#i'm very happy to have met him!! and get a hug from him too!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celestie0 · 1 month

Text

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 (f)

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+, 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. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ 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!!

➸ you're all caught up!

➸ 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!!)

1K notes · View notes

luveline · 11 months

Text

spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression?

You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?"

He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong."

"Something looks wrong."

You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice.

"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile."

He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy."

"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?"

"Gabs?" he asks.

"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it."

You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met.

"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?"

"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange.

"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air.

"Am I being weird?" he asks.

"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?"

"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk."

"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?"

You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too.

"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?"

"I'm okay. I just feel strange."

"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card."

Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far.

"Hm?" you hum in question.

Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?"

The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting.

"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms.

Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.

It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing.

"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.

He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.

"Was it scary?"

"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair.

"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?"

"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you."

You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you."

You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you.

You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years.

"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?"

"She's in her room. Call her."

You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner.

"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove.

You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared.

"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!"

"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her.

He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him.

"Woah, careful."

"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late."

"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long."

Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.

"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers.

"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back.

Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back.

"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home."

"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says.

You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital.

"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella.

She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!"

"Well, come and sit. What mug?"

Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.

"You're having some too, right?" he asks you.

"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot."

Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness.

She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?"

Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot.

"What?" he asks.

"You're not doing the thing."

"The thing?"

You frown.

"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses."

He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia.

He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after.

Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!"

"Blow in her ear," you mouth.

He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm.

When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it.

You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?"

"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks.

"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke."

"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low.

"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel.

"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up."

You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?"

Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks.

"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure.

His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry."

"For what?" You blink.

"I don't know."

You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?"

He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off.

"You're really something special," he says quietly.

"How so?"

His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you."

"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features.

"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love.

"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?"

"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad."

"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.

"I must have some good luck," he says.

His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness.

You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to.

"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–"

Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time.

It's not a bad kiss.

You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin.

The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him.

"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers.

He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time.

"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear."

"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included."

He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?"

You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

3K notes · View notes

praisethesuuun · 1 year

Note

AAAHHHH. ANOTHER ROR FAN! It's so hard to find people who like it 😭

Anyways, if you take requests at the moment, what about headcanons Hades, Buddha, Loki and Posideon being just complete simps for reader? (If that's too many, just loki or Buddah is fine!)

Just met the person and suddenly, guess I'm in love now, oops!

Anyways, thanks a lot, hope you have a great day!

you're too kind😭😭❤️❤️ It's always so nice to receive such sweet words! Anyway, there you go hun<3 hope you like it

RoR characters headcanons: them being total simps for you!

POSEIDON

🌊This guy is hilarious: he refuses to admit that he's simping over someone. "Gods are perfect. They don't bond to anyone" Yeah...that's a lie-

🌊Hades was the first to notice that something was wrong with his brother, but he decided to stay silent and wait for him to talk about it. Needless to say, he bursted out laughing when Poseidon told him everything: from what he felt when you were near him, to the way your presence brings a breeze of happiness to the midst of the seedy Valhalla.

🌊Poseidon will try to approach you starting from very sneaky things. For example, his favorite thing to do is sit next to you during gods' meetings, scaring anyone in his way. Once he nearly got into a fight with Shiva, because he practically pushed him out of the seat next to you, nearly knocking him off the entire stairway.

🌊During his fight, he will repeatedly make eye contact with you, boasting about his strength and hoping you can notice him... somehow. "Look at me, you fool"

🌊Tsundere mode: on. Poseidon will literally insult you everytime you'll try to talk to him. This dumbass will regret it later alone in his castle.

HADES

☠️Unlike his brother, Hades is more confident, courting you in front of all the gods and calling you "My queen" whenever he can.

☠️He's not sneaky at all and isn't afraid to hide his feelings for you. The only thing that could stop him it's the realization that he could ruin your reputation: it's not the best to hang out with the king of the Underworld, many despise him and he doesn't want you to be treated the same way.

☠️Expect to find your room flooded with various gifts and love letters, each accompanied by a black rose. You often feel sorry for Hermes and wonder how he can carry all that stuff. Yet, you get excited every time you see him arrive with a package, decorated with a delicate purple bow.

☠️Hades is jealous. He does not hesitate to scold and intimidate any deity who tries to approach you, even going against his own brothers (especially Zeus)

☠️When you're alone, Hades wastes no time in jumping on you and filling you with love. If, on the other hand, you are attending a dinner or a meeting, he will place his hand on your hips, refusing to remove it. Plus, he'll kiss you softly without anyone noticing.

LOKI

🐍He will be so annoying! Loki will stick to you like a tick, bothering you as a sign of affection (what a brat...)

🐍He will play jokes on you all the time, immediately bursting out laughing at your reaction. However, if you were to feel bad, telling him that he exaggerated, he will apologize instantly, hugging you and reassuring you. "I'm sorry, please look at me, bunny. I'm sorry... I promise"

🐍Loki is the type to put little flowers in your hair without you noticing, enjoying the view from afar and admiring your beauty. Daisies look so good on you! How could he not enjoy such a view?

🐍You'll likely get involved whenever he makes a mess, and don't be surprised when you're treated like some sort of human shield. Even so, you've never gotten into trouble. Deep down you like it when he suddenly enters your room to hide from Thor, who wouldn't dare to do the same.

🐍Loki loves to float around you, acting like the perfect watchdog. It makes him feel like a perfect partner: protecting you with dedication and love. But there are negative (or positive) sides, of course dirty jokes can't miss: "Look what a nice temper you have, it wasn't like this last night when I-" "SHUT UP"

BUDDHA

🍬He is the boldest lover that could ever happen to you. If he wants to do something, he won't hesitate to do it, everyone knows that. Yet, when it comes to you he becomes totally a servant, without hiding it from others. Do you need something? Well, give him just a second-

🍬Count yourself lucky, Buddha loves you so much that he shares his secret stash of sweets with you! The pocky challenge is a must, but he's favourite thing to do is kissing you indirectly making you suck on the lollipop that he already had in his mouth.

🍬Every once in a while, he lets you find a little love letter on your pillow with a chocolate next to it. He knows he looks like a detached person who thinks only of himself, so he does everything to make you feel his closeness.

🍬Buddha always calls you names. "Come here, sweetie!" "Aww honey, are you angry?" "Gimme one of your sugar kisses, would ya?" He loves the way you blush every time he does it, you're such a cutie!

🍬He trusts you blindly, in fact he doesn't hesitate to ask you for help when he needs it. You protect each other and for Buddha this is one of the most important things in your relationship. Please, tell him how much you love him and don't hesitate to talk about your feeling! You are too important to him, so feel free to tell him everything you want.

4K notes · View notes

ro5ani · 21 days

Text

Some thoughts I've been having since round 6 but it's mostly me ranting about Ivan

So first of all, this whole thing where Till goes looking for Mizi's flower crown and they get attacked by the alien, it was all staged by Ivan. He was waiting for Till outside of the entrance and followed him as he went there

He didn't do anything to help them get away he was just watching how things played out, his goal was to get Till locked up so he could free him when no one was watching and they could escape (it would also show him as a savior thus making Till like him more)

You can see marks in the wall while he watches, my boy was stressed (maybe even worried that something would go terribly wrong). And before this scene, he is shown hugging the alien and there's an official art of him inside the aliens mouth (not sure what that means maybe that was the way of convincing it, it's known Ivan always does whatever the aliens want so he can use that later to his favor) ANYWAYS there are no scenes where he intervenes, so I'm pretty sure he planned the whole thing.

WHAT I'M TRYING TO GET AT IS, the meteor shower scene when they escaped.

If Ivan staged the whole thing he must've picked a specific day and time, so them escaping while there was a meteor shower is not a coincidence. Ivan did everything he could to convince Till, in the best way he could come up with.

Just like Till, Ivan suffered a lot of abuse even though it's not shown as much. At the beginning of round 3 we can see an alien threatening to throw him from the top of a building. He was scared and crying yet he saw, what probably was the most beautiful thing in his whole life, a meteor shower.

There's a lot of focus on Ivan's eyes throughout the series, he's very observant and it's also a way to emphasize how he is always looking at Till. But before he actually met Till, the meteor shower was the thing that caught his attention, and you can tell by the way his eyes fill with meteors when he looks at Till. Till to him is as shiny and sparkling as a meteor shower.

Ivan might be smart and very observant and mature for his age, but he's still a kid! He not only tried to save Till he also tried to impress him so they could get closer. So what did he do, like a kid showing off his toys to make an impression, he showed Till the most beautiful and impressive thing he knew.

And Till was impressed! But it was not enough, so it happened what happened.

The point of this whole thing is that I've seen a lot of people say Ivan's only way of catching Till's attention is by bothering/being mean to him, and while he did that a lot, he also risked his life and staged this whole thing so Till could be happy.

And even after that didn't work out, he kept looking out for Till in the only way he knew or was able to.

So my boy Ivan is not just a bully give him some credit😭 He could've been a little more honest but u don't expect the aliens to teach them proper communication.

SO THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO GET OUT OF MY SYSTEM

If u read all of this thank you 😭 and feel free to share thoughts too!

And excuse any weird wording, i literally never write long stuff

#alien stage #ivantill #alnst till #alnst ivan #alnst #theory #text post #THIS MIGHT BE OR MIGHT NOT BE MY LAST POST ABT ALIEN STAGE WHO KNOWS #they are controlling my brain i cannot think of anything else #also ivan is alive #vivinos literally told me #she also told me he is the sweetest guy ever don't call him a bully he might be a little insane but who wouldn't be in that world #alien stage round 6

669 notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 9 days

Text

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader:

summary: anakin fucks people that remind him of you

warnings: smut, minors dni. intense obsession (it's anakin), dubious fantasies, he doesn't treat his hookups very well

for @hanasnx who i have left waiting for far too long for this.

anakin fucks people that remind him of you.

he's hopelessly, obsessively in love with you. that much has been true since he'd met you. but you're with someone else, and no matter how much he tries willing your relationship to end; no matter how long he spends in some devilish imitation of prayer to the only god he knows, the Force, you're happy with another.

eventually, squeezing his eyes shut and picturing your face isn't enough to get him to shoot a load all over his stomach. he does it too many times, he rubs his cock raw and the novelty fades.

he makes it a point to inhale when he's near you, especially if you grace him with a hug. he commits the smell of your body spray to memory, and scours every care shop he can find until he picks up a bottle that matches your scent. he screams his throat raw into the pillow that he's sprayed with your smell as he fucks his fist. this works for a bit, but like the addiction you are, it fades again. he needs more.

he doesn't go out looking for someone like you, but when he spots a familiar haircut across the dingy lower-level bar that makes his cock twitch, he goes after them. it's not you, their face is less defined and rounder at the forehead, but he gets a terrible, awful, evil idea and he coaxes them to the back corner for a quick fuck. he squeezes his eyes shut and when they try kissing him and it doesn't bring with it a rush of your scent, he pushes them away and keeps them pinned to the wall while he jackhammers into them.

it gets worse, spiraling, spiraling, spiraling until he's fixating on a stranger with your cheekbones, a passerby whose voice sounds like yours. he lets them display their similar traits; cheekbones gets the privilege of his nose buried against their face and singsong gets to moan. if cheekbones dares moan though- it's not your voice, and he steals the breath from their lungs for just long enough to fuck it out between their hips and hike his pants back up.

the more he fucks, the worse he gets. he doesn't know he's moaning your name until someone has the gall to correct him, a breathy, "No, no, I'm- I'm Raya.'

