#I’m literally just adding all these tags so the post reaches the people I want to reach don’t judge

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)

a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33

--

The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.

It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach. 

It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.

“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.

Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”

Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.

Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.

“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”

You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.

“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”

Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”

“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her. 

Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”

You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.

Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”

You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?” 

Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”

You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.

“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.

Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”

You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.

“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”

You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.” 

Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”

Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.

The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.

“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.

“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”

You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”

He smiles at you.

“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”

You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.

“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long. 

“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.

It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.

“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”

You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”

He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”

You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore. 

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.

“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.

He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”

“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”

“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”

He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.

A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.

He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”

He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.

“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.

He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”

You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”

“LCD.”

“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”

“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”

He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.

He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you. 

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”

“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”

He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.

“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights. 

Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”

“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.

You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.

“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.

He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”

Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.” 

“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you. 

You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.

But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give. 

“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.

He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”

He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”

You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”

“Feelings about what?”

You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.

He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”

“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.

“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”

You sigh.

“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn’t pathetic as hell.”

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.

You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.

“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”

The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”

Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.

“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.

You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.

“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.

“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”

You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”

Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”

It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes. 

“No.”

He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.

“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong. 

He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”

You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.

You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”

He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.” 

“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”

“I beg your finest pardon?”

You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.

Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”

“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth. 

“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.

“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”

Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.

“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.

“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.

“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”

“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.

You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.

“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.

You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.

“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.

“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”

You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.

—

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck. 

“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”

You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field. 

“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”

Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”

Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.

It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.

“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.

“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”

You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”

He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”

“D-Distraction?”

“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”

Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.

“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”

You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.

Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”

You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed. 

“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead. 

“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”

There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.

You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.

“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.

“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.

You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.

“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too. 

“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!” 

“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.

You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.

“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.

There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.

Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.

“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”

Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.

“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”

You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.

The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.

“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before. 

“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.

“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.

You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”

He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”

“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”

He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.

He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air

“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”

He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.

“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.

“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.

You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck. 

You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”

“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”

You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.

“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.

“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.

“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.

“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.

“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.

“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.” 

He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”

“So glad to be in such good hands right now.” 

He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.

“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”

He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?” 

You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”

“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”

“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”

His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.

Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.

You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.

Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.

“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”

His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.

“What the fuck was that—”

“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”

“I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”

He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.

His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”

He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.

You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess. 

He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”

Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera

2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up

2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?

2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that. 

2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one

2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry

2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one

2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that

2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really

2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement

2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field

2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?

You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”

You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”

“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”

You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”

“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”

“We?” you ask.

“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”

Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”

Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”

Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”

“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”

You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair. 

“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.

“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.

You purse your lips together.

“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”

You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.

“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”

“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.

“Alright cool, will do.” 

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.

Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.

“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.

“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”

He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”

You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”

“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.” 

“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”

Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.” 

You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.

“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.

“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”

“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”

He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”

Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”

Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.

“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”

Your eyes widen as you shake his hand.  “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”

Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”

“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”

You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.

You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry. 

Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.

Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.

“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.

“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”

Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.

Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”

“Tell me what?” you prod.

“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”

“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”

You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.

Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”

“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”

You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”

“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—” 

“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.

You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.

“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”

You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.

“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.

“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.

“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.

“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”

His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”

You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?

“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.

“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.

“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”

His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”

Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does. 

“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.

He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”

You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.

He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”

“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”

He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.

“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”

At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”

“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”

His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”

“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.” 

His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.

“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done. 

He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.

His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”

“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”

You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”

He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”

His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you. 

Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.

“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”

Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”

Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.

Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”

“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.

“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.

A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look. 

“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”

Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”

Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”

Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”

Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”

You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing. 

“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”

Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.

“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.

“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”

“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.

“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.

“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness. 

Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”

“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.

“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”

“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”

Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing. 

“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.

Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”

“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.

“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.

“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”

“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”

Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused. 

Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”

You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging. 

There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.

Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.

You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”

Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”

“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”

Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist. 

You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.

When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can’t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.

“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”

You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.

Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are scrutinizing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.

You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.

“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”

“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”

You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.

But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.

Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.

Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”

Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.

“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.

“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”

You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.  

“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”

You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.

“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”

You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along. 

His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”

Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.

You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”

He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I do.”

There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.

You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.

He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”

“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.

“I know.”

--

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i��ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

--

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog

(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #geto suguru #gojo satoru angst #nanami kento #choso kamo #series #yaga masamichi #alternate universe #college #college au #soccer #sports au #fraternity #sorority #tw drinking #partying #anime #romance #smut #fluff #angst #jjk smut #long fic #jjk series #ongoing series

[aboutescapism]

enjoy the silence II | ao’nung.

ao’nung x fem!sully!reader

previous part | part two | next part

synopsis: Ao’nung’s words had hurt you, but his contradictory actions hurt you more. You realize your mistake in your idea that you’d be a good match, but it may have already cost you your life.

genre: angst.

contains: more pining from reader, mixed signals, ilu riding. mentions of near death experience, suffocation, overwhelming feelings. ao’nung literally being so confusing. requited love after all?

a/n: welcome to the second installment of enjoy the silence! the first part ended up being posted two days earlier than expected (the last time i ever schedule a post) and still needed scenes added but, i’m so happy you all loved it so much anyway! i tagged everyone who asked to be tagged. thank you guys so much for the support!

The morning after Ao’nung had said those things to you by the shore came quickly. After he had stalked off, you went back to your mauri, purposely taking the long way home to be with your thoughts for a while. Did you read his signs wrong? Was he even giving any signs to begin with? Or had you been clouded with the illusion of being a perfect pair that you hadn’t even considered how Ao’nung felt?

Your siblings could feel your slight sadness when you arrived back, but no one had questioned it much, save for a few, “Feelin’ alright?”s from your father. Moving to Awa’atlu had affected everyone, they had felt the overwhelming ache of homesickness every once in a while, they understood you were feeling down. If only they knew, your once source of happiness was now your source of distress.

Despite that, you weren’t angry with Ao’nung. Not at all. You understood where he was coming from completely. As the future Olo’eyktan, he needs to protect his people. That means protecting them from humans, and your family had brought that threat. If anything, it’s natural for him to be hostile towards you. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. But you were resilient.

You just had to prove to him you were more than what was running in your veins. 

Today, like the past few days, was filled with training. Ao’nung was paired up with you, again. You felt uneasy at first, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable with you. He gave Tsireya a look, almost begging to switch partners. She only rolled her eyes and smiled when you reached them.

He must’ve told her how he felt about you, or maybe she had heard his harsh words to you last night. Either way, you’re sure she smacked him upside the head for upsetting you. Tsireya took a genuine liking to you, and she may or may not have been doubling her efforts in winning over the Sully family due to her liking of Lo'ak. 

Once all together in the shallow water, Ao’nung began to call to the Ilu. Almost immediately, they swam up and circled him. It was mesmerizing, watching him call them so effortlessly, how they swam up to him so fondly. 

“These are Ilu. If you want to live here, you have to ride,” he explained. You were excited, you had little trouble claiming your Ikran, surely this is no different.

Ao’nung faced you, pointing, “the demon girl will go first.” Your eyes widened, suddenly intimidated. But, you had to show him you weren’t just some forest girl with five fingers.  

You swam up to an Ilu, petting it. It clicked at you, nudging you affectionately. This creature was so gentle, so sweet to you. Your Ikran was nothing but the opposite when you claimed it; squawking loudly, attempting to throw you over the edge of the cliff. You gained some confidence from its gentle demeanor, and climbed on top. Tsireya and Ao’nung swam up beside to keep the Ilu still and allow you to make a bond. 

“Make the bond, and hold here,” Tsireya gestured to the handle. You pulled your queue from behind you, bare, pink nerves ready to make a connection. You took a deep breath and made the bond with your Ilu. Suddenly, you felt its being as whole, as a part of you. You felt its breath, its fins, how strong it is, how eager it was to swim with a new driver. 

“Breathe from here, remember. Hold your breath when you dive, the Ilu is fast. But it will know when to go back up for air. It feels you, you feel it,” Ao’nung placed his hand on your upper stomach like he had done when training your breathing. You gasped quietly, not expecting such a gentle, forward gesture from him. Especially not after last night’s exchange.

Your golden eyes made contact with his, your brows furrowed in confusion. Hadn’t he just reprimanded you for just merely existing? Now he was touching you so delicately, like you’d break from too much pressure. Had last night really just been a bit? Just a teasing joke? Maybe he didn’t hate you after all? 

His mixed signals made you feel fuzzy, your brain suddenly so confused. The Ilu felt it, too, and began to thrash around from the uncertainty you felt at Ao’nung’s touch. He removed his hand from you, much to your disappointment, to calm the Ilu back down to stillness. 

You shook the thoughts about him out of your head, you had to focus. “I’m ready, I can do this.”

“Start slow, don’t hurt yourself,” Ao’nung’s tone was firm, but worried. Perhaps he did care for you.

You took another deep breath, and went off into the water. 

You started slow, like Ao’nung instructed, getting comfortable with being pulled through the water by the Ilu. Gradually you sped up, gliding through the reef with ease.

The rush of adrenaline that flowed through you only made you more and more confident. The beautiful reef had you hypnotized, you felt so much while being wished around the glowy underwater plants and animals. The swirl of colors dizzied you in only the best way, leaving you in awe.

You reached a hand out to brush against the foliage as you flew past it. It was so soft to the touch. It only reminded you of Ao'nung's.

What he said greatly hurt you, joke or not. The contrast of his words then and now was so confounding to you. And with the thought of him back in your mind, you became tense, now losing your focus. You lost your balance on the Ilu along with your secure grip.

This thrashed you around some, but you could regain your composure. Unfortunately, it was proving difficult.

You underestimated the force of the water. Your grip on the Ilu faltered more with the ever growing speed. You couldn’t keep up, the pressure was too much. The rush of the water was now pulling you back, straining your limbs. Dreadful fear filled you when you realized, inevitably you’d be knocked off and sent into waters you weren’t familiar with at all, with animals and creatures you’d never interacted with. 

You had underestimated the difficulty of riding an Ilu, just as you had underestimated Ao’nung’s impact on you. It was all too similar.

At first, you’d been confident and blinded by excitement. Excitement of meeting your seemingly perfect match. Excitement of trying something new. You weren’t careful, not assessing the situation completely before you dived in headfirst.

You didn’t take Ao’nung himself into account, how powerful his actions, his feelings are just as the water’s force is on your body now. Oh, how your impulsivity ricocheted back to you, but ten times stronger. Whiplash from Ao’nung’s mixed signals and the rush of the current you’re trying to push through. 

You had to let go, you realized. 

You had to let go of the Ilu before you hurt yourself. You had to let go of your delusional idea of yours and Ao’nung’s relationship before it drastically hurts you. Or him. You couldn't bear the thought of hurting him, in any way.

He didn’t feel the same, he never would. Spiraling down this idea would only complicate things more. You needed to let go.

With that, you took your grip off the Ilu, ripped from the back of the creature and sent off into the water. 

Your breath had begun to ran out and you were so far down, clouded with thoughts of needing air and needing Ao'nung. Neither would come to you soon enough.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of azure eyes caught sight of your descending figure before it was too late. He couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt. The thought alone was what was driving him to swim to you faster.

Ao'nung needed you, too.

taglist! @maxiel4life @aonungmyaddiction @awkward-halfhug @bratsukisworld @bigdikzaddy @iheartamajiki @adaiasafira @holysaladapricothero

#girl #i was so shocked to see it got over 300 notes #also some of the tags r not working #don't know why #so sorry LMFAO #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung angst #ao'nung series #aonung x reader #aonung angst #atwow #part three coming kinda soon? i have some stuff coming up but its already in the works!

[esoterichistoria]

It’s 2 am, but I’m getting a lot of stuff on my inbox about this so I’m going to make things clear.

I don’t want to talk about what happened in the discord publicly because I know it’s just going to bring more people here to try and kick me off tumblr or something, but if you’re that desperate to know then just message me.

I will say I apologize for “clogging” the tags. I get so many confessions in my inbox reaching to almost 20 every 4 days so I try to go through them as fast as I can + every time I post one, I get sent more and I try to keep them from piling up, especially since some are long. I will try not to spam multiple people in one day.

I will say though, if my blog really bothers you and ruins your day so much, then please just block me or mute. It literally will not upset me or anything, just block me. I literally don’t care lol. It’s there for a reason. Please just block me instead of taking the time out of your day to interact with a blog that supposedly bothers you so much.

I use tags as for every reason people on social media do, so people can find my posts, people who actually follow this blog.

Also, you do realize that the more you interact with me, the more you’re going to see my blog. So just block or scroll.

Just block me, that’s literally what the button is for, to not see my blog or posts. I’ve seen tags be clogged up by rp blogs on here, and I just block them. That’s all it takes.

Adding the tags so people will see this

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #nevermore fandom

[heavenlycloud]

the veil~ ღཾཿ༉ ༘჻ღཾཿ჻

four: you think i’m cute ‧₊˚ ⋅ ༘☆*.ﾟ

warnings: swearing, crying

pairing: huh yunjin x aespa 5th member! fem reader

summary: to be in the same place at the same time looking for the same thing is one hell of a coincidence. you both hope to find one another and the mutual ties of friendship may guide your way. so close to finding one another, just hope you don’t fall short and miss the opportunity.

author notes: its been SO long since my last update because i was traveling, in classes, now working, AND my laptop FUCKING BROKE ON ME???? so i managed to throw this chapter together using my phone and a glitchy ass version of google docs. there’s probably spelling errors i didn’t catch so sorry in advance!

this chapter might seem messy and not cohesive with the way it starts and ends but it’s because this chapter did get extremely long so due to that + mobile only letting me post 10 photos at a time—i have to split the chapter into two which will be posted soon as the next update. tag list is still open for those of you all who want to be added in, just comment or drop an ask in my inbox! lastly, feedback, comments, reblogs, questions, literally anything but hateful speech is welcome and very much appreciated!

̟ ̇ ˖ಎ˚˖࿔ masterlist 𓂅୨⊹ ₊˚๑

you jolted awake when you heard the front door to your dorm slam shut followed by muffled sobs and hurried steps to the bathroom. sleep clouded your thoughts and you tried to figure out what was going on elsewhere in the dorm when you went to move your laptop off your bed. you glanced over and noticed you were alone on the video call, and your match was gone. at first you were disappointed and part of you had clung onto the delusion that she’d stay on the call until you woke up. however, that feeling of disappointment was replaced with full blown panic when you saw your camera was turned on when you were 99.99% sure you’d left it off. the only thing keeping you from completely losing your shit was despite the camera being on, your image was blurred by default of the app settings. but, that in no way guaranteed that your identity remained unknown. the screen blur worked when people were sitting a considerable distance from their camera, not a few inches away like you had when you fell asleep. even after you hung up, you racked your brain trying to think about what you could do until you heard a quiet knock at your door.

aeri slipped into your room with tearstained cheeks and swollen eyes as she stood in front of you like a lost puppy. her entire body trembled and her breathing became erratic while she looked down with unfocused eyes. you asked in a serious tone, “are you hurt?” aeri shook her head and you pulled back your blankets and made room for her beneath the covers. she slipped in beside you and you brushed back a piece of hair that fell into her face. the scent of her coconut-apricot shampoo and herbal body wash watered down the lingering odor of alcohol that clung onto her words. there was a small silence before aeri sniffled, “why do i feel like such shit? i thought i would be over all of this by now but i feel the fucking same.” you frowned and ran a hand over her hair before replying softly, “gigi, it’s only been four weeks. you were with him for two years, it’s gonna take time.” you debated on adding on more, but you knew she’d have to hear the truth eventually, “and i know you don’t want to hear it but….running off to other boys and getting white girl wasted isn’t helping much either you know?” she sighed into your shoulder and admitted, “yeah yeah i know but i don’t know what else to do.” you pulled away and looked aeri in the eyes, “you have all of us here, and you can reach back out to your therapist. remember that you have people around you that are here and want to help you when you need it okay?” she nodded slowly and rested her head back on your shoulder before humming, “i will, i promise this time. but right now, i just wanna sleep okay?” you smiled weakly and pressed a kiss to your member’s head, “of course.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✭・彡♡・✫.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

in the morning you found minjeong sitting alone in the kitchen poking at a bowl of fruit she’d cut up earlier that morning. she looked up and made eye contact with you before looking back down silently. you knew the reason for her being upset so you didn’t bother asking because it’d really only rub salt into the wound. instead, you tried to lighten the mood with another question, “are you excited for the Gucci Cruise Show tonight?” minjeong cracked a smile and responded, “elizabeth olsen is coming and IU sunbaenim! i’m gonna try to get pictures with them if i can.” you gave her a look and she scoffed, “i’m serious this time, i’m not gonna just stare at them from afar. ningning and aeri unnie are rubbing off their extrovert energy on me, i can feel it already.” you shook your head and laughed, “so i’m not going to get a call from you 10 minutes into the after party begging for me to bullshit up an excuse to our manager so you can leave?” minjeong’s face dropped and she glared at you, “shut up.” you threw your head back with laughter and she changed the subject, “how was your date last night? has she talked to you since then?” she saw how you suddenly stiffened at the mention of your match and awaited your reply nervously, “i think she knows who i am.”

