#the way so many people just. . .miss the point
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Woo hoo! Way to go on the 2.5k followers! You deserve it
I would like to request Joel Miller w/ “put me down”
Pre-outbreak Joel Miller
1,642 words.
"Put me down."
Co-written with @absurdthirst
Reader has been drinking. Established relationship. Jealousy.
Joel rolls his eyes, wondering again what the hell is in the air tonight. He’s glad Sarah has already gone to bed, although she would probably be snickering at the scene. “Babe, maybe you should slow down.” He grunts swiping the beer bottle that he had been nursing and tossing it into the trash.
“Baby, it’s game day,” you protest with a giggle, even though you know he’s probably right. You made your sangria much stronger than usual and you’ve had more than a few cups while hanging out with his friends.
“Yeah it is.” You’re having fun, which is something that he would normally never deny you. Although it seems like you’ve gotten a little….boisterous in the last half hour. “How about we get a sandwich?” He suggests, thinking the bread would be good to help counteract the wine sloshing around in your stomach.
"But we have so many snacks!" The remnants of a chip and veggies and dip plate, the garnishes from a pile of wings, and the last two cookies from the batch Tommy baked are all out on the counter around you, but none of it constitutes actual eating.
He snorts, shaking his head at your wild flailing as you gesture around the counter and miss when you go to grab a chip. “Yep, sandwich.” He grunts to himself, turning around to grab the loaf of bread off the counter. “Or a wrap?”
"Can you be my wrap?" Alright, so you might be a bit tipsy. If the intense giggling from your silly joke is any indication. That doesn't mean you don't want to take advantage of the fact that you're the only two people in the kitchen right now to snuggle up with your boyfriend.
That makes him laugh, rolling his eyes at your antics and he turns to press his lips to your forehead. “You’re drunk.” He accuses fondly.
"Not totally," you protest, pouting at him as deeply as possible.
“Totally.” Joel laughs, leaning in and squashing your lips between his fingers playfully until you pull back. “Eat a wrap then you can have a glass of water.”
"And a kiss." Tacking that onto the end with a grin, you pull your arms around him so he can't pull away to do anything – let alone make a wrap or get a glass of water.
“And a kiss.” If you hadn’t almost started a fight, your possessiveness might be cute. Amusing even. But you had almost been ready to throw hands and he didn’t need the cops showing up here tonight.
"Oh-kay." The pleasant buzzing in your head and the fact that that bitch Larry Anderson had brought with him isn't in here to eye fuck Joel, combine to put you in a very amenable mood.
“Good.” He pecks your lips and reaches behind you to open the fridge. “Ham, or…ham?” He asks, the fridge slightly bare, but in his defense, he had been buying for the party and not wraps.
You hum, pretending to think really really hard, and realize you've forgotten the question while you were screwing up your face into comical expressions. "Ummm...wine?"
“Jesus.” Joel rolls his eyes and moves to the cabinet beside the fridge. “Water now.” He orders, tone a little sharper than before. He doesn’t want you with a bitch of a hangover tomorrow.
"Don't be mad." A pout overtakes your face immediately, but you lean against the kitchen counter and prepare to take whatever Joel dishes out. Even tipsy you know you probably overdid it earlier. It's not your fault that girl wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.
“I’m not.” He grabs a plastic cup, not even trusting you with a glass one at this point. “I just want you to be well hydrated.”
"Well..." The best you can do is shrug, but you're still pouting. "You sound mad."
“And I always look like an asshole.” Joel reminds you with a small chuckle. “So….?”
"I had to be mean to her." He pulls one of Sarah's plastic cups out of the cupboard and moves back to the fridge to fill it with cold, filtered water. "She was looking at you like you were a piece of meat, baby."
“Doesn’t matter.” He reminds with, turning around to hand the cup to you with a smirk. “I’m yours.”
Joel always takes care of you, and you know that even after two too many glasses of sangria, so you take the water cup dutifully. "I knowww. You're my piece of meat. But she wasn't respecting that and that's not okay."
“You don’t need to worry.” He promises softly, moving back to the fridge. “She doesn’t have anything on you.”
"I trust you," you clarify, dutifully sipping the water that he's gotten for you. Joel's loyalty has never been in question. Not when you were friends, not when you crossed the line into dating, and not now that you're living with him and Sarah. But the sangria had made you feisty and that was that.
“Good.” He chuckles as he slaps together some ham and a thick slice of that Muenster cheese you insist is better than Kraft. “Because you are the one sleeping in my bed, hogging the covers.”
"I keep telling youuuu." The singsong in your voice is interrupted by another drink of water. "We need a king-sized blanket. A big blanket. For us two hogs."
“I just will shiver every night.” He teases, folding the wrap up like a letter and handing it to you to eat. It wasn’t pretty, but he never claimed to be a good cook.
"But we could be warm snuggly burritos!" You insist, which is always the argument you give for why you should get an extra-large blanket for the queen sized bed you share, but this time you take a dramatic bite of the wrap he's made for you to punctuate your point.
“You would just steal all of those covers too.” He reminds you, leaning back against the counter as he eat watches you eat.
Giggling, you hold up one finger, crushing your wrap into an accordioned lump in the process. "One snuggly burrito."
“You might be a little cute when you’re this drunk.” Joel huffs, folding his arms over his chest.
"Baby..." Trying very hard to make your face serious fails spectacularly, and you end up giggling again. "I'm always cute. You said so."
“I did, didn’t I?” He huffs. “Finish eating and we’ll go back out to the party.” He bribes.
“Okayyyyyy.” It doesn’t stop you from leaning into his side though, and Joel lets you snuggle him without protest or question.
You eat the wrap quickly, making Joel think that one of your problems might be that you haven’t eaten today. When you reach for the veggies and dip, he encourages you to eat some of it too, not wanting you to have just the wrap on your stomach. Not having realized you were hungry in the first place, you’ve now eaten an entire meal standing in the kitchen and the pout you give Joel afterward intensifies. “Now I’m sleepy…” you huff, indignant at yourself for daring to be tired during a house party. Even a small one.
He chuckles quietly and pushes off the counter to walk over to where you had drifted away from him. Grazing off the table. Smirking, he bends down and scoops you up, about to carry you upstairs.
The squawk you let out could raise the dead, but he laughs so it ends up in half-hearted huffing and puffing as he carries you up the backstairs. “Put me doooowwwn! I can walk!” Not that you actually want him to, of course. Being manhandled by Joel is a privilege.
He smacks your ass, laughing again when you squeal. “No.” He tells you, continuing to climb the stairs. “You’ll go back out into the living room and fight that girl.”
“She put her tits in your face!” You groan, not bothering to fight as more stairs pass under Joel’s feet. He’s far stronger than you anyway. “Only my tits go in your face.”
You’re possessive when you’re drunk and it’s kind of hot. “I like your tits in my face.” He hums, grabbing your ass this time instead of slapping it. “That’s why I stood up. So she couldn’t do that.”
“And I like your little pancake ass,” you giggle, smacking his ass as he goes. Slinging you over his shoulder was a tactical error on Joel’s part.
“Hey.” Joel’s step falters and he snorts as you start to giggle. “Payback, huh?”
“Yep!” Another bright giggle breaks through as he hits the top step.
“You need to go to bed.” He huffs, shaking his head.
He carries you into the bedroom, only setting you down again when it can be directly on the bed. Before he can step away, though, you reach up to snag the edge of Joel's t-shirt and give him a soft smile. "I love you, baby."
“I love you too.” He promises, leaning back down to kiss you softly. “Lay down, I’ll get you some aspirin and water.”
"Then cuddles?" When you're tipsy – or drunk – it's not hard to turn almost any expression into wide, pleading eyes. In this case, it's the wide and pleading eyes that you know Joel just can't resist.
Joel sighs softly, knowing you are feeling a little vulnerable and he nods. “Fuck ‘em.” He decides. “Tommy can keep their asses in line.” He tells you as he brings the bottle of Advil and the cup of water from the bathroom.
“Cuddles!” Maybe it’s simple of you, but ending any night in Joel’s arms is all you want. All you’ve wanted for years now. The day you went from friends to lovers was a gift, and that gift is just as precious to you now as it was then.
______
Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer
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#Pedro Pascal#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#Pedro Pascal fanfiic#Joel Miller#Joel Miller x reader#Joel Miller x female reader#Joel Miller x f!reader#microfic#fluff#drunk reader
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chapter six
and if you ask me to, daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, i’ma give you the world
author: writing this had me sobbing a few times and i truly hope you'll love it as much as i do. let's keep in mind that this is a work of fiction, and that i do not know nor am associated (unfortunately) to any of the real people mentioned here.
tw: massive fluff, description of anxiety, angst
word count: 7.758k words
It wasn’t a long drive to the estate, but the portion of time you spent in your car parked out front was longer than what you had planned - lost in your thoughts, you made an effort to gather a bit more of the courage you knew you still had in your core to now face the most significant person in this whole chaos: your daughter, the love of your life. You knew Lily would eventually bring up so many questions that your only hope was that she’d wait for Mason to be around, but knowing her all too well, her focus would be entirely on meeting her dad; you could already see the twinkle in her eyes, the impatience hovering over her making that little human pace relentlessly whenever she had to wait for things to happen when they should and not on her time - which was nothing like you, because you considered yourself fairly patient. So that was another thing she probably got from Mason.
With another sigh parting your lips, you eventually made your way to the big house - only to be welcomed by your mum’s frantic screams that Christmas was ruined, by your dad’s hopeless and anguished glance, and a pair of tiny arms that made your entire world stop because nothing else mattered. Lily held you tight like you’d been away for years and not for just a few hours. “I missed you, mummy. Abuelita is angry,” she pouted, her big hazel eyes gleaming with tears she seemed to be containing for a while now.
“Oh baby,” you cooed. “What happened?”
Lily carefully explained the same way she heard: there was a big snowstorm and pretty much every family member that was expected to join them for Christmas wouldn’t be able to make it. So far, it was just the four of you, Emma (your cousin, daughter of your father’s brother), and her two children, Louis and Oscar, the 8-year-old twins. Inevitably, your thoughts went straight to Mason and how having him there would be perfect. Not the way your mum truly wanted, but it’d make Lily happy and whatever made your daughter happy, also made your parents happy.
Back in Surrey, Mason quickly typed you a message after declining two of your calls.
Watching half of his family still in shock with the news he just dropped could be amusing if it wasn’t something so serious - although Mason was sure that, at some point in life, they’d all have a good laugh about it. His sister’s soft hand squeezing his shoulder felt reassuring, but Mason could still feel his heart pounding against his chest and the silence filling his large living room was the scariest sound he had ever heard. Lewis was the first one to break it with a sigh, and Mason could only hope he’d say something funny to break the tension, but it didn’t happen - at least not yet.
“Are you sure she’s yours?” Lewis questioned and Mason scanned his dad’s face starting to turn red, the veins in his forehead throbbing under Lew’s question.
Before Mason could answer, Jaz took a step forward and went big sister mode just like he expected she would. “Let’s not rule out a DNA test, but you’ve all met this little girl before.” The confused look on their faces swapped back to shock once Jasmine showed them Lily’s picture - Debbie had tears in her eyes and glanced at Mason, desperately waiting for him to say something, but the truth was he was never the one to hide this from them.
“I know it’s a shock to all of you, as it is for me too,” Mason began, swallowing a sob before he could start weeping the way he did this morning. “But I need you all with me in this because everything I’ll do from now on is for her, it’s not about me. I need you all to make this about her as well.” It seemed like those words were all his mum needed to ultimately allow those insisting tears to roll down her cheeks and search for her husband’s hand, who softly squeezed it, giving her the comfort she needed that everything would be just fine in the end. “This is far from how I expected it’d be,” Mason added. “But I can’t say that I’m not happy. I truly can’t wait to be with her and be the father she deserves.”
As Mason nervously rubbed his hands on his jeans, trying to control how sweaty and shaky they were, he observed his dad end the short distance between them and pull him into a hug. He didn’t need words from Tony to know his dad was proud of how he was handling the situation, and whatever damage control they’d eventually have to do would be properly taken care of. But, at this moment, it was all about her. It was about making sure that Lily would have everything she always wished for, and deserved.
Mason knew it would be the biggest challenge of his life, he didn’t have 9 months to prepare himself nor to understand how it was to be a father. What if he wasn’t able to love her unconditionally, or to be everything she expected he’d be? What if he ended up being the worst dad he could possibly be? His only hope was in what his father himself represented - Tony taught him to be a good man, to fight for his family, and to be honest and decent.
Mason’s life wasn’t his own anymore, and that frightened him to the core, but he also felt prepared to fully embrace all the changes that’d come with it because deep down, he knew it’d be worth it.
While Jasmine distracted his parents and brother with pictures and the few stories and details she knew about, Mason hurried to call you back. While he waited for you to pick up, he thought how odd something so simple also felt so intimate - calling you, someone he thought about from time to time, to talk about the life you two shared. A beautiful little girl, whom he couldn’t wait to meet.
“Hello?” you breathed on the other side of the phone, trying to concentrate on the call and on Lily jumping on your bed after having a large cup of cocoa with marshmallows. “Lilian Maisie, I swear to God that if you vomit on this bed…”
Mason couldn’t hold back a laugh, but he also felt his chest clenching a bit with the sudden urge to be there. “Hi, it’s me. Mason.”
“Mase, hi!” he grinned at the nickname, loving how it sounded coming from you. “I tried to call you before.”
“I know, I was with my family. I told them about Lily.”
“Oh? How did it go?”
During most of the talk, you felt yourself going a bit dizzy from holding your breath. It was almost like you were waiting for something bad to happen like you were ready to protect your daughter from everything and everyone, but his family’s reaction was expected and you couldn’t really imagine what they were going through, but you felt deeply sorry and embarrassed to be the one causing it - muttering “I’m so sorry, Mason” during the phone call was the least you could do, and although it was sweet of him, the fact that Mason kept telling you to stop apologising didn’t make things easier. You knew you’d have to work hard to fix things, and that as long as it wouldn’t affect her routine, it was their right to have a free pass to your daughter’s life whenever they wanted.
“Did you tell her?” Mason asked, chewing the inside of his cheeks as he anxiously waited for an answer.
“No,” you heard him sigh. “But only because I wanted to ask you something first.” Mason softly hummed, waiting for you to continue. “Would you like to spend Christmas with your daughter, Mase? Bring your family too, or don’t, I dunno. But they’re all more than welco-”
“Yes, I’d very much like to spend Christmas with her,” Mason interrupted. “With you two.”
Insane was the only word you and Mason could find to address this entire situation, it was all happening so fast that you two shared something in common: fear. Of not giving everyone time to process the news, of dropping this on Lily’s shoulders, and, somehow, causing more damage than good. For Lily, it wouldn’t be just meeting her dad, as he was also her best friend’s uncle - no matter how mature she seemed to be, Lily was still just a child and you and Mason feared her reaction. He was particularly terrified of not being good enough, that she’d be disappointed when she found out he’s her dad but you repeatedly told him that Lily loved him unconditionally.
He couldn’t deny that he was a bit disappointed to be going alone, but it made sense that his family decided to stay behind, saying that this moment was private. In a quick phone call with Jaz, she promised they were considering joining your family for Boxing Day and that they all appreciated the invitation - Jaz mentioned how her mum’s emotions were everywhere, wanting to know everything she possibly could about her granddaughter, so you kindly sent a few pictures and videos of Lily growing up.
While the kids were playing, you took the opportunity to let your parents know about your decision to invite Mason, which seemed to make your mum quite happy. You also had to update Emma, who had always been one of the most discreet and private members of the family; she pulled you into a hug and said you could count on her for anything and, between giggles, that she’d do her best to control her twins who were obsessed about football just like any other boys their age. Although overwhelming, it also felt like a relief to be able to finally tell people about Lily’s dad.
You were finally alone with Lily in her room, braiding her hair the way she liked, as she moved unquietly on the chair placed in front of the mirror. “Peanut, sit still please,” you hummed, a frustrated moan parting your lips seeing your request was pointless.
“But I want to know what the surprise is!” Lily pouted, little arms crossed against her chest.
“It won’t be a surprise anymore if I tell you,” you winked, not letting her see how amused you were when she huffed and finally sat still.
Always independent and self-sufficient, Lily politely dismissed your help when she went to pick an outfit. You instructed her to go for something warm, and even if she seemed a bit confused with the tights, she managed to do it all on her own, which brought you both comfort and nostalgia to see her growing up so fast. Until weeks ago, when Jasmine walked into your lives, it was just the two of you against the world and although you believed it to be enough, of course, there was always something missing and not just for her - you missed it too, having someone to share the wonders of the things she did that were so little to some, but so meaningful to you; and you knew that no one could fill that gap better than Lily’s father.
As he drove to your place, Mason pictured all different scenarios of him meeting Lily. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the mixture of excitement and fear that coursed through him - Mason rehearsed the moment countless times in his mind since he found himself alone, yet he also knew that nothing could truly prepare him for it. As the GPS showed he was getting closer and closer to the estate, a whirlwind of emotions overwhelmed him.
His mind raced with questions. Would she really like him, like you said? Would she be scared? Could he truly be the father she deserved? Mason felt his chest filling with both hope and dread. The weight of all those years, unaware there was a little yet huge piece of him out in the world, pressed down on him - the years he had missed, the milestones he hadn’t been there for. Mason couldn’t let a grudge take over him, there was no point now.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves once he spotted the large gate in front of him. Definitely, no one could ever say it was for the money, he thought, eyes curiously scanning the manor behind the gates - Mason didn’t have to announce his arrival, as he watched it slowly open for him. Not far away, he could spot your figure, standing outside the white door. You seemed as nervous as he was.
As Mason parked his car between a brand new black Range Rover and a racing green Aston Martin Valour he recognised as being limited edition, Mason felt the palms of his hands sweat even more. This wasn’t his usual habitat, none of his friends nor acquaintances were this wealthy. Part of him felt uncomfortable, but the other was relieved to know you were the opposite he’d expect someone this wealthy to be - he instantly assumed your family was as lovely as you.
When your eyes finally met his, you caught him wiping his hands on his jeans. You two could hear the loud waves of laughter of children coming from inside the house, filling the silence between you but Mason felt disconnected, focused solely on meeting his daughter. He finally stood tall in front of you, cheeks pink from the cold but he looked as gorgeous as ever - Mason seemed to relax a bit under your touch when you squeezed his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Mason,” you said softly. “We’ll do it together and it’s going to be okay, she’s the sweetest girl.”
Mason let out a heavy breath, the smell of mint and the warmth coming from him made you feel slightly dizzy, but you quickly put yourself together. “I just don’t want to scare her,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. You felt sorry for him. “I want this to be perfect.”
You smile warmly. “Just be yourself. She’s naturally a curious little girl and knows I’ve planned a surprise for her, but you’re her biggest dream and everything she always wanted,” you said. “Besides a dog. She desperately wants a dog.”