Anakin kicks up a panicked, grunting wail as your face shatters and falls from his mind, the sound guttural and angry as he pins Raya's wrists beside their head. they're touching him but not like you would, so they're not allowed to touch him anymore. and they said their name was not yours, so they're not allowed to talk anymore. and they're ruining his fantasy, so would they just shut up so he can finish already? His raging cry covers the most part of their name but doesn't erase it; anakin has to muzzle them with his large hand to get enough of his fantasy back to where he's able to spill into your warm, wet hole, and he doesn't offer them so much as a courtesy kiss on the way out.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker scenario #anakin skywalker oneshot #anakin skywalker one-shot #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker headcanon #anakin skywalker headcanons #anakin skywalker hcs #anakin skywalker hc #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker dialogue #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker smut

403 notes · View notes

lil13 · 1 year

Text

FEELINGS - j. champion

You and Jack met during the chemistry reads for Scream VI. It was obvious that, from the beginning, you two were close. Your personalities went well together and everyone saw your obvious chemistry. The chemistry really helped, seeing as your characters were love interests. As time went on, you began to see Jack differently and he the same. And maybe, unlike your characters, the two of you would have a happy ending.

•

Filming for Scream VI was slowly coming to an end. You heard someone say that you only had about 2 weeks of filming left before everything wrapped.

It was bittersweet.

Occasionally, you'd find yourself reminiscing about all of the friendships and memories you've made this summer. Something about your castmates just made the whole filming process all the more better. Especially since this was your first real project.

The directors were taking a chance with you, hiring a newcomer was a risky move. But needless to say, they believed they made the right choice. You were a phenomenal actor.

"Earth go, Y/N." Jasmine was waving her hand in front of your face, bringing your attention back to the 4 sitting around you.

You, Melissa, Jenna, Devyn, Liana, and Jenna all sat in a circle in the grass. A break had been announced while they worked out some kinks in a scene and they let you all just chill together.

"Hmm?"

Devyn reached over and squeezed your hand, smiling sweetly at you. "We're rating our castmates 'cause we're bored."

She was the sweetest, just like her character.

"And it's time to rate Mason, and I don't plan on rating him because he's like my brother and that's weird." Jasmine laughed, earning laughs from the group.

You shrugged, "7.5?"

Most nodded, except for Jenna who scoffed and called out the number 4. Her response only elicited a fit of laughter from the group. Jenna loved picking on Mason, it was one of her favorite pastimes.

"Oooh, i've got one." Melissa clapped her hands in excitement. "Y/N, rate Jack."

You swallowed harshly. Suddenly very thankful that the boys weren't around instead of being mopey like you had been before. You actually had been wishing that Jack... and Mason were there. But now that they'd asked that? Their absence was actually a blessing.

"3."

Jack was your best friend.

"Bullshit!" Liana yelled.

She was right, you'd lied straight through your teeth. You'd met Jack while doing chemistry reads months ago. Your characters played love interests so you'd gotten to meet the boy before the rest of the cast so the directors could ensure the two of you had believable chemistry.

"Um." you mumbled, you'd actually fallen for him as time passed.

When you got to set in June you thought the constant butterflies in your stomach were from being excited and nervous to film. It wasn't until a week or two later and you were grabbing lunch alone with Jack that you realized that the butterflies only showed up when you were in his presence.

Jenna playfully pushed you by the arm, "C'mon, tell us the real answer."

You hated how they knew about your real feelings. You had never admitted them, though. So, their knowledge was pure speculation at this point.

"10." you'd said it almost too quiet for them to hear.

But when they erupted in screams and Devyn tackled you in a hug, you knew they'd heard you.

"No one can tell him! He definitely only sees me as a friend and i'm not ruining the friendship." you instructed from your spot below Devyn.

They all agreed to not tell, but also told you that you were wrong. Apparently they knew that your feelings weren't 1 sided.

"Who likes who?"

You all froze.

It was the familiar voice of Jack that made your stomach drop. Devyn crawled off of you, helping you sit up. You couldn't bare to look at Jack. You were sure your cheeks were bright red and he'd know immediately.

"Chad likes Tara." Jenna blurted, attempting to get Jack off the topic.

The grass looked very interesting all of a sudden.

"Well, I knew that. That's boring." he scoffed.

You mentally cursed when he sat down next to you on the grass, his knee bumping with yours. It took everything in you to not look at him still. Jack was your best friend after all, his brown eyes always brightened your day.

"Jackson, wanna play our game?" Jasmine broke the silence.

Your eyes snapped to Jasmine's, she wouldn't.

You looked around the circle, realizing that all of the girls had smirks on their lips. They knew what Jasmine was up to.

"Sure?" he laughed nervously.

Jasmine rubbed her hands together, never looking back at you. "We're rating our castmates, so, rate Y/N."

"Easy, 10."

What?

You looked right at him as all of the girls went crazy. Did he say what you thought he did?

He wouldn't look at you though, his cheeks burning crimson. You couldn't tell the reason behind the blushing, though, sometimes Jack would blush when he had too much attention on him.

But it still made you sick that he wouldn't look at you.

"I don't feel good." you mumbled, jumping up and running off.

Jack was oblivious though.

While you were basically dry heaving in your trailer, he had texted and wished for you to feel better and to ask if you were still on for your movie night. You sighed, actually thankful that he didn't get the hint as to why Jasmine had asked or why you ran off and simply texted a "thank you, and yes."

The Jasmine texted, checking on you and apologizing for asking Jack. Even adding the disclaimer about how at least he thought you were a 10. You forgave her and told here there were no hard feelings. It was just a simple game.

A few hours later and you had all returned to your apartments for the night.

You were freshly showered with your hair in two braids down your back, body clad in pajamas. Your pajamas consisted of a pair of boy's boxers and a tshirt Jack had given you of his. The two of you were at his apartment one night and you saw an avatar shirt he had on the arm of his couch and you had geeked out over it. In that moment, Jack knew he had to give it to you.

The shirt had brought you more joy than it probably ever would him, and he'd definitely smile every time he saw you in it.

"Knock, knock!" Jack called out as he walked in using the key you'd given him in case you lost yours — well that and you didn't want to have to let him in every time he came over.

He held up a bag of takeout, "I still got the tacos in case you were hungry. Feeling better?"

You nodded, walking over and taking the bag from his hand, leading him to the kitchen.

"I don't know what happened." you lied, taking the containers out of the bag. "But i'm much better now."

The two of your stood in the kitchen eating your tacos. For some reason, every time Jack came over he'd bring tacos from this place you two had found at the beginning of filming. You'd stand around in the kitchen and chow done, catching up on any time spent apart before eventually finishing and going to watch your movie of choice.

"Do you mind if we watch in my room? I'm exhausted." you sold your story by yawning.

You were telling the truth, you were absolutely wiped today. Jack shrugged, lunging toward you and picked you up. You let out a scream of surprise as he carried you, walking you back to your bedroom.

He carefully sat you down on the covers and let you crawl into your spot while he took his shoes off. Without hesitation, he crawled in next to you, propping himself against the headrest.

Your heart started beating closer at your proximity. You tried to ignore it be cueing up the movie, Scream (2022) tonight. The two of you had been on a Scream kick lately.

"This one's gonna be weird to watch since we know these weirdos in real life." Jack chuckled, getting more comfortable, which only brought him closer to you.

Was that on purpose?

You couldn't tell.

As the movie went on, you suddenly became super aware of how close the two of you were sitting. Your head was only inches from Jack's shoulder, so you gave in, letting your head fall onto him.

You'd done this countless times before, but this time felt different. You could've sworn you heard Jack breathe in sharply.

A couple minutes passed before you felt something touching your hand under the covers. You focused for a second before realizing that Jack was tapping the back of your hand with his fingers. Without thinking, you flipped your hand so your palm was up, Jack quickly intertwining his fingers with yours now.

You'd never been more thankful that it was dark, because he wouldn't be able to see how red your cheeks were now.

You got more comfortable, enjoying both the movie and Jack rubbing the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb. Once again, he'd held your hand before, but this time felt different.

Your mind was going crazy and so were all the butterflies in your stomach. Oh what this boy did to you.

You'd met him about a month after you had turned 17, about a week before Christmas. His birthday about a month prior to that. The two of you had bonded over being "late 2004 babies" and the rest of your friendship was history.

But what if it changes tonight?

Jack squeezed your hand.

You lifted your head, looking to him, your hands staying connected. Jack had a different look on his face, once that you'd only ever seen when he was playing Ethan and he was looking at you. This was a look you'd seen Jack portray when looking at his girlfriend.

But this time the look felt entirely genuine.

"J?" you questioned quietly when you noticed his eyes flickering to different places around your face, one of them being your lips.

It was like you were nervous.

Almost questioning if this was real.

Jack didn't say anything, instead he ducked his head and connected his lips with yours. You gasped slightly, not expecting his abruptness.

But you didn't hesitate to kiss back.

Sure, you'd kissed before while acting, but this right here? This was real. This was Jack and Y/N. Not Ethan and Y/C/N.

Your free hand held the back of his neck, fingers fiddling with the curls at the nape of his neck. Jack smiled into the kiss and you swore you almost lost all composure.

How could he be so cute?

His hand broke free of yours and you faltered for a second. Only regaining your composure when you felt his hands grips your hips to pull you on top of him. You forgot how strong he was.

Jack's hands stayed on your hips while your hand not on the back of his neck decided to rest on his chest. You hadn't realize how toned he was and you could definitely feel the muscle under his tshirt.

He pulled away, letting you sit up slightly as you both goofily smiled at each other. "I'm assuming this is okay since you so willing let me pull you onto my lap?" Jack raised an eyebrow, the slightest smirk playing on his lips.

You couldn't help but peck his lips, heart fluttering when you saw his smirk falter into a pout when you pulled away so quickly.

