#everyone hates actor!mark

[dyketennant]

oh i can already tell i’m about to have some really unpopular opinions about the edge of sleep tv show

[artist-issues]

you guys it's possible for an actor to be disappointed in his character's new direction without that character's new direction actually being bad

[tonycries]

Hope They Catch Us - G.S.

Synopsis. When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Pairing. Actor! Gojo Satoru x Co-Star! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, co-stars to lovers, unprotected, oral (fem receiving) slight exhíbitionism (stuff with cameras), marking, praise, Satoru is actually down BAD, cúmplay, tabloids, lowkey fluffy at the end, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. YA GIRL IS BACKKKK ;D Also happy belated three months to this blog hehehe.

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---

You hated him. Oh, how you hated him. All because of a red-hot rivalry that had sparked ever since the two of you took the industry by storm. And everyone from Hollywood’s bigshots to your adoring fans knew that no matter where Gojo Satoru goes, you were sure to never be within a ten-mile radius. 

Well, usually. 

“I…shit- I’m in love with you.” 

Because avoiding Gojo like a plague really isn’t saying much when said plague was currently sitting right next to you. Eyes boring into yours, signature smirk plastered on his face while he rattles off a disgustingly sweet confession - all on the set of your latest movie. 

Somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, your co-star. 

And to add insult to injury, this wasn’t just any movie - it was only set to be the biggest romance film of the summer. So not only did you hate to tolerate Gojo, you had to pretend to be in love with him. 

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. If only the check wasn’t as tempting as it was, you think he would’ve successfully driven you to an aneurysm already. Especially considering that the scene tomorrow was-

“CUT!” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, bringing you back to the still very ongoing film shooting. You risk a glance at the disgruntled director, cheeks aching from the sappy fake smile you had to hold for this scene.

“Something wrong?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. You knew exactly what was wrong. And one look at Gojo - dressed to the nines and huffing sulkily at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue - told you that he did as well.

“It just doesn’t feel real.” The director shuffles his script, voice dropping to a sigh at your confused gazes. “The spark, it doesn't feel real.”

“What?” you silently thank your years of acting for keeping your voice steady. You squirm in your seat the longer the silence stretches. This cozy little café they rented out too tight, Gojo’s fingers intertwined with yours too hot. Too soft. 

“C’mon. You are in the perfect romantic set-up.” the other man gestures wearily at the café, at the dim-lighting and the proximity of your seats. “So why do you two look like you want to just- strangle each other?”

“Ooo kinky~”

It’s the first time Gojo’s spoken up since the scene was ended early and honestly that was enough to have you fulfilling the director’s suspicions. 

“That.” you give him a pointed stare. “That is probably why.”

And that just draws out such an infuriatingly light chuckle from Gojo, as he sprawls all over his chair with the audacity of someone that owned this entire set. “Lighten up. You’ve told us, n’ in the next take I’ll fix it. Easy peasy.”

If only it was that “easy peasy”. The director was anything but satisfied, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s not just me, even the public is worried whether your ‘feud’ will get in the way of such intimate scenes. You-” he jabs a finger your way. “-better pretend like you want to kiss him senseless and you-” whirling now to Gojo. “-better act like you’ve wanted nothing more for years- Not to mention tomorrow’s sex scene-”

Ah, right. The sex scene. 

How could you forget? It might not be a walk in the park to giggle and make heart-eyes at Gojo, but to actually pretend to have sex with him? All on camera? Curse whoever wrote this damn script. You could’ve almost laughed at the universe’s absolutely awful sense of humor if it hadn’t been for your paycheck - and the next words that tumble out of Gojo’s pretty mouth. 

“We’ll ace it, you just watch.” 

You hurriedly snap your eyes to meet Gojo’s, sending him a look that says “behave”, in a way that very much makes him not want to. Twinkling with such dangerous mischief that makes your stomach flip as he hums, “Or- I’ll ace it.”

