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originalaccountname · 1 year

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I made some funny comics a little while ago about the potential effects of Fukuzawa's ability on Chuuya's, and how it perhaps could make it revert to a pre-Arahabaki state.

I realized later that some of you lack the context for where that came from, and that I might be creating confusion, so this is a (hopefully) comprehensive walkthrough of things we learned in Storm Bringer that lead to this conclusion.

tldr; The lab created "Arahabaki" by manipulating an ability into a destructive force. That ability existed before the lab, and the nature of that ability is heavily implied to be the power to enhance other abilities through touch.

Explanation and sources below (so you can judge yourself) ⬇

- spoiler warning for Storm Bringer, hopefully written in a way that you'd understand even if you haven't read it yet -

In Storm Bringer, Chuuya meets the scientist that was responsible for Project Arahabaki, Professor N.

Project Arahabaki, N explains, was the Japanese government's secret project to create an ability singularity they could have control over and freely use as a weapon.

What are singularities? Singularities are what happens when abilities clash in specific ways and create a new, unforeseen reaction. The easiest way to create a singularity is to pit two contradictory abilities against each other to create a paradox; examples included the ability to always deceive and the ability to always perceive the truth, and to have two ability users who can see into the future (*coughs* Oda and Gide) try to one-up each other. The result is usually much more powerful than the original abilities on their own.

Some singularities are said to have been explained as god-like interventions, because of their often destructive nature. This is what inspired the name "Arahabaki", after the mythical being (here's a post of the subject and I'll it link at the end too) These events are described as very rare.

Like mentioned in that passage, there is another way to create a singularity: to have a single ability user use their ability in a way that contradicts itself. This is what the lab was trying to do.

For that explanation, Professor N gives an example. He first shows a video of a child, whose face is hidden from the camera, holding a coin (described as having a certain melancoly to it), with a moon and a fox engraved on it. The video is from one of the lab's tests. The child is made to recite some activation lines, which are directly taken from one of Nakahara Chuuya's poems, Upon the Tainted Sorrow (which does mentions a fox, as a fun fact).

The coin then starts glowing, the glow turns into a black mass, and from there the experimentation goes bad: the coin starts attracting things and absorbing them, the space gets distorted, the child's vitals flatline, panic spreads and someone calls for an emergency stop, we hear a scream. The video ends.

N explains that the child in the video had the ability to enhance the ability of others. That child then used that ability on themselves, effectively enhancing the enhancement which enhanced the enhancing, in an infinite loop. That loop created a lot of energy; the surplus of energy was so intense its mass deformed space (physics!) and it created a black hole.

Here's where it gets tricky: N claims that child died during that accident, that the child was absorbed by the black hole created by their ability. We never actually learn their identity.

But N is a lying liar who lies; he said about one and a half truths the entire book. The only reason he was telling them any of this was that he thought he'd get rid of all of them within the next few minutes. His objective was always to regain control over Chuuya, his pet project.

Plus, during the epilogue, we learn that Chuuya was assumed to have died during the war. That's what his parents think. That's what is officially recorded.

Furthermore.

Project Arahabaki was based off French research papers; someone else had done this kind of experimentation before, and their result was Verlaine.

Verlaine's gravity-manipulation is a singularity. Better yet: Verlaine also has a Corruption state, named Brutalization. Their abilities are the same, because the lab copied the techniques that were used to create Verlaine when they worked on Chuuya.

Here's a passage of Dazai nullifying Corruption, at the very end of SB:

"The self-contradicting skill, which was supporting the energy of a singularity". This passage confirms that the source of Chuuya's ability is, in fact, like the child's and Verlaine's, if any doubts remained. "[...] weakening the singularity's output. It wasn't long before it returned to its normal state, and the Gate closed." The Gate refers to releasing Arahabaki, it's basically a limiter, just like the passage above when talking about Brutalization. When Dazai nullifies Corruption, he gives that limiter the opportunity to come back and seal Chuuya's power away again, but does not stop the singularity, only allows it to go back to its stable state.

From all that, we can say that Chuuya's ability wasn't always gravity manipulation, but that it was another, unconfirmed ability that was exploited in such a way that it became a permanent, stable singularity that allowed him to have control over gravity.

Bullet point recap:

Chuuya's gravity manipulation comes from a singularity, like Verlaine, like that child;

You need a self-referencing/self-contradicting ability to create that singularity;

Such an event is rare;

There is a substantial amount of time spent describing a "random" child that was experimented on during the war;

That child created a black hole through their singularity;

That singularity was activated using a passage from Nakahara Chuuya's poems, while holding a coin that references it;

That child supposedly died;

Chuuya's parents think he died during the war;

N is a pathological liar with an agenda.

So no, there is no "confirmation" that Chuuya's ability was ability enhancement before the lab took him. But an author writes a story with an intent, so I am asking what Asagiri's intent was when writing all this, and if perhaps we weren't indirectly given the answer already.

What is Arahabaki (Fifteen and Storm Bringer lore, with too many citations)

My own perceived timeline of the true events behind Storm Bringer (was originally gonna be part of this part, also with too many citations)

#the dazai parallels are a nice little bonus because we KNOW chuuya as a character was designed to match dazai #he was most literally designed to go with him and contrast him #but that's meta analysis so i didn't include it in the actual post with the rest of the textual evidence #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd theory #bsd meta #bsd chuuya #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd storm bringer #bsd stormbringer #stormbringer #storm bringer #i'll reblog this to my art blog tomorrow so the people most concerned have more of a chance of seeing it #apparently i talk sometimes

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stop-talking · 2 months

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You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 4)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.4k words + 300 word epilogue

Tags: 18+, mike x fem reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, fluff, comfort, happy ending.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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Mike sits at his kitchen table, trying not to nod off into his cereal. Today is a quiet day. A lazy day. His one day off.

Except, not really. There's always work to be done. He just has to figure out what today's work would be. He's caught up on laundry and dishes, the house isn't too much of a mess... Hm. Maybe he should finally fix the dripping pipe in the bathroom. Or the living room window that's been stuck for years. Or one of the million other things wrong with his house.

He sighs and goes to take a bite of his cereal, only to realize he forgot the milk. Damn it. When he opens the fridge, he stands face to face with a little blue dolphin stuffed animal. Right... Abby's still testing him. He leaves it alone, she'll see it when she gets home from school and assume her "spell" still works. Pfft.

Mike nearly drops the milk mid-pour when he hears the phone ring.

*click.*

"Hello?" He mumbles groggily, a little annoyed to have his morning brooding interrupted.

"Hey, Mike? You free at all today?"

He immediately perks up at the sound of your voice. It's been two days since he last saw you, and he honestly wasn't sure if you'd ever speak to him again.

"Yeah, uh... It's my day off, actually."

"Good. I'm using that 2nd favor."

Mike's heart races. If this favor is going to be anything like the last one, he was definitely up for it.

"Oh? Missing me already, sweetheart?"

"As if. I need you to build me a shelf."

A shelf? Well, that was unexpected. Hm. Better than nothing.

"What, like build it from scratch? Are you expecting me to buy the boards, or-"

"No. I have all the pieces. It just needs to be assembled."

"You can't assemble a shelf?" Mike scoffs, but secretly he's pleased. Sounds like you just want an excuse to have him over.

"Mike. You know I'm no good with tools."

No, he didn't know that actually. Liar. You definitely just wanted to see him again. God, he felt giddy.

"Mhm. Sure."

"Just get your ass over here, Schmidt."

"Woah, what's with the attitude, Princess? I'm here to help." He can't help but let some smugness seep into his tone. Okay, more than some. He's a cocky bastard and he knows it.

"I've been working on the damn thing all morning. Almost three hours now. Not in the mood, jackass."

Shit. You sounded sincere. And really pissed off. Then again, what kind of a shelf took three hours to assemble? The fuck was it? A jigsaw puzzle?

"Alright, alright. I'll be over soon. See ya."

Mike slumps against the counter as you grumble something incoherent and slam the phone down. Damn, what is he getting himself into this time?

Only one way to find out.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike finally arrives at your apartment half an hour later, he feels a bit silly. He put on a nice shirt and trousers to come see you, and here you are in sweats and a baggy t-shirt. Figures.

"Call for a handyman?" He greets you with a teasing smile, holding up his old rusted toolbox as he makes his way inside.

"Pfft. Someone's happy to see me."

Mike can't really say anything to that, so he doesn't try. He is happy to see you, even if you have attitude problems and dress like a bum.

"So, I bought the damn thing from a friend-of-a-friend, who got it at a garage sale. I swear, it has to be missing some parts or something, because-"

He nods as you rattle on and lead him to your bedroom, but he's only half-listening. He looks around your apartment, taking it all in. It's been at least six months since he last came over, probably longer. It doesn't look to have changed much. He likes your apartment. It's cozy.

"Anyways... can you fix it?"

Mike pauses in the doorway of your bedroom as you give him a sheepish smile and gesture to something in the corner.

Holy hell. Is that supposed to be a shelf? Mike can't help but think that the hideous agglomeration of boards and screws would only be good as a fire-starter. It looks more like a pile than a shelf.

"Uhh..." He bites his cheek, desperately trying not to burst into a fit of laughter. Maybe you really weren't lying about the whole "no good with tools" thing.

He finally loses it when you groan and flop down on the bed, hiding your face in a pillow.

"Ughh... Laugh at me, whatever. Just fix it."

"Jesus Christ. This has to be the sorriest excuse for a shelf I've ever seen. Sure you don't want me to haul it to the junkyard instead?" He snorts, sitting down on the edge of your bed and looking with disdain at the half-assedly assembled shelf.

Mike immediately shuts his mouth when you glare at him. Oops, right, you're in a bad mood.

"I mean, uh... you tried?" He laughs, shaking his head in amusement. He still can't believe you're actually this inept when it comes to assembly.

"Get to work, Schmidt."

Mike yelps as you kick him off the bed, but doesn't bother retaliating. He just grabs his toolbox and sits on the floor, examining the so-called "shelf".

"Well, the first step is going to be un-doing everything you did."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You lie on your stomach in bed, chin propped up on your hands as you kick your feet in the air and ponder the sight before you. Mike's back is turned to you as he quietly works away taking apart the monstrosity you assembled.

"How long is this gonna take?"

"Well, If it wasn't so..." He trails off, glancing at you and choosing his words more carefully.

"...sturdy, it'd be a lot easier to take apart."

"Hm? What do you mean?"

He gives you an incredulous look and gestures to a series of nails in a corner where two boards meet. It does look pretty ridiculous, the sharp ends pointing out the other side. Not your best work.

"You put nails in it, sweetheart." He scoffs.

"How else was I supposed to keep it together?" You give him your best pout, and gloat internally when he has to turn away. He's absolutely infatuated with you. Even the back of his neck is pink.

"It comes with screws for a reason, ya know."

"There's a difference?"

He turns and gives you a flat look, and you laugh. Damn. You can play dumb with him, but maybe not that dumb. Noted.

Still, it's a little boring just laying there and watching him grumble and pull nails from wood. You can't really mess with him too much either, because you really do what him to fix the stupid shelf.

"You want something to drink?" You finally break the silence, under the guise of trying to be a good hostess.

"Pfft. Need some whiskey to deal with this bullshit." He snorts, pulling yet another nail free. He'd almost gotten one board off. One. This was gonna take a while.

"I was thinking more along the lines of soda or tea."

"Jack and Coke, then?"

"Mike. It's hardly past noon."

"So?" He scoffs. "For me, this is like... evening, or something. I dunno. Sleep schedule's fucked with this new job."

That answer makes you pause.

"What is it you do now, anyway?"

He groans, finally prying one of the boards free of the clusterfuck.

"Night guard. Told you already, remember?" He tries to shrug the question off, but you're nosy.

"Where?"

"Uhh... Freddy Fazbear's Pizza..."

"Speak up."

"Ugh. It's this stupid rundown hellhole pizzeria. Honestly dunno why anyone would wanna break in there anyways. It's a dump."

"What kind of a pizzeria needs a night guard? Or any guard?"

"The haunted kind."

You decide not to ask about that, simply shaking your head as you walk to the door. He's truly a loon. A loveable loon, unfortunately.

"Just tell me what you want to drink, Mikey, or I'm getting you water."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Mike sits on the floor of your bedroom sipping his glass of water and wondering how he got here. If you'd told him a week ago he'd be building his witch of an ex-girlfriend a shelf, he would've gagged. Now...? Well, he just wants to go join you on that bed.

"So are you really just gonna sit there and look pretty while I do all the work?"

"Aww, you think I'm pretty, Mikey? You smile, lying on the bed with your feet kicking in the air, giving him a look of pure adoration. It wasn't hard to do.

"Pretty annoying, yeah." He turns away with a scoff, returning to his work. If only he could get this stupid nail untangled from the other two... why would anyone use this many nails?

"You know, I think I liked you better gagged."

"Oh I know, sweetheart. I could see it in those evil eyes of yours." He can't help but smirk a bit at the comment, though. Sometimes he liked himself better gagged, too. He shakes the thought away and keeps working.

"Why can't you just get on hands and knees and beg me to take you back already?" You huff dramatically and roll over onto your back, letting your head fall over the edge of the bed. He looks silly from this angle. Upside-down.

That question nearly makes Mike drop his tools. Were you serious?

"Why? So you can laugh me off again?"

