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celestie0 · 10 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

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

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

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)

a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere.

Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him.

One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.

The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.

You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.

He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”

“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.

“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.”

“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already.

His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”

You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.

“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”

You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.

“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”

He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”

You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”

You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.

The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it.

The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead.

You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”

“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”

“Yeah.”

“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”

“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.

“So definite no to hang out?”

“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”

You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”

“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says.

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.

You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.

“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”

You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.

“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”

You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.”

She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”

You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.”

She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”

You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”

Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”

Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest.

“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.”

You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.

But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings.

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”

Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”

Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”

She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”

–

The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you.

It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them.

Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed.

You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.

“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”

You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately.

Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.

“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible.

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.

There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.

Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.

“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”

Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before.

“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks.

“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”

There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.

“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”

“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.

Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”

For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.

“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”

You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.”

Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.

The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.

“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase.

He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”

There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”

The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”

You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby.

The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.

Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.

“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.

The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.

“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.

You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”

The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”

“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”

She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.

She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you.

You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”

She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”

“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”

“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.

You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”

“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you.

“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.

You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.

“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”

The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.

You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.

“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”

The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.

The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”

“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”

“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”

You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.

“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.

“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”

The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you.

“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.

He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”

“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.

“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”

He’s waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.

You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.

You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.

“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”

Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”

He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.

“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long.

“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”

He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”

“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.

He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”

Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.

“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.

He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.

You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing.

This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before.

“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.

“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.” His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.

“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.

You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door.

It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously.

When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.

“What?” you ask.

“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”

You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm.

You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?”

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”

“Your problem,” you say.

“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.

“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”

“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.

You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.

“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.

Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.

He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”

The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.

He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.

It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.

“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”

“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”

“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.

He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”

He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands?"

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious.

You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.

“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.

He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.

You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how.

Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.

“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.

“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”

You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”

“Reasons.”

“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”

He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”

You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.

He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.

He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.

“Hey–”

“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.

“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”

When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters.

“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.

“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”

“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.

“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.

You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly.

He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.

He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.

You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.

“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.”

You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.

It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.

You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been.

You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.

“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”

“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”

He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”

You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”

He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”

“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”

You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.

“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly.

“Mhm, makes sense.”

His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.

You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”

“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too.

“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”

He nods. “You do.”

There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.

“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”

“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”

“I asked him for it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”

“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”

There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”

You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”

He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”

“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”

“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”

“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.

You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you.

“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”

“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.

“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”

His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.

“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.

“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck.

Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.

–

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.

Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.

You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.

The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area.

It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.

Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”

You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.”

You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.

“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.

Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.

“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.

“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.

Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”

All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.

“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”

With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.

“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.

You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”

“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?”

“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.

He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”

“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.

He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”

“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.

“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.

“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.”

You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”

He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”

You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”

“Yup.”

“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.

“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”

You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”

He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”

You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”

The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.

“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”

“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”

“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”

“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”

He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”

You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”

He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”

He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.”

Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”

He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.

“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.

The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.

UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.

The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.

“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”

Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”

Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.

“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.

You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.

There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.

“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.

He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him.

And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.

When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.

“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.

He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.

“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”

You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.

“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”

“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”

“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.

“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.

He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”

He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”

He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.

The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back.

You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear.

You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake.

Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.

|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera

|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way

The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there

a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though.

➸ take me to chapter nine!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd (hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

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love-toxin · 7 months ago

Text

Cattle -> Harley Kunuk

plot: a world in which the realm of monsters & yanderes has merged--that's the au you find yourself in as a low-producing cow hybrid. you've never impressed any master as working cattle, always cast aside in favour of prettier, more talented cows. that might change once you get dropped off at the wrong farmer's ranch.

(cws: fem!cow hybrid!reader, chubby+naive reader, yandere themes, explicit smut, lactation, fondling, dry-humping, chest worship, dirty talk/soft degradation, clothed sex/cumming in pants, kinda monsterfucking, power dynamics, reader refers to him as 'Mr. Harley')

a/n: welcome to the long-awaited 'harley x cow hybrid reader' saga LOL

wc: 4.7k (art by milove @the-zipper !! <3)

If not for the grace of the gods, you'd surely be thrown into the ditch or to the wolves by now.

The transition between seedy motels has never been easy, sure, but you've reached new lows since your last rancher kicked you to the curb. Besides, nor has having to deal with the treatment from your superiors been easy when most of them see you as nothing but what your brand reads out.

Cattle.

If farm hybrids have anything, it isn't rights–at least not for undesirables like you. There's probably places out there like Runerhéa where you could live in peace, but this new world is even tougher than the last. When the realms merged as one, everyone on the lower side like you thought it would turn out to be a blessing. Maybe you'd finally get a break and wouldn't have to live like a piece of meat. But so far, it's only been a curse.

Ever since you were passed into the hands of these “livestock traders” your life has been absolute hell. Your last master had at least left you be most of the time, preferring to pay attention to his other, better-producing and prettier cattle rather than get on your case for this or that. These guys that have been toting you around since then have been complete nightmares to deal with–they're callous and cruel and they never let you rest properly, they keep you up all hours of the night with their hollering and drinking and gambling on those awful card games.

Yet, even when you were told that your time with them would be coming to an end, you weren't excited about it. Not one bit. How could you be, when you've been surrounded by horrible people saying such horrible things about your abilities? They've called you “moon-face” and mocked your pitiful history as working cattle, to the point that they've joked about re-branding you and making you a sex toy or something instead, because that's probably all you're good for. You can't even moo right, much less make any milk that doesn't taste sour or curdle within minutes. You're totally useless, and whoever your new owner is, he's quickly going to come to that realization too. Your handlers have been quick to remind you of that, just in case you happen to pick up some worth in yourself on the way there.

That's all you've thought for the past three days since you've been here, too scared to come out from the back of your stall for fear that the big, scary farmer with the loud voice is going to yell at you for not turning out to be what he hoped. You heard him arguing with the traders when you were delivered: ”What the hell is this?! I bought a cow, not some girl! Is this a joke? Did Elias put you up to this?” and since then you've cowered in the corner, refusing even to touch the water and food he brought and left at the door for fear he might just poison you to save the trouble of bringing you back. You've never been kept with real farm animals before, yet even now there's not much interaction you have with them. The big guy put you in a stall far away from his other animals, probably because he thinks you might infect them or something. It's always something with you.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. You've been hearing those noises from outside for the last two days, the sounds of wood scraping and hammering pervading your fuzzy ears and filling your mind with all manner of horrors that might await you. Is he building some kind of horrible torture machine? A rack? A device to forcibly milk you? Oh, that thought sends a chill down your spine. Or is he simply building your coffin? It could be any one of those possibilities or many, many more horrible ones, and it leaves you to tug your floppy ears down and try to block out the noise as you cry softly. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die, even if I'm bad at being a cow. I just wanna live another day.

You pull the scratchy woolen blanket he left in here closer around your shoulders, hoping and praying with your head bowed that this won't be the end. With the clunk of the barn's door sliding open, with every step you hear thudding closer and closer towards your stall, you tremble harder and hurriedly wipe your tears dry while you pray to the Deity to shelter you from an early grave.

Kh-chunk. The clasp on your stall comes undone from the other side, and with bated breath, you watch as the door rolls open and lets in the streams of light you'd forgotten existed in this endless darkness.

“...Oh.” The farmer utters his surprise softly, his brow easing up as he looks you over. He's perched at the entrance to your stall still, not quite ready to cross the threshold yet. Maybe he's still trying to prepare himself as he sizes you up for the slaughterhouse. “You look…cold.”

You shake your head meekly and throw off the blanket. Straws of hay flutter about your knees as you do so, some of it already stuck in your hair and your meager clothes that don't cover enough for him not to blush and avert his gaze. “Uh…c'mon. We need to move you somewhere else.” He meekly produces a harness from his overalls, but it sits lightly in his hand like he's not really keen on using it. “It'll be safe. C'mon.”

If you weren't a lowly, domestic cow hybrid, one of the very lowest of the monster hybrid species, you'd be tempted to ask if he's always this awkward. He can't even look at you, he barely even breathes once you finally stand and skirt past him out of the stall. And he doesn't dare to touch you as he leads you out of the barn even though you're his property–it's like he doesn't even see you as cattle, but as…you don't even know what.

At the very least, despite the uncertainty around your new home, the first deep breath of fresh air as you step outside reminds you of the home you knew in childhood. Rolling grass in a sea of green, woods out across the field that are far from predators, safe fences and even a big, old farmhouse on the lawn that gives you a sense of homey nostalgia. As big and scary as he looks, maybe he's not so bad after all…maybe, as long as you do everything to appeal to him, he might treat you like nice cattle and not the nuisance you've long been defined as.

As you step out onto the grounds, the farmer introduces himself as Harley. He waits while you sniff around the fresh, clean air a bit before leading you around the side of the barn–that's where a small, shed-like attachment has been built on to the side of the structure, which opens into a surprisingly comfy and spacious area that he must have put together in a hurry. The floorboards have a nice rug over them and there's a soft, downy mattress in the corner on a little frame, and it's all built in and warm like it's an actual room. But when you turn to Harley with a quizzical look on your face and he tells you it's yours, you don't even know how to respond. So you just look at him blankly.

“It's…yours, y'know? It's, uh, like your…bedroom, I guess.” He looks around the space and rubs the back of his sweaty neck, seemingly sheepish about the simple construction even though you're standing there dumbfounded. “I didn't think you'd wanna live in the barn with the animals, but, uh, you wouldn't come in the house. So…yeah.” The silence between you is agony up until he just huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, this isn't ideal for me. I don't deal well with people, and you're…sort of one, I guess. To be honest, I hate the idea of sharing my farm with some stranger.” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, incidentally messing up his long ponytail that's just barely keeping all that thick hair tied up. With his hands set on his hips, he looks you dead in the eyes in a way that makes you cower at his sternness. “But you're here now, so whatever. Just behave yourself–and if some guy in a cowboy hat comes around, make yourself scarce. I don't want him messing with my-” He catches himself, but in your bovine wisdom you finish his sentence for him.

“Cattle?”

Harley swallows dryly and nods. “...Cattle. Yeah.” In any case despite the awkwardness and the tense air between you, he shows you how to work the little water pump he built the shed around so you can wash up and drink, your bed and blankets, and where to use the bathroom–which he insists you do inside the house, for no reason that he elaborates on other than the fact that you're able to, so you should. With that he leaves you be, letting you sit and ponder this newfound haven that he so casually dropped in your lap.

By the third day in your little mock cabin, six days since you've arrived here, you're pretty sure you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley. He won't tolerate you calling him ‘Master’ because it makes him all red in the face when you say it, so despite him insisting on no formalities at all you've settled on referring to him as ‘Mr.’ Harley.

It's been an easy process to say the least. Mr. Harley is gruff and speaks bluntly, but he never lays a hand on you and has never called you any mean names. He feeds you more often than he does his other animals, and despite getting annoyed and scolding you if you don't eat like you didn't the first three days, he's always gentle and doesn't yell or kick things over when he's mad. Plus, he treats his other farm animals real nice–you've heard him cooing and calling them by their names when he pets them, and most of them come running or perk their ears up when they hear his voice from far away. One of the chickens even tried to peck you when Mr. Harley was showing you around, and had his hand on your arm as he showed you how to feed them. They love him so much they even get jealous, and it's easy to see why. Mr. Harley is so caring and kind-hearted. He's got pretty brown eyes and such a low, deep voice, and big muscles, and soft hair, he's more handsome than any other master or trader you've come across in your whole life. It's no wonder you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley.

Where it's becoming an issue, however, is with your milk.

The first little while you were here, Mr. Harley didn't even make a mention about your production. There wasn't any bucket around for you to show him anyways, so you've been sitting around letting the milk build up and up and up until you're sore and swollen. The only reason you're sat in your shed with a bucket in your lap now is because Mr. Harley noticed your discomfort (because he's such a nice and caring farmer…) but, with you being too worried about your quality and Mr. Harley being too red-faced to stick around and watch, you're coming up on the end of the day without a drop to show for it. If you don't give him anything, he'll think you're a disobedient cow! But if you squeeze out your milk and it tastes sour, or makes him sick…oh, you couldn't bear to think of making Mr. Harley hate you with the taste of your milk. It's quite the dilemma that you have no easy way of getting out of, so you do what's likely the better option: you milk out just enough to make the swelling go down, but not so much that the taste will be too strong if it's bad.