aeri walked into the kitchen and sleepily rubbed her eyes, “who knows who you are?” she moved to sit on your lap but shot up when minjeong answered, “her match.” aeri already had her phone out with ningning on FaceTime so you could explain to them both: “i was watching the movies with her last night and it got super late and i guess i dozed off at some point. when i fell asleep my camera was off but when i woke up it was on. the screen blur was on but i was super close to the camera so like i don’t know if she could tell it was me…and i’m starting to think she knows because she hasn’t texted me at all this morning and usually she’s up now.”

ningning tried to offer a consolation, “well your hair isn’t a vibrant color right now and your lights were off so if she saw anything it probably wasn’t much.” aeri chimed in, “yeah and she might have had an early practice this morning and hasn’t had a chance to text you.” minjeong nodded in agreement and told you, “they’re right. it’s probably nothing to worry about.” you sank back into your chair again and picked at your cuticles as you let your mind wander to a world of negative ‘what ifs’. ningning snapped her fingers in front of your face and placed her hand over yours, “hey! stop that. everything is going to be fine so stop letting yourself worry about this girl. instead think about how you might see her tonight at the party.”

minjeong perked up and asked, “what party?” jimin emerged from the hallway while she answered, “it’s choi jisu’s birthday party. every year she has this massive celebration for her birthday.” aeri clapped her hands in excitement and continued, “there’s always a cool theme to go with it. last year it was Starry Night and she hosted it in a literal planetarium! this year’s theme is Masquerade Ball. it’s admission by invitation only and this year we’ve been invited AND management is actually letting us go!” the younger singer furrowed her brows and asked, “for an event so exclusive why is she inviting us when we’ve only met her in passing?” ningning chimed in, “when y/n and i were trainees jisu was also training here with us.” you pointed to her then added, “yeah jisu and i were close back then. it was only a few months because she left SM and we lost touch after that…but like i said we were close.” minjeong stared at you suspiciously and asked, “how close?” aeri snorted and slapped ningning’s arm as the two doubled over laughing. you whined, “not like THAT WINNIE OH MY GOD?!” the latter shrugged and plainly said, “hey i never know…people get around.” her gaze fell to jimin for a millisecond then to the floor as if she never said anything. ningning coughed awkwardly then blurted out, “okay well i uh…i have a thing.” the rest of you all scattered as well to go about your mornings before you had to start getting ready for the big night.

all you wanted to do this morning and afternoon was focus on the upcoming party, but you had to practice. you dragged your feet against the floor of the company building hallways until you reached your destination. music was already playing in the practice room when you opened the door and a blonde woman called out to you, “you’re late.” you turned to check the time on the wall clock just to see it’d been unplugged. instead you made a move to check your phone but the woman swiped it out of your hand before you got the chance to look at it. she playfully mocked the sassy retort you always gave her, “by two minutes.” when you scoffed in feign offense she reminded you, “which still means you’re late. get warmed up, i have to make a few calls.” the older woman walked out of the studio and you did as you were told, starting with some stretches to warm up your muscles.

four hours passed and it was just around lunchtime when you finished the main part of practice. you spun in a circle before falling to the floor in a dramatic dip earning a laugh from your mentor. she stared at you from above and shook her head in amusement before holding her hand out to help you up. when you held out a finger for her to give you a moment, she instead joined you on the floor. your chest slowly stopped heaving but the burning ache in your abdominal muscles remained. you rolled onto your stomach and let your face rest on your forearms with your eyes closed. the older woman patted your behind and praised you warmly, “you did really well today. i can see you’ve been working hard.” for a few moments you both sat in silence as she let you catch your breath before moving to stand up. you followed behind her and hesitated before asking, “wait- hyoyeon unnie….can i ask you something?” your mentor turned around and answered, “what’s wrong, babydoll?” the old nickname she gave you years ago slipped off her lips effortlessly bringing you a sense of security that washed away your nerves.

you tugged at the fabric of your pants and a smile grew on hyoyeon’s face, she loved when you got shy and embarrassed over things because it meant she could tease you about it later. slowly you asked, “can you teach me how to dance? you know how they do in the princess movies? like ballroom dance?” the older woman put her bag back down and clarified, “a waltz?” when you nodded eagerly and excitedly followed her back to the center of the room she laughed. she showed you the moves and explained them simply as you started to get the hang of it within a few short minutes. when she added music to it she started asking more questions, “why do you suddenly need to know this?” you followed her lead and answered as you both moved, “there’s a party tonight and the theme is Masquerade Ball…i just wanna know in case.” hyoyeon could see the way you were trying to hide your smile as you clearly pictured she was someone else. your mentor then prompted, “so it’s not in case you happen to dance with a certain someone?” you shook your head in refusal but she could see right through your lies, yet she didn’t question you. you told her about your outfit for the evening and how your members, minus minjeong, we’re going together as well.

when you both finished dancing to the song, she picked up your phone and handed it back to you. hyoyeon pulled you into a hug, “good work today, babydoll. have fun this evening and take pictures, okay.” you nodded and headed down opposite directions of the hallways as she tacked on, “good luck with your dance, im sure you’ll charm your princess.” you whipped around just to see her smiling at you as she shot a wink over her shoulder. she pointed to her phone then walked around the corner leaving you stunned to a silence. you realized what she meant and checked your lock screen which had numerous notifications that read: Lyra 🪐

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✭・彡♡・✫.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

“god- soobin wait! shit fuck- i can’t breathe take it out! somi save me!” yunjin rasped out as her best friend squeezed the last breath out of her lungs while tying up the back of her gown. he let the ribbons go and threw his hands in the air, “somi you’re up. my hands are cramping from the last four times i did it..” somi huffed, “you’re being dramatic. jen come here.” she walked over to her and took a deep breath before yanking the ribbons to the back of the ball gown and tying it tightly. she patted yunjin on the shoulder, “see not so bad right?” yunjin coughed dramatically and winced, “i think you broke one of my ribs…” somi beamed “then i did it right. come on the car is downstairs.” kazuha, chaeyoung, and chloe were already waiting in another room for the other three and the six made their way down to the garage.

chloe gathered more handfuls of her dress’ lilac tulle topped with lavender and silver flowers as she walked and tried not to stumble over her own feet. she asked while looking around for somi’s car, “somi, remind me again how you expect to fit all of us in your car?” the blonde simply pointed to two black Cadillac Escalade trucks, “i got drivers.” the five friends looked at each other with shared glances before remembering this was their best friend they were talking about. chaeyoung helped kazuha into the truck first, picking up her forest green dress so not to ruin it. chloe followed behind her then chaeyoung filled in last, adjusting her navy blue blazer that was lined with silver hearts around the cuffs and trim. from the front seat, keeho turned around, “we waited down here for like an hour.” the girls rolled their eyes and ignored him, insisting that the music be turned up louder instead. meanwhile, soobin was busy helping somi and yunjin into the truck. yunjin went in first and somi followed in suit. her bubblegum pink gown took up a seat and a half, some of the tulle spilling onto beomhan’s lap when he sat behind her. soobin sat in the passengers seat before letting the driver know that everyone was here and they were ready to go.

“who did you invite tonight?” yunjin asked as she watched cars go by in the other street lanes. somi, who was in charge of jisu’s guest list, replied easily, “everyone in jisu’s address book…more or less.” yunjin asked in a more serious tone, “hold on, you didn’t invite jimin did you?” somi looked confused as she slowly answered, “yeah, why?” everyone in the car collectively started speaking over one another causing somi to raise her voice, “STOP YELLING AT ME AND TELL ME WHATS GOING ON!” beomhan lowered his voice as he told her, “she has a thing with ryujin while ryujin also has a thing with jisu. and before you ask yes jisu also has a thing with yeji. i don’t even know what it is honestly. the whole dynamic is a little weird she said. but apparently yeji and jisu are cool and they have their own little…thing. jisu also has a thing with ryujin too though and yeji knows obviously they like live together. but jisu says that she doesn’t really care who else ryujin wants to be with because they aren’t an exclusive thing, right. but then when someone tries to talk to jisu, ryujin gets all territorial, even when it’s yeji sometimes. she said ryujin will act like she’s only hers and her feelings get all hurt when jisu reminds her that they aren’t really a thing. and then in the same breath ryujin turns around with karina and acts like she didn’t even want jisu to begin with. i dunno it’s all just messy.”

yunjin frowned and asked curiously, “i thought karina had a thing with chaewon?” somi added on with a confused look too, “i thought she was messing around with winter?” beomhan pursed his lips as he explained further, “technically you’re both right. karina just has girls she messes with but nothing exclusive. ever since she and ryujin broke up a few months back she’s just been friends with benefits with a couple different people…including ryujin. i’m pretty sure all of them know they’re not the only ones she’s seeing.” soobin offered from the front seat, “well ryujin won’t be there tonight. she has that Gucci event. so even if karina does show up, ryujin wont be around to entertain her.” yunjin added with a shrug, “neither will chaewon.” the rest of the car ride everyone noticed yunjin in her own little world, completely ignoring when taylor swift came on the shuffle.

somi waved her hand in front of yunjin’s face, “jen? hellooooo???” the american singer then snapped out of her trance, “what? my bad what happened?” soobin pointed to the radio and said, “you didn’t sing to the past three taylor songs. are you okay? what are you thinking about?” she tried to play it off but even with the mask over her face it couldn’t hide the smile that pulled at her lips. beomhan glanced at her phone and noticed her Veil app open then he giggled, “she’s talking to her match.” the rest of her friends cooed and teased her before getting her to admit, “jasmine said she’ll be at the party.” somi gasped then questioned, “do you know what she’s wearing?” yunjin shook her head, “nope. she barely even told me she was coming.” soobin asked just as the car pulled into the lot, “do you know if she’s here yet?” yunjin once again refused, “nope.” all of them adjusted their masks over their eyes and secured the ribbons on the backs of their heads before heading into the building to find the massive ballroom. while the ballroom was on everyone else’s mind, all that was on yunjin’s was finding you.

⚠️‼️extra tweets and messages (important) ‼️⚠️

♡‧₊˚˘͈ᵕ˘͈‎ 彡♡ ༘*.ﾟ .·:¨༺ ʚ♡ɞ༻¨*:·.﹢࿐ ☆

authors notes: since i’m posting on mobile (my laptop is still being repaired) i can’t post all the messages and tweets id usually do for a chapter. that being said i can’t post the FULL chapter until i get my laptop back. HOWEVER i think it’ll be ready for pickup tomorrow. but cuz i’m working and i have a hectic week ahead i don’t wanna deprive you all of what i do have ready. and idk if i’ll be able to post again tomorrow even tho i’ll have my laptop back ☹️ so just know something big is coming and it is ready to be posted, i just need to get back on desktop! thank you all for being so patient and understanding i know i’ve been breaking promises with my updating schedule since may 😭 but thank you for sticking with me!

#kpop fanfic #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #kpop imagines #girl group fluff #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #girl group reactions #the veil au

[vigsilantes]

i'm yours (adrian chase x reader)

Pairing: Adrian Chase / Vigilante x Reader Request: “hey! can i request something with jealous adrian? plot and specifics are up to you, i just want something where someone else gets flirty or handsy with the reader and adrian gets jealous and protective.” Summary: You go to Fennel Fields after work one night to wait for Adrian to finish his shift and someone hits on you. A/N: i have sooo many other ideas for jealous!adrian, so this fic was just a start. expect many more jealous!adrian fics in the future lolz Word Count: 2.1k Tags: Established Relationship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Jealousy, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Post-Canon, Reader-Insert, Comfort, Domestic Fluff Warnings: swearing, drinking

~masterlist~ | >>>(read on ao3)<<<

Work was abnormally slow for you tonight, like totally dead, you haven’t seen a customer for the last hour. Instead of wasting time doing nothing for the rest of your shift, your manager decided to be nice and let you off a bit early, and you weren’t complaining. After grabbing your bag from the back and locking up, you left, and headed straight for Fennel Fields. Adrian was closing tonight, so you texted him letting him know you were going to wait for him.

You: hey babe i’m off early and starvingggg i'm omw 2 FF

Ade: i’ll order ur usual so its ready faster:)

Ade: 🧜

It was a very short walk to Fennel Fields, literal minutes away, which you appreciated, but Adrian definitely appreciated it more knowing how close you were to each other, just in case. After replying to Adrian with a thumbs up emoji, you reached the restaurant, and from quickly skimming the crowd, it was pretty dead here too. You approached the hostess, Laura, who knew you through Adrian, and smiled. She was one of the few people here that was kind to Adrian, so you liked her, and she was always nice when you visited Adrian.

“Hey! Just waiting for Adrian,” you informed her, she nodded.

“No problem, it’s dead here,” she laughed, and motioned for you to pick a seat. Luckily, your usual booth was empty, so you headed straight for it. It had the perfect view to the back of the employees’ entrance, so you could always catch glimpses of Adrian when you were there, which is why it was your favorite seat. He loved you sitting there too, he always wanted to be able to keep an eye on you. After you sat down, you patiently waited for Adrian to come out of the back, and after seconds you spotted him. Once he met your gaze his eyes widened, and a smile grew on his face. He practically ran over to you, smiling like an idiot.

“Heyyy, buttercup!” he grinned, sounding happy to see you. You two have a vast assortment of nicknames for each other and Adrian never misses a chance to use them. He quickly bent down towards you to peck you on the lips, he was still on the clock, so he didn’t want to get in trouble. “I already put in your order; curly fries are on the way!” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Thank youuu,” you beamed, “how’s your night been?” he scanned around the restaurant to check if his boss was near and saw no sign of him, so he sat down next to you in the booth for a moment.

“Super fucking dead, literally no one has been here, like at all, which is sorta nice because I haven’t had to do too much,” he stated, you nodded, and looked up to him. His little Fennel Fields hat was slightly crooked, so you pulled it down and straightened it out for him. “How was your day?” he asked, nudging your arm.

“It was quiet for me too… I loveee dead days though, saves me from a headache,” you laughed, and he shook his head in agreement. As you looked at Adrian, you spotted his boss out of the corner of your eye, you tapped his arm, “Manager, three o’clock,” you warned, and he practically flew out of the booth.

“Oh shit, thanks,” his face turned red, “Oh-uhh it’ll be a little bit till I’m off, you can take the car if you wa-”

“I’m fine waiting hun, I have my copy of The Stand, so take as long as you need,” you shifted, getting more comfortable in the booth. You two loved Stephen King novels, so you had quite the collection growing. Adrian just read The Stand and has been begging you nonstop to start it since he finished it.

“That’s actually my copy, but I guess you can read it,” he teased, you sarcastically rolled your eyes. “I’m kidding, babe, I’m happy you’re finally reading it! We can have a little book club to talk about it, and once you finish it, we can start the mini-series!” he fluttered, you smiled.

“Sounds good!” you tapped his hand, “now go back to work before I get you in trouble,” he nodded, and went to a table across the room to start cleaning. You opened the book to the first chapter and began reading, getting instantly hooked by it. The quiet chatter of other patrons in the restaurant made a peaceful background noise for you to read in. After reading a few pages, you heard footsteps near you, you lifted your head to see Adrian approaching your booth with your curly fries and a drink in his hands.

“Here you are, my love,” he placed the plate in front of you, followed by a Sprite, which you didn’t even ask for, but he anticipated that you’d want it, so he got it for you. He then bowed like you were royalty, you blushed. “Enjoy!” he quipped.

