a purpose in each other over the last four weeks... You know it is none of your business, but this whole vague Tommy situation - it worries you on Sarah's behalf, that your best friend's dad would shut her out like your own father does to you.

You shake your head, focusing your weary vision on the clock the second time.

It's 7:43pm.

꥟ 𓃗 ꥟

"Hey, trouble," you hear your two new favorite words from Joel, who no longer greets you with an 'it's you'. Your eyelids flutter open, seeing his silhouette while he gently nudges your shoulder, "I'm takin' Sarah to bed so you're gonna need to - move a little."

"Huh?" You whisper sleepily, opening your eyes to see that you're still on Joel and Sarah's couch, you feel it under you, the foamiest couch to exist, and Sarah, who is still asleep, is latched onto you like a baby koala from behind with an arm slung over your front and a leg over yours. "Oh," you realize that you must've both fallen asleep during the movie.

You manoeuvre yourself, cautiously untangling your limbs from Sarah's grasp so that Joel can step forward. He scoops her up into his arms while being careful not to wake her, tenderly cuddling her motionless body into his chest and kissing her forehead. Once she is settled into his hold Joel lifts his lips from her head and sends a nod your way, "I'll be right back."

You nod back lazily, rub your eyes with balled fists and sit yourself up.

The television's static whirring can be heard as well as the old dvd player underneath it.

The movie had finished.

You and Sarah had missed a good chunk of it.

It wasn't the best anyway, just some cheesy horror with vampires that you don't remember the name of.

10:13pm, you read the time from the corner of the television's neon blue screen.

Joel had been gone for over two hours.

Had he really been at Tommy's all that time?

Things must be bad-bad - like the highest possible level of bad - like there's going to be an alien invasion kind of bad.

The creaking of the stairs make his presence known to you, causing you to stop staring, hypnotised by the dark abyss of blank blueness that the square frame of the television contains in front of you while your back is pressed into the cushioned back of the couch.

For some odd reason, with each step Joel takes towards the living room, the pulse of your heart gets faster and louder until it feels like it stops entirely when Joel is standing at the edge of the couch.

You can only see half of him, the large piece of furniture covering most of his legs.

Only now have you realized that you've never had a proper conversation with him without Sarah being there - the idea of it intimidates you to no end, probably because on the one occasion that you had caught each other alone, he'd joked about your dead mom and you ran home crying.

"The movie that bad?" He questions with an amused glint of a smile that doesn't reach his sunken eyes.

"I dunno - we talked through most of it I think," you speak quickly and quietly, focusing on fiddling with your fingers rather than on him - an instant cure that calms the fast pace of your heartbeat.

"'Bout what—" He sighs out, stepping around the couch and falling backwards onto it with a grunt, filling the space at the other end of it which leaves only the space in the middle - where Sarah usually sits, cuddled into her dad. "That old flame o' yours?" He chuckles lightly-heartedly, peeking over at you with his eyes half-closed.

"Nope," you blurt with disgust, popping the 'p'.

"'Bout what then?" His head is now leaning back and to the side, facing you.

"Your birthday actually - Sarah said it's in a couple weeks," you glance at him for a millisecond, afraid that your mouth will catch flies if you stare at him any longer than that.

You silently thank the lucky stars when he settles his gaze on the ceiling, then brings both his hands up and over his face, rubbing, "jesus—" he speaks into his palms. You fight the urge to laugh when his hands drop down to his sides and his eyes widen, searching yours frantically, "please tell me she's not got anythin' crazy planned f'me."

You figured Joel wasn't a birthday party kinda guy already, not for his birthday anyway... Sarah told you he'd pull out all the stops just to give her the perfect birthday without fail every year... it's where she gets her selflessness from - from him.

You didn’t believe it until tonight - it became crystal clear to you, how selfless he is, with how quick he left to go and help Tommy with whatever it was.

"I don't think she'd forgive me if I gave anything away," you cross your arms, pressing your fingers into your biceps, internally battling the temptation to just put him out of his misery and tell him that she wanted to get his watch fixed, to eat cake and watch 'Curtis and Viper 2' - the ideal birthday for a guy like Joel Miller, who appreciates the small things and quality time with his little girl.

He hums in agreement, settling his breathing down and looking back up at the ceiling, "you got a point there."

You admire his side profile, the way that his nose perfectly slopes downward and the plumpness of his lips shaped to a frown... you wonder to yourself, how can someone look so drained and so beautiful all at once? "Are you - okay?" The question leaves your lips at the volume of a whisper, so quiet that Joel debates whether he'd even heard it and why you’d even care to ask in the first place…

When he discovers that he had heard you right, he lifts his head, revealing the messiness of his hair at the back of his head from moving it around so much since sitting himself down on the couch with you... he looks so shocked, like the question you'd asked was so out of pocket, so absurd that he had to turn his entire body to face yours, his eyes showing the most tenderness you've ever seen in them, "I got no other choice but to be okay."

You bite your lips together - don't say it - don't say it - it's not your business - you say it anyway, "that phone call, it sounded pretty tense—"

"Don't worry 'bout it."

"I am worried about it—" stop. "About Sarah—" seriously stop. "About you—"

"'Bout me?"

"You're Sarah's dad whether I like it or not so I got no other choice but to be worried," you mimic his words in an exaggerated grumble with an impassive expression on your face.

You'd stunned him into silence. He sinks back into the couch, again, staring up lifelessly.

"You errr—" you blink, mirroring his action, sinking back and staring up at the ceiling in intrigue - what is he finding so fascinating about up there? "Wanna talk about it?"

There's a long pause after that.

Your mind races, telling you that you'd overstepped over and over again when it came to Joel and Sarah - being in their home, eating their food, watching their dvds, nosying in on Joel's phone calls—

Joel exhales a nervous breath, "'S Tommy - he fucked up - he keeps fuckin' things up."

"What things?"

"Everythin'—" he admits after a forced laugh, "right now it's our business - 's on its last legs 'cause of him—" silence, you both just stare upward while he figures out his words. "The people we're workin' for, they got us on a high budget project a few months back 'n' - the thing with contractin' work through an independent business is that it's my money - Tommy's money goin' towards it until the people we work for pay us back in installments... these people, they keep backin' out of makin' payments 'n' Tommy keeps lettin' it happen, believin' whatever bullshit their tellin' him - we just keep losin' money 'nd makin' no profit." He shakes his head and places a hand over his heart, slowly rubbing over the fabric of his gray t-shirt. "A decade's worth of time, work 'nd money I put in to make our business work - 's all goin' down the drain."

"Is there still time to save it?"

"'S too soon to say - I only just picked up the damn paperwork he was supposed to be managin' while I was doin' the buildin' - I just fear this time it's too late to play the hero big brother 'n' save the day."

You close your eyes.

"Fuckin' Tommy," you hear Joel growl through gritted teeth - a sudden slam of his balled fist sounds from the space between you on the couch, causing your eyes to fly open and you entire body to flinch. You stare down at Joel's large, tensed fist denting the leathery cushion, which he immediately notices, rests the side of his face on the back of the couch and tiredly slurs out your name as he unclenches his hand, "sorry—" you relax upon realizing the noise had been made by Joel and not some meteor crashing through the roof, "I appreciate you listenin'."

You hum.

"Really I do—" he draws out a sigh, "I know I ain't been the nicest to you—" you raise your brows and side-eye him, to which he chuckles, his dimples peeking through his dark facial hair, "'s not much of an excuse but 'm just exhausted all of the goddamn time - 'nd I don't deal too well with it, Sarah always says I'm too cranky."

"No kidding," you giggle, resting your hands on your stomach now and pretending you're stargazing with Joel, except you're both just spotting all the patches of paintwork that needed re-touching above you both. "Does Sarah know - about the business?"

"No - she's been through enough as it is, I wouldn't want to put somethin' like this on her when she's been so happy - since you been comin’ over," Joel reluctantly admits, and a smile threatens to upturn his lips, showing how relieved he really was to see that Sarah had finally found a friend in this quiet neighborhood.

After his divorce he wanted to make sure that Sarah would grow up to have a normal childhood, and so he put in the effort of two parents combined to make that happen and gave up so much for Sarah to have a better chance at achieving her dreams... but nothing could've prepared him for the loneliness that Sarah felt as she got older. Joel started to second guess every decision he'd made when it came to building a life for themselves, starting a business that required so much of his time, staying in a home that held memories of a strained marriage to a woman who left him and baby Sarah out of nowhere in the middle of nowhere being just two of many decisions.

Then you moved across the street and Sarah wouldn't shut up about it.

Sarah had been so shy about approaching you for the first time, often resorting to giving you a wave or smile from the other side of the street, only for it to lead to nothing and to Sarah overthinking the simplicity of approaching you and saying 'hi' - she just didn't want to mess up a chance at gaining, in her eyes, the perfect friend - you.

You had been her target all along.

Joel gave her as much advice as he could, and like any loving dad would, he told her 'don't be no one but yourself'... which is exactly how she got you.

Her kindness towards Connie, Danny and Nana - then it was her silly, but witty humor that sealed the deal.

"I'm real glad she's got you—" you take another sneaky glance at him, he keeps looking up blankly and mumbling almost to himself, "you got each other."

"Yeah, me too—" you sigh your words out, your eyelids fluttering up until they close as you scrunch your nose, suddenly feeling so at fault, cringing at your own behavior towards him when he opened the door to you the first time - it's funny how your own words have a way of coming back to bite you on the ass— "and I'm real sorry I called you an asshole—"

"I deserved it."

He did.

A little bit.

"Maybe - but I was having a shitty day and I took it out on you too."

"You - wanna talk about it?"

You blow out a puff of air through your pouted lips, "not really."

Joel stays silent, allowing you time to change your mind, to rant at him, to reiterate how much of an asshole he'd been, to call him all the curse words under the sun - he'd accept it if you did, if you needed an outlet.

"It was my mom's birthday," you state timidly, figuring that it would only be right to be as honest as he had been with you tonight. "It would've been her birthday," you add in a whisper, closing your eyes... you'd been doing that a lot recently, speaking about your mom as if she was still here.

Still with you.

Still alive.

Talking about her with Sarah, and now with Joel - she is, it keeps her alive in your memory and you're grateful to them for it because you couldn't with your dad, you couldn't heal... with him you couldn't even say her name let alone celebrate her memory.

Joel's entire face scrunches up like yours had done when he recalls his words to you that day, how they made you cry...

'You kiss your momma with that mouth?'

"Shit—"

"You didn't know—"

"Feel free to call me an asshole again."

"Don’t tempt me ‘cause I will.”

“Go on then.”

“No.”

“C’mon I’m givin’ you a free pass.”

“I’ll pass - and don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re an asshole - I’m just sorry I said it to your face."

“Ouch.”

The two of you end your back and forth by laughing - you try to enjoy the moment without getting too distracted by the fact that you'd made Joel Miller laugh - actually laugh, a real genuine laugh. It is deep, coarse and perfect, just as you imagined it to be, and your stomach is doing those backflips again - a sickly-sweet rush that reminds you of never ending loop the loops on a rollercoaster during a summer's day... it's getting harder and harder for you to deny that you have a stupid little crush on him.

Your laughing fades in harmony with his.

"You - do anythin' to celebrate your momma's birthday?" He asks in a cautiously shy tone - a rarity for him.

"Not much." You vividly remember sobbing for a couple hours after what happened at his doorstep but he doesn't need to know that, then your breath hitches, "I played on her old guitar - it's about the only thing I've got left of her's."

"She used to play to you?"

"Mhm - all the time." It was true, she did, she even taught you how to play and encouraged you, giving you the confidence to sing with her. When she died you didn't want to let any of that go, even if it was hard to even touch the instrument sometimes, especially when memories of her holding it in her lap clouded your brain. "When I play she's with me - I swear she's listening—” you stop, surprised that you’re even admitting all of this to him, but the words are just flying out of your mouth without any thought at this point.

Joel hums, looking like he is in deep thought. His lips pop open, "would you bring it over here sometime - her guitar?" You give him a confused look. "I'd let you borrow mine but some'o the strings snapped 'n' I ain't had time to fix 'em."

You imagine Joel picking up his guitar after work, another day of having to right his little brother's wrongs, and plucking some strings, getting more frustrated by the minute because his fingers cannot cooperate with them, strumming way too forcefully and then... snap.

"Why?"

"Sarah's gotten to the age where she's apparently too cool to be doin' duets with her old dad so - I was thinkin’ maybe you could take over f’me?" He asks while peeking one of his shutting eyes open at you.

"Me?"

"Yeah you - I figure you're cool enough."

You smile toothily, "okay - sure."

"You take song requests?"

"I only know twoo—" you yawn, stretching your legs and arms out from the couch - you'd been feeling the need to do that the last few minutes and couldn't hold it off any longer. Heat rises to your cheeks before continuing shyly as if you hadn't created such a noise, as if it wasn't a natural, human thing to do when you're sleepy, "off by heart."

You seem to pass the yawn onto Joel... as you suspected, like everything else that he does, he makes it look so captivating. He looks at you through half-lidded glossy eyes after, "ones your momma taught you?"

“Mhm,” you manage to mumble out while you start to flag, your eyelids close without you controlling them.

“Hey - trouble—” he lazily reaches an arm towards you, resting it on the back of the couch because he’s so tired by now that he doesn’t have the strength to hold it up, and pokes your sweater clad shoulder with his fingertips to wake you again… it works instantly again too as his fleeting touch has the effect of an electric shock on you, “I think it’s ’bout time you head on home now - I got an early start tomorrow ‘nd ‘m sure your dad’ll be wonderin’ where you are.”

Ha - yeah right.

He probably hasn’t even realized how long you’ve been gone.

You nod anyway, avoiding his eyes as you skittishly stand yourself up, tread your way to the front door and slip on your already messily tied shoes. Joel had been following closely behind, his steps much slower than yours and once you’re done taking your jacket off the coat rack and slipping your arms into it, he opens up the front door and stands aside for you to walk past him.

He gently calls your name when you’ve got your back to him, skipping down the steps of his porch - you immediately freeze, “thank you - for the talk.”

When you look over your shoulder he’s scratching the back of his neck, still holding onto the edge of the door with his other hand. You smile and the stars beam down on you from where you’re standing, now exposed to the night sky, but the twinkle in your eyes is all because of Joel, “goodnight, Joel.”

“G’night.”

You don’t need to look over your shoulder again on your short journey back to the house you call home, but doesn’t feel like it, to know that he’s still stood at the door looking out for you until the very last second that you’re outside, until you’ve closed your front door.

Often coming back to a house that’s completely still, you’re startled to hear shuffling coming from the living room, your mind instantly resorts to the possibility of the noises being burglars… but there’s no mess, no broken glass and everything is in it’s rightful place.

The thuds of your increasing heartbeat get quieter as you drag your zombified limbs towards the noise.

It sounds like items being stashed into something and then a zip being done up.

You peek past the doorway into the room and an audible sigh of relief slips past your lips when you see your dad… he’s hunched over a packed suitcase that is laid on the couch, closing it.

“Hi,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes and walking into the room without looking where you’re going.

Your dad jumps back, almost knocking the back of his legs against the coffee table, upon hearing your voice, “darlin’ I - I thought you were out?”

‘Why do you care where I am? You don’t usually’ You want to say, but stop yourself before you do. “I was - I was at Sarah’s,” you answer, only for him to respond with a quiet ‘oh’ before slyly looking down. You furrow your brows, following his eye-line back down to the suitcase, “what’re you doin’?”

“Nothing much.”

“Oh really - ‘cause it looks like you’re packing to go somewhere,” you extend an arm out towards the suitcase with an open palm.

He bites his lips together and shakes his head, shiftily moving his figure so that it covers as much of the most blatant piece of evidence to prove a point that you’ve ever seen. He looks confused, like he doesn’t even know why he’s hiding it because he knows you’ve already seen the darn case.

Is he taking you on holiday?

Is he making you move again?

“Please tell me we’re not moving again?”

“No - no, we’re not moving,” he answers as if it’s preposterous that you’d even thought it to be a reason.

“Then what is it, dad?”

His eyes move erratically, looking everywhere but you - he is about to burst, you can tell. “I’ve been chosen for a business trip to meet a few clients—” he doesn’t take any breaths between talking, then pauses to glance at a dumbfounded, but relieved you, “it’s overseas.”

“For how long?”

“A month.”

“A freaking month?!”

“I was going to tell you in the morning—”

“No you weren’t - you never tell me anything - I don’t even know where you work or what you do ‘cause you’ve barely said a word to me since we moved here—” you blurt between loud, whiny breaths and flailing your arms, “since m-mom died.”

His eyes are teary, full of pent up emotion that you didn’t think him capable of feeling anymore because he hadn’t let you see it… before now he was dead behind those eyes, no anger, sadness, happiness, fear, worry, concern - nothing.

You finally feel like you’re getting through to him.

Maybe all it took was mentioning her - your mom.

He sniffles and blinks away the tears in his eyes at the same time the glimmer of hope in yours fades away. “I’m going to leave you some money - enough to last you a month—”

“I don’t want your money I want to talk—” ‘I want you to look at me, I want you to spend time with me, I want to watch movies with you and I want you to love me again!’

“There’s no time,” he tells you with the tiniest hint of a croak in his voice, hastily turning his back on you, “it’s an early flight so I’ll be gone by morning.” He picks up the suitcase by it’s handle and sets a bee-line straight for the front door to place it there, ready for his departure.

You watch him vanish before your eyes as he departs not only for this business trip, but from your life too.

You never see him again.

NOW

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

‘I don’t talk about him much, but I think about him.’

‘I understand.’

‘You do?’

‘I lost a son too.’

‘You did?’

‘Yeah… he got bit while huntin’ for rabbits around eleven years ago - happened not long before I found Silverton.’

‘I’m so sorry, Rick.’

‘His name began with a C - like your son’s did. I dunno if that’s meant to mean somethin’ - I’m just glad you decided to show up tonight.’

‘I am too… What was it - your boy’s name?’

‘Carl - he was a good kid.’

Your first date with Rick… it went as well as you’d hoped a first date could go.

As did the second.

And the third.

You’re stood on your dimly lit porch with Rick’s jacket hung over your shoulders, the brown one with fur on the collars that he always wears to work. He is beside you and had walked you home at the end of your fourth date like the charming gentleman that he is - he had done the same on all three other dates which had ended with you giving him a kiss on the cheek because you didn’t know how to escalate any further without making a fool of yourself.

You’d been terrified of inviting him inside and upstairs to your bed - to the bed that you had blood-curdling nightmares in every night.

What if you woke up with him in a chokehold?

What if you didn’t wake up in time?

What if you accidentally killed him?

What if Joel came back and started knocking on your door again like he did last week?

What if the unbelievably stubborn image of Joel out there risking his life would never leave your head?

What if he never comes back for you?

What if he’s dead?

Your grip on the white fence that runs along your porch gets tighter by the second as all of these ‘what ifs’ circle around your mind at this moment in time - a moment you wanted to be picture perfect after an evening filled with awkward small talk, drinks, glossing over your past, avoiding the feelings you once had for Joel and getting to know Rick for the fourth time at the Tipsy Bison.

It frustrates you to no end that even when Joel is not here, an image of him still looms over you, clings onto you, lingers beside you no matter how hard you tried to shut it out, no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself with another man who you like more the more you spend time with him - a nice, good, patient man who just seems to get you… plus he cleans up real nice.

What if Joel could make things right between you again?

Pfft - you shake your head in denial - that’s at least one ‘what if’ you don’t have to worry about.

Rick leans his head forward so that he can see your face which is turned to face the ranch, opposite your home and slightly to the right. You found it comforting to know that the horses you’d gotten to know and love are not just your friends, but also your neighbors - if you listen closely enough their muffled neighs can be heard when you eat, wash up, watch tv, read, lay in bed and when you sing… they’re always there - you can hear them now.

“You seem miles away.”

When his face suddenly comes into your line of vision and his voice interrupts your thoughts you blink, startled. You half turn to face him, letting one of your hands slip away from the fencing and slide down the cleanest clothes you could find in your closet, “no i’m right here with you,” you tell him with the sweetest smile you can give, shaking your head, which comes across a little too desperate for him to believe you.

“You nervous about your big day tomorrow?” He pushes, unconvinced.

You furrow your brows at him, “big - day?”

“Yeah, the open mic—” he chuckles after reminding you, “you were tellin’ me all about it the other night - remember?”

“Oh - yeah, it’s about - that.”

At least you’d practiced a few times, you even sang in the shower before heading to the stable every morning since Joel had left with Ellie and Callus for Colorado… which also meant that he wouldn’t be there to see you singing - you’re pretty sure you’d faint in front of the microphone and fall off the mini stage Seth would set up, now that would be a whole lot worse than fainting on a few hay stacks… you might have to take the walk of shame and leave Jackson for good if that happens.

It won’t - Joel told you ‘two weeks’ - they’re probably still miles off from returning to Jackson, your brain repeats to stop you from having a mini heart attack, freaking out and pushing Rick out of the way of your front door to hide away in your house for what would probably be the thousandth time by now.