Ouch. It was true you'd turned him down the last time he'd tried it, but that was six months ago.

"Maybe if you used those big brown puppy eyes of yours on me."

That only earns you a grunt, so you verbally prod him again.

"Besides, why can't I do both? Laugh at you, then take you back? Sounds fun."

"Pfft. Fun? To toy with me? You'd probably break up with me all over again just for shits and giggles." He responds bitterly, still refusing to turn around.

"Mikey. Look at me." You roll back over onto your stomach and rest your chin in your hands as he slowly meets your gaze.

"I didn't break up with you just for shits and giggles. You know that. I'm not letting you sit there and wallow in self-pity."

Mike goes stiff from your words, but your tone is soft, and your eyes even softer. You're still giving him that adoring look. Damn it.

"Well maybe I'd rather wallow in self pity than admit you were right all along."

"You've had six months to wallow. Grow a pair and come kiss me."

He can't say no to that. Not when you look at him that way. He shuffles over, kneeling by the side of your bed. On his knees for you again, damnit.

You kiss him. It's different from the lustful, sloppy kiss you shared last time. This one makes you feel warm. You kiss him again. And again.

Mike really doesn't want this to end, but the knot in his stomach forces him to pull away. He has to ask.

"Why? Why are you doing this, I mean? Do you really want... to take me back?" He sputters, looking down at the floor.

"I'm not completely sure yet." You answer honestly, shifting and lying back on the bed.

Damn. That's not the answer he wanted to hear.

"Are you-"

"Come here."

When you pat the spot next to you in bed, Mike melts. He's a wreck right now, but still wants nothing more than to be with you, in every sense of the word. He silently complies.

"It's not about right and wrong, you know. As much as I love being told I'm right." You give him a soft smile, breaking the silence and placing your hand on top of his as you both lie on your sides.

Damn it. He'd done this with you before, this and so much more. Why was such a small touch turning him to goo?

"What isn't?"

"The breakup. It's about growing as a person. As people. Both of us." You lace your fingers with his, and can't help but laugh as his face reaches a level of pink you've never seen before.

"And what exactly am I supposed to be growing out of?"

"Pfft. I don't know, the emotional unavailability? The way you never made time for me? Constant irritability?" You start to dramatically list off his flaws, using your free hand to count on your fingers.

"Okay, okay. I get it." He huffs, and grabs your hand before you can make fun of him more. Instead, he guides it to his side, pulling you in a little closer.

"And you're miss perfect?"

"No. 'Course not. I have flaws too." You give him a sly smile, and start listing your own "faults".

"Too hot and sexy, too intelligent, too kind, amazing, sweet and caring..."

That's as far as you get before Mike scoots closer, burying his face in your neck and giving you a playful nip.

"Too arrogant." He adds with a laugh, wrapping his arm around you and letting himself melt further into you.

"My arrogance is one of my best qualities, thank you." You reply haughtily, sliding your hand up his back and into his hair.

Mike couldn't speak, even if he could somehow find the right words to say. Everything in this moment felt so right. His arm around you. Your fingers in his hair. He lets out a soft groan instead.

You aren't exactly eager to let go of this moment either, and just hold him for a few minutes. It feels nice to play with his soft brown curls.

"I'll do better. Please." He finally mumbles something to you, not bothering to move his face from where it's buried in the crook of your neck.

"Please what, Mikey?"

"Take me back."

He finally pulls back, just enough to give you a glimpse of those puppy eyes of his. Damn it. How could you even think of saying no?

"Yeah. Okay."

You both lean in for another round of soft passionate kisses, and Mike feels himself relax completely. His stomach unknots and his mind goes numb. For the first time in months, he feels completely safe.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"So does this mean you'll babysit for me again?"

"Go finish the shelf, Schmidt."

"Yes, Princess."

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♡ Epilogue ♡

Over the past few weeks, you and Mike had fallen into a sort of rhythm.

He never did end up finding a new babysitter, and besides, you're the only one who could ever get Abby to finish her dinner. You had to graduate her from daily witching lessons to weekly ones, though, convincing her she needed to study for the more advanced spells. Secretly, Mike was just losing track of which objects in his house were supposedly invisible. It was quite amusing to watch.

Mike's favorite part of the day was coming home to you already asleep in his bed, and waking you up with a kiss. He'd then either lie down in bed while you shower, or hop in there with you, depending on how you felt. Either way, he loved the view.

The conflicting schedules made things complicated, but you were able to work around it. Mike slept better with you holding him, and consequentially, was a lot more agreeable. He did his best to make more time for both you and Abby.

He even started to open up to you for once, letting you take on some of his burdens. This man sure had a lot of guilt. You were certain he hadn't yet told you everything, but he told you enough. At least you finally knew what the fucking NEBRASKA poster on the ceiling was for. Now you kind of felt bad for all the times you teased him about it the first time you dated.

As for the damn shelf... well, he finished it. It was still hideous, but it was functional. There were holes in it from the nails, and the wood had even started to splinter in a few spots. You couldn't bring yourself to get rid of it, though. Not after how much work you both put into it. Even if most of Mike's work revolved around un-doing yours.

It definitely wasn't a perfect relationship, not by far. But Mike never promised to be the perfect boyfriend. He just promised to be better.

And he was, bit by bit, every day. Better. ♡

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Author's note:

Thank you all for the love!! This was my first time writing a fanfic of any kind so I'm really happy so many of you enjoyed it. Feels good to bring the story to an end.

Feel free to send me a request, I'd love to write more fics about Mike. Or any other J-hutch character for that matter, Mikey is just my favorite <3

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boydepartment · 8 months

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MY ONLY LOVE- Jake Sim x Reader: Masterlist

description- y/n is an upcoming soloist in belift, she was previously in a disbanded group and the company decided to give her a chance. one day she runs into ex-boyfriend, jake sim, in the canteen. it was awkward and embarrassing and for weeks she tries to avoid him. you can’t avoid people forever though, especially when the company who gave her a chance tells her she has to fake date her ex boyfriend publicly.

genre- exes to lovers, fake dating, idol AU, romcom, fluff, comfort

warnings for the series- cursing, crude humor, a light touch of dark topics, light angst

includes- enhypen, y/n (obviously), bahiyyih (kep1er), hikaru (kep1er), p1 harmony, different idol cameos (i.e probably mark lee, bangchan, new jeans, etc)

PROFILES- kidnapped soul gang // we get paid to hang out

TEASER

chapter one… “he stuffed food in his pocket…”

chapter two… “hey siri play- the way things go…”

chapter three… “someone’s in trouble!”

chapter four… “i need a minute to think about this...”

chapter five... "follow up meeting!" (written)

chapter six... "boyfriend...?"

chapter seven… “hello doctor!?”

chapter eight… “remember when..?”

chapter nine… “oops(evil)!”

chapter ten… “you’re a dweeb.” (written)

chapter eleven… “tease a date with me.”

chapter twelve… “you just held hands?”

chapter thirteen… “LIARS ALL OF YOU 🫵”

chapter fourteen… “i called my mom!”

chapter fifteen… “you take walks too?” (written)

chapter sixteen… “i want to spend real time with you.”

chapter seventeen… “wait… you did what?”

chapter eighteen… “AYYE YOOOO!”

chapter nineteen… “were you serious?”

chapter twenty… “WE. are serious.”

EPILOGUE

taglist- open

@bloofairyfox @enluv @kaykay11sworld @tumblemumblr @haisuken @bluxjun @breadlover01 @ghostiiess @filmofhybe @yourmomscuntis2tighy @beomgyusonlywife @enhaz1 @surefornext @stellarpsh @peachyun02 @softiehee @miniature-tragedy @forevrglow @imsodazed @darlingz99 @isawritesss @xoxo-jeans @firstclassjaylee

comment, dm, or send an ask to be added 🩶

PLEASE only ask via comment to be on taglist on the masterlist chapter, or teaser

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 months

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✨ Look for the Light Masterlist ✨

Decided to do a mood board for my fic “Look for the Light” 🩵 It’s on A03 as well and has a playlist. This one is a slow burn, action packed, twisty ride. I hope you enjoy! Their relationship is absolutely canon 😍 This is my very first fic, and I put my entire heart and soul into it and have been working on it for six months. I am so over the moon with how well this story came out and am just so proud of it 🥰 This is forever my baby, and I cannot wait to continue my writing and more Joel fics! I hope you enjoy this beautiful work of art I have put together. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 😊

- Rating: Explicit (18+ only MDNI)

- Word Count: 187,394

- Summary: Aly finds herself trying to escape the Boston QZ. What Aly doesn’t know is Tess is pairing her up with Joel to go on a dangerous mission to find Tommy. Will Aly survive the brooding, moody Joel or will she find herself falling hard for him? (This fic is in both Aly and Joel’s POV)

- Tags: Angst, fluff, smut, slow burn, attempted sexual assault, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, unprotected p in v, gratuitous smut, joel x fem! reader, original character, protective Joel, anxiety, ptsd, sexual tension, mutual pining, eventual smut, younger female/older man, grumpy Joel, death, violence

This is me trying is so Joel coded, and I got a lot of inspiration in this story from this song 🩵

Chapter 1: Introductions

Chapter 2: Escaping

Chapter 3: Knife Practice

Chapter 4: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

Chapter 5: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 6: Panic Attacks and Blue Eyes

Chapter 7: What You Say Goes

Chapter 8: Thunderstorms and Heartbreak

Chapter 9: Safe, In My Arms

Chapter 10: Bow and Arrow Lessons

Chapter 11: Vacancy in a Cabin

Chapter 12: Taken

Chapter 13: David’s Territory

Chapter 14: What Town!

Chapter 15: Held Hostage

Chapter 16: Stay With Me

Chapter 17: Your Hand In Mine

Chapter 18: Slow Dancing In a Burning Room

Chapter 19: Back to the Lodge

Chapter 20: Taking David Down

Chapter 21: Burn It Down, Burn It All Down

Chapter 22: Liars

Chapter 23: Finding Ellie

Chapter 24: Welcome to Jackson

Chapter 25: Slow Hands

Chapter 26: You Are In Love

Chapter 27: Bubble Baths and Sweet Affections

Chapter 28: Guitar Lessons and Heart Strings

Chapter 29: Complications

Chapter 30: Protecting What’s Yours

Chapter 31: This Love

Epilogue : Proposal

Epilogue Pt II: Wedding Day

Soft - Extra little piece I wrote about Joel being in love

Trailer for my series 🥰

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str0l0gy · 1 year

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ONE VOICE, TWO PHONES

PAIRING! exboyfriend!riki nishimura x gn!reader

IN WHICH riki messed up the relationship he had with you because of a dumb mistake. you saw how he tried to talk to you everyday but you turned down each attempted. until one afternoon he managed to convince you to keep talking to him and you agreed by leaving voicemails for him. but only in one condition, he doesn’t get to respond.

GENRE! angst, high school au, fluff kinda

DISCLAIMERS! profanities, angsty asf

PROLOGUE: SERIOUSLY?!

DAY 1 — FIRST VOICEMAIL, KINDA NERVOUS.

DAY 2 — PRETTY FACED LIAR.

DAY 3 — YOU ALMOST KILLED ME, BRO.

DAY 4 — FAILING MATH?

DAY 5 — SNORES.

DAY 6 — THE STORY.

DAY 7 — TTYL? MAYBE?

EPILOGUE: STUPID RIKI

#enhypen #enhypen imagine #enhypen oneshot #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enha niki #riki nishimura #niki x reader #niki nishimura #angst #fluff

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rollingsins · 1 year

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three's a crowd, part four

summary: you hadn’t expected this. to fall in love. with not one girl, but two. you hadn’t expected to ruin their friendship. love triangle au.

pairing: emma myers x reader, jenna ortega x reader

warnings: language, a little angst, 18+ a tiny bit of smut.

word count: 4.9k

a/n: don't stone me pls.

You don’t sleep. Again.

Jenna’s kiss. Her lips. The way she’d tasted. The way she’d begged you to come home with her. Her Whiskey covered mouth. Her hands, wild, roaming as they gripped you.

You lay in bed, stare at the ceiling trying to will it out of your brain.

You think of Emma. Her smile. Her sweet, good-natured disposition. The way you’re going to break her heart in two when you tell her what you’ve done.

When the sun comes up, you’re on auto-pilot.

You pour yourself a coffee - a large one - and sit at your kitchen table, head in your hands.

You’re an asshole. If you’re sure of anything it’s that.

Through all your good intentions you just can’t shake Jenna out of your brain. It’s like she’s tattooed there, ever present. Morning, noon and night. But Emma’s there too. It’s like the two of them are tugging at you, trying to pull you in either direction. Like the devil and the angel. Only they’re both angels and you’re the asshole devil who can’t decide.

And you’re going to have to tell Emma at some point what you did last night. It will be all over your face, you know it.

Asshole? Definitely. Cheater? Sort of. Liar? No.

Not to her. You take another sip of your coffee hoping it will quell some of the nausea at the thought. It doesn’t.

And then you hear a knock at the door.

It’s Jenna. You look surprised to see her. You figured she do what she always does; drop a bomb on you and then try to pretend like it never happened the next day. You blink at her, hands fall limp at your side. You have no idea what to say.