The way the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he laughed was adorable and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, Y/n. For everything so far. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”
“It’s been a journey,” you acknowledged, a soft smile curling the sides of your lips as you felt your cheeks flush pink by the sudden touch of his skin on yours - Mason held your pinky with his, his eyes never leaving yours. “But Lily deserves to know her father, and you deserve to know your daughter. This is the right thing.” Mason nodded, and your eyes fell to your pinkies intertwined. “Shall we?”
Mason’s breath caught in his throat as you guided him inside the manor, and he loved that despite all the wealth, it felt like home - the warmth, the laughs, and the smell of freshly baked biscuits soothed his nerves. He carefully scanned every little detail as you guided him upstairs, then down a hallway adorned with family photos and children’s artwork. You stopped in front of a door decorated with colourful stickers spelling out ‘Lilian’.
“Can you wait inside as I go get her?” Mason nodded and walked into the bedroom after you opened the door for him. “I’ll be back with her in a minute.”
When you left, Mason found himself not knowing what to do, again. His eyes quickly scanned his daughter’s bedroom - it was smaller than he expected, it had a fantastic garden view, and walls painted in baby yellow and white. There were lots of books, a wall full of artwork, ballet stuff, and, last but not least, a football - which made him smile warmly as his chest filled with pride.
“Am I getting my surprise now, mummy?” He heard his sweet voice and Mason swallowed a sob, trying not to look like a creep standing behind that door.
“Mhmm, you can say so. I truly believe you’ll love it, angel.” You replied and he smiled at how sweet you sounded talking to her. “I won’t ask you to close your eyes because I know you won’t,” his daughter replied with a giggle, that made him want to burst into tears.
As the door slowly opened, Mason fully embraced the moment when his life wasn’t just his anymore. There she was, his little girl, looking at him with hazel eyes filled with curiosity - Mason felt like he was looking at himself. She had light brown hair that fell in loose curls around her face. The moment Mason saw her, time seemed to stand still. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt a surge of emotions he had never experienced before. There was an intense mixture of love, joy, and an almost unbearable ache. The sight of her, so small and innocent, with features that mirrored his own, hit him with a profound sense of connection and loss for the time they had spent apart. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes welled up with tears.
Mason realised in that instant just how much he had missed, and how much he wanted to be part of her life. The room seemed to blur around him, and all he could focus on was Lily. His daughter. The word felt both foreign and incredibly right. He was overwhelmed by the desire to protect her, to know her, and to make up for lost time.
“Hello Lily,” Mason said softly, crouching down to her level as you guided her to him. “Remember me?”
Lily nodded. “Is Summer my surprise?” She sounded both excited and confused as she studied him with cautious interest, her mind racing as she tried to understand why her best friend’s uncle was there.
He smiled and shook his head, trying to steady his nerves, eyes looking up searching for yours in a silent ask for help.
“No, baby,” you cooed, “Mason is your surprise.”
Lily’s eyes lit up with interest, head tilted to the side. “Why?”
“Because you’re Maisie and Mason,” he watched you crouching down next to her, your hand softly caressing her back as her full attention was still on him. “Remember all those nights you asked the stars to bring your daddy to you?”
Mason swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes burning with tears - he couldn’t cry now, he didn’t want Lily to see him crying, but he felt so overwhelmed by knowing how much she wanted him. The thought of that precious little girl wishing for her dad every night was one of the most painful he ever experienced, and in that moment Mason silently promised he’d never let her go through that again.
When your words finally hit her, Lily’s jaw slightly dropped and her eyes searched for yours, but quickly went back to Mason - he noticed how her little eyes teared up and she pouted, clearly experiencing a mixture of emotions that were a bit too much for her.
“You’re my daddy?” She sniffed, her voice barely above a whisper, still trying to process what was unfolding before her.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mason finally allowed tears to stream down his face as he nodded. “Yes, I’m your daddy.”
For a moment that felt like forever, Lily was silent, and Mason couldn’t ignore how you silently reassured her that it was fine to feel everything she was feeling, validating it, by either squeezing her shoulder or running your fingers through her hair. Then, with a sudden burst of emotion, Lily threw her tiny arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Mason felt a surge of warmth and love as he hugged her back, his heart overflowing. “I always wanted a daddy,” she said softly.
You didn’t know how you managed to hold your tears until now, but seeing the wide smile on his face and how Mason sighed in relief, you just couldn’t hold them back any longer. You muffled a sob by covering your mouth with your hand, and the way Mason’s hand searched for yours while not letting Lily go filled your heart with love.
He held her close, his voice choked with emotion. “And I always wanted you, Lily. I’m so happy I found you.”
Mason knew this was just the beginning, but he felt ready to face whatever came next with his daughter, and you, by his side. Lily pulled back slightly, her small hands cupping his face, making Mason giggle. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she curiously scanned his face.
“Summer is my cousin,” she said, a wide smile on her lips when Mason nodded. “Does she know?”
“Not yet,” Mason replied, “But we can tell her together and I’m sure she’ll be really happy.”
As if her thoughts and what was happening were still sinking in, Lily suddenly threw herself back in Mason’s arms, hiding her face in the crook of his neck to muffle her cry - even so, not once did Mason let go of your hand, which was the reassurance you needed to know that things would be alright and that you two would do it together, because you were a family now. You two were everything Lily needed.
“You’re the best Christmas present in the world, Masey,” a slight disappointment coursed down his spine when Lily called him by his nickname, but he’d never rush her to call him ‘dad’. “I-I mean, da-“
“It’s alright, bubba,” Mason interrupted her, softly kissing her forehead when Lily pulled back again. “You can call me whatever makes you feel comfortable, yeah?”
She silently nodded, smiling at him when he wiped her tears. You felt your heart skip a beat at the gesture.
“Do you want to see the drawings I did today?” she asked, small hands reaching his. Lily smiled again when she noticed he was still holding yours.
Mason smiled back, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “I’d love to, sweetheart.”
You gently squeezed his hand, letting it go before Lily led him to her drawing table, where colourful sketches of flowers, animals, and fantastical scenes covered the surface. Lily picked one of her favourites, a vibrant drawing of a butterfly garden, and handed it to him. Mason took the drawing, marvelling at the details and creativity - she really was everything you’d told him, and seeing that by himself filled him with pride. Lily was part of him, she was also his, and he could barely believe that he managed to do that when he often doubted he could do something good, something beyond special.
“This is one of my best,” she said proudly.
“I love the colours you used,” he said, showing interest, which made her eyes sparkle. “You’re the most talented artist.
Lily beamed at the praise, making you chuckle. “Can we draw together sometime, Masey? And play football too?”
“I’d like that very much,” Mason replied, crouching down her level again, holding her hands. “We can do everything you want.”
You watched your daughter narrow his eyes at him as a cheeky smile curled the sides of her lips. “Can we go get a dog now?”
“Lilian Maisie!” you scolded her but couldn’t hold back the happiness that bubbled up inside you and ended up letting a loud laugh part your lips. The way the three of you laughed, filling the room with so much joy and peace made you feel lighter.
Mason leaned forward to gently kiss her forehead again and wrapped his arms around her small figure, lifting her in the air as she squealed between giggles. “Let’s stick to football and drawing, yeah?”
Lily nodded in approval and kissed his cheeks. He was her daddy and he was a lot more than she ever dreamed of; the fact that he was also her best friend’s uncle, which made Summer her cousin, was something Lily still couldn’t believe - she wanted to scream, to see her bestie as soon as possible, hug her and never let her go. There was so much happiness inside her chest that it brought tears back to her eyes, and as she silently watched Mason with what felt like a permanent frown, Lily felt hot tears wet her cheeks again.
“Are you staying forever?” she sniffed, cupping his face with her small hands again.
Mason nodded, wiping her tears with gentle kisses. “Forever, bubba. I’m never leaving you,” he whispered against her skin, and you had to sit on her bed as you felt your legs weaken at how wholesome that moment was.
“Do you promise?” Lily insisted.
“I promise.”
The three of you spent the next hours drawing and chatting, with Lily sharing stories about her favourite things - she proudly told her daddy about being very good at football and was particularly happy when he told her that he was there for the ballet recital. Mason listened intently, soaking in every little detail, every laugh, and every smile. She was indeed the sweetest girl, and as he reached again for your hand - his pinky intertwined with yours - Mason felt a sense of peace and fulfilment that he had never known before.
As the evening drew to a close, and Mason had memorised pretty much every inch of his daughter’s face and how incredible she was, a knock on the door brought the three of you back to Earth. With the kindest smile on her face and pride in her eyes, your mum’s face beamed with happiness as she watched Lily glued to her father.
“Hi,” her voice was soft, and kind, and Mason felt oddly comfortable for a first meeting. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we’re all starting to get ready for Christmas dinner.”
You noticed Mason was slightly confused since it was still the 24th, but you patiently explained that you always had two celebrations: one on the 24th because it was part of your mum’s culture and your dad didn’t want to change it for her, which Mason thought it was quite romantic of him; and the other on the 25th. He liked how you all seemed to be pretty close and supportive, how your mum was very discreet and talked to him like it wasn’t the first time they were seeing each other - she treated him like family, just like you told him before.
Even so, Mason stood up still holding Lily in his arms, and walked towards your mum. “Hi ma’am, I’m Mason,” he smiled politely and the way your mum sighed in delight made you want to run away and hide. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“He’s my daddy, abuelita,” Lily said proudly, making you all chuckle.
“Is he really, amor?” your mum winked at her. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Mason. We settled the guest room for you.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” your mum nodded at his words with a gentle smile on her lips and, after blowing a kiss to your daughter, left.
The hardest task was convincing Lily to let Mason go but he was so gentle and so patient that she didn’t argue when he offered her choices - he definitely understood how tantrums worked, but also understood how much she wanted to spend every second of every minute with him after years of not having him. Together, the three of you went downstairs so Mason could pick up his small luggage as you waited inside and Lily watched him through the window.
“Are you happy, baby?” you asked, running your fingers down her hair.
Lily nodded. “So much, mummy. This is the best Christmas ever!”
She was naturally a happy little girl, but you couldn’t remember seeing her this happy - you also couldn’t shake the feeling that such happiness could’ve come much earlier if you’d searched for him before. The way Mason smiled at her as he made his way back to the house was the sweetest in the world, and before he could even open the door, Lily stormed out to welcome him back. You guided him to the guest room, which was between yours and Lily’s, and Mason awkwardly kissed your cheek before you separated and it was just you and Lily again.
“What is it?” you asked, watching your daughter grinning at you.
“He kissed you, mummy!” Lily whispered between giggles like she was sharing a silly secret. You felt your cheeks burn under her comment but didn’t reply or she’d turn it into an endless teasing.
“Let’s focus on what you’ll wear, yeah?”
Lily nodded. “Can we match outfits, mummy?”
“I suppose we can, peanut.”
The way Lily was focusing a lot more on what you were wearing rather than focusing on herself wasn’t suspicious considering you knew your daughter all too well, Lily was always up to something when she hyper-focused on one thing and made that thing her little project - still, you wouldn’t ruin this for her and allowed her to do whatever she wanted, so that’s how you two ended wearing matching white knit sweaters, black tights and tweed skirts. It was both adorable and funny, but the cherry on top was Mason wearing pretty much the same colours as you, except his sweater had some pretty details in navy blue - he seemed amused by it as there was a permanent grin on his lips as the three of you went downstairs to meet the rest of your family.
You noticed a slight change in his posture when the sound of your father’s voice reached you, so this time it was your turn to hold his pinky as a gesture that it’d be just fine and he had nothing to worry about. Mason seemed surprised by it but also seemed to relax, offering you a warm smile in return, a smile that made your heart beat slightly faster. Before walking into the living room, you let go of him, which got Mason more upset than he expected but he shook it off.
“There you are!” cheered your father, his arms wide open as he ran past you and went straight to Mason. “I was wondering when I’d see you, lad.”
The older man’s sympathy caught him a bit off guard in the most positive way as two main things could make him dislike Mason: getting his daughter pregnant and being a Chelsea player, but still, there he was treating him as if they were longtime buddies. You let go of the fact that your dad pretty much ignored your presence, knowing that there was a chance that he was slightly starstruck that Mason was in his living room. You grinned when Mason glanced at you - a playful smirk curling his lips - before your dad put his arm over Mason’s shoulder and guided him to his collection of overpriced whisky. They were followed by your cousin’s twins, who couldn’t believe that THE Mason Mount was there.
It was just you, your mum, and Emma now, and noticing how Lily seemed a bit upset that her father was the centre of all the attention, you decided to do a FaceTime call with Willow and Jaz. Lily was the one to tell her auntie Willow that her daddy was there with them, that he was staying forever, and that she’d convince him to get her a dog - something you protested again, but asked yourself for how long you’d be able to avoid another addition to the family and one more responsibility on your hands. You promised Willie to keep her updated and that they could meet for a girls’ night once you were back in London, something she was more than happy about, and promised she’d have a very fun schedule for both of you so you could take a break from all the recent stress that surrounded you.
The next one was Jasmine, who answered faster than you expected, which made you giggle as she seemed overly excited to know everything saying Mason hadn’t told her with all the details she wanted. “We’ll have to meet when I’m back in London so I can give you the detailed version,” you said, watching her roll her eyes at you on the other side of the screen.
“You two are the perfect match, no surprise you have a daughter together,” Jaz teased, making your cheeks blush. “Did he cry?”
“He’d cry even if he was a robot, Jaz. It was a very touching moment,” you admitted and she gave you a warm smile. “I’m happy with how well it went, Lily is having the time of her life although right now she’s a bit upset by my dad monopolising him.”
Jasmine let out a cheerful laugh. “He was so nervous to meet your dad,” she confessed. “I’m so happy it went well, Y/n. It’s so important for Lily that he’s there for her.”
You nodded, chewing your lower lip, trying your best not to cry again. “How did your family react, though?”
“Oh well, they still can’t really believe it. I think my mum is still in shock, she keeps saying that she should’ve known when they met, like some sort of grandmother's sixth sense,” you felt your chest clench a bit, knowing it was you who caused this.
“It’s not her fault,” you mumbled, watching Jaz nod. “Is she there now? Do you guys want to see Lily?”
Jaz opened a wide and sweet smile for you and moved her phone just a bit, Debbie was sitting right next to her, with Summer on her lap. Your cheeks blushed at how emotional she seemed to be and you just wanted to hug her and apologise for all the mess you made and for taking five years of her life with Lily, but you’d do it in person.
“Hi auntie Y/n,” Summer said, waving at you.
“Oh sweetie, hello. Someone here wants to see you,” you walked towards Lily, who was sitting on the floor drawing something. Her face lit up when she saw her best friend’s face on the screen.
“Sumi!” Lily tried to take the phone from your hand but you gently pulled away, afraid she’d let slip something that was meant to be told in person. She pouted a little but seemed to understand the message. “I have so much to tell you!”
Amused by your daughter’s excitement, Summer giggled. “I miss you, Lili,” the little girl said, and you noticed how their interaction made Debbie emotional.
You discreetly pointed at Debbie so your daughter would acknowledge her too but you noticed how her cheeks blushed, and she seemed relieved that Debbie took the first step and asked her if she was having fun. Lily showed the drawing she was finishing shortly before the call.
“This is me in the middle, my mummy and my daddy. Now that I know him I can paint his hair colour,” you melted at how she explained every detail. “This is Mr. Peanut, the dog my daddy will give me when we can convince mummy.”
You narrowed at her but she just giggled, followed by Mason right behind you - the way he just stood there watching Lily was the sweetest, a warm smile on his lips. ‘It’s your mum’ you mumbled to him, and you noticed how happy that information made him feel because his smile doubled the size. Right behind him, your dad smiled proudly at you and blew you a kiss. Lily said goodbye to her and ran straight to Mason, while you talked to Jaz for a few more minutes while he and your dad entertained the little one. Shortly after you said goodbye to her and Debbie, you heard Lily slightly upset about her interaction with the latter.
“Do you think she’s upset I didn’t call her grandma?”
Mason shook his head and leaned a bit to kiss the tip of her nose, making her giggle. “Never,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about that bubba. Take your time, yeah? There’s no need to rush.”
Noticing this was a father and daughter moment, your dad walked away and linked his arm to yours, guiding you to where your mum and cousin were while Mason walked with Lily in his arms to see the Christmas lights that decorated the garden, through the window. They were so comfortable with each other that it felt like this wasn’t even their first day together.
Your mum welcomed you with a glass of white wine - she seemed much calmer now even if pretty much the whole family didn’t make it due to the snowstorm.
“Family is family, there’s lots of them missing but what we have tonight is perfect,” she pointed at Lily and Mason. “I’ve never said this to you, but that’s what I’ve been longing to see. My granddaughter with her father.”
“I think he’ll be a great one,” your father added, sipping his whisky. “You can see that he’s trying, the least we can do is to make him feel comfortable.”
Their support, from the very beginning, was one of the things that made you stronger whenever you had to face the challenges of motherhood - your parents were never there to spoil you nor treat you like some sort of victim but rather made you see all the options you had and each of the consequences that followed according to whatever choice you decided to make.
Completely taken by your emotions, you threw yourself in your dad’s arms and your mum joined for a family hug. Being an only child had never been a problem when your parents were so present, despite such busy lives they had. They never missed the most important moments of your life and were always there whenever you needed them. Those two were your best friends.
For the rest of the evening, all of you enjoyed proper family time with games, stories shared between laughs and fantastic food cooked by your mum - she always dismissed the staff so they could spend the holidays with their families and the food was entirely her responsibility. She blushed when Mason said it was one of the best he ever had, and you knew he wasn’t just trying to find a way to her heart. He actually meant it.
“Mummy,” you felt Lily softly poke your ribs, seeming a bit shy to say what was on her mind. You offered her a kind smile in return. “Do you think there’s still time to rewrite my letter to Santa?”
You frowned. “Why, baby?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I think I can wait for the ice skates, I want to ask Santa for my dad to still be here in the morning.”
That was when your heart broke into a million pieces. “Oh baby,” you cooed, pulling a string of hair from her face, and took her in your arms, sitting on the same armchair where you first spoke to her while still pregnant. “He’s not leaving”.
“I just want to make sure, mummy…”
“I know, we’ll write if that’s what you want,” you quickly replied, not wanting to invalidate her feelings. “You know when you were still in my tummy and was the size of a bean,” she giggled. “I sat in this armchair and spoke to you for the first time. I promised I’d try to be the best mummy to you and sometimes I wish I was better.”
“You’re the best mummy in the world,” Lily said, her small hand touching your face as her thumb softly stroked your cheek. You smiled softly.
“Now, in this same armchair, I promise that he’s not leaving. Your daddy is staying forever and now you have another grandma and grandpa, you have a cousin, aunties, uncles…”
“Do you think they’ll like me?” she mumbled, hazel eyes looking at you like she could see your soul.