But even with your clever thinking, your knees shake as you perch on your bed and listen to the big, thudding footsteps of Mr. Harley coming towards the shed. The moment the door slides open you spring into action, and pick up the bucket a quarter full of milk to hand to him, hoping beyond hope that he won't be upset over how little there is.

“..Huh.” After he jolts slightly at your sudden movement toward him, Harley glances down at the bucket and back up at you as he takes it gingerly, peering down at the milk as if it's some sort of magic that you've managed to fill it even as little as you did. He raises his hand and your instincts force you to flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as you anticipate a hit or something equally awful. But the moment passes because Mr. Harley pats your head instead, stroking your hair and your fuzzy ears gently before hiking up the bucket to grab and hold it by the handle. “Good girl.”

Good girl? Are those words for real? Was that…praise? And so easily given, at that?

You're practically on your knees by the time he steps out of the shed, they're so wobbly and weak, but before he can make it outside he halts and turns back to you. “So…” He lingers at the doorway, the bucket hanging from his closed fist. “...Where does your milk come from, exactly?”

Oh. That's…hard to explain. You had a sense that Mr. Harley already knew, but then again he owns farm animals, not hybrids. So you meekly point at your own chest in answer, and Harley's reaction takes you by complete surprise.

“...You're shitting me.” He breathes out in what comes off as disgust, but is really shamefaced embarrassment as he tries to avert his eyes but can't tear his gaze off of your…well, udders. It was obvious that they were impressive, but he clearly wasn't expecting such a blunt and simple answer. Harley clears his throat and tries to get something out, but sooner than he's able to he gives up and just wishes you a good sleep as he shuts the sliding door behind him.

The rest of that night is full of whimpers and soft cries throughout the shed as you weep out all your worries. Mr. Harley doesn't like me anymore! He thinks I'm gross! You sniffle into your tear-drenched pillow as the thoughts grow so loud in your head that they overwhelm you. In time, you cry yourself so dry that you can't help but drift off, your sleep peppered with bad memories and anxious nightmares of what Mr. Harley might do with you tomorrow, now that he's seen how worthless and disgusting you really are.

Though by now you're used to the rooster's screeching to wake you up, your morning is riddled with half-awake mumbles and drool caking your pillow as you try to remember what you were doing. It's not until you rub your eyes and look around that you notice the light filling the shed, and realize with a cold twist in your belly that it's almost midday and well past the time you should've been up and about. The sounds of Mr. Harley's boots in the barn next door rattle you out of your covers and up to your feet, your knees knocking and hands shaking as you try to figure out what to do.

Mr. Harley always comes by your shed to check on you after he's done with the animals, and by the whinnying of the horses as he sprays the hose you can tell he's just about finished up with filling their water trough. And if that's what he's up to now, that means you're next–and gods know what he's gonna do now that he doesn't think you're cute anymore! You're not sure now if he would kill you, or chop you up to sell your bits in some underground meat market, but he might give you back to the traders! You can't let that happen, you can't!

Little do you know that while you've bustled around your shed in a panic trying to figure out what to do, Harley has been pacing anxiously outside the barn doors before finally slamming them shut and heading towards you. Each step rings out like thunder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump-

The door to your shed slides open, eliciting a startled shriek from your lips as you drop the bucket. It clatters to the ground and rolls to a stop just by Mr. Harley's boot. The two of you lock eyes and he utters a string of words that totally throw you for a loop.

“You had trouble getting your milk out yesterday, so I'm gonna help you.”

The air that hangs between you is heavy once he says that, pierced only by the gentle clinking of the bucket's thin wire handle as he reaches down and plucks it up off the hay-scattered ground. Harley rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his steps taken slow and quietly as he slides the door shut behind him and approaches your skittish self.

“You want me to help you?” His voice remains stoic and strong, but when you nod so meekly that your ears twitch his face burns a bright red all the way down to his collar. He coughs into his hand and asks you to move into a comfortable position while he stands awkwardly and prepares himself for what's about to come. You can barely make eyes with him in the meanwhile, every bit of you is trembling as you sink down to your knees.

Mr. Harley sets the bucket down beneath you. The soft, almost imperceptible thunk rings in your ears like a dinner bell. A thought flashes over your head and you wonder if you should get on your hands and knees–but the shame of such a position quickly overcomes whatever else would compel you to do so, and you sit quietly and patiently with your ears flicking nervously in rhythm with your tail. He gets down on one knee and mutters something in your ear to soothe you, but you can barely hear anything over your own breathing as you try to will your heart into slowing down from its fervent pace. When he asks you to pull down your top, however, you certainly hear that command loud and clear.

The moment the fabric swishes down your chest in one clean motion, Harley has a look of utter redness and embarrassment all over his face. He's a bit more composed than yesterday, but he can barely tear his eyes away from them; your udders. They're so soft and weigh so heavy on your torso, it's a surprise you can even lift them up yourself. That's what he thinks, anyways–you can't even comprehend his awe when you're so self-conscious over your nipples pebbling in the drafty air. Your fingernails scrape against each other in a nervous tic while you wait. He has to get prepared, and he warms his hands by rubbing them together; the very action of which sends heat straight to your nethers and a twitch to your soft, fuzzy ears.

“M-My milk doesn't taste good…” You whimper to distracted ears, but still, Mr. Harley holds his hands back from reaching out and he meets your eyes in contemplation. Your worries explode out of you before you can halt yourself. “B-But I'll–I'll try really hard to make it sweet, Mr. Harley!”

To your shock, he just shakes his head. He scoffs, but then–then it's a chuckle. It's laughter, low and gravelly, but it's laughter all the same.

“You taste good.” Mr. Harley murmurs, and his eyes don't look at all daunted. He doesn't correct himself, either. He leans closer, reaches out, and then the callused pads of his hardworking fingers are brushing under the tender skin of your breasts.

The moment is…saccharine. It's divine. It's godlike! You can't see, can't hear, can barely breathe, and you've never felt more exuberance bubbling up in the back of your throat–you want to scream and cry and beg but the emotions jumble themselves all together and leave you stunned silent. You can hardly let out the gentlest exhale of disbelieving breath as Mr. Harley's hands fold over your chest, and you feel a warmth you thought was only reserved for cows of a much better pedigree than you. The man that's bigger and stronger and sweeter than you shuffles in closer, he wants his lips right against your skin; he wants to taste you and touch you while he gives you a squeeze, and when his tongue flicks out to dab the sweat off your neck you could just cry, it feels so exhilarating.

“M-Mr. Harley-” You gulp, your tone betraying your enjoyment in how it trembles with desperate need. Harley's hands start pressing and pulling on each teat, and in no time at all he's coaxing the milk from you as easily as he would his own dairy cows. No mess, no fuss, and no tears–not ones devoid of joy, anyways. You can't help your own instincts in this moment of pure, primal hybrid heat. “I-I love you, Mr. Harley.”

His head raises and tilts down to look at you. He doesn't even have to look to make sure he's getting it all in the bucket, he's so experienced. Something seems to brew behind those dark, cocoa-coloured eyes…and his words stir up the heat within you like a potent, bubbling love potion.

“I'm so fuckin’ glad they got you mixed up.”

With that admission of very Harley-like affection, he buries his tongue in your mouth and presses your lips firmly together in a wet, forceful kiss.

A kiss! From Mr. Harley! Your tail flicks to and fro with happiness while you're melting into it, into the softness and the strength of his tongue and the sticky wetness of your spit mixing with his. You've never been kissed like this, and when he pulls back you just have to lean in for more. He can barely stifle his lustful chuckles when you keep pecking his lips like a touch-starved harpy, hoping for more tongue and spit and warmth. He squeezes your left teat especially firm and a thick jet of milk spurts out, leaving you to hunch forward suddenly as a wet spot starts forming in the seat of your poor panties. Harley's slanted nose is the only thing keeping you up; he nuzzles it under your chin when your body threatens to pitch forward into the hard ground.

“So close.” He murmurs into your mouth as he seals his lips over yours again. His hair is mussed and he's blushing…a lot. “Almost there. Such a good product today. Nearly filled the whole pail. Good girl.” He whispers against your cheek as you try not to feel the delicate rumbles of his voice in your cunt. With a swish of movement, Mr. Harley maneuvers around your trembling body to slot himself up behind you, and lets his hands reach around you just so his thick, muscly biceps will keep you upright through to the end.

“M-Mr. Harley…I think I'm…I-I dunno, I feel-ah! Ah, weird. G-Good weird..” What feels like a brick presses up against your rear in that moment–you have a feeling you know exactly what it is.

“Yeah?” He scoffs with a thrilled smirk against your neck. “Dirty fuckin’ dairy cow. That's what you are, huh?”

“Y-Yes-!” You squeal, but whether that's an answer to his question or simply the reaction he's caused by bucking against you with a groan, it remains to be seen. Either way Mr. Harley is enjoying himself, and it floods your bovine head with vindicated glee that your master enjoys you. You're doing a good job. You're a good cow.

“Good fuckin’ cow,” Harley growls, completely lost in the softness between your thighs and the sweet warmth of your tits weighing heavy and milk-swollen in his hands. Your legs shake against his thick thighs as he pulls you back to practically sit on his lap, held up by the monster straining at his pants, begging to be let out. You've already left a soiled, sticky spot there through your clothes but Harley won't take any apologies–not right now, at least, when your milk is flowing at its peak and he's just about to lose his self-control completely…if he even had any left from the moment he held your soft, chubby body in his hands. A splash of milk jets from your swollen tits and splatters against the side of the pail rather than inside it, and with that you don't need to see Mr. Harley's face to know that he's reaching his end; in fact, he's already there.

A string of “fuck, fuck, fuck!”s erupts from his mouth that he buries in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, his teeth not only grazing now but biting down hard into your sweat-soaked skin. The spot you'd left on his jeans is nothing compared to the damp mess he makes as his thighs shake beneath yours, his hips ruthless and powerful as he slams them up into you with the desire of chasing that invaluable heat between your legs. You've barely held back from spasming in pleasure this whole time, but once Mr. Harley has his needs sated is when you finally allow yourself to give in to yours. Groans, panting, and soft mooing resonate within the homey little room that you've incidentally turned into a den of pleasure. Mr. Harley finally slumps back with his arms tucked tightly around your middle, and a wobbly, satisfied smile makes its way across your face as you look down and see a pail full of warm, creamy-looking milk. A few spots and tiny puddles litter the hay-covered ground around it from where you spilled, and some still soaks Harley's massive hands, but you still managed to fill it–a whole bucket!

“I did…a good job, Mr. Harley?” You ask in such a sweet, timid voice that he can only manage a breathless scoff in response.

“You think you did a good job?” He asks, but not understanding his tone, you start to fuss and squirm in fear that you've disappointed him. It's only once he manages to wrangle you against his chest and pick you up off your feet with him that he manages to calm you down.

“Relax, little one. You did a good job.” Careful not to let you lose balance, he sets you down on your feet and holds you there, steadying you against his effortlessly strong body. The moment you look up at him with those sweet, wet cow eyes, he can't resist his affections and lovingly strokes your ears. “Very good. You're a good cow. Look at all the milk you made,” He reaches past you to pick up the pail and hold it out for you to see. The glistening milk swishes with the heft of the bucket, so he steps away and ensures he sets it aside amongst the empty ones to keep it from spilling over.

“So…c-can I stay, Mr. Harley?”

It seems your voice does more than earn you an answer from him–Harley whips around to look at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face, and his reaction is more than you ever could have thought you deserved.

“Stay? What d'ya mean, ‘stay’? You're part of the farm. You're my family now. You're not going anywhere.” He reaches out for you and in that moment it takes for him to get to you, the tears are already flowing and you're blubbering pathetically into his chest with gratitude, which he seems much less awkward in accepting now.