“Hi.” She says. She looks rough, hungover, hair a little messy. Not a shred of makeup on her face. There are a pair of dark circles under her eyes, indicating her similar lack of sleep.

“Can I come in?”

She notices as you hesitate.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you again.”

Your stomach flips with something - maybe disappointment.

Asshole, you curse yourself.

You let her in, hover awkwardly in the hallway, door still half open. You’d offer her a drink - but you’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak. She looks beautiful - even like this, dressed in last night’s clothes. Her lips, red, still swollen from yours. Your eyes dip down to them before you can help yourself.

“I’m… sorry,” She says, unaware of the effect she’s having on you, “For my behavior last night. I was really drunk.”

It draws you out of your reverie. Last night. Walking Emma home. Kissing Jenna in the parking lot. Your stomach churns with guilt.

“We both were.” You say, chewing your lip. It feels unfair for her to take the blame, “You don’t have to apologize-”

“I do.” She says, “I wasn’t thinking. It always happens when I drink. I should stop doing that.”

She trails off. Avoids your eyes.

“Do you want to sit down?” You offer, but she shakes her head. Leans slightly more towards the open door like it’s her escape plan.

“No. This will be quick.”

Ouch.

It’s not hard to tell where she’s going with this. She’s about to break up your non-existent situationship again. You lean slightly against the wall, brace yourself for the blow.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” She says, “It’s too hard. For me.”

It’s hard for you too. It’s hard in the kind of way that makes you want to rip your own heart out of your chest.

But you don’t want it to end. There’s a part of you that thinks this is what love should feel like. Not the quiet pitter-patter of your heart when you’re with Emma. This painful tug of desire that only exists with you’re with Jenna. You bite your lip.

“What if I….” You swallow, let the thought surface, “What if I end things with Emma? What if I choose you?”

Something flickers in her eyes. Hope. Want. Sadness. It’s gone before you can properly gauge it. She shifts her weight between her feet.

“Emma is very special to me,” She says, slowly, “She’s sweet and loving and perfect.”

She is, there’s no doubt. You lean forward slightly, try to emphasize what you’re offering.

“But what if I pick you?” You press, insistent.

She breaks your gaze again. Inches slightly more towards the door. She does this, runs from you when it gets too real. When she’s sober and in her own head. Before she speaks you know what her answer is. A horrible, sinking feeling rushes through you as she looks at you. Final. Like she’s made up her mind.

“I don’t want you to do that,” Jenna says, “Please. This thing between us. I’ll get over it. But I’ll never get over breaking Emma’s heart.”

Your lip twitches. You’d try to fight it, fight for her but you know her well enough that it would never work. Emma is special. You understand why Jenna has to protect her.

“Tell her that we kissed. Tell her it was my fault. Tell her that you pulled away.” Jenna says, “And then tell her you pick her.”

“Lie to her, you mean?” You challenge.

Jenna blinks back at you.

“Do what you have to do,” She says after a moment, “She’s good, YN. She’ll treat you well. She’s better than-”

She doesn’t finish. Swallows, hard.

“What about what I want?” You ask, voice a little desperate. Like it’s your last chance to change her mind.

She looks at you piercingly, “You don’t know what you want.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Maybe isn’t good enough,” Jenna says, “I’m not going to ruin everything for maybe.”

Silence fills the room. You wish you could be sure. But one is never present without the other. Even now Emma niggles at the back of your mind.

I’m still here, she reminds you, you told me it was only me.

But then you look at Jenna.

“I’ll see you at work.” She says, turns slightly to leave.

“Don’t go,” You all but beg, you grab her hand. Electricity sparks through you. She feels it too, given the way her eyes drop down to your linked hands.

“YN-”

“We can talk it through. Talking helps. Maybe I’m not sure because we never talk. It’s all vague conversations and kissing and maybe talking will fix that.”

Her hand tightens around yours. Dark eyes flicking between your own. There’s that look again, that look that tells you you’re going to be doing anything but talking. This time, you don’t resist. You let her surge forward, take your head between her hands.

And then you’re kissing.

It’s even better than last night. You’re sober now, it’s not a blur of meshed hands and clashing teeth. She pushes you back until you’re pressed up against the wall of the hallway. She’s strong considering she’s so small. You grunt as your back hits the wall, the noise swallowed by her mouth. Her lips, insistent as they move against yours. Her tongue determined as it slips between your lips.

You tug at her hips, bring her closer.

Red flushes through your body. It hits the tips of your ears, the rounds of your cheeks.

Warm. Warm. Warm.

There’s so much desire in you you feel like you might combust. She feels it too. You can tell by the way she’s kissing you. Hot. Hard. Fast. Like if she slows down she’ll implode.

You feel her hands dip down to grab at your waist. You moan, suck at her bottom lip as her fingers brush the bare skin between your shirt and your jeans.

God, you want her. More than you’ve ever wanted anything before.

You’re one more kiss between pulling her into the bedroom and letting her have her way with you before you hear the press of shoes against the ground. And then a loud clatter as something hits the ground.

The noise jump-starts your system. You break apart, all swollen lips and hooded eyes.

There’s a pair of takeaway coffee cups on the ground, brown liquid spilling out into your welcome mat. Your gaze draws up to the owner.

It’s Emma.

Your heart catches in your throat. Her blue eyes are round, wide. A mix of confusion and hurt and betrayal.

Like she’s just caught you red-handed.

Your hands drop from Jenna’s waist quickly, like the touch is burning.

Jenna steps back, but your focus isn’t on her. You blink back at Emma, fumbling, mind whirling for some excuse. Some lie. It doesn't come quick enough.

“Sorry,” Emma says, finally. Her voice is shaky, her lips twitch, “Don’t let me interrupt.”

And then she turns on her heel and walks out.

Your heart thumps in your chest.

Dread, fear, guilt all flush through you at once. The emotions catch in your throat with a lump, making it hard to breathe. Your vision blurs, only slightly. And then your words catch up with your feet.

“Shit.” You say, detangling yourself completely from Jenna, “Shit, Emma - wait-”

You leave Jenna standing limp-handed in the hallway of your apartment, heart thudding as you run down through the apartment complex, trying to catch a flash of blonde hair.

Emma’s quick, quicker than you as she ducks down the staircase and to the parking lot, hurrying to her car. You run, no thought in your head but ‘fuck’.

When you finally catch her she’s climbing into the driver’s seat of her car.

“Emma, wait.” You’re out of breath as you catch up with her, grip the car door so she can’t close it. She looks up at you, glassy-eyed. Like she might cry. But not out of sadness. She looks mad, furious, as she stares back at you.

“Emma. It isn’t what it-”

It dies in your throat. It’s exactly what it looks like.

She takes your silence as confirmation. You’ve never seen her angry before. But now it terrifies you. It’s not a violent anger. It’s quiet. Bubbling under the surface. She grips the steering wheel, hard.

“It’s fine.” She says, voice low. There’s that quiet fury again, “You were confused. You made your choice. You could have told me you made your choice but it’s fine. I hope you’ll be happy together.”

She tries to pry the door closed but you hold it firm.

“I haven’t made any choice, please can you just get out of the car?” You beg, “It was just kissing. That’s all.”

“Just kissing?” She says, mouth agape. Her eyes are crazed, furious, “Just kissing?”

“I’m sorry. But we said - remember - we said we were non-exclusive-”

“You said. You said you wanted to be non-exclusive. Why? So you can have us both? Spend the night holding my hand and the mornings making out with her in the middle of the hallway?”

“It isn’t like that,” You say, “I promise, it just happened.”

“How many times?” She asks, voice cracking. She looks between your eyes searching, “How many times has it just happened?”

Your words die in your throat.

Say once you idiot, you think, Lie. Say Once.

“Twice.”

Realization dawns behind her eyes. You watch as the fury drains. Replaced with something else. Something worse.

She looks hurt.

“When?”

“I don’t-”

“When?”

Your grip on the door limpens.

“Last night. After I walked you home.”

Her lip twitches. She swallows, sticks her keys in the ignition. Your heartbeat is erratic, suddenly hyper-aware you’re doing this in a public parking lot. People are staring. Watching as you dig yourself further into your own grave.

After a moment of still silence, she speaks.

“I don't want to do this anymore.” Emma says. There’s no fight left in her voice, no fury. Just apathy, “We’re not together, or casual dating, or whatever it was. We’re not friends. We work together and that’s it. I don’t want to hang out with you, I don’t want to see you outside of shooting. We’re done. You can tell Jenna the same.”

Your heart twists, but not for yourself. This is exactly what Jenna had been trying to avoid. Exactly why she’s so hot and cold with you. Emma is her friend, her best friend. And you’ve ruined everything for the two of them.

“No,” You beg, “Fine. You don’t have to see me, but don’t punish Jenna because of something I-”

She scoffs, cuts you off before you can finish.

“I didn’t see a gun in your hand,” She says, “I didn’t see you holding it to her head. She had you against the wall. She knew we were dating. She knew we were something.”

The anger is back. She reaches out, tugs the car door from your hand.

“Have fun with your new girlfriend. See you at work.”

Jenna’s gone by the time you make it back to the apartment.

Your body thrums unpleasantly. You feel like you’ve just been hit by a truck. A combination of the liquor from last night, and the wild rollercoaster of feeling every possible emotion on the spectrum in the last fifteen minutes.

You try to call Jenna but she doesn’t respond. You consider leaving her a flood of text messages begging her to call you back but you know it’s no use.

Hot and cold, this is how Jenna operates.

Besides, if she answered you have to tell her what Emma had said. Break the news that you were both cut off.

You spend the rest of the day feeling sorry for yourself.

You have to work tomorrow, you were shooting with the entire cast. You wonder if news has spread by now. Wonder how awkward and uncomfortable it will be.

When it’s time to sleep, all you can think about is what you’ve done.

And you spend the rest of the night tossing and turning.

You look hellish the next morning.

The circles under your eyes are more like ovals now, sunken cheeks, lips cracked from the lack of water and sleep.

The makeup team does their best, you stew inside your trailer until it’s time to shoot.

Avoid Georgie and Joy’s curious eyes. Stay well away from Hunter, who looks as though he might dress you down in front of the entire crew. Emma’s not due in until later, maybe the quietest relief. And so you hover by the craft services table.

“Hey.” It’s Jenna. You blink back at her, a little surprised she’s approached you. She’d had her earphones on when you’d first arrived, avoiding your gaze by staring at her own hands. You put your plate down, stare back at her hesitantly.

“Hey. How are you?”

Her eyebrows knit. A stupid question, maybe. But you don’t know what else to say.

“Not good. Emma won’t see me.” Jenna says. She looks crestfallen. Heartbroken. You want to touch her, soothe the devastation off her face but you know you’ll only make it worse.

“I’m sorry,” You offer. It feels lame. You feel as though you’re teetering on a tightrope. The wrong sentence will send you flying off, “It’s my fault.”

“It’s my fault.” Jenna says. She fiddles with the cord of her earphones. You look over to the rest of the cast. They’re clustered together, seemingly haven’t noticed the two of you are talking. You swallow, bite your lip.

“Are we-” You hesitate, “Are we going to talk about the kiss?”

There’s a pause. The chatter of the crew as they set up the next scene. Jenna avoids your eyes.

“I have to fix this with Emma,” She says, “Do you understand? I have to fix it.”

It’s not hard to tell what she means.

She means she won’t see you anymore. No more late night chats by the pool. No more quiet confessions in the noise of a nightclub. No more longing gazes and stolen kisses in the parking lot.

Her fist is around your heart, squeezing until it’s in pieces.

“I understand.” You say, voice quiet. You don’t need her to say it aloud. You don’t want her to say it aloud. Somehow that will make it worse.

“See you around, YN.” She says. A sad smile on her face as she goes.

And then she leaves you with a half-filled plate and a lump in your throat.

Emma arrives a little later.

She ices Jenna out. Laughs with Joy and Hunter. Ignores you.

As expected.

You retreat into yourself. Sit by yourself at lunch, teetering on the edge of the tent-like setup trying to stay under the radar.

Only one more month, you think.

One more month of filming and you’d be gone. You’d never have to see any of these people again. You’d tell your agent to have them recast you for season three. Maybe quit acting all together if this is what every set would be like. Maybe you’d buy a piece of land in Colorado and live off it for the rest of your life.

Anything would be better than this.

Georgie finds you in your self-indulgent spiral a little later. Sits down next to you without a word.

Your shoulders tense.

“How are you doing?” He asks, not unkindly. You and Georgie hadn’t spoken much. You’d decided you disliked him when you thought Jenna had a crush on him, and then avoided him out of guilt for doing the former when you’d realized the truth.

And now, he’s going to be the one to tell you you’re an asshole to your face. It’s almost poetic.

“Jenna told me everything.” He says, “Sorry if that’s invasive or whatever.”

“It’s not.” You tell him. You chew your lip.

“They’ll get over it, both of them.” He says, taking a bite of his lunch, “Keep your head down and they’ll get over it.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” You ask, a little confused, “All I’ve done is mess them both around.”

He looks at you.

“Because I don’t think you did it on purpose.” He says, “Because I know what it’s like to be confused.”

He touches your shoulder, smiles slightly.

“You’ll be fine. Chin up.”

He stands, brushes the crumbs off his hands and offers one to you.

“Come on, let’s go film.”

You take it, let him help you up. Just as you’re about to follow him inside, he turns slightly.