“They’ll love you, peanut.”
“I’ll love them too,” she said before a long yawn, blinking a few times as she was clearly starting to fight against her need to sleep. “But I’ll always love you the most, mummy…” Lily mumbled before her eyes finally closed and, after a long sigh, her body finally relaxed in your arms and the usual low, cute snores started.
All the love that your daughter gave you had always been something that overwhelmed you. The way her face lights up when you pick her up at school, how she always wants to show you first the new things she learns, and how she’s always checking on you and making sure you’re happy were a few of the things that made you know for sure that if soulmates were indeed real, Lily was yours. Pride always coursed through your veins whenever she showed an act of kindness, and joy involved your entire being knowing that it had influence of how well you raised her - still, you still couldn’t shake the anguish that made your chest clench whenever you thought about how you prived her from another life the moment you decided to hide her from Mason. That was the feeling that kept you up for hours, rolling from one side to the other in bed, with the desperate need to cry always hovering over you.
After putting on your robe and grabbing the baby monitor, you guided your tired body to the kitchen and, trying not to make too much noise, prepared yourself a cup of chamomile tea hoping it’d save your life. You enjoyed the combination of silence and the sweet hot liquid relaxing your body - the house was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional creak of the floorboards and the soft hum of the refrigerator. Lost in your thoughts, you sat at the kitchen table staring at the half-empty cup, replaying the events of the past weeks over and over in your mind.
You heard soft footsteps and looked up to see Mason entering the kitchen, his face pretty much like yours: etched with worry and exhaustion. He hesitated a bit at the doorway before stepping in, your eyes meeting his.
“Can’t sleep too?” you asked gently, watching him take a seat across from you.
Mason shook his head. “Too much on my mind.”
You nodded, your gaze dropping to the table. Taking a deep breath, you felt your voice trembling as you spoke. “I need to say something.”
Mason looked at you, sensing the weight of your words. “Go ahead, Y/n. I’m listening.”
You wrung your hands, struggling to find the right words. Looking at him again, you felt a knot forming in your throat. “I feel so guilty about keeping Lily away from you. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing at the time, but I realise it was a lot more about protecting myself rather than protecting her. Seeing you with her now… and how happy she is. I feel awful, and I know I was wrong.”
Mason sighed deeply, his emotions a turbulent mix of anger, sadness, and understanding.“I confess that this is like… my worst nightmare. A child from a casual hookup,” he confessed, and you felt tears burning your eyes. “And knowing this child exists five years later did make me angry. I’ve missed so much of her life and there’s so many things involved.”
Tears welled up in his eyes but you watched him wipe them away quickly. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.
“I can’t just insert myself in her life without thinking about every detail, it’s much deeper because I bring a lot with me to everyone that’s part of my life,” much to your surprise, Mason reached for your hand, and, with your heart skipping a beat, your pinkies intertwined again. “I’m angry and hurt but I’m willing to push that away because I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, at the same time. Lily is incredible, she’s sweet and kind and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. She’s more than I could’ve hoped for, so I’ll fight everyone and everything to keep her safe. To keep you safe too.”
You didn’t wipe the tears that rolled down your cheeks. “I robbed you those first five years and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that, but I hope you can, for Lily’s sake. She deserves to have both of her parents.”
Mason’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “I need to feel that I can trust you, forgiveness will eventually come, but it’s also not like I hate you,” you watched how his cheeks suddenly blushed. “I think you’re amazing and I often thought about you and always hoped that I could find you someday.”
“Just not under this circumstance, yeah?” you added, and you two shared a laugh that pushed away whatever tension between you.
Mason nodded, letting go of your hair to stand up from his chair and sit on the one beside you. “I’ll take what life is giving me. We’ll figure it out together, Y/n. For her, and us too,” he pulled you into a comforting hug as you clung to him, your sobs quieting as you found solace in his arms.
“I’m so grateful you’re here, Mason,” you confessed as he stroked your back soothingly.
“We’re a family now, Y/n. It’s going to be tough but we’ll get through whatever comes our way. As long as we keep Lily safe and give her the love and support she deserves, everything will be fine.”
You remained there in the quiet kitchen, holding onto each other, both knowing that while the road ahead would be challenging, you were committed to facing it together for the sake of your daughter. Holding hands, you walked back to the bedroom hallway in silence, and Mason softly kissed your forehead before heading back to his. You stood there for a few minutes, contemplating how his lips felt so good against your skin, before deciding you’d sleep the few hours left for sunrise with Lily. With her hair splattered over the pillow, she had a smile on her lips as she softly hummed words you couldn’t understand, which stopped when you cuddled her under the duvet and finally closed your eyes, letting sleep relax your body.
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#mason mount fanfic#mason mount fic#mason mount imagine#mason mount fluff#mason mount angst#dad!mason mount#mason mount x you#mason mount x reader#mason mount x y/n
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Recently my mind has been plagued with ideas about things Tim could be other than human and what would both fit him and make an interesting story. I believe I might have found something that suits him rather well.
Tim has always been a strange child, always silent and always watching. Learning everything he can about everyone he has to interact with so that he can best make sure every interaction goes in his favor. He learned his manipulation from his Mother after all. She was the very best at it so he will be the very best too. She nor his "father" have watched over him since he was very small, after all they are creatures that do not raise their own young. Her returning to see him every few months, teaching him how to hide what he is and how to defend himself, *and* making sure he has food and shelter is far, far more than most of his species could ever even dream of. Janet is their version of Best Mom In The Universe, even if she's horrifyingly neglectful by Human Standards.
As for how Jack treats Tim, he doesn't. After all, once they were married and she had everything, she didn't need him anymore. Jack died before Tim was even conceived and the current Jack is nothing more than a husk, a living puppet that his mother walks around with as a shield to keep herself safe from prying eyes and questions. Perfect for keeping her cover as Just A Human. She has taught Tim how to do this same thing using small animals from the garden (and making sure he eats them after. He's still a growing boy who needs to eat after all) si that one day he can have a few living puppets of his own.
Tim does not tell anyone he isn't human, as per his mother's instructions. After all, he shares quite a few traits with a type of creature that humans *hate* and actively go out of their way to kill. Well, most do.
As he grows and ages as Robin, he never let's anything slip, he can't afford to let them know. He knows that Bruce doesn't trust magic in Gothem (or at least, Tim thinks that's the truth) and even if he did, the others have shown a distaste for the creature that he shares so much with. Especially Alfred and Dick, the later of which he has verbally claimed to *hate*. Given, one of them was in his hair when he yelled this but it still stung quite deeply and Alfred works hard to make sure that not a single trace of them can be found anywhere in the manor, even scolding Tim once for letting so much proof of their existence pile up in the corners of his room. But Tim doesn't blame him either, Alfred's job is to keep the house clean after all.
Eventually he must come clean though and what a way it is. Bruce has been working a case with Constantine about people going missing in Gothem. Turns out, everyone who has was some kind of magical creature and the people doing it are likely poachers. The others have been informed of the case so that they can report anything they know or anyone they know who could be a target. Tim doesn't say anything, instead keeping a closer eye on those he does know. He would never, ever sell out another creature. He would rather die.
A week later, an attempted raid on the poachers goes wrong and ends up with Jason, Tim, Bruce, and Damian all captured by the poachers. Tim is the last to wake up and when he does, the poachers are discussing what kind of undead Jason is, scanning the tied up vigilante with a device that simply says again, "subject, magical. Type, undead. Futher information, unknown."
At this point Tim realizes he's the only one not tied up. He's also the only one in a cage. He tries to pretend to be asleep but the one watching him says, "look who's awake. You know, we had bets on how many of you Bats were part of the magical community. Seems like I won the bet since only you and Red Hood over there are. Don't bother trying to lie your way out, our scanner can see through your Glamor spell, no matter how powerful it is. And this?" They hold up a small remote control with about a dozen buttons on it, "this does a wonderful little thing where it makes a specific pitch at a specific volume that causes Magical Creatures to drop their Glamor Spells or Shifts. Luckily it's nothing more than mildly annoying to humans."
A button is pressed before anyone can ask questions and the remove makes a loud, buzzing sound. It's not painful for the trio who are tied up, but Tim? Tim is shaking and writhing and *screaming* with both hands pressed over his ears. He is rolling back and forth across the ground as he screams for the person to stop, just *stop*. Bruce is almost free when he freezes upon realizing something. There aren't two tear tracks on his sons face. There's a lot. A pair of eyes have opened on his cheek bones and above his eyebrows and a smaller pair between them. Tim has gotten much paler and his canines have turned long and sharp like his nails. Tim rolls onto his stomach and curls up as best he can, screaming as there is a cracking sound. A long spindly, spider like leg shoots out of his side and slams into the floor, curling up in pain like the rest of Tim's limbs.
When the device is finally turned off, Tim is laying on his side, wheezing in pain and his legs are gone. In their place is the body of a giant spider which has sharp points at the tips of its legs instead of the regular spider feet. Tim has 8 eyes and is totally limp as he tries to recover. The Poacher simply laughs, "A Jorōgumo, a real master of puppets you are. But weak without them. God, your kind is so rare, you'll fetch us the price of at least 4 normal monsters. Add in you're a famous vigilante and we could break a few million dollars off *just* you."
Tim glares weakly at them and hisses softly. He knows the numbers are true. It's the secondary reason he never told anyone. He knew he would either get squished or sold off. How he just needs to figure out how to escape from Gothem before Bruce can confront him on this. He doesn't want to explain.
Aww... was he collecting little spiders and getting upset when his family kept expressing their hatred/distaste for them? Did he have to hear them talk about how creepy their eyes are, their weird abundance of legs, and how disgusting their overall being is before he excused himself to stare in a mirror and compare the similarities?
Does he dare to meet their eyes after the reveal, or does he fear finding the look of revulsion?
Also, would he find comfort in knitting, crochet, and weaving? Is his house full of hand-made blankets?
Anyways, enjoyed what you have and would definitely read more
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manège | k.th
pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader
genre: fluff, a little angst and comfort, ballet dancer!taehyun and pianist!reader
warnings: n/a
word count: 1.4k
notes:
— this pairing's been on my mind for a good year or so, so I'm very happy to have finally written something for them :) please note that I've only been doing ballet for a couple years now, so if I've used any terms incorrectly, I'm very sorry!
— for some clarification, mc and taehyun go to an arts school, and mc volunteers as one of the pianists for the ballet studio
Taehyun finds his way back to you, again.
TXT Masterlist
manège: a classical ballet term for “circular,” which describes a series of steps done in a circular pattern around the stage
. . . . .
"...Taehyun?"
The question of his name is quiet enough that if he hadn't noticed the opening of the door in the corner of the mirror, he would have missed it. As it stands, his mind barely processes your voice emerging from behind the door, and it takes a moment to shake off the double tours and pirouettes before he can even recognize the face appearing in the mirror. He blinks sweat away from his eyes. "Y/N?"
"It's late," you say, stepping into the empty studio. "You're still practicing?"
As one, you both look at the clock hanging on the wall. It's long past eight, when Taehyun initially told himself he'd stop—long past nine, even.
Suddenly all of the exhaustion of the day seems to hit him at once. His muscles ache, sweat keeps dripping down his face no matter how much he wipes away, and there's a small but consistent flare of pain in his calf that he should really stop and massage out. Really, he wants nothing more than to just sit down against the wall, or maybe even flop onto the floor and stare at the ceiling while seeing nothing at all. He's been here since eight in the morning and his body clearly knows it.
"Yeah," is all he says in lieu of articulating all of this, though, because his throat feels gravelly and words are hard. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead. It's at least as fair of a question for you as yours was for him.
"I had class," you say. Taehyun takes in your leggings, the loose T-shirt almost covering your shorts, and remembers yes, there was a lower-level class held almost immediately after you got off your shift. "I stayed after to practice."
He frowns. "For almost five hours?" You were playing the piano for his company class until it ended at three. Your adult beginner class ends at four thirty, and it's past nine.
"Not ballet." You shift the weight of several books in your arms, and only then does Taehyun see their worn paper bindings, the music markings on the covers, and remember that people practice things besides dance. "Evaluations coming up. There was a free piano in one of the empty studios."
Ah. Taehyun nods. And then the room falls into silence again, broken only by the sounds of your breathing.
"So." You walk to the empty piano in the room, placing your books on the top before looking at him expectantly. "What are you working on?"
It takes him a moment to register your words, to understand that you're not telling him to leave or go home or get some rest. All of which he should do, but the looming specter of the showcase next week won't let him. "You're not going to tell me to go home and rest?" he asks regardless, and even though his throat squeaks a bit after spending so many hours in silence, you don't laugh. Not at that, anyway.
"Well, would you have gone home if I'd said you should?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head and a smile curves his lips when you give a little laugh. "See?"
"Point taken," he says, and when you laugh again he laughs too. "Grand Pas Classique," he answers your original question. "For the showcase. Next week."
Your mouth parts in a little 'o'. "This one?" you ask, playing out a short melody. He nods. "Can I see?"
He should. He shouldn't. He at once wants to but doesn't, wants to let the melody sing in his blood as he double tours and entrechats around the room, spinning and leaping across the floor, but he also knows that you're here. And if Taehyun is his own harshest critic, he becomes even harsher when someone else is in the room.
You look at him, though, and he looks at you, and he knows that you see him for himself. See the sweaty hair matted into clumps, see the muscles aching behind his skin, see the work put into every effortlessly pointed toe and graceful finger as he takes his beginning position in front of the mirror. And when the music begins to play, the melody spilling into his ears and then into his blood, he looks into the mirror and smiles not because he has to, but because your watchful eyes will never hold judgment. Will never hold disappointment. Will only ever see him, see Taehyun Kang the person and not Taehyun Kang the dancer, and will cherish him for it.
When he's done, the applause of one person cuts through the labored silence of his breathing, and it's enough to keep the smile on his face, to let his muscles finally relax, to wipe the sweat from his brow and sit down. Or—not really. He's still a little too wired to sit, but he leans against the wall of the studio and gestures to where you sit at the piano like it's the most natural position in the world, ready to play but not. "Show me something," he says when he has enough breath to speak. "What are you working on?"
There's a moment when you're flipping through your books, skimming pages filled with music and your careful notes, where Taehyun loses himself, for a moment, in you. When you squint at a few pages, then put the book back on top of the piano, then position yourself at the keys. The preparation—the careful placement of your fingers just as deliberate as his pointed toes and graceful hands—the moment where time holds still, before you give in to the song in your mind and your heart and allow the music to flow through your veins.
It all comes back to you, Taehyun thinks as your fingers waltz and whirl across the keys, dance in enchanting patterns of black and white. From him, to you, back to him and then to you again—in manège, arabesques and jetés leaping about the stage, coming away from the center only to reach it again the way everything always returns to you. Your voice, your music, always there. Always constant. Pulling him back to earth when he threatens to topple over the edge, never once wavering in your strength or patience even when you see the worst parts of him over and over.
He's sitting down by the time you stop playing, fingers gentle yet unyielding against the piano, coaxing a last, wavering echo from its depths before your hands rise, suspended in the air, then fall to your lap. When you look up, the fluorescent studio lights seem to burn your figure into his vision, like the afterimage of a lightning strike behind his eyes. "That was beautiful," he says, and he means it in more ways than one.
And you accept the praise in more ways than one, in the smile on your lips, in the twinkle in your eyes, in the moment where you sit down next to him, back against the wall, and let him lean his sweaty head on your shoulder with no complaint about how gross it must feel. "Thank you," you say, and when you do, the melody racing through his veins finally calms.
It's almost ten, now, the clock still ticking away on the wall. But you make no move to get up and neither does Taehyun, even when you murmur "Home?" in a voice that only makes him lean further into you, even when he makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. In the end, it takes nearly twenty minutes for you to finally pat his knee and say get up, Taehyun. And then he disappears to change and wash up and collect his things, and maybe in the shower he can feel himself beginning to fade away again, but then you're standing right outside the locker room and when he slips his hand into yours, he comes back to earth. Manège. Circling you, always. Leaving. Returning. Orbiting. Joining.
Music dancing through his blood and yours, a song that he will always be able to follow back home.
Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)
#txt#tomorrow x together#tomorrow by together#txt taehyun#taehyun#kang taehyun#taehyun scenarios#taehyun imagines#taehyun fluff#taehyun angst#txt angst#txt fluff#txt scenarios#tomorrow x together scenarios#taehyun oneshots#taehyun x reader#txt x reader#taehyun fanfic#taehyun au#txt taehyun x reader#fluff#angst#ballet dancer!au#manège#blossom-hwa
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Sven/Gérard/Yvette; almost home
Another of the Kickstarter fills, for a request for some OG OT3.
“You know,” Blair says. “As a single dude, when your friends start getting married and have kids, usually you start to drift apart.”
Sven blinks at him, feeling slow, as he so often has lately. Blair’s speaking to him, but obviously he’s the married friend with kids in this equation, in which case the single dude is — ah.
“I don’t think we’ve drifted apart,” Sven says, looking over at Gérard. Gérard smiles back, small.
He doesn’t think they’ve drifted apart at all.
“Well, no, you’ve done the exact opposite,” Blair says. “That’s kind of my point.”
“I don’t understand what your point is meant to be,” Sven says.
“Leo?” Blair says. “You want to do that English to Olsen translation for me?”
Gérard smiles again. It looks tired. Sven sympathizes. Empathizes. Whatever the word is.
Usually he’s much better at this, but he hasn’t had an undisturbed night of sleep since little Gerard was born. Well, except on the road, but that’s exhausting in its own way — his first night away from Yvette and the baby, he spent half the night texting her for updates until she told him to sleep so at least someone would.
Sven is a champion sleeper. He’s renowned for it. Or, he was. He misses it. Sleeping in. Lazy mornings in bed. Napping just for the pleasure of it, rather than because it’s the only sleep he can snatch. He knew what he was giving up, but — well, he didn’t know.
“Too tired for translation,” Gérard says.
“Me or you?” Sven asks.
“Both, probably,” Gérard says.
“Okay,” Blair says. “Uh, usually people, you know, quit having shit in common? Instead of uh, literally moving in so they can help take care of the baby? Typically?”
“Well,” Sven says. “Have they considered it? Because I do have to say, it’s significantly easier to handle childcare when you outnumber the baby three to one.”
“Neither of you look like it’s even remotely easy,” Blair says. “Did you sleep at all last night, Cap?”
“I slept six hours,” Sven says. They weren’t all consecutive, but even so, he thinks those are solid numbers for a newborn. “As did Yvette.”