“Hey–quit sayin’ such stupid shit. Stay…are you crazy?” He murmurs into your hair, his arms so tight around you you're reminded of the soreness of your hollow chest as your tits press up against his firm body. What he whispers to you then, in the silence peppered only by your weepy cries of adoration and love for your ‘Mr. Harley’, is the one thing that will stay with you for a long, long time–perhaps for the rest of your life.

“Not just cattle anymore, little one. You're…mine.”

#harley kunuk #harley x reader #harley kunuk x reader #spicy writing #hybrid reader #yandere ocs #yanverse #fem reader #male yandere #ellie writes #4k

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cuteandhughesy · 2 months ago

Text

Cool | Jack Hughes

summary: after your breakup with jack, you thought your EP release party would be dreadful- especially after your single about him is the biggest hit. what happens when you see him at the party and all past feelings come rushing back.

3.8k

warnings: SFW! ex! jack | singer! reader | angst

a/n: based off this request! hope you enjoy what I’ve done with your idea! also I used sabrina for my little album mock ups, so that’s that 🤍

link to masterlist

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

when you and jack met, it was anything but glamorous.

working in music was something you'd always wanted to pursue, but the journey of getting into the music industry isn't always easy. sending demo after demo to different record companies was coming up short, and as a last resort, you'd decided to post a video showcasing your talents on tiktok.

it blew up - the cover of one direction's night changes was heard on every video you'd scroll by. people were using your audio as background noise for there own videos, continuing to further your success.

nessa barrett and her team had reached out not longer after your up-roaring success, asking if you'd like to be featured on one of her songs on her upcoming album. nessa had expressed her love for your style of singing and iceralll vibe, and thought you'd be the perfect final piece in her creation. you'd obviously agreed.

the day of recording was an eventful one. not being able to fly out to LA to record, nessa's team arranged a studio session in new jersey where you lived and because they'd put so much effort in for you - you didn't want to disappoint them.

but the recording session wasn't the craziest part of your day - the journey home was. your mom had called you, frantically trying to plan your younger sisters 21st birthday while you exited the recording studio. trying to calm your mother down, insisting that 5 different balloon colours was too many (especially when your sister only liked pink), all while digging through your tote in search of your car keys, left you rather distracted.

you’re rudely brought back to the reality of the busy sidewalks around you, when you walk into something hard. you phone slips out of your hand on impact, falling to the icy ground below. just as that happens, the person you'd inevitably ran into, spills their drink on you - hot chocolate stinging your chest through your white hoodie.

"shit, i'm so sorry." the smooth voice is instantly spewing apologies, and large, slightly calloused hands reach out and hover over your coat covered arms.

finally, you look away from the hot chocolate dripping off you, standing the white snow, and meet the deep blue eyes in front of you. you dance over his soft, round features - following the littering of freckles and moles on his face.

his brows are furrowed in worry, deep gaze trained on you as he attempts to asses you for injuries - darting between the hot chocolate stain and your rosy cheeks.

you shake your head slightly, "no, it's okay. I should've watched where I was going."

"same - my brother and teammates were heckling me about my choice of hot drink - ironically enough, I wasn't looking in your direction. I'm sorry again." he swallows nervously, running a sticky, hot chocolate covered hand through his brown hair.

you notice then, off the the side against one of the brick buildings lining the streets, a small group of guys. they're moving between shooting you both amused looks, and hiding their embarrassed grins behind there hands. you think that must be the brother and teammates in question.

"don't apologize, it was an accident." you sigh gently, forcing a somewhat happy smile on your face. although you're not actually mad at this stranger, it was still an inconvenience and you're glad this happened after your studio session - not before.

you lean down to. collect your cellphone and see that your mom is still on the line. the chances of her still blabbing on about party supplies and not noticing your absence is very high. "I'm y/n."

the ghost of a smile rests upon his lips, "jack - and again, so sorry-"

"yo, hughesy," one of the teammates call, one hand cupped around his mouth to further echo his voice. "we should probably go, coach wants us at the meeting in 15 minutes." he sounds foreign, but if it wasn't for the lingering accent you'd have no idea.

"can I at least get your number? I want to buy you a new sweater." jack insists, already digging out his phone from his black, puffy coat pocket.

you smile, "you really don't need to."

his brow quirks up in a playful manner, and his smirk is almost teasing. "so I can't have your number?"

you giggle gently and start reciting your 7 digit code to jack - the warm, sticky chocolate stain covering your front long forgotten about as you are consumed by the handsome stranger.

like promised, jack had bought you a new white sweater from aritzia - a much more expensive, better quality sweater than your original adidas one.

you and jack had very quickly become close, and started dating only a month after your run in outside the studio. you shared your aspiring music career, and your hopes moving forward in the industry. jack had also told you about his career, and how hockey pretty much took up all his time and energy. but you didn't mind it, because you new your boyfriend was following his hopes and passions - just as you are.

what you weren't expecting was the specific fame that came with jack being in the nhl. in some ways, you weren't shocked that you boyfriend was one of the most sought out nhl player by women, because you knew he was attractive, young and talented - but you were surprised with just how intense these women can be and how you were feeling about it all.

you were pretty good and working through any jealous feelings with jack, and he'd always reassure you that the comments, dms and videos were just stupid talk - rumours.

and you'd always believe him - you loved him and trusted him despite everything and everyone else rooting against you. it wasn't until a year after dating and being in love with jack, that you reached an unseen breaking point - the hurt and jealousy coming to a hill top, teetering on the edge of falling away.

you watch him wordlessly, stewing in your own emotions- a mixture of jealousy and anger very prevalent in your demeanour.

jack scrolls through your dm messages just as quiet as you, his soft brows pulled together tightly to create two deep frown marks. he looks up at you again, because yes, this is the third time he's read though the messages on your phone. "nothing happened, y/n. these messages are just trying to get you," he pauses, waving his hand frantically in your direction, "like this."

you scoff, "so i'm overreacting?"

"no," he huffs, "you're not but I don't understand why you're not believing me."

"jack...multiple people have messaged me and said they saw you and your ex spending time with one another at the bar! some even said you two were dancing together! this isn't just one person, it's 10."

"yeah 10 people who saw my ex and I in the same location and immediately started talking about it to you - trying to convince you that something was going on!"

when jack left for his week long road trip with the devils to the west coast, you'd never would of expected to it end up like this. after a devils win, the boys had gone to one of the local bars to have some greasy food and a beer - let loose for one night, regardless of teaming staff's recommendations. oddly enough, one of jacks ex-girlfriends had moved out to LA to finish her degree, and so happened to be at the same bar as your boyfriend and his teammates.

your instagram dms flooded. multiple people claiming they saw them talking, and dancing. one message even said she caught them kissing off towards the back of the bar.

you just snapped.

it was too much of a coincidence and too many witnesses for you to just 'trust him'.

"don't you trust me?" jack questions, locking your phone and setting it on his kitchen island. the tv from luke's room is louder than it was when you first got to the brothers' apartment - probably trying to block out the argument.

you feel yourself getting emotional. you eyes start to blur with tears, and you blink desperately to try and clear your vision. "I did! I do! it's just," you pause, taking a shaky breath. "this is too much. I can't keep pretending all this attention isn't killing me...I can't keep just hoping it's all rumours. I love you but I can't keep sharing you with the world and feeling like the laughing stock on social media."

"then don't share me!" he stresses, taking a quick step towards you. jack almost reaches out to touch you, but he decides against it, not wanting to push you away any further. "please, just don't believe them...believe me. nothing happened-"

"there's pictures jack." you whisper. tears begin to fall from your glossy coated eyes, falling down your flushed cheeks.

"picture of us just talking, barley talking if anything-"

"yeah but you didn't even tell me- social media did."

jack pauses, his eyes full of a swimming pool of emotions as looks down at you. he doesn't have an excuse, because you're right - he didn't tell you.

even though pictures only captured your boyfriend and his ex talking, nothing more, how could you believe his words and broken promises when he couldn't even be honest about a so called innocent talk.

you sniffle, "I need space."

"okay," he nods, "I can drive you home and then tomorrow we can talk again, okay? we can get breakfast at the cafe you really like and just figure this all out."

"no," you correct, "I need space from us."

"what?"

"I can't do this anymore - the rumours, the comments and the complete disregard for my feelings. I just need to figure it all out...alone."

with your new heartbreak came a whole new lyrical world. you put your uncertainty, jealousy, anger, and sadness onto paper - which birthed your very first single on your small EP.

releasing your song tilted cool immediately had fans speculating your and jack's relationship. the lyrics hide nothing about the rumors circulating around the hockey community, and once you and jack stopped posting together and not spotted with one another - your break-up was confirmed to the world.

your EP, titled sucker, was a collection of four, self-written tracks that perfectly captured the emotions you'd gone through (and still dealing with) in the break-up with jack.

and sucker in its fullness and greatness, was being released tonight. your newly appointed manager through your record company, insisted throwing a release party for you and the already overwhelming successes of your single, cool, and the upcoming EP.

so here you stood, in your frilly pink dress that perfectly matched the colour of one of three vinyl variants - happily greeting friends, musicians, and fans as they pulled into the event hall. the space was covered in astonishing, expensive looking decorations to bring the atmosphere to life. streamers, shiny balloons, multi-coloured lights, and many more beautiful items.

you take a sip out of your fourth champagne flute, trying to keep your excitement alive, while trying to keep your earlier nerves at bay. you wanted your peers and fans to love your art, and you wanted them to feel proud.

you swallow the bitter drink, looking away from the crowded room and over to the large procedure screen against one of the wallpapered walls. half and hour until midnight - thirty minutes until the world would here your most precious emotions. in thirty minutes the judgment would start, and the hate....in thirty minutes there'd be no more secrets.

you sigh gently, looking through the crowd. as per request, everyone was dressed in either pale blue, cream or baby pink, matching each album variant. it makes the whole ordeal feel even more real, and that sends the flutter of butterflies in your stomach loose - your body going numb and warm.

"y/n," a familiar voice calls your name, and instantly your stomach feels funny. you look over towards the source of the greeley voice, and are meet with the tall figure of luke hughes. he's smiling widely, the same smile you'd see when he actually finds something funny or when something brought him joy, and he's wearing the pale peach colour of your record - a nice, button up with appropriate, matching bottoms.

you force yourself to smile back, pushing away any prior emotion and worry. "luke, hey." the tallest hughes brother embraces you in a friendly way, congratulating you on the success of your career.

you separate, and instantly, your smile falters. behind his brother, stands jack. he looks just as uncertain as you feel, looking at you with a mixture of sadness and hope. his tanned, calloused hands are shoved into his dress pants awkwardly, bunching up the hem of his baby blue shirt. the colour brings out his eyes, making the usual ocean blue look brighter.

he clears his throat, "hey, congratulations."

you're almost in shock, and you can't look away from the man infront of you. before you realize, luke has slipped away from you both, your once buffer now nosying around the food table - shoving cheese and crackers into his mouth.

you blink. "jack, what are you doing here?" you're not angry, and you certainly don't sound it. your tone is very soft, bordering on emotional- your overwhelming internal energy now presenting on the outside.