"I mean, we both rated each other 10s earlier and i'm pretty sure i've liked you for a couple months now."

He seemed proud of himself, the cutest smile now on his lips. "Good, good. Glad I didn't read the signs wrong and ruin the friendship."

"That'd be awful."

You hand slid around from the back of his neck and up to his cheek, your thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. You couldn't help but admire him.

You've done that time and time again. But never this close or with these feelings.

He was looking at you the same way. His hands had found their way underneath your shirt, sitting on your bare waist and thumbs caressing the soft skin underneath them.

"Kiss me again, your lips are addicting." he mumbled, his voice quiet from being mesmerized by the situation he'd found himself in.

You happily obliged.

You quickly leaned in and connected your lips, both of you moving together in sync. It was like your lips were created to be together.

Jack's hands stayed put, never once wandering. And same for you. The two of you were content with doing exactly what you were doing. Maybe the rest will come a different day.

"Stay over tonight?" you mumbled against his lips.

You felt him nod, "I'd like that."

You were ecstatic. The thought of falling asleep in Jack's arms had you beyond excited. He always made you feel safe, so you had a feeling you'd sleep like a baby tonight.

"Good, good." You let a finger lightly trace his jawline, down his neck, down his chest, and then stopping when you left your hand to rest in his lap.

Jack caught you hand, breaking the kiss and looking you dead in the eye, his eyes wider than usual. "I'm going to need you to not do that again, because i'm really trying to be respectful and only kiss you tonight and that's not helping."

Your cheeks burned red, "Oh." You patted his chest, "Then let's stop this for now and finish the movie."

You crawled off of him, Jack saying something about how that was a good idea before kissing you quickly once more. You tucked your body into his once more, except now your head was rested on his chest and his arm fell lazily around your body.

You could get used to this.

#jack champion #scream #ghostface #jack champion x y/n #jack champion x reader #love #romance #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry

3K notes · View notes

seospicybin · 3 months

Text

TOO HOT TO HANDLE.

EXTRA HOT REUNION

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Too Hot To Handle Masterlist.

Synopsis: You and Chan are having a Too Hot To Handle reunion with other contestants to catch up on the life after the retreat. (6k words)

Author's note: Happy Valentine's day, my spicy lovers ❤️

Chan has one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand on your knee. Somehow whenever he's with you, he needs his hand constantly touching you.

"Do you think they like me?" You ask, nervously glance his way.

"Who?" Chan doesn't mean to not listen to your cute rambling, but he has his focus on driving.

"Who else?" You ask back instead of answering.

Chan has to think for a while whether you're still talking about his parents whom you just met and had dinner with earlier or his friends you're going to meet soon.

"My parents?" He asks.

You subtly roll your eyes, "duh?!"

He chuckles at your response and grabs the hand resting on your lap, he can feel that it's cold and a little damp.

"Why are still nervous?" He confusingly asks because the dinner has already ended almost an hour ago.

"I wouldn't be this nervous if your parents didn't watch us having sex on TV," you lowly sigh at the end of your sentence.

He bursts out laughing hearing that, you worried so much about these little things that he thinks it's cute.

"Does it matter that they like you?" He curiously asks.

"Of course!" You shorty answer like it's not obvious enough.

"They're your parents. I want to be deemed good, I want to be liked by them, your parents," you explain, shaking the hand in yours.

It doesn't matter that much to him. Regardless his parents like you or not, that wouldn't change the fact that he loves you. He also thinks you couldn't be cuter than this, worrying about whether his parents like you or not.

Once Chan parked the car, you put the visor down and your purse on your lap, he guesses you're about to fix your makeup before getting out of the car.

Wanting to tease you, he turns your head to the side and kisses you once you have applied a fresh coat of lipstick to purposely mess it up.

"Baby, you—" your complaint ends with a sigh instead, "you ruined it."

With his hand on your jaw, he holds your face still and leans in closer, "May as well...?"

Your hand stops him from coming closer, "Your friends are waiting," you remind him.

"Uhm... I don't think they would mind waiting a few more minutes," he says.

"Babe, we shouldn't—"

But he cuts you off with a kiss, a kiss that sends the windows of the car foggy with how much heat you're both producing inside.

You both giggle as you run to the bar where you'll meet his friends and once you step inside, you can see the red tint around Chan's lips and even on his nose from your lipstick.

"It's all over you, "You mutter as you reach to wipe it with your fingers as Chan cranes his neck to look for his friends inside the crowded bar.

"There they are," he takes your hand and leads the way to take you to the corner of the room where his friends are.

It's been great being where he grew up and meeting the friends who grow with him, but it always gets you nervous when he introduces you to new people.

You hate being perceived and with how you acted in the show, you're afraid that they get the wrong ideas about you.

Chan greets his friends with a bright smile and a quick hug, then he proceeds to introduce you after.

"You know who this is," he gives a short introduction of you with his hand resting on the small of your back.

"I'm James," the tall guy says with wavy brown hair, offering his hand at you.

"Hi, nice to meet you," you say as you shake his hand and politely smile.

"This is Leah, my girlfriend," James introduces the girl standing next to him, a beautiful girl with dark long hair and freckles dusted her both cheeks.

You know Chan wouldn't make you feel left out but you feel relieved that you're not going to be the only girl hanging out with these boys tonight.

"Very nice to meet you," you say, giving her a quick cheek-to-cheek hug.

"It's so nice to finally meet you in person," James says.

"Yeah, Chris can't stop talking about you. He's been yapping," Leah says, poking fun at Chan.

You turn to the side to look at Chan and raise an eyebrow at him, "Oh, really?"

"It's true," Chan immediately admits with a coy shrug and a shy smile.

Then he holds his hand up and glares at Leah, "Except for the yapping part," he quickly adds.

Everyone bursts into laughter and unlike the dinner you had with his parents earlier, you feel like you don't need to try hard to impress them.

"Let's get you guys a drink," James says.

While the boys are playing a game of pool, you and Leah are chatting over drinks., exchanging a few things about Chan like how James and Leah are his friends from high school which is also when they began dating.

"So you guys have been together like... forever?!" You say in awe, admiring their years of dating when your and Chan's relationship has been going on for nearly a year.

"Well, time flies by," she casually says like a decade-long relationship means nothing.

She sips her drink and snacks on a tray of fries in front of her, "how do you like Australia so far? Where have you been exploring?"

You quickly swallow your drink to answer her question, "Oh, I love it here, anything but the heat honestly," you answer along with a low laugh.

"I know, the heat is crazy these days," she says, finishing her drink in one long sip.

She glances at your glass and sees that you have finished your drink too, "How about a round of wet pussy?" She asks out of nowhere.

Not sure you heard her right, but your head is looking around to see if anyone heard it too and can confirm it for you.

"Excuse me?" You ask with a puzzled look on your face.

Leah bursts out laughing, amused by your utter bewilderment.

"Not that, oh, you thought—" she pauses to take a breath from all the laughter.

"It's just the name of a drink. It's sweet, it's delicious, you're going to like it," she assures you.

Leah doesn't wait for your answer but leaves the table to order it and returns with two shot glasses filled with pink-colored liquid. She hands one to you and holds one for herself.

"What's in this?" You curiously ask.

"Vodka, peach snapps, a dash of cranberry juice, lime, and every deliciousness there is," she playfully answers.

Chan comes to the table to have a sip of his drink and notices the drink in your hand, "Having wet pussy?"

"Uh-huh," you answer.

He winces after sipping his drink, "Be careful with that!" He says.

"Lighten up, Chris!" Leah says.

She makes you ignore his warning and initiate a toast with you, clinking the shot glass together then takes the shots at once.

The wet pussy is fruity and sweet, apart from the burn of alcohol down your throat, you would think that it's a glass of juice.

"Oh!" You gasp in amazement.

Leah smiles in satisfaction, knowing that you approve her recommendation, "Good, right?"

"Yeah," you say, "Can we have another round?"

"Sure, yeah," Leah says, doesn't mind ordering it for both of you.

The next thing you know, your tables are filled with empty shot glasses and you can feel yourself loosening up with every sip you take.

You're laughing at something when Chan presses his knuckle on your cheek, probably noticing how flushed they are.

"You might want to slow down on the drinking," he mutters to you.

You hold his chin so you can place a peck on his lips, "Oh, you mean these wet pussy?"

Chan laughs at that and puts his arm around you, pulling you closer to his side, ignoring the fact that James and Leah are making out across the table.

"You should have one of these wet pussy," you tell him, saying the name of the drink with a sly smile.

He leans into your side and whispers, "I'll have one, later, at home."

You put your hand under his chin and hold his face, wanting to catch up to what James and Leah are doing. Maybe it's the alcohol or Chan is simply a damn good kisser that you get that flutter and warmth all over you.

Chan can't tell how drunk you are but he has to hold you close to his side to keep you steady.

You both stand outside the bar to send his friends off on their way home, you manage to wave your hands as they leave in their car.

"Can you walk, love?" He asks.

You bob your head and begin walking toward the car in slow, careful steps.

Chan hurriedly holds your hand, afraid that you'd stumble in this state that he believes is the most drunk of you he's ever seen.

He reaches for the door of the car to open it for you when you pin him against the car, putting all of your weight against him as you put your hands around his neck.

Chan can't say no when you kiss him so passionately that he has a hard time returning it to you. He puts your arms around you to keep you steady and kisses you back just as hard and as deep.

It's when your hand wanders to the waistband of his jeans, that he breaks the kiss. He cups your cheeks in his hands and gently kisses your nose.

"Let's get home first, mmh?" He says

"Mmh, okay," you croak, letting him help you get into the passenger's side.

When he finally gets into the car, you fall asleep holding the safety belt on your lap. He quietly laughs, then buckles the belt for you.

Getting you inside the car is one thing, getting you out is another thing. He has to carry you in both arms when you suddenly wake up and insist on walking on your own.

"I'm not a baby," you slurred your words, trudging your way into the elevator.

Inside the elevator, you eventually cling to him again and instead of getting upset, he thinks you're adorable when you're drunk.

You kick your shoes off right after you enter his apartment and walk further inside while trying to take your dress off by yanking at it.

"Why is it so hot?" You grumble, still yanking at the front of your dress and heading straight to the bedroom.

Chan goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water and finds you still trying to remove your dress while hurling yourself around the room.

"Let me take it off for you, yeah?" He offers to help.

You stand with your back facing him so he can unzip the dress and pull it off of you. You immediately collapse onto the bed, lying down on your stomach.

"Have a sip of water first, okay?" He suggests, forcing you to drink some water by bringing it close to your mouth.

"Want to sleep..." you grumble again with your nose scrunched.

"Just a sip, baby, please?" He sweetly begs.

You lift your head just enough to sip the water from the glass and hurriedly rest your head on the pillow again.