Hers were consecutive, thanks to an eye mask, ear plugs, and a noise machine. He can’t begrudge her any of it; she’s the one at home taking care of little Gerard while they’re here enduring their teammates’ busybodying because the coaching staff is running late. And not just one or two, but all of them. Sven would like to think that implies something scandalous, but most likely they’re in a meeting. He’s glad they don’t have meetings. He doesn’t think he could handle meetings on six hours of sleep. Frankly he doesn’t think he could handle meetings on eight.
Or perhaps they’ve all been fired. Sven hopes that isn’t the case. He likes them, but more importantly, he thinks if he had to adjust strategies right now he might malfunction. He’s learning something new every minute, it feels like. There is no room in his brain.
“That seems like a lot for a baby?” Bowie says. “Sleep,” he adds, when Sven blinks at him. He’s lost the thread again.
“Oh,” Sven says. “Yes. That’s my point.”
“Wait,” Dan says. “How many did Gérard sleep?”
“Seven,” Gérard yawns. His were also not consecutive. He’s an unfortunately light sleeper. He’s managed to adjust on the road, so Sven hopes he’ll be able to adjust to the baby too, but it hasn’t happened yet. But it’s only been a month. It feels much, much longer than that.
“Okay,” Scott says, leaning in, his eyes a little wild. His wife’s due any day, so Sven isn’t surprised. “I don’t know if my wife would agree, but you know what? For six hours of sleep, I’m in. Gérard, what do you charge?”
“You have to name your child after him,” Cary says. “Obviously.”
“I would genuinely consider doing that,” Scott says.
“Aren’t you guys having a girl?” Bowie asks.
“Gerardina,” Scott says. “What do you say, G?”
“That sounds like an STD,” Cary says. “You’d do that to your poor kid?”
“For six hours of sleep a night?” Scott says. “Absolutely.”
“Too bad,” Sven says, reaching a hand out. Gérard’s sitting too far away for him to reach, so he lets his hand hover in the air, hoping Gérard knows that Sven’s wrapped a telepathic arm around his shoulders. He might. Gérard is an exceptional individual. “He’s mine.”
“My wife’s a good cook,” Scott says. “Those two don’t cook, do they?”
Sven stands up, walking over to Gérard’s stall so he can not so telepathically wrap a possessive arm around his shoulders. Gérard leans back into him.
“I cook,” Gérard says.
“Free meals, and I’ll name two kids after you,” Scott says. “First name, middle name, everything.”
Sven tightens his grip.
“I don’t think Sven would be willing to give me up,” Gérard says.
Sven’s glad he knows this.
The coaching staff come in then — not fired en masse, Sven is thankful to see — and everyone jumps up, the few who haven’t changed into their gear hurriedly devoting themselves to the task.
Practice is harder than usual, but easier than conversation. There’s muscle memory to it, the literal practice of hockey, broken down into its bare components. Conversation flows, it changes, he has to adapt. That’s true of hockey too, but moreso during games than in practice. He’s only scored two goals in the past six weeks, but practice, that he can do. It’s almost nice, getting to use his body, to know that everything’s still there, that it still knows what to do, especially after he found his phone in the fridge this morning. He hadn’t even realised it was missing.
“I’ve never been more popular in my life,” Gérard says on the drive back. Sven isn’t a fan of driving at the best of times, so they’ve mutually agreed Gérard should be the one behind the wheel. “Everybody wants to name their kid after me.”
Sven grunts.
“Don’t worry,” Gérard says. “I won’t take Scottie up on his offer. I know you wouldn’t know what to do without me.”
Yvette might — she’s very capable, far more comfortable with everything. She’s tired, but not totally at sea. But Sven?
“I wouldn’t have the first idea,” Sven says honestly.
“Sleep for the rest of the drive,” Gérard says.
“It’s only ten minutes,” Sven says, but he closes his eyes, and doesn’t open them again until Gérard’s gently shaking his shoulder, telling him to come inside.
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Yuuji with a tall (pushing it at 198cm) scary transfer student from America who's kind of a punk but he's sweet sometimes (mainly only to yuuji) perchance?🧐(N/sfw)
ヤンキー・Yankee
Yuuji x tall delinquent male reader
content // Reader comes from a strict American family, canon-typical violence, reader is a juju tech transfer student, reader is a bit depressed, Reader is smitten™️, (yuuji is too), very wholesome, pre-relationship
note // This ended up being a bit long, so it’s just sfw for now! Let me know if you’d like a part 2 :)
-When your family moved to Tokyo for “business” related reasons, nothing could have prepared you for the culture shock. The language was one thing, but there were all these social customs that were just implied. No one said anything bluntly to your face, even if they did speak comprehensible English, which a lot of people did. Was it because you were an outsider? Was it because you were American?
-Maybe because of this, you found the life of delinquency easy. Maybe it was because you were 6’6” and no one was going to fuck with a dude twice their height, because nothing meant a quick trip to the hospital like getting into a fight with you.
-But people did. And you busted their faces in. It’s what they deserved. One time you broke your fist on someone’s nose. It was worth it. You got suspended and grounded by your parents, but so what? You never provoked people, they just came at you, and it was within your right to defend yourself. Isolation wasn’t caused by ostracization, it was caused by defense, and in your opinion, there was a lot to be defended.
-One day, your parents told you that you were getting transferred to a select school a little bit outside the city. A strange man (who was surprisingly close to your height) came by the house, offered to fist-fight you, and for the first time in your life, you got your ass whipped.
-It was a this point that you realized that the “imaginary friends” you had been seeing since childhood were called “curses,” and that maybe there was a place in the world for your violence. It had just been an outlet, maybe now you had a purpose.
-Very quickly, you realized that Jujutsu Tech also wasn’t home. A part of you wondered if anywhere in Japan could be. Before you were even given your own dorm room, you were sent with another student for a “trial run.” He didn’t talk to you much, and it took two hours into the thing before you even learned his name. It was like your parents had sent you to military school, and in a sense, they did.
-That was until you met Yuuji.
-Yuuji wasn’t like the other students. In many ways, he was like you. To no surprise, many of the students at Jujutsu Tech were also former delinquents, Megumi included—But Yuuji was different. He had blood on his hands, but there was no way you could tell. From the moment you met, he actively talked to you, tried to get to know you, treated you with respect, that’s just how he treated everyone, that was Itadori Yuuji.
-It’s not like no one had ever given you the kindness of humanity before, but Yuuji was different. Why wasn’t he afraid of you? Why wasn’t he intimidated? Maybe he was and he just never let it on, maybe it was because he’d beaten up kids just like you when he was in middle school, you didn’t really know. But it wasn’t just that. He was sweet he was funny he was kind. You were a friend, just like anyone else.
-Yuuji liked watching foreign films, and would invite you to go watch them in the city if any theaters had showings (and since it was Tokyo, they almost always did). After the movie, the two of you’d walk around and discuss what you liked, what you didn’t. One time, Yuuji asked about your home. He asked if you missed it, and a part of you did. A lot of you did. You didn’t talk to your friends anymore since everything had changed. Would they even believe you, anyways? Fighting monsters, living in what felt like another world?
-Yuuji understood you, he always did. That’s what’s so charming about him, is that he can feel what you’re feeling. At that time, he gave you a hug, and told you that he can’t send you home, but he can do his best to make Tokyo your new one. Maybe there’d be a piece of home here, maybe you could find a quiet spot, surrounded by the greenery of your youth, and the two of you could sit and chat while the memories flooded in.
-That was the first time you had cried since you moved abroad, and you vowed to make it your last. Somehow, Itadori Yuuji had weaved into your heart, and you weren’t about to give him up anytime soon.
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snickerdoodles, chapter 3: drifting apart, keeping in touch, a bar near-miss and a senior year surprise (4.9k words)
previous chapter here!
warnings: a bit more angst followed by fluff, the slowest burn (sorry)
chapter 3: let them eat macarons (or cake)
The cookies sit heavy in your bag, straps digging into your shoulder, while the foam of the orange headphones that have been on your head for more than an hour now squeeze your temples uncomfortably. But you don’t notice either of those things, because your eyes are glued to the monitors showing everyone’s track position, and your heart hammers in your chest not unlike the way it does when the anesthetist announces there’s five minutes to go before rewarming.
Oscar tries to negotiate Lewis in Turn 15, but even you can see that Hamilton pulls a dirty defensive move, squeezing Oscar dangerously close to the wall. The radio beeps.
“Man, Hamilton is trying to kill someone today.”
A chill runs down your spine. When you streamed the races from the comfort of your own couch, you hadn’t realized, really, exactly how fast these drivers go. But watching and hearing them take sharp corners at the speeds you take your car on the motorway when you’re hurrying to the hospital…Oscar’s right. He could kill someone. Literally.
There’s no way you could work for motorsport, at least not in a capacity where you have to come to all the races. But then, you feel a crazy compulsion to come, as if you need to be there, need to make sure nothing bad happens to him.
Lewis attempts to chase Lando down, but Lando, daring and hot-headed, doesn’t budge, and you cheer internally for the papaya team. Look at yourself. Already biased, already fangirling.
“Okay, Oscar,” Tom says into the radio. “You are within DRS, you can push, last lap.”
Your nails dig crescents into your palms.
Oscar edges the car near Lewis, tries to take the inside line…
…and Lewis swings wide, retaining his lead. Oscar crosses the line not half a second behind, P4.
You sigh with relief as he slows on his way into the pit lane.
“Okay, good job Oscar, P4, P4,” Tom tells him.
“Fuck,” Oscar’s voice crackles through the radio. “I’m sorry guys. Fuck.” True to Oscar form, even in rage, he sounds downright placid.
“No worries, Oscar, it was a tight race. Good drive. Lando P2.”
A heavy sigh. “Well, congrats to Lando at least. Good for the team.”
When Oscar extricates himself from the car and walks over into the paddock, you’re waiting for him. He pulls off his helmet, then the balaclava underneath. His brown waves point in every direction, matted with sweat, but his frown melts as soon as he sees you.
“I’m gross—” he warns, but you’ve already pulled him into a tight hug.
“Congrats,” you whisper into the rough fabric of his suit.
“This wasn’t the race I wanted you to see,” Oscar says, dully.
You pull away, but move your hands from his back, holding him by his biceps. “It was the one I got to see. You’re incredible. It’s like you become a different person out there, you know that? You’re just so…in your element.”
Oscar chuckles. “Too bad the second the suit comes off, I’m the dorky bloke who likes cookies way too much.”
“Funny you should mention,” you say, reaching into your bag, producing the snickerdoodles you’d gotten up to bake at the crack of dawn with a flourish.
You swear Oscar’s eyes just light up, and he pulls you close to him again.
The paddock is much more relaxed after the race, more disorganized. Papaya mixes with navy which mixes with scarlet, green, pink; you shake many hands attached to many people you’ll never remember, all the while searching for Oscar, even though you know he’s probably tied up with press. Luckily, Logan makes a beeline for you and herds you around, introducing you to more of the guys on the grid.
“Oscar’s being held hostage by Sky Sports,” he says with a grimace.
You grin. “I figured.”
Charles, equally as beautiful as his teammate—does Ferrari hire drivers or models?—presents you with a tiny, squirming golden puppy. “His name is Leo,” he beams, waving a diminutive paw. “Say hi, Leo.”
You nearly melt, stroking Leo’s head gently with two fingers, which is about the most you’re willing to do with a creature that miniscule.
“Ay, cabrón,” Carlos practically shoves Charles out of the way. “That dog is just his excuse to flirt.”
Logan rolls his eyes, stunningly reminiscent of Oscar.
Fortunately, only the Ferrari boys seem hungry for your attention. Pierre actually apologizes for Charles’ antics—”he ees so desperate”—oblivious to Yuki yanking one of his shoelaces and bounding away. Fernando fulfills your plea to witness one of his famous celebratory dances as Checo and Max roar with laughter. And you’re pleased to be able to tesitfy that Danny Ric’s smile is as blinding as they say it is.
“How’s trauma service treating you?” Logan asks conversationally as you walk back towards the McLaren motorhome.
You shrug. “It’s alright—” Huh. “Wait, how do you know I’m in surgery?”
Logan reddens, as if he’s accidentally revealed classified information. “Ah—well, I mean, Oscar talks about you a lot.”
Talks about you so much that Logan knows what department you’re currently rotating through?
As if he read your mind, Logan straightens up, clears his throat. “Suppose you weren’t aware.”
“Aware of what?”
“Of how…invested Oscar is. In your life. In you.”
Your heart begins to pound. “I mean, we’re good friends.”
Logan raises his eyebrows. “Nothing more?”
You shake your head, lips pursed.
He looks thoughtful. “What?” you demand.
“Well…nothing.” He notices your suspicious frown. “Okay, well, the way he talks about you, you’d think the guy’s a little nuts about you. Like, he’s not exactly the most chatty dude on the grid, but I swear if someone mentions a TV show, it’s suddenly your favorite show. And we’ve all learned not to ever bring up anything medical, or else we’re about to hear a whole ass lecture on how cool you are, how you’re a real doctor. And don’t even get me started on cookies, or cakes, or come to think of it, baking in general…”
You don’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or crawl into a cave and never come out. But now it’s Logan’s turn to appraise you shrewdly. “So…are you interested in him?”
Well, the cave option sounds pretty good now.
“No! I mean—I don’t—we’re just not like that,” you stumble clumsily. Is Logan Sargeant really interrogating you about your love life right now? “We’re friends. We’ve known each other for ages—”
Before you can continue to dig yourself an even deeper grave, Oscar mercifully emerges from the motorhome’s front doors. “Hey.” He nods at Logan. “Thanks for babysitting her.”
“Hey, I didn’t need babysitting—” you say, and then see the faintest whisper of a smirk on his face. You give him a playful jab in the side with your elbow.
“I don’t know,” Logan says innocently, “by the way you were wandering around, looking like a lost sheep…”
Oscar laughs, really laughs, and then you know Logan’s actually his friend, even off the track. That laugh is sunshine. That laugh is the crest of a wave on the Australian beach.
“Let me guess,” Logan says. “Lando’s already drunk.”
“He’s halfway to the bars in London,” Oscar chuckles.
“When are you heading to?”
Oscar glances at you, then back at Logan. “Actually, I was thinking of sitting this one out?”
“What?” you say. “Why? You should go celebrate. It’s an off week next week too.”
“You on nights this week?” Oscar turns to face you.
“Yeah, although I don’t see how that’s relevant,” you retort.
Oscar hums. “Welllllll…hypothetically, it’d be good for you to be staying up late, right? To prepare.”
You have to laugh at that. “Are you saying you want me to go to your team’s afterparty?”
Logan says nothing, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you, an infuriatingly knowing smile plastered on his face.
You imagine taking a few tequila shots—something you haven’t done since uni, really—and jumping up and down on the dance floor with a bunch of strangers. Logan’s eyes search your face imploringly.
“I guess I could go,” you say hesitantly. Oscar brightens. “But I’m not staying late, or going crazy. That’s all on you.”
“Deal,” Oscar says.
“Deal,” Logan smirks.
You’re not sure what you’ve just signed up for.
~
“Sweetie,” your mom says one day, “the almond flour’s about to go bad. Weren’t you going to make macarons?”
Yeah, with him, you think bitterly. “I guess so. Haven’t been baking much recently.”
“Not as fun without Oscar, huh?” your mom’s voice softens. You try hard to fight back tears, even though it’s been nearly a year since he packed his bags and left for London. You shake your head.
“Well…Nicole was asking about you. I think she misses seeing you too, honestly.”
Nicole? Oh. Mrs. Piastri—Oscar’s mom. You sigh, remembering all the times you’d walked over to his house together, balancing plates wrapped loosely in clingfilm, Tupperwares full of baked goods. Oscar’s little sisters crowding around you while you watched TV on the couch, begging you to let them braid your long, thick hair, which had reached nearly to your waist. You tug on the newly short, barely-skimming-the-collarbone ends now—another thing, you think, Oscar wouldn’t recognize.
“S’pose I could bring her some macarons,” you mumble, and your mom smiles.
It’s not as fun without Oscar, of course, but you get the job done, and forego the drive in favor of a walk. A perfect March day in Melbourne—crisp, cool, and dripping in autumn foliage. London must be cold and rainy. It certainly is today; you check the weather there before here every morning without fail.
Oscar’s mom answers the door almost right away—your mom must have given her a heads-up about your impending arrival—and immediately scoops you up into a hug. “You’re all grown up!” she cries, and you feel a wave of guilt, remembering your mom telling you that she’d noticed your relative disappearance. But Mrs. Piastri waves you through the door as if no time has passed at all. A picture of Oscar, no more than ten or eleven, beaming in a tiny racing suit and perched on top of a kart, stands on the mantle. It’s been there forever. You realize why you’ve been avoiding baking, avoiding going to see Oscar’s family—because they’re just more reminders of the fact that Oscar himself isn’t here.
Mrs. Piastri gushes over the macarons, calls Oscar’s sisters down to enjoy the bounty, and your chest aches a bit at how much you’d missed this.
“What happened to your hair?” the youngest one whines. You smile apologetically, tell her you’d chopped it off for track.
Then Oscar’s mom asks about your senior year, college applications, and you swallow. Actually, you’d applied in Year 11, having frontloaded an obscene number of classes, done pretty much nothing but study and build up your résumé and get applications together. Honestly, it’d been a pretty good distraction from…well, other things.
You remember how, right at the beginning of term this year, you’d squeezed your eyes shut as you clicked the button to open your decision, read “Congratulations! University of Oxford is offering you a place for Medicine in the 2017 term”, heard your parents shout jubilantly, felt your mom’s tears on your neck as she whispered how proud she was of you.
“Actually,” you say, “I’m graduating a bit early, and writing medicine at Oxford in the fall.”
Mrs. Piastri’s mouth forms a tiny O, which quickly morphs into a beaming smile. “Oh honey, congratulations!”
“If anyone could do it, it’s you,” she continues, and you blush at the compliment. “Oscar always said you were going to be a doctor, no, the best doctor—”
You freeze at his name, and she’s definitely noticed, because then she asks if he knows. You remember how you’d immediately reached for your phone, realized the only person who you wanted to tell was currently halfway across the globe, no doubt too busy with karting and his new school and his new friends for you to be so much as a blip on his radar. You’d called a few times, texted back and forth when he’d first moved, but they’d gotten sparser and sparser, until by the end of Year 11, there were hardly any messages at all.
You shake your head apologetically. “We’ve been pretty bad at keeping in touch.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it—he hardly even calls me,” she laughs. “He misses you, though, he always makes it a point to ask about you when he does call.”
Mrs. Piastri’s probably being diplomatic, so you just nod. But when you finally stand up from the dining table to leave, she tells you in earnest, “Give him a call, will you? I think it would really, really make his day.”
At home that night, you stare at his contact photo. In it, Oscar’s wearing one of your mom’s aprons, brandishing a piping bag like it’s medieval weaponry, looking goofy as hell. Maybe he’ll think you’re weird for calling. Maybe he won’t pick up.