"I always said I'd show my support for you - no matter the circumstances. I'm so proud of you, y/n."

you say his name again, an almost warning tone lacing your words. you can't do this with him, especially tonight on top of all the other thousands thoughts running through your mind. "thank you for the support, jack but i'm not sure what you want me to do here."

his brows furrow, "I don't want you to do anything except celebrate yourself, but I do think we need to talk-"

your manager comes skipping over, guiding you away from your ex-boyfriend as she explains what you'll be doing next. with the music releasing in the next few minutes, she's asking for you to make a brief speech about the night and the upcoming EP.

you shoot jack an unapologetic look over your shoulder, rounding into the grand living space of the rented extravagant house.

jack follows slowly behind, and just as you're walking onto the stage, right infront of the countdown display, he settles near the back of the room, watching you with a guilty expression. he shouldn't of said anything to you, especially on your special night - especially when he can see how overwhelmed you are.

you tap gently on the microphone, checking the sound. the echoing noise grabs the busy crowds attention, the once chatty laughter coming to a slow halt. you smile warmly, "hi, everyone."

people smile and clap excitedly, some people even cheering at your greeting. your smile doesn't falter, and neither do your nervous butterflies. your wrong your hands out nervously, a typical nervous habit you've always done. "thank you all so much for coming out here and showing your love and support for me and my career. I'm so overwhelmed with joy at the thought of my small piece of art being heard by all of you and I can only hope that you'll love and enjoy the three new songs as much as cool."

through the bright lights, familiar and unfamiliar faces, your gaze finds jack. the sight of him as your nerves changing, and somehow you feel yourself become calm under his gaze. you clear your throat, "with less than three minutes to go, as just want to say that all these songs are so personal and raw with emotion and I just want to remind anybody who can relate to these lyrics and music that it's okay to feel overwhelmed, or angry, or jealous, even when you know there's no reason to feel that way."

once again, you find jack at the back of the room. his face hasn't changed, and you can't quite read the expression he's showing. without looking away from him, you continue. "finally, I want to thank you for believing in me and always supporting me. from tiktok, to my first feature and single - now my EP. thank you for everything, I love you."

you blink, finally tearing your gaze away. "all of you! get ready, because these are the emotional, up and downs of sucker!"

the crowd roars in excitement, counting down the last minute before the tracks will be shared. you slip off the stage, forcing smiles to the crowd as you slip through bodies and crowds of people, trying to get out of the bustling, loud and overwhelming room.

everyone is unaware of your motives, and because everyone is gathered in the same room, it makes your space easier. your shoes echo in the empty hallway, heels clicking up the grand staircase as you ascend upstairs.

you find an empty, unlocked room and slip inside quickly. it's a cleaning closet, and now you can understand why there's no lock on the door. it smells strongly of lysol and clorox, but the strong smells provides a nice distraction from your frantic breathing.

you move further into the room, pressing your back to one of the cool, metal shelving units. it was all feeling like too much - the party, the EP releasing, seeing jack....you can feel your stomach turn just at the back and forth motion from the thoughts in your brain. you close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

suddenly, the sound of your opening track gets louder, turning from muffled vibrations into full, coherent sounds. your eyes snap open, just as jack enters the room with you.

your chest tightens warmly, and the heartbroken girlfriend in you desperately wants to reach out and let jack pull you into his embrace- providing his usual calming comfort.

jack shuts the door behind himself, letting the silence once again consume the small cleaning closet. his cheeks look rosy in the dim light, and his hair is pushed back like he's been running his hand through it over and over.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, taking a step closer to you.

“no, jack,” you huff through disbelieved laughter. “i'm so confused and overwhelmed and I don't know why you're actually here. do you want an apology from me? is that why you want to talk?”

“no,” he replies, “I want to talk because I was wrong.”

your brows furrow and your confusion is evident. “what do you mean?”

jack takes another step towards you, “I shouldn't have lied to you and I immediately should've told you that I saw my ex and had a brief conversation with her - even though that was the extent of it. I made myself look guilty and because of that, I made you feel like you couldn't trust me.”

he continues, eyes swimming with emotions as he keeps his gaze locked on you. “all your feelings about what happened are absolutely valid and i'm sorry for being the cause of your pain. that song, cool - I know it's about me and when I heard it, it solidified how badly I screwed up.”

you frown uncertainly. “why now? why are you saying all this now?”

“because the guilt of it all is eating me alive. I couldn't go an hour longer with you thinking that I would ever cheat on you. even though I talked to my ex for only that minute in LA, I shouldn't have been so sketchy about the situation. I should've reassured you, and listened to your concerns and I should've told you as soon as it happened - end of story.”

he pauses, asserting your face of emotions. jack sees the way your eyes have glossed over, but your shoulders are still broad - indicating that you’re upset, but not uncomfortable. you’re still here, listening to his apology. with that, he continues. “you don't need to forgive me, and you don't even need to say anything, but I just wanted you to know that i'm sorry for how I handled the situation that I very easily could've fixed. I love you….so much and i'm so proud of you and I don’t want you to think anything but that.”

you blink and look away from him, sniffling away any lingering emotion. hearing jacks apology has solidified so much for you and the situation a few weeks prior. the second track on your EP is vibrating through the floor, the bass lined chorus tickling the soles of your feet through your heels. softly, you set your gaze back on jack - who’s soft, guilty expression hasn’t changed.

“I agree, you should’ve mentioned the situation with your ex before I found out through social media, and you telling me that you recognize how that made me feel and how it made you look, has me feeling so much relief.” you take a shaky inhale, “your apology means so much to me because I love you and I should’ve truly expressed how I was feeling about everything, instead of arguing, deflecting and shutting down. I trust you and I always have but I was feeling angry, and jealous about the slinky feeling of it all.”

“you still love me?” he breathes shakily, a ghost of a smile beginning to pull at his mouth.

you nod, your own bright smile gracing your face - shining through the dim, bleach scented closet. “I love you.”

jack releases a visible sigh of relief, and he closes the gap between you in favour of gently taking whole of your warm face, softly caressing your plump cheeks affectionately. you smile as jacks thumb subconsciously runs under your lash line, collecting any tears before they can fall and ruin your makeup - something you’d complained about often.

“I love you.” jack repeats, his words a breathless whisper as he leans down. his nose nudges yours once affectionately, before slotting next to yours comfortably. then, thankfully, jack presses his lips to yours in a much missed kiss.

you don’t regret the raw, jealous and angry emotions you’d put into your new EP - all those emotions being directed at jack and the miscommunicated situation. you’re proud and excited to help others going through the same heartbreak as you did.

and with jack here now, kissing you like he’s done a thousand times, you’re looking forward to the blissing relationship to return, as well as the amazing career ahead of both of you.

you can’t wait for the love songs you’ll create - all because of jack.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

a/n okay I hope this was okay! I didn’t edit it because i’m a lil lazy (whoops) but the idea was fun and cute! also when I was writing I didn’t want to be too on the nose with the song or lyrics of cool, so I did the best I could:) also I added visual links for the colour and outfits of the reader, luke and jack!

#🤍⊹˚₊ cute and hughesy fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl #nhl hockey #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #new jersey devils imagine

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icycoldninja · 9 months ago

Note

hey so i was thinking: Sparda Boys and V with a writer S/O? take as long as you need to with this (writer's block is kicking my ass rn sadly but) , i don't really mind

Hey I feel that bro, enjoy and hopefully your inspiration will return to you 💜

Sparda Boys + V x Writer!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-He's not a scholar and knows next to nothing about books since he rarely reads, but if his sweetheart is writing stuff, by God, he will read whatever they put out there.

-Uses you as a human dictionary whenever he comes across new words, not understanding that that's not the purpose of a writer.

-"Hey babe, what's this word?"

"What word?"

"Uhh...Ink-Can-Dress-Ant."

"What?"

"Ink-can-dress-ant, I think that's how you say it."

"How's it spelled?"

"I-N-C-A-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-T."

"Incandescent, Dante, not ink-can-dress-ant."

-He'll be the first to read your work and is very proud of this fact. He, Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter, is also your private beta reader. Awesome.

-Oddly enough, him reading all your works results in him developing a larger vocabulary--something that shocked everyone, especially Vergil.

-Congratulations! Thanks to you, Dante can use big words now!

■ Vergil ■

-You, a writer, are dating Vergil, the biggest bookworm on the planet? You are now Vergil's goddess.

-He wants to read everything, regardless of its quality. He'll visually devour all the words off the page, absorbing every word.

-You two now have yet another topic to nerd out about; you can spend hours chatting about books, writing techniques, and so on.

-Vergil is filled with a sense of pride whenever he reads your published writing; it pleases him so much to know you're growing your talents.

-He has an entire bookshelf dedicated to your books and takes special care of these books. They're more than just words on pages bound by cardboard and leather; they're treasures.

-Will take up writing as well, just so he can be closer to you.

□ Nero □

-Nero is not a bookworm by any sense of the word; he's read a few books in his time, but he's more combat oriented.

-Doesn't mind being a beta reader for anything you write.

-Your works have inspired him to take up reading again, and in doing so, he unleashes his inner book nerd. Like father, like son.

-He's always looking forward to whatever you write, and when you get writers block (as we all do) he'll take you out to a park, or a peaceful lake, in the hopes that the natural beauty of your surroundings might restore your creative juices.

-He, too, has a collection of all your works and keeps them proudly on display on a nice bookshelf in his house.

-Encourages you daily to keep writing because now he's addicted to reading your work. You really have changed him.

● V ●

-Oh congratulations, you've found yourself a soul mate.

-V loves to read (he totes his copy of William Blake poetry around and reads from it all the time, even in the middle of battle) and is more than happy to read your books.

-V is also a writer himself; he writes poetry, as we know. Because of this, he understands more than anyone the pain of writer's block and knows just what to do about it.

-He'll arrange for a relaxing movie/reading night, which in his experience, helps restore your creativity.

-If that doesn't work, Griffon's loud mouth and wise-guy (yet funny) jokes will take your mind off of things.

-V understands literature and knows all sorts of obscure things about famous literary figures; so much so that you two can converse for hours on end just gabbing away about books, their authors, and other interesting tidbits of knowledge.

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schizoidcel · 1 year ago

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HIIIIIIIIIIIIIII HEHEHE spins in circles. pomni is sooooo Girl failure coded to me she totally needs a girl boss reader. sooo maybe girlboss!reader x pomni headcannons??? :3c

# POMNI x GIRLBOSS S/O ☆

omg I LOVE this request this is so real. Anon I will make out wit ur mind

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

🤍 HEADCANONS !!

warnings :: None . Just a very much inlove Pomni

Omg Pomni is literally head over heels.

Whether you're stronger, more athletic, more talented or ALL OF THOSE than her it dosen't even matter you can literally just see the amazement in her eyes

Like when she first saw you her eyes were two huge ass circles and she always does that when you speak with her or vice versa

She also stutters more ..

She also is more likely to get a panic attack ..

Anyway. I like to think you were one of the first ones that came up to her & helped her!

Which automatically made her like you more.

But as time went on and you kept on helping her (ex. with her panic attacks, finding exits, the adventures etc.) she literally realizes how much she loves you and how hard she'd cry if you were gone .

Quickly on the topic of finding exits. You didn't immediately invalidate her thinking that there was an exit. Instead, you helped her the first few days, trying to find one

Infact, you still do!! Pomni and you still try to find an exit every few days, it's like your guys' "platonic" date night out (totally platonic... totes.)

Random idea once you comforted her while she was having another panic attack and the moment you touched her she just froze and. fucked OFF and you were like "???"

She apologized later . She was actually about to confess there but Jaxs bitchass fucked it up .. everybody clap 👏👏

While on the topic, you usually defend her from Jax & everybody else aswell

You also protect her alot !!

When you have adventures, you're always near her, incase something happens

And she ALWAYS blushes. It's so obvious PLEASE

Everytime you attack or confront one of those big ass adventure monsters (like maybe idk the gloink queen) she just sits there like ○○. only ○○.

All she does is stare when you do ANYTHING it's insane

Like you cannot even distract her or like push her correctly her gaze will stand

But NOT in a creepy way she just thinks you're way to cool for her and she dosen't deserve you.

So please ... Love this girlfail... She's just abit lost 🌚

She even rambles alot to Ragatha to you and is like "[name] is so cool... I wish I could be like them..." "Have you seen the way they handled that situation?? It was so badass!!"

It's like you're a new hyperfixation or something Ragatha is DONE of this girlfailure fangirlfailing.

She will probably help Pomni attempt a 2nd confession but she keeps saying no

She's just nervous though. Like her ass is SHAKING at the thought of confessing to you another time

Whatevs. Ragatha got you. She WILL execute something

One one last note, you influence her alot!

Since she DEFINITELY loves you, she started idolising you, and unconciously for example starts speaking like you

She even started to not panic as much anymore, cus she thought '[name] wouldn't do this.'