“Oh. Almost forgot. You should probably avoid Hunter,” Georgie says, “He’s on the warpath.”

“Great.” You say. The sinking feeling is back. The list of people you had to avoid is getting long.

“Chin up.” Georgie reminds you with a slight smile, “He’s harmless, really.”

A week passes.

You fall into a monotonous rhythm.

Work. Sleep. Call your family. More work. More sleep.

You steer clear of Jenna. Give Emma so much space the director starts pulling you aside on it. It’s weird, having to film romantic scenes with Emma when you know how annoyed she is with you. She doesn’t speak to you between takes. Doesn’t speak to you at all, really. Not even a good morning.

It’s the least you deserve.

On Friday night, the night the cast usually all hangs out, you’re with Emma when Georgie invites you to his birthday party.

Your first thought is Emma. You look at her briefly. She’s staring at her phone but you can tell by the way her ears prick she’s listening.

“I don’t know, Georgie.”

“You should go.” Emma interjects, voice curt, not looking up from her phone, “I won’t be there. Not if she’s going to be there.”

She is Jenna. Where you’ve been punished with stony silence, Jenna has taken the brunt of the vitriol.

“She’s not.” Georgie informs her, “Jenna’s filming. You should come. You should both come. Come on. This is stupid. Can’t we all just get along for one night? It is my birthday, after all.”

Emma looks up at him. She blinks, then nods, only slightly.

“Fine.”

“So you’ll both come?” Georgie asks, lighting up slightly.

“I’ll give it a miss.” You say, “Emma should go.”

Then, she’s looking at you. Pensive stare on her face.

“Don’t miss it on my account.” She says, after a moment, “After all, we’re not anything to each other, right? Why should I care if you’re there?”

It stings slightly.

But Georgie is staring at you, waiting for an answer and you don’t want to disappoint him. He’s maybe the only friend you have left on this set.

“Okay.” You say, “I’ll see you tonight, Georgie.”

It’s only when you arrive at the party, bottle of Vodka in hand, you remember other people are going to be there.

Emma’s already drunk, you can tell by the way she’s commandeered the speaker, blasting out K-pop and dancing on the table.

Anxiety sparks hot in your stomach as Joy surveys you, lets you in without a word. And then Hunter rounds on you.

“I want a word with you,” He says, liquor on his breath as he tugs you by your elbow, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hunter,” Joy says, prying you away from him, “Not now. It’s Georgie’s party.”

“One pretty girl isn’t enough for you?” Hunter sneers, ignoring her, “You had to have them both?”

“Hunter. It’s none of our business.” Joy reminds him, shoots you a kind smile.

There’s nothing kind about the way Hunter looks at you.

“They’re friends, you know.” He says, “They were friends. Really good friends. But they don’t talk to each other much anymore, have you noticed?”

“Hunter.” Joy warns.

“I’m just saying.” He raises his hands, loosens his grip, “Okay, I’m done. You’re free to throw yourself at the rest of the cast. Have at it.”

“Sorry.” Joy says, a little awkward as he saunders away, almost crashing into the kitchen door, “He’s had a lot to drink.”

“It’s fine,” You say, “Least I deserve and all.”

Joy pauses, looks at you like there’s something more to say.

Georgie interrupts her before she can speak.

“You came!” He says, looking overjoyed, “Perfect! Let’s get you a drink!”

Four drinks in and you’re blitzed.

You buzz, this is the most fun you’ve had all week. Georgie sticks to your side like he knows you need a chaperone. Now that Hunter’s given you the talking to he so desperately wanted to give, he’s mellowed out. Joins Emma on the table to dance.

It’s fun. This is what you’d thought joining this cast would be like. People laughing. Smiling. Drinking. No confusion, lingering glances. Just a bunch of twenty-somethings being twenty-somethings.

You step out onto the balcony to get some fresh air after a few hours. Your body tingles pleasantly, the alcohol all but dissipates the slump of a mood you’ve been in for the last few days. You hear the sliding door open, and look behind you to see who’s come out.

It’s Emma. Suddenly the buzz lessens. Your heartbeat picks up. Anxiety rushing through you. But she doesn't look angry, or upset. She’s smiling.

“Hey.” She says.

“Hey.” You blink back at her.

She moves a little closer, looks out over the balcony. She smells good, like lavender, what must be her eighth drink in her hand. You’re not far behind her, the world spinning so deliciously as you stare back at her.

She lets the silence linger, lets you wonder. The quiet hum of the night contrasts to the mesh of people inside.

“I don’t think I’m angry anymore.” She says after a moment, voice soft.

“You’re not?”

“Not at you.” The implication registers. You swallow. Your brain is a little foggy, too much alcohol in your system. Suddenly, you realize she’s leaning on you slightly, in a similar state.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach at her touch.

“It’s pretty out here.” She says, worlds away.

She turns to you, a slight smile on her lips.

“You’re pretty out here.”

The world spins. You don’t know what’s happening. One minute she’s touching your arm and then next she’s leaning up, taking your lips in a soft kiss.

Your head spins. You almost drop your glass. Foggy, you kiss her back, entranced by her smell and her touch and the soft press of her lips on yours.

And then she’s pulling away, pupils blown.

“Want to get out of here?”

There’s not much talking.

You don’t want to talk. Don’t want to ruin whatever is happening by putting your foot in it.

You go back to her place, managing to slip out of the party without anyone noticing. She presses you against the wall, kisses you hard, then pulls you to her bedroom.

She presses you down against the mattress, hard.

The kisses aren’t soft anymore. All teeth and tongue and hot wanton desire. The drink still thrums through the both of you, it’s sloppy. She pulls you out of your clothes, then you hers.

You fuck, cum on her fingers, then her mouth.

It’s not sweet, it’s not romantic. It’s not Emma.

By the time it’s all over, you’re aching between your legs, and she’s brushed off all attempts to let you touch her. You’re too elated to care. You’re too drunk to care. All that matters is she’s here with you, she’s no longer icing you out. You don’t let yourself think too hard.

So you settle down at her side, stare at the ceiling as she lays down on the pillow next to you. Entwines your fingers.

“That was amazing.” You murmur, press a kiss to the back of her hand, “Are you going to let me do you?”

“Maybe later,” She murmurs. There’s something behind her eyes. Hesitance. Like she wants to tell you something.

You turn, brush her hair out of her eyes.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you.” She says. She bites her lip in that way she does when she’s nervous about something.

You frown. Mind running wild at the possibilities.

She’s found something else, maybe. Wanted to fuck you before telling you she’s gone forever. Your heart thuds. She doesn’t leave you waiting too long.

“I didn’t sleep with you because I wanted to sleep with you,” She says, chewing her lip.

You blink, a little confused.

Oh god, you think.

What was this, then? Why were you in her bed? Why had she invited you into her bed? Was this revenge? Payback for messing with her head?

You cross your arms a little self-conscious. She notices, touches your arm.

“I mean, I did want to sleep with you but that isn’t why I did it. I did it because I wanted to hurt her.”

“Oh.”

Her being Jenna, clearly. It makes you feel weird. A little sick. You knew it was too good to be truth. You knew she forgave you too quickly.

“Are you mad?”

Suddenly, despite the eight or nine drinks you’ve had, you feel completely sober.

“I don’t think I’m really in the position to be mad at you,” You say, trying to be careful with your words. You pull the sheet up over your body, trying to cover yourself. Mad isn’t the right word. You feel a little used, but maybe that’s how you deserve to feel.

“You’re right,” She agrees, settling back onto the pillow, “You’re not.”

SIlence fills the room. It feels awkward, all of a sudden. Jenna’s back on your mind. If Emma can forgive you, of all people, surely she could forgive Jenna.

“So now what?”

“Now? Nothing. We’re not dating, I told you-”

“Not with us,” You say, “With Jenna. She’s really upset that you won’t speak to her.”

Jenna’s name draws something out of her. Nothing good. Her face hardens. She withdraws from you slightly.

“What does she expect?” Emma says, voice a little harsh, “Would you forgive her?”

Probably not. Your unwavering hypocrisy is showing again.

“Blame me then.” You say, voice a little desperate, “Don’t throw away a friendship because of me. You both can go back to being best friends and I’ll go live under a bridge somewhere. Probably where I belong.”

“I don’t need friends who go around kissing the person I’m dating. Was dating.”

She lets it hang. You marinate in the silence, trying to find something to say on Jenna’s behalf. You know what it will look like if you push too hard.

“Besides,” She says, a little frosty, “Shooting is almost done. And I don’t want to be around when you two get together for real.”

“We’re not together-” You say, for what feels like the millionth time. Emma cuts you off before you can finish.

“But you will be. It’s inevitable. Like two freight-liners on the same track or something. They’ll collide eventually. Set everything on their path on fire.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Is it?” She asks, eyes piercing, “Because I already got burned.”

You fall back into silence. Unsure of what to say or do. She’s in a weird mood. So unlike Emma. Vindictive, almost. You don’t pretend like you don’t deserve it, but you hate that you’ve brought it out in her.

“It’s fine.” She says, after a long moment, “Like I said, I’m over it. We can keep seeing each other like this, if you want. No strings. No dating.”

You blink.

“Seriously? After everything?”

She nods, slowly. But there’s still something behind her pretty blue eyes. Hatred, almost. You can feel it radiating off her.

“But you tell Jenna to stay away from me. That’s the only condition. Alright?”

Instinctually you want to fight it. Want to tell her to forget you and forgive Jenna instead. But she’s made up her mind, you can see it in her eyes. The less you talk about Jenna the better.

And selfishly, you want to keep seeing Emma like this. Even if it’s just sex.

“Alright.”

next part

#three's a crowd #love triangle fic #fanfic #mine #jenna ortega #emma myers #jenna ortega x reader #emma myers x reader #jenna ortega x yn #emma myers x yn

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just-jordie-things · 6 months

Text

gojo satoru masterlist

guide: ✿ -> blurbs/hcs ❥ -> fics

❥ bedtime story 3k

(y/n) shares a bedtime story with little megumi

❥ gojo’s sweetheart 5.8k

roommate au + friends with secret feelings all in one

❥ i’ve got my mind on you 9.7k

whoever said drinking to forget works is a goddamn liar.

✿ his partner who totally exists

✿ amusement park day

✿ not so secret relationship (kiss prompt 50)

✿ not friends (kiss prompt 58)

✿ hiding from the bad guys (kiss prompt 17)

✿ untouchable (kiss prompt 59)

✿ indulge in me (kiss prompt 40)

✿ unsealed (kiss prompt 11+34)

✿ comfort (kiss prompt 2)

✿ know that we’ll still have each other (kiss prompt 2+22+44)

✿ teenage crush (kiss prompt 38)

✿ little piece of happily ever after (kiss prompt 1)

✿ tossing and turning (kiss prompts 33+53)

✿ dare ya (kiss prompt 21)

✿ can i get a kiss, and can you make it last forever? (kiss prompt 41+70)

✿ height difference kisses (kiss prompt 73)

✿ blanket hog (kiss prompt 62)

✿ sick day (kiss prompt 23)

☆ to build a home *series masterlist*

when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn’t tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn’t the hard part, it’s lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

to build a home… continued! (all fics tagged under the ☆ are in the tbah universe. they are listed in chronological order following the events of series)

☆ parent-teacher conference 3.3k

(y/n) gets called in for a parent-teacher conference due to megumi’s bad behavior. she finds out she’s not the only guardian listed in the fushiguro’s records.

☆ epilogue (for you, for me) 25.4k

just a handful of events that transpired after the conclusion of to build a home.

❥ kiss cam surprise 2.8k

when (y/n) kisses shoko during a kiss cam at a baseball game, satoru gets a little ~jealous~ this is half fluff half crack tbh lol

❥ national anthem 12.2k

you're a special grade? with no life experience? someone like you sure is lucky gojo satoru wants to take you under his wing and show you how to enjoy life. gojo satoru sure is lucky that someone like you teaches him how to love.

✿ a phenomenal driver

#masterlist #satoru masterlist #jordie's masterlist

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sughuru · 4 months

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red and blue fireworks

- gojo satoru x reader

Firework shows aren't as nice to look at now with him gone.

genre/warning: angst, chapter 236 spoiler, sad reader, sleep deprived writer, writer doesn't really keep up with the manga.

notes: its 11 PM here so I'm posting this early but I believe its already past new years in Japan and other countries so happy new year everyone! I'm sorry I haven't been posting, been busy + I have writers block :( anyways, I hope you enjoy this, english isn't my first language so pls do correct me if i'm wrong gramatically/spelling! P.S epilogue is my copium :')

home | masterlist

As the clock counted down within the city, the countdown began, crowds were already anticipating for it to come. Three..two…one. Fireworks painted the night sky in an array of colors, amidst the cheers and laughter, you stood there by the balcony, admiring the lit up sky alone. The new year has arrived and for the first time in what seems to be forever, you stood there with no one by your side.

You heard of the news, of course. Who hasn’t?

Gojo Satoru was killed on December 24 2018. He, who promised you he’ll always bounce back. He, who said he would win. He, who is now gone.

The city lights flickered, casting a gentle glow on your face as you whispered to the night, "You were supposed to bounce back, Satoru." The emptiness of the balcony echoed your sentiment, a silent tribute to the void left by a man who had vowed to change the Jujutsu world.

