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jempathetic · 5 months

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you're the one - j. cage

a/n: not proud of where my life has taken me, honestly. but this is for the love of my life, luca. hope you all enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! warnings: kissing, suggestive comments, johnny being like the worlds biggest flirt, nothing too crazy, but definitely a lot of sexual innuendos, teasing, inappropriate workplace relationship, kind of, light angst with a happy ending word count: 3.1k summary: you're johnny cage's assistant babysitter agent, and you're his opposite. and yet, he finds himself unapologetically into you. pairing: johnny cage x gn!reader now playing: you're the one - greta van fleet "you're the one i want/you're the one i need/you're the one i had/come on back to me"

You decide you can never be with Johnny Cage in a dingy bar on a Saturday at 11:19 PM.

You’d been his agent for around three months at this point, and you’re always with him, to the point where it became weird that you know so little about each other. And really, it’s a wonder that you lasted so long given how different you are.

You’re awkward, and there’s no harm in it, but you find yourself standing to the side of every movie set, glancing down to your phone to try and find a reason to send an email to someone to distract yourself.

Your relationship history is far and few between, you’ve only started dressing well recently, and you find yourself struggling in crowds and public speaking terrifies you.

Johnny is electric. He has no problem finessing a crowd, has no problem being the center of attention. He’s just unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

So really, you can’t say you’re shocked when you wake up one day and realize that you have in fact, developed feelings for him. It isn’t a tough thing to do, not when he’s always flirting with you.

After a rather large slump in his career, Johnny’s new movies have been doing well in both the box office and with movie watchers all over the country. Really, you became his agent at the perfect time because right after you started, he really became quite the star. Maybe the change of pace behind the camera worked out rather well.

He sort of feels bad, that you’re constantly with him. He doesn’t know when you sleep, because if he isn’t on set or doing press or getting ready to do either, he’s asleep, but every day when you show up to the set, you have a new agenda for him to follow.

When you do it, while also sleeping, eating, and taking care of your own obligations, he doesn’t know.

But one night, after three months of your help, he asks you to grab a drink with him.

(“This isn’t a ploy to get me alone and drunk is it, Cage?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”)

And that’s how you wound up here. You’re dressed more casually than he’s ever seen you, sporting this old band tee and some rather casual jeans. He can’t stop looking at you, and he’s a little confused about it.

He doesn’t get star struck often, but he has this thought, that maybe in one of Liu Kang’s alternate universes, you two ends up together. Maybe he fixes boats in a coastal town, maybe you work at the diner there, maybe you have a dog together. Maybe, in another universe, you and Johnny have a quiet life, where you don’t have much, but you have each other, and that’s enough.

“So how did someone like you end up in a place like this?” he asks, charmingly. You roll your eyes and take another sip of your beer.

“Well, this asshole I work for—”

“Hey!”

“He asked me out for a drink, and I don’t know if it’s because I felt obligated because he pays me, or because I genuinely wanted to, but I went out with him.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

“You make up for it, always flirting with me.”

“Can’t say you don’t like it, sweetheart—”

“Listen, Cage—"

“But you never answered my question. How’d you end up in Hollywood? We spend all this time together, yet I feel like I barely know my own assistant.”

“Agent.”

“Whatever. Answer the question.”

It’s a loaded one, no doubt, but not one you aren’t willing to answer. You find yourself unable to really keep anything from him, he just needs to know where to look for it, how to interpret it.

“I moved here from home, never

had much of anything—Family, Money, Whatever—Got an internship and before you know it, I’m networking my way to being Johnny Cage’s babysitter—”

“Agent.”

“Whatever.” You shoot back, a goofy grin on your face.

“Okay, let me ask you this,” He poises, “Favorite movie?”

You exhale, finding that a near impossible question.

“Oh, and none of mine! Then, it would be too easy!” He grins, and you shoot him this look.

You have a lot of favorite movies.

You take a few minutes before deciding on one.

“Paddington 2.”