“You’re such a dork,” you said in between chuckles, “Thanks, Ade,” you smiled, and he left you alone so he could continue working. You poured a hefty amount of ketchup on your plate and began eating your fries while reading. You were captivated by the way Stephen King wrote, and this story was incredibly interesting: An apocalypse wiping out almost the whole population, leaving people to decide to be either good or evil – yeah, you were hooked. You flew through about twenty pages, and half of your fries, when someone suddenly sat next down to you. When you picked your head up you expected it to be Adrian, but it wasn’t, you didn’t know who this was.

“Ummm excuse you?” you questioned at the stranger, furrowing your brows.

“I just noticed yo-u sitting by yourself nd thought you could use a friend,” the man smirked. He was very clearly older than you and his breath reeked of booze. “Whatcha reading, hotstuff?” he peered, looking at your book. You backed away and dramatically closed your book.

“It’s my partner’s book, actually. He’s letting me borrow it,” you stated, hoping he’d get the hint. He didn’t, as he abruptly grabbed your wrist with a tight grip. He then lazily moved his hand to brush the hair out of your face, you tensed up, feeling uncomfortable as the drunk man stared you down.

“Whoever your partner is, I bet you’d be better off with me,” he spat, and slid in even closer to you. You scoffed, unable to get out of his grasp.

“Yeah right… Please, just leave,” you demanded, he squeezed your wrist tighter which made you uneasy. “My partner taught me self-defense and I am not afraid to fuck you up,” you declared, the man sneered. You looked around for Adrian, who was in his usual spot in the back unloading dishes. He caught your eye and turned to face you. He quickly analyzed the situation, seeing the man sitting in your seat and with his hand holding yours caused the expression on his face to change – he was pissed. He dropped the plate he was holding and swiftly ran to your booth.

“Uhh what the fuck is going on here?” he gritted through his teeth, looking at you dumbfounded, not fully understanding what he was seeing. 

“This asshole isn’t listening to me and won’t leave,” you informed him, his face dropped realizing what was happening, and he instantly grabbed the man’s hand and yanked it off of yours. Free from his grip you were able to hop out of the booth.

“Are you alright?” Adrian looked at you intently, “what the hell happened?” he asked as he began inspecting you to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“Yeah, I’m fine hun, this drunk asshole was hitting on me and wouldn’t go away,” you told him, he nodded and took in a deep breath. Adrian motioned for you to stand behind him, you listened.

“It’s time for you to leave, fuckface, they don’t want you here,” Adrian grumbled, his face was beet red and his eyes were on fire. “I don’t want you here,” his jaw tightened, and he straightened his body. The man cackled and looked at Adrian, he seemed ready for a fight and slowly made his way out of the booth. This prompted Adrian to tighten his fist, also readying for a fight. As the man stood up, he nearly fell, he was wasted, and had to steady himself by holding onto the table. After a mere second of eyeing Adrian, and noticing how Adrian towered over him, he lifted his arms up in surrender. It was clear that he was too drunk for a fight, and the anger that radiated off of Adrian definitely made him weary. Adrian didn’t falter though, as he followed every single movement the man made. The guy hastily backed away, tripping over himself multiple times, and you sarcastically waved as he left. Adrian blew out a deep sigh in relief and rested his hands on his hips.

“Fuck… Well, that was something,” you started, laughing nervously, “Thanks, honey, he just – wouldn’t let up,” you said as you sat back down in the booth, he followed and sat across from you.

“Course…” he scrunched his face, “y’know…” he began, taking a deep breath.

“What is it, Ade,” you raised your eyebrows and took his hand.

“Before I came over here I – I thought you actually wanted that guy with you, I didn’t- I thought you two were holding hands and I got like totally jealous, like, I wanted to rip his head off,” Adrian admitted, you were stunned, you couldn’t believe he’d think you’d be with someone else.

“Whattttt?” you questioned loudly, “I would never, Ade, seriously, he just fuckin’ sat down next to me, in my booth of all places, and started hitting on me,” you comforted him, he sighed with a smile on his face.

“See, I didn’t think so but- I don’t know, it just killed me to see someone else that close to you…” he trailed off, and looked at your hand, it was red from where the man grabbed it. Once he realized the man left a mark on you, his body tensed up. “I’m gonna fucking kill that guy tonight,” he murmured to you, not taking his eyes off your hand.

“No–” you huffed a laugh, “you don’t need to kill him, it’s fine-I’m fine,” you reassured him, and reached out your other hand to lift his head, he met your gaze. That confirmation calmed him down and he nodded, you could see him start to relax. "There are actual criminals that you can kill, babe," you said.

"Well, instead of killing him what if I just cut his hand off for touching you, could you settle for that?" he purred, half joking, but you could hear in his voice that he was being serious. He would go outside right now and chop this guy's hand off in a second if you told him to. You were infatuated by the way that he got so protective over you... It was hot.

"Why don't you save your energy for something else," you changed the subject and bit your lip, staring him down. He then scooted down the booth to sit beside you, sliding his arm around your shoulder. He nuzzled his head into your neck, clearly not caring that he was still at work and not caring if his coworkers or manager saw – he just wanted to be close to you.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your ear with his voice deep. He moved his head lower down your neck and his lips gingerly hovered over you, he slowly began sucking, he was marking you.

“I’m yours,” you breathed out, feeling electric from his mouth on your skin. After a minute that went by way too fast, he slowly inched away, closely observing the mark he just left on your neck. After confirming it was good enough for his liking, he separated from you and licked his lips.

“You are somethin’ else, Chase,” you teased, your face red from what just happened, he smirked. “We’ll be continuing this when we get home–,” you stated as you looked down at your phone to check the time, “in about twenty minutes or so,” you winked, his eyes grew wide and his cheeks were rosy. He jumped out of the booth and adjusted himself, pushing his glasses up on his face.

“Well- I, uh,” he gulped, “I better…Yes, I want to-when we get home, and-” he stammered, you had him speechless. “Yes.” He abruptly shouted, you chuckled, and he promptly turned around and walked to the back of the restaurant. Through the back entrance you watched Adrian haphazardly wash dishes so he could clock out faster. You couldn’t help but smile, and as he looked over at you, he smiled too. His face was painted a deep shade of pink and he had a painfully charming grin spread across his face, it made your heart flutter with joy.

#adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #vigilante #freddie stroma #peacemaker #peacemaker hbo #dcu #adrian chase x you #adrian chase fic #adrian chase fluff #adrian chase x gender neutral reader #vigilante fluff

[viscountessevie]

The Thrilling Bridgerton Poll Saga Reaches Its Conclusion!

Original Post About the Poll, The Polios Being Insane About This and The Bridgerton Poll tag 

Yall l’m interrupting Kathony time to let you know that the Bridgerton Poll Survey Results were posted! A couple of yall sent me the links shoutout to @queenkatesharma​ for sending them to me. 

Okay so while transparency is great, protecting people’s data is more important. The OP of the post was kind of reckless and posted the data document with all of the raw data and I just felt very concerned about sharing that here because of the unprotected data so I reached out to with the mods to help secure it. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to save a copy of the doc so I can make my own summary for yall in my essay but its probably for the best. That being said I did get screenshots of a brief summary from the OP before the posts were taken down to protect the privacy of everyone: 

[I cropped out the link lmao didn’t want anyone to access it while it was still public] 

Okay but THIS is the important part: 

Also THERE HAS TO BE MORE HYARETHS AND GRUCYS??

Anyways it wasn’t a competition,, but GUESS WHO WON lmaooo. Honestly I do think there’s alot of overlap with the other smaller fandom ships like I’m a Kathony and Franchel and also love me some Benophie! (I’ll probably be a Hyareth and Grucy once I get to their books lmao) 

Bonus: This was a very funny comment I found on the Polios sub

“Vocal minority” “Contentious” Literally all we said was Why is it so invasive and why the hell do you need all that info to glean about people in the fandom - it didn’t help the Polios themselves added to the fire about linking the intelligence to the ships that’s solely on them. 

While I am glad the data is secured, I do mourn the loss of not being able to analyse it myself and make yall cute pie charts in my essay. That being said and while the data won’t be the exact same - would you all be interested in doing a shorter version that doesn’t ask so many personal questions and just asks you why you ship what you ship (literally what I expected from this survey tbh)? 

Let me know and I can make a quick google survey version where the pie chart will be auto generated for us lmao. If not, I’ll probably just put in the info I’ve been gleaning from asks to my moots and what we gathered from the ‘intellectual’ attorneys of the Pollon sub. Also for a bunch of self-proclaimed “smart lawyers”, they were TOO excited about having all that data without even thinking of privacy laws???   

#Bridgerton #Bridgerton Fandom #Bridgerton Poll #Anti-Polin #anti penelope featherington #Block me or the tag if you don't wanna see it #Penalty (Bridgerton) #Pelican (Bridgerton) #Bridgerton Asks

[feathvrings]

“When everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

selective and semi-private indie portrayal of KAZ rietveld BREKKER, JESPER FAHEY, naoise burns NESHA VLADSTIK, and WYLAN van eck HENDRIKS, as understood by sen.

rules below cut for mobile users.

general:

all muns must be 18+, as i am. i do not allow anon asks, so please be aware of this. this is my first venture into indie/1x1 rp, so please go easy on me—i’m accustomed to group rp, and still don’t know all the terminology. i will use the block button, whenever i feel it necessary. be nice and respectful. it’s a basic thing. i’m here to write, not argue—so let’s keep the ooc drama to a minimum. i don’t interact with call-out posts/purity culture/passive-aggressiveness/etc. don’t godmod/metagame, please. my name is sen! i'm 18+ and use they/them pronouns.

writing:

i write semi-literate to literate multi-para responses. i use a mix of beta and legacy editors, mostly because i’m new to tumblr and can’t figure out what the hell is going on with that, but i don’t seem to have the option to switch whenever i want. i will cut posts whenever possible—please be patient with me. i’m very active and have a tendency to reply frequently. please don’t feel rushed by me, i’m very patient—this is just a heads-up. just a warning, i talk in the tags. a fair bit.

plotting:

please don’t reach out through dms to plot with me unless we’re mutuals. if we are moots, feel free to contact me at any time to start up a thread, fangirl about the source material or our threads/characters, or just chat about anything at all. ask memes are a great way to start up interactions—always feel free to throw an ask my way, even if we’re not moots. memes and open starters are open to everyone, and i’m willing to write those threads for as long as they go.

formatting:

i do use small text, just to keep my dash easier for me personally to read. if you’d prefer i not use it for various reasons, just reach out and let me know! i generally use gif icons and/or small/medium gifs, but you don’t have to. i do not expect you to match my formatting. please don’t expect me to match yours.

content:

dark themes and triggers will absolutely be present on this blog due to the nature of the source material. i will do my best to tag things as needed, using the format “trigger cw.” things that will 100% be tagged are as follows:

death.

gore.

nsfw content (not that there should really be any of it on this blog).

this list will be added to as necessary.

following:

i will not follow/interact with blogs that:

write only/primarily smut/nsfw content.

contain omegaverse or a/b/o content.

roleplay as real people.

use a deceased person as a fc.

if you write untagged smut/nsfw, i may block you. if i follow you, i have read all of your rules/information and am interested in writing with you. if i don’t, i’m not. if you initiate a follow, 9 times out of 10 i will check it as soon as i see it and read your page. if i don’t follow back, i’m not interested—it’s nothing personal, and it could be for any number of reasons, so don’t feel bad. please don’t spam follow me to get me to accept it—my answer likely won’t change. if i initiate a follow, you are (of course) under no obligation to accept it. if you don’t intend on reciprocating however, please block-then-unblock (i think that’s a softblock?) me to remove the follow. i will take the hint, i promise. if i soft or hard block you, it’s nothing personal. i keep my dash very strictly curated.

nopes:

i do not write nsfw/smut. i do not accept anons. i reserve the right to not interact with anyone or engage in any interaction that makes me uncomfortable—period, end of discussion.

asks:

any meme/starter can be answered at any time. (if it’s one of those “send an emoji” ones you may need to remind me which post it’s coming from.) you’re always welcome to turn an ask response into a thread. please don’t use me as a source for memes—reblog them from the op. they’re the one that created it, they should get the credit.

for mutuals:

if you’re going to drop a thread, please let me know. i don’t mind, just tell me ahead of time so i’m not eternally on hold. always feel free to reach out to me. my dms are open: if there’s a reply that you’d like me to make some changes to, any plotting things you want to clear up, a cool musing you saw that fits our characters, or you just plain want to chat—hit me up.

#;pinned post #// do not reblog

[theangryjikooker]

made me giggle a bit seeing people saying you're "spamming" the jikook tag with "negativity". i don't have shipper friends or interact with shippers; when it comes to this specific part of fandom it's just me, my RTs and the sort of big accounts i like. it's always a shock to get smacked with the reality that people are actually very much serious about this, it's not just a silly little thing to indulge in.

so people see a post of someone saying "i stopped entertaining the possibility that jikook could be something more than friends" in their favorite tag, so what?? have people lost the ability to scroll? is their peace that fragile?

i'm also thinking in general, not just this specific instance, i've always been someone that has to dig deep and go past whatever is popular in a fandom to reach the content or people i vibe with. scrolling past shit i don't like or even blocking has always been very ordinary for me, so i genuinely don't understand people that have to announce to everyone that they found something they don't vibe with in their little corner of fandom. welcome to the club lol.

idk as much as i always liked jikook, jikookers spaces have never been ideal to me because i came from the OG problematic shippers fandom aka 1d fans, so i really wanted my fan experience to be better than that (it ended up being sooo much worse but that's a discourse for another day). i've never made it anyone's problem but mine to deal with.

i feel like everyone on here could use a little drink of the "it's never that serious" juice.

Oh my word, thank you for this. Please be the voice to all my other anons who have trouble with this.

To god complex anon, this is directed at you. It’s quite puzzling to me that as a non-shipper, you have trouble grasping what comes easily to someone else. You seem to have an inability to compartmentalize my presence in a space densely populated by shippers, despite the fact that it isn’t their space. Tumblr isn’t inherently a shipping space; the Jikook tags aren’t solely geared towards those who ship them. Shippers have arrogantly claimed their right to the tag, have made it all about them when it’s not.

My criticism of shippers and their way of shipping is, quite literally, just that. Your submission seemed to indicate that you believe people who peruse or lurk these tags and read about Jikook are exclusively shippers. Not all of them are—a minority they may be, yes, but there are a number of us who respect Jkk and appreciate their interactions but don’t subscribe to the dogmatic ideologies of shippers. Naturally, most of us are going to overlap in areas where Jikook can be talked about. It’s truly not rocket science.

Now, if I were going into a Jikook private server, made specifically for Jkk shippers, and I expressed my opinions as gospel, then of course I’d be the asshole and I’d have zero right to be there. But on Tumblr? Seriously?

I would also argue that shippers have proven they have the god complex, because far too often (and they’re sitting in my inbox, ignored, as I have no time to repeat myself ad nauseum) I have to defend my ability to even express my opinions, critical though they may be. And the heinous part of it all is that they know people like me are in the minority; they know that they and the rest of their cult can dogpile what are essentially dissenters because they have the numbers and support on their side.

—

And to the rest of you who are choosing to be argumentative just to be argumentative, my use of the “bts shipping” tag is because this post (like many others) is talking about BTS shipping. This is grade school stuff, guys, come on.

—

I will also add—because a reminder is constantly needed—when I talk about “shippers”, I’m singling out the problematic ones who’ve made it their personality, who also happen to be the most vocal and are unable to mouth off in their own blog instead of harassing me on mine.

#TAJ asks #darling anon #jikook #kookmin #bts shipping

[oyasumi-dove]

‘Afab writers are a problem because I’m afab and I don’t like femininity.’ Isn’t the take you think it is, hon. And don’t give me that “that’s not what I said” bullshit, cause you literally did. From an afab person who loves my femininity and writes *tagged* fem!reader, it brings me joy that my very existence pisses you off. Must take a lost of effort to be that fragile…

Hating anyone who’s afab and a writer just because some ignorant people don’t tag fics is genuinely the worst excuse I’ve ever seen. It’s not that big a deal. What, did the scary fem!reader fics reach through the screen and bite you or something? A lot of afab readers tag their fics, a lot of non afab readers don’t tag their fics, the x reader niche has way bigger problems with tagging than not tagging the gender of the reader. But I guess none of that matters because god forbid you go five seconds without showing your obvious bias.