Here goes nothing, you think, and click on the Facetime button.
One ring, two rings, and Oscar’s face suddenly fills your laptop screen. Your hands immediately starts to tremble.
“Whoa,” he breathes.
His voice is almost unrecognizable, no longer the reedy drone of a teenager’s, and his hair, no longer so cropped, dips in a smooth wave over his forehead. You had no idea his hair was wavy.
“Hi.” Your voice cracks; you clear your throat. “Been a while.”
“You cut your hair,” Oscar observes, his eyes darting around the screen, taking you in as you did him.
“Yeah. It was getting too hot for track.”
Oscar’s eyebrows fly up. “Since when do you run track?”
You shrug. “Since Year 11, I guess.”
“You hate running,” he says softly, and you feel a pang at the fact he remembered, and another at the realization that you’d joined the team because you needed something to take up your time on your newly vacant evenings. Then, louder, “I like it. You look…older.”
“Thanks. And I don’t hate running anym—well, I’m trying to like it,” you correct yourself, and both of you chuckle awkwardly.
“So,” Oscar says abruptly, all business. You feel a little prickle snake up your arms as he crosses his. “I heard something from a little birdie.”
“Whaddya hear?”
“I just—is it true you got into Oxford? For medicine?” His voice rises about two octaves on the last word.
“I—ah, yeah,” you stammer. Clearly, Mrs. Piastri had wasted no time in exposing you.
“Oh my god,” Oscar all but shrieks. You’ve never heard him this worked up before. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” you say, feeling suddenly shy.
“You’re excited, right? Why don’t you sound more excited?” he demands.
You swallow. “I am. Excited.”
“And why didn’t you tell me about it? I can’t believe I had to hear it from Mum.”
“I wasn’t sure if,” you take a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if you’d care,” you finish, lamely.
Shit, you think, as the smile fades from Oscar’s face.
“Oscar—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say you don’t care, or that you’re a bad friend—”
Oscar looks down. You see him chewing on his lower lip, and for a second you think he’s going to yell, or cry, or cuss you out.
But he just hangs his head. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“Why are you apologizing?” you demand, horrified.
“Because…it’s true. I’ve been a shitty friend.”
“No you haven’t,” you plead. “I could’ve—should’ve—told you myself. I just assumed you were busy, and that you had better things going on—”
“Exactly.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“If you assumed I was busy…” Oscar says slowly, “I was the one who should’ve reached out.”
You shake your head.
“I thought you were too busy,” he blurts out suddenly. “All I do is race. But you…you have so much. Top of the class, every club under the sun…you don’t have time to sleep. How could you have time for me?”
And even though Oscar’s face is marred by the pixelation of the screen, the red that rims his eyes isn’t lost on you. Too quickly, the screen isn’t the only thing blurring your view.
“But I—” Your voice cracks; you swallow, resolute. “Oscar. I’ll always have time for you.”
You think that in another universe, one where Oscar stands a few meters and not oceans away, you’d show him how much you mean it. Pull him close and breathe him in and hang on for dear life.
Maybe Oscar hears you anyway.
He drags his forearm across his nose, tries to disguise his sniffle in a laugh. “Do you still bake?”
“Not without you…but hey, I did today,” you quickly amend, as he quirks an eyebrow.
“You should start again,” Oscar says. “I’m gonna call you next week and you can tell me what you’ve baked.”
You open your mouth to protest, then realize what he’s said, how there’s going to be a call next week, and think it’ll be the longest week of your life. Might as well bake something to pass the time.
~
Oscar’s drunk. You’ve had a beer together, maybe a glass of wine with a cheese board, but you’ve never seen this Oscar, his hair sweaty and matted against his forehead, cheeks flushed from dancing and yelling over the thumping bass, his eyes a little glassy. You’ve been nursing a cocktail he’d bought you for the last hour, pleasantly tipsy, taking it all in.
Logan bounds over and plants himself on the stool next to you. “Why aren’t you dancing?” he gestures exaggeratedly to the mass of bodies undulating to the music.
“I’m old,” you grin, knowing full well Logan has you beat by a few months. His eye roll tells you he’s all too aware. “And I have a real job, remember?”
“But Oscarrrrr,” Logan drawls.
Your heart does a little lurch.
“What about Oscar?” you ask carefully.
“He wants you to daaaance,” he singsongs.
No way. Boy’s making stuff up. “I was gonna leave soon, anyway.”
As if summoned, Oscar shoves his way past a small throng gathered near the bar, stumbles up to you and Logan. You stick out an arm to steady him.
“Whoa there, cowboy,” you tease. “I’ve never seen you so gone before.”
Oscar grimaces. “Not that gone.”
“Good thing you showed up, though. I was just telling Logan I’m about to head out.”
He blinks slowly, as if you’d just woken him from a nap. “You’re…leaving?”
“I’m working tomorrow,” you remind him.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan wink, slide out of his chair, then slink away to the mosh pit.
Oscar shakes his head, pushes his damp hair up his forehead. One strand remains stubbornly stuck above his right eyebrow. You resist the urge to brush it out of the way. “I’ll go too.”
“What?” you say, alarmed. “No. This is your party. Come on, Osc.”
“Then I’ll walk you out,” he says, and something in his voice tells you he won’t take no for an answer.
So you let him lead you out of the bar—although maybe you’re the one doing most of the leading, Oscar leaning on you, an arm wrapped around your waist. You try not to pay too much attention to the way his hand feels, gripping your side firmly.
The night air is cool, and you feel little bumps prick on your arms. You shiver involuntarily.
“Cold?” Oscar asks. Before you can respond, the arm around your waist moves up, wrapping itself around your shoulder. Another arm joins it around the other shoulder, two hands clasping together around your chest. Oscar rests his chin on your head, and you feel the heat radiating from his chest onto your back.
You giggle, a little giddy, maybe from the drink, maybe from him. “You make a great jacket. But I need my arms to call a cab, ya know.”
Oscar’s grip slackens, and you think he’s freeing you, but then he spins you around and suddenly, your face is buried in his chest. He smells like his cologne, intensified by the dampness of his shirt. “Thanks for coming.”
Your chest feels tight. “Of course,” you manage.
His eyes roam over yours, your cheeks, finally settling on your lips, and your heart hammers a painful staccato against your ribs. He slowly brings up a hand to your face, thumb lightly brushing the corner of your lips, index tilting your chin up. Your faces are mere centimeters apart.
He’s going to do it, you think.
But his shoulders sag, and his hand drops. You search his face desperately, wondering what he’s thinking, try to hide your disappointment.
“I’m drunk,” he says quietly. “And stupid. I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. Not ten seconds ago, you’d felt like you were suspended in the air, before everything came crashing back down. Now you just want to…run. “You’re not. Stupid, I mean.”
Stupid. Kissing you would be stupid of him. He is drunk; anyone could be standing in front of him right now. Maybe he wishes someone else was.
Oscar’s lips disappear in a thin line. A shiny black cab rolls up to the curb.
The last thing you see before you turn the corner is Oscar’s stricken face. You bury your face in your palms, still slick with his sweat.
~
“A cake?”
“It was Nate’s birthday,” you retort.
“Oh yeah, and I bet Nate was so much happier to get your girly-ass flower cake over peanut butter cookies. I know they’re his favorite.”
You can’t help but chuckle at the pride in his voice at knowing your brother’s favorite cookie. “I’ll have you know he ate three slices at dinner last night.”
Oscar’s face softens. “In all seriousness, that cake looked pretty fire.”
“Thanks,” you say, blushing a little at the validation. You had to admit you were pretty proud of the orchids you’d painstakingly piped over the bottom of the cake—no cheating with fondant in your kitchen.
“How’s formal stuff? I saw some schools already had theirs. You’re going, right?”
“Nah,” you say, “it just wouldn’t be the same without—” You catch yourself just in time.
“Sorry, I think you cut out,” Oscar says. “It wouldn’t be the same what?”
“Nothing,” you reply hastily. “I just don’t really feel like going.” You picture him frowning on the other end of the line. “Do you have a formal at your school?” you attempt to change the subject.
He’s quiet for a second. “Yeah,” he says. “Same weekend as yours.”
Somehow, an image of him dancing with a pretty British girl materializes in your mind, and it prickles at your chest. Oscar would have no trouble getting a date to his formal—you remember the picture he sent you of him on holiday, tall, tanned, broad-shouldered, with the same grin that had so endeared you years ago.
Rustling on the other end. “Hey. Still there?”
You force yourself to snap out of it. “Yeah, sorry, got distracted.” Then, in as casual of a voice as you can muster, “Are you taking a date?”
“I dunno,” Oscar replies, his tone blasé. “Some of my mates are. I haven’t really thought about it.”
There it is again, Oscar asking the imaginary girl to be his date, her blushing and nodding yes.
“You should,” you say despite yourself. “Anyone would say yes to you.”
Your mom’s voice faintly echoes up the stairs, calling you down for dinner.
“Gotta go, Osc.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to you later.”
You tap the button to end the call, feeling a little like you’d just made a terrible mistake.
You tie the satin laces of your dress together behind your back in what you hope is a proper bow, fasten the straps of your heels around your ankles, and slick on a layer of lip gloss before inspecting yourself in the mirror. Not too shabby for someone who would rather be doing pretty much anything else than going to Year 12 formal with some strange boy and friends who are a lot more excited about it than you.
In the end, it was Jessica who had relentlessly begged and wheedled you to come, and you’d acquiesced, mostly to stop her from yapping your ear off.
But two days before formal, she told you at lunch that she’d found you a date.
“What?” you’d snapped. “Jess, I don’t want a date.”
“Please?” Jess widened her eyes. “I just think it’d be so much better for pictures, you know, if we all had a partner.”
You shook your head in exasperation. It wasn’t like you could do anything to change her mind. “Well?” you said, irritated. “Who is it, then?”
Jess smiled, a tad apologetically, mostly not. “I can’t tell you.”
“Jess! I swear to God—”
“Sorry, sorry,” she waved your words away. “I promise he’s not ugly and I promise you won’t hate him...you’ll just have to wait and see.”
You aim your phone at your mirror, and snap a selfie for Oscar, just like he’d asked. He was probably just waking up now...if he was actually awake. It was a Saturday, after all. And Oscar Piastri was not one to ever wake up earlier than 10am by his own will.
But this time, your phone pings right away.
Oscar
You look great!! :)
And that’s all you need to feel a little better about this entire formal situation.
You descend the stairs cautiously. You can already hear your friends chattering downstairs with each other, interspersed with a few unfamiliar voices you assume are some of their dates and all of your parents. One of them sounds vaguely like Oscar, and you wrench your thoughts away from him. Nope. Not tonight. You know you’re just going to be miserable if you keep thinking about him like that.
Jess notices you first, and squeals. “You look so good!”
The other girls crowd around you, complimenting your hair, your makeup, your dress. You think to yourself that it’s fun to dress up every once in a while. Be something other than your everyday self, forget about physics finals and the looming threat of college and boys who are going to other formals a thousand kilometers away.
“Jess is right,” a voice says behind you.
You whirl around.
Oscar is standing there, dressed in a black suit, the blush pink of his tie matching your dress, grinning from ear to ear. He’s holding a little box with a corsage inside of it.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
So you just launch yourself at him instead.
Oscar drops the box, picks you up by the waist as easily as if he was picking up his backpack, and spins around once, twice. Some of the guys whoop, and you can’t help but giggle, even though you feel tears on your face.
“What can I say?” he says, gently putting you back down. “Someone told me I should go...and that anyone would say yes to me.”
You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, knowing your mascara is probably ruined for good.
“So,” Oscar continues softly. He bends down, picks up the corsage. “Does that apply to you too?”
Your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “Yes, Oscar,” you laugh, “yes it does.”
Oscar beams, takes your hand, sliding a little bouquet of creamy orchids up your wrist. Jess takes picture after picture of the two of you.
The smile doesn’t leave his face for the rest of the night, not as you cram into the backseat of one of your friends’ minivans, not as you jump up and down to the music at formal, not even as he passes out from the travel-induced exhaustion on the ride back.
You’re pretty sure it doesn’t leave yours, either.
--
taglist: @sideboobrry11 @helloooobroo @fangirl125reader
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 fanfiction#f1 fluff#op81 x you#op81 x reader#op81#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fic#fanfic#fanfiction#snickerdoodles
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I keep seeing complaints that people responding against anti-voting propaganda content are being "condescending" and "patronizing" and therefore are hurting their own cause. to a certain extent, I understand the point being made; it's true that people don't respond well to being insulted or feeling like they're being insulted. I've made this point many times before myself. but some of the takes I'm seeing have me at the end of my fucking rope, so I'm just going to reiterate three points that are less about this specific conversation and more about political debates in general:
refusing to consider the meat of someone's valid argument purely because you don't like the tone they're taking while making it is shitty behavior, and it's a great way to end up with factually wrong opinions. we've had a whole conversation about this in recent years; it was pretty hard to miss.
saying or implying that someone is a bad person (or annoying, or cringey, or whatever) instead of addressing the meat of their argument is an ad hominem attack. it's a logical fallacy. there are plenty of times where it doesn't matter and it's not that deep, we can make jokes, fine. but when forming your actual real opinions, it's critical that you agree or disagree with an idea, not with the people who are having it.
I've seen plenty of posts that took a hostile tone. I've also seen plenty that didn't, yet were still described as being patronizing. at this point, I'm not sure how people can phrase their arguments without being accused of condescension, because part of the problem with this topic (and many others, to be fair) is that people who need to hear corrections to their own thinking have gotten extremely attached to a specific way of conceptualizing how american politics work that isn't reflective of reality, or have linked their identity to engaging with politics in a specific way that has been sold to them as "radical." we've got a lot of people more interested in maintaining a sense of identity or catering to their own moral scrupulosity than in getting real world results that would actually line up with their stated values.
I do think that some people's frustration in combating this comes out at condescension. that's unfortunate, and I agree that it can be counterproductive. but I think there is also a strong element of people hearing that their political strategy is ineffective, dangerous, and poorly considered, and experiencing that as an attack to their identity, moral beliefs, or in-group. this is an extremely common phenomenon; a great recent example of it is conservatives who resisted mask and vaccine requirements - the things they were saying and doing were materially harmful to themselves and others, but telling them that was attacking something they had folded into their identity, so they pushed back even as they personally suffered the consequences of that decision.
my point is, if you have a negative response to hearing that your choice not to vote and to keep publicly discouraging voting is irresponsible and going to have undesirable results, it might be because the person saying so is being a dick about it, or that they generally suck as a person. I truly can't dispute this, the world is full of assholes. But a) does that make their argument factually wrong? what evidence do you have of this? does it hold up against the point they're making? And b) are they really being a dick, or are they simply challenging something that feels personal to you?
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9-1-1 rant. I have a lot of mixed feelings about this season and a lot of them aren’t good. Love this show, I’ve been watching live since season 3 but yikes that finale was a mess imo definitely one of my least favorites for sure. Very underwhelming. The whole season in general was wacky.
I’ve been feeling this way for at least 2 seasons now. I feel like 911 has been trying to fit these LARGE stories that they don’t have time for or are failing to make time for in these episodes. I get that this season was shortened, but if they can’t properly flush out a story in time, they should figure something else out instead of simplifying it and cutting out so many parts that it loses the build up and the emotion and captivation.
So much happens off screen that I feel like should be SHOWN. like we didn’t get to see Chris upset in the moment when he saw the Shannon lookalike, the scene cut out after he said mom. All we see is just him in his bed telling Eddie to go away later. We didn’t see the confrontation with Marisol and Eddie and her leaving, just an offhand comment of her not coming back later. We didn’t see the phone call that had Buck rushing over. We didnt get to see Eddie at his house alone after Chris leaves, just him leaving with his grandparents and boom, cut scene. We didn’t get to see hen or Chim at Bobby’s bedside.
We don’t get to see the aftermath of ANYTHING. The show keeps cutting the scenes just short and it has been pissing me off so much. They’re missing out on so much depth bc they’re doing too goddamn much at once and too quick.
All action, no build up or payoff. Just one thing after another. You don’t even have time to let your emotions settle and follow the characters bc it’s over so soon. You don’t get to worry and grieve alongside the characters. Bobby almost died and then boom he’s fine again like nothing happened. Like what am I supposed to be emotional over? He almost died in the desert just a couple episodes before that and then he was fine, no mention of it again.
Idk it seems like this show has been doing a lot of telling instead of showing when it comes to what are supposed to be emotionally charged scenes, like Buck saying how he was worried he was gonna lose Bobby but we didn’t really see that. All we got was a teary eye when Buck told Eddie he was in the hospital. Didn’t get to see the team actually save bathena in the beginning, so seeing them get the medals held no weight, like cool we’re told they saved them but we didn’t see shit. We didn’t get to see any of the madney wedding buildup like picking flower arrangements and a venue and dress/tuxedo shopping or anything like that, just assume off screen obviously XD
Buck’s sexuality arc being reduced to background noise also sucks. He kissed a man and then they said ok cool good enough moving on now. Not even bothering to deepen/develop his relationship with Tommy (are they even together or are they still going on dates?? No fuckin clue lmao), instead of a meaningful conversation between them in the finale it’s turned into a sexual joke like come ON, besides the first kiss and the second kiss that Buck initiates, their scenes are meaningless imo and that’s sad bc I was so excited for this storyline in the beginning but again, there’s nothing there. No substance.
And don’t even get me started on henren’s storyline. How many times are they gonna recycle the ‘person gets in the way of henren expanding their family’ bullshit before they finally get creative and think of something new? What is that, 3 times now? It’s just annoying at this point lmao I’m over it.
Why is Tim so against happy storylines? I know he said something along the lines of people wouldn’t watch if the characters were happy, but I think that’s bullshit. If you can’t captivate an audience with positive stories then I think you have a skill issue. Big drama and angst doesn’t equal good story telling and writing. Couldn’t even give madney a nice wedding like wtf.
Idk. I hope next season is thought out better.
#911 spoilers#911 on abc#911 abc#911 discourse#911 discussion#evan buckley#henrietta wilson#karen wilson#chimney han#eddie diaz#maddie han#henren#athena grant#bobby nash#buddie#bathena#madney
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Why I Love Travel Season’s Editing Style:
Okokok- I already made a post stating my love for Travel Season after my first initial watch-through of the first two episodes, but I have more to say. Last night, I could not stop rewatching these episodes. Possibly because I am just over the moon seeing Steven, Andrew, and Adam back in action in a show created 100% by them, and where they are allowed to make it their way- BUT there is another reason I could not stop watching it. All do in part of the editing style.