You noticed this, and you wanted to say how happy you are that shes not panicking as much anymore, but the moment you took her hands she immediately stopped functioning. Good job girl.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

ׂૢ་༘࿐ Thank you for reading! ♡

I actually love this idea so much I'll make a short scenario I thinks...

#pomni x reader #tadc x reader

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chinen-miya-official · 6 months ago

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Before we begin, only a small percentage of viewers are subscribed to the channel

So please consider hitting that button if you end up enjoying this battle

Enough of the prattle, you and me in a 1v1?

I don't see much challenge, but it still seems fun

It's no Pet War but I'll beat ya in one verse and leave you like your dog, hit n' speedrun

Count em up, my WR Ws are more plentiful than all the wounds that you cut on your arms

You don't really set a high bar talking 'bout your fine art, my avatar's drawn more consistent than your sprites are!

You hopeless loner, glad you know your own worth

Don't need to dig down to know this stepping stone's below dirt

I know you wanna get Hinata, but your luck's not so grand

If you can't even boost the odds of you hunting your man

How'd you not hit Byakuya's imposter even with the pounds that that the dude sports? (George!)

Guess this rabid fan is only catching hands from transplants with Junko's corpse (George!)

Grab a bow and arrow for this ghost white barebones

You could grow a forest with that bone meal hair, bro

Check all the careers I'm settin' the stage for

While your lymphoma's set in the stage four!

What a grand display! With all the wars you struggle to bear

I'm mere trash in the way when compared to the Ultimate Square

But when it comes to despair (Ugh), I have none left to spare (Ha)

So make like that disc pair, give it up in this pair

I went through with one goal: exposing the traitor

While you got exposed exploiting the traders

Pursuing that dough, then toy with your players

Tom's suicide note is your kinda paper

And paired with your Stan audience? I've inhaled gas less toxic

He labels himself spotless, but I got it! Let me break it down...

Not a perfect roster your team crafted (Huh)

Ultimate Imposter of TeamCrafted (Huh)

Then it met the same end 'cause then Schlatt won (Huh)

And turned L'Manburg to a L'Manhunt

And normal's the only way to describe your catalog of bland songs

Tell that plastic CG ragdoll it's best to keep the mask on

Oh come on, I thought you toted bombs

With just a glance at your chances, your fans went "No, that's wrong!"

Ironic Clay lacks foundation with all the arguments he's built

And you're only blessed with fortune when it's from your parent's will (Ooh!)

You started your wooden arc sailing on a ship

That explains why on the microphone you failed to land a hit

You're numb as it gets, your luck must've gun to your head

But you're only firing blanks like it's Russian Roulette

Your franchise took the stage and ignited some flames

But I'll be snuffing you all out like a fire grenade

Call my fans creepy stanning every student around

But your only friends now are like George, not found!

Your hopes are shining through, but it's just a matter of time

'Fore the net treats you like Tommy and Wilbur (It's banishment time!)

You couldn't kill tracks but you still lack a clean record

Congrats, you're not the blackened, so what's your excuse for the n-word?

Every time drama comes up, you don't respond and let it be

All you can speedrun from is your responsibility

Luck's an awful talent, but you don't even share it

You're gaming's worst cheater on the scene since ProJared

So here's my statement: how fitting that Dream's your name as

You're to be quickly forgotten once your crowd of teens awaken

Your hopes for world renown and loving fans got to see the day but

We all know the dark path your DreamWasTaken

#🐈#idk

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cadaverre · 1 year ago

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⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ welcome ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

about me

you can call me juno or astraea

im a cancer sun, libra moon and sagittarius rising

my pronouns are they/she (and my pronoun page is here)

i'm a proud bisexual (i am very sapphic lol)

im taken (you can hear about my love via the “them tag <33")

i am a minor (i won't immediately block people 18+ but if you're creepy i will <3)

australian!! also a bunch of different places, none really interesting

this blog is for me to dump thoughts, interact with people and just have a good time :)

i play the drums and im currently in two bands! i also love playing guitar and one of my 2024 goals is to get better at playing!!

currently listening -> 🍁☕️🎸 nyc

currently reading -> the odyssey translated by emily wilson

currently watching -> doctor who and rewatching gilmore girls

things i like

i love: literature, the arts, queer culture, astronomy, feminism (no terfs allowed!!!!), fruit flavoured drinks, flared pants, converse, dark red, nail polish, eyeliner, burgundy lipgloss, tank tops, tote bags, brie (always dreaming of cheese), pinterest, spotify, my headphones, the ocean, my grandparents house (im there rn i love it), spring+winter, very specific shades of pink and green, black <3, folklore and 1989 girl, fiddling around on the guitar, fantasising about being a famous musician, finding new music, snow, picking silly little outfits,

books: osemanverse, the hunger games, books by rhiannon wilde, tim te maro's subterranean heartsick blues, all the best liars, books by octavia butler (specifically parable of the sower and parable of the talents), the last true poets of the sea, acotar, the weight of the stars, the seven husbands of evelyn hugo, the picture of dorian grey, house of hollow, howls moving castle, harry potter (mainly marauders, FUCK JKR), i kissed shara wheeler, red white and royal blue, song of achilles

movies + tv shows: dont look up, little women (2019), scream (i like most of them but 1996 is my fav by far), ladybird, barbie (2023), some of the mcu (thor and guardians of the galaxy <33), spiderverse (itsv is my love), gilmore girls, stranger things, loki, heartstopper, arcane, scott pilgrim takes off, she ra

musicians/bands: boygenius, taylor swift, lovejoy, glaive, brakence, paramore, ricky jamaraz, melanie martinez, lana del rey, ashnikko, girl in red, billie eilish, doja cat, big thief, adrienne lenker, ethel cain, mitski, remi wolf, cigarettes after sex, ericdoa, tv girl, clairo, the neighbourhood, bon iver, deftones (getting into them just a little), maneskin, courtney barnett, poppy

my favourite colours are black, dark red, burgundy, denim blue, sage green, soft pink, glaucous blue, golden yellow (i love colour theory so all colours are beautiful in their own context but here are my favs to wear/see)

i really want to get into more poetry so if you have any recs lmk!!

i have recently begun practising some very simple witchcraft, so feel free to talk to me about that and i would love to learn more!!

i love learning about astrology and use my birth chart frequently

i write very, very infrequently and think of more stories than i even start to plot lmao.

i draw way more than i write and will occasionally post some!! its not good by any means but its fun ig

talk to me + dni

my asks and dms are open!! feel free to talk to me about anything and everything!! i love talking!!

i love my mutuals so much so if ur my mutual *looks you dead in your eyes* i love you

my discord is the same @ as here, i literally just got it today so idrk how it works but feel free to add me there <33 but please lmk if you do if your username is different

if we’re very close you can ask for my insta!!

i rarely follow people without an intro post/descriptive enough bio (with name, age group, pronouns) so if you want to be mutuals please have one!! if not just shoot me an ask about who you are and what you like so we can be friends <33

dni: rude, racist, homophobic, transphobic, zionist, terfs, sexist, ableist, antisemitic people

tags

#juno.txt -> ramblings, original posts

#asks -> asks ive answered

#ask bait -> hehehe send me asks <3

#tag games -> tag games ive participated in

#beautiful mutuals -> interactions with my beautiful mutuals!

#spotify -> my music obsession dw im fine fhdklfhdal

#them tag <33 -> posts that remind me of my wonderful bf <3

links + sideblogs

spotify

@likeasugarcubeinateacup -> my notes app poetry

@slowrotburiedinthepark -> a random sideblog i post art and occasional web weaving on

@stabbingstarsthroughmyback -> my writing sideblog (ask me about my wip!!)

stunning dividers by @chachachannah :))

here is a totally beautiful and amazing moodboard by @svnflowermoon that always makes me so fhadkfhakd

last updated: jan 19th 2024

#intro post #Spotify #juno.txt #asks #ask bait #tag games #beautiful mutuals #pinned post #them tag <33

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paraliveimaginesblog · 1 year ago

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ooh maybe parenthood headcanons with the cozmez twins? (separate ofc) something like what kind of parents would they be, how would they take care of their child when their s/o is busy?

Kanata Yatonokami:

Kanata is an overprotective sort of parent. He won’t keep your child on a leash or anything too drastic but he is critical of who his child hangs out with. He’s not a huge fan of any child other than your own as well so whenever their friends come over Kanata hoped you’d just be in charge so he could keep to himself. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for the sake of your child however, his fatherly instincts easily built off his older brother tendencies.

When you're busy and can't be bothered, Kanata distracted them with music. He had always hoped your child would show some passion for music even if they didn't have talent themselves, making them listen to his own music before helping them branch out for something more specific for their tastes. Takes great pride if they do turn out to be a big fan of cozmez’s music.

Nayuta Yatonokami:

You will have the most fashionable baby ever. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone dote on a baby so much, making sure every curl in their hair was in place and that their nails were always neatly trimmed (to hopefully stop them from scratching their face). He seemed to greatly enjoy finding outfits to fit the seasons, not that he showed his baby off on any social media but it was just for your little family to giggle about and enjoy.

Nayuta doesn’t have trouble with distracting them, easily strapping them to his chest as he goes about his business either in the house or outside it. He’s not too worried about drawing attention to himself but he does get annoyed if people get too touchy or invade his space just because he’s toting around the cutest baby in existence.

#Paradox Live #Paralive #Paradox Live Imagines #Paralive Imagines #Paradox Live x Reader #Paralive x Reader #yatonokami nayuta #nayuta yatonokami #yatonokami kanata #kanata yatonokami #kanata yatonokami x reader #nayuta yatonokami x reader #Parenting Prompts

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dreamties · 1 year ago

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Okay okay hear me out

Johnny with like a much shorter (I’m talking like 5’3) gf who’s also chubby

Just like a really soft sweet chubby gal, maybe she’s a lil insecure about her body type and it confuses him because he thought she was pretty either way if that makes sense??? Like he doesn’t get why she’s insecure he thinks she’s the prettiest person ever 😭

Okay so . . . I'm hearing you out on this SO HARD !!!! Ughhh I can totes imagine this !! ((also you sent in another ask like this?? sorry if i had originally interpreted this as a request and it wasn't?? 😭😭 idk hope you enjoy <3333))

Also also also... i would love to explore this prompt more in the future, if anyone has additional thoughts to spare <333 👉👈 apologies for any spelling errors

taglist: @friedwormeater @0ddmia @lambofjudgement @lizve @urfavsuh @rainbowcake1212 @sadsimp @marriedtoeddie @strawberry-moonpies

Johnny cares about his own appearance . . . In the sense if he doesn't upkeep his beauty, how else is he gonna pick up prey at the bar?

One of the other talented fic writers on this site, I don’t remember who <:O said he would have learned a lot about "how to act" through television. Now, I don't think he had much access to television, except when he was much younger and the slaughterhouse was still running. The one at the bar will also play old films or news stations that come in all funny. . . Anyways !! All of that absolutely applies to this too!! He's seen pretty boys on magazines that Drayton always glares at him for staring at them too long. He knows what girls are "supposed" to like and he feels confident in pulling it off. That's sort of where that desire begins and ends though. While I think the Slaughter family can care about looks- they each have personal, preferred taste- it's not high on their list of wants. It's always a delightful bonus when their partner is a cutie <3333

Johnny is such a little trickster !! Like what a little greaseball he's so annoying sometimes *sob emoji*

At the beginning of the relationship, he's gonna tease ya about your height. Not your body weight though, it's never polite to comment on a lady's weight.

He tends to pick on everyone though. It's like some demented love language, it seems.

Anytime you make a face or a disgruntled noise about it, he seems so confused??? Like what's up with you??? You never get like this. Why are you being weird around him . . .

Basically- gets annoyed that you're annoyed at him for "no reason"

If Johnny has had other partners before this, his handling of the situation would be different. I am in the camp of strongly believing you are his first partner tho <33333

So you're gonna have to spell it out for this mean ol guy cause he doesn't understand these "social cues" cause he's never quite seen it with his folks, and you can't really interpret gestures like yours in magazines and novellas and stuff. He's just a lil lost, why don’t ya give him a hand, huh?