God, was it a battle to remain professional. The only thing stopping you from snapping back being the way he squeezes your hand mockingly reassuringly - to which you send him a death grip back, of course. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Gojo?” the director asks, eyes flitting between the two of you. And you can’t even laugh at the rest of the staff for almost toppling out of their seats in an attempt to hear his answer - because you are, too. Mind whirling as you lean closer, wondering just what nonsense would come out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“Well, you could say…” he trails off suspensefully, like the smug bastard he is. Looking right in your eyes as he flashes an unfairly pretty smile your way. “I’m irresistible like that.”

Exactly the type of nonsense that would come out of Gojo Satoru, of course. And one glance at the director told you he was thinking the same thing. He was going to be the death of you. You can’t help but breathe out shrilly, “You fucking-”

“My apologies, director, but our leads have a scheduled interview soon. Rest assured, we will be early on set for filming tomorrow.”

You were definitely giving Nanami a raise after this. 

Because if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on his grace already - and you let him know. A little over twenty times, actually, as the both of you are hastily escorted away from the set for an “emergency interview”. 

It was a flimsy excuse, you both knew, but Nanami hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning up a crime scene today. Instead, settling for a swift escape, the director calling out after you two to “Look like you’re gonna rip the clothes off each other tomorrow.”

Rip the clothes off each other, huh?

With the way things were going, you couldn’t be surprised if you ripped him a new-

“C’mon, sweetheart~” Gojo gets out through giggles, that familiar cackle echoing in the narrow hallway leading to your trailer. “Y’know I was just having a little fun with that ol’ man.”

He saunters unhurriedly behind your brisk pace, easily blocking the way you swing the door shut in his face. Letting it shut with such infuriatingly smooth nonchalance. 

“Fun?” you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger right in the middle of his sculpted chest.“Do you even realize the mess you could’ve made?”

“Easy there, m’not insured for these pecs just yet.” Gojo clasps your hands together. Some strange little part of your skin burning at the touch in- anger? Something else? But you don’t think too hard about it, because he’s plowing on, “Besides, a little teasing never hurt anyone.”

Such a shame he was so pretty with the stupidest mouth.

“A little teasing? You practically declared to everyone in that room that we’re gonna fuck this up.” you move to pull him down by the collar instead, clearly unimpressed.

But oh you shouldn’t have done that - because he’s so close now. Too close. Hot breath fanning your face, looking so smug as he murmurs unrepentantly, “Do you?” Chuckling lightly at your little head tilt, “Do you think we’ll fuck it up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep it all together. “...No.”

“Exactly. We’re good then.” he winks. 

“No. We’re not fucking ‘good’.” you grit out. Wondering exactly how difficult it might be to bother the director into completely recasting the male lead for the movie. Looking up at that million dollar smile and- yeah, it would be very difficult. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why they cast you.” 

“My good looks? My charisma? The way I’m the-” he trails off with a sigh at your glare. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, sweetheart.”

“At least I can act and-.”

He whines dramatically, cutting off your rant. “Me too!” 

This conversation was so ridiculous - but, hey, the great Gojo Satoru always did bring out the worst parts of you. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“Yuh uh.” 

“Then why are you so stiff when acting like you’re in love with me?”

Somehow, that makes Gojo shut up. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - gasping out a strangled little, “B-because- well-” And if you didn’t know any better you’d say that was a light blush dusting his ears.

Only for a split-second, though, because he’s grabbing you gently by your shoulders, more seriously than you’d ever seen him. “Fine. Listen, we both want the same thing right? To have pretend-sex and ace this film to win like five Oscars?”

And maybe at the heat of his newfound proximity, maybe at the way he was looking at you so goddamn intensely - you feel something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Swallowing thickly, you manage to get out, “I’ll be the one winning the Oscars...but yes.”

Gojo’s gaze roams all over you - from the quirk of your eyebrow to the dress hugging you so sinfully tight. “Then we’ll do it. Ace the scene.”

Traitorously, a shiver runs down your spine. And because the universe loves to play jokes on you, Gojo notices - of course, he does. Eyes lighting up with amusement and something you really didn’t want to decipher as you blink up questioningly, “How?”

“Method acting, silly.” he rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t implying something that wasn’t seen in even the cheesiest of romcoms. “Think of it as running lines.”

If there was ever a moment where your life flashed behind your eyes then this just might be it. 