As a self-taught (and soon to be academically-taught) video editor, my favorite thing when watching digital media is seeing what techniques and styles creators use to convey an overall concept to their videos/shows. Some of the more detail-oriented editing I see in today's climate of internet content comes from Watcher's shows. For instance, Mystery Files with the corkboard graphics. Are You Scared of the hand-drawn art from illustrators Mollie Ong and Rafael Mejia. Dish Granted with the use of circle cutouts and white negative spaces. Weird Wonderful World with its cartoon sound effects and stylistic graphics/music to fit whatever atmosphere the boys are in. Puppet History with the motion graphics being put within the confines of the puppet theatre and just everything that goes into the post-production process of the lore events of that show. I could go on, but I might end up writing a whole novel in the process.
Plus, this is about Travel Season... so let's talk about Travel Season.
I was barely 5 minutes into the first episode when I realized just how different Travel Season stands out against anything Watcher has ever created. The overall vibes of the show are calm, peaceful, comforting, and relaxed. The whole show feels like I am watching an old family home video made in the 90s with a camcorder. This style of content that isn't constantly moving at a fast pace and in your face would not perform well in the YouTube algorithm, and I am glad that Watcher was able to launch their own platform to make shows like Travel Season because gosh, this is the kind of content I miss. Oversaturation and pleasing the algorithm can only go a long way as a creative, trust me.
Anywho- back to editing. I am going to point out just some of my favorite editing details that were showcased in the first two episodes of Travel Season. Starting off with probably my favorite scene from both episodes:
This small clip highlights many of my favorite details of the post-production of Travel Season. The first detail I brought up in my previous post involves The Brick aka the camera. The concept of The Brick ties in with what Meredith, Watcher's Development Coordinator, said in Pod Watcher episode #23 about physical hobbies. Something that we can create in a physical sense that does not belong to a digital realm ala the internet/social media. The idea of having a functional prop with The Brick can tie a whole show aesthetic together, but in this case, The Brick also aids in the post-production allowing the team to make smooth-flowing transitions. What I mean is sometimes, especially with a show like Travel Season where they cover many different locations/activities in one video, finding a perfect, easy-flowing transition can be difficult. Jump cuts can be useful in certain cases to hit a comedic mark or shock the viewer, but that is not the overall vibe of Travel Season. The pictures taken on The Brick from their work tripe an easily organized B-roll for harder transition points and simple things such as finding Seoul provide space for much-needed voiceovers for context.
Another editing point that is provided in this clip is the audio. Watcher has never missed the mark regarding audio choices and the addition of sound effects in their work. Sometimes people think that when editing, the editor finds a song that fits and slaps it on the timeline, but here showcases the idea of editing for the environment. What really stuck out to me is the jump cut to the location and using an effect like Lowpass on the audio to make the audience feel as though they are truly standing outside of this nightclub-esk restaurant. Then it jumps to the audio back to normal with Steven dancing as Andrew browses then back to Lowpass edit as they introduce this next location. It's just such a subtle touch that had me all giddy because small details as this audio editing elevate the scene to another level. Showing that Watcher was trying to make you feel like you are there with the boys on their travels. A true immersion effect that I just love.
Also to Adam and Annie who were both camera operators, your b-roll is absolutely superb and adds to the overall vibe of Travel Season.
The last point of editing I want to bring up as it's on the top of my head are these moments:
When they use a frame hold and then change the aspect ratio for a transition. I just find it such a charming technique in video editing. Plus I feel like this transition fits in with the whole "taking photos" approach because in a way the changing of the ratio on a frame hold is like taking a snapshot of that frame like a picture.
I just... I just love it, okay?
Honestly, I could go on and on about every little detail of this show and how they decided to overall produce it, but like I said- novel.
Watcher just puts so much love and care into all the shows they make. Even when it comes to the last process of video production which is editing the episodes together. I have not seen many channels put this much thought into the specificity of their videos like Watcher. This is why I gravitate towards them so much they care about the little things in the shows they create.
Moral of the story: I am in love with Travel Season and with Watcher as a whole.
thank you for listening to my ted talk aka my nerdy ramblings
#watcher#watcher entertainment#steven lim#andrew ilnyckyj#adam bianchi#travel season#travel season hype train#me rambling about editing#sorry not sorry
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Mabel and R spend a carefree day at the beach, building sandcastles, splashing in the waves, and sharing ice cream cones as they soak up the sun.
Sunny Day
Mabel x GN! Reader (Request)
Masterlist
Word count: 0.8k
“You are so childish!” Mabel’s laughter echoed throughout the nearly empty beach, it was a bit secluded and not a lot of people knew about it, but Charlie saw it from the ship one day, told about it to Mabel and here you were, having fun.
“So, don’t help me, miss too old to make sandcastles,” you stuck your tongue out playfully as you dug the trenches around a fairly big sandcastle you and Mabel have been making for the past hour.
“Oh, I didn’t mean the castle,” she laughed, pointing at the tiny sand monsters that looked like blobs heading toward the castle.
You snickered, proud of your creations. But more than anything, you were happy to be here with Mabel. She’s been busy with college lately, and to have a day like this, where you could just hang out and have fun, felt like a treasure you absolutely needed to cherish with all your heart. “I love being here with you,” you still weren’t sure when to say ‘I love you’ to Mabel, it was still a fairly fresh relationship, and while it didn’t feel casual, it still felt like it was just a bit too early for that.
She smiled confidently, and pecked you on the lips. “I love being here with you too,” somehow, you felt like she would be the first to say those three words, but that was topic for another day. “Oh, shit!” she grabbed your hand and pulled you back before a slightly bigger wave could splash you.
Unfortunately, nothing could be done to save the castle, as the two of you stared blankly at the ruins of an empire you have built together. In the end it wasn’t the army of blobs, but the anger of mother nature that caused the symbol of the once mighty rulers to crumble.
Oh, well, it was bound to happen.
You glanced at Mabel, then at the sea, then grinned as she smiled suggestively at you.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” you asked.
“Go for a swim?” she guessed, prompting you to nod, and since she was still holding your hand she just pulled you along to the water.
It was refreshing to be in the water after so many days of summer heat killing your mood. And Mabel was the image of grace in the water, her movements smooth and measured, it was like she was one with the water, like it was natural for her to move through it, and you were mesmerized.
“You’re staring,” she pointed out and splashed you.
You splashed right back, making her hair stick to her forehead. “Look who is childish now,” you laughed, which turned out to be a mistake, as Mabel fired back, filling your mouth with salty sea water. You coughed, trying to get rid of the taste as she laughed. “Oh, you want war? You’ll get one!” you exclaimed, chasing after her as she shrieked and swam away from you.
“I surrender, I surrender!” she laughed as you caught up with her and pulled her to your chest. Both of you breathed a bit heavily but the grins on your faces made it all worth it. “I surrender,” she cupped your cheek, kissing you much deeper this time.
“Good,” you muttered, as you separated.
“As if!” she splashed you right in the face and swam toward the beach as you just remained there, too surprised to go after her. Eventually, you just shook your head and swam back as well.
“You surrendered, just so we’re clear on who won,” you said as she lied on the towel and basked in the sun. Mabel just lifted her sunglasses from her eyes and gave you a ‘no way,’ look. “Strawberry vanilla ice cream?” you asked as you took your wallet.
“You know me,” she stretched a bit with a wide smile on her face.
You went and bought the ice cream cones and rushed back before they could melt. Mabel, surprisingly preferred softer flavors, which you found extremely cute. “Here you go,” you offered the ice cream to her and sat down on the towel next to hers. “I could eat this all day,” you sighed contently as the ice cream cooled you down.
“Agreed,” she leaned her head on your shoulder and took your free hand in hers. “You know, Y/N,” she began, looking you in the eyes.
“Hmm?” you weren’t sure what she was going to say, but judging by the look on her face it was important to her.
“I love you,” your eyes widened as she said those three words you struggled to say before.
“I love you too, Mabel,” you told her, grinning widely.
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don't talk about it ᰔᩚ j.sc
warnings. smut, best friend!sungchan, roommate!sungchan, arguing, it's a dumb argument but you are fighting this man, physical fighting, just shoving nothing crazy but a physical altercation starts this all, unprotected sex, hair pulling, some angst? idk if i missed something let me know! i also did not proofread this because i got out 5k words in one night which is crazy for me. anyways, enjoy!
wc. 5k
summary. your best friend embarrasses you in front of your campus crush. so, of course, you decide to fight with him in the living room and learn some interesting things about him in the process.
Sungchan had always been stupidly large, in your opinion.
He was so large that you couldn’t resist the urge to playfully test his strength, curious to see how his fit frame would react to your playful jabs or if he would sway with a gentle nudge. He would playfully push you back, never with full force, but these light-hearted scuffles became a regular part of your friendship. It was a source of joy, a shared silliness, it meant everything.
Except for the times it did.
“You’re so stupid sometimes, oh my god!” You shouted at your so-called “best friend,” shoving hard into his chest. This shove wasn’t like the ones you usually gave him. This one was harsh and mean. There was not a semblance of anything alluding to happiness on your face as you looked up at Sungchan with knitted brows and parted lips, shoving hard into his firm chest once again, this time with a shout of frustration.
If we’re being honest, you two have been drinking. It’s not like you’re shitfaced and neither is he, but the alcohol is just enough to make the world blurry at the edges and your words harsher than you typically allow them to be. His chest, solid as a boulder beneath your pushing palms, doesn't yield like it usually would during your fond roughhousing. He stands firm, his expression teetering between annoyance and worry.
"Stop it," he gruffly says, grabbing your wrists mid-shove. Just like that, the playful laughter that usually echoes between you two gets choked in the tension-filled silence. You try to yank your hands-free, but his grip is firm yet gentle. He was never rough with you, even when the fights turned serious like this. It was a rarity for things to turn nasty, but sometimes Sungchan was so oblivious you couldn’t stop yourself from lashing out at him, especially with a few mixed drinks in your system.
“Let go,” You snapped. Sungchan leans in with a tilt of his head, letting out a “Hm?” as he does so, challenging you.
“Chill out first.” That did the exact opposite of chill you out. You hated it when he took that tone of voice with you, as if you were some child that needed to be put into a timeout.
There were many things you loved about Sungchan: His kindness, his dedication to anything he sets his mind to, his eyes, you loved a lot about Sungchan, but there were many things you couldn’t stand about him. He was oblivious to the simplest of social cues, he got loud when he was drunk, and the way he comforted people was an absolute joke. If you hadn’t known him for more than half your life and shared an apartment with him, you would’ve ditched him when you two graduated high school.
But you didn’t. Now, you’re stuck with a big, dumb roommate who loves telling the men you like that you like them. God, Wonbin was never going to talk to you again after the scene Sungchan caused trying to get him to give you his number. You still can feel the embarrassment hot in your veins, making you lurch forward and finally give his chest a shove that makes him stumble a few steps.
“I won’t chill out! I won’t! What you did was fucking rude!” You yelled, pointing a finger in his face to punctuate your words and get your point across. Sungchan scoffed, turning his head away from you, but you could see his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, making the skin push out slightly. It was a habit of his you had noticed when you two went to parties together in college. It’s what he does when he’s annoyed and holding himself back, beating someone’s ass. It’s a rare occasion for Sungchan to beat someone’s ass, but when it did happen, it was always deserved. Typically, it would be a drunk guy who wanted to buck up to the biggest guy at the party, a one-sided battle of masculinity that Sungchan always won, no matter who came up to him. You’ve only seen Sungchan throw a punch twice in your entire friendship.
Once, when you were in high school, and the last time was at a party during your junior year of college when a man put his hands on you despite you telling him to fuck off. The other times, he had simply told you about when you’d see him in the kitchen with littered bruises on his body. You think about that night more often than you’d like to admit. Sungchan didn’t hesitate to throw a punch for you, knocking the man clean out by the time he was done with him. It lit a fire in you that you’re not proud to admit. There was just something in his eyes that rubbed your brain right. You would never admit it, but were desperate to see that look again. You wanted to see him angry, to watch him lose control no matter how fucked up it sounds.
“Get your hand out of my face,” Sungchan told you firmly, looking you in the eyes to get his point across, but you weren’t deterred. You step closer to him, finger still in his face.
“No. Not until you apologize. Admit it was rude. You were rude.”
“I wasn’t fucking rude,” Sungchan argues, swatting your hand down when you don’t move it from his face. You bring it back up without a care of the consequences, resulting in a game of him swatting your hand down every time you bring it up.
You two look stupid. Thank God this is in the privacy of your living room.
“You had no right-”
“You were never going to talk to him if I didn’t! You’re a chicken-”
“I’m not a fucking chicken––Oh my god, don’t call me a bird.”
“You’re such a fucking chicken, dude. Do you remember how long it took you to even talk to Shotaro? Months. ‘Took you months to even say hi to him, and that’s because-”
“Shut up.”
“That’s because I had to step it! I was the one to get you to talk to him!” Sungchan continued with a shit-eating grin, voice picking up volume as he leaned down to get closer to you as if you couldn’t hear him clear enough, pointing to himself like he had won some kind of award. Your already flushed cheeks begin to heat up when you remember the Shotaro incident of 2022. He always brought up Shotaro, and even if it was just to pick on you playfully, it still struck a nerve. You were more shy than Sungchan ever was, always letting him start the conversations or introduce you to new people. Half of your friends are Sungchan’s friends; half of the people you’ve dated are because Sungchan knew them first. Every connection in your life could be traced back to Sungchan, which drove you insane.
“Now, you want to talk all this shit because you got embarrassed I had to step in again and help you get some dick,” Sungchan pressed, his grin turning into a smirk as he nodded at his words, feeling them in his being because they’re true. You stared at him with contempt, teeth grinding as your fists balled up tightly. “You should be thanking me. You’re so ungrateful for everything-”
You lunged at him. You swear you don’t have control of your body when you do it, you just throw your entire weight into his chest and hope for the best. Sungchan let out an “Oof!” sound when you collided with him, staggering back and hitting the ground with you on top of him. You act as if you two are playfully wrestling, but none of your movements have an ounce of playfulness in them. You straddled his hips firmly as you shoved at his hands harshly to get them away from grabbing you. You knew once he got his hands on you, it was over. He’d flip you two over, and it’d be done. You couldn’t let him win this. You couldn’t do it. You had to prove it to him.
You don’t know what it was, but you had to prove it.
You grab his hair tightly, jerking his head off the carpet to distract him, tugging hard on the brown locks. Sungchan lets out a yelp that sounds pathetic. His eyes squeezed shut as his large hands wrapped around your wrist to try and pull you off of him.
“Not fair-” He started. You shake his head, eliciting another yelp from him.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up,” You spat at him, shaking him again. His face contorted in pain and confusion, groaning softly as he did what you told him for once. You couldn’t believe he actually listened. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d get this far. You’re not exactly sure what to do next. So, you shake his head again, making him hiss when you tugged harder on his locks. “Can’t fucking stand you, you know that? You’re such a jerk sometimes. Just big, stupid, and taking up space.” You shake his head around with every word, watching him drop his hands and put them up in front of him in faux surrender, but he doesn’t say anything. He only whined and grunted when you pulled on his hair harder than usual.
You waited for him to spit something back at you, to call you a coward, to say you needed him, but nothing but pants left his plush lips. You furrow your brows in confusion at his silence. Sungchan was never quiet. You shake him again.
“Hello? Say something!” You shake his head again, this time back and forth. You won’t lie. It was fun to have him like this. He acted like some kind of puppet that you were the master of, pulling him around in whichever direction you wanted him to go in, and he just took it. Sungchan sighed in defeat, keeping his eyes shut tightly.
“My dick just twitched.”
Oh.
“Excuse me?” You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Your hands, which had been roughly pulling at Sungchan's hair, suddenly freeze. Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze down at him, cocking a brow at him. His face is flushed a deep crimson, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you can't tell.
"I said," he starts again, much slower this time, swallowing hard, "My... my dick just twitched."
You blink at his repeated confession, not expecting him to repeat the words. There’s a tension growing between the two of you that you’ve never felt before, making your throat dry as you stare at Sungchan’s embarrassed face, watching his chest rise and fall as he pants beneath you. Flashes of what he’d look like without his shirt flash in your brain, wondering what sounds he’d make as you sink down on him, how his eyes would look, how the muscles would ripple under his––Jesus Christ, get it together, girl. You remind yourself, clearing your throat down at him.
“Like…Seriously?” Sungchan nods at your dry words, opening his eyes slowly to look up at you. A switch in your brain is flipped when you see his big brown eyes. He looks utterly pathetic like this, hair in your hand revealing his forehead, eyes pleading for something silent, and lips in a perfect soft pout. You wanted to take his picture like the actual definition of pitiful.
You chuckle at him, shaking him again and tugging his hair hard to see if it really did anything for him. He whines again, shutting his eyes as his hands lurch towards your hips, holding tightly with a sharp breath through his teeth. You smirk at his reaction, raising your brows in slight shock it was this easy to get him going. Maybe it was the alcohol, you think. You’ve seen Sungchan shove his tongue down girls’ throats just mere minutes after he met them, but this is you. You’re his best friend, his roommate, the girl who beat his ass for talking to her crush for her. You know you’re pretty, and Sungchan is just a man, but you’re still caught off guard by it all.
Your palm still cradled his scalp, thumb lazily tracing small circles at the base of his hairline. Sungchan’s hands on your hips squeeze gently, fingers digging into your flesh just a bit more than necessary and causing a shiver to wind its way up your spine.
Without thinking, you leaned forward and claimed Sungchan's lips in a rough, desperate kiss. His taste was different than any guy you've ever kissed - salty with a hint of beer and lime from the drink he had tonight. You wrapped your hand tightly around the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you as your other hand found its way under his shirt to feel his warm skin. You didn't let up when he moaned into your mouth, feeling your touch while he tentatively kissed you back. Your anger turned into desperation quickly as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, tasting him fully now. His lips were soft and plush against yours as they parted slightly to let you in further. You moaned the moment your tongues slid together, digging your nails into his toned chest as he pressed in further, sucking softly on the slick muscle in your mouth.
Sungchan's hands moved up your body, gripping your waist and still pulling you closer. The fabric of your shirt scratching against his rough palms made you shiver with anticipation for more contact. You grind down on him out of instinct, feeling the bulge in his pants grow as he groans against your mouth, wanting more from both of you. His scent filled your senses - a mix of sweat and cologne and something uniquely Sungchan that made you want more.
The sound of his rhythmic grunts filled the room, a mix of desire and surprise in every breath he took. His fingers dug into your skin through your shirt, and you moaned into his mouth once more. Your breath hitched when he bit down on your lower lip gently, making you gasp and whimper into the kiss before breaking it, desperate for air. You gasp softly when you part, watching with hazy eyes as he pants as well, lips slick with spit and typically wide eyes heavy with lust.
You tug at his shirt, nodding before he has any time to say something that will kill the mood.
“Take it off.”