No, you are not doing that again.

You are going to start living your life.

You are going to sing at the Tipsy Bison tomorrow.

You are going to keep dating Rick.

You are going to fuck Rick.

Whether Joel comes back to Jackson or not.

It doesn’t matter.

Nothing to do with you concerns Joel anymore.

Your eyes glide up Rick’s solid frame, the spotless blue shirt that perfectly matches his irises, the fair chest hair that peeks from underneath the few undone buttons at the collar and the way the cotton strains around his biceps - you knew how soft the fabric of it was from brushing arms with him at the busy bar… it was typical for a Friday night at the Tipsy Bison and boy were you not complaining if it meant you had the excuse to be closer to Rick.

“What’s going on in that head o’ yours?” He presses teasingly with an amused smirk, holding onto the porch fence with both hands.

“Nothin’!” your eyes widen when you realize how long you’d been staring at his chest without blinking. You blink a few times before focusing on his pupils, now all too conscious of getting distracted by the effort he’d put into his appearance tonight: his neatly styled hair, his plump and pink lips, his trimmed stubble, his skin that had not a speck of mud on it. “‘m just a little nervous I guess,” you mutter, timidly giggling after admitting the half-truth about your reasoning for being so spaced out.

Rick removes one hand from the fence and carefully reaches for your arm, sliding it down slowly along your skin until he stops at your forearm. Your bodies are facing each other now and his eyes search yours, “you’ll be just fine - I know it,” he emphasizes his words with a squeeze of your skin and his touch doesn’t burn like Joel’s does.

And Rick always knows exactly what to say to calm you down rather than riling you up.

“I was thinkin’—” you nibble on your bottom lip before continuing, “you could come tomorrow night - be my date?”

His smirk morphs into a full out grin, “‘course I’ll be your date - I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Really?” You ask as if it would be the first time he’d been your date, not the fifth.

His hand slides down further to hold onto your hand, squeezing again, “really.”

You take a tentative step towards him, almost closing the gap between you… but not quite. His cologne invades your nostrils, that same one you’d smelt each time you kissed his cheek over the last week - a bold blend of leather and tobacco.

Then you pucker up your lips and lean forward, inches away from his skin, about to kiss his cheek for the fourth time.

At the very last second, Rick brings the hand that was holding onto the fence up to the side of your face, it’s freezing on your frost-bitten cheek, but again, it doesn’t burn - it does make you open your eyes though, and it stops you from proceeding to press your lips against his skin.

Your breath hitches when you see that Rick is right there, you’re face to face and so so close.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. Hushed. His eyes gaze intensely into yours and his breath fans your closed mouth.

You take a long breath through your lips which creates a short whistling sound at the end of it - you slightly nod at the same time you manage to voice your answer: “yeah.”

Rick’s calloused thumb swipes gently over the tail of your eyebrow, nodding slightly with you as his eyes slowly blink down to your lips before closing them fully. He closes the gap between your faces, catching your lips in a gentle but firm kiss that lasts only for a second, it’s so short that you hardly register that it even happened and he’s already pulling his neck back…

“Wait—” you pull your hand out of his to grip onto his solid shoulder, digging your fingertips into the blade of it and stopping him from moving away any further, “it doesn’t have to end here - I mean—” you anxiously clear your throat, it’s so obvious that you hadn’t done this in a long damn time - not since Boston, so all of it feels so foreign and overwhelming to you. You can’t remember how to even show how much you want the man in front of you - how much you want to kiss him, hold him… but you’re willing to try, and to ignore the way that your heart pounds just at his close proximity, “I - don’t want it to - if you don—”

He captures your lips with his again, cutting your words off while he slides his hand that’s on the side of your face to your hair, tangling his fingers in it. His other hand wraps around you and nudges you closer, completely closing the gap between your bodies, earning a gasp from you into his mouth. You move your hand to his cheek for a moment before grabbing onto his shoulder again - you decide to keep it there for stability purposes, otherwise you’re sure that you’ll stumble, fall over your fence and into the snow together.

You notice the faint taste of strong whisky on his lips and tongue, and your blood runs especially hot at your cheeks when you think about what you taste like to him… you seem to be doing okay because he pulls you impossibly closer by sliding his arm over his jacket on you until it is resting behind your neck. His stubble tickles around your mouth even more and it’s that sensation which subconsciously sends your mind wandering to the way that Joel’s patchy beard felt against your lips… leading you to unwillingly reminisce on everything that you felt when you kissed him instead: the sparks that ignited within you when Joel’s pillowy lips pressed to yours, the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach when Joel slipped his tongue into your mouth, the warmth that consumed you when Joel pulled your body into his…

You’re so torn between wanting to kiss Rick even more and wanting to stop entirely.

Your body chooses for you when you wrap the arm that had been pressed to his chest around his waist, pulling him into you just as he had done to you. You find yourself desperately seeking all of those same toe-curling sensations you felt with Joel in Rick’s kiss.

They never come.

You keep searching while Rick is unsuspecting and lost in your kiss.

Still, they never come.

You blame it on the shouting coming from the distance which cuts yours and Rick’s make-out session short - your lips break apart to whip your heads in the direction of the commotion… The main gates of Jackson are being swiftly opened and closed by guards on their night-shift. You’re still holding onto each other, but there is now a gap between your bodies that allows the chilly air that comes with evenings at winter to creep through and make you shiver uncontrollably.

You see a traumatized horse being coaxed to simmer down by two guards while the third grabs for it’s lead, but it’s no use, it frantically kicks and screams - you’d never seen a horse so distressed… a horse that looks an awful lot like— “is that—”

“Callus,” Rick confirms with squinted eyes and a nod.

A riderless Callus… and no sign of Joel or Ellie.

⇝ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 (𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 <𝟑

𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 / 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲? 😭

𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟑 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 😅😅😅😅😅 - 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐥.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒

@eaterof-concrete @exzidss @pedrosgrogu @whirlwindrider29 @ccmoonshine @wheatmaze @hayleynott @peelieblue @senoratess @sunnypeachdream @puddles221b @kirsteng42 @piercethevic03 @bardot49 @maybe-a-bi-witch @xwackk @mellymbee @aurelialou @hjzghi-blog @dendulinka6 @hhjhgdaiqoqoan @holmesblogger @areyoutheretoru @dailyobsession @youusunshineyoutemptress @deansgirlsworld @orcasoul @merz-8 @levislegislation @aliastrinity @buckys-endoftheline @nandan11 @keenducklandbear @peedrow @pedrosonlygirl @jadedlavendergemini @mystickittytaco @windsweptarmadillo @darknight3904 @missladym1981 @wencontre

𝐽𝑜𝑒𝑙 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

𓃗

[animamii]

Hit Different | Eren Jaeger 𝜗𝜚 part deux

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Eren meets his match when Ymir's cousin crashes into his life. Classic playboy meets maneater. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

𖹭.ᐟ modern aot verse! college au!

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

The sun is a personal attack. Why the hell does it have to be so damn bright right now? You groan, burrowing deeper into the mess of blankets, only to realize—you don’t remember getting into bed. Hell, you barely even remember leaving the party. Your head throbs in protest as you peel open your eyes, met with unfamiliar floral-patterned sheets and a very judgmental Ymir sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Look who’s finally up,” she monotonously spews, not even glancing at you, just tap, tapping away at her phone. “Thought I was gonna have to throw water on you.”

You blink, sluggish, trying to piece together the events of last night. “Where am I?” Your voice is hoarse, like you swallowed an entire desert. You somehow still taste tequila on your tongue, with the little remnants of your pineapple juice chaser.

"Our guest room, dumb ass. Had to carry your ass in here when you passed out in our bed after I dragged your ass out of that party.” Ymir finally looks up, raising a sharp brow. “Speaking of—what the fuck was that with Eren?”

Your stomach does an annoying little flip, but you mask it with a slow stretch, feigning nonchalance. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Ymir scoffs. “Oh, please. The sexual tension in that kitchen could’ve powered the whole damn party.” She looks at you with an obvious look on her face, as if to say, 'don't fuckin play in my face like I'm stupid and blind'. “Dude was looking at you like he wanted to either fuck you or fight you. Maybe both.”

You snort, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You notice your lashes were taken off, now on the dresser next to you. “Not my fault he’s got a staring problem.”

"Right. So you just happened to flirt with Jean all night while Eren practically set him on fire with his mind?"

Before you can answer, Historia walks in looking suspiciously awake for someone who was blackout drunk last night. She holds out a bottle of water and some aspirin like she does this every weekend. "You look like shit," she chirps.

"Good morning to you too," you mumble, snatching the water and chugging it.

“Did you check your phone yet?” Historia asks, perching on the bed beside you as she holds out the tiny pain killers. Taking them from her hand, you toss them into your mouth, swallowing quickly.

A slight sense of dread creeps in. “No? Why?”

Ymir smirks, flipping her phone screen toward you, showing a group chat notification. Connie added Eren to 'Brunch, Bitches'. You groan at the sight of the name, flopping back onto the pillows. Of course. Because why wouldn’t fate be a petty little shit?

Meanwhileeee— Eren wakes up to a headache and text from Connie like he does every Sunday morning.

Connie: Lmao, you tryna get brunch? Eren: Why the fuck would I do that? Connie: Bc ur little crushy crush is gonna be there 😉 Eren: Blocked Connie: Damn bro just pull up, it’ll be fun

Eren stares at his phone, jaw tight, remembering the way you looked at him last night—how you didn’t look at him until the very last second. His grip tightens on his phone. Fuck it.

Connie: Yo, brunch at that spot on 3rd? You guys down?

Ymir: I’m always down for food, babe. But don't tell me we're going to that weird place again with the mismatched plates.

Eren: 😑 It’s good. Stop being a snob.

Connie: I’ll pass on the weird plates place if you bring your cousin,, I still don’t have her number lol

Ymir: lmao what do you mean you don’t have her number?

Connie: Yeahhhh I haven't actually talked to her much,, she kinda makes me scared 😅

Eren: 🙄 You mean you're scared she’ll turn you down like the others?

Connie: Stfu says the one who threw a tantrum cuz she was flirting with Jean ✋🏽🤨

Eren: ... I'm bouta leave ts.

Connie: Yeah that's what I thought ho!

Ymir: ugh. you two stop being dramatic. I'll bring her if she's not too dead

Ymir added y/n to Brunch, Bitches

Connie: Sounds good to me. Jean can’t make it,, btw. He has work. Told him to leave his ass at the office 🙄

Eren: His loss. Those pancakes are gonna smack, I'm ready asl.

Ymir: same. you guys better be on time this time. 😒

Connie: No promises 🙈😜😚😚🦧

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"So we're all just showing up in pajamas huh?" Ymir stands in the doorway of the room, watching as you lazily curl your lashes, leaning against the headboard in their room.

"Yup," you answer, picking up your mascara and applying a coat. "Besides, this is a track suit. It's like multipurpose."

Ymir raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorframe. “A track suit, huh? I mean, I guess it does have boujie y2k bitch written all over it...”

You smile, finishing the last stroke of mascara and setting the wand back in the tube with a twist. “Exactly. It's basically brunch attire and I could probably go for a run after if I felt like it. Double duty, extra fruity.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she pushes herself off the door frame. “Yeah, sure, but I’m pretty sure the only thing you’re running for today is the nearest mimosa.”

"And you're running into the nearest Hot Topic wearing that damn flannel and sweats." You playfully quip back, tossing the pillow on your lap at your cousin.

"Somebody say something about my flannel?" Historia's soft voice rings into the room as she steps out of the bathroom, hands busy tying her hair into a messy bun. Her eyes are wide and confused, making you smile at her naivety.

Your eyes dart down to the flannel pajama bottoms she wears. "Can you two get any gayer?? Matching flannel to brunch? Really?"

Ymir lets out a bellow, her hand resting on the back of Historia's neck as she kisses the top of her head, causing Historia's eyes to shut as she beams a content smile. "Mad cause we're in loooooveeee?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, lesbians. I'd be gay too if I had a choice," you roll your eyes sardonically as you stand up and slip your uggs on.

"Oh hell no, we don't need any evil femmes. Regina George is that cautionary tale. Stay being straight, the male population needs their repercussions."

You laugh, zipping your sweater up halfway. "I think the world is far better off with a few evil femmes, if I’m being honest. Less competition, more fun."

Ymir grins, lazily shoving her feet into her sneakers. "Exactly. You get it."

Historia chuckles softly from where she stands by the bathroom mirror, finishing up with her hair. "You look like you stepped out of a 2000's paparazzi photo."

You shoot her a dirty look but can’t suppress the childish smile that creeps onto your face. "Yeah, well, at least I’m not going out looking like a damn lumberjack." You point a finger between the two girls.

Ymir twirls around dramatically, causing the flannel to swish with her movement. "Heyyy, leave my lumberjack alone, you know she loves to climb trees."

"Gross, I don't wanna hear my cousin say nasty flirty shit with her girlfriend, Miri. Save your kinky lumberjack fantasy for the bedroom." You hold a hand up as you step out of the couple's room.

Ymir bursts out laughing, following you down the hallway, while Historia’s face flushes a soft pink. "You're the one who started it," Ymir teases, nudging you with her elbow.

You groan dramatically. "Yeah, well, I should’ve known better than to walk into this disaster of a relationship." Throwing yourself onto their couch, you mindlessly scroll through your phone. “Why does it always feel like I’m the third wheel?”

"Because you are our third wheel?" Ymir says like it's obvious, which it is really. "But it's okay we don't mind being a tricycle sometimes." Taking a seat at the other end of the couch, she props her feet up on your lap.

Historia follows behind Ymir, still trying to hide her smile. "We’re not that bad, are we?"

"You're like an over-the-top romcom couple," you retort, rolling your eyes playfully. "But like, one of those ones that you can’t fully hate because they’re just so damn cute."

Ymir, who’s still grinning, tosses a pillow at you. "Hey, we’re adorable, and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You place the pillow under Ymir's feet, not wanting her beat up converse to dirty the gray cotton sweats you were wearing. You were going for low effort, not slob. "Just don’t bring your cheesy couple energy into brunch. I’m not in the mood to be the only one single at the table."

"Oh, please, you’ll be just fine," Historia says with a wink as she slides her crocs on. "And besides, who says you have to stay single? You’ve got options. Plenty really. If you actually stopped with these maneater shenanigans." She nudges you gently, giving you a look more serious than you'd like.

You scoff, locking your phone and tossing it aside, letting it bounce on the couch before it finds a snug spot by Ymir's leg. "Maneater shenanigans? Excuse me, I prefer to call it ‘strategic non-attachment.’ Sounds way more sophisticated." Your nose sticks up in the air in a playfully bratty way, lips forming into a pout.

Historia rolls her eyes as she zips up her sweater, the ziiiiip sound loud just to be extra dramatic. "Sounds like a fancy way to say ‘terrified of commitment.’"

Ymir hums in agreement, stretching her arms behind her head. "Right? Like, you’re out here collecting numbers like Pokémon cards, but let a dude actually like you, and suddenly, it’s ‘ew, feelings.’" She sticks her tongue out in fake disgust as she mocks your tone, making you roll your eyes.

You lazily point at her, feigning offense. "First of all, rude, I don't sound like that at all, cunt. Second of all, you know my philosophy; love is a scam, and I refuse to be a victim."

Historia snorts, grabbing her bag, the plethora of keychains clanging together and making an off-sound symphony of metal, letting anyone in a mile radius know that she picked it up. "Tell that to Eren, who was practically following you around at the party like a lost puppy."

"He’s a player, remember? He’s got a new flavor of the week by now, I’m sure." Your face stays neutral, but the way you grab your phone a little too quickly does not go unnoticed by the girls' sharp eyes. "Anyway," you say, standing up, "we should go before Connie loses his damn mind. He’s already sent, like, three where are you texts."

Ymir smirks, but doesn’t push the topic. "Fine, fine. Let’s roll out, Breakfast Club."

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“Dude, you look like hell.”

Eren groans, standing in Connie’s kitchen, nursing a lukewarm fruit punch Gatorade like it's the last drop of hydration on earth. His hoodie is wrinkled, his hair a mess, and he still reeks faintly of last night’s Hennessy and bad decisions. He'd still be knocked out at home if he wasn't so abruptly woken up by said friend calling him a dozen times.

"Thanks," Eren mutters, feeling like his eye bags were physically weighing him down. "Exactly the kind of encouragement I needed. I shouldn't even be up this damn early."

"It’s literally noon," Connie says flatly, biting into his bagel, cream cheese spilling out of the sides. "And last night? You were gone, man. Like, barely forming sentences. You kept staring at y/n like you wanted to kidnap her ass and lock her in your basement."

Eren scoffs, taking a sip of his drink. "Was not."

"You so were," Connie says, pointing at him with his half-eaten bagel. "And let’s talk about that, actually. You’ve got that look in your eye—like she’s your next target."

Eren rolls his eyes, placing his hands on the counter to steady himself. "She’s not a target, dumbass. She’s just—" He pauses, searching for the words. "She just seems... interesting."

Connie snorts, finding the way Eren stares off into space a tad bit comical and so dramatic in a way only Eren can get away with. "So, what? You wanna wife her up now?"

Eren makes a face. "What? No. I haven’t even talked to her like that yet." He shakes his head as if he's trying to not imagine the thought of him actually, seriously pursuing you. "She’s just… different, y’know? It’s like a challenge."

Connie raises an eyebrow. "So, this is, what, a side quest for you?" Connie would never be one to admit it, but he was rooting for Eren to finally find love, and to finally stop being a damn fuckboy. He was tired of getting at girls only for them to tell him that they had their heart broken by his friend, Eren always leaving a mark on every single one of his hookup's hearts. He just wanted to meet one girl on campus that hadn't fucked Eren.

Eren smirks, leaning his elbows against the counter. "More like a boss level. She’s not like the usual girls. She’s got that whole I don’t give a fuck attitude, and you know I live for that shit." Eren always wanted things he couldn't have.

"So, let me get this straight," Connie says, licking some cream cheese off his thumb. "You’re telling me you spent all night trying to get her attention, and you still couldn’t bag a conversation with her?"

Eren clicks his tongue, looking annoyed and pouty. "It’s not that I couldn’t, it’s just—" He exhales sharply, that familiar frustration from last night coming back for a second. "She was talking to Jean all night. Didn't even glance at me. And then Historia got too drunk, and boom, she was gone before I even got the chance."

Connie bursts out laughing, finally someone was doing what Eren does to him, swooping in on the girl he wants. "Damn. She really curved you before you even got the chance to spit game?"

Eren glares, thick brows furrowing. "Shut up."

"Nah, man, this is hilarious," Connie wheezes. "Playboy Eren Jaeger finally meets a girl who doesn’t immediately fall into his lap? What’s next? Are you gonna start writing music about her?"

Eren rolls his eyes. "You’re so fucking annoying."

"Nah, you’re annoying," Connie shoots back. "’Cause I know you’re gonna spend all brunch trying to get her attention, and if you strike out again, I’m gonna have to sit there and witness the secondhand embarrassment."

Eren smirks, shaking his head. "Not happening."

"Mhmm. So what’s the plan, lover boy?" Connie asks, raising his eyebrows.

Eren grins, finishing his Gatorade and tossing the empty bottle into the trash. "Easy. I just gotta get her to talk to me. Once that happens? Game over."

Connie hums, finding Eren's words a bit deluded. "Man, I dunno. y/n’s like a you but hotter and meaner. You might be out of your league on this one."

Eren just chuckles, grabbing his keys. "There’s no such thing as out of my league, Connie."

Connie shakes his head, shoving the last of his bagel in his mouth. "Aight, bet. Let’s see how that works out for you."

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Connie picked the perfect spot for a hungover brunch, with the diner being less than busy for a Suday afternoon. The last thing you needed was a packed restaurant full of clanking dishes and obnoxious conversations stabbing through your skull. The scent of coffee and syrup lingers in the air, making your tummy rumble since you hadn't eaten since before yesterday's party. The hostess barely looks up from her tablet when Ymir announces the reservation, tapping at the screen with the kind of dead eyed exhaustion that says she’s one wrong order away from walking out mid shift.

"Ugh, why is it so bright in here?" you groan, slipping your sunglasses onto your face as the three of you follow the hostess to your table. Your feet shuffle against the floor, still wishing you were wrapped up in the heavy duvet in Ymir and Historia's guest room.

"Because it’s daytime, dumbass," Ymir snickers, sliding into the booth with Historia next to her. With a sigh you plop yourself beside Historia, slumping against the plush backing of the booth as if it might absorb your exhaustion. The other side is left empty—reserved for the two idiots who were, as expected, late.

"You’re acting like you weren’t up just as late as I was," you shoot back, lazily flipping through the laminated menu before going straight to the real priority: alcohol. "I need a drink. Immediately."