“You-” you gulp, so hot all over. “You better shut the fuck up and pray your face is insured because-”

At this, Gojo throws his head back and laughs - loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say about keeping his voice down so as not to let anyone outside hear, but shit you were mesmerized. Damn, a weird little part of you kind of understood why directors loved him onscreen. 

“Feisty,” he muses. “But how can I shut the fuck up when they’re second-guessing the two best actors in the game?” 

“The best? Me, maybe.” you lean in closer, mouth as bitchy as ever - even when you’re so obviously crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. And he knew that. “But not you.”

“Well, only way to find out is with tomorrow’s scene, right, sweetheart?” 

He drove you mad - everything from his heady cologne, to the way that overpriced button-up clung to him like second skin. But, don’t pull away - how could you? Not when he inches closer ever-so-slightly. Not when he lets those overpriced glasses slide down his nose, eyes locked so heavily on you.

Fighting to keep your words steady, “There’s nothing special about that scene, just fake moan in front of the camera, right? We don’t need any…‘method acting’.”

Gojo only raises a brow in amusement, lips curling into a grin that really makes you too aware of his little dimple by the corner. “Then why…” His eyes flicker down from his hands, searing on your shoulders, to yours - still grabbing his collar, just grazing the soft skin of his neck. Not pulling away. “...can’t you let go of me, sweetheart?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you, you really don’t give a fuck. The only thing running through your mind being that shit this was Gojo bane-of-your-existence Satoru, and he tasted so…sweet. Like those cheap lollipops he often snuck on-set. Strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly he’s pulling away mere millimeters. Whispering hotly, absolutely dripping with something dangerous, “Sooo, is that a ‘yes’ to running lines?”

“Ugh, shut up.” your lips ghost his. “And just fucking kiss me.”

And, well, Gojo doesn’t have to be asked twice. Because it only takes a split second for his lips to find yours again. 

Yeah, definitely strawberry lollipops.

You hadn’t filmed any of the kissing scenes just yet, but damn you didn’t expect him to be so hot and messy - like he was drunk off of you. Licking at the seam of your candied lips, groaning softly like he wanted more more more-

“Sh-shit, Goj-” 

“Call me ‘Satoru’ when we’re fucking.” he cuts you off. “Or, my bad. When we’re ‘running lines’.” 

Shameless. Though, you guess you weren’t any better - not as you press yourself closer running your hands all over his sinfully thin shirt, feeling every bump and curve of his abs. “You talk too much, Toru.” you hiss, muffled against his lips. 

Oh that cute lil’ nickname had all the blood rushing to Satoru’s cock, you were so unfair. 

“You little minx.” Like a little punishment, he’s biting down on your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your surprised squeal. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.”

And then your back is hitting the couch before you can react, bouncing lightly at the sheer force. And you’re so swept up in him - the way he hovers over you, arms looping around your waist, his knee wedging between your legs - that it almost hurts for you to pull away.

“Patience.” you huff out a laugh at Satoru’s disappointed whine, eyeing those pretty pink lips mere inches away from you. You just wanted them on yours. So badly. But no, there was something more important you had to do right now. “Jus’ thought we should record our little rehearsal, whaddaya think?”

“Record it?”

“Record it.”

“Record it, hmmm?” he’s whispering, more to himself than you. Fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “So you’re sayin’ we tape it, let the camera see how pretty you look all fallin’ apart f’me.” Kissing down your neck, letting the flimsy fabric fall down, “N’ then we improve for the pretend sex. Shut all those snobby directors up by giving them the best fucking sex scene they’ve ever seen.”

“Y-yes?” you mutter, as he starts tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Unless-”

“Fine by me.”

The fabric hits the floor before you even realize what’s happening. Head spinning too much from the idea of being fucked on camera - by Satoru of all people, it takes you a second to realize that this bastard fucking ripped your dress off. 

“You probably broke-” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” muffled, as he kisses down your navel, blindly fumbling with his phone. 

“It was expensive.”

With an impatient sigh, Satoru sets the camera up on the coffee table beside the couch. “Five new ones.” Angling it just right to perfectly capture you - in all your disheveled, horny glory, and Satoru, smugly seating himself between your thighs. 