You tell him your worries: that you feel inadequate to be his girlfriend. That you're small and chubby and he deserves someone who is just . . . more than that.

He's lookin at ya all bug eyed and funny the whole time Ya scared him half-to-death, darlin! He thought something was seriously wrong (side note: just because Johnny doesn't take it real seriously- at first- does not mean that it doesn't matter or isn't serious irl at all <333 stay safe out there folks)

She pouts, turning her head at her shoulders and swiveling her body- hands clenching her arms in a crisscross- away from him.

Johnny pulls a face. What had he done this time? He approaches her cautiously, as to not spook her- she had argued for him to leave her outside for right then. He wasn't having much of that.

"Darlin'?" His hand lands on her shoulder, not quite as gentle as he should be with his love. She turns her head the other way, hoping this will somehow make her able to evade any heated arguments. "Darlin', no no- c'mon."

He's not one to give up, though. Which- in this moment- she hates that was one of the qualities she fell in love with him over. The drive, compassion; the awful persistence he had.

She sniffles, not wanting to cry over some- dumb comment he made. A stupid inference of her body to something else. She had half the mind to be angry, instead. She couldn't be angry at Johnny, though. At least not so . . . forthright.

"S'just, you're always teasin me for my height, Johnny. And- and I know you're just holdin' your tongue about my body."

Johnny looks at her with an incredulous squint. "What?"

"I get it, Johnny. But it's no need to tease me for it." He's slow on the uptake. The gears finally turn and whirr into life. He sets his palm, steady and firm, to her shoulder. His fingers curling against her clothed body gently.

"Ah, sweet-cheeks. I think you're stunning. I haven't been teasin' ya." His lover interrupts him with a look. She returns her head strictly to its position.

"Yeah, yeah, I have been. I know. I love you, though. You're sweet, darlin. Hottest girl I've ever laid my eyes on. Now stop pouting." She's feeling much better already. She wants to pout more just to spite him, which makes her giggle audibly. "C'mon. Let me kiss you," he smiles when he hears her laugh. It's toothy, it's sharp. It's inviting, though. "Look at you, sweet thing. Smilin' already. C'mere."

She turns around, letting Johnny pull her into a tight embrace. Kissing the top of her head, her cheek, her pretty lips. Lips he hopes she'll let him kiss a dozen times over.

She still weeps in his arms, less from the residual sad feelings and more from just how sweet her man could be.

"Love you too, John."

(Is calling him john sacrilege . . . it nearly feels like it should be. but i couldnt help write this bit like that hehe <3333)

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salmonthaart · 9 months ago

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hihi uhhm. sorry if this comes off as creepy but i scoured both your blogs for info on pop and lock but unless i suck at looking for stuff i didtnt find much. you should totes tell me more about them

that's not creepy at all don't worry!!! i've never really posted any oc lore publicly because i'm not sure if people care, and boy do i apologize you having to look through my sideblog because Wow Is There Nothing Important On It, but i'm BEYOND elated to answer any questions about them!!! literally thank you so much for asking, you made my day 😭

i have a looooot of stuff about them written down on places like google docs, a discord server i infodump in, and also In My Head so there's a HUGE amount of previously untapped info about them just around, but i'll stick to their main things for now :)

(i also have a toyhouse, but i never finished setting it up, so i'll also probably post more oc stuff on that when it's done)

pINK Lemonade Official Lore Post™ under the cut!

_________________________________________________________

POP:

Pop is an Octoling based on the Flapjack octopus. They are genderfluid, and thanks to the benefits of the cephalopod form, change their physical appearance regularly just for the hell of it. They vary between masc-leaning and femme-leaning, but usually look some flavor of GNC. (Their physical build remains the same, think of it like how the player characters in Splatoon change their gender and hairstyle. Pop just does that whenever they feel like it.)

They are fruitily charming, outgoing, unserious to a fault, and smug. Pop is a lot more sociable than Lock, often chatting people up or making friends at unexpected times. They are well aware of their charm, but make an effort to be the more likable of the two. They like to introduce themselves first, leading to many close relationships with a lot of people that otherwise would never have talked to them. However, when they dislike someone, they make it VERY known. They are unable to hide their distaste towards anyone they regard as too annoying. They can get aloof at times, but are generally a very peppy and easy-going person.

_________________________________________________________

LOCK:

Lock is an Inkling based on the Whiplash squid. He is the composer and instrumentalist of the duo, and is very talented on the keyboard.

He likes to put on an off-puttingly brooding, "cool guy" persona, but when you get to know him, it becomes clear he is often neurotic and overly sensitive. He can be very visibly depressed, though he tries to play off his inability to take care of himself as part of his uncaring attitude. He pushes people away instinctively, but gets very attached to the people who love him despite this. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to healthily express his emotions and can get rather sulky and mean, leading his closest personal relationships to be... rather strained at times.

He also has a toxic and ultimately doomed relationship with Tide of Suit-Nami that both Shlubby and I have agreed is very fun to watch as it slowly burns. Sorry Lock, you're fated to lose the best boyfriend you'll ever have :')

_________________________________________________________

There's a lot more to both of their backstories, but for the sake of keeping things simple, here's a condensed version.

Lock was a trust fund baby pushed into idol culture that got shunted off to boarding school once he was deemed more trouble than he was worth by his parents. In a petulant attempt to be acknowledged by them, he regularly commits petty crimes and acts of vandalism, but is bailed out from afar every time to avoid his family name getting bad press. It's a real sore spot for him.

Pop had loving parents who encouraged them to explore their love for music, but after they got older and started posting their music to HueTube, they got relentlessly mocked for being cringe and were devastated. They went to boarding school in an attempt to escape their reputation and worked past their trauma by pouring it into their work and reclaiming their identity.

Pop and Lock were placed together as part of an idol internship program during their last year of school. Pop felt bad for Lock, and specifically requested him as means of lending a hand. Lock had previously avoided them for quite some time, but once they were forced to pair up he realized he had found his first genuine friend.

_________________________________________________________

and, special one-time deal, two extra characters! i literally have never posted (or. ahem. finished) any art of these two, but they fill out the gang behind the scenes and they occupy my brainspace just as much as pop and lock do :)

_________________________________________________________

MONA:

Mona is a halfmoon betta fish and handler-turned-posse-member of the group. She's an underpaid and overworked employee of the idol agency Pop and Lock are employed at, and was assigned to pINK Lemonade to keep them in check after they were involved in one too many incidents (read: PR nightmares)

She has a bit of a temper, as most bettas do, but over time has formed a real relationship with Pop and Lock and does not blow up at them as much as she does others. Their friendship has also helped her loosen up and not let her job consume her soul.

_________________________________________________________

CILAN:

Cilan is a calm, easygoing, tall inkling and the oldest of the four. He has long purple hair and seemingly permanently closed eyes. He's the group's resident eye-candy and secretary/flunky. There isn't a whole lot to his personality that I can say right now. He's just hot... sue me...

_________________________________________________________

Thank you so much for asking about my ocs!!

#ocs #splatoon ocs #oc lore #pop #lock #pink lemonade #tide #crash #splatoon #mona #cilan

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crescencestudio · 1 year ago

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ITSA HEREEEEE

(Also, I've heard that you're not doing very well mentally, so please please please take care of yourself, I'll wait for eternities for the full game if I have to, so take your time. You'll always be my all-time favorite gamedev, Ily)

AHHHHH!!!! GOSH ITS SO BEAUTIFULLLLLL

the first one would look so good on a tote bag i am saying that right now. and the style of the second one!!’ AAAA!!!!! obsessed w both of these thank u sm for commissioning them and sharing them! the artist is so talented 🥹💖

and thank you sm for being so kind 💖 i am doing much better now! i wasn’t in an awful place per se, but i did notice i was feeling “under the weather” mentally more often than usual so i knew it was time for a little check in, which was when i discovered i was in dire need of a break LOL. that’s so nice of you tho 🥺 everyone has been so sweet and supportive. i’m extremely grateful to feel like i have such a patient and understanding little community here. thank u all again and ily2!! 💖✨

#asks #1mandywandie1 #fenir #alaris #crescence cries #also ‘all time favorite gamedev’ pls LOLkxoslso

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madefate · 7 months ago

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Via has only just recently mastered drawing with crayons without snapping them constantly. As such, it should be an honor that one of her first masterpieces ( ? ) is being toted in one hand while she weaves her way through tents and crowds to tug on Blitz's sleeve. "I drewed you this." / @vanaglcria

If he has to listen to one more sinner make one more fucking comment about the state of the circus or the unfamiliar animals or a complaint about the food, Blitz is going to dismantle the concession stand board by board and throw the pieces at them. He can't fuckin' win - surely one day back manning the stands would be a welcome relief for his wrist to stop acting up so he can go back to repairs, right? No - because they're in Hell of course.

Blitz is commenting carving some choice expletives into the wood of the booth - who cares, he'd be the one fixing it if and when Cash noticed it - when he feels a gentle tug on his shirtsleeve. He blinks, not quite expecting something reaching up from down below him - and, of course, he's met with the sight of piles of soft red fabric with two little glowing eyes looking up at him through the gap in the costume.

❝ Well isn't this a surprise, ❞ he says - voice instantly and entirely warm, all of the irritation sliding off his back as he automatically bends down to pick up Octavia and sit her on the counter, ignoring anyone who might looks his way to serve them shitty popcorn.

And then his breath catches when she offers him a picture - I drewed you this.

Octavia's taken to coloring and drawing with a passion and seriousness that only a kid can hold - all consuming, and very, very colorful. Fizz has been great at sitting with her and showing her how to use crayons when you're still getting used the grip and strength of your hands, and Stolas is practically an artist himself. Blitz - Blitz didn't realize it would occur to Octavia to draw something for him.

❝ You drew this, Sweetie? It's gorgeous ! Lemme see - ❞ He recognizes the sketched out figures and splotches of color when he sees features - Stolas' eyes, Fizz's arms, Barbie's horns - he himself is holding balloons. And in the center is the littlest one - a combination of feathers but also horns and a tail, and Blitz has to swallow past the desperate thought that he wishes his mother could be here to meet her.

When he's collected himself, he presses a kiss to her forehead through the costume fabric. ❝ You are the most talented impling in the world, Sweetheart. I love it. ❞

#hh tw #( ic. )#( answered. )#vanaglcria #au. the show must go on #she is literally so cute i'm going to FUCKING EXPLODE.#u broke him he's inconsolable

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jillian-is-worth-it · 6 months ago

Note

I totes don't know what your like... request rules or constraints are, so imma try and make this lenient. if you're okay with it, can you write Byakuya Togami or Twogami, Gundam, and/or Fuyuhiko and like headcanons on how they'd interact with an ultimate Cowboy or Ultimate equestrian reader? GN reader, unless you're okay with male reader. Hope I didn't yap too much THANK U HAVE A GOOD DAY

I LOVE YOU ANON OMFG THANK YOU 😭😭

I GOT YOU!!!

first request so I'ma do my best, idk if you want headcanons or a fic but I'll do both! and yes ofc I can write male reader <33

thanks love!!

togami, twogami, Gundam, and fuyuhiko with ultimate equestrian!male!reader :))

Togami

oh boy where do I start with him

I think he would be a bit confused, but he'd respect your talent!

i get the idea that he's ridden a horse before, so he knows how difficult it can be to do, considering he only did it once

he would definitely ask subtle questions

he would have good conversations about horseback riding, considering he's read books on it before!

"hey.. yea.." Byakuya would start.

"what saddle brand do you prefer?" he asks, his tone still a little sharp as always, but there's a hint of curiosity in his voice.

once you give your answer, he would listen, looking towards you with his arms crossed, stoic expression as always.

"huh... that's a pretty reputable company, not surprising."

Twogami

(i did him dirty with the header I'm so sorry 😭)

pretty similar to togami, he just hadn't ridden a horse before

I get the feeling for some reason your horse would be afraid of him, so do with that what you will

he would 100% give you apples for your horse!!

overall, he's really sweet, and interested

he's a little brash, but he does talk about horseback riding with you!!