"Good girl," Chan mutters with a tender caress on your head.

He keeps the glass of water on the bedside table and he heads out of the bedroom, putting the things he has prepared for the night back in their place.

He puts away the cake, and flowers, then dumps the rose petals scattered on the kitchen island into the trash bin. He washes up real quick and finally joins you on the bed, carrying the surprise he's been keeping close to his chest all night.

Catching you keep tossing and turning on the bed, he scoops you his arm and holds you close, he knows how much you like being cuddled.

"Cold," you murmur with eyes closed.

Chan hurriedly pulls the duvet up to your chest and affectionately kisses your bare shoulder, "Is it warm enough?"

"Mmh," you hum in answer.

He's aware that you're barely awake and probably wouldn't remember having this conversation with him the next morning, but he's been meaning to ask you something all evening.

"Baby?"

"Mmh?" Your hum is muffled with your head buried in his chest.

"Do you love me?"

"Mmh."

He looks down to see if you're awake but your eyes are tightly shut, "I love you," he mutters.

"Love you," you mutter back with a sleepy tone.

He chuckles at how you keep replying to him even though you're drunk and half asleep, he can't help but place a kiss on the top of your head.

"What do you think if we get married?" He playfully asks.

"Mmh."

"Do you want to get married to me?"

"Mmh."

"Is it a 'mmh yes' or 'mmh no'?"

"Mmh."

Chan laughs again and rewards you with another kiss on your forehead for being so cute. Even though tonight doesn't turn out the way he wanted, he still appreciates it as it is, another precious day shared with you.

"Will you marry me, baby?" He asks, while

"Mmh," you reply with another hum but this time along with a subtle nod.

He then takes the box he's been keeping in his jacket pocket all night and takes out the ring. Slowly, he puts the ring into your ring finger and then places a kiss on it.

"You can't take back your answer, you hear me?" He warns you.

"Mmh."

Chan has said it before but he didn't expect to meet you in a dating show and finds the one he's looking for in you and everything seems to fall into place ever since, it feels as if he's fated to be with you which assures him that he made the right decision to propose you.

But it seems like Chan has to try again tomorrow.

The morning sun blinds you when you open your eyes and you immediately close them again.

Your hand flies to your head as it's pounding from all the drinking last night and the alcohol evaporates through the pores of your skin.

"Oh, God!" You mumble with your hand rubbing on your temple.

The more you shift on the bed, the more you feel sick and you unintentionally wake up the man lying next to you. He scoots closer to you and looks at you through his half-shut eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asks with a deep voice.

"Not okay at all," you groan, putting away the hair stuck to your sweaty face.

He props his elbow against the mattress, "Headache, mmh?"

You nod as you massage the side of your head as much as you can to lessen the pain.

"I'll get you something for the headache, okay?" He says with his voice heavy with sleep.

"Yes, please?" You whine.

"Wait a minute, yeah," he says, dragging himself out of the bed half-naked.

He shortly returns with a tube of ibuprofen in his hand and sits on the edge of the bed. Shaking the tube, he manages to take out a pill and hands it to you.

You shove it right into your mouth and take the glass of water from Chan's hand to wash it down. It's a suggestive thought but you already feel so much better.

"You're right..." you mumble.

You slump down and lay back down, "Those wet pussy are dangerous."

Chan chuckles as he rubs his hand up and down your arm then kisses your shoulder, "Now, you learned your lesson," he says.

"How drunk I was last night?" You curiously ask even though you know you wouldn't like the answer.

He sucks air through his gritted teeth and thinks for a moment, "You kept saying it was hot and you started taking your clothes off."

You cringe imagining in your head how you behaved last night while you were drunk out of your mind.

"How embarrassing!" You groan, covering your face with your hands.

"Nah. You were so cute," he adds with a sly grin that showcases his dimples.

"You enjoyed it, huh?" You elbow his side to get back to him.

He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck and begins to pepper your neck and face with little kisses. When his lips are about to capture yours, you look the other way.

"I have a really stinky breath right now," you explain, covering your mouth as you speak.

"Since when do I care?" He takes your hand away and leans in again.

You usually wouldn't mind but for this morning with your breath reek from last night's drinking, you quickly dodge away for his sake.

"I seriously need to brush my teeth," you tell him.

And remembering that you didn't clean your face last night, you need to wash up immediately.

"Okay," Chan says with a pout.

To make up for it, you give him a quick peck on the lips and a longer peck on his cheek.

"I'll be back in a minute," you tell him as you get up from the bed.

It's horrifying to see your makeup melted and smudged, you're surprised that Chan is not disgusted already. You thoroughly brush your teeth and finish it with a cup of mouthwash.

You wipe your face with a damp towel to remove the excess makeup and scoop cold water to splash your face with. All the time you're standing in front of the sink and looking into the mirror, you've been seeing something different about you but can't tell what it is.

It's when you put your hand under the running water to scoop some more water you finally notice it, a ring on your finger.

Thinking that you're still slightly drunk or hallucinating, you bring your hand close to your eyes to inspect the ring, it has a beautiful teardrop-shaped diamond on it and it's on your ring finger so does this mean...

"Baby?"

You hear Chan's faint reply to your call from the bedroom, "Yeah?"

You can't seem to fathom your thoughts into words and end up calling him again, "Baby?"

"Yes?" He answers again.

With your eyes stuck looking at the ring, you walk back to the bedroom without drying your face first. You hold your hand up and show it to him.

"Did you see this?" You ask with a bewildered look on your face.

Chan is slyly smiling as he watches you get on the bed and sit in front of him, "Yes."

Not close enough to you, you decide to sit on his lap facing him, "Is it like... uh..."

Probably from the alcohol you consumed last night, your brain can't seem to compute words and your heart can't stay still inside your chest.

You inhale air to calm yourself, "Is it a gift or.... uh, something else? Something I don't know happened last night?"

Chan is grinning ear to ear, he seems excited to tell which one it is to you. He rests his hands on each side of your waist then says, "What do you think?"

"Whichever it is, I'm going to give you head for it," you playfully answer.

He chuckles with his tongue slightly sticking out from the corner of his mouth, "It is what you think it is," he cryptically says.

"I think you just can't wait to get a head from me," you joke again.

He laughs again and you gently hit his chest from beating around the bust, "Just tell me what it is," you whine.

He takes your hand and holds it, rubbing the diamond on the ring with his thumb, "Since I met you, I get this feeling that I couldn't love anyone else this much except for you like I have this much love inside me and it's only there for you."

You tip your head to the side as you intently listen to him talking his heart out.

"I'm stuck with you... in the best way," he remarks with a light chuckle, "and I think we may as well..."

It's endearing to see how he's slightly nervous and excited at the same time. You lean in close and tease him, "May as well what?"

He chuckles again and licks his lips, "We may as well get married. What do you think?"

You place your hand on the nape of his neck, "Of getting married? To you?"

"Yeah," he answers with a nervous sigh slips out of his mouth.

You brush the soft curls on the back of his head as you stare into his brown eyes and try to fathom your feelings into words, "Oh, baby... All I ever wanted is having all your love just for me," you playfully say.

You hold the side of his face and see that his eyes are pooling with fondness as they gaze into you, you get that fluttering feeling inside you.

Oh, you love him so much and you also think you couldn't love someone as much as you love him.

"I think I'll never get enough of it, I need it for the rest of my life," you continue.

Chan takes a deep breath to prepare himself for what he's about to ask you, "Will you marry me, my love?"

There's only one right answer to that, one that you know for sure you'll never regret.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes... " You peck his lips again and again for every yes you give him.

The last peck lasts the longest that you run out of breath and gasp for air when you let go, "A thousand times, yes."

Chan brings your head close to him so he can kiss you, kisses you so hard yet so gentle that you can feel the emotions he puts into it.

It's one of those moments where you feel like you and him are the only ones existing in this world. It's just you and him, encased in this moment forever.

When the kiss breaks, you melt into his hug and feel your hearts beating so close to each other as you hold him close.

"I love you, baby," he mutters with a rub on your back and a haste kiss on your neck.

You lift your head from the crook of his neck and look at him as you say those three words back to him, "And you know I love you too," you steadfastly say.

Chan just can't have enough of it the first time so he crashes his lips onto you again and his arms are tightly wrapped around you as if he tries to crush your body.

The kiss takes things further as you start grinding on him and when your lips aren't on his, you place slobbering kisses on his neck knowing how much he likes them.

While you're busy kissing him all over, Chan reaches for your back to unclasp your bra and takes it off of you. He grabs you by the waist and dives right into the valley of your breasts.

You look down to watch as he takes your breasts into his mouth in turns, switching between sucking and fondling them.

Your lips eventually land on his again, kissing him hard before going down to keep your promise. You pull his hardening member out of its confine and repeatedly stroke it.

Chan lifts your chin to place a kiss on your lips before you lower your mouth on him, taking his cock into your mouth and sucking on it.

You compensate the rest of his length you can take with your hand. You sync your hand and your mouth to give him the utmost pleasure.

He gathers all of your hair in his hand, making a makeshift ponytail, and holds it away from your face so he can see how you take his cock in your mouth.

"Mmh... just like that, baby," he breathlessly mutters to you.

"Keep going, yeah," he mutters again, throwing his head to the back in pleasure.

He keeps muttering sweet praises to you as you pleasing him with your mouth and once in a while, staring at him with your mouth full of him.

"You know how to please me, mmh?"

"You're so good at it, baby."

You know you're doing the right thing when he starts tugging at your hair harder and his breath becomes erratic. Continuing with your hand, you keep the pace knowing that he's close to his release.

"Cum for me, baby," you seductively say.

You maintain eye contact with him with your hand relentlessly pumping his cock, leading him to his high until the white of his cum spurts out of the tip, making streaks on your chest and chin.

His cum feels hot and sticky on your skin, he uses his boxer to wipe it clean for you, not wasting time crashing his lips against yours after that.

"Why are you so good at making me feel good, mmh?" He takes you down the bed and pins you under.

He has his lips constantly pressing on you, kissing you so hard that you're struggling to either kiss him back or take a breath in between.

He breaks the kiss only to kiss you elsewhere, down the column of your neck, and eventually presses his mouth close to your ear.

"I'd like to have my wet pussy now, please," he sweetly whispers, making you tingle inside.

As if he needed your permission, he pulls your underwear down and out of your legs, not wait another moment to dive into your wet cunt.

There's no doubt that he knows his way around you, making you arch your back to seek more of that delicious lick of his tongue between your folds and sends his nose pressed on your clit, but there's one thing you want more than his skillful mouth.

Failing to stop him a couple of times, you tug at his hair a little too hard to finally get his attention. Chan lifts his head, looking at you with his mouth and chin glistening with your essence.