Honestly, stop pretending you’re doing this in good faith and actually trying to help. You’re doing it to get on people’s nerves. Your spam posts are vague and don’t actually tell people what you want them to tag, you’re a massive hypocrite, and you respond hatefully to anyone who doesn’t suck your dick. I hope your ultimate goal is for the problem you’re complaining about to get worse, because that’s the only thing you’re accomplishing here.

Hhhhmmmm

Well…!

I did say that it was a personal issue for me and I had a bias. I don’t think I tried to hide that fact! However, I stated that the writers who didn’t tag their posts as fem!reader were the problem for me. It’s only some of your guys existence that pisses me off 😍

I can see that my response was worded horribly, though, I don’t know how to explain myself to you. If you think of me as a hypocrite then how exactly am I suppose to change your views on me..? Like ok, I guess im a hypocrite to whoever you are.

I never said I wanted to be the “good” guy in all this LOL. I am open to change my opinions on certain things, but I haven’t exactly always been nice about it. You can tell in my posts. Of course I’m going to start lighting up when people agree with me and actually hear me out. Literally who wouldn’t!??? With all the people who do not agree with me, I’m just arguing back with them?? Am I not allowed to counter their messages when half of them are spewing shit my way 🤦

You aren’t my problem! At least you (proclaim) to tag your work. I don’t think you write for every other fem!writer. Also I don’t know where you got those statistics from with the “a lot of non afab writers don’t tag their fics” yadayada, ok. Try to block every variation of fem reader and scroll down an x reader tag right now!

I really am that fragile though!! Because who the hell doesn’t feel dysphoric when coming upon an untagged posts and get hit with she/her pronouns 💀 Spoiler alert: Not every afab is happy or as comfy as you are with their femininity. YES, it will kill me if I see an untagged fem reader fic. If I see a another one I will actually succumb to the sweet relief that is death :(( Not even my FILTERED TAGS will be able to stop this…!

There’s so many posts about tagging your work correctly, how to actually use your tags and what to do with them. My first fucking post is showing you how to add tags. Unless you WANT me to start adding text on every single one of my posts on how to use tags, because that sounds like a great idea :3

Hhhnmmm

#anywho. #I genuinely hate writers who don’t tag their fanfics/posts. #Fem!reader writers who don’t tag their work just irk me especially off #HOLY SHIT #I’ve fucked up #brb

[swampgh0stt]

more writing from my Marvel AU (link to tag) Peter really thought he knew who the rabbit guy was! Now he's not so sure

“I didn’t even want to be there!”

Spider-Man perked up, recognizing that voice. Curious as ever, he kept quiet and moved closer, listening in on the distressed mechanic’s woes. “I wanted to stay home, with Deishu!” 

“He’s fine,” William assured, unconcerned with his partner’s protests. “That child isn’t attached at the hip. You should be grateful for some time away--”

T’aaku whipped around on the taller man, glaring up at those silver eyes. “I wasn’t ready. I just had him, Will! Why are you so jealous if I want to spend time with my child!?” His hands balled into fists, his breath stuttering on a sob as tears began to spill down freckled cheeks. “Did you see the way everyone was looking at me? Like it was my fault your wife left! I don’t even know her, I’ve never met her! But they all blamed me anyway!” He threw his hands in the air in resignation before hugging himself, turning his back on William as another sob worked its way out. 

Peter suddenly felt terrible for not trying harder. He knew exactly how T’aaku felt. His first few outings with Harry were horrible: awkward, judgmental. Rich people were so cruel without even trying. Except, this bunch were definitely trying to be cruel towards T’aaku. He wasn’t one of them, and they wanted him to know it.

He chose to sit back and watch, listening in on the conversation with a frown set across his face. 

“The only people who were nice to me were the Osborn kid and his partner! Norman accused me of doing this for your money! Like I care about that-- Will, I can’t go back to that. I can’t do it again,” T’aaku lamented. 

William moved in close, resting a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Norman’s a twat who can’t come up with an original idea to save his own life.” Literally! But when that reassurance didn’t work, Afton let out an exaggerated sigh. He reached for the rabbit-shaped pin on his lapel, popping it off as an offering to his companion. When he spoke, Peter couldn’t tell what character he was mimicking, but it certainly sounded like some children’s cartoon character: “Don’t be sad! I’m still here for you, Pidge!” 

T’aaku rolled his eyes and looked away, gently slapping at the hand. “Oh my God, I told you to stop with the Pidge thing. It was one time!” He scoffed as he turned again.

But William wasn’t giving up, crouching down lower to T’aaku’s height. He moved to another side: “But you’re so sad about that ol’ stinky goblin! Can I get a smile? Please? Please?” However, T’aaku just looked away again. This time, William stood upright-- a new idea in mind. He quickly scooped up the smaller mechanic in both arms, taking off a few paces. 

Peter was.. in shock, to say the least. How easily William managed to make T’aaku laugh again, the two going back and forth with jokes and references he wouldn’t understand-- until finally, William added: “If you don’t want to go back, we won’t. Norman’s a right wanker who can sod off. I want you by my side, but not if you’re gonna end up like this over it.” 

T’aaku hadn’t bothered to squirm out of the grip William had on him, perfectly content to be held like a new bride and carried around. “No, I’ll go again…” He relented after a moment. “I don’t wanna leave you by yourself. But you owe me for this.” 

“Do tell.” 

“You better find me a good sushi place that’s still open this late. I want it now,” T’aaku jokingly demanded. 

William sighed dramatically and began to wander away from where Spider-Man had taken up post. “I suppose I’ll have to!” Afton huffed, as if he was being forced. “There’s just no other choice.” 

Peter was left in place until they were well out of earshot, unsure what to make of what he had just witnessed.

#peter parker #william afton #fnaf #fnaf oc #five nights at freddy's #marvel #marvel comics #spiderman #oc x canon #spiderman never alone

[tenderlyrenjun]

But your fics are beautiful!

I really really like the plots you project to prepare the smut part!

Honestly I myself find difficult reading ff's and especially smut of idols whom I don't bias, but the pieces of works of yours I read always slap!

Unfortunately I don't know how I can demonstrate my love for the works of yours I read, but you should not throw away all your work as a writer, as it in itself is a part of you: you should never throw yourself away...🤗

they don’t. my fics flop so hard, every time. It takes weeks to get (1) single comment on a fic and it takes months to get maybe (10). Time out the prequel is my post popular fic in terms of notes, and it has less than 10 comments on it, including the main part; and it’s been up for more than a year.

you could literally demonstrate it by doing the (1) thing I’ve been begging for, which is to send me asks or comment on my fics, but it looks like you don’t want to, and I can’t force you to do that either, so impasse. it doesn’t matter anyways; my fics aren’t good enough. people say they’re good, but it’s only out of pity at this point, because they’re clearly not good enough. it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t. This is just so … stupid; it’s so stupid to care this much; you don’t owe me anything. maybe if I was better, if I wrote better, if I was good enough, if I was nicer, if I wrote for different members, if I wrote kinkier smut, then I might get something. but nothing is good enough; I’m literally just not good enough.

it’s at this point where everyone is just telling me to move on. I’m screaming that I love writing, that I want to interact with readers and writers, but the only response is people telling me to give up, so I might as well. It doesn’t matter. I took the breaks; it didn’t solve anything; I became even more irrelevant than I was when I was active. I joined a network; I got ignored and talked over in the group chat; the admin didn’t even remember that I was part of the network; my fics didn’t show up in the tags, even when I tagged the network. I tried sending my fics to writers but they already read it and didn’t think the fic was good enough for a reblog or a comment. I tried promote my fics with external text posts like ads, but people told me it was annoying so I stopped. I tried doing porn with a plot fics but people told me how bad that was (someone rated it numerically) so I stopped. I tried to do Kinktober; people told me it wouldn’t flop; but it did and no one cared about anything I wrote for it, then someone else did the plots I was going to do, and the entire thing became obsolete. I keep trying and trying and trying, and I tried to reach out to people who I thought might feel the same or want to be mutuals but nothing works and people keep telling me to move on.

So what do i do? I should give up, right? I’m too fucking focused on external validation; no one owes me any feedback; no one is listening to me; it’s not valid to want comments or anything; I’m not good enough. Legitimately no one cares and no one is listening. It’s so pointless and I feel so stupid for feeling this way because it doesn’t matter. If no one else cares, why should I care too? It just feels horrible constantly to write, and at this point, I’ve associated failure with writing because I am a failure at writing. But I shouldn’t care about external validation because I need to focus on intern validation. I keep explaining how motivation works but people keep showing me that I’m wrong, and it worsens my confidence as a writer even more. Like, I’m literally just not good enough.

[dats-hq]

What Happened With Digital Opinion Box? (Niche Fandom History Story Time)

Oldheads around here may know that I started this blog to help out @digitalopinionbox, at the request of @rikatastic and @theultimateburst. Back in 2014, there were a lot fewer places to find good video sources online for Digimon, and specifically clean rips of Digimon Savers/Data Squad basically didn’t exist. You could find videos of the Japanese version with subtitles and a timestamp in the corner, or you could find the American version with a Disney Channel logo in the corner. So, they had trouble finding images to accompany confessions that involved Digimon Savers/Data Squad that didn’t look like shit.

Because I owned the Digimon Data Squad DVD boxset, and because I make AMVs, and because I actually give a shit about the quality of those AMVs, I regularly had access to uncompressed video files of Digimon Data Squad. And because I followed Digital Opinion Box while all this was happening, I reached out and offered to make a sideblog that collected screenshots of the uncompressed video files and organized them (not particularly elegantly, I’ll admit) with tags so that the mods of Digital Opinion Box could use it as a resource.

For a while, that’s what happened. You can see a lot of the Data Squad confessions from 8 years ago on Digital Opinion Box use the same frames that I had on my posts. (compare the bottom center image on my post and this post)

Brilliant. Everything is in order.

Fast forward to early 2015. Rikatastic quits Tumblr. When she does, she reaches out to me and asks if I’d like to be the new head mod of Digital Opinion Box. I say yes. She tells me about the way she likes the queue organized, tells me about the font they use, etc. We wish each other a good life and go our seperate ways.

There are other people who post on Digital Opinion Box, however. And despite Rikatastic telling me that I would be the head mod and giving me some advice about managing the other contributors, they are all off on their own doing their own thing. There’s no communication at all. Something that one or possibly multiple other mods start doing that was never discussed is including a watermark on the confessions (see here).

So I wanted to talk. I had an opinion on the watermark that doesn’t really matter. The point was that I wanted us to be consistent. Either whoever made the watermark can send it to everybody so every post can have it, or we stop using the watermark.

Radio silence.

I know they’re online! I can see the queue getting filled by multiple other mods with multiple image editing styles! But nobody is responding to my messages!

We get hate mail about the watermark. I message everyone again, saying that clearly we need to talk about this.

Want to know how I know they got my message? They couldn’t unmod me, but they could delete posts that I added to the queue (which did not feature the watermark) and replace them with their own edits. Which they did, obviously because I was saying shit about the watermark controversy.

At this point I would like to again clarify that I did not care deeply whether or not the posts had watermarks, but the absolutely petty reactions to basic attempts are communication were very annoying to me. I was the “head mod” of one of the most popular Digimon blogs on Tumblr, and I had literally never received a single word of communication from the other staff of the blog.

Eventually I got tired of talking to a wall, and I just left. I have no idea how leadership got shuffled around when I did so, but it seems to have worked out just fine, because the blog still posts semi-regularly. With a new watermark, even. They don’t use screenshots from my blog anymore, though. Different frames, very different transfer quality when the frame is the same. I can tell, just trust me.

Funnily enough, I’m still linked in their web ring. Alongside AR Pulver, for some reason. I don’t think he was ever involved with this. If he was, and he’s reading this now, hi! Big fan!

No hard feelings. Just a sudden urge to share this weird little niche bit of Digimon Tumblr fandom history. As an aside, I post a lot more often nowadays on Twitter (@DigimonSurvive).

#digimon #digital opinion box #digimon confessions #fandom history #tumblr history

[fivelakesinwriting]

barry wanting to play with his partners nipples but without him knowing, reader got their nipples pierced so they're all swollen and barry helps soothe them

Author's Notes: Ugh. I want mine done so bad, but I practically slid off the table for my belly button I got so sweaty and nervous I don't think I could handle it. If this was your request - I hope you love it!! Please let me know what you think! xoxo

Warnings: Talk of a new piercing (I warned for this last time, just in case. Might make some people uneasy!) Sexual references - sexual innuendos

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

She had been avoiding him all day, and Barry could sense it. Any time he got close to her, his hands reached out to touch her body she would recoil and walk away with a mumble about needing to organize or clean something.

As the nighttime approached, the moon rising on the house, Barry had more than enough of his girlfriend skirting away from him. Avoiding his advances while his fingers pinched at her skin.

Barry made his way towards the back of the house to the bedroom, his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame as he watched her get ready for bed.

"You avoidin' me?" Barry grunted as he looked his girlfriend from head to toe in just one of his t-shirts, and a pair of panties.

"Not at all, baby. Why would you think that?" She asked as she ran her fingers through her hair and made her way over to him across the bedroom, stepping over discarded pants and underwear.

"Haven't let me touch you all day." Barry glared as he looked down at his girlfriend, but let her put her hands on his stomach beneath his shirt.

"I've been busy with cleaning the house." She replied as her fingertips pulled off of his stomach, her eyes downcast to his feet.

Barry grunted in response while his eyes looked her over, taking in every hair on her head. Down, down to her toes. He took the chance to grab hold of her hips, hoping she wouldn't swat him away like she had been all day. He released a sigh of relief when she let him hold her close. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, forgetting he had been upset with her as he began to push his hands up the front of her shirt to finally grab at her breasts like he had been dying to for the entire day.

"Barry, wait!" She hissed as she grabbed his wrists as he reached for her nipples with his index and middle fingers.

"What's this?" Barry growled, his eyes dark as he ever-so gently tugged on the steel bars through each of her nipples. His cock twitched in his shorts at her meek little whine.

Barry grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. He couldn't contain the moan that rattled in his chest at the sight of his girlfriend's nipples, barbells through them. They were so pretty, and just begging for his mouth to be all over them.

"Oh, baby. Not yet. They're so sore." She whined as she grabbed his hair, pulled back at the nape of his neck, when he surged forward to press his lips to the top of her left breast, sucking a light bruise to her skin.

"I can't touch?" Barry grunted as his fingertips dragged down her bare back to make her shiver, her nipples hard and pressed against his own chest.

"The girl that did them said specifically to not let my boyfriend tug on them." She whispered as she pushed her fingertips into his hair from the nape of his neck.

"What you tell her about me?" Barry smirked as he pulled his lips from her chest to look at her little pout.

"That you're grabby, all hands." She responded with a small shiver as she felt him reach his left hand around to her front, tracing his index finger under the swell of either of her breasts.

Barry breathed out a laugh while he nodded. She wasn't wrong. If he could have his hands on her, he always did. He grabbed at whatever he could, quite literally, get his hands on. It just had to be her.

"How long you gonna make me wait?" Barry asked as he kept his eyes on her breasts, hard nipples with surgical steel through them, while he kept his hands on her hips.

"Not long, baby. She said the swelling will go down in a few days, and then my boyfriend can tug all he wants. Says the pain is a little different for everyone. But it's really just the swelling and keeping them clean." She replied, her eyes following his line of sight to her sore breasts.

"Can I help?" Barry muttered as he dipped his head down to kiss along her neck again, his hands reaching for her backside to pull her against him.

"If you keep your tongue to yourself." She nodded as she trailed her fingertips over his shoulders.

"Never thought I'd hear you say that." Barry grinned against her neck with a firm smack of her backside.

"Just for a few days you have to keep your tongue and fingers away from my nipples." She laughed as she pulled at the loose hair around his face.

"We can still have sex, right?" Barry questioned, a concern look on his face as he pulled his face up from her neck. They had only gone two days without sex their whole relationship, and Barry thought he would die. Or explode. He preferred death.

"Barry, I didn't get ...that pierced. Yes, we can still have sex." She scoffed with a blush as her fingertips touched his jawline.

"Oh my god. Don't put shit like that in my head." Barry growled with a hot kiss to her lips, the tips of his fingers creeping into the waistband of her panties.

"Baby, don't. Please." She whined, grabbing at his wrists when he instinctively reached for her breasts.