“What?!”

“Paddington 2!”

“You cannot be serious!” He gawks. “Paddington 2 over, what? The Shawshank Redemption? Gladiator? Better than Aliens?!”

You take a minute.

“I’ve never seen Aliens.”

“What?! Big alien, tiny girl, Ripley!” He says the main character’s name in this high pitched, annoying tone.

It makes you burst out laughing, and he just laughs at your laugh.

“Nope, never seen it.”

“Oh my god! How do you work in Hollywood, and you’ve never seen Aliens?”

“Stop asking me if I’ve never seen Aliens, you know what the answer is!”

You both laugh again, and for a moment, it is perfect. There is no one else in the world except you and him, and there’s no reason to feel as if this isn’t real. There’s no reason to deny yourself the rather simple pleasure of admiring him, and there is certainly no reason to stop looking at him like you are right now.

And then this beautiful blonde woman strolls up to him. Even you can admit that she’s gorgeous.

“Excuse me,” Her voice is that of a songbird, “I don’t mean to bother you, but are you Johnny Cage? Like, the actor?”

“Indeed, I am, how can I help you?”

“I was just wondering if I could buy you a drink. Maybe we can go back to my table?”

You’re full of jealousy. You feel awful for it too, because in no way is Johnny yours.

“Uh, you know what..” He glances back at you, and you give him this weak smile.

“Go, it’s fine. Have fun, it isn’t like this is a date or anything.”

He grins at you and puts a fifty on the bar to pay for your drinks and leave the bartender a rather nice tip.

“You’re the best wingman ever, man! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You finish your drink bitterly as Johnny goes off to flirt with, and eventually sleep with, that nice woman. You take notice that when the two of you are alone, you’re ‘sweetheart’ but when another woman strolls in, you’re ‘man’.

And that’s it. It’s 11:19 PM and in that dingy bar, you decide that you can never be with Johnny Cage. You know it will never be what you want it to be. That if it does happen, it’ll be like it is with this woman. A one-night stand, never to be brought up again. You’ll get him all to yourself for one night, and then after that, he will never be yours again. He’ll go back to being no ones, back to being the spotlights. Back to belonging to everyone, except you.

• • •

To tell you the truth, you snuck up on Johnny. After you made it clear the first day you met that you had no intention of sleeping with him, he sort of wrote you off other than flirting.

And one day he woke up and realized how desperately, horribly in love he is with you.

It happens a few weeks after your night at the bar. You were supposed to spend the night filming an outdoor scene, but it rained so hard that the stunts wouldn’t have been safe, so here you are in his living room. He had sold his mega mansion for something less expensive—Still lavish, but not nearly as expensive.

“So, do you want to go over the script and make those edits that the studio suggested or—”

“Nope.” He comes out of the kitchen holding a big bucket of popcorn. “We’re watching Aliens.”

You sigh and plop the script down on his coffee table.

“Johnny—” you say in this exasperated tone.

“Darling,” He echoes, in that same tone but more sarcastically. What a dick. You can’t help but want him. He sits with you and puts the popcorn between you, as he turns on the TV and brings up the movie. “Say what you want, but you’re my assistant, so you have to do what I say!”

“Agent.”

“Whatever! C’mon, take one night off, just watch this movie with me!”

You glance over to him and sigh. Why do you do the things you do for him? You’ll never know.

“Fine. One movie, and that’s it!” You tell him and curl up on the couch, your hand reaching to the popcorn to grab a fistful.

One thing no one ever told you was how God damn scary this movie was! You aren’t a big gore or horror person, so it takes you by surprise.

It’s really good, though you’d never admit it to Johnny, just fucking scary.

At some point throughout the movie, one of you moved over the popcorn bowl, slowly closing the gap between the two of you.

During a particularly scary scene, you find yourself jumping, right into his side, gripping his arm. Your heart is racing, but you’re so totally glued in.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You gasp, your clutch on his arm growing tighter.