"Want you inside me, baby," you sweetly ask.

He comes at you, hovering inside you to press his wet mouth on you, "Want me inside you, mmh?"

You let him kiss you again before telling him what you really want, "Want you to make love to your fiancé," you say with a smile.

"Fiancé, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm."

It seems to only hit him that you are his fiance, "Fuck yeah you are my fiance."

You wonder how he gets this hard even though he has just cum a few moments ago, you can feel how stiff he is when he enters you. You moan at how good it feels to finally have him inside you.

"You're so hard, baby," you whine as you sloppily kiss his mouth.

Your head falls onto the pillow, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled by him, "So hard, mmh... so good," you

Chan puts your legs up and against him, holding them close as he starts thrusting into you. You grip the sheet underneath you as each thrust launches you to the back of the bed.

He slows down the pace and puts your legs around his waist, lowering himself onto you so he suffocates you with more kisses as his hips pulsate into you.

The gaze he gives you is affectionate and soft, in contrast to his slow yet deep thrusts. He is indeed making love to you, putting all of him into it, and you feel as if you became one, body and soul.

Chan sets everything on the dining table, the cake and the bouquet of flowers which he has now put in a pitcher filled with water to keep it from withering.

You finally out of the bedroom after hours of showering, dressing up, and doing your make-up to get ready for the video call for the show reunion.

"Oh, you prepared this?" You gasp, seeing the little surprise on the dining table.

"If you weren't so drunk last night, you would have seen it," he sneers with eyes squinted.

You chuckle at that and come up to him, putting your arm around his waist, "I'm sorry I ruined your surprise," you sincerely apologize along with a sweet peck on his lips.

"I'll forgive you if you let me take pictures of you and that ring on your finger to let the world know that you're taken," he requests with a sly smile dancing on his face.

You chuckle again and enthusiastically agree to this request, "With pleasure!"

Chan takes countless of photos of you with the surprise he prepared for you and countless more of you together, showing off the dainty ring on your finger.

"Should we share it with the group?" He asks.

There's a group chat of everyone from the retreat and you're still in contact with them through it. It's a good idea but you want to hold that plan for a bit since there's someone more deserving to know the news first.

"Maybe later after the video call?"

Chan considers it for a moment and then nods, "Yeah, I think so too."

You reach for the bottle of champagne and hold it out to him, "What about having a toast?"

"Only if you promise not to get drunk," he jokingly says.

"Oh, my God! Let it go already," you dramatically sigh while Chan hugs you from the back and kisses your neck.

You clink your glasses of wine together, having a toast to your engagement and having a little celebration, eating the cake right away with forks.

"Is it the time already?" You ask, shoving another spoonful of cake into your mouth.

Chan checks the time on his laptop screen and confirms with a nod, "Yep. It's time!"

HOST: Next up on my hot seat is the couple whose relationship was as sexually charged as it was fiscally reckless. Before we talk to them, let's take a look at some of their best bits.

[Video plays]

HOST: Hi, lovebirds!

YOU & CHAN: Hi, hi! [Waves hands]

YOU: Lovely to see you!

HOST: I see that you guys are together. Where is your location?

YOU: Take a guess! [Smiles]

CHAN: Yeah, take a guess.

HOST: Er... maybe I'm projecting it too much but it would be good news to know you guys are... in... Australia?

YOU & CHAN: [Applause]

HOST: [Exhales] Oof... What a relief to know that you guys are together at the beginning of the interview but I think we can safely say that almost everyone in the world is now watching your love story unfold.

YOU & CHAN: [Nods]

HOST: So where are you guys now in your relationship? Like... what has happened since the retreat?

YOU: [Turns to Chan] Want me to answer it or...

CHAN: Yeah, you.

YOU: Chris and I, came off the retreat and Chris went with me and stayed with me for a couple of days.

HOST: Didn't you guys plan on going to Australia together after the retreat?

YOU: We did. Then I got a call for work so I had to postpone it.

HOST: Was it like being away from each other? Because you guys can't seem to keep yourself away from each other in the show [laughs] How are you guys making it work?

CHAN: I obviously wanted to stay longer but I had a few things I need to work on too. The long-distance thing didn't put that much strain... it wasn't easy but we managed.

YOU: Right. We managed. We did alright, I guess [laughs] CHAN: We video call each other a lot.

YOU: And always sending nudes to each other.

HOST: [Eyes widen] Oh, wow!

YOU & CHAN: [Laughs]

HOST: And now you're back together, in Australia!

YOU: [Nods] Yes.

HOST: What did you guys do? Tell us all about it.

YOU: It's been an absolute blast. I had so much fun. I met his family, went sightseeing, tried all of his favorite foods, met his friends—

CHAN: She had too much fun, in fact [chuckles]

HOST: Whatever kind of fun that is I hope you've done it responsibly and safely [squints eyes]

YOU: To be honest, I got drunk last night and I had the worst hangover a few hours ago. Thankfully, this man [points at Chan] took care of me well.

CHAN: She had too much wet pussy.

HOST: Excuse me, wet what?

CHAN: It's an Australian thing, it's the name of a drink here. She got drunk on that.

HOST: Sounds like a fun drink.

YOU: You should try it. It's delicious.

HOST: I want to but I don't know if I'll ever find myself bold enough to say that to the bartender [laughs]

YOU & CHAN: [Laughs]

HOST: So... I do have to bring up a couple of sticky things. Uhm... first is Mac. Do you have any regrets about going on that date with Mac?

YOU: Uh... [glances at Chan] [Clears throat] I regret how flirtatious it got. It was really hard to watch that back because I was like... did I really say that? I was nervous about how Chris would react at that moment.

CHAN: Honestly, I hated to have that part included in our best bits [Shrugs]

HOST: [Cackles]

CHAN: But I was more than proud of her after it once I watched the whole thing.

HOST: We'll quickly move on from that and onto the future. I want to know about the future of you two. Have you got anything you want to share with us about... future plans maybe?

CHAN: Well, we've been looking for a place together and... also... at rings [Giggles]

HOST: [Gasps] Oh, my God! It's so happening! Has the question been popped yet?

CHAN: [Looks at you] We may as well, yeah?

YOU: [shows off ring] He already did!

HOST: Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I don't know how to react, it has never happened before!

YOU: Just so you know he proposed to me this morning, like literally a few hours ago.

HOST: We need the details. Please!

YOU: Well, remember that he said I was drunk, right? [Laughs] he prepared this surprise with a cake and flowers, he initially planned to propose last night but that didn't go as planned so he tried again this morning.

HOST: And you said yes?

YOU: He obviously knew I wanted to marry him [smiles]

HOST: [gleefully laughs] YES! I'm loving this so much.

CHAN: I couldn't imagine being with anyone else [smiles]

YOU: He's just so cute [smiles]

HOST: You are aware that Lana's rules no longer apply. You guys can totally kiss right now.

YOU & CHAN: [Kisses]

HOST: [Coos] I kind of in love with this love story right now. Oh, wait, were we the first to hear about this?

YOU: We want Lana to be the one who knows about this.

CHAN: And obviously to everyone who is rooting for us [smiles]

HOST: Lana, girl, you should hold a wedding for them! The first Too Hot To Handle wedding.

YOU: Lana sponsor us, please? [Laughs]

CHAN: Jokes aside, we thank Lana for bringing us together and—

YOU: That's true.

CHAN: In case you don't know, Lana is doing God's work [chuckles]

HOST: Are you going to celebrate it with more wet pussy?

YOU: [Laughs] Yeah, that's actually a great idea.

HOST: How about you, Chris?

CHAN: I just had it this morning [Holds in laughter]

YOU: [Covers his mouth] [laughs]

HOST:... OH?!

CHAN: I'll probably have it again later at night.

HOST: [Blinks eyes] Oh... I expect nothing less from you guys.

YOU & CHAN: [Laughs]

HOST: Oh, my gosh, you guys! It's been incredible talking to you both. I wish you nothing but the best.

YOU: Aw... thank you. It was a really great reunion [Lightly claps]

CHAN: Thank you, Lana. Thank you, everyone [Waves hand]

YOU: Much love [Blows kisses]

Support my blog by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

taglist: @svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @darkypooo @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @yourmomscuntis2tighy @sunnyseungup @skzhoe4life @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @cutiespaghetti @ven-fic-recs

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #too hot to handle series #seospicy smut

435 notes · View notes

predestinatos · 4 months

Text

'tis the season, i guess — CL16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: cold winter days bring unexpected company to your bookshop. or in which your ex needs help choosing a book for his girlfriend.

words: 3.5k

tags: angst, SO much angst, dark academia vibes for some reason?, genuinely heartbreaking. some fluff but not much!

note: this was based off of this request but i got a bit carried away and wrote a whole thing! also am now obsessed with listening to sabrina carpenter... i hope everyone likes this even though it is very painful, but lmk your thoughts pls!!

The bookshop was basically empty, all the noise you could hear being yourself trying to rearrange the books in alphabetical order, and soft music playing in the background.

you stood on your tiptoes in order to reach a book at the top of the shelf, knowing a bench was available but being too lazy to go get it. Wuthering Heights refused to reach your fingertips despite your efforts and soft curses to yourself a bit louder than usual due to the emptiness of the shop.

"Need help?" a male voice called from behind, causing you to roll your eyes. Here we go, you thought to yourself, another man who catches you alone in the shop and tried to hit on you, and you'll have to find him funny and play delighted to be in his presence despite how bothersome he is, despite the ring on his finger.

"No, I'm okay, really-" you started replying, putting on your best customer service smile, fixing your hair as you turned around to face the stranger. but the person who you faced wasn't a stranger in the slightest.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" he said as he reached behind you for Wuthering Heights, taking him zero effort to do so, increasing your frustration and disbelief.

those brief moments of closeness brought to you a thousand heart clenching memories, time standing still as his scent hit you softly.

"Try this one" you tried to stop giggling as you held the dark brown bottle in your hands and asked for his wrist.

"Tobacco Vanille? I don't want to smell like cigarettes!!" he joked, although he let you spray his wrist gently, so happy just for the sole fact that you were happy.

Your smiles reached your eyes as they met for brief seconds, waiting for the smell to hit his skin. Reactions weren't needed as your expressions turned from smiling to shocked, mouths widening at the scent that seemed to fill you both.

"It's AMAZING!" you half screamed excitedly as he smelled his wrist in confirmation. "Charlie, it smells so good I could eat you right now!"

He laughed at the nickname, at how pretty you looked, at how simple it all was. He kept laughing with the perfume in a perfectly wrapped package in his hand, the other holding yours.

"Uhm, hi" you said, as his big familiar hands stretched out to hand you the book, which you hugged tightly to your chest in an attempt to hide or disappear in it, you weren't sure "Thanks."