"Hey, (reader). I found this extra apple, I thought it might be useful to you." he would say to you, holding it out for you.

After youd thank him, he would continue the conversation a little bit more.

"How has riding been lately? I see a few bruises on your leg, I'm guessing it was a rough practice?" He asks, a slight bit of concern slipping into his voice.

you'd reassure him, that things happen sometimes, and the bruises are just visible from you wearing shorts today, he wouldnt be as concerned, but in the future, he would definitely check on you check on you to make sure your ok.

Gundam Tanaka!!

(i freaking love him so much oml)

BESTIES

I DONT MAKE THE RULES YOU TWO ARE BESTIES

he's frickin obsessed with your horse, like literally so happy

the horse and the devas play together <33

you two are naturally close because of your ultimates

but he's like really close with you

y'all are together everywhere

it's so sweet <3

"(reader)!! how is your companion today?!" gundham will say, his usual voice, but a smile is present on his face, and hes a lot more happy to see you then he lets on.

After your response, he listens intently, and when your done san-D skitters out of his scarf, and he speaks again.

"The devas have requested to see your companion, could that be arranged?" He says, and on his shoulder, san-d looks at you, adorable as always.

(HIS SMILEEE)

"he's the ultimate yakuza! why would he fear anything-"

he is deathly afraid of your horse.

he acts tough, but talking about it he gets a little shaky, even just mentioning being equestrian in general

your horse loves him though

after a while, he's able to co exist with them.. as long as your around of course

"h-hey.." he say, sweat dropping, trying to just focus on you, still a little panicked, but he calms down quickly.

"and hello to you, as well." he says, his words polite.

"how's it been?"

I have 0 motivation but tysm!! ily!!

#danganronpa #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #gundham tanaka #byakuya togami #byakuya twogami #fluff #idk #dawg this is cute #ehehe requests #im giggling like a mentally ill freak rn #i listened to drunk walk home while writing this

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xxanaduwrites · 6 months ago

Text

DOWNFALL | a.b.

main hub of all important thangs

chapter 3

and you're the only thing that's going on in my mind taking over my life a second time - ugh!, the 1975

——

Now, no I wasn't a runner, nor a track star — but damn did I sprint out of that place like a whole gazelle. I guessed I could check off another —'never in my life did I ever thought'— moment.

The fact that I had to retreat from the only location in Los Angeles I considered a retreat besides my job of employment didn't sit well at all. Well, at least I stood by my moto to never ever run for a man. Instead, I ran away from said man. So, it didn't break any of my morals.

Funny enough, Marlon — God bless his soul — barely batted an eye when I came barreling into the shop looking like a sticky tomato, drenched in sweat from all the running. He just looked up at me, nodded, and then went back to his work like nothing happened. That man knew me like the way I knew every word from the script of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. My best talent. So, this was simply normal for him. God, I hoped I didn't have any pit stains on my light button up. My outfit was too cute to be ruined today.

After breathlessly drawing out a hello, I ran into the back bathroom to check myself and fix myself up before I set foot on the floor and got busy with the shelves. My hair looked even messier than before — sticking up like Albert Einstein. I quickly went to work, brushing through it with my fingers to tame before twisting it back up in a clip.

Eh. Whatever. At least it looked a little better.

Once I exited the bathroom and dropped off my tote for safekeeping — I walked out the back and brought up the cart of books I was entering into the system to be shelved for purchase. We got a few loads of new shit yesterday, so I had to look through it all. I heard Marlon handling a customer so I didn't bother walking up to the front to bull shit with him. Had to make myself look busy when people were around and all.

Finest professionalism.

But, boy did I love this place. Besides Sunshine Spot — which always held the top spot on my list of favorite locations — this came to a close second. Most people out there probably thought I was crazy for saying such a thing. Like why not the beach? Or the fucking Hollywood walk of fame or whatever? Nope. Not at all. Sorry — I mean they were talking to a coffee-aholic rightfully mixed with a book-aholic. If coffee and books fucked and decided to have babies, there would be millions of little mes running around.

Introducing everybody's worst nightmare. Wow. Scary. Or the most boring person alive — as some people liked to put it. But whatever, I enjoyed it. How me and Sydney were friends when she was far from boring? I didn't know. I guessed opposites attract or whatever they liked to say.

"Rianne!" Marlon suddenly hollered between the shelves, completely taking me out of my train of thought.

I almost ate shit and dropped the book in my hands that I'd been holding for the past few minutes, aimlessly staring off into space at the shelf I was working on. "Over here!" I called out once I got my shit together. Ever since the diner, Ken-Apollo was truly taking up every inch of my brain. I was already regretting not getting a second cup of coffee to go.

"Rianne?" He called again, this time with a hint of a question. Sometimes I forgot the poor man was deaf. I hollered again, but that didn't seem to help. A few seconds later and some shuffling he finally came around a curve and found me. "Oh? There you are." He observed what I was doing — looking surprised yet pleased at my work. "I hope these books are worth the shot," he said with an eye roll. "I swear, I don't understand your generation. Books used to be so good back then. Now they just write cheesy Hallmark shit. Don't tell Mar I said that though. She'll kick my ass."

"I promise," I swore, sticking out my pinky and wiggling it around — but he didn't pay mind to my antics.

Instead —to prove his point —he picked up one of the books on the cart and examined it. "Like look at this." He said, while maneuvering his spectacles to observe the cover. "Raunchy? — wait sorry, I can't see." He moved the book back at an angle. "Red Velvet Roadhouse Romance. That's a mouth full."

Now, that was fucking hilarious.

It took every ounce of my will power not to burst out in laughter and throw myself on the floor in tears. "Blame that on my old dickhead bosses."

"Oh, I will," he chuckled, tossing the book back on the cart. "So, what's been up with you lately since the last time I saw you?"

"Eh, you know the usual. Nothing crazy," I began, rummaging through the books again as I talked to him. "Besides this work party Sydney dragged me too."

"Oh!" His face lit up. "Good, good. I'm glad she took you out. You need to get out of the house — Live a little."

Yep, welp. Everyone was always concerned I spent too much time in the house, but who would want to leave their boyfriend of a bed behind?

Not me.

I didn't say anything so he continued on, probably noticing that it was a sensitive topic for me. "Anyways — to catch you up to speed, Dax is coming in once he gets out of school. So just give him some simple run of the mill task to do. Levi's on an early lunch so he will be back soon to run the register and all. I gotta take Marilyn to a hair appointment, so I'm leaving early. I'm trusting you to lock up. But, that's never a worry."

Don't get me wrong. I was beyond glad Marlon trusted me enough to lock up on my own, but to handle Dax was a whole other fucking worry. The kid was a little shit. Excuse my French, or don't. Wi-Wi. Whatever. He didn't know jack shit about books and didn't want to be here. He worked against his will to pay off some cash he had to pay back to his school for pulling some dumb prank that set a whole classroom on fire. Why did we trust him here — I couldn't tell ya? Books and fire would be some Fahrenheit 451 crap.

What? Leave me alone. That was a book joke — for the love of Christ.

Now Levi was the polar opposite. Around my age, he worked the draw and all — making all our lives a whole lot easier. He did all the accounting crap and what-not. Bless him. Hella funny too. Always telling me to come to the club with him so we could pick up some boys and have a good time. I constantly declined his offers. But, I couldn't wait for him to come in so I could spill the beans about last night.

"You got it, my dude," I nodded, suddenly feeling a teeny bit better knowing Levi would be here soon so I wouldn't have to deal with Dax all on my own.

That would of been torturous.

"Hello! Hello!" Speak of the damn devil. His voice boomed throughout the store. "God damn. Did everyone have a stroke and die? It's so quiet here?"

Funny as fuck. Am I right?

Oh fuck — Marlon didn't look so happy with that one. Sensitive topic I suppose. The whole stroke part. I mean Marlon wasn't getting any younger. Not that he had a stroke before and Levi's words hit a soft spot or anything like that.

I should just shut the fuck up.

He huffed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Well it is a book store, kid." He spoke to Levi who was still nowhere in sight — but held an evident presence to us.

"But, it ain't a library," He pointed out.

Leaning closer Marlon whispered so only I could hear. "Remind me why I hired him?"

"Because he kicks ass when it comes to money-money-money and plugs hella numbers into calculators like a whole wizard." I ended my statement with a big ol' toothy grin for good measure.

Before Marlon could mumble so much of a word, Levi made his grand entrance to the runway as he turned the corner to the stacks we stood between.

In the words of Rupaul from Drag Race — which was the only prime time reality show and current entertainment I allowed myself to indulge in, besides 90 day fiance — because that show was awfully addicting — you better work, bitch.

With a gleaming smile on his face, he strutted like a whole model as he approached us with one of those tray things holding what looked to be three glorious cups of coffee— that he got for us without even checking in first. Which was understandable considering how much time we all spent together. I could have kissed the floor he walked on. "Got you your fav, big man!" Levi moved the tray in his hands awkwardly, attempting to balance it with one hand as he maneuvered one of the cups out of it.

Marlon's tense demeanor shifted once he saw Levi wiggling the cup in his hand like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Thanks." He sighed, taking it without a beat of hesitation. I mean, how could he not — it was fucking coffee for crying out loud!

"And for you, sweets." He pulled out another cup, my usual order — my baby.

I held out my hands like a mother being passed her child. "Come to mama." Levi let out a laugh before handing it to me. I immediately jabbed the straw in it like my life depended on it because it truly did and took a long swig — closing my eyes as I embraced the bitter yet sweet taste of my magical drink. "You're an angel. Thank you." I said once I finally caught my breath.

While I was practically devouring every ounce, Marlon went over some house keeping things with Levi and told him all the shit he told me only a few minutes before. "Alright," he affirmed. "That should be all. Be good —Rianne, you're in charge." And then he dipped out — like duces. Peace. without so much as another word.

"He's in-trusted me to manage his draw and not smuggle his money for years — but he won't let me be in charge?" He leaned a hand on his hip to emphasize his point and present a full display of sassitude — if you will. "Like what else does a gal gotta do around here?"

"I think he just enjoys messing with you as much as you enjoy messing with him," I vocalized. "He definitely trusts you — he'll just never admit it. Sorry, Jeans."

"You're right. Plus, you're like a fake family or whatever. So that gives you way more points over me. Welp, guess I'll go weep at my post. Are you coming?" He motioned towards the front desk. "Gotta tell you all about my side piece of the week!"

Tales of Levi were always such a treat. Man had stories up the wa-zoo — for the history books.

"Oh fuck, a new one?" I looked at him in surprise but not full surprise — like half surprise — because this truly wasn't surprising. It was nothing new. But I'd be a new story with a new face of a man I'd probably never see. A man I would not remember the name of as Levi would already be moved on by the time I semi-absorbed it — which led me to only remember them by the nicknames we'd come up for them that varied depending on said situation. It could be dependent on what initially happened and where it happened — giving them a location as their name of choice — or it could be a reference of what or who they looked like — like an animal or a celebrity. Or their personality.

Best game I could play.

He nodded — giving me a sheepish look that said this was gonna be a damn good one before sipping his coffee like he was sipping the hot gossip.

"Of course. How could I miss out on this? Stoked to add a new dude to the collection," I beamed. "Lemme just finish this up and I'll be right up."

"Perfect," he said, strutting off like the queen he was. "Don't take too long. I'll be waiting!"

No worries, your majesty.

The next few hours went just like that. The both of us worked, bullshitted for a few minutes, handled customers, and then bullshitted again — but then Dax came ruining all the fun. I had to watch him like a hawk as he worked. I felt like a complete stalker. But, I was rightfully terrified considering his track record. He almost knocked over a whole entire book shelf one day which would have resulted in a disastrous game of dominos throughout the whole store. How did he manage that? I had no clue. I guess he had the strength of a mule cause those shelves were hella heavy. I could never. But, I gave him a light task to do in the vicinity — right by the door behind the register that led to a staff's only room which gave me the perfect chance to catch up with Levi while keeping my eye on the kid.