“Pretty cool, right?” He grins, noticing your grip on his arm.

“It’s fine.” He chuckles and shakes his head, leaning back on the couch.

And that was it. He was hooked. He knew how his image had been around Hollywood, and he knew that you saw him as this playboy. Which wasn’t entirely untrue, especially since his divorce. But he wanted to make a change, wanted you to see the change, but he just couldn’t put his finger on how.

The rain is still pouring when the movie ends, when you finally pull yourself off his arm.

“I should be heading out.”

“What? You can’t drive in this.” He doesn’t want you to leave.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Just stay the night.”

“Johnny, I don’t even have clothes to—”

“I’ll give you some of mine. You can take the bed.”

You pause.

“Don’t think that this means I’ll sleep with you.”

He grins.

“Sleep in the same bed as me? Yeah. Let me do all these dirty things that I—”

You get up and head towards his room.

“I’m not on the clock, I’m not dealing with you.”

He grins and follows you.

“I don’t hear a no in there, hot stuff—”

“I swear to god, Johnny—”

You’re too busy bickering to get much sleep that night.

• • •

The movie comes out in two weeks, so on your agenda for today is fitting him for a new suit. You’re sitting, sipping a rather crisp mimosa when he comes out in this one suit. He does a nice twirl and holds his arms out, expecting approval.

He looks good. Like, good enough that you almost break that rule you made at the bar that night.

It’s been a month since you stayed at his place, and since then, things have just been different. You no longer must watch him go off and flirt with other people, because he seems to have some sort of change of heart.

You grin gently.

You put your drink down and stand up, going over to him and adjusting his tie.

He wears this black suit, except the suit coat is a deep blue velvet that is soft to the touch.

“You look great.” You tell him. He grins.

“Only missing my signature shades, good lookin’. That way you can’t tell when I’m looking at your—”

“Eyes, right, Johnny?”

“And ass.”

You laugh and shake your head, unable to comprehend that you feel anything except great love for that comment.

“So, what are you gonna wear?” He asks.

“What? To where?”

“To the premiere?”

“Johnny, I’m not going to the premiere—”

“You have to! You’re my assistant!”

“Agent!”

“Whatever!” His hands come to the dips of your hips. It’s a little too past platonic. You say nothing. “We need to get you an outfit.”

You groan. You hate shopping for clothes. You hate fancy clothes especially.

“Let me go order this to be tailored, and then we can go shopping for you. I’m thinking either blue, to match me, or gold, to compliment—”

“If I’m going to the premiere, It’ll be quietly behind all the cameras, not—”

“Then come as my date. Not as my agent, not as my assistant, not as my babysitter. As my date.”

“Don’t you want to go with someone pretty?”

He frowns.

“You’re pretty.” He tells you.

“Johnny—”

“No argument on this one, Darlin’, we’re going shopping,” he quickly kisses your forehead and walks off to go get changed and pay for his suit.

So that’s how you find yourself awkwardly fitting into this gold outfit, with black accents and the right curves to fit your body shape just right. It isn’t your body that fits awkwardly into it, it’s you. You’re not used to this level of formality.

“Come on out, sweetheart, I won’t bite!” Johnny calls from outside your dressing room.

“You’re gonna be mean to me!”

He gasps, “I would never!”

You sigh and adjust the outfit before walking back out of the dressing room.

“Don’t laugh—” But he isn’t laughing. He’s just looking at you. “You don’t like it.”

“Nononono—” he says, walking towards you and putting his hands on your shoulders. He smooths out the shoulders of your outfit, his thumb gently rubbing over your collarbone. “You look amazing.”

“I feel like a barbie.”

“You look great.”

“I’m not used to this.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be a natural.”

“Besides, it won’t matter, everyone will be looking at you.”

He hums and shrugs.

“Everyone will be looking at you, I think.”

Your face goes red.

“Johnny!”

“I know you’re uncomfortable, but you do really look amazing, honey.”

You take his word for it.