"No problem" he replied politely, almost annoyingly so, the tiptoeing already starting before more than a few words could be uttered, his hands in his pockets as he looked everywhere but you.

It was uncomfortable - the silence, the stillness, how both of you stood there like ghosts, waiting for some direction, something to do, something to happen. "So uhm... what brings you here?"

"Oh, I'm a wedding crasher" the stranger next to you replied, black tuxedo slightly touching your arm, a drink in his hand and shirt slightly unbuttoned.

"Really?" your eyebrows raised as you took in what he said and his appearance – the nose, especially the nose.

He laughed slightly, taking a sip of his drink and looking back at you "no, I'm friends with the bride," his finger pointed in the direction of the beautiful woman dressed in white, but all you could see was how big his hands were, adorned with rings. "And you?"

"I am an actual wedding crasher" you replied, cheeky smile adorning your lips despite the shyness you felt as your eyes locked with his. It was his time to raise his eyebrows and your turn to take a sip of beer as he repeated what you had asked seconds before. "Really?"

"No, I'm friends with the groom" you replied winking, enjoying the stranger's company and humor, his smile causing small dimples to appear in his cheeks as he looked down at his lap.

"You got me," his hand suddenly stretched towards you, palm open and inviting, "I'm Charles."

He kept shrugging and avoiding your eyes, despite the fact that he had willingly chosen to go to the place where you worked. It was making you impatient and angry, those emotions replacing the initial shock and sadness.

"I need your help choosing a book," his voice sounded weak and embarassed, shame coming through every vowel. You stood still, waiting for him to continue, wishing he'd speak faster, explain himself already or just leave and forget he even came. "For my girlfriend"

Those words twisted inside you like a sharpened knife that knew the cut would merely hurt, not kill. Despite that, you knew better, you refused to let him notice any sort of hint of how that information affected you. "Oh wow," was all you could say at first, turning around to keep placing books in shelves, distracting at least your body since your mind was restless "birthday?"

"Uh? Oh no, 6-month anniversary" he muttered, almost inaudibly. You were too aware suddenly of how your clothes felt on you, how ironic red was in the necklace you were wearing as you placed Anne Boleyn's biography in its correct place, tight between the other books. You refused to look to him now, nodding intensively so he would understand that you had heard what he said, your skin prickling as you struggled to move. Calculations ran through your mind, trying to place those 6 months in the timeline of both of your lives as he moved awkwardly behind you.

"It's funny actually, she really loves reading, I guess I do have a typ-" he began, trying to lighten the mood, but each word he said felt like another grain of salt being thrown at the open wound that was your heart.

“What does she like to read?” you interrupted him, purposefully so, knowing how clear your intention to move from the subject was.

“I read a bit of everything, but I love the classics,” you said as the cappuccinos arrived and sat prettily in the café’s table. You stared at Charles as he stared at you; his entire expression seemed to give you undivided attention, registering every word and movement of yours. He smiled at all the correct times, nodded at your statements and frowned at certain parts of your narrative almost as if he had been custom made for you.

“What’s your favorite book?” he continued, sipping his drink, some foam remaining on his top lip, a feature you smiled softly at, bravely leaning over with a napkin and cleaning it. “Thank you” he said as he noticed your blushing expression, his way of both reassuring you and brushing it off as something mundane, and you bit your lip, holding back a bigger smile than necessary.

“This is such a cliché,” you started, rolling your eyes at your answer, trying your best not to say it. “Go on” his hand suddenly stretched towards yours, resting on top of it gently, like a sheet perfectly fitted for a bed. Your body burned with the touch, what is symbolized, what it promised silently in that small café.

“It’s Catcher in the Rye,” you both burst out laughing.

“She loves Fitzgerald,” his hands touched random books, looking for something to do, fixing them, opening some of them and putting them back in place, reading the backs of them as if he was paying attention to anything they said.

“Good taste,” you tried the compliment route. You didn’t want to sound bitter, and you weren’t bitter. It was just a lot to take in so fast, his presence as painful as his words, the way both made you feel so small for such a big place, so big for such a tight room.

“That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool,” you quoted the author as you contemplated the choices available for a lover of Fitzgerald. Work could fill your mind. Pretending it was just one more client made it easier. “Any other author or book? Help me out, Charli- Charles” you cut yourself off before the nickname could come out, hoping he wouldn’t notice, knowing that he did. You felt his entire body tense behind you as yours did, making it seem like a picture frozen in time in place, The Star-Crossed Lovers.

Charles seemed so silent that you unconsciously felt yourself turning back to check if he was still there, if he hadn’t been a fragment of your imagination after all. He stood in place, for a moment his eyes looked at you as if they hadn’t seen you in his entire life, examined you as if you were as unknown as letters in a freshly printed page. That soon faded as he snapped back to reality, registering the question with incredible delay. “Faulkner. She also likes Faulkner.”

“Aaaand Faulkner is done” you brushed some of the dust off of your hands as you stood up, looking at the now organized Classics section. “At least for the next week! Thank you for staying with me, by the way,” you said to the phone, as its screen indicated that you had been on a call for 2:45:17 hours.

“No problem,” Charles smiled. You knew he did although you didn’t see him, and that sheer though made you smile as well. “Can you do me a favour though?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement, a puppy-like tone that you cherished “open the door, I’m freezing.”

At first you were confused at his request, and you were close to questioning it until it hit you. You didn’t believe it. There could be no way he was- you rushed to the bookshop’s door, opening it while still holding your phone. Heart racing, you opened the door and saw Charles’ frame standing there, the lights illuminating his red cheeks and nose from the cold, one hand awkwardly holding the cellphone, the other trying to balance two warm drinks. He was wearing a beanie that made him look younger, softer, a puffer jacket that seemed to hug him perfectly- “Is there a code or something?” he jokingly asked, his breath visible due to the cold air outside, and you realized you had been staring for too long. You stood aside, turning the phone off as he placed the cups on the counter and removed his extra clothes.

“You didn’t have to,” you started. “I wanted to.” “You’re so sweet I could kiss you right now.” “Do it, then.”

You started browsing through the spines of the books in the shelves in front of you, looking for answers to more than one question, relying on pulling you sleeves down to your hands to mask your nervousness.

“How have you been, though?” his voice made you jump a bit, pulling you back to reality as you pulled 2 books and held them against your chest with one hand, trying to keep them from falling by lifting a leg – an awkward stance, you were sure. “Great, actually” you replied, unconvincingly so.

Things were hard after what happened with Charles, and you had taken many different routes to get over it all at first – waking up hungover in strangers’ beds, not leaving the house, breaking hearts for fun, letting people use you for fun, meaningless moment after meaningless moment, where the highlight would be hearing a voice that sounded even slightly similar to his. They got slightly better, of course, a year had passed, you could function, yet it hadn’t scarred yet – it wasn’t even close. The wound was open and bleeding and hideous and his presence, his voice, his smell, his request, it all just made the blood spill harder.

“Really?” “Hmhm,” a nod. A cough from behind you, making you turn around. His face was stern, serious. Charles was considering if coming was a good idea, what even drove him to do it in the first place. There were so many bookshops, so many other gifts he could give, yet he felt like showing up, like seeing you, at least once. Now he was there and he felt peculiar. Something close to guilt crawled on his chest, but he wasn’t sure what he was feeling guilty of, which in turn intensified his guilt.

You reached for a third book, and as you did so, the ones you were holding fell once again on the old wooden floorboards. “Shit” you muttered, crouching to grab them as Charles did the same, you two being so familiarly close, the irony of the cliché overwhelming the both of you. Getting up, Charles felt the need to offer his hand for you to hold, a support you refused to take and acknowledge, pretending you didn’t see it when it reality it seemed to be screaming at you loudly and intensely.

“So here are my recommendations, I guess” you sighed, letting him assume it was due to tiredness, knowing that he wouldn’t. Placing the 3 books on the nearest table, they faced the both of you as you stood next to each other, his arm brushing against yours, eyebrows furrowed as he examined their covers and details carefully.

Mrs. Dalloway, Age of Innocence, and One Hundred Years of Solitude sat perfectly, yet stared at the both of you defiantly, knowing their words could cut through both of your souls if they pleased.

“Don’t let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love” Charles read aloud, laying in your bed next to you, your head resting gently on his chest as you felt him laugh softly, lying naked in . “You’re right, I think I like this author.”

You laughed alongside him, both unaware of the fact that you were laughing for different reasons.

Charles’ eyes glanced quickly towards you, the same memory haunting your minds as if you were locked in a cinema of nostalgia. Shyly, his hand reached towards the hardback edition of Age of Innocence, its soft colors drawing him attention when the other options were either too painful to grab or not as tempting for his eyes.

You leaned against the polished table, looking at the way he touched the pages tenderly, fingers brushing them with a softness that reminded you of times that had gone by yet seemed to close and so recent.

His features seemed so focused, eyes moving slowly across each sentence, eyelashes prettily adorning them, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed dryly. He almost seemed unreal, a mirage of a stranger who was once so familiar to you, breaking the spell when he chuckled softly. “What?” you asked, whispering, too afraid that a sudden movement might make him disappear entirely. The normalcy of the moment was as terrifying as it was comforting, a moment in which it seemed like you two were the same again. “Nothing it’s just, one of the sentences I stumbled upon…”

“Which one?” you rested your chin in your hand while looking up at him, forgetting the previous moments, the previous year, every previous instance in its entirety as he looked back down at you and bit his lip nervously.

“I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that -categories like that- won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.” the room went cold and silent as the night.

“I can’t give you a relationship” he stood in his own kitchen like a foreigner, a man you almost did not recognize. “Why not?” “Because I don’t do relationships and I don’t like labels and I don’t want to hurt you by convincing you that I can.”

Your ears rung as you fought back tears. You wouldn’t cry. You were too proud for that, to show him this mattered way more to you than to him. “If you don’t want to hurt me then try, Charles.”

He shrugged, arms opened in defeat and eyes looking at the window, the snow falling down outside, locking you both in this confrontation. “I can’t.” Frustration invaded your bones and skin as you asked why once again, though your voice was tired and broken.

“It’s not because of you, I just- Can’t I just love you?” “That’s what I’m asking you to do by staying,” you reply cut like ice, and as he moved closer to you and held your face in his hands, you knew you had lost. “I can’t. Because I can’t do relationships.”

“But you will” you pushed him away as you left, knowing you were leaving your toothbrush, spare underwear, and heart there.

He interrupted the stillness before you did, clearing his throat and his mind, failing to relieve you of the pain of the past. “I’ll take this one” he said, now too polite, too frigid to go back.