"...and then he said 'that was awkward', and I was like 'how come?', and he was like 'well, I fucked the Uber driver!" Levi closed up the story he'd been telling me for the past half hour.

"No?!" I swore my eyes could have popped right out of my head. Good lord. "You're lying."

"Nope. I swear!" he said, holding his hand to his heart. "I can't make this shit up."

"Only you." I shook my head. "I can't believe this. So you're telling me mans looked like Brad fucking Pitt and fucked the Uber driver months ago who looked like Andrew Garfield. And said Uber driver was the man that drove you and the Brad Pitt lookalike home from the club?"

"Indeed," he confirmed while flipping through some paperwork on the front counter.

"And you two hooked up?" I asked, trying to wrap my head around this entire situation.

"Spot on."

"Lord Jesus."

"Oh, and then the Uber driver came up to Brad Pitt's apartment with us and totally just clocked out of work for the night like it was nothing," he said, clicking the calculator and writing something down in a flourish. "And then proceeded to just knock out on Brad's couch and make himself at home."

"Wait so when did—" I began, but a voice interrupted me — a voice of a certain teen who probably was too young to listen in on our conversation.

"What?" He was looking at us like we were nuts.

"Nothing." Levi waved him off. Leaning towards me so only I could hear, he asked, "can I close the door or ?"

I mulled it over for a minute — wincing at the memory of the domino effect that almost transpired. "Bad idea." I hissed.

Levi sighed, dropping the pen in his hand. "No fun," he whined. "This is why you need to come to the club and lighten up a little."

I pushed my hair back in stress, my lips blowing out a raspberry in frustration. "Absolutely not — but," my face lit up as I remembered what I had told him, "you'll be happy to know I went to a party and saw a Ken-Apollo, and he talked to me, Jeans! He spoke actual words and he seemed nervous like he didn't know a soul, and I kept a conversation with him."

For a moment, he just stared at me blinking a few times like he couldn't believe a word I was saying. "That sounds unreal. You. Party. Boy. Yep, nope. None of that correlates, girl."

"I know," I beamed. "I swore I made that shit up, but then I saw him again at the diner and —oh he stole my cute drink umbrella at the party when I wasn't looking, and I made him laugh — I'm pretty sure. At least I hoped I did."

"Oh my fucking god!" He slapped his own cheeks with his hands. "He totally was flirting with you!"

"No. No." I shook my head, turning redder than a whole tomato-tomato. "Don't say that."

"Rianne! What? Why not? And wait a hot minute — you saw him again today?" He looked like he was about to jump over the table, climb up one of the moving ladders, and pull a whole tarzan — swinging across the entire store. Making this conversation known to everybody or at least the five patrons that were mulling around. "Did you talk to him? What did you say? What did he say? Oh my god, it's meant to be. I'm gonna start crying." He waved a hand in front of me while covering his eyes with another. "Don't look at me. I'm processing. Wait, don't even tell me. Let me be happy."

"Um." I bit my tongue, trying to hold back my words — but god my mouth always decided to go against me when I didn't wanna speak. "I ran out." I blurted.

Same thing went for when I did want to speak, but would just sit there in shitty silence — too nervous to say a single word. Looking like I was completely disinterested when I actually was super interested.

Nerves were a bitch.

"Rianne!" Levi reprimanded me.

Bad fucking idea Rianne. Why'd you have to open your pie hole of a mouth?

"Let me live, Levi."

"That's not living." He shook his head in disappointment. "Can I ask —" A random buzzing sound chimed in like a whole sacada. "I think your phone is blowing up."

"Huh?" I furrowed my brows in confusion, reaching for my phone. Saved by the bell I guess.

Thank fuck.

I loved Levi to death, but if I had to hear his speech about my little move in the diner and how I missed an opportunity for my own hunk-a-hunk of burning love — I was gonna wreak absolute havoc.

Fuck that.

Guess it was a F word kind of day — cause as soon as I looked at my screen I was already flipping my shit while simultaneously instantly regretting ever looking at my messages all at once. Firstly because Sydney was blowing up my phone. A plethora of messages and three missed calls. I typed in my password quite frantically scanning the messages. I swear if bitch ass Broccoli fucking Rabe hurt her in any way I was gonna cut off his balls and sell them on the black market for emotional damage and financial compensation.

Syd the science kid ri! pick up your phone. 3:30pm

i'm freaking the fuck out. 3:35pm

please pick up. 3:40pm

i know you love the books and all, but can you stop sucking face with the pages for just a minute and call me. 3:41pm

it's urgent. 3:41pm

may fucking day. 3:42pm

hello! 3:43pm

ri! 3:45pm

How did I not hear the buzzer going off on the table for the last twenty minutes? Must have been a combo of Levi and I's endless cackling and snorting that tuned it out, and also the fact that my phone was practically an ancient artifact. But, I could care less. Why would I want to get rid of it when I could throw it across the room and it wouldn't break?

Hit a wall?

Still perfect.

Hit someone in the head? – Preferably a certain Broccoli- Dwayne-the rock man?

Golden.

I mean the real life actor Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson would probably be perfectly fine. It would definitely bounce right off his head, and he wouldn't even realize it.

Solid man.

Solid noggin.

But, Brock. That was a whole other story. Would probably leave a mark, and I sure as hell would not care less if I did. That man deserved it if he messed with my girl Syd.

I didn't say a single word as I walked through the threshold into the back room. Levi followed, hanging back against the door frame to watch over the store and make sure no one was fucking around with our merchandise — surely noticing the panic that washed over me and the urgency that took over.

I momentarily forgot Dax was standing in the room with me until I looked up once my phone was nestled against my ear listening to its raging ring. I was too nervous to care though — biting my nails as I tapped my foot impatiently waiting for her to pick up. I just hoped it wasn't something seriously personal because knowing this kid — I wouldn't be surprised if he shared our personal information with his need to eavesdrop and all.

After a few rings she finally picked up. "Ri! Thank fuck!" She sounded absolutely relieved and breathless over the line.

"What's the matter?" I said matter of factly, cutting to the chase — cause I sure as shit needed her to tell me what the actual fuck was going on so I could accesss the situation and attempt to calm down.

"It's work! I'm losing my mind, and I need you to do me a favor," she said without a beat, but then went quiet for a second as if she was trying to think about the best way to explain whatever she was about to spew out to me. "I know you're at work, but you're my last hope. I don't know what else to do. No one else is around and no one from my job can handle it because they called us in for an emergency meeting, and —" She sounded like she was about to pop a bitching blood vessel talking a mile a minute and all.

"Woah! Syd. Hey — calm down." I tried my best to slow her down so I could fully absorb her words. "It's alright. We will figure this out."

Levi caught my eye with the utmost concern, looking like he was this close to moving mountains and parting the red sea if he had to.

I put my hand on the receiver for a moment to mouth 'work' to him to which he simply nodded, but still stood there like Inspector Clouseau.

She took a deep breath before she went off on her rant again, this time a little more coherent for me to hear and understand over my crappy phone speaker. "So much for working from home today. They all called us in for an emergency meeting. Apparently someone fucked up for this month's issue so now we have to review the whole thing. It's a total mess. And on top of that they want me to rewrite a piece that's due in an hour and I am not even finished, but they also want me to go pick up this dude for another meeting that was supposed to take place between one of our reps and said dude at a restaurant nearby. Of course the rep didn't show cause now we are all in code- red mode, so I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to drive him and then stop to pick up a list of coffee orders!" She squeaked into the line.

Absolutely not.

Me. Driving. Car. Random man in vehicle. Conversation with said random man, and picking up coffees.

No.

My anti-social ass could never.

"Syd- I." I looked up at the ceiling, letting out a long breath while pinching my nose, wishing at this moment that the universe could throw me a bone to get me out of this mess. One thing I knew for certain was that I could not – out of all circumstances – ask Levi to drive this man even if I wanted to because he was the only one who knew how to correctly manage the register. Not, that I didn't know how to man a register, but I wasn't the best with cash and I really did not wanna fuck up Marlon's draw – especially when he was so specific about that kind of thing. But, leaving him with Dax. Fuck me. Wait! "I don't have a car. I walked. There is no way I can drive him," I tried to draw a solution. Truly anything that could work to get me out of this in my favor. "Can't he just take a cab or something and your company could just pay the driver off?"

Levi suddenly piped in like a whole saint. "You could drive my car." I guess the word 'him' struck a nerve with him and piqued his interest. Not the time to be a wingman. For all I knew this man was some corporate asshole twice my age.

Shut the fuck up Jeans.

"Nope. No. We have no time." She quickly debunked that offer and tossed it right out the window. "Was that Levi? If so, that's perfect. Any vehicle with four wheels that gets him from point A to point B will do. I could care less right now." Oh fuck, she heard him. Great. Also, what did the car have to do with anything? "And they really want him working with us, so if we let him wait even a little bit longer, we will most likely be rightfully screwed," she explained. "Please Ri. I'll repay you with copious amounts of coffee and will give you free passes when I want to go out. You can stay in and snuggle with your boyfriend Bed for as long as you please, and I won't make a single comment or fuss about it."

Well, that sounded like a solid offer.

How could I pass that up when she blatantly appealed to me with my guilty pleasures?

"Deal," I clipped, already regretting this, but knowing damn well that I could not leave my friend in shambles – especially when I've never heard her sound this stressed before – at least what I could gather from being friends with her for this long. "As long as I can get back in time to lock up."

Seeming to pick up on the fact that I handled the situation with Sydney, Levi made his way back to the counter just in time to help our waiting customer. But, of course Dax still lingered, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it. I gave him a solid stare as if saying 'get back to work' but he just looked at me and shrugged before turning back to his phone.

Not my problem right now.

"You will. Perfect!" she squealed, making me pull the phone away from my ear for a moment so she wouldn't blow out my whole ear drum. "I fucking love you."

"Yeah, yeah," I drawled before asking the hot button question. "Now where am I meeting this dude? Where am I picking him up?"

"Um," she faltered for just a moment. "Don't kill me."

"What is it?" I choked out, mentally pleading that she wasn't making me drive to a whole other state or some shit.

"He's already on his way to you," she revealed. "He was shockingly around your area which worked perfectly, so I told his boss to send him over to the store. I also had to give him your number just in case they couldn't find you. I'm sorry!"

Fuck me. Fuck that.

What if I had said no?

She definitely did not think that part through.

Biting my lip between my teeth I stifled the array of cusses that were about to be spewed out. "It's fine," I settled even though I could have exploded.

"Okay, great. Love youuuuuu. Thank youuuu. I gotta go. Byeeeee!" And then she hung up on me.

Great.

I cannot believe I will be spending the end of my afternoon traipsing across the city with some random man to get him to Syd's job and also pick up coffee. Exactly how'd I'd like to spend my weekday. Nope.

I started tossing shit back in my tote looking over everything. Phone. Keys. Wallet. Book. Another book.

What I never knew when I needed good reading material? What if the one book I had was awful? I needed something to sefice.

Leave me alone.

"Girl!" Levi suddenly called, a weird tone laced to his voice that I couldn't translate. "Your Uber passenger is here."

Was this man a whole track star? How had he managed to get here so fast?

"Fuck," I murmured under my breath, once again forgetting damn Dax was right behind me when I turned around. He looked up at me again, the same face he'd been making at me all day. "What?" I threw my hands up in the air.

He just shrugged again, before looking back at his phone.

Alright. A man of many words.

"Hey," I called him, snapping my fingers in front of his face so he would look at me. "You listen to Levi, alright."

"Eh," He titled his head as if he was contemplating my request. Which he shouldn't. "We'll see." He graced me with a mischievous smirk.

This kid was going to be the death of me.

"Whatever." I threw my hands up in the air dramatically as I walked out from the back. This time going through the other side door that led out to the main floor. "Good luck with that one Le—" I attempted to send my warnings to my friend but trailed off the moment I stopped in my tracks, coming face to face with someone I least suspected.

Toothpick umbrella thief.

——

oh shit. next chapter is gonna be one hell of a ride ;)

all of us like:

me too red, me too.

— xanadu

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