“Ready?” he asks, finger hovering over that damn red button.

Well, it’s just for rehearsal, right? Right? 

“Do it.” you manage to get out, voice getting stuck in your throat at the faint ding! that rings throughout the heady room. “For my Oscars?”

“For my Oscars. N’the camera’s gonna know.”

And whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies when he rocks his hip against yours, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. Rock-hard and so damp with precum already - so big that any and all rational thinking flies out the window.

Which is probably why you’re letting out such a pretty gasp, ‘S-Satoru, I want-“

“What?” And Satoru only flashes you a devilish grin, hands spreading your legs as far as they’d go on the couch. “This?”

He licks a long, long stripe up your inner thigh, all the way till he just meets the hem of your drenched panties. Teasing. So hot and depraved in the way he breathes in your scent. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” Satoru grunts, looking down in awe at the damp fabric, so flimsy and see-through with your sweet juices. You slick beading through so sloppily, just a hint of the state you were in. “You don’t know how you drive me mad.”

Rip! 

He’s so fucking starved that he’s just tearing your poor panties clean off. Throwing them behind him to God-knows-where before spreading your swollen folds with his thumb, showing off just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re a tease.”

“And you’re fucking addictive. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. For who, huh?” he slurs, breath hot against your cunt. Circling your entrance just barely with his fingertip, teasing you like he was addicted to those frustrated moans coming out of your pretty lips. 

“S’for you-” you whine, “All for you, Satoru.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And that’s all that needs to be said before he’s burying himself nose-deep. Drunk off your pussy as he licks long, languid movements. And it wasn’t enough - never might be, actually, because only one taste and Satoru was like a man possessed. 

Bullying his tongue between your folds, just dipping into your sloppy hole in a way that had your slick smearing all over his pretty face. Letting out such deep groans that had you clenching around his hot tongue. 

Shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut up the great Gojo Satoru then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. Because for one in his life, Satoru’s too entranced with something else to run his mouth, so fucking satisfied between your thighs. 

“Fuck- hah- think I like you better w-when hngh- you’re like this, Toru.” you purr, breath hitching as he bullies his tongue between your folds. 

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius, because that only sets him off more. 

And suddenly Satoru’s pulling your body closer onto his hot mouth, like you were weighless. Pushing himself so impossibly closer while he makes out deeper with your wet cunt. 

“Ah! Hngh- Satoru-” you keen, tugging at his soft locks. As delirious as Satoru was pussydrunk. Drinking in all your cute lil’ whines of his name, angling your hips to lick all over like he couldn’t decide between fucking your sloppy hole or toying with your poor, ravaged clit. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, the vibrations making you squeal.  Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “Ya like this?” Stretching you out on his tongue, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over- “Like when I tonguefuck your pretty pussy?”

“Ngh- love it- s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Satoru’s tongue. 

And oh Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind being on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. “Tell the camera too, sweetheart. Practice how you’ll come around my tongue.”

Those words send a jolt up your spine - or maybe it was the way Satoru was sucking harshly on your clit. “F-fuck off.”

“Mhmmm, n’ this is why I’m the better actor..”

Ugh, this fucker. And with that you fight to turn your head - looking right in the camera. Feeling so fucking lewd as you let out such pornographic moans.

“Yeah- feel s’good.” you whimper, “Wanted this for so long, ever since I first saw- ngh- you-”

And shit were you so fucking evil - at least warn a guy! Because that has Satoru’s heart lurching, almost jumping up from between your legs before it hits him with a pang - ah, right, you were just quoting your character’s lines. Of course.

Well, two can play that game.

“Yeah?” he mutters into your folds. Two fingers plunging knuckle-deep in your pussy, massaging your plushy walls. Roaming around for that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so deliciously. “Can’t believe I waited s’fucking long. Y’know how hard it was to hold back? With you wearing all those slutty skirts f’me?”

Your body is jerking violently, both at his - practiced - words, and the way he was devouring you like you were his favorite meal. His favorite taste.

So eager and in-character with the way he was setting such a dizzying pace on your poor cunt. Slick trailing down from his fingers, all the way to his wrist. So sloppy and- Pressing down. Hard. “Found it.”