"I'm sorry." Barry breathed out placing his hands on the top of his head as he pulled away from her. He looked his girlfriend over, standing in front of him in just a pair of underwear. His heart was racing in his chest, his shorts getting tighter by the second.

"Can help me clean them, if you want." She whispered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other under his gaze. It felt like he had not blinked in over one minute as he stared at her breasts and then the top of her underwear.

"Yeah?" Barry asked, his eyes flickered to hers with his hands still on the top of his head.

"If you're really gentle." She nodded as she reached for the strings for his shorts and pulled him closer.

"Can be gentle." Barry mumbled as he looked down at her, letting her pull him against her again. He couldn't contain the whimper that burst from the back of his throat as his erection rubbed against her.

"C'mon, baby." She smiled softly as she released his strings and walked towards the bathroom, still topless. Barry released a heavy sigh, pulling his hands over his face as he followed after her.

As they stood in the bathroom together, his girl leaned against the pedestal sink and Barry in front of her, he gently dabbed a warm cloth over her nipples. He furrowed his brow in concentration, barely flinching as he felt her nails slowly pull over his shoulders as she winced.

"Hurts?" Barry grumbled as he finished cleaning her piercings with warm water then placed the cloth on the edge of the sink.

"A little bit." She nodded as she placed her palm flat on his shoulder, uncurling her toes.

"Will ice help?" Barry questioned as his pulled his fingertips down her back, feeling her shiver against him.

"Yeah, but I think it might be more for you than for me." She shivered as she grabbed at his hair at the back of his head.

"I'll do whatever I gotta do to tug on those nipples again." Barry growled as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, before he all but ran to the kitchen to get ice to soothe his love.

Hotties:

@starkey-babie @fashion-fasting @barrysjumpsuit @babeyglo

@rottenstyx @pogueslandia @whcclxr @beauvibaby @soph0864

@sodasback @plutooryectors

*tag list is open, please let me know if I forgot you or you would like to be added/removed from particular posts. I've removed the people that don't pre-populate :(

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!

#barry obx #outer banks barry #obx barry #barry x reader #barry x reader smut #barry outer banks #obx barry request #barry baddies #outer banks imagines #outer banks fic #outer banks requests #obx fic #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #outer banks imagine

[blueprint-han]

[Image ID: A black picture with the title “HOW TO SUPPORT FANFICTION AUTHORS” written in bold caps lock, colored with a winter forest picture. End ID.]

Well, this post has been made countless times, but I’m making one too because I’ve seen a lot of people say they’re new to tumblr and don’t know the whole “reblogging is better than liking” rule and other stuff. So without any further ado, here are ways YOU can support the fanfiction authors. Now keep in mind this applies to almost every author out there, not just the stayblr fandom, so if you’re a silent reader (or even if you aren’t), I advise you go through this post. Warning, this is a fairly long post going into detail, so yeah. I still expect you, the readers to read this, and if you’re a writer, feel free to lmk if i’ve written smth wrong or if you want me to add something! ^^

In this post I’ll go into thorough analysis of the pros and cons of each of the methods listed here and how YOU as a reader can show the authors whose fics you read more love and motivate them to produce content.

WARNING; LONG POST! GOES INTO A DECENT AMOUNT OF DETAIL. NOT EDITED, EXCUSE ANY TYPOS.

#1 : LIKING !

I think this is basic common knowledge, and a lot of people tend to do this. When you like the post, the author sees it, you see it, and if the author has their liked posts accessible (which majority of the time they don’t), and if someone deliberately goes to check it, then they see it. See why so many authors say just liking does nothing? Only liking says “Hey, I’m gonna tell you your story is not that good by simply liking it and not sharing it with other people. :D”

♯ PROS:

You’re telling the author that you've read their fic, and either you’ve enjoyed it to a certain extent, or you’re just saving it to read for later.

Likes are seen by you, the author and anyone who has access to your likes (which, most people don’t).

♯ CONS:

If you ONLY like, you’re not really helping the author’s work reach a wide audience because this site isn’t Instagram. Reblogging is the only way people can SEE our works. I’ll cover more on that in the next section.

In a nutshell, liking is good! But you should most likely use it in a combination with the other stuff I’ve listed below, because just the like itself doesn’t really do much in giving the author any feedback or interaction on their fics.

To clear shit up; I’m not talking about those people who don’t read the story or appreciate it in the first place. I’m talking about those who appreciate the fic, like it, but don’t leave any sort of feedback to show that.

#2 : REBLOGGING !

This is SO, SO important. I cannot stress on this enough. Let me explain WHY so many writers stress on reblogging content: 

Tumblr’s tag system is inherently fucked up, and has grown more so over the year. I’m not kidding, at first, the fic either used to show up in the tags or it didn’t, but now, sometimes your fic can be REMOVED from the tags because of,,, idk tumblr tag shit. Anyways, as you can see, it’s very demotivating for authors at that point, because the major way for people to find their content and expand their blogs has been blocked.  

Due to this reason, tumblr authors need to RELY on you, their followers to help spread their works to a wider audience. Now again, before you get me wrong, I’m not saying you ae forced to rb our works regardless of whether you like them or not. BUT, that being said, if you DO infact like the story, there’s no harm in reblogging, right? By doing this you’re indirectly telling the author — “hey! :D I liked your fic! Which is why I am gonna share it to my followers so they can read it too :D” Trust me, you’re doing nothing but helping the people who produce content for you to read. Seems like a worthy cause to hit the reblog button, right? It’s only a one, or maximum two step procedure.

Leave tags in your reblogs! Trust me, as an author myself and as much as I know from all my author friends, we oft check the tags of your reblogs to see if you found any part amazing or even if you have anything to say about the writing we put so much hard work into. Even a key smash or a “This was so [insert adjective] 🥺” is enough to leave a smile on your authors face. 

♯ PROS :

You’re !! Sharing !! Your authors !! Works !! This leads to them getting more recognition, so for the content they’re so graciously providing for free, you’re promoting their blog and helping them expand it.

If the tags are being a shit, which majority of the time they are, then you’re literally making an author’s day by reblogging! You’re showing them that you, a follower and appreciator of their works are willingly sharing their content because it deserves to be seen by more people. Again before any dumb people decide to attack me, i am talking about people who like the fic but don't bother reblogging and are silent/ghost readers. I am not forcing anyone to read anybody’s work.

YOU’RE MAKING YOUR AUTHOR SO HAPPY WHAT MORE REASONS COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT !! 🥺

♯ CONS :

Literally none, because as far as I remember no author is against reblogging of their works. It’s quite literally the way this platform functions. Reblogging is IMPORTANT.

#3 : COMMENTING/SENDING FEEDBACK !

This kind of overlaps with the previous section, but THIS IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT STEP !! When you leave feedback, you are directly giving the author something so much more valuable to them than high follower/note counts or money. Your feedback is literally our serotonin. I kid you not the number of times I’ve received a positive comment and smiled and it has made my day. There’s a reason youtubers (though not the best example, bear with me here because it was the only one I could think of) ask people to subscribe, like and COMMENT. The subscription is like a follow, the like is ofc like a heart, and the comment is equivalent to an rb with comments in the tags. 

You might argue and tell me that a comment is basically like an ask so the reblogging step isn’t necessary, but I’m sure 99% of you use YouTube and you know that more comments leads to people’s videos boosted in the stream/trending charts. This is what reblogging does. Reblogging shares the piece with other people like minded, which leads to a boost in reads. You are literally helping your author grow.

It’s quite literally the same thing as youtubers. Youtubers NEED validation to keep their content creation going, so do writers, so do other ccs on this site. This post is however, focused on WRITERS, so keep that in mind.

♯ PROS :

By doing this, you’re giving author valuable feedback! It’s similar to what you do in rbing with tags. Interactivity with their fics boosts their note counts and helps expand their audience, so srsly, now think of it: your one comment is playing such a massive role to help ccs create more content.

Imagine how much of a difference the note counts will be in when every person who simply likes after reading the fic, reblogs, leaves a comment and sends an ask. the note counts would be high on each and every fic, which is validation in itself, but your comments would inspire the writer so much more! Please, don’t skip the commenting part. Even a simple one like: “this is so cute!” is wonderful. 

♯ CONS :

Remember, if you’re gonna give constructive criticism (which I’m sure you all are smart enough to know if different from hate), make sure the author is okay with it. Authors need to be in a specific mindset and must be ready to accept criticism, so if you’re gonna give constructive criticism to them when they’re at a low point, it may demotivate them.

Just commenting, instead of reblogging and commenting in the tags/ reblogging and then leaving an ask in their inbox, while it gives validation in plenty, will not lead to the author’s work being spread. Therefore I suggest either reblogging and commenting in the tags or reblog and then leave an ask, or comment under the fic!

!! reminder; I am not saying that if you don’t rb and just leave feedback, your feedback has no value. We authors truly appreciate every bit of feedback, but this post is aimed to help you learn how to interact with and support authors, and make them feel more motivated, because the current scenario of liking and scrolling is taking a toll on their creative abilities. Take it from a person who’s been writing for a year.

#4 : COMMSIONING VIA THEIR KO-FI/OTHER APPS !

Before any of you attack me, let me tell you that this is not a step that is 100% necessary to do. ONLY donate if you can and if you genuinely want to, and if anyone is forcing you to pay for something against your will, you need to get yourself out of there.

Regardless, if an author has a kofi and you’re able to and you want to donate, you definitely should! It’s also a valid form of support.

#5 : ADDING THEM ON REC LISTS/ RECOMMENDING THEM TO REC BLOGS

This is such an underrated option, to be honest. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen my fic was recommended onto some rec list and it’s made me smile so hard. If you like some fics, create a rec list! They’re oft very popular amongst the fans too. Making rec posts is such a great way to share your favorite stories with others. 

Rec blogs! I’ve seen a couple going around, and needless to say they are a great way to get someone else to read your favorite author’s work whilst also giving them your own feedback. These blogs oft accept recs via a form or ask box, and they leave your feedback along with their own, or else they’ll oft tag the author in the feedback post, so look! You’re basically helping your author share their fic to many more people, because you’ve given them feedback and a reblog.

♯ PROS :

Validation! Feedback! Reblogs! More exposure! Helping a blog grow! Spreading love! basically a run down of the stuff I’ve said before!

♯ CONS :

Literally no con of this. Unless, a one in a million case, this author says they don’t like receiving feedback/being tagged, and I’m sure NO person has said this before, at least none that I’ve heard of.

#6 : FINAL COMMENTS; MISC !

When an author points out about how the interactivity is drastically reducing, don’t just give them blind apologies. Yes, you feel sorry for not interacting as much, we understand, but rather show that you’ll become a better content consumer through your actions. We need to see that we’re not just throwing words into a void and that people are actually trying to be better content consumers. 

Understand the fact that authors don’t get paid for this, and 99% of the time, these authors don’t take commissions either. They’re giving you novel worthy writings for free. Take Percy Jackson: You think the author would have felt motivated to write the subsequent parts, let alone two whole series based off of it if literally no one showed that they were interested? Rick Riordan has sales, he is being paid, there are millions of people and big agencies who provide him feedback. Now take that huge amount and simmer it down to an audience of maybe 10000 people This is what fanfic authors want. They don’t want your money, nor are they telling you to risk your lives for them. All they want is, a reblog, some tags, some feedback, some INTERACTIVITY.  A sign that they aren’t throwing fics into the void and that people actually like them, some motivation to continue. Seems fairly easy to throw an rb with some tags, right?

Don’t bother to tell me that we do this for ourselves and we shouldn’t ask for likes and reblogs and feedback, because 1) you are consuming the content that we “write for ourselves” and 2) writers post their content here for interactivity and feedback. We could just not post and write and save our fics in our dungeon drafts for years. But we choose to post to entertain the readers, the consumers. And we aren’t even asking that much in return.

Don’t give me the whole “I’m scared that authors feel that comments are annoying” excuse either because seriously this has been DEBUNKED SO MANY TIMES. Istg, in the nicest way possible, if you still think writers are annoyed by interaction and feedback, after so many posts, long rants have been posted as to how we’re not, then you must truly be living under a rock. There, I said it. Please stop thinking this way, I’ll say it again, AUTHORS ARE NOT ANNOYED OF FEEDBACK, COMMENTS, TAGS, REBLOGS. WE LOVE IT. Saying this is like saying that the audience in a theatre play shouldn’t clap when the play ends because the actors would find it noisy. 🤡

I’ve seen some people saying they have anxiety issues and such, so pls note that I’m not invalidating your condition. If you’re trying to be more interactive, I really appreciate it! If you can’t, that’s fine too. You’re trying.

But for the people who have no reason other than feeling lazy to rb and comment, your lack of interactiveness is not excused. Please. Tumblr is a reblogging site. If you’re gonna consume content like authors are some sort of machines, I encourage you to go get some more perspective.

This site is not Instagram or the satan bird app. Your likes are appreciated but frankly speaking, they do nothing to the author except tell them “Hey i read ur fic but i'm not gonna support u :D” and honestly, that is detrimental to their creative capabilities and mental health. 

DON’T FOLLOW AN ACC JUST TO MINDLESS RB THEIR SIGNAL BOOST POSTS AND THEIR REBLOGS OF GIFS AND NOT INTERACT WITH THEIR WRITING AT ALL ! Trust me, authors prefer a lower amount of interactive followers than a high count that doesn’t even give them any feedback. Again your follows are appreciated, but when you’re following, you know the type of content the author creates, so the author expects that the more followers, the more interactivity. These days, this is just becoming the opposite. So don’t do it! If you’re gonna follow to read, interact with their works. I promise, this will make both you and the author happy. A win-win situation.

In conclusion: SUPPORT YOUR FUCKING AUTHORS! THEY ARE NOT MACHINES THAT HAVE NO FEELINGS TO PRODUCE CONTENT FOR YOU! FICS TAKE DAYS AND DAYS OF PLANNING, PLOTTING, OUTLINING, WRITING, EDITING, MAKING TEASERS. SO JUST SHOW THEM YOU APPRECIATE THEM WITH AN RB. IT’S THE L E A S T YOU CAN DO.

I will be liking this post here written by the lovely @chaninfused​ and @scriptura-delirus​ . Please take time to read it because if you weren’t convinced by my arguments, you will see how much frustration we as writers face on a daily basis. Please, just show support. Here is the post by @stayndays​ about how to get more people to read your work, because it also has a note on reblogging. Please educate yourself, and put an end to this mindless consuming culutre and bring up some interactivity.

If you’ve read this far, I want you to go to two of your favorite authors and leave some feedback in their inbox, and tag me in it (either tag me yourself or ask the author to do so, they won’t mind). Show your writers that our words are taking effect and you are becoming better consumers. I mean it. I’m serious. I want every single one who reads this post to do this. besides valid reasons, if you’re lazy to do this, you’re a part of the problem. PLEASE get more perspective.

Also, feel free to add to this post! I’d love to read your thoughts too, remember to be kind though. And, if I think your rb is somehow contradicting my points and is bringing down the reason I made this post, I will politely ask you to delete your comment, because this post is about being truthful about the harsh reality of tumblr consumers and how we can change it. I’m sure none of you will let it get to that point, though. <3 love you guys. 💓

And, just a reminder, don’t just blindly like this too. Do what I said before, and while I am not forcing you, I’d appreciate your reblog, because seriously, it took me 3 whole days to write this, plus, I’m sure this will help more of your followers understand the fault in consumer culture. haha, that’s it! This post was way too long uff.

also, this is ur cue to not be stupid in my inbox. You have something to say? Think I worded smth wrongly? I’m sure it wasn’t my intention to do so, point it out with manners. 

#skz smut #stray kids smut #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #bts imagines #day6 imagines #got7 imagines #enhypen imagines #nct imagines #ikon imagines #treasure imagines #dawn.txt #writers on tumblr #blackpink imagines #twice imagines #red velvet imagines #tagsplsworkaaa

[hookingminor]

4 times his friends posted you on their instagram + 1 time he did - mat barzal

a/n: I wrote this literally back in july so lets just ignore how idealistic this is regarding quarantine but im a slut for some barzy this is all fluff

word count: 4,733

summary: like the title says, some friends (with benefits?) to lovers + a tyson cameo, fluffy summer quarantine fic

tagging @davidpastrsnack​ so kate can get on the barzy train

-

1.