As if on cue, Connie and Eren show up, strolling toward the table with that casual, 'we definitely didn’t wake up on time but we made it' energy. Connie walks with his usual pep in his step, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who failed at punctuality. while Eren lags behind, looking annoyingly good for someone who was supposedly as hungover as you.

"Would you look at this," Connie announces, sliding into the seat across from Ymir. "The brunch bitches, in the flesh."

"You’re late," Historia points out, arching an eyebrow. Leave it to Connie to be late to something he planned.

"I told you no promises that I'd be on time," Connie dismisses with a limp wave. "We’re here now, and that’s what matters."

You don’t miss the way Eren’s eyes flick toward you as he sits across from you, that lazy smirk playing at his lips. Is this boy always smirking? He doesn’t say anything yet, just leans back in his seat, sizing you up like he’s trying to figure out the best way to approach. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him for more than a second. Instead, you tap your fingers against the menu, eyes scanning over it even though you already know exactly what you want.

"So," you say, flipping the menu shut. "What’s everyone drinking? Because I am not doing this brunch sober." The first thing you do is order a mimosa, needing some sort of substance to numb the shitty feeling your body still harbored.

"Real shit," Ymir agrees, already knowing what's in order. "Mimosas all around?"

"Mimosa tower all around," Historia corrects, already flagging down the waiter with dainty hand.

"That’s my girl," you grin, nudging her shoulder with approval. There’s a silent understanding between you two; brunch isn’t brunch unless you leave a little tipsy.

The server swings by, takes everyone’s orders, and the conversation flows easily—mostly Connie, half-hungover and half-buzzed off life, trying to tell some barely coherent story about a girl he almost picked up last night.

"Bro, she looked just like Jade from Victorious," he insists, hands moving dramatically to prove his point.

Historia gives him a flat look, her usual wide doe eyes now hooded. "You say that about every girl with dark hair and a little eyeliner."

"That’s not even true—"

"It is true," Ymir interjects, rolling her eyes. "Last week it was that bartender at Sina’s. Week before that? The girl at the campus library."

"Okay, but this one really looked like her. Like actually," he tries to defend himself.

"Sure, Connie, sure." Historia nods, knowing how many times he had said this same thing before.

"You have a type," you say in a simple voice, reassuring him . "Own it."

Eren, though? He’s been biding his time, waiting for the right moment. And the second there’s a lull in the conversation, he leans forward, finally addressing you directly.

"So, you," he starts, and you slowly drag your gaze to him. His hair is messy, looking a bit greasy as a few strands fall over his forehead. Who does he think he is? Zayn?

"Me?" you say flatly, feigning disinterest as you take the mimosa flute from the server, keeping your lidded eyes glued on his. Looking away would make Eren feel like he had one up on you in this little staring contest.

"You," he repeats, resting his forearms on the table, emerald eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me something."

"Tell you what, Jaeger?" You take a slow, savoring sip of your drink.

He smirks, realizing you know his name without him ever introducing himself. "Oh, so you do know who I am," Eren smugly drawls, tapping a finger against the table. His posture goes more lax, legs spreading as if he's soaking up the ego that he lost last night.

Your face doesn’t give anything away, but inside, a flicker of irritation sparks. The way he’s looking at you—like he thinks he has the upper hand just because you acknowledged his name—sets something stubborn alight in your chest.

You take a slow sip of your mimosa, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before answering. "It’s hard not to when half the girls at that party were either throwing themselves at you or talking about how you used to throw yourself at them." Your memory reels to the blonde girl from last night, calling out Eren's name like he was some sort of damn celebrity.

Connie chokes on his drink, almost spewing his coffee all over the table. Ymir whistles lowly as her eyes dart between you and Eren. Historia presses her lips together, clearly entertained and loving every single moment of this.

Eren tilts his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he chuckles lowly. "Damn. You really came out swinging, huh?" He realizes his reputation precedes him, probably making his conquest of you just a little more difficult.

You lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug, setting your glass down with a soft clink. "Just calling it like I see it."

Historia, biting back a smirk, lifts her mimosa to her lips. Ymir’s grin is damn near feral. And Connie? He’s straight up beaming, like he’s witnessing the most entertaining drama of the century unfold before his very eyes.

Eren doesn’t look deterred, though. If anything, he looks even more interested. His elbow rests on the table as he leans in slightly, his gaze on you even more intense, as if that were even possible. "You keep talking like you’ve got me all figured out."

"Oh, I don’t need to figure you out," you reply smoothly, tilting your head with faux sympathy. "You’re a blueprint, Jaeger. Same old story, different haircut."

Connie loses it. "Bro, she just called you a template! A damn copy-paste ass—"

"Alright, alright," Eren cuts him off, but there’s no real bite to his tone. He’s still smirking, still looking at you like you’re a challenge he's determined to win. "I gotta admit, you got a sharp mouth."

"Comes in handy." You wink, picking up your drink again.

"And here I thought you'd at least pretend to be nice to me."

"Oh, Eren," you sigh dramatically, fluttering your lashes. "I don’t pretend for men."

Ymir wheezes. Historia’s dying. Connie is pounding the table with laughter, while Eren just sits back, shaking his head with that same smirk that hasn't left his face.

"You’re fun," he muses, eyes flicking over you, soaking in every detail. "I like fun." His tongue runs over his teeth as one of his arms slings over the top of the pleather booth lining.

"And I like my mimosa," you quip, raising your glass. "So let’s keep this professional, yeah?" You flash him a toothy smile and he would almost say you looked angelic if your attitude towards him wasn't the opposite.

Eren watches you take a sip, something unreadable flashing across his face. Whatever it is, it disappears quickly, replaced with something more playful. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. We’ll see about that."

Connie wipes a fake tear from his eye. "Goddamn, this brunch was worth it." This is exactly why Connie planned this little get together.

The mimosa tower arrives in all its bubbly glory, and Historia immediately starts pouring like she was born to be a rich housewife. She generously pours champagne from the tower's spout and asks everyone what juice they'd like. With the precision of a seasoned bartender (or maybe just a girl who’s been to one too many brunches), starts pouring everyone their custom mimosas.

“Alright, speak now or forever hold your juice preference,” she announces, tapping the spout like she’s about to make a life changing mixology decision. Large pitchers of different juices are lined up in front of her, waiting to be mixed with the bitter bubbles of champagne.

“Orange, obviously,” Ymir says, leaning back in her habitual manner, she could always get comfortable wherever she was, sprawled out like she's on her living room couch.

“Boring,” Historia mutters but obliges anyway, filling Ymir’s glass with the classic.

“Mango,” you say, watching as she pours the golden liquid. She makes yours strong, basically serving you champagne with a splash of mango flavor. Not that you're complaining though, you wanted to get tipsy.

“Classy,” Historia muses before turning to Connie. “You?”

He grins, his eyes scanning over the line up of juice options. “Mix ‘em. I’m feeling chaotic.” You don't know whether to scrunch your nose up in disgust or be impressed by Connie's idiotically genius idea.

Historia rolls her eyes but does it anyway. “Living on the edge, Springer.” His mimosa turns into a dark muddled purplish color.

“Always,” Connie quips, lifting his glass dramatically before taking a sip and nodding in satisfaction.

Then, finally, it’s Eren’s turn. He’s been quiet, just watching, observing, but now he leans forward slightly, lazily tilting his head toward you. “I’ll take whatever she’s having,” he says, eyes looking at the way you hold the champagne flute, making it wonder how your hand would look wrapped around his—

Ymir snorts. “Of course you will.”

You arch a brow at him over the rim of your glass, your lip curling slightly. “Copy-pasting my drink order too now?”

Eren doesn’t even blink. Just smiles at you, taking the glass Historia hands him. “What can I say? I like good taste.”

Historia fake gags. “God, please don’t flirt in front of my mimosa tower. It deserves better.” She downs half her drink like she’s washing away the secondhand embarrassment before refilling her flute with even more champagne and a splash of pineapple juice.

The table dissolves into laughter, the kind that feels warm and familial—like the collective, unspoken agreement that, yes, all of you may be hungover disasters, but at least you’re in it together. Connie and Historia start arguing over whether brunch food is overrated, with Ymir inserting herself into the debate just to get under Historia’s skin. Meanwhile, you feel Eren’s eyes on you every so often, like he’s still turning your words over in his head, still trying to crack whatever code he thinks you are. But you don’t look at him much. He doesn’t get that satisfaction of holding your attention longer than necessary. Instead, you lean back, sip your mimosa, and let the chaotic symphony of your friends fill the space.

"Alright, let’s toast," Connie raises his frankenstein of a mimosa up in the air.

"To what?" you ask with a lifted brow as you slowly raise your champagne flute.

Connie shrugs, trying to think of something clever. "Surviving another night of our dumbassery. And to, uh… new friendships?" He waggles his eyebrows between you and Eren, clearly trying to stir the pot.

Eren meets your gaze over the rim of his glass. He still has that look—the one that says he’s not done with you yet. You don’t react, just clink your mimosa against his without breaking eye contact. It was fun playing this little push and pull game, even if you were mostly pushing.

"Cheers," you say smoothly, a tiny hint of a sly smile on your face.

"Cheers," Eren echoes, mirroring your expression.

The table drinks, and for a brief moment, everything is peaceful—until Connie decides he needs all the attention again.

"So, get this," Connie starts, already grinning. "Eren and I had the most bullshit morning trying to get here."

"Oh god," Ymir mutters. "This better be good."

Connie rubs his hands together. "Picture this. I wake up, head pounding, mouth drier than the goddamn Sahara. I roll over, check my phone, and see like, five texts from you guys asking if I'm alive, and I’m like, ‘oh shit, we should link up and do brunch!’"

"Five texts isn’t even that much," Historia points out.

"Okay, well, it felt like a lot in my fragile, hungover state," Connie retorts before continuing. "Anyway, Eren comes over looking all tired and shit and heads straight for my couch. I tell 'im I'm gonna shower and to wait for me and guess what?? I come out and he's fuckin' snorin'. I try to wake him up, and this dude is fully knocked the hell out, like a damn corpse." He dramatically makes his head fall back, sticking his tongue out like he's dead to mimic Eren.

Eren exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "I was asleep. That’s normal, dumbass."

"Nah, bro, you were dead," Connie insists. "I had to blast music just to get him up."

"Which was so necessary," Eren drawls sarcastically. He swears his ears are still ringing from how close Connie put the speaker next to his ear.

"Yes, it was!" Connie exclaims, still finding the situation hilarious. "Because then this idiot gets up and takes, like, twenty goddamn minutes to stare at his phone instead of—"

"—Because I was looking at something important," Eren interjects.

"Yeah, sure, 'important'. Bro was probably checking his DMs like his life depended on it." Eren doesn’t confirm or deny this, which only makes Connie cackle harder. "Anyway," Connie continues, "we finally leave, and then tell me why this dumbass forgets his wallet, and we have to turn around—"

"I didn’t forget it," Eren argues, taking a sip of his drink. "I just didn’t know where it was."

Historia shakes her head, eyes squinting in exasperation. "That’s the same thing."

"Exactly!" Connie exclaims, arms flailing animatedly. "So now we’re really late, and when we finally get back in my car, the tire pressure light is on. And at that point, I was about ready to just die in my driveway."

"Honestly? You should’ve just let nature take you," Ymir says, stuffing one of the mini quiches the table ordered into her mouth.

"Rude!" Connie gasps, clutching his chest. "Ya know you would miss me if I actually died. Who else would entertain you at brunch?" He tosses a crumple up used sugar packet at her. You glance at Connie and allow yourself a small smile. He’s like a puppy that can’t stop barking, but you kind of like him that way. His antics help distract you from the tension that Eren never seems to let go of. Every time his gaze flickers your way, it’s like a spark of something you can’t name. Not yet, at least.

You softly laugh, finally giving in to the ridiculousness of it all. "So what I’m hearing is, between the two of you, getting to brunch was a damn odyssey?"

"Basically," Connie nods. "But hey, we made it. Even if Eren had to take his sweet ass time getting pretty for you."

You arch a brow at that, glancing over at Eren, whose lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress another smirk. You know Connie’s just stirring the pot, but you can’t deny there’s a certain… appeal in how Eren carries himself. It’s not that he’s trying—he doesn’t need to. And that's what irritates you.

Eren doesn’t even flinch at Connie's comment, instead leaning into it. "Maybe I did," he says smoothly, taking another slow, deliberate sip of his drink. "But even if I didn't I'd still look good enough for ya." It was something about this boy's ego that seemed to tick you off.

You just tilt your head, resting your chin on your palm as you regard Eren with yet another unimpressed stare. "Pretty bold assumption there, Jaeger."

Eren shrugs, an annoyingly smug grin tugging at his lips. "I make good ones."

"Debatable." You gulp the rest of your mango mimosa, wiping the little droplet that was on the corner of your mouth. "But sure, if you wanna tell yourself that." Reaching for a piece of french toast, you dip it in syrup, taking your time as you chew slowly, almost to taunt him. The silence between you both stretches, and for a moment, you allow yourself to enjoy the satisfaction of the game—your back straight, your expression utterly indifferent while his is all too easy to read: that quiet frustration that you’re just out of reach.

Connie, wiping the fake tears from his eyes, waves a hand between the two of you. "Oh, this is good. This is so good. Keep going. I’m invested." Cause who needs reality television when you have two friends at each other's throats.

"You would be," Historia mutters before popping a piece of fruit into her mouth. Although she's just as invested in this fiasco.

Eren leans forward again, that damn smirk still present. "Alright, since we’re making assumptions—what about you? Took extra time getting ready just in case I showed up?" He wants to make you flustered, wants to see you blush or tense up or show any other emotion besides indifference to him.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, sweetheart, I barely made it out of bed. The only thing I got pretty for was this mimosa tower." There’s no hesitation in your words, no hesitation in the way you look at him. You’ve got to keep your ground. He’s fishing for something, but you’re not biting.

Eren clicks his tongue, feeling stumped. For once he didn't have a clever comeback. "Damn. Shot down again just like that." His fingers tap on the table as he falls back against the back of the booth.

You flash him a mock sympathetic look, plump bottom lip jutting into a pout. "Tragic, really."

Ymir whistles, tearing into yet another one of the quiches like it's popcorn and this is a show. "Alright, this is a slow burn in real time, and I’m loving it." The tension is so thick between you and Eren, it’s almost palpable. Whether it’s sexual, confrontational, or just a game of egos—you’re not sure, but everyone at the table feels it.

Historia leans on her elbow, eyeing you both. The stare down the two of you are having seems almost intimate. "You sure you two haven’t met before? Because this feels... personal."

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the sudden rush of heat that floods your chest. "Nope. Just have a sixth sense for bullshit." Honestly you were tired of this little act Eren was putting on. From the stories Ymir and Historia had told you he was nowhere near as nice as he's pretending to be right now. You were waiting for his entitlement and attitude to shine through.

Eren huffs out a chuckle at that, shaking his head. "Noted." Despite the sour look you try to put on, Eren can see that flushed look you try to suppress, and although you would deny, deny, deny, he knows that he's slowly but surely gonna get what he wants. With that thing being you.

You take the opportunity to turn away, reclaiming some semblance of control in this little exchange. You busy yourself with refilling your mimosa, making a point to give him nothing else to latch onto. But then you glance over at him again, catching him staring at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’re almost sure he’s trying to figure you out, and maybe it’s working. Maybe he’s getting under your skin more than you’d like to admit. But before you can process it, Ymir’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

"You two are ridiculous," she says, leaning back in her chair, as she watches the two of you basically having a staring contest still. "You know that, right?"

You shoot her a look, but before you can respond, Historia accidentally spills her sixth mimosa, her face flushed, a giggle escaping her lips. "Oopsieeee," she hiccups, taking a french toast stick and sopping up the spilled liquid before taking a bite.

"Uh oh," Connie says, grinning. "Looks like someone had a little too much to drink already." Connie honestly loves when Historia gets like this, she's the definition of white girl wasted, always turning into a completely different person once she gets some alcohol in her system.

Historia leans heavily against Ymir, blinking slowly as she chews. "I’m fine," she slurs. "Just a little tipsy."

The whole table laughs as Ymir grabs her arm to steady her, clearly rolling her eyes but not too bothered by it. As the rest of the group focuses on Historia, you glance back at Eren, only to find him looking at you—his expression unreadable now, though the edge of amusement hasn’t left his eyes. You almost think he's going to say something—almost want him to—when Ymir interrupts, loud and clear.

"Okay, enough of you two and your weird ass tension. You’re both insufferable. Let’s get this one home before she turns into a puddle of bad decisions," Ymir grumbles, throwing Historia’s arm around her shoulder. You almost wonder how Historia got so drunk, but then you realize how tiny she is and just how much she drank. Plus, the girl barely touched any of her food, too focused on downing mimosa after mimosa.

You stand up from the table, shaking your head at the chaos of it all. You’re a little drunk, a little tipsy, but mostly, you’re irritated that the moment was so easily broken. You grab your purse, eyes locking with Eren’s one last time as you follow the others. For a split second, you wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still amused by you, or if he’s over it. You’re not sure. But whatever it is, it’s a thought that will linger long after this brunch ends. As you step out of the diner the cool air hits you, and the rest of the group’s voices fade into the background. You feel his gaze on your back, and the flutter in your stomach is the only clue you need: this isn’t over.

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

tags ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @cc1306 @booksandbud4me

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think leona ever asked his parents why he was even born? When he wasn't even destined to rule a kingdom and only exist in the background as a "prince", whose title meant nothing anymore when cheka was born.

(I want me some angst)

-anon

Possibly? I think that Leona probably had to come to terms with a lot of not-so-nice truths about the world and his place in it as he was growing up. He's a smart guy, he'd put two and two together eventually.

Coincidentally, Leona asks a similar question (“How can I become king?”) to a butler in the second volume of the light novel (during his post-OB flashback sequence). The butler becomes deeply uncomfortable and cannot seem to muster a response. In that moment, Leona states that he knew it was considered inappropriate for him to covet the throne. And then he praises himself for being such a clever child LMAO—

Maybe there was no particular reason for his birth. On royal money, they can have as many children as they want and still have the means to support them. Family planning isn't as necessary. If you really want to go the angst route though, maybe the Kingscholar parents had a second child as a "failsafe" in case something happened to Falena or he wasn't able to sire an heir. If that's the case, the parents probably weren't thinking about how this might affect Leona's mental or emotional wellbeing; they were preoccupied with cementing their rule into the next generation and might have figured Leona would be happy serving in some other governmental position instead of taking up the throne (which now belongs to Cheka by birthright).

It's sad to think about little Leona working so hard in order to get recognized. He must have been so full of hope and joy back then, before he realized his efforts were futile and he would never get what he wanted most of all. Not just the crown, but the love and admiration that comes with having your skill and merit recognized. I wonder if Leona got his UM before or after he had his dreams crushed...? If it's before, it feels like a bad omen and a reason for others to hate him. If it's after, it only feels like confirming what people believe about him... That he's only capable of taking and destroying, never building or growing. That has got to do some damage to your psyche.

Leona may not have even asked his parents The Question directly, honestly. His mother is scarcely mentioned and his father is ill... and Falena is busy ruling in their father's place, which makes me think that it was mostly Kifaji raising and taking care of Leona. Maybe Leona pipes up one day and asks the Grand Chamberlain why was he born if he has no purpose? And that startles Kifaji, who tries to reassure him, only for Leona to grow increasingly frustrated and accuse him of being evasive or lying to avoid telling him the ugly truth. If they're playing chess at the time, I can picture little Leona knocking all the pieces off the board with an arm and then storming off somewhere to sulk.

We still don't have the origins of his scar. Leona talks about it very casually in his Dorm Uniform voice lines, stating that scars are seen as marks of bravery in his home country, but never explaining how he got his. It could be that there's no grand story or meaning behind it--but I've also seen fan theories that the scar was the result of Leona doing something dangerous at a young age in a desperate attempt to be seen and praised by others. That detail could fit very well into this angst hypothetical.

[winteringdream]

𝑴𝑬𝑬𝑻 𝑼𝑮𝑳𝒀 — 𝑻𝑨𝑬𝑺𝑨𝑵

You've had a small crush on Taesan since your first year of university Now that second year has begun, you're determined to get to know him better. Your first meetings with him are ugly to say the least. But as you try to connect with him, you realize that Taesan struggles to show his feelings. Will the two of you manage to show each other how you feel, or will your feelings remain untold?

✩ ⋅ pairing. bio major!taesan x bio major fem!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. fluff, angst, university!au, mutual pining (i tried) ✩ ⋅ warnings. alcohol intake, miscommunication, ankle injury, mentioning of being followed, reader studies quite hard-core, overworking ✩⋅ wc. 10k ✩⋅ with ive's liz & rei, all of bonedo and triples mayu ✩⋅ a/n: no mentioning of y/n, also the you character is somewhat similar to taesan personality-wise ✩⋅ this is part one! part two coming soon

It was a sunny day. the beginning of what was supposed to be a good academic year. It didn’t last long before you managed to completely embarrass yourself in front of Taesan. A guy you may or may not have a small crush on. 