As the new year started, unfolding before you, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of sorrow and determination. As Tokyo continued to celebrate, you stared at the countdown and couldn't help be reminded of the void Satoru had left.

The news had left you with more questions than answers. How did someone so vibrant, so full of life, meet such an untimely end? The crowds below celebrated the birth of a new year, but your thoughts were consumed by the void left by Satoru's absence. It was as if the world had shifted, and you were left grappling with the aftershocks of a reality that felt inconceivable. One could argue that it's been a week, and it's time to move on.

But how could you? Satoru’s been with you for the longest time, be it as a romantic partner or just a friend. He was pretty much your other half.

The relentless tick of the clock seemed to mock the idea of moving on. Each moment felt like an eternity, a painful reminder of a reality without Satoru's infectious laughter, his reassuring presence.

"You're such a liar...you know I hate liars." you looked down sadly, a tear unconsciously slid down your left cheek.

Usually, Satoru would be there to wipe it off but not anymore. The silence that followed hung heavy in the air, echoing the void left by his absence. Your gaze lingered on the empty space where he used to stand, a ghostly reminder of the love they once shared.

"You promised you'd always be here," she whispered, as if expecting him to materialize and dispel the ache in her chest. But the room remained still, and the unspoken truth echoed louder than any words spoken. Satoru's absence was a void that no amount of promises or memories could fill.

So you cried.

And cried.

For what seemed like an eternity, you just cried on your balcony, crying for him to return to your arms. As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving you with a quiet emptiness.

The solitude was interrupted when you heard the door creak open, and for a split second, you had thought it was Satoru. Your heart skipped a beat, hope igniting in the darkness of your grief. The room seemed to hold its breath as you turned, half-expecting to see his familiar silhouette in the doorway, ready to dispel the emptiness that clung to the air.

But the fleeting hope was quickly extinguished as reality asserted itself. The figure that stood in the doorway was not Satoru; it was Shoko

"Hey, I heard... I just wanted to check on you," a soft voice broke the silence, and Shoko stood there, a concerned expression etched on her face. Their presence was a well-intentioned attempt to offer comfort, yet it only emphasized the stark contrast between the one you longed for and the one who stood before you.

You managed a weak smile, grateful for the support, but the ache persisted. The balcony, once a haven of shared moments, felt invaded by the intrusion of reality. You couldn't shake the lingering feeling that the universe was playing a cruel joke, teasing you with false promises of a return that would never be.

As Shoko offered a comforting embrace, you couldn't help but cast a longing glance over their shoulder, half-expecting to see Satoru materialize in the shadows.

Suddenly, your friend got a call. The soft melody of a ringing phone pierced the quietude of the room, interrupting the delicate balance that had formed between shared grief and silent companionship. They glanced at their phone, apologetically mouthing a quick "I'll be right back" before stepping outside, so once again, you were back alone on your balcony, gazing at the fireworks that have slowly died down.

A flash of blue and red fireworks appeared all of a sudden, and you widened your eyes. The unexpected burst of color and light painted the night sky, momentarily distracting you from the weight of your emotions. The red and blue reminded you of him. In that fleeting burst of fireworks, the colors seemed to echo the vivid hues of Satoru's presence in your life.

"Happy New Year, Satoru..." you whispered, the words carried away by the night breeze. With a final gaze at the night sky, you turned away from the balcony, carrying the memory of the red and blue fireworks and the whispered greeting to Satoru into the embrace of the new year.

____

Epilogue

Shoko returns, and as you close the balcony door, she looks at you with a mix of emotions. "Y/N," she calls out, "there's been recent updates on Gojo’s condition."

"What?"

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darlingmbappe · 1 year

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The Loneliest [3] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: While Kylian lets jealousy get the best of him on the pitch, you find that a tequila-filled night might be the answer to healing your broken heart... even if it's just for one night.

Warnings: Still just absolute angst. Missing your ex, Kylian being overprotective and jealous, Erling Haaland being a dick (i'm sorry it's purely for plot purposes), heavy drinking, self destructive behavior, cussing, bad cheese puns, let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

The breakup was bound to go public sooner or later. It was surprising you made it almost seven weeks before the media got the hold of the story. You both were spotted alone on separate sides of town too many times, you’d missed all of his matches, and E!News got a source that told them you live alone now. You have a strong hunch it’s your next door neighbor that’s always lingering by the stairs. She asks entirely too many questions.

While you were still with Kylian, your relationship was kept mostly private and you rarely found yourself in any headlines. But, lord knows, if there’s anything the press loves more than a celebrity engagement is a celebrity breakup. When you saw a graphic of your face and Kylians face photoshopped onto a broken heart on Snapchat, a clickbait title asking, “did our fav football couple call it quits?”, you knew you’d be getting some unwanted attention. Fuck you, Daily Mail. Mind your business.

You clearly remember agreeing with him to wait for you to text first, but he’s a damn liar. He didn’t let a day go by before sending you a sweet good morning text. For the past three weeks, he’s been sending little messages here and there. Nothing too risqué or anything that made you feel pressure… they were actually nice. You’d been pretty good at not responding, being occupied doing absolutely anything else to stop yourself from thinking about him.

Kylian knew this. Being with you for such a long time, he understood how you got when you didn’t want to think about something. When your family dog passed, you claimed you were fine over and over again, and he just had to let you hyper fixate on new random hobbies until your feelings eventually exploded out. You taught yourself claymation, knitting, refurbishing old creepy dolls… that was definitely his least favorite. He needed to make sure you didn’t force yourself to forget about him, he wanted to be there for you when you were ready. He’s patience is usually very thin, but he’s impressed with himself for staying (mostly) zen about you not responding. He had to. He couldn’t fuck this up again and come swinging with the ‘I love you’s that he types out and erases promptly.

It’s finally Friday and you just finished a late lunch at your favorite café near your office, just listening to music on your headphones and reading through a document you were about to send to your colleagues. Your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian and, of course, you clicked the notification. You always did.

He’d sent you a picture of a decorative board at some market with a cheese-remix of the song Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. You immediately laughed out loud, having seen this exact sign before with Kylian years ago. For weeks after, you two sang the lyrics randomly around the house, in the car, pretty much anywhere until all of your friends were begging for you two to just shut the fuck up.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dissa-brie, I’ve travelled the world and the feta cheese, everybody’s lookin’ for stilton.

Your fingers began to respond before you even had a chance to really think about it.

(Y/N): Not this shit again

Kylian smiled widely upon seeing that you sent something back, typing back in record speeds.

Kylian: I think it’s…….. grate

You actually smiled at his horrible pun, twirling your hair against your own will.

(Y/N): very cheesy

Kylian was so quick to look up more cheese puns, not wanting to let his roll come to an end. Any communication, even about cheese, worked for him.

Kylian: it’s very gouda to hear from you again :)

“Oh, man.” You mumbled to yourself, noticing how your heart rate increased with just a couple of his really really bad jokes.

God, you missed him so much.

You stood up, leaving the conversation there, gathering your things and turning up the music. Yet, the whole walk back it was impossible to focus on whatever was playing in your ears because of the louder song playing inside your head. Sweet dreams are made of cheese…

Kylians thumb was lodged between his teeth in anticipation, but soon realized you weren’t going to respond again. Lowly cursing to himself, he threw his phone back in his locker. Everyone was prepared for todays game against Manchester City, especially Kylian. He wanted to win so bad, it almost felt like the World Cup.

He knew who he was going to play against — Erling Haaland. If he wasn’t too fond of him before, finding out he hit on you on you brewed a different kind of determination to win inside of him. You said nothing happened that night and he believed you — but he knew that Haaland had more in mind than just a nice conversation. He noticed last week that he followed you on instagram and liked all of your recent pictures, not including the ones with him. As of last night, you still didn't follow him back. Those late night stalking sessions have to stop soon. His nutritionists is really getting on his ass for finishing entire jars of peanut butter every other day.

He wondered if you were going to watch the game or if you had been since you left. He really hoped you hadn’t been. He’s been playing horribly these past weeks. Once the news of your breakup went public, every commentator made a point of mentioning it and saying stupid shit like, “life goes on, and that’s something Kylian Mbappé is going to have to figure out sooner or later.”

He let his angry thoughts fuel him as he walked into the tunnel. He tried to get his head in the game, but couldn’t help looking back every so often to the opposing team next to them, eyes always landing on the tall blonde man.

He stood in his place, but his neck twisted back against his will, not really caring if he was being too obvious. Right before the teams were meant to walk out together, Haaland caught his death glares. Kylian doubled down, making sure he wouldn’t be the one to lose this immature staring contest. Holland cracked a shit-eating grin and winked at Mbappé.

Oh, the rage… keep it in, Kylian.

He looked away with an unbothered “pft.” It wasn’t very convincing, not even to himself.

After the usual opening ceremony, the whistle blew indicating that the match had begun, sending Kylian sprinting in every direction as the game progressed. ManCity was good, but he knew PSG was better. He kept telling himself this, but his teammates continued to mess up, even allowing the light-blue motherfuckers to score the opening goal not even twenty minutes into the first half. And, of course, it was Haaland that buried the ball deep in the back of the net. He watched him celebrate on his pitch, listening to the crowd cheer their chant, feeling tortured and helpless.

His eye was fixed on the Norwegian as he moved back into the starting position, hating that he was laughing, still on a high from scoring. Hakimi walked next to Kylian, feeling that his friend is on the brink of doing something very dumb. His hand patted his shoulder, but Kylian didn’t even notice it, his entire body twitching with jealously.

When Kylian was in earshot, Haaland nodded up at him. “Kylian.” The young player called, but Kylian just side eyed him. Hakimi grabbed his shoulders tighter just in case he tried anything. “(Y/N) is up for grabs now, no?”

Kylians ears rung as he felt himself launch at Erling who just laughed. Hakimi had gotten in front of him without missing a beat, roughly shoving him in the opposite direction to keep him from beating up the 22 year old. Other PSG players joined, guiding Kylian to his position.

He didn’t even know words were coming out of his mouth at this point, pointing his finger threateningly at Erling. “Don’t fucking talk about her. I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me?” He was well aware that this was all to get in his head but, shit. It’s working. Kylian didn’t even notice that the referee was being talked down by Neymar and Messi, eventually the confrontation getting waved off with a warning at the start of a new play.

Halftime rolled around and no one scored again. In the locker room, Glatier yelled and waved his arms, demanding that the defense get their shit together. He zoned out, too deep in thought about what an asshole that guy is and how he wants to score and rub it in his face. He was brought back when he heard his name grumbling out of his coaches mouth, having no idea what the topic even was.

“Sorry?” He embarrassingly piped up, seeing all of his teammates had their eyes on him.

Glatier grunted, stomping closer to him. “I said, get your shit together!”

“Yes, coach.”

“Don’t worry about what they say. Just go out there and play like I know you can. You want to win, don’t you?”

“I do, coach.”

“Then let’s fucking win.”

Glatier was right and he knew it. Whatever that stupid hulk-boy had to say about you was only getting under his skin. He couldn’t play at his best like that.

So, when the second half started and he heard him say some bullshit again, he did his best to let it roll off his back. “You think she’ll respond if I DM her?” Erling asked nonchalantly to Álvarez, but Kylian was determined to let it slide. Let it fucking slide.

But, he didn’t stop there. When walking by him, Haaland asked him, “What’s a good spot to take her? Nothing too far, my hotel room is around here.” Kylians fists were balled in rage, biting his cheek and blowing air out of his flared nostrils.

“You better shut your goddamn mouth.” He snapped back, but continued walking away, knowing he can’t let him win. Hearing Haalands taunting chuckles behind him almost made him whip back around, but Neymar wrapped his arm securely around his shoulder, forcing him to look forward.

“It’s just talk, Kylian. Come on.” He rubbed his head roughly as if to beg him to not let it get to him before running back into position.

The game progressed, only ten minutes left of the second half before overtime. Neymar was at the left side of the field, preparing himself for a corner kick. Kylian searched for an opening that could potentially bring a scoring opportunity, but a brooding shadow seemed to follow him everywhere. Haaland was aggressively playing defense against him, his height advantage making it impossible for Kylian to move somewhere better.

“I hope she wears something nice and tight.” Erling chortled through his tired breathing. “I’ve been waiting for you to mess things up with her. I’ve had my eye on her for months… She’s so hot.”

His mind went blank, completely blank. It must have, because he didn’t remember shoving Haaland down onto the pitch, fists pulling back. He was seeing red, but his teammates dragged him off before his punch could land right on his cheek. Before he knew it, the ManCity players were charging at PSG. The whistle blew about a dozen times as the crowd got louder.

Kylian couldn’t stop trying to shake off his friends, screaming past the wall of light blue toward the blonde man on the ground pretending to be seriously injured, clutching his arm.

“Say that again! I fucking dare you!” Kylian threatened, Ramos clinging onto his shoulders, walking backwards.

He was pushed away far from the scene as his whole team began to fight with the other players in solidarity, the referee preoccupied with calming down the situation.

He was for sure already getting a red card, so his mindset was fuck it. He sprinted around the fighting crowd who immediately recognized his intentions, getting back in front of him before he could reach Haaland to really do some damage.

“Stay the hell away from her. I’ll end you, you son of a bitch. Off this pitch, I swear to god you’re dead.” Kylian talked out of his ass, already walking himself off the pitch when the referee held up a red card. He waved him off, spiting on the grass as he made his way back through the tunnel, ignoring the coaching team screaming at him altogether.