• • •

When you get to the premiere two weeks later, it’s overwhelming. People are taking photos of you two, yelling his name, asking who you’re wearing. His hand does not leave yours.

“Just relax,” He tells you gently, “Just smile, it’s all you have to do.”

You do your best, trying to focus on the feeling of his arm around you as you pose. He glances down at you, tilting his shades down to the end of his nose. You can just make out his eyes. His hand comes up to your face and tilts your chin up.

He leans in and kisses you, as the crowds around you scream even louder. It occurs to you, at this moment, that he’s only kissing you to get publicity. That maybe he’s just taking advantage of the fact that you could be his mysterious new beaux. That he doesn’t want you, doesn’t want to kiss you, doesn't want anything to do with you.

You kiss back, not having any ability to resist how badly you want him anymore. You don’t care if it’s just for the cameras. You have no desire to pull away from him, no matter how pretend it may be.

When he does pull away, you make your way off the red carpet and into a secluded corner of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he starts.

“It’s okay, I get it, it didn’t mean anything—”

“What are you talking about?”

“…What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry for surprising you so suddenly, it wasn’t where I wanted to do that, but I just.. I couldn’t help myself. You’re looking so good right now..”

“Not where you wanted to do that?”

“I’ve been meaning to kiss you for a while.. I just wanted it to be romantic and amazing, like you deserve, but I just couldn't help myself.”

“Like I deserve?”

“You have a lot of questions for someone who just got kissed by me—”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!”

“Does that mean you don’t want me to kiss you again?”

“…No.”

“That’s what I thought,” he leans to kiss you again, and you gladly let him. You only break off the kiss to take his sunglasses off his face, before kissing him again. Now that you had him, the want didn’t dissipate. Especially when you feel his hands on your hips again, and you only lean further into the kiss.

You can’t believe you waited so long to kiss Johnny Cage. Why would you ever deny yourself the right to make out in some quiet corner of a blockbuster movie premiere?

• • •

A week later, you’re sitting in that bar again. This time, you and Johnny have this booth in the back of the bar, and you’re leaning against him while he tries your extremely fruity drink and cringes at how sugary it is.

“I don’t know how you drink this shit.”

“I need to get nice and drunk after the day I had. Boss was being mean.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yeah but He’s a great kisser, so.”

He grins and presses a kiss to your head. Somehow, He is more comfortable than he has been in a long time, feeling more like himself than he has in… years, maybe.

“It’s getting late, we should get you home soon.”

“Mm, But I like drinking. Besides, when did you become the responsible one?”

“When you ordered that fourth margarita.”

“Touche.” You finish your drink and sigh. “You’re not gonna let me have another, huh?”

“Not tonight, baby.” He says, patting your thigh gently. “C’mon, get up, I’ll go pay our tab and we can get some fresh air.”

You hum and get up, leaning against him as he makes his way to pay, and then you head outside to lean against the wall. Johnny keeps you up right as you try to breathe through the liquor. Then this girl comes up to you, and grins at your boyfriend.

“Are you Johnny Cage?” She asks. He bites back a sigh and smiles to her.

“I am, Hi—”

“I love your movies! Do you want to go grab a drink with me?” she asks, flirtatiously. You’re literally standing there leaning against him, with his arm around your waist.

“I’m sorry, you seem very nice, but I have to get my partner here home.” He says, “Have a nice night.”

She seems a little sad, but she bids you guys goodnight respectfully and heads into the bar.

“Your partner?” You ask, drunk on sugary drinks and love for this man.

“Yeah, they’re pretty nice.” He hums. “A pretty great assistant. An even better kisser.”

You frown.

“Agent!”

“Whatever.”

He leans in and kisses you to shut up before you can argue with him anymore. For once, you don’t mind his interruption.