And he listens like a dog, pushing himself up and pulling his white T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you flush against him. There are no thoughts in your head right now, only Sungchan, touching Sungchan, kissing Sungchan, fucking Sungchan––Holy shit, you were totally going to fuck Sungchan. That hits you harder than you thought it would. You’ve thought about it before. How could you not? He’s beautiful, kind, and built like a God. Of course, you thought about fucking Sungchan. It was nothing like this, however. Typically, you thought of him having your face pressed into the mattress, back arched, and fucking you from behind like he was getting paid. You would’ve never guessed you’d be on top, but it’s not like you can’t get into it for Sungchan. You’d do anything for Sungchan.
"Are you sure?" Sungchan whispers against the skin of your neck, his hands finding your hips again to steady you against him, his bare chest warm and firm. You're taken aback for a moment, not expecting the question. But then you realize that he’s always been considerate, even when he’s on the verge of losing control.
"Yeah," you say firmly, the word slipping out without thought and causing heat to flare in Sungchan's eyes.
Without hesitation, you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head swiftly. The cool air hits your skin, making goosebumps spread across your chest and arms. Sungchan's eyes widen as he takes you in, his gaze making you feel exposed and powerful. You struggle to pull your jeans off, having to crawl off of him to kick them off in haste. You hate how desperate you look but can’t bring yourself to care. Sungchan rolls on his side when you crawl off of him, lingering towards you like a lost puppy. His eyes watch as more of your skin is revealed to him, letting out a groan when he sees the smooth skin of your thighs.
Before you have the chance to climb back on top of him, he leans in, kissing the side of your thigh with a moan. You let out a gasp in shock but watched him with parted lips, threading your hands through his hair again as he dragged his lips all over the expanse of your thigh, leaving a trail of glistening spit as he did. He grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him roughly, making you fall back onto the carpet with another gasp. You don’t argue for once; you are too invested in what Sungchan will do next, even if you care.
His lips pepper kisses across the inside of your thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin with deep breaths as he inched closer and closer to your core.
He licks his lips as he hooks a long finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. A moan leaves his lips when he sees your pussy for the first time, looking down at it like he’s looking at a coveted piece of art. You watch him closely, ears turning pink as he lifts two fingers to his lips, licking the tips of them before bringing them down between your legs to rub circles into your clit. His gaze stays on your cunt, watching how the pretty pink flesh moves beneath his fingers, biting his bottom lip when he hears you let out a whine, seeing your thighs tremble at just the slightest touch. Finally, his dark gaze lifts to meet yours.
With his eyes trained on yours, he presses a long finger inside you. A sigh leaves your lips as your eyes flutter shut, gripping the carpet with one hand while the other dug into your side, biting your bottom lip as he pressed another finger inside. You moan this time, feeling your walls begin to stretch for him. You hear him groan quietly, making your eyes open. You’re immediately met with his gaze that never left your face. He looks like he’s in a trance, staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You can’t tell how it makes you feel, but you feel hot, like you’re boiling from the inside out. It aches, but it’s so intoxicating that you want more of it.
You whimper at how his fingers slickly slide out, then back in, watching him get lost in the sight of your reactions. You’re so wet for him. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you got so quickly. You swallow thickly as your chest rises and falls with each pant. His eyes stay on your face as his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing slow circles that make you shiver with a choked-out moan. His free hand cups your jaw, tilting your head back slightly, forcing your lips apart to look deeply into your eyes as he watches you crumble under him.
Feeling emboldened, Sungchan takes his fingers out of you slowly, letting out a long moan when they leave you empty. He lays a line of sweet pecks against your inner thighs, leaving tiny bites and nips on the soft flesh until he reaches the hem of his boxers. With a breathy "Fuck," he tugs them down enough to reveal his hard cock pressing against the fabric. You gulp as it springs from its confines, averting your eyes momentarily before snapping them back up to challenge his gaze. His thick length twitches with anticipation before he guides it towards you, slick with pre-cum leaking from the tip. Your heart stops for a beat before racing wildly in your chest again.
"Wrap your legs around me," Sungchan orders softly, not breaking eye contact even when you hesitate for a second before obeying. He grunts when he feels your folds pressing against his cock, pushing inside without a moment’s hesitation. He slides in so easily, groaning at how smooth the glide inside you is. He sounds as beautiful as he looks, making you moan as well. The way his cock splits your walls apart for him is delicious, to say the least, as a euphoria fills your veins as your walls spasm around him with another moan, this one airier than the one before.
“Fuck,” Sungchan curses, fingers digging into the carpet next to your head as he looks down at where your bodies were connected before back at your face. You two lock eyes again, making your heart hammer in your chest harder than before. Still, you meet his gaze with a quiet whimper, hands wrapping around his strong biceps as you bat your lashes at him.
“Feels good, Sungie?” You ask in a too-sweet voice. You rarely whip out for him unless you ask for a favor, like getting something off the top shelf or making him finish your short answer response questions because you don’t want to. Sungchan would do anything for you, and you’d do anything for Sungchan. He takes a deep breath at your tone, lips curling into a smirk before he bites his bottom lip, nodding.
Then, his hips roll into yours.
Sungchan's thick cock feels even better than you could have ever imagined, stretching you wide and fulfilling you completely. His hips roll into yours slowly, making you moan and whine beneath him with each gentle thrust. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, his smirk turning into a grimace as he leans down to capture your lips in a rough kiss.
Your walls clamp down on him at the contact, purposely trying to get more friction between the two of you. Sungchan groans against your lips, slipping his hands under your back and lifting you up onto his lap effortlessly. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his hard chest pressed against yours. Your heart pounds in your chest as he starts to fuck you properly now, eyes closing at the sensation that washes over you. You swear you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, but you convince yourself you’re just dreaming it.
You feel every inch of him inside of you, making your walls tighten around him with every snap of his hips into yours. A tiny sob leaves your lips when he hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. You dig your nails into the flesh of his shoulders, jaw-dropping and eyes rolling back at how your body moves like a rag doll and at how sharply his hips snap up into you. He groans into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin before sucking softly to soothe it with his tongue. You can't help but shudder in his lap; this feels so good that it hurts. His hands hold you in place, one on your waist and the other cradling the back of your head as he takes rough control of the kiss again, teeth scraping against soft skin with every thrust. He pants against your lips, moaning your name softly and how good you make him feel. It's all too much for you; all too real with Sungchan, yet so not real. You’re fucking your roommate on your living room floor––You’re fucking your best friend on your living room floor.
Your hands find their way into his hair again, holding onto him tightly as he continues to fuck into you like your his, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and over your collarbone. You mewl at the feeling, arching your back into his chest as he hits that sweet spot inside you once more. You could feel the warmth spreading through your veins, making you dizzy with need. The room spins around you as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper into your already aching pussy. His moans mix with yours, their tongues meeting in a messy kiss that speaks volumes about how much you both want this.
Your legs quiver as he takes control of the situation, fingers digging into your skin softly before trailing up to caress your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra. You let out a strangled cry when he pinches at one of your nipples roughly, making you moan into his mouth even more, looking down to watch him work with a breath through your teeth. Your hands' card through the hair on the back of his head, eyes shutting to focus solely on the pleasure coursing through your veins with every drag of Sungchan’s cock against your walls.
"Sun-Sungchan," you whimper. The sound of his name on your lips is like music to his ears. Your body is sweaty and flushed, a beautiful sight for him to feast his eyes upon. He growls lowly when he finally meets your gaze again, heat pooling in your lower belly at the raw desire he displays.
“You’re so fucking good, baby. ‘Should’ve fucked you soon, hm?” Sungchan groans, his voice creased with effort as he continues to pound into you. You can’t help but respond with a needy whimper, skin burning under his touch as you nod your head dumbly. You feel him everywhere, and it's overwhelming - the way he’s stretched you wide open, the way he feels pushing deep inside of you, the way his hands are holding you in place as if afraid that you'll slip away from underneath him.
Your heart beats furiously against your chest, matching rhythm with the throbbing ache between your legs. You're close, too close, but not quite there yet. Sungchan seems to sense your growing desperation, the flash of triumph in his eyes telling you he knows exactly what he's doing to you. He reaches down and begins rubbing slow circles on your clit again, thumb pressing against the sensitive nub just enough to make you cry out in pleasure.
“You gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your throat, teeth dipping into your soft flesh, causing a sharp gasp from your lips. You nod frantically in response, words failing you as white-hot pleasure courses through your veins. He laughs softly - a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine.
The way you melt against him is intoxicating. He grunts, unable to think straight as he feels his own orgasm building up. His hips move even faster, his cock sliding in and out of your welcoming heat with each thrust. He groans against your skin, panting heavily as he fucks you like it’s his last dying will, wet sounds filling the room that mixes with your pants and moans. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sounds you’re making, cheeks growing more read because of it. Sex is so embarrassing sometimes.
He pulls away from your neck just a little to look into your eyes, panting heavily as they roll back in pleasure. Sungchan's lips curl into a smirk at seeing how lost you get. Your walls tighten around his cock once again as you cum around him, making Sungchan's eyes roll back into his head and tilt his head back with a melodic groan that has you moaning as well. You feel him tremble beneath you as he finally cums inside of you, making you smirk softly as your hands run up and down his back.
You throw your head back and cry out his name, orgasm hitting you hard and fast like a freight train. He watches as you finally hit your peak, jaw-dropping at how gorgeous you look when you feel good. Your walls clamp down around him, and your muscles spasm in ecstasy; even through the haze of pleasure, you feel every drop of his cum spilling into you, the heat of it searing into your core. Your body convulses and shivers under the onslaught of pleasure, your voice breaking on Sungchan's name.
Sungchan stays still for a moment longer, his cock still buried deep inside of you. His chest heaves against yours, ragged gasps filling the space between your sated bodies. He blinks slowly, his gaze holding yours captive as he pants out your name. You take his face into his hands with a deep breath, leaning in and kissing his lips without a second though. He moans into the kiss, holding your wrists gently as he does so.
You both stay like that for a while. Bodies joined together in the aftermath of your shared orgasm. The only sounds in the room are your gasping breaths and the rapid beat of your heart pounding in sync. Cautiously, Sungchan pulls out of you gently, making your pussy squeeze around nothing instinctively at the loss, a soft whimper leaving your lips.
He rolls off to one side, pulling you with him so that you're tucked against his side. His arm wraps around you and keeps you close to him, fingers dancing along your sweaty skin lightly. Neither of you speak for long moments, too wrapped up in trying to regain control of your breathing and coming down from your highs even to fathom thinking of words right now.
Eventually, though, Sungchan breaks the silence with a soft whisper, "You okay?"
Your lips twitch into a tired smile against his chest, pressing a small kiss there before nodding. "Yeah," you huff out after a moment, "That was…"
"Crazy," he finishes for you, making you shut your eyes with a laugh, nodding in agreement.
“Yeah…That was crazy,” You whisper, moving your head to rest on his chest to soak up more of his warmth. Your cheek squishes against his chest as you lay there, looking down at his spent cock resting against his thigh. It hits you that you’re both naked and just had sex on your living room floor. This calls for a conversation at the least but you can’t drag yourself to start it, completely spent from what just occurred.
So, instead, you close your eyes.
You’ll deal with it in the morning.
#sungchan smut#jung sungchan smut#riize smut#riize scenarios#sungchan hard hours#riize hard hours#sungchan x reader#99woez#riize imagines#riize x reader
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General Syscourse Survey Results | Part 2
Here's Part 1 if you missed it!
Also, same exact wording as the last part: This is not professional in any way and most of this data will just be me explaining interesting things I found. I'll note the percentages and such where I can.
I'm rounding all the percentages to the nearest tenth, so they may or may not add up if you type them into a calculator yourself.
This one is going to go over general opinions on tulpamancy & will also go over general opinions on the syscourse code. Everything is once again under the cut :)
Section One | Tulpamancy
Q1: Do you believe non-Tibetan Buddhists can practice Tulpamancy?
Quick note on this question: most tulpamancers do not consider the practice to be related to Tibetan Buddhism at all, some do. Take that as you will. I suggest you research the history of the term 'tulpa' and how it came to be.
Out of 73 respondents:
- 20 (27.4%) said yes, and it would not be cultural appropriation
- 6 (8.2%) said yes, but it would be cultural appropriation
- 12 (16.4%) said no
- 35 (48%) wrote custom responses (will be summarized below)
Those who said yes & that it is not cultural appropriation generally stated this because of the origin of the word Tulpa. Most said that the term had nothing to do with any form of Buddhism and that it was an open practice.
Those who said yes & that it is cultural appropriation generally stated this because they found the practice to be very real, but wished to eventually change the terminology used to describe it.
Those who said no generally stated this because they found the practice to be cultural appropriation and/or racist.
The majority of custom responses were syscoursers saying they did not have enough information on the topic to form an opinion. Other custom responses were very similar to those who responded "yes & it is cultural appropriation", stating that the practice was fine, but the terminology should change.
There was also this response, which was very interesting to me, so I thought I'd include it (image ID is in alt text for anyone who needs it):
Q2: Should systems be allowed to use the term Tulpa?
Out of 74 respondents:
- 18 (24.3%) said yes
- 4 (5.4%) said yes, but you could not call yourself a Tulpamancy or Tulpagenic system
- 22 (29.7%) said no
- 44 (40.6%) wrote custom responses (will be summarized below)
Those who said yes generally stated this because they believed the term tulpa had no connection to any closed practice. Many pointed out how it is a loan word, coming from the term sprul-pa.
Those who said yes, but you could not call yourself a Tulpamancy / Tulpagenic system, did not offer any responses aside from one, causing me to not want to write out a generalization (one person isn't exactly a generalization so... yeah).
Those who said no generally stated this because they found the practice to be cultural appropriation and/or racist. Some believed the practice was fine, but found the term's history to be too messy to have it continue being used.
Many custom responses stated that they did not have the ability to form an opinion on the subject. Other responses stated that the usage of "can" and "cannot" in subjects such as this is not productive in terms of creating better discussion (I actually had quite a few people say this! It's interesting to me, I'm learning a lot from you folks).
I also had someone cursing at me for this question in the response area, so that was quite interesting.
Q3: What is your definition of Tulpamancy?
Here are some of the responses received:
- "The creation of a headmate by giving attention to it until it develops autonomy, sentience or identity whether intentional or unintentional"
- "Tulpamancy is a community of those who seek to create internal others to share their life with; while there are some who describe having "non-purposeful/accidental Tulpas", a lot of the resources I see from this community are based around creating and developing a Tulpa, visualization and switching guides, and the entire process around it. Some Tulpas may take several years of work to develop. I definitely can admire how much effort goes into it. It's also important to note that the Tulpa community initially seems to have developed seperately from the DID/multiple (and later plural) communities, and as such not all Tulpamancers will identify as systems or plural per se."
- "Tulpamancers are people who practice and train their minds to split headmates. They explore the lines between singlehood and systemhood using techniques shared by other tulpamancers or religious or spiritual practices with the aim of splitting a headmate solely (if not solely they'd probs be endogenic and accidentally fall upon tulpamancy, thus having to learn more to fully feel cosy in the title). They experiment with life with created headmates and learn how to live and work with them."
- "to the best of my understanding, and i could be wrong here, as used outside of Tibetan Buddhism, it's closely related to willogenic/daemonism. again, i could be wrong"
This section was very interesting to look at results for & to read through; I don't do much interaction with tulpacourse or those who consider themselves tulpas in general (I hope that wasn't too obvious, I just realized some of these questions were a bit odd), but I think I've learned a bit from this.
Section Two | Syscourse Codes
This is going to be very short! There were only two questions asked.
Q1: Do you use the syscourse code?
Out of 79 respondents:
- 5 (6.3%) said yes
- 8 (10.1%) said yes, but that they wrote out the meanings as well
- 9 (11.4%) said no, but that they understood them
- 57 (72.2%) said no
The majority of those who said yes generally used it because it allowed them to quickly type out what they believed. Many said it felt more in-depth compared to syscourse labels (pro-endo, anti-endo, etc.).
The majority of those who said no said they didn't know what the syscourse code was. Those who did know what it was generally said they found it too confusing or that it encouraged only discussing the topics mentioned in the code.
Q2: What is your general opinion on the syscourse code?
Out of 72 responses:
- 13 (18.1%) found it helpful
- 24 (33.3%) were neutral on it
- 22 (30.6%) found it unhelpful
- 1 (1.4%) found it harmful
- 12 (16.6%) wrote custom responses (will be summarized below)
Those who found it helpful generally stated this because they found it helpful in quickly explaining their syscourse beliefs.
Those who were neutral generally stated this because they didn't care much for the code or just preferred not to use it. Some said they didn't care if someone used it or not, but that they didn't want to use it themselves.
Those who found it unhelpful generally stated this because they found the code too long to be useful in syscourse. Many pointed out how several syscoursers struggle with dissociative amnesia and would struggle to remember the codes.
The respondent who found it harmful stated that it made syscourse too rigid and focused on certain issues instead of being an open discussion.
Most custom responses stated that they did not know what the syscourse code was. Some respondents stated that they did not have any opinion on syscourse codes at all and generally didn't care about them.
I hoped this was the last, but unfortunately there's two more sections. I'm not unleashing something that long onto my Tumblr, so I'm breaking it all up into parts. Also to prevent my hands from feeling like they're about to fall off
// some asked to be tagged in this
@hiiragi7 @scapeg8ats
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i've been rereading a bit, and i think there were a couple of things i didn't appreciate properly the first time.
the whole scene in chapter 36 of zhao getting info from zhiming is gold. just slowly realising more and more how bad things are, how much ro screwed up, how trusting kazuma might be a terrible idea. and the way poor zhiming is scared, then relaxes and feels like zhao is helping him enough to implicate all the rest of crew. rip to zhiming o7
again in chapter 36 that Shen "had been brought up on army rations and he had probably missed out on a lot of his own country's traditional foods." it's such a small thing vs all the big, bad things that come from the war, but it's still so sad. aang gets sad sometimes that the war has meant that different groups of people can't share each other's cultures. but the war has also led to people not experiencing their own :( when we've heard that shen's life has basically just been the army, this really drives home that point
how in chapter 37 Kazuma "wondered sometimes if the network was still running", and now in 39 we find out he's even met and worked with Xin Yan who's still in the group. i previously just thought it was cool it was someone kazuma knew, but i'd forgotten he'd investigated these disappearances in the past.
thank you as always. i love how big the world feels, how many different schemes different characters are involved in, and all the politic-ing we get to see. it's so interesting
Thank you for this lovely comment! ❤️
I do spend a fair amount of time obsessing about the small details 😂 and linking things up.
The kids having their childhoods stolen by war is always so hard hitting, but I can't help thinking also about the adults, like Shen or Hakoda, who also lost their childhoods and then half a life time to war and survival. Must really mess you up. (So naturally I want to write about it 😅)
Thanks again for the great ask! ❤️❤️
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During the break in Milgram content I've mostly been relaxing and using the time to creatively work out my feelings on Milgram as a series. Admittedly writing that oc milgram with Star has actually been really helpful with doing that. It made me really think about what it would be like for people to be in this sort of situation and had me looking at the characters and the audiences behavior in brand new ways.