Your iced tea had spilled all over his books and clothes when you were admiring a cat.  

“I can pay for dry cleaning,” you had blurted out, face burning with embarrassment.

Taesan exhaled sharply, shaking his hands free of the liquid. “Don’t bother.” And then he just walked away.

You were flustered, a mess, to say the least—for five days after the event. Replaying the encounter at least 500 times in your head.

So much for making a good first impression...

You had promised yourself that the next time you’d see him, you’d properly apologise. But you just didn’t think meeting him would happen so soon. 

A few leaves had started to fall, and the temperature outside had started to lower. Shivering in your t-shirt, you scold yourself for not bringing a jacket. 

You look at the time, realising you’re late for class. 

“Shit.” you mutter to yourself. “Class started five minutes ago.” 

Running for your life, you manage to reach the building within two minutes. But, then came the problem. You weren’t familiar with this place at all.

Where was room 523 supposed to be? 

Out of breath you frantically run upstairs, after realising all the classrooms on the first floor start with a 3. 

Your stomach dropped. Wrong floor.

Panicked, you took off toward the stairs, moving too fast to notice the person coming from the opposite direction.

On your way to the second floor, you bump into someone, causing you to tumble down a few steps. 

You look up to see no other than the Han Taesan. Your butt hurt from the fall, but you didn’t have any time to think about the pain.

“I'm sorry I didn't see you.” 

"You’re not even going to say sorry?" you muttered, brushing off your pants. Then, narrowing your eyes, you added,

Taesan barely blinked. “You ran into me.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, but before you could argue, he stepped past you without a second thought.

“Try the next floor up,” he said flatly as he disappeared down the hall.

You exhaled sharply, watching his retreating figure in disbelief.

Unbelievable.

It’s when you’re on your way to the campus cafe after class, your mind wandering when you hear footsteps behind you. 

You quicken your pace, trying to get to the door of the cafe.  You reach the door of the cafe, hand on the handle, and then it happens. He steps up right behind you, closer than you expected. 

You pull the door open, and as you do, it almost hits him. His gaze flickers to you for only a second, barely acknowledging you, before he steps past, his shoulder brushing yours like you’re nothing more than an obstacle in his way.

You blink. Then scoff under your breath.

Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t even bother to say “excuse me,” or the way he acts like you don’t exist, but something inside you deflates.

For a second, you wonder why you even liked him in the first place. The person standing in front of you feels so different from the one you once admired from afar.

You watch as he takes his drink and turns to leave without so much as a glance in your direction.

And that’s when it really sinks in.

You let out a slow breath, the weight of disappointment settling in your chest as you turn toward the counter.

Why am I even trying?

Maybe it’s time to stop. To stop chasing after someone who never cared in the first place.

The thought of Taesan was already floating away and out of your head. You hadn't bumped into him anymore after that day and the seasons had changed. It wasn't winter yet, but it might as well be. It was freezing outside, a thin layer of ice forming on the school fountain. 

It’s late in the evening, and you’re walking on campus, juggling a pile of books in your arms as you head toward the library. You had received an email reminding you that five books you had lent from the library needed to be returned today. 

You should've read your mail earlier, because by the time you had actually read the email it was already 9:30 pm, 30 minutes before the library closing time. 

Why were there no online copies of these books? you complain with a sigh, readjusting the books in your arms. The thick biology textbooks were heavy and completely blocked your view. 

You don’t notice the small puddle that had turned into ice on the ground. You slip, your foot sliding out from under you, and before you can catch yourself, you crash to the floor, the sound of your books hitting the ground echoing.

You wince in pain as you try to sit up, your ankle throbbing immediately from the impact.. You glance around a little embarrassed, hoping no one saw.

Just as you're about to sigh of relief, because no one seems to be around you, your eye catches sight of Taesan. He is standing just a few feet away, walking towards you with his cold look and unreadable expression.

Why is he walking over? 

Quickly composing yourself you try to look around for the books you had just dropped. But before you can stand up, Taesan is standing next to you. 

His eyes flicker over you, lingering on your ankle. His usual impassive gaze shifts, his jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before he exhales quietly. Is he worried?

"You alright?" His voice is low, and despite his usual cold tone, there's an underlying concern.

You laugh nervously, "This is so embarrassing." you mutter to yourself, as you pick up the book closest to you. 

He raises an eyebrow, taken aback by the fact that you're not replying to him like he had expected. 

His gaze flicks down to your ankle and then back up to your face, his posture still stiff, but there's something almost protective in the way he's looking at you now.

Without waiting for your response, he crouches down, carefully taking your ankle in his hands. It’s an unexpected move, and you’re caught off guard by how gentle he is. 

His hands are cold, but his touch is surprisingly tender as he examines your foot, testing for any obvious swelling or injury. 

His hand extends, fingers curling slightly as if debating whether to offer or simply act. You hesitate before grasping it, his grip is steady, warm despite the cold air.

His brow furrows slightly as he ensures you're stable on your feet, his gaze flicking down to your ankle with a quiet, assessing look. 

"Careful," he says, his voice soft but commanding, as if it’s an order rather than a suggestion. For a second, his touch lingers just a bit longer than necessary.

"You shouldn’t walk on it," he mutters, his voice flat but with a hint of care that makes your heart skip a beat. "It could get worse."

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already reaching for your books, picking them up with ease. He doesn’t look at you as he hands them back.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and glancing down at you again. “I’ll walk you to the nurse’s office.”

"No need," you tell him, finally opening your mouth. "I need to return these books today or I'll be fined." 

You attempt to step forward, putting weight on your injured ankle, but the sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you immediately wince, slightly stumbling. 

You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, determined not to show how much it hurts. But before you can take another step, Taesan is already there, his hand holding your arm to steady you. 

His gaze flicks down to your ankle once again, his brow furrowing slightly. “You’re not walking on it like that,” he says, his tone more forceful than before.  

Something in you twinges, Taesan, who has been nothing but cold to you is now suddenly trying to help you? 

Without another word, he takes the books from you. Then, to your surprise, he steps a little closer, his shoulder coming up next to yours. “I’ll take you,” he says. 

"Look I don't know what you're trying to do, but I can get it checked out later. I'm telling you these books have to be returned within—" you glance at your phone, panic creeping into your voice as the time flickers at 9:50 p.m. "—10 minutes." 

Without another word, he takes the books from your arms. Then, to your surprise, he steps a little closer, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I’ll take you,” he says in that calm way of his. “You won’t make it on your own, I’ll get you there in less time.” 

You hesitate, eyeing him, unsure how to react to his quiet confidence. You’ve always known him to be the cold, logical type, the one who keeps to himself, hardly ever showing emotion. So why now? Why would he offer this help when it’s so unlike him?

"How are you going to take me?

Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, you feel the tension between the two of you tighten. There’s a brief pause, and you swear you see a flicker of something in his gaze. Is it surprise? Or amusement?

"Any way I have to," he says. “Even if it means carrying you.”

You blink, caught off guard by his words. Taesan is talking about carrying you? You try to process it, your mind racing, but all you manage to do is stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or if it’s just another one of his sarcastic remarks.

He looks like he’s already made up his mind about this. "You can’t walk on that. It’ll get worse," he states flatly, as if it's simple logic. "And you don’t have time to waste. Let me do this."

You take a deep breath, feeling the rush of emotions that had built up inside you. The blood is rushing to your cheeks at the thought of Taesan carrying you. 

He’s not the same person you thought he was, and for some reason, that realization leaves you speechless.

“Alright,” you say quietly, finally letting go of the last thread of resistance. You look up at him, offering a small, unsure smile. “If you really think I can’t make it.”

His eyes soften just a touch, though his expression is still as unreadable as ever. He doesn’t smirk or say anything else, just nods once, his movements smooth as he steps a little closer, ready to help.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, and for the first time, there’s something faintly warm in his voice, as though he’s trying to reassure you, though he says nothing more. He puts down the books on the ground, and crouches in front of you. 

You hesitate for only a second before you allow him to carefully lift you, his arms steady around you. He is surprisingly gentle, his grip firm but never forceful. 

Your heart races, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the way he’s holding you, or because for the first time, you’re realizing that Taesan might be showing you a side of him you never thought possible.

Taesan carries you towards a nearby bench, carefully letting you down before walking back to pick up the books. 

"I'll return these for you." He says, somehow the stack of books look lighter in his arms. "Give me your student ID." 

You reach into your pocket, pulling out your wallet. Luckily you had taken a good photo for the ID card. 

You hand him your student ID without a word, but as you do, you catch yourself watching him more closely than usual. 

As Taesan walks over to return your books, his mind is racing with questions.  The task itself is simple, return the books, make sure everything’s done quickly. But even as he holds the stack of books in his arms with his usual calm, his thoughts keep drifting back to you. 

The way he’d carried you, his concern, it's different from how he usually thinks and acts. It feels strange. 

He’s never been one to let his emotions get involved, especially when it comes to others. But something about the way he couldn’t just leave you there, struggling on your own, is bothering him more than it should.

He picks up your student ID, barely glancing at it. Until he does. His gaze hesitates, lingering longer than it should. His fingers tighten ever so slightly around the card before he exhales, expression unreadable once more.

Why was he so insistent about helping you? Why does it bother him that you’re hurt? He knows it shouldn’t.

It’s just an injury, he thinks. And yet, when he saw you struggling, when he saw you hesitating, he couldn't help but care. 

He sets the books down with more force than necessary, the librarian looking at him with confusion. He tells himself it’s nothing, that he’s just overthinking. It’s just books. Just an inconvenience.

As he walks back to you, the feeling lingers, like a quiet hum in the back of his mind. He’s never been the type to get involved like this, to feel the need to make sure someone is okay.

As he nears you, Taesan realizes he’s worried. And he doesn’t know why. 

He’s not sure why, not sure what it means, but for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t have all the answers. And that, more than anything, makes him uneasy.

Your ankle healed quickly, and two days later you’re still thinking about that night.  You try to focus on the lesson, but your mind keeps drifting back. After everything he’d done for you, after helping you with your books, the care he showed. Why was he so confusing?  

One moment he’s cold and distant, not even apologising to you when the two of you bumped against each other. And now he’s suddenly carrying you on his back, returning your books for you?  

How can you feel this way about someone who’s been so cold to you? You groan, sinking lower into your seat, your hands tangled in your hair. The soft murmur of your classmates fades into the background as you try to push the thoughts aside. 

Taesan enters the classroom like a shadow. He takes a seat in front of you, tossing his bag into the seat beside him without a second thought. He doesn’t bother to look around, just pulls his head down onto the desk with a soft, exhausted sigh. 

You’ve never seen him like this before, and you can’t decide whether it makes you feel worse for him or more confused about everything that’s happened between you two. 

You hate how much you’re thinking about him, how his presence so easily takes over your mind. You wonder if he’s still thinking about last night, if he’s wishing he hadn’t stepped in. And the thought stabs at you, suddenly leaving you feeling guilty, and even more tangled up inside.

He hasn’t even glanced at you. But for some reason, that distance feels even more confusing than the moments when he’s so close. 

After the lecture the lecture hall is slowly emptying out, and you're packing your things into your bag, preparing to leave. 

Leehan, a marine sciences student, walks over to him with a grin on his face. 

"Taesan!" Leehan calls out, and Taesan looks up, just slightly, his eyes flicking toward his friend.

"Jaehyun is hosting a party this weekend," Leehan continues, "You wanna come? You’ve been buried in your books for ages, man. It’s about time you took a break."

Taesan doesn’t immediately respond, glancing briefly at Leehan before his eyes drift toward the door. For a moment, it looks like he’s debating the offer in his mind.

"Come on, a little chaos won’t kill you," Leehan nudges him with a teasing push. "Besides, we both know Jaehyun’s gonna keep asking until you say yes. Might as well save yourself the trouble."

Taesan's gaze shifts away again, his expression remaining as unreadable as always. He seems distracted, almost lost in thought. His shoulders shift slightly, but there’s no real indication of whether he’s interested or not.

Leehan, noticing his friend's hesitation, adds with a grin, "Just show up for an hour. No one’s expecting you to dance on tables. Just exist in the same space as other humans for once."

Taesan remains silent for a moment longer, looking at Leehan, then back down at his bag. Finally, he responds in his usual calm, detached way, "I’ll think about it."

Leehan laughs, shaking his head. "Mhm, sure. But if you don’t show up, Jaehyun will drag you there himself and you know he won’t shut up about it the whole night."

Later that evening, you’re sitting on your bed, flipping through some notes when Rei, your roommate, bursts through the door with a wide grin plastered on her face. 

“Guess what?” she says, practically bouncing with excitement. “Jaehyun’s hosting a party this weekend. You should come with me!”

You glance up at her.“A party? I don’t know,I’ve got so much stuff to catch up on.”

Rei flops down on the bed next to you, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, you’ve been studying nonstop. You need to unwind! It’s going to be fun, I promise. I’ll make sure you’re not stuck in some corner by yourself. You’ll have a good time.” 

You feel a tug of hesitation, Rei’s always so convincing. Plus, you know she’ll be there, and she’s great at pulling you into her whirlwind of energy.

"I don’t know, Rei” you trail off, glancing at the pile of work on your desk. "I could use the time to catch up on some stuff."

Rei shakes her head, already knowing where this is going. “You always say that, but you never actually get any work done when you stay in. Trust me, you’ll feel way better after letting loose for just one night.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile on your face. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But you’re not leaving me to get lost in the crowd alone."

“It’s not just me, Liz and Mayu are going too.” She laughs when she sees your eyes light up. The four of you haven’t met up in a while, and the thought of reuniting makes you happy already.

Rei gets up, already heading to her side of the room to change, humming to herself. You can’t help but laugh at her excitement, feeling a little bit of your own reluctance fade away. 

The weekend rolls around, and despite your hesitation, you find yourself standing outside Jaehyun’s apartment with Rei, Liz, and Mayu.

"I swear, I haven’t seen Jaehyun throw a party like this in months," Liz says, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. The bass from the music vibrates the ground beneath your feet.

“I haven't been to a party like this in ages." You chuckle, adjusting the small shoulder bag. 

Mayu laughs, looping her arm through yours as she leads you toward the door. "Exactly! And you haven’t had any fun in ages either."

The four of you chuckle, walking through the door of Jaehyun’s house. You step inside, immediately hit by the heavy thrum of music and the overwhelming scent of alcohol and perfume. 

The living room is packed, people are dancing, talking, and laughing, and the air is thick with energy. Rei takes the time to greet a few of her friends. 

“Sungho!” Rei exclaims, waving in his direction. You and Mayu exchange confused glances but Liz is quick to fill the two of you in. 

“New friend she made,” She whispers to the two of you. You nod, trying to make sense of the new information. Sungho looks like he’s part of the crowd, laughing and chatting easily with everyone, while Rei joins him with a wide grin on her face. You watch them for a second before turning your attention back to the rest of the party.

The room is alive with chatter, flashing lights, and the steady thrum of bass. You can feel the familiar knot of discomfort form in your stomach. You’ve never been the party type, but you promised Rei you’d at least try.

“Come on,” Mayu says, nudging you gently. “Let’s get some drinks, and maybe find a spot to relax. No need to dive straight into the chaos.”

You smile gratefully, following her as she guides you through the crowded room. You can see a long line of people near the bar, everyone laughing and shouting to be heard over the music. You figure you’ll grab something light, maybe just a drink to ease the tension in your shoulders.

Suddenly, your eyes catch something familiar.

Standing near the far end of the living room, Taesan stands off to the side, more noticeable in this environment. He’s wearing a dark jacket over his usual casual clothes, and his expression is unreadable as he observes the crowd. 

Your heart stutters slightly, remembering once again, that time he helped you with your books. He doesn’t notice you staring, or if he does, he gives no indication of it. His attention is on a conversation between Jaehyun and Woonhak, though he’s clearly not involved in their loud conversation. 

"Here you go," Mayu interrupts your thoughts, handing you a drink. You take it with a polite nod, still glancing in Taesan’s direction.

Mayu follows your gaze and raises an eyebrow. “You know him?” she asks, her voice low enough that it’s mostly drowned out by the music.

You blink and quickly turn your attention back to her. “Sort of. We’re in a couple of the same classes. He helped me with something once.” You don’t go into detail about the books, though a part of you wonders why you feel the need to downplay it.

Mayu smirks knowingly, her eyes darting back to Taesan. “Interesting. He doesn’t seem like the party type.”

You can’t help but agree with that. Taesan looks out of place here, You wonder why he even bothered coming. Maybe Jaehyun convinced him, like Rei did to you.

The moment stretches on as you continue to observe him, torn between curiosity and discomfort. Finally, Mayu nudges you. "You gonna go say hi?"

The question is a little too direct, and you feel your cheeks warm, even though you can’t really explain why. You don’t know if it’s the party atmosphere or the fact that Taesan is so different from everyone else here, but you suddenly feel a little nervous.

"I don’t know," you mumble, taking a sip of your drink, scrunching your face at the taste. "What did you put in this?"

“Is it that bad?" She replies, taking a sip as well. “Ooh, it’s got a little kick to it. Don’t worry, maybe it’s a good idea to get drunk considering your hesitation to go up to him.” 

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Mayu’s right, though. It would be weird to just leave it hanging.

You take another glance at Taesan, and this time, your eyes meet. There’s a brief moment of recognition between the two of you, but then he immediately looks away, back to his drink.

The night starts to blur together, the music pulses through the floor, the lights flash, and before you know it, you’re on your third drink, not realizing you might have had one too many.

Your head feels light, your thoughts a little foggy, and your body is just warm enough to make you feel oddly detached from the world around you. It’s not that you’re drunk, just tipsy.

You glance over toward Taesan, and for some reason, your heart picks up pace. There’s something about the way he’s standing there that makes you want to talk to him, but something keeps holding you back.

Rei and Liz are laughing about something near the punch bowl, and Mayu is already halfway through a conversation with some guy you don’t recognize. 

You stand there for a moment, the noise of the party swirling around you, but all you can focus on is the distance between you and Taesan. Your heart thumps louder in your chest with each passing second, and it’s becoming harder to ignore the pull to go up to him. 

You take another sip of your drink, the alcohol only making you feel lighter, more detached from the moment.

For some reason, your body won’t move, though. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you and Taesan, one you can’t quite get past. You try to convince yourself it’s because the party's just too chaotic, too loud for any real conversation, but deep down, you know it’s more than that.

You steal another glance at him. He’s still standing there, drink in hand, his gaze flicking across the room but never settling on anything or anyone. 

Just as you're about to look away and find another distraction, you catch his eyes again. This time, it’s longer. You can’t tell if it’s intentional or if it’s just a coincidence, but there’s a subtle change in his expression when he meets your gaze. 

It’s enough to make your heart skip a beat. For a brief second, you’re aware of how close he is, in a way that feels strange. 

"Go on, say something,” you tell yourself, but your feet feel like they’re glued to the floor.

You take another sip of your drink, but it’s barely registering on your tongue anymore. The thoughts are starting to swirl in your head, and you’re not sure whether the alcohol is making it worse or if you’re just being you.

“You should talk to him,” Mayu’s voice suddenly breaks through the fog, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blink, and Mayu’s standing next to you now, an amused smile on her face. She must’ve noticed you staring at Taesan.

“I- what?” You stammer, a little flustered, your cheeks burning despite the alcohol running through your system. You turn your head quickly, trying to mask the sudden rush of nerves.

“Come on, I see the way you’re looking at him. Go talk to him,” she teases, nudging you playfully.

“I don’t know. He looks busy.” You try to shrug it off, but the words feel weak in your mouth.

Mayu raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’re drunk, huh?” she asks, sounding amused but concerned at the same time.

“I’m fine,” you quickly reply, though your voice wavers slightly.

Mayu doesn’t look convinced, but she gives you a reassuring smile. “Okay, well, if you don’t go, I’m going to make you,” she says, her tone teasing. “You never know until you try.”

With a quick shake of your head, you tell Mayu, “Okay, okay, I’ll go talk to him.” You don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking, but you’re suddenly moving with confidence.

Mayu smiles brightly as you start making your way toward Taesan. You can feel your heart racing as you push through the crowd, trying to keep your composure.

As you get closer, you can feel the thrum of the music in your chest, the chaos of the party fading away a little. And then you’re standing right in front of him, your breath catching a little as you finally find yourself face-to-face with him.

“Hey,” you say a little too quickly, the word tumbling out before you can stop it. You’re suddenly very aware of how loud the music is, how everyone else around you seems to be talking and laughing, leaving you standing here in the middle of it all, heart thudding in your chest.

"Hey," he says simply, his voice calm, not as stiff as usual, but still carrying that quiet tone. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, but you can tell he's taken a moment to adjust to you being here, standing in front of him,

You open your mouth, unsure of what to say next. It’s a little embarrassing that you’ve come this far and now you’re not sure what the hell to do with yourself.