And you can only sit there and take it, such cute little whines of Satoru’s name leaving you as he leaves no mercy. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper, maddening. Aching as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over. And you were so-

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Truthfully, he didn’t even have to ask - if the way you were trembling and squeezing so fucking tightly around him was anything to go by. “Go on darling. scream my name. Show off f’the camera like you do best.”

“Sh-shit. Toru- fuck yes-” you’ve got an iron-tight grip on his hair now, pulling and angling him as you pleased for more. Barely able to let out those strained lil’ moans, definitely not with the way he’s dragging your sloppy pussy all over his face. Fingers cramping up from how rough he was going - but still not stopping. 

“Go on. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. Letting out such a teary, strangled moan of Satoru’s name as you cum all over his face. 

And it’s not just for the camera either - because this orgasm is probably the best one you’ve had in a while. So hard that you don’t even realize you’re arching and rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Using him. 

And he doesn’t stop you. Why would he? You were so pretty falling apart all because of him. He wishes he could see this more often…

“S-Satoru.” you mewl, overstimulated. Jolting with each flick of his tongue, trying to close your legs but you can’t - he won’t let you. Greedily lapping up all your sweet juices, everything that you give him. 

“Nope.” he drawls, finally pulling away, delicate strings of your slick snapping as he does. Looking so fucking drunk off of you that it makes your cunt quiver exhaustedly. “C’mon now, sweetheart, you were s’pposed to say my character’s name. S’how the scene goes.”

Oh. Shit, you got too caught up. But one look at Satoru - eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, your juices glistening all over the bottom half of his face so prettily - tells you he was much the same. 

“Well…” you huff, voice shot. “According to the script you were supposed to stuff that-” pointedly eyeing the achingly hard cock straining his pants, “-in my mouth first before eating me out. So here we are.”

With a chuckle, he rises slowly. “Touché.” Looking you straight in the eyes - and probably into your very soul - as he pops his fingers into his mouth. One by one. Groaning at the taste of your sweet sweet juices while he sucks them clean. “But I don’t think I’d last one second with those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

And it almost makes you want to tease him for it - one of Hollywood’s biggest It Boys but you can’t handle a lil’ blowjob? But all of that gets stuck in your throat as Satoru starts peeling off his shirt ever-so-slowly. 

Shit, you think. All mouthwatering curves and dips, all the way from his toned, milky shoulders down, down, down to those neat tufts of white peeking out from the hem of his underwear. Sculpted like he was handcrafted so meticulously - a fucking masterpiece, you had to admit. 

One that made you wish you took a longer look at all those shirtless magazine covers instead of throwing them out. One that had your thighs squeezing in such anticipation.

And Satoru seemed to be admiring you just the same, eyes locked on your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing - so ready for him. Distinctly aware of how pathetically needy you were being in front of the blinking camera, you crane your head to glance at it. Was it really capturing-

“Now now, first rule is to never look at the camera during this scene.” Only for Satoru to squish your cheeks together, forcing you into an embarrassing little pout as he turns you back to face him. “Look at me.”

And oh you can’t not look at him. 

Especially when he tugs his pants down, just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, so fucking long and pretty. Smearing glossy precum all over his abs, flushed your favorite shade of pink, rock-hard and so so angry. Shit, he was so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Satoru…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his slutty waist to pull him closer. Only needier despite that little nagging voice wondering how the fuck you’d take his sheer size.

“Sweetheart?”

“I remember he didn’t do a lot of waiting in the script.”

And God were you right - but Satoru doesn’t think he could’ve kept this act of restraint up any longer even if you weren’t. Too impatient, too starved, his sanity dancing away from him with each second his fat cock wasn’t stuffed inside your pretty cunt. 

“Mhm.” he purrs, one hand reaching down to drag his fat head up and down your slit. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the way your lip wobbles in frustration. Up and down up and up and- “You’re right.”

And then it’s like something snaps.

Because it only takes a split-second for Satoru to start splitting you apart on his massive cock. Big fat tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling that he was pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“Sh-shit, s’fuckin’ tight-” he lets out a low grunt at the slight resistance, taking everything in him to not just fuck into your snug pussy and use you like his little plaything. “You gotta hah- relax, pretty girl.”