Given the theme of what we're writing heavily being rooted in self-forgiveness I've been thinking of the many ways people forgive and I've come to some interesting conclusion.
Firstly to the surprise of no one I still don't like the way the fandom uses forgiveness when it comes to the series. I never really did. People highlighting that this isn't about Guilt or Innocence it's about forgiving or not forgiving is really fucking dumb.
Like not to be blunt as hell but anyone really viewing this solely from a point of forgiving or not forgiving others is missing a lot of the point. Viewing Milgram through that lense alone or even just through the framing of guilt or innocence is only really touching the surface.
Milgram showcases the issue with only viewing things through these framings alone over the course of trial one.
Mainly through the lyrics sprinkled throughout the first trial songs that call to attention these ways of looking at the situations presented to us.
The songs actually hit on judging someone as being guilty or justified first,
"Am I a bad girl? Please don’t answer."
This line later serves to contrast both Haruka and Mu's trial two lyrics,
"I just want to be your good boy. I will keep on killing to be a good boy."
Haruka's line can be used to highlight the juxtaposition of his mindset and Yuno's. Both characters continuing to contrast and highlight each others strengths and flaws through how close in proximity their songs are.
So when Yuno gets upset over being caressed with the words good girl it actively highlights a titular part of Milgram,
What will work with one person won't always work with another. This is what Haruka wants and the type of dotting attention he enjoys but Yuno is not the same way.
Meanwhile Mu's line in It's not my fault is more of a direct parallel to what Yuno said,
"Hey, what if- If I am a bad girl? Don’t hate me."
This line servers to show the difference in Yuno and Mu's mentalities. Yuno doesn't want an answer. She doesn't want the label of good or bad. Continuing to state as much in her second trial song.
In contrast Mu despite singing about how it's not her fault recognizes that she is in fact the bad.
She's not asking am I a bad girl. No she's going,
"So, hey what if i am this thing? What if I presented myself as not being x but I really am? Will you still like me?"
Which makes perfect sense for her narrative because she just spent her entire first two voice dramas framing herself as a victim of bullying and someone who'd never bully others. Despite knowing full and well what she's done.
Mu like Kazui, Mahiru, Amane, and Kotoko all want their wrongs to be recognized and forgiven. They know what they did was wrong and have made it apparent that they do. Yet they still want to be forgiven all the same.
This is something Amane and Kotoko do blatantly. Displaying very little shame or hesitance around discussing their wrong doings over the course of the trials.
Kazui and Mu on the other hand are more ashamed of what they did. Along with being terrified by the idea of possibly getting hurt again if they open up. So they try to present themselves in more human and palatable ways.
They both do this by selfishly highlighting their own feelings and using the other parties around them as nothing more than props-
Yuno and Mikoto are very much mind your business or believe what I'm saying. If you can't do that then shut up and go away-
Mikoto
"All I did was dream, so you find me INNOCENT, it’s that simple right? Come to know me as an honest man, eat your words, gulp them down."
"Please tell me it’s a mistake, that’s it’s a lie. That I’m right, I’ll forgive you if you tell me now."
Yuno
"Just shut it, will you? You know it all. Caressing me with your “Good girl” Who needs your self-righteous pardon?"
"Please don’t answer."
Yuno goes to great lengths to explain how people treating her certain ways has never done anything for her. In both her first and second voice dramas.
Yuno First Voice Drama 5:29,
"That's right. You know those people who just want to convince themselves. So, they intrude on other people's affairs even though it's not their place? I despise them. That's what I was saying."
"So, nauseating...so, creepy...will you please disappear." - "Please don't answer." - "Just shut it, will you? You know it all."
"I don’t need to be lectured to like that. Do you just want to make yourself feel even better?" - "Who needs your self-righteous pardon?"
Yuno's songs highlight how being judged by another persons standards ultimately does nothing to change how someone feels internally. Not only that but it can actual cause more damage even if the person only has positives or sympathetic things to say to the other party. So, it's best to just do what the audience showed Futa to do through the first trial verdict-
Mind your own business. Instead of intruding on other people's affairs when it's not one's place to. Yuno even states in the same voice drama that there's no limit to how others will judge the people around them outside of the law.
Futa follows after her introducing the sort of tactics the first trial will end on. Highlighting that there are people who do wrong that go unchecked and at times socially rewarded for the things they've done. Just getting a slap on the wrist and spoken poorly about as a result. At times never even apologizing for the way their selfish actions have inconvenienced the rest of society.
Very similar to the mindset Kotoko showcases at the end of Milgram except she highlights the most extreme example of wrongdoing. Yet she also highlights a bunch of petty crimes just like Futa one literally being bike theft.
Both songs show that Futa and Kotoko both believe strongly in the guilty or innocent framework. That if someone does something wrong they should pay for it. Especially if it's a repeated pattern of behavior.
Yet with Mu and Shidou is where things get interesting. Mu's story highlights the seemingly never ending grief that comes from not being able to apologize to a person you've wronged. Because they're not their to apologize to anymore.
Orihime's first arc in Bleach highlights this feeling well so I'll just link the scene
Look I'm gonna need to to follow like these instructions exactly because there is no clip of this scene go here and then skip to 18:30 you can do dub or sub just watch the scene in it's entirety to 19:33 to get my point. Then come back here so this hurts more.
Hey, did you see the closure Mu will never have? Let's continue now under that emotional understanding for context. Experiencing Bleach when I was like fucking ten really did some shit.
Because when I saw After Pain and saw these lyrics,
"“I’m sorry” won’t reach anyone."
Coupled with this imagery-
I was like damn whatever we do this person is fucked. Because you can apologize to corpses all day but they're not going to get back up and start walking.
"Oh, shit you're sorry for stabbing me that changes everything!" Mu's victim's heart restarts, and they hug it out.
Sorry Mu even though you talk like a Pokémon doesn't mean your tears have the same effect. I was watching another video recently that discussed an episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer called the body and like you just gotta see the discussion.
Spider-Man Lotus - A Film Born From Spite The Cosmonaut Variety hour 28:12 to 34:24.
Then when you have even more emotional information follow me on this. Really think about this with me-
Does being forgiven by strangers who have nothing to do with the situation really give someone in Mu's position closure? No, and that's why even though she was forgiven, her second song is her very rapidly spiraling into self-doubt and hate.
Because no amount of outward validation will be enough for Mu. She'll only need more because the one person whose words would matter in this situation isn't alive to speak anymore. No amount of apologizing or people going I understand what you're going through will help.
Because no, they don't. No one really understands what it's like for someone to die when you are not on speaking terms with them or you feel you've done them wrong other than people who have lived through that. Which is already traumatic enough without adding into the mix, "Oh wait, you're the reason they're dead too."
Which is the point of her and Futa being paired together.
Because there two people who took very mundane situations way too far.
"It’s going great, we’re gonna punish you until you cry. If you get off now, you're a traitor."/"Don’t you think it’s wonderful to control them with my gentle sting? If you want to betray from jealousy- You know what’s gonna happen ON YOU!"
After Mu, Shidou comes in to basically say the quiet part aloud when it comes to viewing this under a forgive or not forgive framework,
“Throw down” ethics is a delusion I’m still guilty even if the morning comes. - "Please, don’t forgive me. That’s why I want this to end."
Regardless of if Shidou is forgiven by the audience or anyone else around him. Even if the sun comes up again that guilt doesn't just disappear. He can't stay away- He'll always be stuck trying to atone for his past mistakes trying to do it again this time but better.
Because all of that couldn't have been for nothing. He's indispensable even if it's unpleasant it's up to him you know- There are lives that need saving. So, he'll do the same thing again and again because there will always be lives that need safeguarding.
Gif provided and made by @apatchworkstar
How far can forgiveness or pursuing another persons innocence go- If those people aren't willing to forgive or view themselves as innocent? If they can't move passed it. If they've made their permanent home address turmoil.
Whose opinion of ourselves really matters more than our own?
Just like Mu second voice drama said to Es,
"Guard-san, we call you "Guard" because that's what you are, right?
I was assigned to be a prisoner, but that doesn't mean my heart will become just that of a "prisoner" too. After all, I'm still me."
even though she's here she's still Mu.
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By Your Side - Chapter 3
Summary: Only appearing as a mere background extra a few times, your hopes of landing a large enough role to be truly seen dwindles by the minute. In the midst of the long wait, you bury yourself in being the hardest working part-time barista the café has to offer.
Oh, and say hello to your new manager, who’s also working hard to make ends meet.
---
August 27, 1997
---
Brushing your apron smooth, you made your way to the cash register with a your usual practiced smile. "Welcome to the Tango Palace. What can I get you today?"
The welcoming expression on your face was far from the reality of your situation right now. And boy, it was bad.
Ever since the trip from New York feeling like a success, the days of receiving nothing but silence on your end slowly melted into creeping disappointment. Waiting by the phone for hours on end, all for nothing, the day wasted.
And it wasn't just the callback that you were waiting for: you had dozens of tryouts in the race against many others - improvs, scripts, interviews, singing, even a literal hand evaluation - in order to take that one and only spot of being chosen.
Though your parents were always happy whenever you landed a spot as an extra in the background of a single scene, be it movie or tv show, it did nothing to quell the shot-through nerves of wondering if the agency would ever give you an update on that callback you did.
At this point, nearing the new school year for Quinn's first year of kindergarten was the only silver lining in all of this. No doubt, you were proud, but it was bittersweet seeing them grow so fast. It seemed as if it were only yesterday that you had brought him home from the hospital, and in a blink he's walking, talking and ready to learn how to read.
In fact, you were so lost in reminiscing you nearly missed your customer's order.
Realizing you may or may not have zoned out for a second too long, you mentally slapped yourself as you quickly typed out the order. "S-sorry! Was it a regular coffee, one cream, no sugar?"
"And a quiche." Your customer sighed. "Jesus Christ..."
You nodded as you forced down your panic and irritation at the backhanded comment, giving them the total as you set the register to print out the receipt. "Alright, it'll only take a second." Whipping around, you set to work on pouring out a steaming hot cup of coffee, freshly brewed, and placing a pre-prepared veggie quiche out of the fridge and into the oven, dialing the settings to heat it just right.
Holding back your own sigh, you leaned back on the countertop as you waited. Truth be told, you weren't sure if the thought of getting fired was more stressful, or the thought of becoming a good-for-nothing that's entirely possible in the near future was worse. Either way, you couldn't lose this job.
The owners were kind enough, and business wasn't overly crowded with people, but you wanted to show them that hiring you was the best decision they could've made. Thinking about anything that isn't the job is the complete opposite of what you're trying to prove.
'Don't think of anything but what's in front of you, right now.'
---
Later that evening...
---
You tossed each letter onto the table in two separate piles; One for bills, the other for junk mail. After an uneventful day of serving customers, you returned home as always, filtering out the mail for your parents before they came home.
It wouldn't be long before the school year started, and you'd have to cut your hours in order to pick Quinn up from school, elsewise he'd be stuck in the after-care program till six, which wasn't fair for him at all.
It wasn't as if your family was poor or in debt, rather down on its luck. Your parents working at desk jobs required them to be there from at least nine to five, there was little to no time to take a break, especially now that they're not just working to keep the house afloat; If all else failed, you'd have to pick a course and go through community college just to get some degree that'll help you find a job that pays.
A part of you feared that you'd be kicked out eventually, which terrified your thoughts of not being able to take care of Quinn. And not being able to take care of Quinn means you're probably getting kicked out of the house like every other parent does to their kid that doesn't deliver.
Alright, that last part is debatable. But it’s possible, and you weren’t taking any chances.
And by not taking any chances, you sure as hell weren’t about to let the phone ring twice as you practically leaped over the kitchen table to pick it up.
"Hi! Hello?! Sorry- hello?"
"H-hello? Hi, is this-?" A stressed voice stutters out your first and last name.
Your face, initially bright with hope fell comically quick as you realized it wasn't an agency calling you for a role. Instead, a somewhat nervous voice of a young man answered. From how he sounded you could tell he was sweating bullets coming out of the other side of the phone.
"Yes, hi. That would be correct." You replied, not bothering to hide your deadpan shift in mood. This however didn't seem to phase the stranger.
"Oh, great! I saw your resume sent in to my agency, and I see you're looking for an agent to represent you in the coming years? Hopefully trying to find work?"
A few seconds of silence passed as you processed his response. 'Oh shoot, they actually remembered?' You thought with wide eyes.
"He-hello?"
"Yep, still on the line. May I ask who's calling?"
"Sean Warden. Sorry I should've introduced myself at the start but-"
You cut him off. "All good. And to answer your question: Yes. I'm in need of assistance in receiving job offers. Is that sufficient?"
"Awesome. So, the reason I'm calling you right now is because I have a proposition to offer you."
Again, silence, as if he was awaiting a reaction out of you. You however, had already begun to lose patience. "...Please continue." You held back a sigh, beginning to wonder if this is some sort of prank call or scam caller.
Still, this 'Sean' guy seemed either desperate or eager as he revealed his intention.
"I would like to represent you as your agent."
...
A few hours later...
...
"I'm going to be honest with you: This is not how I expected a potential signing of a client to look like."
Sitting inside a Tim Horton's café, coffee cups in hand, you found yourself sitting at a two-person table with a young, skittish and scrawny looking man in his mid to late twenties. Admittedly, this isn't the kind of guy you'd expect to meet.
Sharing an awkward silence, both of you holding small black coffees, neither of you had the gall to break the painful, painful silence. At least, until you've finished reading the whole entire contract that he gave you.
Given you're in the middle of the second page out of... eight, this was going to be a long evening.
Flicking your gaze at him for a brief glance away from your reading, you saw no impatience, only anxiousness, in his face. "Sorry if I'm taking up your time." You offered, figuring it'd be the least you could do for someone who hasn't been pushing your buttons.
Sean waves you off. "No need, I'm just happy you've agreed to even see me. I'll take anything, really."
You raised a brow. 'Anything, he says.' Your thoughts wandered away to making it seem as if you weren't the first option of employment, probably the last.
"O-oh, no no nonono, I didn't mean it like that!" He corrects himself, probably noticing or fearing that he might've made you reconsider signing that contract. "I mean- like-" He sighs, covering his face with a hand, filled with stress. "Don't get me wrong, I absolutely wanted to pick you as a client. I've seen your resume and everything; I can see the potential you have, I mean it."
Nodding, you resumed scanning the papers. "Continue. I'm listening, don't worry." Seeing that he hadn't missed his shot, he relaxed a little.
"I'm not trying to sell a sob story, it's just the truth. As you may know, the work I do is to find others work; Aspiring actors, music artists, the like? I'm no beginner to this, I've had many clients in the past and I haven't failed finding them jobs. But when there's older, more experienced agents... Well, you'd want to be represented by them more than me."
You hummed in acknowledgement, not taking your eyes off the contract as you flipped to page 3.
"My last three clients have all decided to move on to find a more renowned agency, meaning that as of now, I've no one to find work for, which also means my wages are little to none at the moment." Sean finished, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table, looking down as he finished. "What I'm offering you right now isn't the end all, be all. I promise you, regardless of what's going on in my personal and home life, I'll give it my all to find you what you need." It almost sounds like a plead, coming from him. "If you end up parting ways with me in the future, that's more than okay! It's just... please. Give me this chance to help you out."
Finally, you raised your head to look at him. Keeping your face neutral, you finally spoke after a few moments:
"Could you do something for me, if I do sign?"
He nodded eagerly. "Yeah, of course! What is it?"
Taking sip of your coffee first, you then reached into your bag and handed him your notebook. Well, one of many... but you knew this one had something you were looking for, and you couldn't reach it by yourself.
Flipping through to the page you wanted him to see, you slid the notebook over too him. "There's someone I know that's been looking to release an EP this year... probably this year, I don't know exactly. Problem is, you can't find their stuff here, only in Detroit. Think you could help me out?"
"Can I?" He almost laughed in relief. "Say no more." Scanning the written contact info that wasn't written in your hand, you watched as he holds the notebook closer to his face as something flickers across his expression. "Hold on a second..." First starting from genuine interest slowly melted to confusion, then familiarity.
You raised a brow. "Is everything alright?"
Suddenly, Sean's gray eyes widened in recognition, and indignation.
"OH, NOT THAT BALD-HEADED BASTARD?!"
...
....
.....
A few weeks later...
...
"OH, NOT THAT SMUG FUCKIN TWINK."
Marshall's head snapped up from writing another let of lyrics as he looked at his recently-signed agent, Paul. "The fuck you goin on about man?"
Holding the letter in his hands, Paul looked like he was glaring daggers into the paper. "Not you! It's this guy that I knew from law school, fucking annoying is what he was." Tossing the paper to his table, he sighed as he walked out of the room. "Take a look if you want, apparently his client claims to know you or something. They're waiting for your EP."
'How the hell'd they know already, this fuckin early?' Marshall picked up the paper, lazily scanning through the content that somehow got Paul pissed enough to take a hike. The signed name of the writer, Sean Warden, didn't ring any bells except the one labelled: 'white guy's name', if it wasn't obvious enough.
No one here would name their kid Sean, for fucks sake.
The name of his client however... slowly, but eventually remembering that day they met, even if it was only for a few minutes, was not forgotten on either of them, it seems.
Marshall huffed out a laugh.
"Hoooooooly fuckin shit. That bitch actually did it."
----
(End of Chapter 3)
----
A/N: HAPPY 1 YEAR AND... *checks calendar* NEARLY THREE MONTHS Y'ALL
Yep.
I think you already know I'm about to apologize again, so uhh... I'm extremely, very sorry? If any of you are still waiting I'm incredibly sorry for the long ass wait. I said previously it was all uphill from here, which was a LIE IT SEEMS
But just to make it up to you all... Chapter 4 is coming THIS WEEK. So there's something to look forward too I hope! Chapter 5 is coming a few weeks after as well. But I hope this suffices for now, thank you for your patience <3
Taglist: @eminemsorangejuice , @slimshay-castle , @jackiehollanderr , @mizzysx , @esposadomd , @dimitrampl , @hallecarey1 , @krillfromsky , @nabiiturner, @swimregulas , @olivesarenicetoeat17 , @linnottt , @harryswif3 , @liathelioness , @roundbrownlover , @crimsonincursive , @akemiixx01 , @lizzy06 , @chxe-zdechnac , @ellies-femme , @qwerrry , @born2wyn , @thefemalestorywriter , @milllieeee , @neozen-23 , @in0320
(Let me know in my ask box if you would like to be added to the taglist!)
#by your side series#eminem x reader#eminem imagine#marshall mathers x reader#marshall mathers imagine#eminem fanfiction#bys series#Sin Bin Books
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