“Uh, it’s loud in here,” you say, realizing how ridiculous it sounds the moment the words leave your mouth.

Taesan looks around the room for a moment, as though weighing your observation. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice low. 

You take another sip of your drink, trying to play it cool, but the alcohol’s already got your head feeling a little too light. 

You can tell by the way his gaze lingers on you that he's picking up on something. His eyes shift slightly, scanning you in a way that's more thoughtful than usual. 

"You okay?" he asks, his tone softer now. "You look a little off."

You blink, not realizing that your body has started to sway ever so slightly, the edges of your vision blurring just a little. It’s not like you’re completely drunk, but the alcohol’s definitely made everything feel hazy, and you're suddenly very aware that maybe you’ve overdone it with the drinks.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, but even to your own ears, your voice sounds a little slurred. You smile awkwardly, hoping it doesn’t come off as obvious.

Taesan raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You sure?" He glances at your drink, and then back to you.

You nod, too eager to prove you're not completely tipsy. "Yeah, yeah, just a little tipsy." You let out a half-hearted laugh, but it doesn’t sound as confident as you hoped.

He seems to be studying you now, his expression unreadable. There's a quiet tension in the air, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve said something wrong, if you’ve ruined the moment before it even had a chance to start.

Taesan shifts a little, adjusting his grip on his drink, but doesn't say anything right away.

“Want me to get you some water?”

The offer is unexpected, and you blink at him for a moment, feeling a wave of warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. You hadn’t expected him to notice, much less offer to help. It’s the kind of thing you would never have expected from someone like him. 

“Yeah, maybe” You laugh a little, feeling like an idiot now. “Thanks.”

He nods once, then turns away. You can’t help but watch him for a second longer. When he returns with the water, he hands it to you wordlessly. 

You take it gratefully, immediately sipping it to try and clear some of the fog in your head. As you drink, you notice him watching you, his expression still as unreadable as always.

"Better?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You nod, feeling the cool liquid help clear your head just a little. "Yeah, thanks," you murmur, suddenly feeling a little more grounded.

There’s a brief moment of silence between you two, the loud music and chatter of the party filling the space around you. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to continue the conversation now. 

You’re not sure what to say next, but for the first time tonight, it feels okay to just be here with him, even in the chaos of the party.

"Thanks," you say again, looking up at him. "I didn’t think you’d care."

Taesan looks at you. “I don’t like seeing people uncomfortable,” he says, indifferent.

You swallow, thinking back to that night again. Was it all just kindness? Had you taken his kindness as a sign that he was interested?

"You don’t seem like the type to care," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

You blink, suddenly realizing the weight of what you just said, your cheeks flushing as you try to clarify what you mean. “I just mean, you don’t seem like the type to care.”

"It's alright," he says quietly. "But it's kind of interesting how you think you know me."

Your cheeks flush even more, a wave of warmth creeping up from your neck to your face as you try to recover from the awkwardness. 

You let out a nervous laugh, “I didn’t mean it like that,” you repeat, "You just seem like the type who doesn’t really get involved, you know?"

Taesan tilts his head slightly, considering you, his eyes never leaving your face. He takes another slow sip of his drink, clearly unbothered by your awkwardness.

"Maybe I’m not," he replies, "Maybe I am."

"You don't have to," you mumble. The alcohol, the proximity to him, and the faint warmth in the air all mix together to make you feel light-headed.

Finally, he lets out a quiet exhale and shifts slightly, lowering his voice. "I guess it depends on whether I want to or not."

Your heart skips a beat, his words hanging in the air, leaving you to wonder if you’ve misread everything. Is he toying with you? 

You take a small step back, the warmth of the alcohol in your veins making everything feel a little more intense than usual. But then doubt creeps in, maybe you’ve been overthinking this. 

Maybe he was just kind to you that night, when he helped you with the books, because that’s what he does. He’s not interested, he’s just being Taesan.

You blink, trying to shake off the feeling, but the more you think about it, the more unsure you become. You had hoped for something more, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

"Maybe I’m just imagining things," you think to yourself, the self-doubt sinking in. You’re tipsy, and your thoughts feel muddled. You don’t even know why you’re standing here, talking to him, trying to figure out something that probably isn’t there in the first place.

Taesan seems to notice the shift in your demeanor, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes stay fixed on you, his posture still relaxed as if nothing’s changed. 

You open your mouth to say something, to smooth over the awkwardness, but the words die in your throat. What could you even say?

You let out a breath and try to shake off the uncertainty, turning back to the noise and laughter around you.

You open your mouth, but before you can say anything else, Rei appears next to you, snapping you out of the moment. 

“Hey! Are you guys having fun over here?” She grins at the two of you, clearly not picking up on the subtle tension in the air.

You glance at Taesan, unsure whether you should continue this conversation or just let it go. 

“Yeah, we are done talking.” you say, as if nothing had happened between the two of you just now. Though inside, you're stung by the harsh realization that Taesan’s help was just a kind gesture, not a sign of anything more, and you can’t help but feel a little foolish for thinking otherwise.

“Well, if you’re done with your little chat, there’s a whole crowd of people waiting to dance. Come on!” Rei grins, linking arms with you. “It was nice meeting you, uhm” 

“Taesan.” 

“It was nice meeting you, Taesan!” Rei says, before pulling you away toward the dance floor, her energy as infectious as ever. 

You don’t dare to glance back at Taesan, trying to forget about him all together. You shouldn’t have been foolish to think he was interested in the first place. 

The rest of the night is a blur, and by the time you’re heading home with Rei, your head’s still spinning from the alcohol, the music, and the confusing conversation you had with Taesan.

You lie in bed later, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all. But no answers come, only more questions. 

You roll over onto your side, pulling the covers tighter around you, but it does little to ease the unease swirling inside you. The night keeps replaying in your mind, the way Taesan looked at you, his words, the strange shift in the air between you two. 

You had convinced yourself, before, that it was something more, but now it’s clear that it was nothing more than his usual detached kindness.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself. You shouldn’t have expected anything different from him. He’s always been distant, so why would tonight be any different? 

You close your eyes, but the moment when your eyes met his flashes back in your mind. A brief flicker of something, but was it real? Or were you just reading too much into it?

Your heart aches, but you push the thought away. You can’t keep dwelling on this. He doesn’t care about you like that, and you shouldn’t have let yourself hope.

As Taesan sits on his bed later that night, the dim light of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room, his thoughts keep drifting back to the brief conversation you had at the party. 

He hadn’t meant to make things awkward. But then you’d suddenly shut down, brushing him off with that casual dismissal.

He hadn’t been prepared for that.

His fingers grip the edge of his notebook, frowning as he recalls the way you’d pulled away so quickly, the way you’d told Rei the conversation had ended when it hadn’t. 

Did he say something wrong? Did he come off the wrong way? The thought that maybe he’d hurt you lingers in the back of his mind. He couldn’t figure out why it bothered him, but it did.

Why did it matter so much? He wasn’t the type to dwell on things like this. But here he was, unable to shake the feeling that he might have said something that made you uncomfortable. 

A few weeks pass, and the rhythm of campus life carries on. You and Taesan don’t cross paths much. The occasional glance during class or passing by in the hallways, but nothing beyond that. 

You focus on your studies, drown yourself in textbooks, and try not to overthink things. Rei, Liz, and Mayu keep you distracted, as they always do, but there’s still a quiet part of you that wonders what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pulled away from Taesan that night. 

What if things had been different?

It’s late one afternoon when you run into him again. You’re walking through the library, buried in your phone, trying to find a quiet corner to study, when you bump into him. The collision is soft but unexpected, and you almost drop your phone.

“Sorry,” you mutter, not looking up. Only when the figure you bumped into doesn’t reply do you look up. It’s Han Taesan, but this time his eyes are wide with surprise, as though he hadn’t expected to see you at all.

You freeze for a second, unsure of how to react. Should you just walk away? Pretend like nothing happened between you two?

To your surprise, Taesan speaks first, his voice quieter than usual, as if he’s uncertain of what to say. “It’s fine,” he says, glancing down at your phone before meeting your eyes again. “I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

You swallow, feeling the tension in the air. “Yeah,” you say nervously. “I was just looking for a place to study.”

He nods, glancing around briefly. The silence stretches between you two, and for a moment, it feels like both of you are unsure of where to go next.

You want to ask him how he’s been, or maybe apologize for being so cold that night, but the words seem stuck in your throat. What if he doesn’t want to talk to you at all?

But before you can say anything, Taesan surprises you by taking a small step closer, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, the words coming out softer than you expected.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of avoiding. It feels like the air around you has gotten thicker, heavier. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you reply, your voice quieter now. “I just didn’t think you wanted to talk after that night.”

Taesan’s brow furrows slightly, and he shifts uncomfortably, looking as though he’s trying to figure out how to respond. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just didn’t know how to react when you walked away with Rei so suddenly.”

“I was just confused,” he continues, looking at you more directly now. “I thought maybe I had done something wrong.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come across that way.  You let out a shaky breath, then manage a small, honest smile. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “I just, I guess I assumed you weren’t interested, so I backed off.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Taesan looks at you, his expression unreadable but not distant. The corners of his mouth tug up just slightly. "I guess we're both bad at this, huh?"

"Bad at what?"

"Bad at whatever this is," Taesan says with a small shrug, his eyes flicking over you. "Talking, not sure what to call it."

Taesan shifts slightly, taking a step closer, but not enough to invade your personal space. "I don't know what I was expecting after the party," he continues. "Maybe I thought it would just be normal. But then you pulled away, and I didn't know what to think."

You nod, "I didn’t know what to think either. You were being nice, but I thought maybe you were just being kind, you know? I didn’t want to read too much into it."

You play with the string of your hoodie, slightly tugging at it. All the disappointment and feelings you’ve been trying to avoid come rushing back again now that you’re standing in front of him. 

“Were you just being kind when you helped me with my books? Would you have done the same if it were anyone else who slipped that day?”

The question hangs in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken. Taesan’s eyes flick over to you, there’s a slight tightness in his jaw, like he's trying to process something that doesn’t come easily to him. 

"I didn’t think about it at the time but now, I don’t know. He exhales sharply, looking away. "Maybe I just wanted to."

You swallow, frustration tightening your chest. This wasn’t how you imagined this conversation would go. You thought maybe, just maybe, there was more to it, more to him. 

But now? Now you don’t know how much more of this confusion you can take. You take a step closer, the two of you being only a few inches away from each other.

"Then why?" Your voice wavers slightly. "Why did you help me at all? Why act like you care?"

“Why help me when you’ve been nothing but cold to me before? When I spilled my drink on you or when we bumped into each other on the stairs on the first day of school?”

As the words slip out, you feel the rush of heat flood your face, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and something else, something that makes your stomach churn. 

Taesan doesn’t move, but his gaze shifts downward, like he’s avoiding your eyes. His lips part, like he’s going to say something, but he stops himself.

"I—" He starts, but he doesn’t know what to say, his heartbeat thumping in his throat. The lack of explanation hangs in the air, and you can see it now, he doesn’t know why he’s been acting this way. 

Hell, you don’t know why you’ve been acting this way.  You can feel the frustration bubbling inside you now, mixing with that strange, painful feeling that you don’t know how to name.

The way he’s been helping you, acting like he cares, like there’s something more to it, but then he tells you he doesn’t like seeing people uncomfortable? It feels cruel.

“If you don’t know,” you say, your voice more stern than before, “then stop helping me. Stop looking out for me. It’s unfair.”

The air feels thicker now. There’s a brief silence that makes your throat feel tight. Taesan looks at you. His lips twitch like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, he looks at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual, and for a split second, you wonder if he even understands what you’re really saying, if he feels the same frustration, the same confusion that you do. 

But just as quickly as that thought enters your mind, it fades away, swallowed by the silence. The words don’t come from him. And that’s enough of an answer, isn’t it?

You nod slowly, feeling a mix of disappointment and sadness settle in your chest. “Okay. Fine,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. 

You take a step back, not wanting to stay any longer. You didn’t expect an answer from him anyway, but the lack of one hurts more than you thought it would. 

Taesan stands frozen in place, watching as you turn and walk away from him. He doesn’t know what just happened. Why couldn’t he explain himself? Why did everything seem to come out so wrong?  

He’s never been good with words, but this was different. It’s not just that he couldn’t say his thoughts. It's like something inside him was stopping him from saying what he really wanted to say. 

Then, he catches a glimpse of your hand moving to your face, wiping at your eyes. His breath hitches in his throat. Are you crying?

His mind races, but his body stays rooted to the spot. He watches, almost helplessly, as you walk further away, your back to him now. 

He feels like he got punched in the gut, realizing that he might have hurt you, even though he never meant to. He never thought you’d react like this. Did he really make you cry?

The thought of you being upset, especially because of him, gnaws at him. He feels that familiar sense of discomfort that always seems to follow when it comes to emotions, but this time, it’s more urgent, more real. 

What’s wrong with me? Taesan thinks, his chest tightening. He wonders why he couldn’t simply tell you what was on his mind, why he couldn’t explain himself the way he should have.

For a long moment, Taesan stays where he is, standing motionless. All he can focus on is the sight of you walking away. His heart clenches with a mixture of regret and something else.

He should follow you. He should stop you, say something, apologize, explain everything. His fingers twitch at his side, an impulse to reach out, to stop you. But his feet stay rooted, and before he knows it, you’re already gone.

A few days after your encounter with Taesan, you sit at a corner table in a cozy café, holding a half-finished cup of coffee while your friends, Mayu, Liz, and Rei, sit across from you, chatting amongst themselves.

The air inside the café is warm and inviting, but your mind feels anything but.

Rei is the first to speak, breaking the silence that has settled over the table. "So, are you going to tell us what happened?" she asks, her tone teasing but laced with concern.

“I thought he liked me." Your voice fades, the words hanging in the air. Your thoughts are still jumbled, and every time you try to make sense of them, it only gets worse.

Rei leans in, her usual playful attitude slipping for a moment. “What happened? You guys have been talking a lot lately. I thought everything was fine?”

“Yeah, well, I thought so too,” you say, bitterness creeping into your voice. “But then he just couldn’t explain himself. He couldn’t even reply to me.”

Mayu stirs her drink absentmindedly, while Liz presses her lips together before speaking. “Do you think he realized he made you feel that way? Maybe he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. He just shut down. It felt like he didn’t care at all. And now, I don’t know what to think. Maybe I read too much into everything.”

Rei exhales, shaking her head slightly. “You’re really overthinking this. Maybe Taesan’s just as confused as you are. He’s not exactly the most straightforward guy.”

“But that’s just it,” you say, your voice rising slightly. "If he cared, why did he stay silent? Why let me walk away without even trying?"

The table grows quiet, and even Rei, who usually finds humor in everything, sits back in her chair, her expression serious.

Mayu finally speaks up. “Maybe he’s not used to being vulnerable. Maybe he doesn’t know how to handle it either.”

Liz nods. “Yeah, I’ve noticed he can be closed off. Maybe he didn’t know how to fix things.”

You frown, not sure whether to believe it. “I don’t know. I can’t keep trying to figure him out when it feels like he’s not even trying to figure me out.”

Mayu’s eyes soften as she reaches over to place a hand on yours. “Hey, we’re not saying you’re wrong. You have every right to feel hurt. But sometimes, people don’t know how to handle their own emotions. It doesn’t mean they don’t care, it just means they’re lost too.”

Rei raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re saying we should give him the benefit of the doubt? You think he wants to make things right?”

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice quiet. “But it’s not like he’s trying to reach out to me. I don’t want to sit here like an idiot waiting for him to approach me.”

A long pause follows as everyone absorbs what you’ve said. Liz shifts in her seat, her fingers tapping gently on her cup. “You don’t have to wait for him. If you want to talk to him, go ahead. But don’t make it all about him making things right. You deserve someone who’s willing to put in the effort too.”

Rei nods vigorously. “Yeah. And if he’s too dumb to realize what he’s got, then we’ll find you someone better.”

“Yeah,” Mayu chimes in, “We all know Rei has got the best connections, right, Rei?”

“Of course! Ask me anytime!” The four of you burst out into laughter, easing your mind a little of all the thoughts about Taesan. 

You're running late, so so late, for a study session. 

As you walk through the crowded campus, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to check the message. It's from Mayu, reminding you of the study group you’ve agreed to attend. 

where r u? 

i’m omw you quickly text back before hastily stuffing your phone back into your pocket. 

You weave through the crowd of students, rushing toward the building where the study group is supposed to meet. 

As you enter the classroom, you're hit with the familiar sight: your friends have already gathered around, scattered across a table, but your eyes immediately find him. Taesan.

He’s sitting at the far end of the table, his usual neutral expression on his face as he flips through a notebook, completely absorbed in his work. You hesitate for just a moment, unsure of how to approach the situation, but quickly shake off the nerves. It’s not like you haven’t run into him before.

You hadn’t exactly expected to see him in the study group. Sure, he was in some of your classes, but you figured he’d be the type to stay away from these group study sessions.

Mayu spots you as soon as you walk in and gives you a little wave. You slide into the seat next to her, trying your best to act natural, though you can’t help but feel his presence like a weight at the other end of the table.

"You didn’t tell me Taesan was going to be here," she whispers with a raised eyebrow, her voice barely audible.

You sigh, already feeling the weight of the situation. “Yeah, well, neither did I. I had no idea he’d be here either.” You glance over at Taesan, who’s quietly working through a set of notes, the soft rustling of paper the only sound between the two of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Taesan’s gaze again. This time, he’s not looking away so quickly. His eyes linger, just for a moment longer.

You try to ignore it, but it’s hard when you can practically feel the tension from across the table. Mayu, sensing the shift in the air, glances over at him too and lets out a small, almost dismissive sigh. “You know, if he really wanted to talk, he’d say something. You’re not the one who needs to make the first move."

You let out a long breath, running a hand through your hair again. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, he’s the one who-"

But before you can finish, you catch sight of Taesan making a quick adjustment in his seat. His fingers briefly brush the edge of his notebook, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something.

You freeze, eyes on him, but then nothing happens. He simply closes his mouth, clears his throat quietly, and goes back to flipping through his notes, looking like he’s just as uncomfortable as you feel.

Mayu shoots you a small look. "See? It’s fine. Just focus on the work."

The study group eventually wraps up, and everyone begins to gather their things. You try to keep to yourself, making a quick exit. Immediately as you walk out the door, you’re surprised by Taesan pulling you away from the rest.

“What are you doing? I’m walking back with Mayu.” You hiss at him, annoyed at how he had suddenly pulled you away like this. 

Taesan doesn’t let go of your arm immediately, his grip surprisingly firm but not tight enough to hurt. He looks down at you and back toward the study room, where Mayu and the others are still packing up.

"I know, but I need to talk to you." 

You tug your arm out of his grasp, adjusting the bag that had slid off of your shoulder. 

He hesitates, looking conflicted for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.” He trails off, clearly searching for the right words. "I didn’t know how else to get you alone, and we need to talk."

"You made it pretty clear that I wasn’t worth talking to before. So why should I now?" You retort.

His face stiffens at your words, the usual impassive look falling over his features again. For a split second, he almost seems like he wants to say something, but then he presses his lips together tightly, as though debating with himself.

“I need you to know that I’m not avoiding you, or trying to make you uncomfortable. I’m just bad at this. At all of this." His voice grows quieter with each word, afraid someone else is going to hear.

You’re caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words, even if it’s not quite enough to dissolve the anger and disappointment that had been simmering since you last spoke.

"Why now?" you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Why are you talking to me now, after all this time? Just because we’re in a study group together?”

"I don’t know," he admits, the edge of frustration creeping back into his voice. "I just... I didn’t want things to stay the way they were. And I didn’t want to keep pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t. Not with you. Not after everything that happened."

Just as the tension between you and Taesan hangs in the air, Mayu's voice cuts through the moment.

“Hey, are you ready to leave?” she asks, her figure appearing in the corner of your vision as she stands just a few feet away, arms crossed as she watches the two of you closely.

Taesan immediately steps back, the space between you widening. You glance at Mayu, grateful for the interruption, even if it’s not quite the escape you were hoping for.

"Yeah, just about," you reply quickly, giving Mayu a small nod. You try to keep your voice steady, though you can’t help it when your voice trembles slightly.

Mayu raises an eyebrow at the two of you, clearly noticing the quiet tension, but she doesn’t say anything further. Instead, she gives you a brief look and then turns, making her way to the door. 

“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” she says with a soft smile. 

You take a deep breath, glancing back at Taesan.  “You should go.” you say, the words coming out quieter than you intended. 

Just as you start to turn away, Taesan’s voice stops you.

"Wait," he says, his tone firm, and it makes you freeze mid-step. You glance over your shoulder at him, your heart racing a little as his presence feels suddenly even more intense.

He’s standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze avoiding yours for a second before it finally meets yours. 

“I should have said something that day,” he continues, his voice softer than before. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You feel a pang in your chest. His words don’t quite match his usual demeanor, and it throws you off. You’re not sure what to do with this sudden shift in his approach.