To say the whole quarantine thing was an inconvenience was an understatement. School had ended online, your summer internship was cancelled, and it seemed like your summer would turn into an uneventful couple of months stuck in your apartment in, probably, the worst place to be stuck in during a pandemic: New York City.

Or so you thought.

You’d planned on having the most boring summer ever until your friend, Mat, had invited you to hole up away with him and a few friends in a lake house back in Vancouver. Well, friend was a loose term. The two of you were friends… just ones that kissed occasionally… and sometimes more than kissed. You’d met him about a year ago at a bar while he was out with his teammates after a game. A cliche meeting, but you hit it off instantly. Instead of ending up in his bed at the end of the night (which you would eventually end up at after a couple months), it turned into an exchange of numbers and an invitation to hang out later in the week.

You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just thinking he was being friendly and wanting to end the conversation, so you were surprised to get a text the next day from an unknown number asking if you’d wanted to go on a bike ride.

Flashforward a year later and the two of you still went on bike rides together. At least, up until the pandemic started.

When the text came telling you to pack your bags for a month or so, you thought he was joking. Surely he couldn’t have meant you to join him in Vancouver over the summer? You were proven wrong when he showed up at your apartment the next day, two coffees in his hand.

“Uh, hi, Mathew,” you said hesitantly, opening your door to reveal your disheveled state, having just woken up.

“Why are you dressed like that? We have a plane to catch in four hours,” he said, pushing himself through your door, uninvited, to set the coffees on the counter.

“What are you doing here? What plane? You’re not supposed to be going out,” you reprimanded him for showing up unannounced and in the middle of quarantine.

“I told you we’re going to Vancouver, I know you read my text. Now let’s hurry up and pack, we gotta get going,” Mat rushed, already on the way to your bedroom.

You followed him after a brief moment once you’d processed what was going on. Mat had already pulled out your suitcase and set it on top of your bed by the time you entered the door. He was in the middle of rifling through your drawers and grabbing random garments to throw into the suitcase when you’d spoken again.

“You’re actually serious about this?”

“Of course I am. What better things do you have to do in a city on lockdown for an entire summer? Honestly, I’m doing you a favor,” he explained easily, turning back to grab more items.

“Oh, you’re doing me a favor? Thank you, Mat, for saving me from a summer of suffering. It’s not like I had other plans to find different internships or focus on my summer classes,” you replied sarcastically.

Mat rolled his eyes. “I am doing you a favor, and you’re doing me a favor by going. I need a hot piece of ass to get me through this, or I will lose my mind.” You slugged him on the shoulder in offense, but all he did was chuckle.

“And anyways, you can still do your classes in Vancouver. Instead of doing them locked in this apartment, you can do them lounged out under the Canadian sun. Preferably in a bikini,” he finished. You slugged his arm again, harder this time.

“In fact, you should take the red bikini, it makes your tits look amazing,” he said, noticing you shuffling through your swimsuits. You rolled your eyes at him but grabbed the red one anyway along with a couple others.

With both of you folding and packing, your bags were ready to go in record time.

“Alright, baby, let’s go.” And so you were off.

A week had gone by in total bliss. As much as you hated to admit it, Mat was right. Vacationing in Vancouver in a secluded lake house was a lot better than being alone in your apartment, even if you did still have classes to do. Mat teased you about it, but he always left you alone for a few hours in the day for you to focus on your work. Unless he really wanted something… like right now.

Mat had joined you laying on the couch while you were in the middle of annotating a book for class. He wiggled his way between your arms, causing you to break your hold on your book. He rested his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your middle, and nuzzled his face into your neck. Joining your hands back to your book and bringing your highlighter to the page, you continued to underline phrases you’d come back to later. A couple minutes passed in silence before Mat started sighing. And then he sighed again.

“What do you want?” you huffed out, closing your book with the pen marking your page.

“Let’s go swimming,” he said, pushing up to his elbows to look at your face.

“I have to finish, like, three more chapters today,” you explained.

“You can do that later. I want to go swimming now,” Mat whined.

“You know you sound like a petulant child right now, right?” you asked, moving a hand to his head, pushing his hair back as he pouted.

“Stop using big words on me. Let’s swim,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You paused to think about it for a moment, “Hmm… okay, I guess,” you said with a smile. Mat returned your smile with one of his own before hopping up to drag you to your room to change. It didn’t take much to convince you to swim. It was a really nice day out, and you didn’t really care to finish reading about 17th century philosophy.

You changed into your red bikini, Mat swapped his shorts for a pair of swim trunks, and threw on a backwards baseball cap. You went out back to join the rest of his friend group, who were in the process of loading up the boat with supplies and equipment.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t Brainiac and the Beast. Are you two finally going to go boating with us?” Tyson shouted from the dock. You rolled your eyes at his nickname they created for you and Mat. It had only been a week in Vancouver, but the chirps about you and school were tired by now.

“Princess here wants to swim in the pool, maybe next time!” you shouted back, pointing to Mat.

They laughed at your response, turning their attention back to the boat and running supplies to and from the house. You turned your attention back to Mat, who was taking off his hat and was about two seconds away from jumping in the pool.

“Mathew, stop!” you yelled out, “Get your ass over here!”

“What is it?” he asked, stopping just short of the deep end. He grumbled before marching over to you.

“You need to put sunscreen on first, dumbass,” you reprimanded. As you turned your back to grab the bottle of sunscreen, he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mat,” you said sharply, turning back to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

You ignored him, opening the cap and squeezing lotion onto your hands. You gestured him to turn around, and you spread the lotion over it, making sure to rub it into his shoulders.

“I don’t see why I have to put sunscreen on. It’s not even that hot outside,” he muttered.

“First of all, you’re a dumbass. Second of all, heat doesn’t automatically mean the UV rays aren’t strong. And lastly, you’re white, baby, you’ll burn like a sun-dried tomato and being in water only increases the amount of sun you’re exposed to,” you explained, reaching up to rub some on his face.

“Sorry, Miss Meteorologist,” he grumbled, clearly not happy he’d lost this argument.

“One of us has to have brains. We can’t all get by on our good looks and skating ability,” you replied, slapping his cheeks when you were done for good measure.

“Okay, well, if you’re finally done,” you nodded in confirmation, “Let’s go.” He picked you up from under your thighs and ran at full speed towards the pool before you could even process what was happening. You screamed his name in protest begging him to put you down, claiming you hadn’t had time to put on sunscreen yet. He ignored you as he jumped into the deep end, dragging you with him.

You emerged from the water clinging to Mat’s wet body, your hair sopping and hanging over your face like you had come straight out of the movie The Grudge. Mat was laughing at your chaotic look, knowing you were well pissed at him. You jumped higher in the water on top of him to dunk his head under and tried your best to drown him.

It wasn’t until you were relaxing on the couch later that night doing your routinely social media scroll that you saw one of the guys recorded your sunscreen interaction by the pool, you calling Mat a dumbass, and him throwing you in the pool onto their instagram story with a caption “all these two do is fight” with some laughing crying emojis added for effect.

2.

After a long day or hiking, you’d immediately crashed on the couch once you’d gotten back to the house, not bothering to walk all the way to your room. It was only early in the afternoon but you’d been out since sunrise, and dealing with people for hours on end had drained you. The group laughed at you as you plopped your body down onto the couch, curling your head under your arm instead of grabbing the pillow two feet away from you. The rest of them gathered in the kitchen, refueling their bodies with assorted snacks as they started popping open bottles of beer, ready to start the night. It seemed that even an entire day on their feet had not emptied them of their, seemingly endless, energy.

“Jesus Christ, we hiked for, like, six hours and you’re all still bouncing off the walls,” you sighed deeply.

“We’re about to go hit the boat and go water skiing, too. I’m assuming you’re too tired to join us?” Tyson teased.

“I will not be joining you because unlike some people, I need a nap. Now get out of here, you’re all giving me a headache,” you said, pinching your fingers on the bridge of your nose to emphasize your point.

They all snickered but kept quiet as they shuffled around, packing up more food to take outside. You heard the sliding door shut and close a few times as they ran in and out before it was finally silent. You let out a sigh of relief as you took solace in the calm quiet.

That was until you felt a pair of arms shifting you closer to the edge of the couch. You peeked one eye open to see Mat rolling your body over to give him some space as he climbed over your body to nestle himself between you and the back cushions.

“Not going out on the boat?” You asked as he tucked a pillow under the both of your heads and pulled a blanket over your bodies.

“No. They’re exhausting. I need some time for myself,” Mat replied, wrapping his arm around your middle to pull you into his chest.

“No offense, but if you’re with me, you’re not by yourself,” you explained, closing your eyes again as you settled into a comfortable position.

“Yeah, but you’re you. You don’t exhaust me,” he said quietly. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t answer. Within a few seconds you heard Mat’s breathing even out, and you followed quickly behind him into a deep sleep.

-

A couple hours passed in a dreamless sleep when you heard the sliding of doors and laughter travel through the house. It stirred you from your sleep and you both shifted around, letting out displeased groans.

“Are they both still asleep?” You heard one of them ask from the kitchen. Neither of you wanted to answer in hopes they would leave you two to continue sleeping.

You were sadly mistaken.

“Hey! Sleeping beauties! Time to get up!” Tyson shouted from somewhere above you.

You both groaned out a “Fuck off, Tyson,” without opening your eyes, both of you giving him the middle finger. Tyson laughed to himself and you expected him to keep bothering you, but you heard his footsteps lead away from the couch. You turned over on your other side, tucking your face into Mat’s neck before falling back asleep.

-

When you woke up later that evening, you checked instagram again to see Tyson posted a new story. It was the video of him bothering you two and flipping him off with a caption that said “I get no respect around here :(“

3.

It had been raining all day. Which meant everyone was stuck inside watching movies and eating pizza. It didn’t take long for you to get bored of lounging on the couch, especially when all they wanted to do was watch Fast and Furious movies. You sat on the loveseat you were sharing with Mat, and you distracted yourself from the boring movie by tangling your hands in your hair, French braiding the strands into pigtails mindlessly. You unbraided and rebraided your hair into a fishtail after the pigtails, and then into a regular braided ponytail after that. You let yourself get caught up in daydreams as you stared blankly at the TV when Mat started tugging on your leg. Dropping your braid, you finished tying it off with a hair tie and turned to look at him.

“Let me practice on you,” Mat said quietly.

“Practice what?” You asked.

“Braiding,” he said, shuffling to sit upright. He tried to gently push you off the couch until you got the hint and moved to sit between his legs on the floor.

“You think you can do it?” You asked, ready to offer him a demonstration.

“I’ve been watching you for the past half hour, I got this,” he replied, pulling out your hair tie. You rolled your eyes at his confidence, but let him continue unraveling the strands.

Every few minutes Mat would sigh exasperatedly before pulling out the twists he’d made to start over. Eventually, he’d almost gotten all the way to the end of your hair before he sighed again, clearly fed up by how long this was taking him. You didn’t say anything as he restarted for a third time, going for a straight back braid instead of a French braid.

After another ten minutes, Mat had finally completed his simple braid, tying your hair off with the tie. He tapped your shoulder to indicate he was done, and you pulled the long tail over your shoulder to look at it.

It was a braid.

An extremely loose one where he mixed up the strand order in a couple places, but a braid nonetheless. You turned around to get back up on the couch, and you were met with his triumphant smile.

“Good job, bud,” you complimented, leaving the braid in as you resumed your previous position on the couch.

-

You checked your phone to find a notification of a new story tag. You opened the app to see a picture of you on the floor, staring at the TV while Mat had his hands twisted in your hair and a confused look on his face and tongue poking out of his mouth. Next to your instagram tag was “he’s been knotting her hair on purpose for 20 minutes now”

4.

Your final exams for the summer classes you were taking were in a week. Finals stressed you out more than anything else in the world, and when you were stressed, you did a lot of baking. A lot of baking. After finishing your finals study schedule and nearly breaking down almost twice because of the amount you had to get done, you decided to start baking instead of going to sleep. So, at 3 in the morning when everyone was asleep, you’d  turned on the oven and brought out the bowls.

It began with a few dozen cookies. You figured everyone could at least enjoy the cookies. Who didn’t like cookies?

Cookies turned into muffins, muffins into cupcakes, and then cupcakes into pies. By the time everyone was waking up, it was nearly eleven in the morning. You’d gone to the store twice and had taken a few twenty minute naps while you waited for your desserts baked in the oven. And right now, you were in the middle of finishing off some cinnamon rolls for breakfast

“Oh my god, what the hell happened here?” Mat had asked with a scared expression, taking note of the disastrous kitchen. You didn’t answer him as you were topping off the rolls with some icing.

A few more bodies had gathered in the kitchen and began to fill the seats at the countertop while they watched you with worried eyes.

“What?” You asked innocently, placing the plates of cinnamon rolls in front of all of them. Their eyes followed you carefully as you pulled more goods out of the oven where you were keeping them warm. Plate after plate you set on the counter, all the cookies and muffins and cakes.

“How long have you been up?” Tyson asked cautiously. You swear you’ve never heard him use a softer voice than right now.

“I’m not sure. I never went to sleep, I guess? What time is it now?” You asked, pulling out glasses for orange juice.

“Nearly noon. You seriously didn’t sleep?” Tyson asked. The others had delved into the confections, eyes bouncing between the two of you as they stuffed their faces.

“She’s stress baking,” Mat replied quietly, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.

“What the hell is tress baking?” One of the other guys asked.

“Yeah she does this when she’s stressed. Usually when finals are coming up,” Mat said, directing it more towards you than his friend. You gave him a sheepish look, deciding not to comment since he already answered for you.

Mat was used to your stress baking as it resulted in you showing up at his place in the middle of the night with bags full of pastries in the late hours of the evening. It was always against his diet and he frequently gave most of your desserts to his neighbor, but he could never tell you no when you arrived with gifts.

“Well, I’m all out of flour, so, I’m going to run to the store again to get some more supplies so I can make a chocolate cake later,” you said hurriedly.

You did a quick double check of the kitchen, flashing all the guys a bright smile before heading out the door with your purse in hand, all of them staring until the front door shut behind you.

-

When you came back, you found Mat in the kitchen doing the dishes and nearly all the sweets you’d baked earlier were eaten or wrapped and put away. Maybe there was a plus side to being in a home with five other people.

“Mat, you don’t have to do that,” you said, setting your groceries down and hip checking him away from the sink.

“You’re already stressed, I figured doing the dishes would take away some of that,” he said with a shrug. He continued rinsing out some bowls as you gave him a small smile.

The two of you continued to wash the dishes in silence, moving to clean the countertops when you were done. After half an hour, the mess you’d made was gone and any signs of a baking breakdown had been erased.

It was a shame you were about to tear up the kitchen all over again.

“How about this,” Mat said, noticing the frown on your face at the thought of making another mess, “Let’s have a competition.”

You quirked your eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“You said you were making a chocolate cake, right? How about we see who can make the better cake,” Mat propositioned.

You raised both your eyebrows this time. You both knew you were the better baker by a long shot. You did have this same breakdown at least twice a year. You weren’t even sure Mat knew how to make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or included possible salmonella-inducing ingredients.

You knew what he was really trying to do. He was trying to distract you from all the stress, and he knew you couldn’t turn down a competition. You were just as bad as him when it came to winning. Thankfully, this was something you knew you’d win.

“Fine, but I hope you’re prepared to lose,” you agreed with a smile.

“I don’t know, I have been practicing my cooking skills lately,” he said, grabbing the bowls he’d just dried off.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied with an eye roll and heavy sarcasm.

You joined him in gathering all the ingredients and materials on the counter, setting up your respective stations. Mat divided the workspace in half, drawing a line in flour which made you laugh. You split the bowls between the sides and set up the ingredients on the second counter just like an actual cooking show.

“Okay, ground rules first. Half an hour to make the cakes, we bake them at the same time, and then another half hour for decorating at the end,” you explained, tying your hair back in a ponytail. Mat nodded at your statement and set a timer on his phone for 30 minutes.

“Ready.”

“Set.”

“Go!”

-

After about two hours, your creations were done. Well, they were supposed to be. Mat’s cake looked more or less like a brown lump coated in frosting and stripes. You’d tried your best to decorate yours with small chocolate roses, but you could’ve turned out a plain cake and probably would have done better.

“I think I won,” you stated confidently.

“You’re not allowed to decide, you’re biased! I’ll make a poll on my story,” Mat said, going to grab his phone.