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jempathetic · 8 months

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Petty Jealousy ❣

Tav's companions cannot fathom them potentially having other friends. ❥ Astarion/reader, Astarion/Tav, but also Companions/reader. I'm a Tavrem supremacist. ❥ Contains my own personal headcanon for why the companions call them "Tav" instead of their first name, which is justification for me loopholing the eternal problem of xreader writers having to wince when they use "F/N" or "Y/N". ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav/reader!

“Look,” Astarion hisses, “look at that!”

5 pairs of eyes land on the offender of the night (which, to their surprise, isn’t Astarion) who conversed pleasantly with the leader of their party. A half-elf with a sharp jaw, proud brow, and mirthful eyes looks extraordinarily ordinary compared to their merry band of freaks.

“Who is that, again?” Shadowheart asks absently. “Tav suggested I rest for today instead of mapping out the Underdark with the party, and the next thing I know, they’ve brought back another little companion.”

Astarion’s jaw twitches. He snaps out, “Companion or complication?”

Gale crosses his arms, shrugging, used to Astarion’s temper running hot then cold. “His name is Nilmorn - a luthier. Tav took an interest in his wares. He makes a living selling stringed instruments in the Underdark. Strange place to sell such things.”

Ugh. Astarion sighs, shaking his head. Leave it to Gale to traipse over the obvious. A sharpened mind like his would surely know that this Nilmorn has no place here, if not to be a bloodbag for him to slurp on. Beyond that, what use does this pretty boy have? Nilmorn sells wares that are utterly useless to them. He’s quite boring and one-dimensional, too, a character that strays too much into the side of “moral good” for Astarion to tolerate.

“Yes, yes, Gale, but have you considered how strange it is that he has invited himself to our camp?” Astarion flares out his hand towards the wizard, as if handing him common sense on his palm.

“I,” Gale begins, blinking his wet, beautiful brown eyes at Astarion, “invited myself to this journey, Astarion. I am quite hurt you forgot. I thought what we had was special!”

“Yes, but you’re weird!” Astarion exclaims. “You’re a freak with a bomb in your body because of your situationship with Mystra! That,” Astarion points an accusatory finger in the direction of Nilmorn, in which 5 pairs of eyes look at him again, “is someone so unbelievably normal he doesn’t even have any, any…” He gestures, articulates with his hands to placate his words.

“No dubious motives?” Shadowheart offers, a smirk coyly playing on her lips.

“No complicated backstory?” Wyll pipes in. Astarion’s eyes flicker to him, and irritation seeps into his skin when he finds Wyll smiling wryly, as if the wizard is in on some joke he is not picking up on. “No, I don’t know, god that has let him down in some way, shape, or form?”

“Certainly no skills for fighting.” Lae’zel, thank the gods for Lae’zel. Her smooth voice hides none of her displeasure, and those sharp, slitted eyes stare across the fire to dig daggers into Nilmorn’s back. “Useless. We have no need for string-ed instruments. Let Tav pick one, and send this half-elf on his way.”

Yes. Yes. Astarion nods eagerly.

“Hmmm. I almost envy his mundaneity,” Karlach adds, “but I mean, he’s not that bad, Astari. Man’s just trying to make the world a better place, one string at a time.”

Astarion almost throws up. He looks to the other companions helplessly. “Darlings. Please tell me you are not going to let Karlach get away with saying something so putridly motivational.”

Karlach tosses her head back and cackles, much to Astarion's chagrin.

“Something is obviously bothering you,” Shadowheart states bluntly. Her green eyes watch his expression carefully in the firelight; she finds something there, but does not say it outright. With an exhale through her nose, as if it is painful for her to attempt a conversation with him, Shadowheart decides to throw him a bone: “Are you jealous?”

He does not catch the bone. The bone slams right into his head as he stares at Shadowheart, slack-jawed and scandalized. Him? Jealous? “You must be joking.”

“Aw,” Shadowheart croons, another one of her insufferable smirks toying on her lips, “you are.”

If he had mindflayer powers beyond reading her reprehensible surface-level thoughts, he would make Shadowheart’s head explode. Or something.