He takes a small step closer. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or anything. I just-” He hesitates, unsure, before looking away. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.  And I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you.”

“You’re not the problem here,” he says, almost too quickly, as if trying to convince both you and himself. “I’m not good with people. And I don’t know how to say the right things when I want to. I don’t want you to think I don’t care.”

The version of Taesan you know, the one who could be rude one moment and kind the next, feels so different now. And for some reason, hearing him say it aloud makes you question everything you thought you knew about him.

“Why didn’t you say this sooner?” you ask, your voice shaking just slightly. “Then why did you act like you didn’t care? Why push me away if you knew all along?””

Taesan runs a hand through his hair, he lets out a deep sigh. "I was scared. This is the first time I’ve felt like this,” he admits, looking at you with frustration “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to fix it, but I’m trying.”

You stare at him, trying to process everything he’s saying. 

“Look,” you say, the frustration finally bubbling over. "I’m not doing this right now. You made it clear that you couldn’t figure out how to talk to me before, and now you want to fix it all at once?" You shake your head, unable to make sense of it.

Taesan opens his mouth as if to say something, but you don’t wait for him to speak. Turning on your heel, you walk back toward the door where Mayu is waiting, the tension between you and Taesan hanging in the air like an unanswered question.

As you pass the threshold, you can feel Taesan’s eyes on you, but you don’t turn back. You’re not sure what this is, or if it’s even something that can be fixed. For now, all you want is to be somewhere else, away from this conversation, away from all of it.

Mayu is standing by the door, arms crossed and brow raised, but she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t need to. You nod at her, offering a small, strained smile.

“I’m ready,” you say quietly, and together, you head for the stairs. You’re not sure if you believe him, or if you even want to. But for now, you just need distance.

[currentlysleepingus]

I'm bored and curious

Jason is the redhood.

Redhood is a mobboss or a gangleader.

Danny is bullied.

Danny is hunted.

Deadonmain exists.

Why don't we have yandaree Jason. Why don't we have danny is affiliated with the underworld of Gotham city and is often called phantom because you can never catch him or prove he was there. Danny sometimes sings at the lounge when redhood takes kver. People call him a siren. Stuff happens and now everyone knows he's redhoods.

But before that, au, what about danny? He doesn't know that redhood is Jason. Jason is a yandaree. He loves danny but mostly stalks him and kills anyone who tries to hurt him. Danny doesn't realize it until later and makes him less possessive Anyway, are there any aus like this? Where danny is affiliated with the redhoods gang after they start dating. Or that redhood really likes this one dude who looks otherworldly. And might be a mad scientist. He can make anything.

Danny can be like the trophy wife. Yeah, redhood and his trophy husband phantom or yandaree Jason and his smitten crush danny. Remember Fentons like people who can kill them and ghosts typically fight as a greeting, tell me danny wouldn't love this. Especially when Jason does it to G.I.W members and creeps

[metranart]

Squid Game AU - JJK Shameless Smut

ft. Yuji x Reader (Nanami/Gojo/Geto and Toge x Reader in complete version)(teaser)

Your hands were shaking too much, you should have died but that pink-haired man saved you. Green light, red light was your favorite game when you were little, but that memory had already been overwritten with this massacre. 

This wasn't a normal game, and even though the rules said that if everyone voted it could be stopped, no one really wanted to leave, not with so much money at stake. What did that say about you?! Your breathing became more labored, your pulse became erratic, you felt cold sweats, you were a ball rocking back and forth in your bed, but instead of feeling better, you felt worse and worse, everything slowly becoming a blur-

"You're about to have a panic attack," It was him again, player number one, the one who saved your life less than five minutes ago. You recognized him immediately, that deep shade of pink styled in an undercut haircut was unmistakable, so cute, it even looked like he had teased it with pomade or a hairspray to mess it up. That sports suit couldn't hide the muscular body underneath. Broad back, big but elegant hands, with a friendly and trustworthy aura. You shouldn't be thinking about that when you were about to faint, ".... if you let me, I can help you."

He suggested, did he wanted to save you again? Really?? who were you to refuse? Your head nodded slightly and before you knew what was happening, your body was already between his open legs, he had climbed onto your bed placing himself behind you and wrapping your small body in his large one. Your back against his strong chest, his head hanging over yours, protectively.

"Feel my breathing and imitate it." This gentle creature suggested calmly, "you can do it, everything is fine, you are fine. I will take care of you." He was saying all the right words, everything anyone would want to hear. He didn't seem scared and that was saying something. You slowly began to relax, the tension in your muscles melting away within the safe embrace of this kind stranger.

"My name is Yuji," he murmured next to your ear, with your eyes closed, his voice sounding deeper, "I'm sure you have a pretty name-"

He was trying to distract you, to comfort you with small talk.

"(Y/N)." It was barely a whisper, but he was paying so much attention to you that he heard it clearly. "I knew it was pretty." 

His cheerful and honest reaction completely brought you out of this nightmare, slowly rocking you within his strong embrace. "Are you feeling better now, (Y/N)?" His question came a few minutes later, once your breathing was calm and pleasant. You slowly opened your eyelids and looked up, where you found him peeking at you from his vantage point, watching you, analyzing you with that gentle, friendly gesture stamped on his handsome face.

"Yeah, thank you," your words now slurred, lazy, "I feel much better, Yuji."

You could almost swear you felt Yuji shiver, the hairs on his arm standing on end, making you wonder what caused it.

"I didn't expect my name to sound so nice in your voice," he chuckled a little embarrassed, realizing you noticed his not-so-subtle reaction, still numb you smiled weakly at him, too comfortable in his arms to notice that detail.

"Seriously, thank you." You repeated, honestly touched, "I'm crushing you, if you want, I can move-"

"You don't bother me," he spat quickly, "...you don't weigh anything, I mean-..." were you making him nervous?  "I... I'd just like to-... let's wait a little longer like this, I feel like you're still a little shaken up. Of course, only if it’s okay with you."

You had never met someone so kind, usually the extra kind were also the ones you had to be more careful with, not knowing if their intentions were true, but this time you gave him the benefit of the doubt. You felt so comfortable and safe curled up next to him that you didn't care, you didn't acknowledge the red flags: the unnecessary possessiveness with which he held you close to him, the murderous glances he sent to any other contestant who dared to lay eyes on you, how he sniffed your hair on the sly and tangled it between his fingers, you were blind to all these curiosities, all in order, of this little piece of heaven. So warm and comfortable and… safe.

Yuji quickly became your shoulder to cry on and even faster he became your safe place, both of you had chosen high beds, side by side, to talk, eat and be together, friends in arms… But that very night you needed more than a friend or an ally.

Yuji opened his sleepy eyelids just to find you watching him from your bed. Hugging your blankets to your chest.

"Is something wrong?” he murmured softly, “Do you want me to accompany you to the bathroom?" asked in a soft, only-to-your-ears hush. 

You shook your head, and the darkness did not allow him to see the blush forming on your face. “I had a nightmare… can I sleep with you?”

It was a mostly innocent proposition, or so you told yourself, refusing to accept the hidden urgent need your body demanded to vent, after seeing all those corpses piling up and you miraculously escaping alive. You wanted to dissipate that energy, rather your body demanded it… and Yuji was so nice, so handsome, so thick and wide… so suitable for the job.

A soft smile took over his lips, no words were needed, he simply opened the sheets for you to enter, and you did, quickly making yourself at home snuggling up against his strong chest.

“A-are you comfortable?” he asked, a little worried about how small you were compared to him, not wanting to crush you.

“Very,” you conceded, snuggling closer and he grinned, pleased. 

You both pretended to sleep for a couple of awkward minutes. Eyes closed, breathing evenly, still, it wasn’t what you were going for, not tonight.

You almost felt bad when, as you pretended to settle more comfortably, you pressed your ass against his crotch. Snuggling his bulge into your warmth, Yuji managed to suppress the moan in time, but you could clearly hear him grit his teeth. His breathing slowly quickened, you did it again, smearing yourself innocently from top to bottom, enjoying the feeling of growing from flaccid to hard, to rock hard. His breathing became a hot mess. The effort to hold back increased by a factor of a thousand.

".... If you let me,” you whispered with cotton candy sweetness, “I can help you."

Using the same words he had used with you. Yuji let out a quiet chuckle under his breath before letting out a shaky, f-fuck between his tight lips.

“-I won’t be able to control myself, (Y/N).” He warned you and only his voice, completely husky and deep, told you how needy you had made him, how much you craved a sweet release too…luckily for him, you needed it even more.

“Everyone is already asleep,” you tempted him, “no one will hear us if we stay quiet.” You turned around and kissed your next words to the soft skin of his neck, “—…tomorrow we could be dead, so what does it matter?”

Yuji didn’t need to hear another word as he was already on top of you, pinning you down to the mattress. Eagerly bucking his hips against your warm center over your pants, your face hugged by his strong palms as he stole your breath, kiss after kiss after kiss.

Without warning, you squeezed his erect cock over the fabric of his pants and he groaned hoarsely. A tender laugh accompanied your quiet ‘shhhhhh’, making him chuckle and press his forehead against yours. Those brown eyes were now pools of unbridled lust, no gentleness in them.

“You're a breath of fresh air, (Y/N)-..." Yuji said, lost in thought, as if it were a revelation, as if he had been waiting for you all his life, "... I swear that if we get out of here alive, I’ll follow you everywhere… just point the way.”

You caressed his cheek tenderly with your thumb, looking straight into those honest eyes. He was pouring his heart out to you, but this wasn’t the place nor the time to make such promises, you barely know each other but given the circumstances you could easily understand the intensity of his statement, "-first, we have to get out of here alive."

He smirked. "Deal."

The pink-haired didn’t waste any more time, within seconds he was pulling his shirt over his head, even in the dim light you could see how muscular and ripped his torso was, a damn work of art. Biting your lip, he straddled you, so his hands slowly slid under your shirt, searching for your breasts.

“Oh, so soft and nice, gorgeous.” Yuji praised softly, squeezing in a provocative, exploratory manner and when you mewled, his smile grew bigger. Yuji licked his lips, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, staring into your eyes the whole time, holding your gaze, gauging your reactions, what you liked, how you liked it.

“Perfect fit,” he boasted, marveling, “we are SO made for each other.” Handful after handful of your breast making him painfully HARD. You were tailor-made for him. 

Those little moans of yours throwing him off balance sooner than anticipated, the clothes had to come off, and shuffling a little with your clothes, a huge smile curved his lips as he finally had you naked and at his mercy.

"What a glorious sight." 

A quiet mhmmm sound rumbled in gentle encouragement for him to keep going, and then he took just one more second to admire you, etching you into his soul.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that you have me under your spell.”

Such a cute smile from you could almost make him explode inside his pants, but instead, he cleared his throat, kicked his pants down, and tightened his hold on your body, dragging you up with his forearms until you were straddling his thick erection. 

“I can try to be gentle.” He brushed your lips with the whispered words, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Yuji,” his name trembled on your lips. “You can take me however you want as long as you make me forget this place…” You lowered your hips and smeared your wet pussy all over his throbbing cock, coating it with your juices for easy access. “I want you to make me feel good.” You felt vulnerable, not enough for him to be taking advantage, but enough to let him have you as he wanted. “Don’t hold back.”

Yuji looked like something took over him, desire reflected deep in his brown eyes, and you couldn't look away from him.

“Definitely, mine.” His husky voice said above you. “Then, I'll take care of you.” 

You arched your back as you felt him enter you, slow and sure, letting you feel every ridge of his thick cock stretching you like no one had ever done before.

"Halfway there, pretty," he growled breathlessly, already dizzy from how tight you were. "...fucking tight, little thing. I ne-need to go... ball's deep inside you, baby..." his hips pushed your legs wider, excitement dancing in his eyes, always inspecting your face for any sign of discomfort, earning inch by inch, "Oh, I'm gonna-..." your breath hitched, and toes curled, "---I’m gonna fill you up gooood."

Muffling the cry into his shoulders, you feel awfully full and cramped. Yuji was huge, like a forearm entering you.

“This,” Yuji managed, finally bottoming out inside you, “this is fucking heaven.”

You gasped, close to tears just from the effort of keeping it in, "...move," you hated how needy you sounded. “Good girl.” He murmured, obviously appreciating your efforts. “I know you can take it, (Y/N) …”

He grabbed your hips and forced you to slide up and down his thickness, knocking the wind out of you when you felt the amazing friction. The obscene noises you hear coming from his parted lips a hundred times more exciting that him fucking you like this, raw and deep, without an inch of fucking restraint, forcing that thick, vulgar cock all the way out only to plunge back into the hilt, again and again and again, picking up the speed a little with each thrust.

“A-Are you still with me?” Yuji chuckled breathlessly, checking out your flushed cheeks, your sweaty forehead, your eyeballs rolled to the back of your skull, already drunk on cock, yet you took it like a champ. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, pleased, “don't faint on me just yet.” 

You had summoned this frenzied exhilaration in him, now you were responsible for squeezing every last drop out of him, keeping it inside and giving him a whole litter.

Rough fingers kept you effectively anchored to his groin, too marveled with the way your breast bounced in time with his frantic pounding. He could only grin like a madman in response to your pathetic expression as he continued to unleash ruin on your helpless and completely conquered cunt.

“Y’know,” he said conversationally, disturbingly stretched grin and unfaltering brown gaze betraying his jovial tone and innocently cocked head, “I’m really glad, I got into these games… as a player, for once.”

As a player?... The little mind you had at that moment didn't know how to interpret his words. For once?... Wasn't there only one person who could win the game? Has he been here before? 

All these doubts didn't have much time to bear fruit, as soon this position bored him and you squirmed, face first against the soft mattress as his hot, sweaty and terribly muscled body pinned you to the sheets, his hips never skipping a single thrust.

"I like you better like this," he said more to himself than you. “You likin' it, pretty?” he kissed the question on the side of your face, holding you firm and still, his large hands like handcuffs around your wrists, “you like how deep I can go? Can you see how you’re panting for it.”

This Yuji seemed different, truly condescending and possessive, not the gentle, safe guy who had comforted you hours ago. To your surprise, it wasn’t unwelcome, he knew how to put you in your place, and he definitely knew how to make you cum, because his thumb had slid under your bodies and almost like a bloodhound found your clit, which he now bullied with circles, fast or extra slow, reading you like an expert until you saw nothing but starlight and fireworks.

“Ahhhh-…” 

Your delirious moan was muffled by one of his large palms, while the other held both of your wrists inside without any problem, his cock undoing you throughout the convulsing and completely spasmodic orgasm. Making you squirt like crazy, which only helped make the friction more pleasurable and easier.

“Such a good girl…” Yuji cooed, and a moan escaped your lips, his praise making your gummy walls tighten around him. “Now, I’m going to cum inside you.”

He told you, but you could barely register what he was saying, too far gone on your high from being used. A dopey grin plastered on your muffled lips, and he let go, only to grab your chin, tilting you up to make you look at him, your eyes bright in a permanent daze. “That was just the beginning, are you sure you can handle the rest?”

“I-I’m sure,” your voice shook but your resolve didn’t. You wanted to feel him cum inside you, your body rocking and shuddering, just to the thought of it.

“Then-… eyes on me. Always watching me. Look at me while I claim you. Look at me when I make you cum.” You didn’t know how to look away, and he smirked. “Look at me or I’ll die.”  

He gave you a wet, sloppy thrust pumping his cock into you and then fucked you stupid for the rest of the fucking night, bending you over in every possible position he could think of, cumming inside you over seven times, leaving your belly full of his cum. It was amazing, it was an incredible feat… but the real feat was cleaning up afterward, and yet somehow, he did it, alone, because at some point in the night you passed out.

A huge grin on your lips the only indication that you had been fucked to exhaustion. That and the video from the security cameras that saw absolutely everything…

“What an interesting player we have in these games,” said the square mask to his most loyal guards, who grinned mischievously beneath their triangle masks, licking their lips like cats eyeing a bowl of sweet milk that was no doubt meant for them. “I agree with player one, what a glorious sight this little player is, we’ll have to keep a close eye on her.”

....READ THE 10,000 WORD FIC COMMISSION IN HERE! (Includes NSFW art from scenes of the fic and lots of smut. Plus, lot of JJK NSFW content in general) ;)

[milla-frenchy]

Recs | February 25

February readings ❤️

Please, rb the fics you appreciated, that's how they live ❤️🙏

Check the warnings before reading, some of the fics are very dark

Joel Miller

Give me hell @aurorawritestoescape

you come home drunk and Joel isn’t happy. He decides to teach you a lesson

Naughty thoughts @aurorawritestoescape

you’re failing Prof. Miller’s class and he finds a punishment for you

BDSMaid epilogue @mountainsandmayhem

After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love

Sweet nothing @schnarfer

You're in a long distance relationship with Joel Miller and tonight is your last night together for a while. Let's make it a memorable one

Like a stuffed whore @pedge-page

You're one of a million stuffed animals manufactured every year. What happens when you meet the love of your life...and he's Joel Miller?

Take it easy @magpiepills

you’re a virgin with a crush on your best friends dad and you’re determined to make him your first

Just this once @punkshort

After yet another argument with your dad, his buddy across the street is there to help make you feel better

You oughta know @yxtkiwiyxt

You and Joel return from a double date, and you find out he’s jealous of your colleague, Frankie

How to disappear @weirdfangirly

you put yourself in a bad situation by trusting a complete stranger in order to escape your shitty reality just to find yourself in hell

Safe and sound chapt 5 @guiltyasdave

An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

We shouldn't have done that @yxtkiwiyxt

It's been a while since you've seen Joel, not since that 'moment' that happened between you two. Now, you have to face him when Sarah calls you in a panic, asking for a ride from a party because her friends are too drunk to drive.

dbf!joel imagine @probablyreadinsmut

Okay I love me some Dbf!Joel but what if the daughter in question was early to mid thirties, recently divorced and living back at home with her parents for the first time since college?

Javier Peña

The file room @magpiepills

Love me like a loaded gun @joelmillerisapunk

Javier Peña is a man who never stays, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, seeking solace in the only way he knows how

Post-it note pursuit @iknowisoundcrazy

someone in the office has been leaving you post-it notes

Guessing game @baronessvonglitter

Your stepfather is a DEA agent. When he finds drugs in your room you have to find a way to keep yourself out of trouble

Blurred lines @yxtkiwiyxt

Your eyeglasses break in the middle of a coffee shop, leaving you struggling to see. A kind stranger offers to help you home. Once you reach home and put on your spare glasses, you catch a clearer glimpse of your 'savior'...

The slip up part 1 | part 2 @pascalssbabyy

Two years you had worked with Javier Peña, and it had been two years since your attraction to him started. What happens when at a work party you accidentally slip your secret to the man himself?

Jealousy, jealousy @javierpena-inatacvest

Your brothers take you and Javi out to a local bar when you're home to visit. When you run into one of your old childhood friends, Javi can't help but feel jealous

Complicated @ovaryacted

You begin to realize Javier's position at the DEA is putting a wedge in your marriage. It was only a matter of time before everything you've built crumbled once you reached your breaking point

Visitation @gothcsz

Javier visits you in prison after putting you in there

Wandering hands @gothcsz

Javi can't keep his hands off you during a dinner with some friends

Cherry on top @wethairjoel

The morning commute part 2 @iknowisoundcrazy

in the midst of escobar’s desperate war for control in colombia, your morning commute is disrupted when you find yourself tangled up in his latest bomb threat

Make them kiss @aurorawritestoescape

yeah, we’re riding that boot, bbs!