“You can’t do that, your followers are going to pick yours.”

“Fine, we’ll get someone else to do it— Josty! Come here,” Mat called to his friend passing through the kitchen. He hesitantly walked over to where you were, not wanting to come in the middle of whatever you two were shouting about.

“We need you to make an instagram poll to see who’s cake looks better. Oh, and you’re going to taste test them,” you said, picking up your cake to pose for a picture as Mat did the same. Tyson sighed before realizing you two were serious and he opened his app to take a picture.

He added the photo to his story with a poll asking “Which one is better?” With two options, Y/N’s or Mat’s.

After you set the cakes back down, Tyson picked up a fork before stabbing them to pick out a chunk from each. He ate yours first, nearly moaning at the taste.

“Holy shit, this is, like, the best cake I’ve ever eaten,” Tyson said, shoveling down another forkful. You gave Mat a shit-eating grin.

“Okay, okay, try mine now,” Mat said, displeased. Tyson rolled his eyes before forking out some of his.

“Uh,” he coughed, “it’s a little,” cough, “dry.”

“What? No, it’s not! Let me try,” Mat shouted, outraged, and grabbed Tyson’s fork to try for himself.

It took him two seconds before he was spitting the cake into a napkin.

“Fine. You win,” Mat conceded, throwing a dish towel against the counter in mock fury.

You gloated for another 5 minutes, pointing out Mat’s terrible baking skills as Tyson continued to eat your cake and laugh at Mat.

You won the instagram poll too.

+ 1

It was the last week before you and Mat were flying back to New York. The past month had passed quickly, and Mat needed to get back for the start of training camps. As the summer began to end, the whole crew thought they’d spend one last day on the boat before everyone started parting ways.

It’s not like you were opposed to being on boats, but when all the guys did was water sports and no one wanted to slow down to teach you, it wasn’t as fun.

Today, however, had been quite calm as you sat against the front of the boat, a seltzer in hand as you watched Tyson wakeboarding in the back. Mat was curled up behind you as you leaned back against his chest, tanned skin shining in the summer sun. You reached back to grab the baseball cap off his head, placing it on yours to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten to bring sunglasses, and you figured Mat could part with his hat since he had a pair.

The day passed peacefully as all the guys took turns until it was sunset. Mat had joined you back on the seat, skin wet from just getting out of the water. He wrapped you in his arms before pulling you onto his lap, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Tys, take a picture of us real quick,” Mat said, shoving his phone into Tyson’s chest.

You thought nothing of it, you and Mat had taken many pictures together, and this was no different. Mat rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your stomach as you both gave your cheesiest smiles to the camera. A quick shutter indicated the picture was taken and Tyson gave Mat his phone back.

-

Mat called your name from your bed as you stood in the adjoined bathroom, finishing your nightly routine.

“Hey, do you mind if I post that picture of us on my instagram?” Mat called out.

“The one from the boat? Why?” You asked, drying off your face with a towel.

“It’s a cute picture,” he shrugged when you reentered the room.

“People are going to start talking if you do,” you warned with a cautious tone.

He paused for a second.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mat asked quietly, looking up to meet your eyes.

You stayed silent as you climbed in under the covers.

“What are you trying to say, Mat?”

He took a deep breath, “I think you’re amazing, you know that. And we’ve been friends for so long, it kind of feels natural, doesn’t it?” His fingers began tapping against the sheets anxiously as he held his breath and waited for your response.

You gave him a small smile, moving your body around to fully face him.

“It does,” you agreed, “But if you want us to be something more, you’re going to have to ask me on a date first.”

“A date? After I’ve already gotten you into bed? What’s the point?” You knew he meant it as a joke since he could barely finish the sentence without laughing, but you gently slapped his head as he began to apologize.

“I’m kidding!” He said between chuckles, “Will you go on a date with me once we get back to New York and it’s safe to go out again?”

“I’d love to, Mat,” you replied, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss.

“I’m still going to post that photo tomorrow, though,” he said after a short pause, smiling against your lips.

-

The next day when Mat had gone on a fishing trip with the guys, you saw a notification pop up on your phone.

“@barzal97 tagged you in a photo”

You unlocked your phone.

“Isolation isn’t so bad when you have this girl to spend it with”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #nhl fic #my writing #isles13

[chasingpj]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

"Bye, for now, puddles."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 6,220

warnings: a little angst, missing a meal, death of a parent, i believe that is all.

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! I'm so excited to finally get this chapter to you guys. I'm sorry this literally took a month. i was taking two writing-intensive courses this summer and i was just burnt out. i hope you enjoy it!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

A grunt escapes you; your contorted body weighs down the top of your suitcase as your damp fingers slip off the metal zipper. The unforgivingly humid weather provokes the heat of your efforts, adding to your discomfort. There’s urgency in your fingers, your frustration growing at each failed attempt to close your suitcase.

“Y/n! Hurry up!” Atticus shouts from outside of the Hermes cabin. As the zipper slips out of your grasp once again, you throw your head back in annoyance, hand coming up to push away wisps of hair that fall on your face. A familiar chuckle comes from the corner of the room, grabbing your attention from the wooden ceiling. Connor sits on the side of his bed; his comic book forgotten beside him as you fussing over your suitcase seems to be more interesting to him.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble, sitting onto your heels.

Connor rises from his bed, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. He kneels by your suitcase, “It’s kinda funny.”

The corners of your mouth almost curve up, but you stop yourself, opting for a roll of your eyes instead.

“What the hades do you have in here?” The tips of his fingers turn white as he pulls on the little piece of metal. You shift your weight to the corner he works on, but it helps him as much as it helped you earlier.

“My brother’s left a bunch of books behind, so Lou Ellen and I split them up. She’s taking half, and I take the rest. We’ll study them and then exchange notes.” A hum of acknowledgment comes from Connor’s lips as he inches the suitcase closed.

“You guys are a bunch of nerds.” You squint at the other with a playful offense, and he laughs at your hardened features. “I bet you guys study more than the Athena Kids,” he teases.

“There’s a lot to learn,” you say simply, watching as he brings the zipper to the end. He leans back on his heels, and you move to take in the half-empty cabin.

The sight of the Hermes cabin being this tidy was foreign. There aren’t any sleeping bags on the floor; the belongings of your many cabin mates didn’t clutter the walls or the corners of the room as they usually do. It’s funny. There are always complaints of the cabin being too small, but it appears bigger without the mess.

“Will you and Atticus visit throughout the year?” Connor’s expression is hopeful. As the last day of camp approached, Connor’s wishes of a full cabin all year round became more apparent. The shift from a max-capacity cabin to a half-empty one must be a tough transition for social people like Stoll Brothers. If it were you, you’d be counting down the days of everyone’s departure.

You ruffle his brown locks, “we’ll probably stop by for, maybe, spring break?” Connor’s hopefulness begins to sag, and you frown. Spring break is pretty far from now, huh? “Depending on how mortal life treats us. You know, we might be back soon,” you add on quickly, hoping to lift his smile.

Though you wish to go home, you’re dreading all the supernatural activity you’ll have to deal with once you leave. Your father works tirelessly to protect the house, but entities always manage to get in. And if they can’t, they don’t mind hanging outside.

The hopefulness that faded from Connor’s face restores, and he gives you that famous mischievous smirk. “Well, I hope the ghosts bother you guys enough to come to visit early.” His tone is playful, but you can tell he meant some of his words. You laugh hesitantly and nod, rising from your suitcase.

“I’m glad you’re that eager to see us again.”

You thank him as he leans down, lifting the heavy suitcase from the ground for you.

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” You tug on the handle, glancing at Connor. “The year will go by fast, and soon this cabin will be bursting at the nails with new unclaimed people. Atticus, Lou, and I included. Anyways, you have your brother. You guys will find something to entertain yourselves.” You nudge him as you make your way outside.

“Yeah, you’re right. You will write to me, yeah?” Connor asks.

“Of course. I’ll send you snacks that you can’t buy at the gas station.” Connor’s arm pumps back to his side, hand in a fist as he hisses a “yes.”

The corners up your mouth hesitantly pull up as you push open the cabin door, finding Atticus and Travis talking on the porch. For the past week, the anticipation of your departure was killing you, but now that it was time to leave, you feel gloomy.

You knew the cause of your heavy heart was the uneasy tone of your going. Living day by day with the intention of moving on was hard. Because every time you look at their newly occupied beds, the sinking feeling in your chest returns. Every time you find yourself wandering in the forest, the memories of your often chaotic magic lessons flood your mind. You remember when Alice misaimed her wind spell, shooting Alabaster far into the trees. While you all rushed to check on him, Alice burst into tears because she was convinced she killed him only to approach a laughing Alabaster who shouted, “Right on!”

Every time you were in the Arts and Crafts center, you remember how you, Sage, and Lou would do Tarot Readings for the campers and how you would argue with the Apollo kids when they insisted your tarot cards are as honest as fortune cookies.

At the armory, you remember how Ambrose ran into James so hard, he stumbled and knocked down half of the shelves of weapons.

In the courtyard, you remember how Ernest, horrified by heights, produced the highest pitch scream he possibly could as he rode a pegasus for the first time under the persuasion of Alabaster.

All these memories, whether hilarious like your spell mishaps or bittersweet like when you and your sibling’s group hugged around Sage when she cried about her abusive stepmother, held a special place in your heart. Because the times where you laughed and cried together reminded you of the genuine bond, the family that was ripped away from you overnight.

“We'll see you guys soon. We should go. Argus will leave without us," Atticus says, relieved that Argus is still waiting for you on top of Half-Blood Hill.

“Have a safe trip, guys,” Travis says, patting Atticus’s shoulder before reaching out his arm and giving you a short side hug. You grab your things, hastily saying a final goodbye, and soon, you and Atticus are trudging up the hill.

Your free hand pats the pocket of your shorts, calming your worry of forgetting the necklace at the cabin. What rests in your pocket is a raw tourmaline crystal, now smooth with the help of Beckendorf, encased in a silver spiral cage.

You and Atticus carry protection crystals all the time, and they help with staying out of the radar of monsters and entities. After hearing Percy’s many stories of monsters bothering him, you figured he couldn’t be too cautious. Then after finding a spell in Alabaster’s many books that can dim down a demigod scent for a while, you decided to make him an enchanted necklace to wear.

You pack into the truck with Atticus right on time. Atticus sits in front of you, chatting away with Cecil as you make yourself comfortable in the back row with Ambrose. You frown; among the three other campers in the van with you, Percy isn’t one of them. Argus peeks into the back, doing a rough headcount. Great, now you’ll have to wait until next summer to give it to him.

Right, when you were going to chastise yourself for not giving him the necklace yesterday when you were done with it, a distant voice shouts, "wait!"

Argus halts in the middle of closing the sliding down and turns around. He shakes his head with disapproval while opening the door all the way, revealing out of breath Percy.

A smile widens across your face as he gets into the back seat with you, and you nudge Atticus’s seat.

"See, I told you we wouldn't be the last ones here.” You side-eye Percy, seeing the corners of his mouth pull up in amusement.

“Some people just don’t know how to get to places on time, huh?” Atticus says, and his eyes flicker to Percy before giving you a wide grin.

“Didn’t sleep in today, firefly?” There is a playfulness in Percy’s voice, and you smile proudly,

“Nope, not today.”

“It’s a miracle,” Percy mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you scoff. Atticus snickers and nods in agreement.

“We were supposed to gang up on him, not you two on me.” You stick your tongue out at Atticus, and he returns the action.

“It’s more fun making fun of you,” Atticus teases.

“Rude,” you mumble with a slight smile on your face. The two boys chuckle, Atticus turning more into his seat to tell Percy something about a new Marvel movie. Excited voices fill the van as the other boys join in the conversation, and soon they are debating if Batman is really a superhero or just a rich guy in a suit.

You had to admit, as the conversation became more passionate, you were pretty entertained, but as you catch sight of Camp Half-Blood growing farther in the distance, you’re reminded of the ache in your chest. It’s only a temporary leave, but when you return, things will never be the same, and the false hope of your siblings returning has been proven to be foolish.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Following a ghost dog while weaving through the hustle and bustle of Grand Central is almost impossible. Atticus’s hand is latched to the straps of your bookbag as you move through people, trying not to roll your eyes at the way Ambrose turns to bark as if he was reprimanding you for being too slow. Easy for him to say when he can walk through walls and people.

“Track 28,” Atticus reminds you as your eyes find the number written on the tan bricks of the high walls. You make a sharp left towards the entrance of another hallway, ignoring the groans of a grouchy bystander that you may have cut off. The next hallway you enter is a lot less crowded than the main floor, and you slow down your pace.

“Where do you guys live again?” Percy asks as he jogs up beside you. He had insisted on walking you guys since his train departs in the same station.

“Sleepy Hollow.” Percy scrunches his face as if he recalls something, and you smile, waiting for the question everyone asks when you say you live there.

“Have you seen the headless horsemen?” Percy asks, half-joking. A snort leaves your throat, and you look at Atticus, who’s equally amused.

“Oh yeah, plenty of times.”

“Really?” Percy asks, his eyes wide with surprise, and you laugh.

“No.” Your response makes his face drop comedically fast, and Atticus bursts into laughter. “It’s just a story, but there’s a lot of history there, so the place is crawling with ghosts. We’ve met the guy who wrote the story, though,” you mention.

“No way,” Percy squints his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Atticus and I take walks in the cemetery sometimes. We leave drachmas on the graves of newly passed people, so their venture into the underworld is smooth, but some people like to wander.” You shrug. “Washington Irving is one of those people.”

“Cool,” Percy says with such enthusiasm that it makes you smile. Ambrose turns around and barks again, standing at the golden entrance that leads to the grey tunnel lit with fluorescent white lights where your train waits beside the concrete platform.

“He always rushes us,” Atticus complains, and Harvey lets out a coo that sounded close to a groan as if he agreed with him.

The marble floors turn to concrete as you enter the tunnel. The blue and silver train on your left hums as it sits dormant in its station. Ambrose trots ahead, peaking into the doors and windows to find an empty cart to occupy.

As you follow a few feet behind him, your fingers fiddle with the necklace resting in your pocket. You’re regretting not giving it to Percy earlier because, for some reason, the idea of giving it to him now was more intimidating than if you had done it earlier on the bus.

Ambrose decides on a cart, and Harvey jumps off Atticus’s shoulder, squealing happily as he follows the hound while completely ignoring a worried Atticus trailing close behind.

"I, uh, made this for you," you sputter, the words coming out fast like vomit. Your fingers pull out the crystal necklace abruptly, and you put it in the palm of his hand. "It's black tourmaline. It has protective qualities; good at keeping negative energy, negative auras, things like that. I put a spell on it to dim down your demigod scent for a while, so you catch a little bit of a break. It'll last for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if the spell caught on well."

You bite your lip as Percy studies the necklace resting in his hand. "Wow, really? Thank you, Y/n. This is great.”

Nervous, you shift on your feet under his bright, smiling orbs. "It's no problem. After everything that happened at camp, I think it’ll be good for you to have one.”

Percy nods, his features softening all of a sudden, and he shifts. “Thanks for protecting me,” he says, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Getting rid of that thing became more than you expected. I felt bad that I couldn’t help. Swords aren’t really useful when it comes to demons, huh?”

A small laugh of agreement leaves your lips. “It was nothing. I wasn’t going to let you be tormented by that thing if I could help it.”

An announcement echoes in the hall, reporting the departure of your train in a few minutes. You glance over, catching Atticus, Ambrose, and Harvey with their noses practically pressed against the window as they witness your interaction with Percy. The amused smirk on Atticus’s face makes you roll your eyes; he’s definitely going to tease you when you get on the train.

"I should go.” You face Percy again, catching him securing the necklace around his neck. The stone rests a few inches under his camp half-blood necklace. "Thanks for walking us here. Be careful getting home."

"You too…” he trails off, noticing your brother looking out the window. For a second, he seems as embarrassed as you do and a nervous chuckle leaves his lips. “Your brother is waiting."

“He’s so annoying,” you complain, and Percy’s next chuckle doesn’t sound as hesitant this time. "Well, uh, bye, for now, puddles,” you tease, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"Bye, for now, firefly."

You both awkwardly wave at each other before you turn around, getting on the train with Atticus. With your gaze fixed on the floor, you plop into the seat next to him. You don’t even need to look to know he is smiling teasingly at you.