ManCity ended up winning 2-0 and Kylians suspension was decided to extend for two matches. He didn’t watch the remainder of it, but when he found out Erling Fucking Haaland scored the other goal, it felt like the knife was twisted. Fuck that guy. The press conference after was hell, having to claim that he deeply regretted his actions and that this doesn’t reflect his character or whatever his PR team wrote up for him.

He truly did feel like a dumbass. He absolutely hated how much he let those comments affect him. He knew he should’ve just blocked it out but how was he going to let him say that stuff about you? The way he talked about you like you weren’t even a person, like you weren’t the love of his life. Sure, he felt like a dumbass, but he would defend you to the ends of the earth.

He got home to his empty house, throwing himself on his sofa, flipping on ESPN to watch basketball highlights. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Usually, he’s opposed to naps as they throw off his sleeping schedule, but recently he’d found them comforting; an easy escape from everything going on. Besides, his sleep schedule was already bonkers from the breakup.

He swears his eyes were only shut for five minutes, but he woke up to complete darkness. His TV even timed out, neck sore from the stiff throw pillows supporting his head, groaning so loudly that it echoed inside the vacant home. It was only when he picked up his phone to check the time that he realized you were even calling. The faint buzzing was probably what woke him up.

“Shit.” He shot up, wiping the sleep from his face as he answered quickly.

He cleared his groggy throat. “Hello?”

He faintly heard you saying his name, but the music in the back was pounding. “Kyyyyks!”

He laughed to himself, loving the sound of his nickname for the first time since your breakup. “Hello? (Y/N)? Are you drunk?”

“Hold on.” He heard you yell from the other line as the music got softer in the background. “Hellooo.” You giggled.

“Hi.” He giggled back.

“I woke you up.” He could hear the pout in your voice, having to bite his lip to keep his smile from getting ridiculous.

“No, no I don’t mind. Call me anytime.” Kylian began twirling his hoodie string on his forefinger. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but he can’t hear you. Your drunk brain didn’t catch up. “I think so.”

“You think so? Where are you?” Concerned, he looked at the time. A little past 3:30 am. Damn, long ass nap.

“Umm…” You paused to look around you, seeing no signs anywhere and finding it kind of funny. “I dunno. I lost them ages ago.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, my friends.”

He stood up. “Wait, wait. Are you by yourself?”

“Mhm!” You chirped, now walking away from the club, alone. Your skin-tight tights gave you no warmth at all, but the tequila that flushed your system had you covered. “Kyks…”

“Yeah?” He waited for you to say something, his concern for you growing, wishing he still had your location so he could go look for you.

You paused, looking around the dark streets. “I mi…” your sentence drifted off and you laughed off what you were about to say. “… I’m so drunk.” You stumbled further down the street, a loud club with red lights oozing from the entrance peaking your interest.

He knew what you were about to say, but wasn’t going to push it. “I can hear that. Do you need a ride? I can come get you right now, just send me your current location.”

“No, I’m fine! Look, I found somewhere safe!” You point, even though he couldn’t see. “Oh, my god. You’ll never believe who’s here. Oh, shit.”

“Who?” Kylian asked over the phone.

You giggled. “I don’t wanna tell you, Kyks. You’ll be mad. I saw what happened today during the match.”

He was tempted to quirk a smile hearing that you have been watching, but then it dawned on him. It couldn’t be… “Haaland?”

What are the odds? Erling Haaland stood outside the packed nightclub with a few of his teammates, surrounded by women and men, all trying to get his attention. He hadn’t seen you yet.

“Oh my god, you’re such a good guesser.” You clapped. “God, I forgot how tall he was.”

He grabbed his keys, putting his shoes on, holding the phone up to his ear by his shoulder as he rushed around his home. “Please just let me come pick you up. I’m worried about you, where are you? I’ll take you home.”

You got closer to the LED sign. “It’s called… uh… la petite robe noire… oh my god! That’s what I’m wearing!” You cheered.

He put you on speaker and looked it up. Jesus, you were so far, he wondered if you’d started out around there or if you’d ventured out alone. He revved up his engine, backing out of his driveway. “Stay there, I’m coming. Okay?”

You didn’t respond, your phone now by your side as Erling spotted you, jogging over to where you were standing.

“Hey!” You waved, letting him come to you because your heels hurt too badly. You couldn’t hear Kylian on the other line trying to get your attention.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leaned in and hugged you. You kind of hugged back, too drunk to balance yourself upwards that way without falling into him.

As soon as he heard that fucking accent over the phone, he pressed his foot down on the pedal, hoping he hits every green light in Paris. You, on the other hand, forgot you were still on the line with your ex fiancé, but hung up when you realized it with a giggly “oops!”.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you, how are you, (Y/N)?” Haaland asks, placing a steady hand on your waist to keep your wobbling frame from tipping over.

“So good!” That was a lie. You were out tonight drinking away the pit in your stomach since the match. You’d watched sneakily from your desk, fingers tugging at your roots when you saw the little incident during the first half. During those last ten minutes, you felt like you were going to throw up.

Why did you have to tell Kylian about Erling? What happened today definitely opened him up to a lot of criticism from his coaches, the team, the media… You couldn’t help but feel a little responsible because you knew he could behave himself if he never knew about that night on the balcony. On the other hand, it was kind of… very hot. Jealous Kylian was never your favorite, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling something spark in you. Or maybe you were just horny. Who’s to say? It's been so long...

“You’re good?” Erling accent repeats, grinning down at you. “Sorry to hear about your breakup."

"Pffft." You laugh. "Yeah right, you two were never exactly friends."

He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You're right. I'm not sorry." He smirks, looking you up and down. If your head wasn’t filled with liquor you’d feel kind of gross, but his flirty stares didn’t mean anything to the drunken body you found yourself in tonight. It all went right over your head. He nods his head toward the club. "Come on, let's get you a drink, yeah?"

You followed him in, the lights were blurry and the ground wasn't very stable. The vibrations came up from the ground, making you feel like someone was shaking your brain around. You were absolutely not thinking straight, and it only got worse when a bottle girl came over to the section with Don Julio. It was all so fast, like the lights flashed and you were suddenly with someone else, or in a different part of the club, or dancing, drinking, stumbling.

Fuck, you had to get out of there.

Kylian arrived at the club and he definitely did not fit the dress code. But, despite his grey joggers and Nike hoodie, he was still Kylian Mbappé, so he got in without any issue. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted at a nightclub that Erling Haaland was at, but he did it for you. He politely smiled at his fans but weaved past people begging for a selfie. He called you plenty of times from the car, but you never picked up.

Once inside the club, he lifted his hood and put on some sunglasses, hoping this wouldn't cause a riot without his security to lead him through the crowds. People were too focused on grinding and not spilling their drinks to notice the international superstar frantically searching for one single woman in a sea of them.

He looked up at the sections on the second floor, finally spotting that tall blonde bastard, wasting not a single second before making his way up, security letting him through once he flashed them his famous smile.

"Haaland!" He cups his hands around his mouth, hoping that he knows where you are. "Haaland!"

He finally turns around, knitting his eyebrows at the sight. "Kylian." He steps around the models to stand close to him, the loud music making it impossible to communicate from even a few feet away. "What? You didn't get enough of me on the pitch today?"

Kylian rolls his eyes. "No, man. I'm just looking for (Y/N). I know she was here."

"Yeah, she was." Erling laughed. "She's wild, for sure. Don't know where she went, though."

"What? She's not here?"

Haaland shrugged. "She went to the bathroom and never came back. Why do you even care? Like I said, she's up for grabs. She's not yours anymore."

If he wasn't so worried about your current wellbeing, he would have grabbed his stupid little ponytail and gone full Fight Club on him. But he didn't, instead he shook his head at him and made his way down from the section before he regretted not throwing a punch or two.

His concern grew. He never thought he would wish you were with Erling Haaland at a nightclub, but at least he could find you then.

Kylian stood on a ledge hoping to see your hair or face anywhere from a birds-eye view, but had to leave promptly when the partygoers caught onto his less than great disguise. A security guard from the club lead him to the back exit, warding off flashing cameras in every direction.

Thanking the man when he was safely outside with a fist bump, he walked himself down the dirty metal steps, sighing. "Putain." He walked to is parked car, leaning on it to try and think a little, wondering how he’s going to find you. He really isn’t familiar with this part of town, but he'll stay out all night if he has to.

He wished you’d just pick up the phone, ease his jittery nerves. Just as he was about to click on your contact, he heard some slurred singing further down the alleyway he was in. The faint tune sounded familiar, but the voice definitely was. It was you.

He followed like a siren sound, turning the corner to see you sitting on a small cement step, head resting on your curled up knees, giggling to yourself as you continued the song.

"Sweet cheese are made of cheese, who am I to *hiccup* disa-cheese..."

"I think you've messed up the lyrics there, love." He smiled, letting out a breath he’d been holding now knowing you're okay.

You gaze up, smiling widely, gasping and jolting up, wrapping your loose arms around his neck and letting your legs go limp.

"Woah, hey..." He exclaimed with a laugh, grabbing your torso tightly to keep you upright.

"You're here!" You gaze up, grin wide as he peered down at you, smiling as well. "Whadda coincidence!"

It was like he didn't just spend hours worried sick, now feeling somewhat at ease. Your presence is all he needed for every weight to be lifted off his shoulders. He only cares about making sure you get back home with a glass of water on your nightstand and a trashcan at your side.

"You okay? Why are you out here by yourself?" He guides you to stand properly on your own, but you didn't let your grip go, so he didn't either. He let his hand stay on the small of your back, his other gripping your hip.

You shrug, scratching your fingernails against the nape of his neck. He shivered, goosebumps running down his body, letting a flustered giggle escape his lips. You stared deep into his eyes. Your funny demeanor simmered down, finding the familiar warmth of the man in front of you to be more intoxicating than anything you've drank tonight. "You always loved when I did that..."

Kylian's heart got caught in his throat, gulping it down along with the urge to hold you so tightly. He'd been craving your touch, spending many sleepless nights wondering if he'd ever get to feel you again.

"Let's get you home, okay?" He mumbled, running his hands down your arms to unwrap them from his neck. He held one of your arms as he bent down to grab your phone and purse from the dirty floor.

He started guiding you to his passengers seat, but getting you there wasn’t an easy task. Your heels kept getting caught in the cobblestones so he had to keep a steady hand around you in case you fell. He buckled you up like a toddler, doing his best to ignore the googly eyes that you made at him.

When he got in drivers seat, he looked over at you, a rush of memories making his heart flutter.

All of the times he would turn his gaze away from the road for just a second to see you. The way you smiled when you rode with the windows down, sticking your arm out to feel the rushing wind outside the car. The way he used to be able to put a comforting hand on your thigh while he drove and you'd draw circles on his knuckles mindlessly, rambling about anything that came to your mind. The way you would always unwrap a piece of gum for him because you didn't want him distracted, even though he would never not get distracted by you.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, clearing his throat. "So, what's your address?"

You laughed, taking your heels off. "I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Geez, Ky. I've only lived there for like..." you counted in your head, but numbers barely made sense sober, "...not that long."

"Do you have it on your phone?" He pried, handing you your cell.

"Yes!" You cheered, snatching it only to see that it was out of battery when the screen reflected back at you. "Ah, man. It's dead!" You pouted, throwing it in the backseat, crossing your arms.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, turning on the heat higher when he noticed the chills running down your arms. "I can take you back to... uh..." he stuttered, having to stop himself from saying our place, still getting used to living there alone, "—back to my place."

You gave him a look, raising your eyebrow dramatically. "Nice try, Casanova." You chuckled.

He laughed too, rubbing his eyes. "No, come on, (Y/N). There's like five beds. I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

You bite your lip and stare at him through your lashes. "I'd let you."

God, that stare. That tone. He's internally cussing himself out for all those times he told you he wasn't in the mood or too tired. He wished he could go back in time and slap himself.

He quickly shook it off, laughing dryly and having to look away from you. “You are so drunk.”

With that, he put the car in reverse, beginning the half hour journey back to the home that still has pictures of you on the walls. The home that still feels like it’s yours, the one that Kylian prays he’ll see you wake up in again… at a time when you’re not absolutely plastered, of course. For now, he’s content looking over to your sleeping figure in his car, slowly breathing and shifting every so often.

Once he pulled into the garage, he got out and made his way to open the passenger door. “Hey,” he gently put a hand on your cold shoulder, “we’re here, bébé.”

He didn’t mean for the nickname to slip out of his mouth, but it did. It actually woke you up, your heart thumping at the four letters that used to be so familiar to you, so intimate.

“I’m tired.” You grumble, putting your hands out toward him, slightly less drunk, yet nowhere near sober. “I forgot how comfy your car is.”

“Wait ‘till we get you into a real bed. You’re gonna sleep like a rock.” You grabbed his forearms and stumbled out of the car, Kylian quickly grabbing your heels, phone, and purse.

For a drunk, you moved surprisingly fast, beelining to the kitchen. He followed you in, attentive to your wonky steps. He set your belongings down on one of the barstools, turning to see you leaned inside of his fridge, grasping the handles for balance.

“You hungry?” He grins, walking around the kitchen island and leans against it.