You needed to relax more - to breathe maybe, just something. You weren’t even in the right state to wonder whether that little nickname was in the script - and God was Satoru thankful for that. Because all you can think of is how you never imagined what the bane of your existence would look with his cock stuffed in your dripping cunt - but now that you’ve seen it, you think you’ll imagine it for many lonely nights to come. 

“Hey, now. Don’t get camera-shy just yet.” Satoru gives your ass a playful smack. “After all, this is only the best- part-”

Each word is punctuated with shallow, mindless little thrust to fit himself inside your dripping pussy. Such cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips that he really can’t help but tease you a bit. Leering down at your fucked-out face with a smirk, “Or- my bad. Forgot such a scene would be hard for a rookie.”

Oh, did he know how to press your buttons just right. 

Because immediately, you’re blinking away the delirious haze in your eyes, voice so adorably shaky - but determined - as you grit out, “Bring it on, you B-list wonder.”

That’s all that has to be said before he’s finally bottoming out inside you, mercilessly. Inch by fucking inch. You gasp as his twitching balls smack your ass so lewdly, feeling his veins beat in such a slutty lil’ thump! thump! thump! against your heavenly walls. 

“T-Toru- big- ngh- too fuckin’ big. M’gonna break mpf-” his lips claim yours. Partially because it’s been way too long since he’s kissed your pretty lips, and partially because Satoru might just cum right then and there if he let you run your mouth. 

So he lets his hips do the talking instead. 

Cooing into your mouth at each little ah! ah! ah! every time he stuffed you full of his dick, quick, experimental thrusts to try and find that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so prettily.

“Sounds so beautiful, sweetheart.” rocking his hips faster into yours. So hard you were sure he’d leave marks. “No camera in the world can pick up how fuckin’ perfect ya are. Can’t ngh- pick up those cockdrunk lil’ heart eyes.” Angling your chin just so that your sinful expression is caught on camera, “Shit do ya even know you’re doing those? Might just make me lose it for real tomorrow. Might just make me sneak you off to the dressing rooms n’-” Manicured fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you in jagged, purposeful strokes. Hitting that one spot. Hard. “Fuck you all over again.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he smugly hits that magical spot over and over- 

And it was so sloppy - so filthy with the way Satoru still had remnants of your slick all over his lips, matching the way you were soaking his cock. Fingers moving down to draw erratic little patterns on your clit, making it even messier. 

Close - too close. 

So, so desperate and debauched.

“C’mon. Show the camera. Tell the camera how much you love it.” 

“Ngh- f-fuck you.”

“Oh? Who’s fucking who now?” he’s laughing at your absolutely wrecked state. You can feel Satoru twitch inside you as you mumble out such delirious little praises to the camera - were they coherent sentences? You’ll never know, because the next words that fall from his lips have your mind reeling. 

“God, m’addicted to you, my girl.”

“That’s not- ah- in the script, Toru.” you hiss. Close. 

“I know. And neither is that.” he leaves such uncharacteristically gentle kisses down your neck. Miles away from the relentless place on your poor, abused pussy, fucking you deeper and rougher every time despite already bottoming out. “Does it have to be?”

“Th-that doesn’t ngh- make sense.” you gasp into his open mouth. 

“Doesn’t have to.”

Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s panting those words against your lips. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking right in your eyes while he says them - like it would kill him to pull away. Maybe even that fleeting little kiss he leaves against your lips. 

Because before you know it, you’re cumming and cumming so hard that you wonder whether you’d make it out alive. The only thing you can do is throw your head back and take it, thighs quivering, Satoru’s names spilling from your lips in such broken little whines while he thrusts so sloppy. Once. Twice. 

“Ah- this is gonna have me fallin’, huh?” And then he’s letting out such a low, muffled moan of your name, filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. 

What? 

It’s so messy - his cum overfilling your poor pussy, spilling out and coating his twitching balls. Shit, you can’t even worry about whether it would stain that overpriced couch below you. Not when Satoru’s whispering out sweet- lines from the script?