You held the book and moved towards the counter, aware of his footsteps behind you, following you. You knew he was doing it because he had to pay, because he was a customer, because that’s what you’re supposed to do – yet part of you wanted it to be for a different reason, wanted his hand to suddenly reach for your wrist and tell you it was all a lie, a big prank, he was sorry and he took it all back.

You wanted him to say something daring enough for you to explode at him, to scream everything you’ve been holding inside for a year, to go back to that kitchen and its dimmed lights. To dare yourself to ask how dare he come into your workplace and throw everything at you, all politeness and fragrance and small talk, like it was nothing when you felt everything.

Instead, you wrapped the present nicely, placing a bright ribbon at the top while he fidgeted with his wallet from the other side of the counter. It was almost done, this exchange, and you didn’t know how to feel anymore. You were tired. So tired.

“Why did you come here?” you asked, facing him fully, staring at his green eyes that tried their best to hold your gaze. “Seriously, Charles, why did you come here?”

At first, he stayed silent. You refused to break the silence this time, even if he left without an answer you knew you had asked it, you did not save it for late nights lying awake. “I know you think I didn’t love you, but I do” he said.

It didn’t seem like a reply to your question, it seemed like a statement he was waiting to get out since the moment he walked in, the phrasing odd with its verbs being intentionally used in different tenses that didn’t seem to matter, at least not anymore. All you could do was laugh in disbelief, anger, or hurt, or a mix of both spreading throughout your body.

“You were- are- very important to me. You helped me realize a lot of things and if I could, I would go back in time in a heartbeat. But I can’t” he grabbed the present, hinting at the fact that he was going to leave, yet it didn’t seem fair to you. This wasn’t an apology, and was nowhere close to it, your hands trembling were a proof of such.

“You never can” you raised your chin, pride fighting against hurt as tears threatened to roll down your cheeks, jaw tense and firm, “not when it comes to me.” And there it was. What you both knew was true, said aloud like a forbidden fruit that was now bit into.

“It’s more complicated than that. And it’s alright for you to hate me, but I genuinely do love you. I care about you and think about you more than I should-“

“Do you love her?” it was a stupid question, and you knew that. You knew whatever answer he gave you would be a slap in the face, unsatisfying and painful either way. You hated yourself for the slight jealousy you felt towards a woman you barely knew, who wasn’t at fault at all, whose only problem was being too lovable.

“I do. I wouldn’t have known that if it wasn’t for you” “Oh wow. Thanks for that one” you crossed your arms across your chest, making yourself smaller, trying to hide while looking at the clock – 15 minutes left until the shop closes. 15 minutes left of the last time you’ll ever see him.

“Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t I enough?” he wanted to reach for you and hold you, a moment of involuntary movement almost drove him to do something he couldn’t possibly do, not anymore, at least. You looked at his sudden jerk of movement, how he stopped as if his muscles burned and prevented him from acting upon his instincts. It was the best answer he could’ve given you.

“I’m selfish. I want to look at a bookshelf and know a piece of you is there. I know I’ll never fucking see you again, and I’ll leave you alone, but God I need something to remind myself that you’re real” he said, eyes closing in shame or frustration, you couldn’t say.

“You took a part of me with you that night. And I’ll never get it back. And you walked in today and took a bit more. More than that book. And every time I think of you, you take another piece. So when you look at that book, think of your girlfriend. I am real. But what we had wasn’t. Not anymore.”

You started closing the register, ignoring his presence, hoping he’d go away. The only reason you noticed him leaving was the small bell that rang as he opened and closed the door, and you finally succumbed and let the tears run free.

580 notes · View notes

sports-on-sundays · 7 months

Text

serious / LN4

Summary: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader - The problem is worse than Lando expected. And Lando is worse at comforting than you expected. Takes place after the Singapore 2023 Grand Prix.

Warnings: GIF is not mine!!!, me possibley being super inaccurate abotut how stuff actually works but it's okay because I was just having fun writing and it's fine, censored cussing, crying/sobbing pushing for intimate things when reader doesn't want to - NO SMUT, screaming, the shock of learning of the death of a loved one, a bit of angst

Requested?: Nope.

Author's Note: I'm currently feeling very affectionate feelings towards Lando. Which means I'm gonna have a lot of desire to write Lando brainrot.

Just as your mother hangs up, you hear your boyfriend's voice practically squeal behind you, "Y/n! There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere. Why'd you leave early?"

"Lando, I-" you start, but are interrupted by Lando's arms wrapping around you from behind and him exclaiming, "P2, pumpkin! P2!"

That nickname sprouts from a few different factors. One is that it's not an uncommon pet name. Another is that when you first met, your hair had been dyed orange, and you were decked out in papaya from head to toe. And, of course, the fact that anything pumpkin flavoured is just about your favourite food ever is another good reason for the nickname.

But right now, you're not in the mood for pet names. "Lando, that's grea-"

He hugs your middle tighter, resting his chin on your shoulder, muttering, "I'm so disappointed you weren't there to see me... It was so fun..."

Suddenly, you feel guilty. And suddenly, you feel like if you were to start going on about your problems, right now, when Lando is so happy... That would just be wrong. So you, somehow, allow yourself to not even process the news you just got on the phone with your mother, and say softly to Lando, "Oh, that's great...! I... I'm so sorry I didn't see. I would have... I would have loved to." It takes all you have to not let your voice crack. You just have to hope that in the darker lighting, Lando won't be able to notice your tear-stained cheeks.

"It's okay... It was amazing. Carlos got P1, and Lewis P3."

You find a smile, turning around to face him, looking up at him in his eyes, which appear to be a greyish blue in this lighting. They shine in the dimly lit night. You hope yours don't shine as much as his are. Because if yours were shining that much, you know it'd be because of tears.

He strokes your cheek. His defined curls are a little messy, and his hand soft on your skin. He grips your waist gently then, slowly swaying back and forth.

It's a strange feeling. With Lando being so happy at getting P2 in the Singapore Grand Prix alongside his friend Carlos, the joy is just radiating off of him towards you. But you can't accept it. The pain you feel right now is like a shield against letting his good mood rub off on you.

Don't cry.

You should've been there to hug and kiss him as soon as he exited the car. You should've been there to watch him step on that podium and spray that champagne. You should've. You should've. You should've.

You would have loved too. Along with the pain of the news you just received, the regret of not being there to see Lando is too much, crashing down on you.

You start walking, arms linked, to the car. Once you're in and Lando has started driving, you mutter, "We're just going back to the hotel, right?"

"Oh, uh, sure! As long as that's what you want," you boyfriend responds. You feel a sinking feeling. You feel so bad.

"Why? What else did you have in mind?"

"Oh, nothing really," he shrugs. "It wasn't any real cemented plans. And regardless, you're probably right. It's been a long night. Fun, but exhausting. I'm definitely tired." And, as if just to prove it, he gives a big yawn. You nod, staring ahead at all the streetlights in the lit up night. Because of everyone trying to leave all at once, and the huge amounts of people, unsurprisingly, you're stopped up, and moving pretty slow. You sigh. You just want to get to the hotel to sleep and snuggle your boyfriend as soon as possible. You're not sure how soon as soon as possible could be now, looking at this traffic.

"So, why did you have to leave your seat, anyway?"

You swallow. You honestly were hoping he would've just forgotten about that, in the excitement of his podium. But nope. Of course he didn't. He only remembers things when it shouldn't matter to remember them. But forgets everything important.

"Well, I just had a long... phone call," you respond, surprised that's technically not even a lie. "We were talking about some really complicated stuff. I needed to leave to... talk about it."

"Oh, alright," he nods, completely trusting you. It's sweet how much trust he puts in you.

"Hey, pumpkin, really?" Lando asks, shaking you awake. "Are you alright?"

"Hmmm?" you grunt softly, your eyes fluttering open.

"We're at the hotel. You fell asleep while I was driving there." He helps your tired body out of the car, and you make your way to the hotel room together.

The moment the door clicks behind you and you're inside the hotel room with your boyfriend, he pushes you against the door, making out with you, his hand cupping the nape of your neck.

You feel sick.

He runs his hands in your hair, on your neck, and down your body.

Finally you're the one to pull away, but before you have a change to say a word, Lando leans in and starts speaking. He has such a big mouth- he's always been this way, since you met. He's never able to shut up. "Pumpkin, I can tell you haven't had as much of a good day as I have. Can I share some of my happiness with you?"

He kisses you all down your neck, but it doesn't feel good.

His nickname for you has always been pumpkin. And yours for him has always been 'sunshine' or 'my sunshine'. Whenever you're feeling bad, he always manages to make you feel better. He's like the sunshine to your cloudy day; the light to your darkness.

But now you don't feel it.

"Lando," you breathe. "Can we go to bed now?"

"Hmmm, whyyy?" he whines. "Are you sleepy? Has it been a long day? Do you need your beauty rest?" This lighthearted teasing right now honestly just feeling like insulting. Most of the time it would make you laugh and loosen up. Right now, it doesn't seem to be working.

"Lando," you sigh, shaking your head and stepping away. You stare into his eyes for a few seconds, before turning and slipping into bed. Not facing him.

You feel him standing across the room in silence for a few seconds, before he sighs and murmurs, "M'kay, Y/n. Well, sleep tight. Love you."

You sigh. Ever since the relationship started, he used that word. Love. The first time he said he loved you was on your first date. So because of that, sometimes you wonder when he means it, and when they're just sweet words he uses to try to make you feel better.

Right now, you're not sure which it is.

You sigh, knowing that you have to pretend to be going to sleep, despite the raging of your thoughts that's keeping your body from slumber.

You wake up in the middle of the night, and you feel Lando's arms around you and his body against your back. He just doesn't understand. You sigh again. Even when you turn away from him, he just clings on from behind. He's fast asleep- you can tell by his soft, deep breath on your neck. All cuddled in. With not a care in the world. You sigh again, pressing your cheek against the pillow, clamping your eyes shut tightly, wishing the pain would go away. Wishing you could be happy with Lando's podium. Wishing you could be sleeping just as contently as him.

Your thoughts rage again. It's so strange. The world, so peaceful, but your head, in turmoil. But the sounds outside of your head- Lando's breathing, the heating vent, cars going by outside... You imagine all the happy people. Partying... Whatever they do. You forget.

You suppose there have got to be other people laying awake right now, too, though. Maybe other people with their partner sleeping next to them, but not sleeping next to their partner. You swallow.

Lando, I need you. I need you to help me. Why won't you help me?

"Are you feeling better?" Lando asks as soon as your eyes are fluttering awake the next morning.

You sigh, turning to face him. Him and his beautiful shining eyes in the morning light. "No, I'm not..." you breathe, deciding now that the night is over, it's okay to talk with him now, explain your distress, and be honest. "I'm still not feeling great. Last-"

But he interrupts you.