Din Djarin

The mirage of a goodbye @sawymredfox

Forgiveness and healing are heavy words. They come with a price, one that may be life-changing tonight

Frankie Morales

Eyes on the road @iamasaddie

Take it off @604to647

You host Frankie and the TF boys for The Big Game and are given a choice of which team's jersey to wear

Clint

Hold my hand @aurorawritestoescape

you have good news for Clint and it seems that you two are ready for another big step in your relationship

Big boy @itwasntimethatdidit40

You enter a video rental shop looking for something spicy and end up finding the best fuck you've ever had

Reed Richards

Irreversible @itwasntimethatdidit40

You get fucked against the blackboard by your hottest professor

Multi p boys/threesome

Like a boy does @magpiepills (tess x reader x joel)

Tess teaches something about yourself

Double lovin' @iamasaddie (lucien x reader x dieter)

You doomed yourself to spend Valentine's day alone, buried in blankets and sobbing over Bridgit Jones' love story, but a surprise visit from Lucien and his friend turns your plans to waste

Perfect match @aurorawritestoescape (dieter x reader x marcus p)

Dieter becomes a face of a dating app and meets you and your husband while shooting an ad for it. Feeling an immense attraction, he invites you both to his penthouse, planning to enjoy the night and you to the fullest

The condom @toxicanonymity (javi x reader x steve)

Baby I'm a want you @perotovar (re read ✨) (javi p x joel, javi p x shane, joel x dieter, din x dieter)

javier peña has been doing this a long time. he's really good at his job. joel miller? not so much. he started doing this to get some extra cash to support his daughters. what happens when they're supposed to do a scene together? aka, the au where javier and joel are gay porn stars~

Crack fics

Vamp diary @thebrothel (vamp!joel)

Incident report @thebrothel (slasher!joel)

Take it @thebrothel (nightwalks!joel)

Sleepy girl @thebrothel (raider!joel)

Girls sleepover @thebrothel

Basement interlude @thebrothel (vamp & nw)

My writing

Shameless (lucien x reader)

you ask Lucien to come over and he does exactly what you need him to

Fics recs

[macapunoz]

UNREQUITED CLUB ; choi seungcheol

summary it’s not good to resort to breaking hearts if you’re afraid to admit you’re still in love with someone else.

starring seungcheol x f! reader

genre angst，fluff (i might be lying)，unrequited love，mutual pining at some point (?)，uni au，reader does fashion designing

contains reader is kinda toxic，same thing with coups (they’re just both not good ppl)，breakups and leading ppl on，based on a true story。。。 sorry 97z

word count 6k ( thankyu sophi for proofreading ) | playlist bad religion by frank ocean, japanese denim by daniel caesar, secret door by arctic monkeys, all because i liked a boy by sabrina carpenter, fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys, green by 12bh, toxic till the end by rosé, first love by sondia

from rhin，this was originally gonna be a smau oneshot but i need to clear my penalties😭 (only 2k words left🗣️) anyways this fic is dedicated to my friend who doesnt have blr but her bias is scoups and she hates the dude cheol is based on😹😊🫰

You always thought you could do well with love. As a kid, you dreamed of marrying a prince after watching way too many princess movies. As you got older—going into middle school—your standards changed once you discovered a few dramas. A lot of them happened to have male lead CEOs, so you wanted a hot, rich man instead.

Eventually, those fantasies died down once you ended middle school. The boys you’ve encountered made you lower your standards and began to think that all boys were full of shit. But you figured you’d find better when you’re an adult. Sure, you’ve found at least some guys cute, but you knew way too much about them to never find yourself together with them.

It was only then that the first year of high school changed something in you. You knew a few older kids since you were family friends with them, and some of them had friends that would tag along. One of those friends happened to be Seungcheol. He was in tenth grade when you met him—just a year older than you. Always smiling and always said kind words.

From there, you’ve been crushing on him. You always thought he was different from all the other boys you’ve liked before. But you figured it was more of a you problem. You remember how you couldn’t even say a word to any guy you liked back then. However, talking to Seungcheol was a piece of cake. You two were close, and others always told you that they think he makes it obvious he likes you.

Back then, you wouldn’t dare to tell him how you felt. He was way out of your league, and you recall that he mentioned not being interested in dating. Plus, you liked it when you thought of him as a friend more than a crush. But like they say, the more you suppress the feelings, the stronger it gets. 

Your feelings towards him lasted until his final year of high school. He was graduating soon, so you figured it was time to confess to him. You were hoping for a rejection, but he ended up reciprocating the feelings. Or, so you thought. Just a week before his graduation, he admitted to you that when he said he liked you, he meant it as friends.

He didn’t mean to hurt you, but all you could ever think of was how much he disappointed you. For a few days, you ghosted him, until the day before he graduated, he wanted to talk to you. Although he never liked you in that way, he still liked you as a friend. Neither of you wanted your friendship to be ruined all because of that. 

You ended up attending his graduation, since you thought it would be mean not to show up to a friend’s important day. It was a bit sad though; you realized your final year of high school would feel a little bit empty. But you reassured yourself that you’d use that time to get over him, because he promised you that it’s okay if you still like him since getting over takes time.

So about doing well with love right now, you’re certain you’re ready for it. You hope you’re at least ready for it.

“I gave your number to Mingyu,” your friend brings up. You two were talking about the men in your biochemistry class, saying how they were either too old or too mid. There were only a few guys who weren’t too bad, and your friend gave your number to one of them.

“Mingyu? As in biochem Mingyu?” You quickly got up from lying down on her bed, looking dead into her eyes in case she was joking with you.

“Yes, that Mingyu. He’s been eyeing you for quite some time, so I told him I can get him with you.”

You wish you could tell her you’re not too sure about this. You have some mixed feelings; a part of you says to YOLO it, but another part is hesitating about it, and you’re not sure what is exactly stopping you. Mingyu is a nice guy, very nerdy, and tall. Lots of girls want him, but it turns out he wants you. What’s the worst that can happen?

A notification from an unknown number pops up on your phone. The message was from Mingyu, and he was asking you out to lunch some time. It took you a while to respond since you and your friend were getting giddy over it. But you ended up agreeing to have lunch with him.

The lunch date with him wasn’t too bad. He was super sweet when you two were conversing. He always kept complimenting you, and it made your heart skip a beat. He did it often, and your pounding heart began to feel sort of different. You weren’t feeling quite ecstatic, but you figured you were just nervous.

From there, you’ve gone on several dates with him, and at this point, you’re just waiting for him to ask you to be his girlfriend. There’s no rush; he’s probably not ready, so you might as well wait for him. The more dates you go on with him, the more you’re hoping he doesn’t ask you. But on one date, he ends up asking you to be his girlfriend, and without thinking before speaking, you immediately say yes.

You never told anyone except your friend about the two of you being together, and you never found yourself with him during biochemistry. You weren’t too sure why you did that, but the relationship ended when you told him you couldn’t give him the same amount of love he gave you. That was only because you found yourself staring at Seungcheol for only two seconds. Your relationship with Mingyu lasted for only two months. 

When you told your friend about the breakup, she was surprised that you didn’t cry about it. She kept pestering you to tell her why you broke up with him, only to get a vague response from you that you just felt bad. You weren’t sure if it was the pang of guilt for staring at Seungcheol or the fact that you didn’t actually like Mingyu, but you were sure it had to do something with Seungcheol.

“Hah, Cheol just sent me another stupid brain-rotted reel,” you say out loud to your friend, scrolling through Instagram on your phone while she does the same.

“Seungcheol? I thought you said you guys don’t text anymore." Your friend’s curiosity piqued right when you mentioned that name.

“No, no. We don’t text like that anymore, but we send reels here and there. He probably just does it to annoy me or infiltrate our DMs. The only time he ever texts me is when he’s waiting for me by the studio,” you tell her, not realising she never knew that you always meet up with him at the end of the day.

“He’s the one giving you rides on Tuesdays? I thought that was Mingyu.”

“Nope. Seungcheol takes the same route going to the dorms, so he offered to give me rides once a week.”

“Is that why you broke up with Mingyu?” Your friend’s question makes your eyes go wide. You close your phone and get up from resting on her headboard to look at her properly.

“I–” You don’t want to continue your words; it’s most likely something you wouldn’t want to hear, especially if it’s about Seungcheol. “I’m… starving. Let’s eat first and talk about that later,” you mutter, hoping she forgets about it later on.

You never ended up talking to her about that, and you hope she never brings it up.

Seungcheol places a cup of coffee on the table in front of you. You were resting your head on the table, but immediately lifted up when Seungcheol sat next to you. “You look like you were dying today, so I got you some energy.” You thank him for the drink and start downing it like you were parched for days.

He picks up your notebook and starts analyzing the draft you drew. “What’s this for?” He asks, pointing at the lazy sketch of a jacket.

“It’s for my fashion properties assignment. We have to make an outfit out of fabric given to us. Mine is leather, so I’ve been brainstorming how to make this jacket look cute but comfy. I already drew the skirt for it.”

“I think you can easily come up with something. Your designs are cool and leather looks hard to work with, but you’re always dedicated,” Seungcheol assures you, hoping you don’t crash out in front of him over this.

You scoff. “Hah, what do you know about fashion?” Pointing out his every-day lazy black hoodie and grey sweat pants combination. 

“Okay, not everyone wants to wake up early and choose what to pair their tops with their bottoms! Some just pull out whatever they have,” he rolls his eyes.

“You would not survive fashion school,” you joke, making Seungcheol huff but grin. As much as he can be annoying and get annoyed by you, he’ll never take a joke seriously.

If only he knew how much he makes your day by his annoyance.

Life was calm. You were so close to finishing the leather jacket, only having to attach the pockets, but you decided to take a break and finish it another day. You still had to work on the skirt, but you had plenty of time—grateful that this project is due in six months.

While waiting in the mall for your friends to come back from the washroom, you were sitting down and sketching out a new design in your journal.

You were thinking of making a top for your friend since her birthday was coming up soon. She would definitely like a sweatshirt. Your name gets called out, turning your head in that direction, and you see your friends walk out the washroom.

The three of you walk around, thinking of what stores to check out. Jiwon brings up going to the shoe store nearby, so the two of you follow her. You roam around the store, looking at the different kinds of shoes. Platforms, Mary Janes, sneakers, boots, all kinds that were in your size and style.

“…Yo what the heck? I didn’t know you work here.” You overhear Jiwon. She was talking to one of the workers, most likely a friend of hers. He’s tall and kind of cute. His glasses sit on the top of his head, and you caught him glancing at you while talking to your friend.

You avert your eyes to the black loafers, picking it up as you examine them. Your other friend goes up to you and asks your opinion if she should get brown boots or black boots. After she tried both on, you told her to get the black pair since she already owns a brown one.

As you accompany your friend to the check-out, Jiwon goes up to you and says she needs to go buy some makeup after this. You looked at her friend, who was standing by the counter, catching him staring at you again. He quickly turns his head and walks away.

It only took a week later to meet Jiwon’s friend again at a café. You were sitting alone by the window and still sketching out the top for your friend, so focused that you didn’t notice someone was standing in front of you.

“Can I sit here?” He asks, making you look up. You nod and go back to sticking your head into your journal. He sits in the chair facing and starts a conversation. “You’re one of Jiwon’s friends, right?”

You put your pencil down and look at him. “Yeah, and you are?”

“Dokyeom,” he introduces himself with a smile, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

You shake his hand. “(Name).”

You got to know a lot about him and talked about how the both of you met Jiwon. He was her classmate since high school, and you met her in your fashion design courses. You ended up exchanging numbers, and the moment you left to go back home, you spammed your friend with multiple messages.

As usual, you laid on her bed while you yapped to her about him. It’s always been this way with every guy you both encounter since your high school days. You talked for a while, not even realising it was already midnight—at least it’s a weekend night.

You spoke to Dokyeom very often. Always texting during your lectures and even calling at night. Sometimes you would even call him while you were sewing. There was something familiar about him every time you talked, and it felt nice.

One time you were on call, he asked you about your ideal type. You never really had an ideal type, so you said common traits all your crushes had from the top of your head. “Someone tall, kind, and a cute smile too. I’d want them to be smart and productive as well.”

"So...me basically,” he jokes. You agreed without a thought and that conversation started your relationship with Dokyeom.

You really like him. He was kind and entertaining. He was always fun to your friends and was nice to everyone. He always took you out on dates and took you home. Unlike Mingyu, Dokyeom made sure that the world knew you were his.

He really loved you and wanted to show everyone that he did. And by every one, he meant every one. The news got to Seungcheol one day and it all just stopped. The daily brain-rotted reels he sends you ended up being three times a week. 

He barely got a response from you to the reels, and you only reacted to the messages. He slowed them down and sent them to you once a week. The only time you responded to a reel he sent, he left your message on ‘seen’, and then stopped sending you reels.

It’s not that he hated you or anything. He just knew you had a boyfriend now, so he didn’t want to go against your relationship’s boundaries. He would still pick you up every Tuesday, but the car ride conversations were always about school now or sometimes silent. He never asked about Dokyeom, and you never brought him up.

Being distant with Seungcheol kind of hurt, but you knew you were just getting over him and Dokyeom was there to help you. Or so you thought. Somehow, there would be conversations you have with Dokyeom, and you would absentmindedly bring up Seungcheol.

The first time you did, he asked who he was, and he didn’t sound jealous, just curious. You explained that he was just an old crush from high school and that he was basically a distant friend to you now. 

He got more curious about him so you showed him his profile once. He looked through his account and started saying how you downgraded so much, pointing out Seungcheol’s physique.

You didn’t want Dokyeom to be hurt, so you began assuring him that he was much better than Seungcheol. You admit that Seungcheol played you back in high school and that he’s not even all that. Ever since that, you would bring down Seungcheol.

You were convinced you disliked Seungcheol, but Dokyeom always thought otherwise. Even though you would talk badly about him, your boyfriend still listened to you talk about him.

“I think you still like him,” Dokyeom brings up while you were ranting about what Seungcheol did to you in your junior year of high school. You were taken aback and denied so quickly. “You talk about him more than me,” he mutters. You apologized and assured him that you care about him more than Seungcheol.

“You know it’s okay if you still like him,” he considered. 

“No!” You retorted. “That’s just morally wrong! Why would I like another man while I’m in a relationship?! I don’t like him anymore, and I never will. I have you now, and you already make me happy.”

Dokyeom still wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to see you angry again, so he just nodded and patted your head.

Another time you brought up Seungcheol was when Dokyeom asked you who your first love was. When you admitted it was Seungcheol, he already knew since you always talked about him. When you asked him who his first love was, all he did was point at you, and that already made you regret saying your answer.

I never will. You said that in hopes you won’t ruin your relationship because of an old crush. Why do you always find yourself talking about Seungcheol anyway? He did you so wrong, and you’re sure he doesn’t care about you. Why was he even your first love?! 

A week later, you realized you were lying. After you told Seungcheol he doesn’t need to drop you off at your dorm anymore since Dokyeom could take you there, you ended up deleting his contact on your phone and unfollowing his Instagram. But after one car ride with your boyfriend, you thought about Seungcheol and what he really means to you. Dokyeom was right.

You went to Jiwon for advice about it, and she figured he would want you to admit it to him since all he wants is for you to be happy. That night, you confessed to Dokyeom that you still had feelings for Seungcheol, but it was only 1%—since 99% is for your boyfriend.

However, the more you saw Seungcheol, the feelings kept growing more. You never told Dokyeom, but you didn’t want to keep hurting him. On one random Monday afternoon, you met up with him at the same café you first met him and broke up with him on the spot. You never wanted to admit it was about Seungcheol, so all you told him was that you were just the problem in the relationship—which was true.

Your relationship with Dokyeom only lasted for six months, but for some reason, you felt relieved and free. It only took you a few days to realize that Dokyeom reminded you of Seungcheol, and you used him to fill that empty void since senior year. But no matter how loving Dokyeom was to you, you secretly hoped it was Seungcheol instead.

Guilt held onto you and convinced you that you were a bad person at this point. You knew you were going to die alone, but honestly, you’d rather have that than break someone’s heart again. Not only were you single—which you could care less about—you were still distant with Seungcheol. 

You tried not to care, but every time you saw him on campus, it always hurt to think about how distant you two are. It got to a point where you walked past him and neither of you said hi. You figured he hated you until you once had a dream about him when you got a fever.

You were at a party, and all of a sudden Seungcheol’s friends made fun of you. You blamed it on him and left the party. The scene changed, and you were walking with your friend to your next lecture. As you walked down the halls, you noticed your mother’s friend was with someone, so you greeted her, not bothered by the fact that your “aunt” was at your university. That someone she was with ended up being Seungcheol. When he smiled and waved at you, you frowned and ignored him as you walked away. 

You instantly jolted awake, sweating real bad as the headache you had earlier stopped. You looked at the time, 4:27. It’s Tuesday, and around this time, you would wait for Seungcheol to pick you up. You thought a lot about the dream and how you were so mean to him in that dream.

“I don’t want to hate him anymore,” you think to yourself. You open your phone to Instagram, look up his username, and immediately hit follow. Then you go to your contacts and type his number to remake his contact in your phone—still remembering his number and putting it in your phone like the first time you two exchanged numbers. 

Right when he followed you back three minutes later, you sent him a message about how you don’t like the two of you becoming distant and wanting to start over as friends. He agrees, and you ask to see him over lunch.

The next day you met up with him for lunch, and he was still the same annoying Seungcheol: always watching brain-rotted reels while you two talk and always teasing you. It feels nice to have this back, and you’re glad the two of you are not going to be distant anymore. Well, you thought you two were on bad terms, but everyone, including him, never thought that. It should’ve hit you that he could never hate anyone, so what would make him hate you?

After that, you went to the design studio thinking about Seungcheol. You really do like being friends with him, and you’re sure you don’t like him romantically. You soon realized that you didn’t need to bring him down in order to get over him. Today made you realise why he’s your first love. 

You finally finished the leather jacket and the skirt. You never realized how you never got to finish the outfit while you were with Dokyeom, but only being able to finish it when you were alone. The good part of being a single fashion designer is that you have a lot of time for yourself to design anything.

The bad part, though, is that people like you always make apparel for others but yourself. It took you a while to notice that the leather jacket was too oversized for the skirt. It’s a men’s jacket, and the measurements were for Seungcheol.

After handing in your design, you finally took some time to design something for yourself. Maybe some jeans or a cute sweater. Since Valentine's Day was coming up and you and your friends were invited to a party that day, you had an excuse to make a whole outfit for yourself.

You took several days brainstorming and sketching out what to wear, but you finally settled on something simple. Maybe you were too focused on creating your outfit that you didn’t realise Valentine’s Day was about love, and all of sudden all your friends had a date to the party.

“I can’t believe we’re the only ones without a date!” Your friend complains. “Even Jiwon is going with that red head guy!”

“Hey, we have each other. You should wear that top I made for you for your birthday.”

“I definitely will.”

The both of you lie down on her bed, except this time you’re not talking about guys. It’s not bad to not have a date, but you’ll be disgusted if you see your friends all over their dates.

“Hey, it’s kind of ironic how all our friends’ dates are all friends too. And they have three guys who still don’t have a date.”

“Yeah, no. Saerom tried setting me up with Junhui because she thought we’d be perfect for each other, but he keeps sending me cat photos. And didn’t he like everyone?”

“Yikes. I forgot his friend group is odd.” Right when you brought that up, you get a text from Minghao, Jun’s cousin. He asks you if you already have a date to the party, and you reply with a no. The only person from that friend group you can tolerate is Minghao. He’s pretty much normal, but he’s just a friend.

Minghao then asks you if you want to go with him to the party. “Oh, wow, Minghao is asking me out,” you say to your friend. “What should I say?”

“Yes! Are you crazy (Name)?”

“What about you, though?”

“I’ll be fine. I have Hayoung since she doesn’t want to go with anyone.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not going to show up.”

“Still. Just go with him!”

You sigh and send him a thumbs up. A part of you only wants to do this for the fun of it, but another part of you doesn’t want to since you like being alone.

The day of the party rolls by, and you just finished up the dress you were making for it. All your friends agreed you were all going there together. You quickly made a few adjustments to your dress in the car, putting the pack of pins in your handbag. If there’s one thing you can’t go out in public without, it’s a sewing kit.

You arrive at the house where it was being held, and you see several people entering. When you all entered the house, your friends easily found their dates and you met up with Minghao.

You honestly just wanted to stay with your friend, so you stuck with her as Minghao followed behind with his friend. No matter how many times you wanted to be with your friend, your other friends and his friends always pushed you into Minghao’s arms and took pictures.

You felt that same pang of guilt when you were with Mingyu and Dokyeom. You know that feeling a bit too well, and all you want to do is leave the party with your friend. You eventually gave up and just stuck with Minghao for a while.

As you left him to go get a drink, you bumped into Seungcheol, who you thought doesn’t go to parties like these. "Hey, I thought your mom banned you from going to parties." He mentioned as you two walked to the kitchen.

“I thought you don’t go to parties? And my mom doesn't care anymore.”

“My friends convinced me to go here.” He picks up his phone, and his screen reveals ‘Mingyu’ as the person calling him, making your heart drop. He answers the call, hanging up seconds later. “Which, speaking of, are looking for me. I’ll see you around (Name)!” He walks the other way, and you leave the kitchen without a drink in your hand, only leaving with a pounding heart. 

You went back to Minghao and told him you were going to go home with your friend, and you left him without giving him a chance to say goodbye. Honestly, you hope Seungcheol didn’t see you with him and hope that none of your friends upload those photos. 

You looked for your friend and left the house together. Instead of going back to the dorms, you two just walked to the nearest convenience store to just hang out and calm down.

“So you don’t like Minghao?” Your friend asks as you look through the candies in the candy aisle of the store.

“I like him as a friend, just not in that way.” You confirmed, picking up a pack of gummy bears and following your friend to the drink aisle.

“I heard Saerom’s man was the one encouraging Minghao to ask you,” she points out.

“Junhui got pissed at me because I took his last person he was going to be with, like I kept telling him he can have his cousin!”

“What made you want to leave, by the way?”

You stayed silent as you watched her think of what beverage to buy. She looks back, waiting for an answer. “I think it’s because of me.”

She picks out an orange soda, and you two make your way to the cashier. “What do you mean?” She asks, in the middle of paying.