“Mm… you got rid of all my snacks…”

“Uh, not true.” He quipped, opening the cupboard and pulling back a red box, the sight bringing a big smile to your face.

“Pancakes?!”

He opens the cabinet bellow him and pulls out a sleek black press, confident smirk spreading to his cheeks. “Waffles.”

You cover your mouth in excitement, stumbling backward a bit but catch yourself on the island. “No way.”

He nods, eyes twinkling at your enthusiasm. You look so pretty in this kitchen. It’s nostalgic. It feels warmer now that you’re back here, even if he’s just pretending to forget that you’ll have to leave in the morning.

“Go sit. They won’t take long.” You do as he says, hopping into a stool as you watch him begin to mix the ingredients in a bowl.

Your mind drifted to the last time you saw him. The way his chin quivered when he cried over you, how much it hurt to tell him you weren't ready and that you may never be. It was still true. In a more clearheaded scenario, you probably wouldn't be here with him right now. If alcohol didn't seem like such an inviting bandaid to your aching mind and heart, the feelings you'd been suppressing would likely have stayed suppressed... where you honestly wanted them to stay. Opening yourself back up to be loved by the same man that made you question yourself was still incredibly scary.

"Bon appétit." He placed the plate in front of you.

The waffle was dusted in powdered sugar, a small butter square in the middle was surrounded by sliced strawberries. "Oh... my... god..." You salivated, picking up the fork and knife he handed you and devoured the first bite, moaning in gratitude. "Oh my god." You had no other words.

Kylian laughed, picking up his own fork to dig into his less pretty waffle, standing across from you. "Yeah?"

He didn't get a verbal response back, but knew you meant it upon seeing the manner in which you inhaled every crumb on your plate. Your late night snack was gone too soon and you wanted more, but your drooping eyes and full bladder convinced you that sleep was better.

Kylian took his last bite, grabbing your plates and setting them in the sink. "I think it's bedtime."

You agreed without saying so, hopping off the stool and took the route to the master bedroom. You could walk there with your eyes closed and you might as well have. The sleep deprivation mixed with your drunkenness lead you straight to the dresser, opening up the top chest on your side to grab a t-shirt.

When your crossed eyes looked down at the empty drawer, it was sobering. You let out a shakey breath, clasping your hands in front of you. "Right..."

Kylain stood by the door, frowning at your stillness. The small window of bliss he had with you just seconds earlier shattered upon seeing your sorrowful face looking down at the drawer that used to contain your things, now containing nothing but memories of what used to be.

Silently, he walked over to you, gently shutting it for you. He opened up his side, handing you one of the shirts you left folded for him. One of your favorites. "Here."

You give him an attempt of a smile but don't actually look at him. "Thanks."

He goes to leave the room but you stop him. "Wait. Where are you going? I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms. I'm not taking your bed."

"No, please. You just get some rest, okay?" He almost whispers, taking in the sight of you standing in this room again before he went to close the door.

"Ky?" You breathe, locking your eyes on his. There was something you wanted to say, some words your throat closed up on, leaving you with nothing else but silence. He stayed still, his adoration for you threatening to spill out of him the longer he stared at you. You draw a subtle breath upon feeling your emotions pooling in your eyes. "Thank you."

Kylian felt the weight of your otherwise simple words, taking context from the way you were looking at him. "I'll always be here for you."

With that, he reluctantly closed the door behind him, trudging to the bedroom closest to you.

The room spun as you laid down on your favorite pillow, beyond comfortable under the duvet you picked out yourself. You wished you never went drinking tonight. If you'd just stayed home and pigged out on ice cream you wouldn't have to face the truth that's been slowly crawling to the surface.

Your eyes shut much too quickly to really explore the sentiments you've uncovered tonight, but that's probably for the best.

Kylian's mind was racing and he only hoped you couldn't hear how loud his brain was from the next room. Under the guilt and self-pity he's been swimming in for weeks, he finally felt a sliver of optimism beginning to grow inside of him. It was such a tender feeling, a feeling he let lull him to sleep, content knowing you were just on the other side of that wall.

A/N: The amount of times this deleted..... I was going crazy. Thank god that I started saving every draft on Google Drive or else I probably would have stopped writing out of frustration. Big things coming for (Y/N) and Kylain! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry about having to make Haaland an asshole bc I really do love him. It was just to move the plot along <3. Also I didn't know all of the soccer terms in english so forgive me if I messed any of that up. Love all of you and thanks for reading!

#kylian mbappe angst #kylian x reader #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappé x reader #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe fluff #neymar jr imagine #neymbappe #neymar angst #achraf hakimi x reader #achraf hakimi #futbol imagines #kylian mbappe fic #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe one shot

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

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Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 1

Tinder is not a great place to look for boyfriends, but neither is the workplace.

Gavi x Physiotherapist! reader. Slow burn. I can't make things fast he's gotta work for it. Smut? Not in this part but maybe eventually.

A/N: Hi everyone! Not super new on Tumblr but I have never been brave enough to post a fic despite my constant maladaptive daydreaming about imaginary scenarios. The stress of being sick and not wanting to write my personal statement have lead me to actually write this and post it online. Please be nice, hope you enjoy!

Song inspo: Just Pretend - Bad omens

Writing inspo: Plot inspired by @zeegaazeegaah and their amazing Gavi x physiotherapist imagine. Other inspirational accounts will be tagged at the end.

TW: None

Word count: 4.8K

"So what do you do?"

y/n hated this question. Even being asked for nudes might be preferable to being asked about her job. y/n had been on 12 first dates since moving back to Barcelona, and without fail every one of them had been ruined by this simple question. She considered lying - she could pass as a student or a waitress or even a model (ok maybe not a model): there were literally thousands of jobs she could pretend to have. But, being the idiot hopeless romantic that she was, she decided to be honest with the man across from her. What if Thiago from Tinder was her soulmate? She didn't want to ruin it by lying.

"I'm finishing my sports medicine and physiotherapy certification, so I am working with one of the football clubs here to do practical training and gain experience."

"Oh that's cool! Which club? You can tell me, I know most of the 3rd and 4th tier Catalan clubs, so I'll probably know it even if it's really small."

Wow. Thiago from Tinder was an overachiever: he messed up before she even said which club she worked for, which was faster than every other man she had been out with in the last four months. y/n took a deep breath and resisted the urge to leave before confessing where she worked.

"I actually work at a pretty well known club... F.C Barca. I think you might of heard of it?" y/n watched this man's jaw visibly drop. His eyes got wide and lit up, like someone had told him he had just won a brand new car.

"You're a physio at Barca?? No way! That's my team! I think I would actually commit manslaughter if Pedri asked me to. So you get to see all the players every day? And Xavi! Have you ever spoken to Xavi? Do you know he won Spain their first world cup? You might be too young to remember. That's so amazing!"

y/n felt all the muscles in her head tense as she focused all her energy on not rolling her eyes. A fanboy. Typical. This was the most common response she got when she said her place of work out loud. 6 of the last 12 first dates had been major fanboys for the club, talking endlessly about how they would steal and kill and get on their knees for Barca. One had even been so bold as to ask if she had ever seen Lewandosky naked, to confirm if some measurements he had seen online were true. While the fans were annoying, the haters were even worse. 4 different dates had said they felt bad that she worked at a "dying club", throwing up football statistics, and going red in the face when she said she could not possibly care less about who had more Champion's League wins.

Then there were those that went out of their way to offend her. You would think that a man trying to get laid would have some more common sense. But that didn't stop one of her tinder matches from calling her a liar in the middle of a restaurant. He was still on his first glass of wine, leaning back cockily in his chair when he said that La Liga would never allow female physios to work with the first team because women couldn't "handle the intensity of football injuries." She should have gotten up and left when he said that, but he was 6'3 with a brand new Porsche, so she let him buy her dinner and drive her home before telling him that she genuinely hoped he never interacted with a female doctor ever again, even if it was to save his life.

The worst had been when she went out with Jose. He had invited her to a pretty expensive spot in central Barcelona. They were having an amazing conversation until the fated job question. She had downed a good amount of wine at that point, and wasn't as cynical about the reaction as she usually would be, so she spoke about her role with pride. Big mistake. He perked up, then threw his head back and laughed. He laughed so loudly it startled the waiter clearing plates from the nearby table. "21 years old and working as a physio for F.C Barca... Who did you have to sleep with to get that job, hm? Xavi? La Porte himself? Or maybe someone at the university? Regardless, you must fuck like a pornstar to have landed a job like that. Can't wait to try it first hand." y/n said some choice words about Jose and his micropenis, and promptly left, seeking to avoid assault charges that night.

The truth was that y/n was extremely talented at what she did. She grew up watching football with her father and brother, developing an interest in working in sports professionally. She worked herself half to death during high school to be accepted into a sports science program in the U.S. She interned with the college teams there, learning about sports injuries and treating them. She finished her program in three years, and despite programs across Europe fighting for her, she came back to Barcelona to finish her physiotherapy certification. She would be lying if she said it was just for her family and friends. The program in Barcelona advertised opportunities to work with F.C. Barca, her favorite football club since birth. It was a love she inherited from her father, as shown by all her childhood pictures in the Blaugrana uniform.

The program was harder than expected. She was one of 7 female first year students, and the only girl in her year that wanted to work with the first team. y/n was made aware that this might work to her advantage now that professional football was pushing for more female representation (in referees, coaching staff, and now on the medical team). The guys in her class either hated her guts or wanted to sleep with her (sometimes both) - it really was like legally blonde without the law.

In the middle of August, close to the beginning of the new season, all the applicants for the Barca placement were called into the university on a Sunday. Their professor introduced Dr. Gonzales, the head physiotherapist for the club. y/n started to sweat despite the air conditioning hitting her directly. She was terrified to even breathe wrong in the presence of this man.

"It's a pleasure to be here with you all today. Thank you for your hard work in submitting to fill the assistant physiotherapist position at F.C. Barcelona. Now, there have been rumors that we are hiring a student to fil this position because it is cheaper and we are broke, but I would like to assure you all now that it's not true."

The two boys in front of her snickered quietly, one whispering a "yeah right" to the other. Dr. Gonzalez looked up at the boys. "You two giggling in the back. You don't seem like the type we need at Camp Nou. You can leave now." Everyone in the room sat up straighter after that. Everyone was on military behavior, not wanting a wrong look or a chair squeak to blow their chance. "As many of you know, one of our strikers, Ousmane Dembélé, presents with consistent right hamstring tightness, leading to frequent injuries."

As Dr. Gonzalez turned to face the screen, y/n found enough bravery to pull out a pen and paper to take notes. The doctor continued to describe the player's condition, his playing style, and the current course of treatment being used. After speaking for 25 minutes (while facing the screen instead of the students), he turned around and addressed them. "Your project is to develop a continuous muscular therapy treatment for Dembélé in the next two days. The best and most cost effective method gets the job placement. You at the back," he pointed at y/n, "Smart choice to take notes. I advise you not to share."

Y/n drove home that evening checking her rear-view mirror every few seconds. The possibility of being followed by one of her classmates so they could steal her notes was low, but never zero, and so she did both of the locks tightly on the door. She sat at her computer and got to work right away. Truth be told, she felt like the whole assignment was kind of a trick. Dr. Gonzalez had told them the current treatment plan for Dembélé, which had obviously been working seeing as they kept using it. She made a few adjustments based on leg dominance and the anticipated excess strain of playing more minutes each game, and then she decided to facetime her friend Angelika while she made the PowerPoint look pretty.

"Good evening Dr. y/l/n, finally ready to ask for my hand in marriage? My parents always wanted me to marry into medicine." y/n rolled her eyes and smirked. She had met Angelika when she was living in the US through a Facebook group for Spanish students studying abroad. Ever since then, not a day had gone by where they hadn't spoken (except once when Angelika had dropped her phone into a pint of beer and couldn't get it fixed for three days).

"You know I'm ready when you are gorgeous, just send your ring size. What're you up to?"

"Nothing much, just scrolling on the internet trying to find clubs that are no cover for ladies tomorrow. You're still coming out with us right?" y/n looked away from her computer and looked at Angelika with the "I'm about to bail on plans look" that was all too familiar. "Y/n!! You cannot be cancelling plans with us again! You haven't been anywhere except your house and the university in like six weeks! People will start to think you're with child and in hiding."

"I didn't know I was the new virgin Mary." y/n quipped, trying to make her presentation equally professional and cute. "You're not, because that would require you being a virgin. I know it feels like it's growing back because you haven't looked in the direction of a man in centuries." y/n could only shake her head. It was not a lack of trying. "Well, I'm presenting to the Barca head physio Wednesday morning, so if you ever want a chance at seeing the inside of that locker room, you need to let me skip out on tomorrow."

Angelika sighed and threw herself on the bed dramatically. "Fine, but you need to be our DD and come pick us up after. Shockingly, it's really hard to order an Uber while drunk." y/n agreed to pick the girls up from the club at the end of the night, an spent the rest of the evening chatting idlily with her friend, living vicariously through the stories she told.