"How cute,” he teases, nudging your shoulder repeatedly with his own.

"Ew, shut up.” You shove at his shoulder, your nose scrunching as he flails his arms against yours as if you were fighting. Atticus chuckles and a string of sounds come from your familiars as they join in to tease you, and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The suburban streets of your neighborhood are filled with the chirps of birds and bugs and the sounds of cars that pass every once in a while. There isn’t much conversation between you and Atticus as you trudge up the hill leading to your dead-end street.

“Gods, I hope we can get inside without being seen,” you manage to say through your heavy breaths, lazily holding on to the handle of your suitcase as it rolls behind you. Ambrose’s nose nudges the back of your knees as if to encourage you, but it’s more cute than helpful.

“There’s no way that we are. Janie and Celia are always sitting on the neighbor’s porch.” You grunt in acknowledgment, knowing that Atticus is right. The neighborhood ghosts are friendly enough, but their company can be annoying.

As if on cue, you hear a delighted squeal from ahead the moment you reach the top of the hill. Two ladies wave their handkerchiefs in the air a handful of houses away.

Celia, the tallest of the two, wears a steel blue dress with a high neckline and a big bow tied on the base of her neck. She has a jacket button closed over her corset with a frill at the end of her sleeves. Her skirt is floor-length and complete, with ruffles cascading down its entirety. And, of course, no one can miss the high-crowned hat decorated with fake flowers, bows, and crimped fabric as it all sits on top of her blonde hair in an intricate updo. Janie, her sister, wears the same style of dress and headpiece only in a burgundy red. The resemblance between the two makes it clear that they’re siblings close in age. They have the same high pinched noses that jut in the air; both of their faces are regal like those in renaissance paintings.

You’ve seen them around for as long as you can remember. They were two sisters who died of scarlet fever a year before their first courting season, which was a big deal according to their constant moaning and groaning about it.

You look ahead, your expression blank as if their high-pitched voices didn’t fill the streets and they weren't racing toward you with their skirts in their hands.

“My word! It’s the end of summer already?”

“Atticus, you’ve grown taller!”

“What a handsome boy! Y/n, your shorts are too short, don’t you think?”

“It’s quite bizarre how such clothing is acceptable these days.”

“How beautiful you’d look in a gown like ours!”

“Where’s Alabaster?” Janie asks, attempting to circle her arm around Atticus’s, but he raises his arm to push back his damp hair to avoid the contact. She scoffs at his rejection and sighs.

“Alabaster was sweeter to us than you guys!” Celia pouts. Your heart sinks a little at the mention of him. Of course, they’d ask about him, and of course, your father will ask too.

Gods! Your father will ask about him.

You had forgotten you’d have to break the news today. These past few weeks, you debated whether or not you should do it by letter, but it felt wrong. It was only right that he’d find out in person.

“We know you can hear us,” Janie huffs.

“I hope dad doesn’t work late tonight. Do you think Grandma will be waiting for us?” You ask. As annoying as it was having spirits follow you, it was a little fun ignoring them when convenient for you. Atticus nods,

“Probably-”

“No one’s home,” Celia cuts in, and Atticus pretends to shoo a bug away to conceal that he paused from her interruption.

“But I don’t think dad is going to take long. He said his last lecture ended at three,” Atticus continues, and you nod.

‘I hope grandma came by to visit. I missed her.”

“I just said no one’s home.” Celia snaps, and you press your lips together to hide your smile.

Atticus sighs. “I know, I’m dying for those moon cookies she makes us.” At the mention of those cookies, your stomach grumbles. You hope Celia was wrong because you’re suddenly craving your grandmother’s cooking and her company. Her funny stories and voice that’s always a little too loud for the indoors never fails to cheer you up. As short and frail as she is, her voice and personality could fill a room.

“Me too,” you say shortly.

“Hello?!” Celia waves her handkerchief in your face, and you persisted in ignoring her. Suddenly, a sound of disgust comes from Janie as she brushes off her skirt.

“Y/n, retrieve this monster of yours!” She squeals as Ambrose bites the fabric of her dress, tugging on it with a growl.

“Damn this dog,” Celia shouts, attempting to shoo him away, but yelps in surprise as Ambrose snaps his jaw shut near her hand. “Get this thing under control! Y/n!”

Your hand comes up to cover your smile even though the two are shuffling behind you and a stifled chuckle comes from Atticus. The sound of Janie’s heels on the concrete becomes louder as she rushes beside Atticus again, and your smiles drop. The sight of your house comes into view, and you tilt your head confused; your father’s car is parked in the driveway.

“You said no one was home?” You say out loud, and Celia gasps beside you,

“Now you speak to me?” She snaps, halting as you approach the fence. She stands tall, hands folded in front of her elegantly as Janie’s expression is gleaming like a child on Christmas. “Your father requested to keep it a secret, so I obliged his wishes. He canceled his last lecture today to make you both a meal. What a lovely man.”

Your hand finds the latch for the white picket fence as you smile at the familiar narrow victorian-style house ahead of you. A path of cobblestone leads you to the brick steps of the small porch.

Your home sticks out from the more modern American houses that surround the area. It’s an antique, a snippet of history, as your father likes to say. The house is a russet brown only because the bricks are so old they’ve darkened in color. The house accents such as the window trims, porch overhang, and columns are copper, and the hipped roof has brown tiles that look like fish scales. Beside the porch, the bay windows from both stories stack on top of each other, and above the porch roof is the dormer that’s a part of your bedroom.

Gods, you’re yearning to be in your room. You just want to pull out your Murphy bed from the wall and bury yourself in your sheets. The idea of being in bed puts a pep in your step, and you are careful to avoid the salt ring that surrounds your house.

A butterfly passes by your face, flying to the bunchberry bushes your father has planted in the front garden. Among the grass, there are various flowers and herbs that your father grows in the summer. You’ve inherited many things from your father, but his green thumb isn’t one of them. He takes his gardening seriously while you can barely keep the cacti in your room alive.

“Enjoy your meal! Come talk to us one of these days. We missed you two!” Janie shouts after you as you make your way up the stairs. You turn around, Atticus smiling at them.

“We missed you, girls, too,” he says as if he didn’t want to admit it. Janie squeals something about how handsome his smile is, and you scoff, amused as you grab the doorknob.

Once you push the door open, you're hit with a rush of deja vu. The history channel plays faintly in the next room as you take in the home you’ve missed dearly.

There are two bookshelves against the wall on your right, a wide ledge with pillows under the bay windows. A messy coffee table filled with letters and stacked with books sits in front of the comfy reading nook, letting you know that your father was recently hanging out there.

There is a brown mahogany staircase that ascends upstairs to your left, and right beside it is the altar for your mother. A statue of her rests in the middle of the rectangle table covered in a black table cloth. On top of it lies the many offerings for your mom. Herb-dressed candles burn beside bowls of fruit, bouquets, a crystal enamel wine glass filled with alcohol, feathers, and other things. You ignore the altar as you put down your stuff beside the door, following Atticus as he takes off his shoes.

“Kids?” You hear your father call enthusiastically from beyond the foyer, and you persist forward into the entryway ahead of you.

“We’re home!” Atticus announces as he enters beside you. Ambrose barks making a beeline to the right and behind the kitchen counter. He jumps on your father with so much force he stumbles back.

“Gods! Why does he look even bigger?” Your father exclaims through a laugh, fixing the round glasses that threaten to slip off his nose as his other hand grips Ambrose’s paw. He yelps in surprise as Harvey's claws rest on top of his head, clinging to his hair to steady himself.

The warmth and smell of home fill your senses as you catch your dad’s gaze. “Well, come here! Are you going to hug your pops or what?”

You rush over with Atticus. Both of you hug your dad tightly on either side of him, and you smile as he presses a kiss on your temples. “I missed you guys so much!”

“We missed you too!” The smile on your face falters as he looks up, scanning the archway as if he was waiting for someone else. You shift, not ready to be faced with the question, and you peer around his body to look at the food on the stove behind him.

Your father notices your interest, and he chuckles. “Come on, let’s eat. You guys came right on time.”

You shuffle through the kitchen with Atticus, making your way to the rounded table at the end of the kitchen.

“Dad, what have you been up to?” Atticus asks teasingly, and your father perks up.

“I've done a lot of things to keep me busy. I volunteered to teach summer classes while you were gone. I’m reading this book with a fascinating perspective of the shift from Paganism to Christianity in Rome. It’s an amazing read; I highly recommend it. Though, I don’t quite agree with it.” Your father hums thoughtfully. “Oh! And I bought gnomes for our garden! And the thrift store had this little house and this old lady figurine! I put it on the porch. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but she’s the official guard of the door," he declares proudly. "And…” He twists and turns before heading to the bookshelves in the living room area. He grabs something from the shelf then he showcases a cartoon Dobby bobblehead with wide arms. A high-pitched cackle leaves his lips. “It completes our collection!”

“Woah! Where did you get it? We went to three different places for it, and we couldn’t find it.” Atticus matches your father’s excitement, and you snort at the two.

“I went to a mythology convention in Boston a few weeks ago. There was a game stop across the street from the center, and I thought, ‘why not?’ I went in, and I saw this little guy by the register.” Your father is giddy as he nudges the head and watches it jiggle in his hands.

You think of what your grandmother’s reaction would be if she saw all the things he bought on his trip to the thrift store. She’d definitely complain. She always said that even growing up, your father had a liking for knickknacks. On your shelves and counters, there are always little trinkets lying around. It even extends to the walls, a variety of paintings and diagrams are neatly hung beside each other. From the state of your house, it’s clear your father is a maximalist in its purest definition.

“Wow! That’s awesome!” Atticus reaches out his hand for it as your father brings over his entire collection of Harry Potter bobbleheads, the toys huddled in his chest before he places them on the dining table. “The whole gang can hang out with us for dinner.”

“I hope they like pasta,” Atticus comments, lining them up as your dad retrieves the pan of food.

Your stomach grumbles at the sight, and you’re quick to serve yourself as Atticus and your Dad talk about anything and everything. You guys discuss what your grandmother has been up to, how your father’s classes were going, which led your father to ramble so much he formed a tangent on top of another. The conversation was going so well that you were sure he wouldn’t ask about your summer, but you had assumed too soon.

“So enough about me! How was Camp?” Your father chirps, and you shift in your seat.

You smile with confidence to hide the wariness you felt. “It was great!” You figured if you keep your answer short, you could move past it quickly.

“Yeah, the usual. Fun as always,” Atticus adds.

Your father’s eyes flicker between the two of you, and the first thing he notices is the way your smiles don’t reach the rest of your face.

The clanging of metal utensils on glass plates fills the room as the both of you fixate on your food but neither take a bite. The camp was never a touchy subject. The sudden unwillingness to speak about it makes his eyebrow cock up in suspicion. His eye averts to the empty dining chair beside you and the dinner place settings that remained untouched. Alabaster was supposed to join your return home. At least, that’s what he had assumed.

“Did Alabaster decide to stay at his foster home?” There’s caution in his tone, and he’s taken aback at how both you and Atticus tense up. The clings of metal halt abruptly, and slowly, you move to glance at your father.

“Dad, something happened at camp this summer.” Now, it was your turn to have a tone laced with caution. Alabaster lived with you for months and quickly became a part of the family. Your father saw him as his second son, and you were afraid to break the news that he may never see him again.

“What happened? Did he get into trouble?” You frown at the sudden edge in his voice. Atticus shifts beside you,

“He took the others to go fight for the Titan Lord.”

“What?”

“Mother came to speak to him and told him that it was best to fight for the other side since their chances are better,” you say slowly. “They left at the end of July. Only Atticus, Lou Ellen, and I stayed at camp.”

Your father’s expression darkens, grief written all over his face. “And you haven’t seen them since?”

You shake your head, not wanting to delve into the details. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing them again in a while and not in the best circumstances.” Your father nods, understanding the implication in your words. “Mother promised that she’d take care of them if they fight for the other side. I didn’t want to go; it wasn’t right.”

“That must be why everything is rotting,” your father mutters more to himself. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Rotting? What’s rotting?”

“Our offerings to your mother,” he clarifies. “All the fruit I leave on her altar goes bad in a few days. The flowers wither quickly too. The garden, in general, hasn’t been doing well either. I didn’t understand why.”

Your focus returns to your plate. Suddenly, you weren’t that hungry anymore.

She must be angry, you think to yourself. A part of you wanted a sign from her to let you know if she was bothered you didn’t join. When the sign didn’t come, you assumed she didn’t care; that, in a way, you were dead to her. It didn’t dawn on you to ask how the altar or the garden your father dedicated to her was doing.

“Can I be excused?” You strain, your face a little hot, and you’re not sure if it was from your anger or from the tears you’re blinking away.

“Of course.” The warm smile on your father’s face fails to budge the dread you’re feeling. “You can be excused as well, Atticus.”

You miss the way your father and Atticus exchange looks as you stood up. There wasn’t a verbal agreement, but Atticus stands up tall, determined to make you feel better. He trails behind you, and suddenly, he slings his arm across your shoulders. “You know what’s one of the things I missed at camp?”

“What?” You ask, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Beating you at Tekken,” Atticus teases. Your lips curve slightly; his playful nature manages to brighten up your mood a little bit. “Let’s play. I’ll go easy on you, but I’m sure you’ll still lose regardless.”

“You’re on,” you nudge him, and Atticus chuckles, walking ahead of you and up the stairs. Your hand grips the railing, and you walk up a few steps before halting, and your eyes find the front door.

“You don’t get it!”

“I don’t.” You shrugged, amused at the way Atticus’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. He ignored you, grabbed the remote, and played the Star Wars movie again. You groaned, seeing the slanted letters move up the TV screen. “Atticus! I can’t watch this!”

“Why not?!”

“Well, first off, my dyslexia won’t let me read that quickly, and if a physically written prologue is needed before a movie… it’s not a good movie!”

“How dare you!” You threw your head back as a laugh bubbled in your throat. The exasperated look on his face was too funny. You had no desire to watch these movies, and you figured if you bothered him enough, he’d give up trying to show them to you. The shrug of your shoulders made him scoff. “Just watch it!”

A huff left your lips, and unwillingly, you returned your gaze to the screen. Suddenly, a hollow knock came from the front door.

“It’s late,” you said, but Atticus was too caught up in the beginning battle of the movie to pay any mind to you. Rarely did you get visitors, definitely not past midnight on a Friday. Cautiously, you rose from the couch and moved toward the door.

Rain erratically hit against your curtain-covered windows; the wind and cold made the walls around you creak as they adjusted. Whatever waited for you at the door, you just wished it was a person, not a weird ghost or monster. Your finger latched on the side of the curtain, allowing you to peek through the glass of your front door.

A gasp left your lips. Alabaster, soaked from the ruthless rain outside, was the last person you expected to see. But even though you didn’t expect him, you had an inkling as to why he was here.

Hastily, you unlocked the door and flung it open. “Al?” You sputtered; his green orbs were surrounded by tired eyes and puffy skin.

“He died this morning,” he strained. Your expression softened, and before you could say anything, Alabaster stepped forward and hugged your shoulders tightly. The raggedness of his breath, the shutter of his body, sent your chest a weight of sorrow. You couldn’t imagine being in his shoes and losing your father to a long battle with cancer at 14. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes; the person you looked up to the most was breaking down. You never thought he would need your help for anything, but it seems that you were wrong. “I’m sorry. You guys live the closest to me, and I didn’t know where to go-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. “Oh, Al, I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked, hands rubbed his back as a sob left his lips. A creak of a floorboard caught your attention, and you turned to see a confused Atticus emerging from the living room. With a sad look, he understood what happened, and soon his expression was mimicking yours.

“I’ll wake dad and get clothes,” he said, then rushed upstairs.

Your father didn’t even hesitate to help Alabaster, opening the doors of your house to him. In his greatest time of need, the three of you stood beside him, and overnight, he had a place in your home and in your heart. The three of you spent so much time playing video games, getting into trouble around town, learning magic. All the good times you and Atticus shared with him, were they really worth throwing away to fight with Kronos? You realize now that his departure was never only a betrayal to the camp but to you, Atticus, and your father, and you couldn’t help but think perhaps, you guys didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to you.

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth at the thoughts persistent to ruin your mood. The desire to leave camp was to avoid all the things that reminded you of your siblings, but now that you returned home, you realize that running away isn’t as easy as you thought.

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