“Fuckin’ beautiful underneath me. Always was.” Hips still fucking into you - not even thinking at this point. “Always will be. Such a vision onscreen, sweetheart.” So thick and hot, and dribbling all the way down your legs with every movement.

And then Satoru’s lips are finding yours again, tasting so unfairly sweet while he drinks in all your cute breathless gasps. “Such a vision f’me.”

Those weren’t from the script either.

Something soft. Something scary. Something that has you looping your legs tighter around his waist, letting him collapse onto you. Pulling him closer, in fact, because now that you know the weight of his body on yours, it just felt so right.

It takes a moment of silence for you two to catch your breaths, the still rolling camera being the last thing on your minds. Neither willing to speak first, because shit Satoru might’ve gone to countless red carpets and film sets but this - you are what strips him away from all the glamor and fame. Until he was just, well, embarrassingly Satoru.

The Satoru that was now shifting shyly in your arms, trying to get up. “Uh- Hell of a way to run lines, huh? Better check the camera n’ see where to impro-”

He might be one of the biggest actors in modern Hollywood, but Satoru didn’t fool you - not one bit. So without a word, you’re tugging him back to rest against you. Heart lurching just a little bit as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Like a little hideaway - from the camera, from the world, hell, maybe even from you.

“Y’know,” he flinches ever-so-slightly at your teasing tone, giving you a playful bite. “I have one area of suggestion and it might just be that you’re too good at ‘running lines’.”

“...Good enough to win those five Oscars?”

“No.”

“Then guess I better prove it to ya, huh? Is the camera still on, sweetheart?”

Just then, some weird little part of you thinks that, hell, maybe you don’t hate Gojo Satoru after all.

Not anymore, at least. 

---

The Enemies-To-Lovers Trope of The Century?! Hollywood’s Biggest Rivals Sport Matching Hickeys (And Smiles) On-Set of Upcoming Film.

Oops! Gojo Satoru's Phone Wallpaper Accidentally Exposed: Surprise, Surprise It’s His Leading Lady! More on Page 6.

“No Comment. Though, I Have Moved Trailers. Twice.” Anonymous Manager Speaks on Latest Movie Rumors.

Director Is All Smiles As He Raves About Upcoming Romance Movie. “Hell, If I Didn’t Know Any Better I’d Say They Were Really-”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[chanandlersstuff]

Director and Actor

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Story summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Chapter summary: Now, there was silence. Awkward. Cold. Unforgiving. They stood frozen in the middle of it all, surrounded by the ghost of what they were, of what they could’ve been.

Word count: 9.464

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and devastation, like someone opened your chest and ripped your heart out.

Author’s note: Hello hello again, thanks a lot for the paitence, again, and the love I've been reciving for the series.

It's been a while, since...I actually don't remember, almost a year I think, but better late than never I guess (?.

As I said before, I strugle a lot with writing when I don't have the right motivation and I start and left fics, I finished one in my native language, I picked up fics that were long forgotten and two days ago all the inspiration in the world hit me all at once and I finished this part and gave enought fuel to start the next one.

With that being said, enjoy, don't hate me too much, nor them, hehe. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

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Beginning of August 2021. The show must go on.

The air on set was electric, but no in the way it used to be. It was heavier now. Dense. Suffocating. Every word spoken felt too loud. Every silence lingered too long.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a lightsaber and everyone felt it. The director and the star didn’t speak anymore. Not like before.

There was no more coffee waiting on her desk, nor tea waiting to be brewed in the kitchen. No shared breakfast. No jasmine scent wafting from his coat after he dropped by to say hi. No quiet laughs between takes, no whispered “Bubble” or “Starboy” in the quiet spaces between chaos.

Now, there was silence. Awkward. Cold. Unforgiving.

They hadn’t spoken properly since the training session in the stunt room, the one where she almost kissed him. Or he almost kissed her. Or maybe they both did. It didn’t matter, because he pulled away.

Since then, everything has been different. But it wasn’t like they didn’t see each other, because they did. Every day. Every take. Every meeting. Every briefing. They were professionals after all. 

He showed up on time, hit his marks, delivered every line. And she directed with surgical precision, addressing him only when it was absolutely necessary. 