"Oh, Y/n, then I want to make you feel great..." he says it in a soft, seductive voice that makes you feel just a little sick. He strokes your cheek, before leaning in and slowly caressing your neck with his tongue.

But suddenly, an indescribable rage fills up in you, pushing out the pleasure that was sneaking in, and you push him away. You throw off the white sheets and quickly slip on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from your open suitcase on the floor. Lando is about to say something, but you grab the closest thing to your hand- the television remote- and throw it at him as hard as you can. It's on target, but because of his cursed reflexes he dodges it.

"Y/n-"

But it's your turn to interrupt him. "Lando, stop!" you practically scream, tears starting to fill your eyes. "You don't even care! You don't care! You just want to enjoy my body and celebrate all in the name of 'comforting me'! You're not even asking what the f*cking problem is! You're terrible! Terrible! You're a terrible boyfriend!" Now the tears are coming down in steady streams, and words that you don't even mean- venom- escapes from your mouth:

"Lando, I hate you!"

He looks shocked, and slips out of the bed, holding a hand out to you. He takes a step closer, but you flip him, slip on your slides, and leave the hotel room, slamming the door as hard as you can behind you.

You run away from him, crying the whole time. You go to the completely different side of Singapore. You find a spot to sit and cry, burying your wet eyes in your arms. Soon enough, you call your mother with shaky fingers. She picks up after three rings, saying softly, "Hey, Y/n..."

"Hi, Mum..." you trail off. "So... I'll head back to L- London... As soon as I can..." You're sure that your mother can tell by your voice that you've been crying. Ugly crying. She just sounds tired. Empty. That's kind of how you feel.

"Oh, sweetie," she says softly. "Thank you... I appreciate it... So, so much..."

"I know, Mum," you sigh deeply.

"I forgot to ask this last night just from the shock of it all but... On a slightly brighter note, Lando got second place, right?"

This comment makes you feel mixed. Good because your mother loves you and Lando enough to still look up the results of the Singapore Grand Prix after all the terrible tragedy that was just dropped on their family last night, especially since she doesn't even like Formula One. But anger at the mention of Lando himself.

You almost forget to respond. "Oh, right, yeah. He did... He's... happy about that. U-hm, so yeah, we'll leave Singapore as soon as possible and get back to London... And... yeah. We can deal with... everything."

"Yes..." your mother sniffs. "Right. Thank you... I should let you go now... Bye, I love you..."

"I love you too, Mum," you murmur, and then she hangs up. Your phone goes back to your contacts, and your eyes rest upon your brother's contacts. A slight desire to see what your last text conversation was raises up in you, but you fight it, shaking your head. You can't. You feel your eyes sprout tears again. And then your eyes linger on Lando's contact. He's sent messages to you, but you've ignored them. He tried calling once, but maybe didn't try again because he figured it was a long cause.

I need you, Lando. I'm broken. Your eyes linger again on your brother's contact. He's gone. How can he be gone that fast? You swallow, your world spinning around you, as if at any moment it will all just crumble down. Lando, I need to feel your strong arms. I need you. I need to tell you. Please. I need to feel your arms, because I'll never feel his arms around me ever again... You let out a soft sob, pulling at your tangled hair, shaking your head. Your whole body is shaking. Lando, I need you. So why don't you care? Why?

Why are you so selfish?

You're not sure how much time passes. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Either way, it's too much to be basking in this agony...

Suddenly, your phone rings.

You're relieved to see it's not Lando, but instead it's...

Oscar?

You only got his number because you needed to text him about something a couple months ago- you honestly don't even remember what it was, it was so unimportant. You have a policy generally of not texting other guys, since you're in a relationship. But in confusion, you answer it, and speak softly, not wanting it to sound like you've been crying. "Oscar?"

"Y/n," he says.

"What's up?"

"Where are you? W-"

"Did Lando tell you to call me?"

He sighs, and after a few seconds of hesitation, says, "Listen, Y/n. Lando's worried sick. He's practically pulling out his hair. If you'd've heard all the stuff he's rambling about..."

"What's he rambling about?"

"He's sorry, he didn't know, he needs you back. You know. He's nervous. He's getting way too nervous, though, talking about you breaking up. He still hasn't told me what happened, though."

"So he told you to call me?"

"No. I called you because I and everyone else is sick of Lando's stressing. So if you would kindly come back and comfort your boyfr-"

You know there's a teasing aspect in Oscar's voice, and you know it's just because he doesn't understand, but you still feel anger raise up within you because of it. "He should be the one comforting me!" you snap, your voice cracking.

There's a few seconds of silence, before Oscar says much gentler and softer, "Are you okay, Y/n?"

"No, I'm not okay! And Lando doesn't f*cking care, either!" Deep down, you know you shouldn't talk to Oscar like this, considering you don't even know each other that well, but it just feels like you can't hold your painful words back.

"Uh... One moment, please..." You wait a few seconds in confusion, before Oscar says, "Lando wants to talk to you."

"Oscar n-"

"Y/n," Lando's voice says over the phone.

Just the sound of him saying your name like that hits you in the heart like an arrow and causes you to start to bleed.

Just the sound of his voice saying your name.

"Lando..." you say, not even sure what to feel.

"Y/n, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just please come back. Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe?"

You hesitate. "I'm just sitting on a street corner..."

"Y/n, it's been hours!" he exclaims.

"Really?" you ask, genuinely numb and unaware.

"Yes! Please, come back to the hotel! I'm here waiting for you... We just... We need to talk. Obviously, we need to talk."

You swallow, a pit rising in your stomach. Your voice cracks as you say, "Lando, you..."

"I what?" he asks softly.

"Nothing..."

"Are you okay? Would you rather me come and get you?"

"No... I'll just come back to the hotel myself... And tell Oscar thank you."

"For what?"

"I don't know..." you shake your head, standing up. "Just tell him thank you."

"O... Okay. Um, well, see you soon, pumpkin. Bye."

"Bye, I..." Your voice trails off. You're so used to finishing that sentence in a certain way, but now...?

But now Lando finishes it for you. "...love you." And he hangs up.

You run to the bus stop.

The moment Lando sees you, he runs to you and envelopes you in a tight hug. You bury your face in his soft shoulder, and can no longer keep yourself from bursting into tears.

"Y/n, Y/n..." he breathes, stroking your hair. He leads you into the building and you step into the family bathroom for a little bit of privacy.

Quickly, you pull yourself together, taking a step back from him, looking up into his eyes. He looks back at you, and the twos words come from his lips: "I'm sorry."

You swallow. "For what?"

"I don't know what's wrong, but clearly it's worse than I thought... I was just so happy, and I figured if I could just make you feel better... But I went about it in the whole wrong way... I... I'm sorry, Y/n." He gently takes both your hands.

"Lando, I'm sorry, too..." you sigh. "Something... something terrible happened, and I just couldn't control my emotions, so I screamed at you and said... I said things that aren't even true. Lando, I... I don't hate you. I love you."

He seems slightly relieved, and gently rubs his thumb over your knuckles. "Why haven't you told me what's wrong?"

"Last night, I didn't want to, because I didn't want to ruin your moment of getting P2. Then this morning when I was about to tell you, you wouldn't let me..."

"Y/n," he breathes. "I know and I'm... I'm so sorry. I'll try harder. I'm so, so sorry. Can you... Can you tell me what's wrong now? I'm ready to comfort you now. I'm ready to quit being selfish now."

You look into his eyes for a few moment, before looking down, wiping the tears at your eyes before they even come. A part of you always wonders which of his words are fabricated and which ones are from the heart. "Last night, I left because my mother was speaking with me about something very serious on the phone..."

He looks at you with concerned eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak, only understanding now how serious this is.

You hesitate, before uttering, "Last night my older brother passed away."

Lando looks stricken, with wide, shocked eyes. His hands in yours start to tremble. It's like he's paralyzed.

Kind of like how you felt last night. In total shock.

Lando knew your brother. Not well, but he had met him. Your brother had teased him about McLaren, because he was just about the biggest RedBull fan around. He had teased him and treated him like a younger brother. And not only that, but you've talked about your brother a lot. Different, funny things he's always done, or a foolish story about him that you knew would make Lando laugh. Just nice things. You never spoke bad about your brother. But you spoke about him a lot.

Because you loved him.

It's terrible to think that now you're going to be speaking about him with 'was' and 'did' instead of 'is' and 'does'.

And then, Lando hugs you. It's warm. After a few moments, he slips his hands down under your thighs and picks you up. And he just holds you. Your tears are coming back, but you let them come.

"Now we have to plan the funeral and it's going to be so hard... Lando, I can't do this, but my mother needs help... As soon as we get back to London, I'm going to see her," you breathe, clinging to him.

He nods. "Would you like me to come with you, or would you prefer to go to see her alone?"

You shrug, shaking. "I don't know, Lando... Just... Just hold me..." You're holding the back of his shirt so tight. "You're all I need right now."

He kisses your cheek very gently, and does just that. But then he starts whispering. He whispers about random things, like the picnic we had the other day, or about how your favorite football team is doing. It's like he's reminding you- no matter what, the world is still spinning, and somehow, we're both still living humans who are going to be alright. "Y/n, I'm going to do everything for you, okay? Everything you need. I'm going to be there and help you when you need it. Because we're here for each other. We always will be. It's going to be okay, alright? I know it feels like your world is falling apart right now, but I've got you, and it's going to be okay in the end. Okay? Because I love you too much, and I'm going to help you through this."

I sniff. "Why couldn't you be like this right off the bat...?" I murmur.

"Be like what?" he asks in concern.

You sigh. "Why couldn't you comfort me like this right off the bat."

"Y/n, I'm sorry... I didn't know-"

"I didn't know you were able of comforting! I just thought it was something you couldn't do or something!"

You can see Lando swallow. "Y/n, I'm sorry. I didn't know... I'll try harder to-"

"It's fine," you breathe, shaking your head, although you're not sure how fine it really is, before leaning your head on his shoulder, sniffling.

He sighs big, obviously burdened. He kisses your cheek again. "Are you ready to head, then...? Or do you need more time...?"

"We have a long flight," you sigh. "We should get going now..."

Lando gently, slowly, slips you back down onto your feet. He strokes your hair, his face close to yours, looking into your eyes. "I'm here for you, okay?"

You nod, mopping up your wet, salty eyes with a paper towel. It's your turn to kiss his cheek now. "I understand, Lando. And I... forgive you. And I love that you forgive me, too."

"Of course I do," he says, exiting the bathroom, grabbing your hand. He puts his hood up and his sunglasses on. "I love you, pumpkin, okay?"

You sigh shakily, giving his hand a squeeze. "I... I love you, too... my sunshine."

954 notes · View notes