“I think I just like being single.” You two leave the store and sit down at a table right outside, placing your stuff on the table.

“And that’s okay. It’s not bad being single,” she assures, putting down the drink and holding your hand with one hand.

“I know it’s not. I just don’t do well with love; I keep hurting guys.”

“I can tell. I was there when Mingyu asked for your number, when Dokyeom said he was your ideal type, and when Minghao asked you out.”

You sigh and chuckle after. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m such a manipulator. I just led on three guys.”

“(Name) as much as I love you, that’s not something to be proud of.” You nod in response, repeatedly muttering a bunch of ‘I know’ to her. “You always keep saying it’s about you and your emotions. But have you ever considered it’s about Seungcheol?”

This is what your friend has wanted to discuss since your days with Mingyu. You knew your breakups were because of Seungcheol, but you never realized it wasn’t him, it was about him. That feeling in your heart you had earlier when you saw your ex’s name on his phone brings you back to freshman year.

You like Seungcheol.

“I think I still like Seungcheol,” you admit to your friend.

“All because you saw him earlier? Cause I saw you two talking in the kitchen,” she brings up about that little interaction that made you aware of your feelings.

“No. I think I always liked him, but I was in denial about it. Just think about it. I caught myself staring at Seungcheol while I was with Mingyu. Dokyeom told me I talk about him a lot. And well, Minghao never reminded me of him.”

“I figured. Whenever I asked you if you were going to be with your man, you were a bit soulless. No offence, but you were never excited when you talked about them. Now that I think about you, when you were with them, you never talked about them at all to us.”

You lowered your head, mentally slapping yourself for doing that. “It was so different from Seungcheol though. Every time you looked at Seungcheol and talked to him, it wasn’t the same with the others. I saw stars in your eyes. You didn’t like him; you were in love with him.”

Your friend is still holding onto your hand, ignoring the fact that you’re in the middle of having a heart to heart in front of a convenience store. 

“(Name), I think all you needed was to be honest with yourself. It’s okay to love Seungcheol. No matter how many hearts you break, you’re not a bad person. It just shows how caring you are. You can still be friends with him even if all our friends hate him. Even though I think what he did to you back in junior year was so messed up, you were so strong to go through that heartbreak. You are amazing and loving, and I want you to tell that to yourself every day.”

With your free hand, you cover your eyes with it. Your friend gave you tissue paper from her bag, as she was quick to notice that you were tearing up. She moves herself closer and brings you into her arms.

“Choi Seungcheol is one lucky man to have you love him.”

You got your leather jacket and skirt back, getting a 98% on it. As long as you got over the nineties for it, you’re happy. You only lost a few points for making it a men’s jacket instead of a women’s jacket. 

Since you got the jacket back, it would make sense to give it to Seungcheol since it’s clearly his size only. Your friendship with Seungcheol has been calm ever since that heart-to-heart with your friend. He still picks you up from the studio, but instead of taking you to your dorms, you two go on little side quests for fun. 

The weather has been getting warmer, so you two would go wherever to hang around outside. He picked up a hobby of taking photos due to a friend of his gifting him a camera. So every time he would drop you off at the dormitory, he would take a picture of you in front of the building.

“Open your sweater so you can show off the new shirt you made,” he requests, looking at you through the lens as he watches you zip down your sweater. You made an unserious shirt, printing a picture of a sock monkey on it. 

After hearing camera clicks, he puts the camera down. “Cute outfit,” he points out.

“And we need to work on your closet!” You tease.

He rolls his eyes and tells you good night, driving off when you tell him to rest well tonight. Right when you turn around, you face Jeonghan, who happens to be one of Seungcheol’s friends and lives on the floor above you.

“Wow, and Jisun said there was going on between you two,” he remarks. If there was anyone nosy about you two, it would be Jeonghan. According to Jisun, several guys—including Jeonghan—would ask about you and Seungcheol, some of whom she didn’t even know by name. 

"Yeah, cause we’re friends,” you confirm, heading to the elevator as Jeonghan follows you in.

“I asked Seungcheol if he still likes you, and he said he likes you as a friend only.”

Even though you’re quite annoyed by him, you still manage to respond to that. “Well, he never had feelings for me, so he’s valid for that. Plus, I like it that way.”

“So you can’t be delusional anymore,” he jeers as the elevator comes to a stop on your floor. You step out of the elevator, hoping Jeonghan just minds his own business and stays in there.

“I like being his friend anyway, Yoon Jeonghan,” you mimic his tone as you watch the doors close in front of him.

You’re not wrong with your words, though. You love being friends with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol and you are on your usual side quests after he picks you up from the studio. This time there were bands performing at a nearby park, so you went there to chill. You brought the jacket, but held onto it considering he’s going to assume it’s yours.

As you picked a spot to sit down, there was already music and the sky was getting dark soon—before that, you two went to feast yourselves with cheap ramen and an unhealthy amount of soda. 

You hand him the jacket without saying anything; he takes it with a puzzled expression displayed. “It’s the leather jacket I was designing a few months ago. I accidentally made it your size,” you speak up, smiling as you watch his perplexed expression turn into an ecstatic smile.

“Accidentally? Or did you intentionally make it for me?” He jokes as he puts it on, making you push his shoulder.

“This is going to be the last time I’ll ever make you something.” You snootily look away. He laughs and apologizes—always apologizing after he makes fun of you.

You two stayed silent as you swayed to the music. It’s calm and sweet. You could stay in this moment forever, nothing and no one to bother you. Right now could be a good time for Seungcheol to make another stupid joke, but he seems to be enjoying the music too.

This is what you need. Nothing romantic with him, but close to him. The sky was dark, and you pointed out the fairy lights hanging around the trees. Seungcheol lies down his head on the grass, now staring at the sky, as you follow along.

“Sky is too cloudy to see stars,” he mentions. You avert your eyes from the sky to him, turning your head to comfortably gaze at him. He was still looking up. You don’t expect him to look back; he never does. But you enjoy this, just intaking his unforgettable face.

“Thank you, (Name),” he mutters, “for coming here with me.”

You don’t respond right away, still listening to the music. “Of course, but I’m sorry,” you let out, now turning your head to gaze up at the sky again.

“Sorry for what?” He asks, your no-context apology makes him look at you now, watching you stare at the non-existing stars—just like his love for you.

“Still being in love with you.”

svt masterlist .ᐟ

[ikkyfics]

hi!!! im sorry i dont request often, but ive been so in love with ur fics... my atj obsession is coming back full force and you write dave soooo well <33

maybe a fic where reader isn't exactly popular (pretty and maybe has a few close friends) and has a big crush on dave? like she can't understand how he's 'invisible to girls', cause she stares at him in whatever classes they both have, and she stands at her locker for forever just staring longingly at him and he never notices. maybe her best friend tries to convince her to talk to him eventually ..

was thinking it could be sfw and maybe fluffy (maybe a little angsty if you want) idk!!! thank you for considering it if you do, and im excited for what other work you have lined up ❤️

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: in which Dave doesn't notice any of your signals

Warnings: fluff, pre relationship, idiots in love, no use of y/n

A/N: SO SO SO SORRY, I know it's been forever since you sent this request, but I only just got around to doing something. I kind of lost count of how many times I started and deleted this fic. If you read this, I appreciate you not giving up on me, and thank you so much for the message, it was very very kind and I can only thank you for those sweet words. I hope you can enjoy this, darling (and I'm sorry if I deviated a little from the request)

You always looked at him.

Sometimes subtly, when he walked down the school hallway with that casual stride, balancing his backpack on one shoulder, his headphones hanging around his neck, his brown curls falling slightly over his forehead. Other times, you didn’t even try to hide it, like when he laughed at something stupid during lunch and his blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses, or when you saw him from afar during gym class, not understanding how no one else noticed how good he looked in that blue shirt.

It was a mystery to you. How was it possible that no girl at school looked at Dave Lizewski? How was it possible that no one saw what you saw?

"You should just tell him you like him and get it over with," your friend casually remarked, while you checked your phone for the thousandth time, waiting for Dave’s reply.

You pretended not to hear, but the heat on your face gave you away.

That was it. You liked him. More than you should like a friend you only exchanged messages with and talked to when you bumped into each other in the hallways. More than you should like someone who, probably, didn’t see any of it.

So, when Dave suggested you two go to the movies together to watch a Batman re-release, you tried not to overthink it.

But that became impossible when you found yourself standing in front of the mirror for too long, adjusting your top, letting your hair down and tying it up three times before deciding which way looked the least intentional. Your hands were a little sweaty, and you rolled your eyes at yourself when you realized you had chosen that specific perfume, the one that always made someone comment on how good you smelled.

It was just Dave.

Just Dave, who got adorably awkward when you accidentally complimented him. Just Dave, who laughed at your bad jokes and sent stupid memes in the middle of the night. Just Dave, who—when he met you in front of the theater—stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, blinked a few times, and without even trying to hide it, gave you that quick once-over from head to toe before clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.

"You look… uh, different today."

You raised an eyebrow, holding back a smile. "Different how?"

Dave opened and closed his mouth once, clearly trying to choose his words. His curls fell slightly over his forehead as he tilted his head to the side, and he made that unconscious motion of pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Pretty."

It was a bit hesitant, but genuine enough to make the heat rise to your cheeks.

"I’m always pretty," you joked, trying to keep your composure.

Dave smiled that awkward smile, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah… I know."

And then, as if realizing he was giving too much away, he pointed toward the theater doors. "We should go in."

He was right. But as you passed through the ticket booth and grabbed your tickets, you could still feel his gaze on you from time to time.

The theater was packed, and the tight seats meant you were close enough that when he moved, his knee brushed against yours.

The room darkened, and soon the movie started. You tried to focus on the screen, but it wasn’t easy when every little movement of his caught your attention. The way he leaned over to grab more popcorn and, in the process, his fingers brushed against yours, his warm skin against yours in a fleeting touch that left an uncomfortable awareness in its wake. As if, somehow, that brief contact was more significant than it should have been.

He didn’t seem to notice. He just stayed there, leaning on the armrest, relaxed, his eyes lit up by the glow of the screen. Every now and then, he’d bite his lower lip without realizing it, an unconscious habit of concentration that made something twist in your stomach. His jaw looked more defined like that, and you felt an annoying urge to look longer than you should.

And then he leaned in.

You felt it before you saw it. The movement beside you, the sudden warmth of his presence getting closer, and then his warm breath grazing your skin as he whispered:

"Did you know Christian Bale almost lost the role because they thought he was too skinny?"

It sent an immediate shiver down your spine.

Maybe it was the fact that his voice came out lower than necessary, raspy on purpose or by accident. Or maybe it was because he was close, close in a way that didn’t seem normal for two friends watching a movie. His face was almost touching yours, and your mind made a stupid connection, the kind that should’ve been ignored: if you turned your head just a little, if you leaned an inch in the wrong direction, his lips would touch yours.

You swallowed hard.

"Is that true?" Your voice came out lower than you intended, and he chuckled softly, as if he noticed.

"He gained like 100 pounds of muscle in six months."

"Is that even possible?" You forced yourself to keep your eyes on the screen, as if ignoring the proximity would be enough to not feel every detail of it.

"If you’re Batman, it is."

The reply came in an almost playful whisper, and then he pulled back as if nothing had happened, leaning back into his seat.

Unlike you, who stayed there, absorbing the fact that your heart was beating way too fast for something that was supposedly nothing.

But it wasn’t just that.

His fingers were still close to yours on the armrest between the seats, so close that if either of you moved, the touches would repeat. You noticed when he grabbed more popcorn and his knuckles brushed lightly against your skin. Maybe you were imagining things, but he didn’t seem in such a hurry to move his hand away this time.

The movie went on, and by this point, you couldn’t tell if you were following the story or just the small details about him. The way he shifted in his seat, the subtle movement of his chest rising and falling with his breath, the warmth radiating from him so close to you.

His voice came low, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

"Did your soda run out?"

You blinked, needing a second to process the question, before realizing that yes, the cup of soda next to you was empty.

"Yeah."

"Then have some of mine. You must be thirsty after all that popcorn."

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been. But when he tilted the cup toward you, you hesitated for a moment. Your eyes met his, and Dave smiled slightly, waiting for you to take the cup.

So you took it.

You brought the straw to your mouth and drank, feeling the cold soda running down your throat. But that wasn’t all you felt. Dave was watching. Not just casually. He didn’t look away the next second, didn’t glance at the screen as if nothing had happened. He was watching.

When you lowered the cup and handed it back to him, your fingers touched for a moment. Warm, slightly sticky from the popcorn salt, but still soft. Dave blinked a few times, as if processing something, and then drank from the same straw without a second thought.

The rest of the movie went on like that. Little moments that made it seem like you were something more. You whispered that you wanted to try the chocolate he bought, and he offered it, holding the candy near your mouth almost casually. Later, he made a comment about some scene, and you replied softly, leaning your face closer to his than necessary. It was all a silent game that neither of you seemed willing to admit you were playing.

But then the movie ended.

You needed to go to the bathroom, and Dave murmured that he’d wait outside. You nodded, adjusted your jacket, and walked away, trying to ignore the silly feeling that you were leaving something behind.

It was when you came back that you felt something strange.

There he was, standing near the theater exit, and right in front of him was a girl. You didn’t know her, but you recognized that smile. A sugary smile, a deliberate lean of her body toward him. She laughed softly, playing with her hair, saying something that made Dave furrow his brows, confused. And then you understood.

She was flirting with him.

And he had no idea.

Your body froze mid-step. It was stupid, but for a moment, you felt a strange weight in your chest. What would happen if, suddenly, someone started seeing in him what you saw? If someone looked at him and saw exactly what you saw? If someone fell for Dave Lizewski the way you were falling for him?

Your stomach churned.

That’s when he looked at you.

His face lit up in the same second, and he smiled—that genuine, easy smile he didn’t give to the girl in front of him. He muttered something quickly to her, nothing rude, just a hurried goodbye, and then started walking toward you.

And you, who still felt the heaviness in your chest, didn’t know what to do when he stopped beside you and asked, as if nothing had happened:

"Let's go?”

You could still feel the warmth of the movie theater on your skin, the memory of your fingers brushing against the popcorn, the brief touch of your hands, the low sound of his voice, raspy and almost lazy, echoing in your ear. It was absurd how every detail seemed amplified now, as if the simple fact of being alone on this walk made everything feel more real.

Dave adjusted the collar of his jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets, and took two quick steps to align himself beside you. He always did that—making sure you walked together, close, your shoulders almost touching with every movement. He glanced at you, looking like he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind and just let out a short sigh.

You bit your lip. You couldn’t get the image of the girl at the theater out of your mind. Or the way she looked at him, or the casual way Dave stood there, listening, completely unaware.

"She was pretty."

The words came out suddenly, and Dave turned his head toward you, slightly confused. "What?"

"The girl at the theater." You shrugged, kicking a small pebble on the path. "She was pretty."

He was silent for a moment, as if trying to figure out where you were going with this. Then he shrugged. "Yeah."

It was a small, indifferent sound. But for some reason, it annoyed you.

You huffed, crossing your arms, and looked at him. "And she was flirting with you."

Dave furrowed his brows, laughing lightly, as if that were absurd. "No, she wasn’t."

"Yes, she was."

"No, she wasn’t."

You stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, forcing him to stop too, his eyes widening slightly at your sudden hesitation. The cold wind passed between you, but all you felt was the heat rising to your face.

"You’re too much of an idiot to notice."

His smile faltered a little, and Dave opened his mouth, as if to retort, but couldn’t find the words.

"I’m not an idiot." He sounded slightly offended, furrowing his brows in a way that only made him seem more naive.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I’m not."

"Then tell me," you challenged, tilting your head to the side, crossing your arms as you stared at him. "If a girl were flirting with you, would you notice?"

Dave let out a nasal laugh, shaking his head. "Obviously."

"No, you wouldn’t."

"I would."

"You wouldn’t."

He rolled his eyes, sighing in an exaggerated way. "Okay, then. How are you so sure about that?"

And that’s when it happened.

You didn’t think much. You just looked at him, at his messy curls and blue eyes behind his glasses, at the face you knew so well and at the answer that had been begging to come out for a long time.

"Because I’ve been giving you every possible sign, and you haven’t noticed."

The silence that followed your confession wasn’t empty.

It was heavy, loaded with something indescribable, something that tightened your chest and made the air feel denser around you.

Dave stood in front of you, his face partially lit by the nearest streetlight, his hair casting shadows over his eyes. But even with the poor lighting, you could see it.

The shock.

His lips parted, as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out. His gaze fixed on yours, unblinking, and the expression that took over his face was a mix of disbelief and something deeper—something you couldn’t name.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammering against your ribcage, the pulse vibrating in every extremity of your body. Your hands were cold, but the heat rising to your face was almost unbearable.

You had said it.

You had said it out loud.

And now there was no turning back.

Nervousness washed over you like a wave, sweeping away any trace of courage that remained. Your chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, and your fingers moved slightly, restless, before you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"I like you, Dave."

Your voice came out shakier than you wanted, but it was too late to fix it.

Dave blinked, as if the words had just hit him with full force.

"I’ve liked you for a while. A long time." You forced a short laugh, looking at the ground for a second before meeting his eyes again. "But you never noticed."

He wet his lips, looking away, at anything that wasn’t you, as if he were trying to organize his thoughts.

His mouth opened and closed again, without a single word coming out.

"Dave," you called, and he finally looked at you again.

His eyes were intense now, as if they were trying to absorb every detail of you, every tiny movement.

You felt the hesitation in the air.

The weight of what had just happened.

But then, he did something unexpected.

With an almost hesitant movement, Dave slowly raised his hand, as if testing his own limits, as if he still couldn’t believe he could touch you. His fingers brushed against the sleeve of your jacket before finally holding your forearm, the touch light, uncertain, but real.

"I’m an idiot."

His voice came out low, almost a whisper, and the way he said it made your chest tighten in a strange way.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he continued:

"I—" Dave took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours again, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "I didn’t notice because..." He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening slightly on your arm. "Because I never thought it was possible."

Your heart stopped for a second.

His eyes were locked on yours, and there was something so genuine there, something so true, that you felt your throat close up.

"I never thought you could like me."

The confession was soft, said with a half-smile that didn’t match the uncertainty shining in his eyes.

And in that moment, you realized.

You realized he wasn’t hesitating because he didn’t feel the same.

He was hesitating because he had always felt it.

Because he had always wanted it, but never thought he was allowed to want it.

You felt your breathing quicken, and the distance between you seemed smaller now, your bodies leaning in an almost imperceptible way, as if drawn to each other.

Dave blinked a few times, as if he were still trying to understand the reality of the situation. As if he were trying to memorize this moment, to store it somewhere safe inside himself.

And then, he laughed.

Soft, almost disbelieving.

"Shit." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and shook his head. "I really am an idiot."

You let out a weak laugh, the nervousness still pulsing inside you, but now mixed with something else.

Something warm.

Something good.

Dave lowered his head for a moment, biting his lip before looking at you again, and then he did it again—that subtle movement of leaning closer. Not enough to break the last barrier between you, but enough for you to feel his warmth in the air, for every cell in your body to be aware of his presence.

"Tell me it’s not too late for me to notice now."

His tone was soft, but his eyes were intense, blue and fixed on you as if nothing else in the world existed.

And the answer came before you could even think.

"Of course it’s not."

[pain-is-forever]

Theo nearly giggles like a teenage girl with a crush.

"Awww..." He almost leans into Rey's hand before realizing he can just... pull him close again. "I love youuu..."

OPEN STARTER:

"I bet you don't feel lighter." No, I don't feel lighter.

TW: Derealization, minor(?) injury

Theo's been dealing with some things lately, but he just can't think of any solution to any of his problems. He feels bad for it, for not being able to help, no matter how much he tries. Now that he's seen the state Argo was in when he left him in that cell, he feels... horrible as ever.

He had to shadow travel away, he couldn't stay with his brother any further. It was clear Argo didn't want him there, and he would respect his brother's wishes... most of the time. Once he made sure Argo was back in control and relatively safe — or at least knew he'd claim to be safe — he left.

Though, something happened when he was in that cell. The Death Mist surrounded him at one point, and refused to leave him since. He did manage to briefly rid his hands from it, but it was only temporary and he's not sure he can bounce back from this as easily as he though he could back when it all started. It's cold. Really, really cold.

You find him in the forest again, standing in the shadow of a tree. Though, it's... not really him. It's more so a cloud of mist, or at least it looks to be that. A cloud of mist in a vaguely humanoid shape, with... some unnatural coloration to it. Almost like human skin. What could convince some that it really is Theo are the greenish-red blobs visible on the cloud's form. Around where a human chest would be, and the most of them are around where the heart would be.

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @another-argo @literally-tinker-bell @roryandthethorns @dad-left-for-the-milk @reyno-solis-real @reluctant-son-of-time @judas-of-eris @notaeoluschild @tearslikeacid