The following day, y/n spent all morning refining her presentation. She spent over an hour watching videos about the Barca training facility to see if there was any equipment she had overlooked in creating her treatment plan. The day progressed as normal - cleaning, cooking, practicing her presentation, watching TV on the couch. As 1am rolled around, she still hadn't received any communication from Angelika. While she was not an inconsiderate person, Angelika did have her moments where she would completely forget about the world around her: that was when she met a man who showed interest in her. Despite being gorgeous and intelligent, Angelika, like most girls in their early twenties, suffered from a condition known as "Nothing is true about me unless an attractive man says it". y/n also suffered (mildly) from this affliction, but being surrounded by weirdos all day in university had helped substantially. She knew that if she did not leave then, she would never get any sleep, and so she grabbed her car keys and headed to the address of the club that she had been sent earlier on.

She parked several blocks away from the club, and called Angelika for a record 41st time. y/n knew she wasn't going to receive an answer, so she changed into a tight satin top and a pair of heels that she always left in her car in case of emergencies (What if Joao Felix decided to take a random trip to Barcelona and she was unprepared?). She could feel the street practically vibrating beneath her as she walked towards the club. She was let in easily - it was a Tuesday night and the establishment needed female patrons. She kept close to the bar, and asked the girls working there if they had seen her friend. Once y/n pulled up a picture of Angelika, the girls laughed to one another.

"Oh yeah, she's up in the VIP section. They've dropped like 6k on bottle service already."

y/n felt the vein in her forehead start to pop out. Of course Angelika had found herself a man that would take her to the part of the club that was the hardest to get into. Especially on the night when y/n really needed to get home. Because why wouldn't that happen? She made her way over to the VIP section, where she was promptly stopped by two large bouncers, who obviously didn't believe that she just wanted to grab her friend. While standing there deciding whether she should just make Angelika order an Uber (or have this new lover order one for her), she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned around and was met by a very attractive man (boy? His age was hard to determine in the dark).

"Hey, do you need to get into VIP? Are you here alone? " "That's a really creepy question to ask a girl in a club." y/n yelled back over the thumping music. What were all these people doing out on a Tuesday? "No not like that. I can help you get in if you want." "I don't really want to get in, I just want to get my friend and leave." The man (boy?)'s eyes lit up. "Perfect! My tea- friend. My friend that I'm with is pretty drunk and the person that drove us is in VIP. I can't leave him by himself because he's kind of rowdy even when sober. Could you watch him while I go grab them?"

y/n didn't want to look too deeply into a good thing, but the offer felt suspicious. She scanned the boy (she had decided that he was young), looking for any indication that he could live up to his end of the bargain. She looked down at his feet, noticing the white Alexander McQueen sneakers. She decided that she could trust him, and if not, she was still in a public place, and someone would notice if she was being dragged out of a club kicking and screaming. She walked over to where the friend was and had to stifle a laugh. Another boy was sprawled across two high bar chairs, legs up and head rolled back. He was wearing a pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses despite it being the middle of the night and them being indoors. His white button up had the first two undone and the collar popped, like he was Pitbull in 2011. He was in a pair skinny jeans (because, as y/n discovered quickly, everyone in the world had moved on from skinny jeans except for Spanish men) and some white Dolce and Gabanna sneakers. Where were these kids getting all this money?

"Pablo! Look who I brought you! This is..." The first boy looked back at you expectantly. "y/n". "y/n! She's really great and going to take care of you while I go get Pepi so we can go home." The drunk one (now Identified as Pablo) lifted his head, and tilted the sunglasses just enough to get a good look at the girl. "Wow Angel, nice job." The first one (Angel apparently) apologized to y/n, explaining that Pablo was a "really flirty drunk" but that he was never like this sober. y/n showed Angel a picture of Angelika, and off he went back into the beast that was the club. y/n stood awkwardly by Pablo, who appeared to have fallen asleep. Suddenly, he sprung up and asked her, "so what is a pretty girl like you doing in the club by herself?"

"I'm not here to go clubbing, just picking up a friend." "You're dressed like you're going clubbing." "Right, because they wouldn't let me into the club in my scrubs." "Scrubs? You look too young to be a doctor." The music was starting to take a toll on y/n, the thumping rhythm giving her a splitting headache. "You don't look old enough to be let into the club, but everyone is full of surprises." Pablo did not take this comment well. He stood up, feeling all the blood rush to his head as he rested his weight against the bar. He pushed his glasses up his head, and looked straight at her.

This was the first opportunity y/n had to admire how gorgeous Pablo was. The glasses pushed his hair back on his head, showing off his striking eyebrows and cheekbones. His eyes were wide and glassy, making him look like a teenager who had gotten drunk for the first time. For all y/n knew, that could be the case. His nose slopped downward, a subtle bump in the bridge like it had been broken before and reset. His discontent made his bottom lip poke out, and y/n suddenly was overwhelmed by the urge to treat him like a child: make him feel better with a kiss. "I'm 18, and this isn't even my first time in a club. You want to see my ID?" Pablo had gotten much closer to her than she had expected. In her 4 inch heels, y/n was looking him straight in the eyes. He was mere inches away from her face, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the anger of being called a child. She couldn't stop her gaze from flipping between his eyes to his pouting lips. 'This is normal,' she thought to herself. 'I'm overwhelmed because no man has been this close to me in a while. Even if my scumbag cheating ex was standing this close I would want to kiss him. I am simply in desperate need of affection.'

This internal monologue ended just as another club patron bumped into Pablo, causing him to lose balance. He put his arms around y/n and rested weight against her, head pressed into her shoulder. "I feel like dying. I shouldn't have drank that much." He muttered. She just held him there, scared that he would hit the floor if she shifted. "Then why did you keep drinking?" She asked. It couldn't hurt - in the state he was in, she would be surprised if he even remembered his name in the morning. "So my brain would be a little quieter." y/n's heart ached at the statement. However old the boy in her arms was, he was being burdened by something far beyond his age.

Before she could ask anything else, she was tapped on the shoulder by Angel, who signaled for her to follow out of the club. She put one of Pablo's arms around her neck and began shuffling through the crowd. Once they left the club, Pablo quickly separated from her to throw up on the side of the street. "At least he waited until he was off of you to do that," a male voice echoed from behind her. y/n turned around to see Angelika clinging to a tall brunet. "Thank you so much for carrying her out. I think I can take it from here." y/n said, trying to get Angelika to remove herself from the nice man. "It's ok, I can walk her to your car. It might be easier than you carrying her." y/n smiled apologetically, and turned around to the sound of Pablo continuing to wretch his guts out. She ran over to make sure he wasn't puking blood and didn't need medical attention. "Come on Pablo let's go." Angel said from the curb. "No no, don't rush him. Let him get it all out before he gets into my car. Otherwise he'll have to start taking the city bus to matches." y/n looked up at the new voice. He walked up and stood by Angel, glancing at his phone before looking up at his friend and the girl making sure he didn't die. "Thanks for looking after him. I hope he wasn't too bad, he's a tag aggressive." y/n stood there speechless. The man thanking her for taking care of his drunk friend was none other than Pedri Gonzalez, one of the young stars of F.C. Barca. He was an absolute magician with the ball, and quickly becoming a favorite in y/n's household. She wanted to let out a scream: jump up and down and tell him that she was a huge fan and ask for a picture. But she had her presentation tomorrow. The last thing she needed was to make a bad impression on the player by causing a scene. So she took a deep breath and insisted that it was no problem.

Pablo had finished puking out his guts by that point and stood up straight, gripping his head from the dizziness. "Alright hermano, time to go." Pedri said, turning his back to y/n, Angelika, and the main carrying her. "Wait." Pablo said rummaging through his pocket. He pulled out his wallet, and clumsily pulled a card from it. He turned to y/n and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her close to him. There were shouts from his friends to stop whatever he was doing, but nothing was registering in his liquor-filled brain. "y/n think's I'm a little kid, so I just wanted to show her my ID." y/n shifted her gaze from his deep eyes to the card in his hand. She didn't look at the age. She didn't have to. Her eyes landed on the name: Pablo Martín Páez Gavira. One of the best young football players in the world had just used her as a banister. "Now that you know I'm not a kid, next time, you should let me buy you a drink." Pablo said, pushing a strand of hair from y/n's face before walking (wobbling) back to his friends.

y/n could not process everything going on in her head at that moment. She turned around and faced the man holding a half-asleep Angelika. "You don't play for Barca do you?" She asked, half joking and half fearful. "No. I play for Real Sociedad. I'm Martin." "Zubimendi??" "Yeah." This was too much. y/n, 7 hours before the most important presentation of her life, was surrounded by so much football royalty it made her dizzy. Martin looked like he was going to say something else, but y/n put her finger to her lips and shushed him. "Please, not another word. Just bring her to the car."

They walked silently to y/n's tiny car, Martin helping to carefully place Angelika in the back seat. "So are you the guy she was with while ignoring my calls?" "Oh no, that was my teammate Ander. He was also kind of out of it so I offered to help her out." "Why is everyone getting drunk out of their minds on a random Tuesday in August?" y/n said in frustration, causing a laugh to erupt from Martin. "It's the last week before training for the new season starts. Not a lot of opportunities to black out after this. People like to take advantage." y/n thanked Martin and got into the driver's seat. He stopped her before she drove off. "Do you think I could maybe get your number? Just to make sure you get home safe?" y/n rolled her eyes at the lame excuse for a pick-up tactic, but surrendered her phone number anyway. She drove back to her apartment with her head reeling, as she tried to rehearse her speech in her head instead of thinking of the events of the night.

The next day, y/n looked perfect. She had work her best school-approved scrubs and coat. and slicked her hair back to make her look more professional. She was in her business attire Nikes. Her note cards were neatly written and organized. She sat in the lecture hall waiting to be called on. The students would be presenting in random order. As all the student filled in to present, the tension was palpable. Everyone side-eyed each other, trying to intimidate the "competition". The door swung open and in walked the professor, as well as Dr. Gonzalez. He stood at the front podium, stern as ever, and began to speak.

"Good morning students. Thank you all for the effort you have put into the presentations you will share today. We look forward to all you assessments and insights. As the new season quickly approaches, we want the new assistant to become acclimated to the workplace quickly. Therefore, the decision about the position will be made today following the presentation." The entire room stopped breathing. "In order to do so efficiently, please welcome our other guests and evaluators, Mr. Xavi Hernandez and Mr. Ousmane Dembélé." The pair walked in, and the room engaged in the most "I wish I was dead" sounding clapping known to man. y/n started sweating profusely. If she had known that Xavi and Dembélé were going to be watching her presentation, she would have made Angelika take the Uber. Hell, she would have made her ride a Donkey back home and gotten a full night's sleep.

Dr. Gonzalez drew names for the order, and because y/n has the worst luck, she was presenting last. She did what she does best: panicked immediately. She tried to think of ways to present the information differently than the 6 students before her had. As she listened to the presentations, the more nervous she got. None of the other students had treatment plans remotely similar to hers. Antonio, one of the smartest in their batch and the presenter right before her, even suggested he get surgery.

It was time. y/n stood up at the front of the room and pulled out her slides. "Good morning everyone. Today I will be presenting my comprehensive treatment plan for player Ousmane Dembélé's right hamstring." She got through the whole thing without stuttering or having her knees give out. As she finished her last slide, she let out a sigh of relief. The hard part was over. She asked if their were questions and Xavi's hand went up. "So Miss y/n, the treatment plan presented is very similar to the one we have currently implemented, with a couple changes in training and every day life. What is the anticipated recovery time for this treatment?" Everyone else in the class had said 8-12 months. But no - of course y/n had to be differently. "6 weeks sir." "6 weeks? No one else has given a suggestion that would take less than half a year." "Yes sir, however, if you take into account the availability of daily therapy, cryotherapy, and the current play style and strain distribution, he can be on the field in 6 weeks. He might not be comfortable playing all 90 minutes each game, but that's not the same as being completely out for injury." Xavi nodded and said nothing more. That was the end of the questioning.

It took them 8 minutes exactly to decide who go the job. Dr. Gonzalez, Xavi, and Dembélé came back into the room, thanking everyone again for their hard work. "We are please to announce," Xavi started, "that we will be offering the assistant physiotherapist position for the 2022/2023 season to," he turned to Dembélé, who finished the thought, "Miss y/n y/l/n." All the men in the room turned to face y/n at once as she struggled to breathe from the shock. "We look forward to having you this season."

And that's how it happened. y/n was now the assistant physiotherapist for the first team at F.C. Barcelona during the day, and entertainment for the absolute worst men in Spain in the evenings. She left her disappointing first date with a headache and leftovers, and drove home listening to her "Maybe Love is a Social Construct" playlist. As she walked into her apartment, her phone chimed with a text notification. She let her hair down and grabbed her phone, preparing to update Angelika about the latest in the tragedy that was her love life. Instead, she had two separate text notifications.

[Unknown number]: Hey, is this still y/n's number?

[Gavi]: I need to see you urgently. Tomorrow morning 6:30 am. I'll be waiting outside your office.

To be continued...

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If you got this far, thanks for reading! I have had this idea for a long time and have been writing snippets of it down. I will continue to update whenever I can, as this really is a passion project for me (so it's ok if no one reads it).

GIF credit to @gavidaily

Huge thanks to the following for heavily inspiring me to start writing this on the internet: @missgavi @kyiiansmbappe @julianalvarez9 @milawritesstuff @leeamorgan (there are a couple others I'm forgetting)

#pablo gavi x reader #gavi x reader #pablo gavi #gavi #fc barca #footballer #imagine #barca #gavi x you #footballer imagine

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