He must establish his dignity in the group once more. He cannot handle more of this, especially not with Wyll grinning so wide, not self-aware enough that if he did not have a sexy demon controlling his life because he didn’t read the terms of conditions of a motherfucking contract, Astarion would bully him more.

“That is not the point here. Look,” he says. “I am just saying that our Tav is desirable in every way. Physically, we can all agree that Tav is attractive. Yes?”

Yes. They all nod their heads.

“Tav is a little strange, but they are our leader, and they got us this far somehow. Who knew caring about other people could go a long way.”

Yes. They all nod their heads, except Wyll and Karlach, who look amongst the group with sheer disappointment on their faces. “Gods,” Karlach groans into her hand, “we– we need to unpack that later, gang. That’s just really sad.”

“Lastly, Tav is strong. Strong enough to split apart the mountains and the sky, I imagine.” Strong enough to bury Cazador into the ground, hopefully. “Strong enough to face a god unwaveringly. Strong enough to persevere. Strong enough to be kind, despite everything. Despite what they think, they are charismatic, and they are the entire package. The only person who does not know of their value is Tav themselves.”

They watch Tav’s lips quirk into a smile as Nilmorn holds a lyre out for them upon his smooth hands. Smooth, no sign of scars, no sign of complications. Just so unbearably mundane. Unbearably good. Unbearably kind.

Unbearably unaware of their true nature.

Nilmorn does not know why they nicknamed them Tav, despite their name being [F/N]. Their unstoppable quench to loot everything and anything set back their timeline by weeks, no doubt. Reaching into barrels, reaching into the pockets of bandits, reaching into damn silk cocoons, reaching into whatever their curious little hands can salvage. It annoyed Astarion at first, but then Tav would find all of these weapons and armors and foods and coins and books. Normalcies and luxuries that made camp life feel less of a drab and more exciting.

The gleaming, golden dagger at his side? They found it. The boots, the armor, the enchanted rings and necklaces they either found, bartered, or killed for their companions. Thus - Tav, short for tavara, the word meaning wares and merchandise; a clever little nickname Gale came up for their leader who is too good for all of them combined.

“Any other party could whisk them away, you know,” Astarion says. “Tav could find a party of good, decent people, unlike any of us, without the mess and complication and hurt we cause them, and leave. Remember, my dears. It is not us who is irreplaceable. It is Tav.”

How long would Tav tolerate him? Not long, he thinks. Long enough until he has expended his use for them, surely, but not forever. That's why anyone who wants Tav beyond sex or strength is a threat. If he hadn’t seduced his way into their heart, he wouldn’t be here where he stands, with a group of people who make him feel a little less alone.

No doubt he would be in a cage on the back of a covered wagon that belongs to that disgusting gyr, Gandrel, his chain to Cazador growing shorter and shorter.

Silence. Tense and still. They watch as Tav laughs lightly, eyes alighting with amusement as Nilmorn cracks another joke.

"You should meet my other companions," they hear Nilmorn offer, "I just know they would love to have you."

Revelation slams into each and every one of them like a magic missile.

“He’s not that funny,” Shadowheart mutters. She bends down, hands gripping tightly around the handle of her mace. “I don’t know why they are laughing that hard.”

“He can try to leave with his head on his shoulders,” snarls Lae’zel, “just say the word, Astarion.”

Excellent.

“What-” Wyll turns to Gale and Karlach. “We should stop them, shouldn’t we? There are no implications of this man trying to steal Tav away, he's just being nice, you worthless cunts! This is not fair to him!”

“We’re in the Underdark, aren’t we? Super deep. Doubt anyone who cares for him will come looking for him.”

“Karlach!”

“Astute observation! To make this all a little easier on us, I can most certainly put this man to sleep.”

“Gale?!”

“Go on, Lae’zel,” Astarion grins wickedly, “attack!”

“Oh, hells,” Wyll stumbles back, then turns quickly to the other direction towards Halsin. “Halsin! Halsin - they’re trying to murder someone again!”

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

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