Hayden looked at her. All the time. Even when she wasn’t looking at him. Especially then. His eyes found her without thinking, searching for something familiar, some sign that she was still there, that she hadn’t completely closed herself off.

But she had. Not out of cruelty. Or pride.

She avoided him because it hurt too much to not avoid him. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes, not since that day, the day she felt everything shift.

The day she let herself believe that maybe… maybe he felt it too. Maybe it wasn’t just the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the late-night talks and the thoughtful gifts. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was something worth risking.

And then he pulled away.

Not violently. Not harshly. Just gently. Like a door softly clicking shut.

And he hadn’t said a word since.

She tried to hold on to her pride. To the professionalism she’d worked so hard to master. She was the youngest director Lucasfilm had ever trusted with a project this big. She was a woman in a world where that still meant fighting harder to be heard. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.

But her heart was broken.

And worst of all, she was ashamed of it.

Ashamed that she let it happen. Ashamed that she cared so deeply. Ashamed that despite everything, a part of her still wanted him to look at her like he used to. Still wanted to hear his voice say her name, soft and warm like tea on a cold day.

And he did look at her.

That was the worst part.

She could feel it.

Across the set, in the silence of production meetings, during takes, his eyes found her, heavy with guilt and something else. Something she didn’t dare name.

But he kept his distance. Because she did. Because her silence was sharp, and her avoidance louder than any confrontation. And he honored that space, even if it killed him.

The crew noticed. Of course they did.

It wasn’t just the absence of laughter or private jokes. It was the way she stood a little straighter when he walked into the room, how his eyes tracked her every move with sadness on them. The static electricity that sparked when they were accidentally forced into the same space. Everyone tiptoed around them now, like something fragile was about to break.

“You two good?” Ewan asked one afternoon, voice low, brows raised as he stood beside Hayden after a particularly quiet rehearsal.

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He watched her across the room, where she was giving the DOP some notes, her voice soft but her shoulders tight. “We’re fine,” he muttered eventually, jaw clenched.

Ewan didn’t believe a word of it. Neither did anyone else because it was a lie, one he told too easily now.

The day had been heavy for her, everything that could go wrong that day, it did. So as she sat in front of her screen, her headset buzzed with feedback, and her clipboard was shaking slightly in her hands. 

She just needed to sleep, to properly sleep, which she had not been doing lately. Because every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that training room, heart pounding, lips parted, breathless, right before it all fell apart.

The AD called, the actors took their places, her eyes glued themselves to the monitor and his on her. 

“Rolling.”

She took a deep breath. “Action.”

But moments later, she had to call it. 

“Cut,” she called sharply. “Let’s go again.”

Again. And again. And again.

They did six takes. Each one more unbearable than the next. By the fourth the actors started to feel it. Her voice cracked a little by the fifth. By the sixth, the cinematographer glanced her way with a quiet, almost pitying look.

“Let’s take five,” she said, spinning on her heel before anyone could speak.

She disappeared into the narrow corridor beside the soundstage. Bracing herself against the wall, her head hung low and her breathing was shallow, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She hadn’t cried in months. She wouldn’t cry now.  Not for a scene that didn’t seem to work. Not for the wrong delivery of lunch for the crew. Not for the fucking cold bitter coffee she drank in the morning. And definitely not for a man who pulled away.

Not for a man who looked at her like she meant everything, then acted like she was nothing.

No matter how hard she tried to act like she didn’t care, she did. She cared too much. Still. And that infuriated her.

Her heart was bruised and swollen with everything she didn’t say.

Why did you pull away? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you make me believe in something you weren’t ready for?

Her hands trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go back where they came from.

“Hey.” His voice came from behind her, quiet. Hesitant.

She froze. Her shoulders tensed.

“You need something?” she said, voice sharper than she meant, brittle like glass. But she couldn’t help it. She was too full. 

Of sadness. Of anger. Of everything.

Hayden exhaled. “We need to talk.”

She turned slowly, eyes red-rimmed but defiant. “Now you want to talk?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

Silence stretched between them. He looked at her like she was the only thing he saw and she…she glared at him.

The coldness in her eyes stopped him mid-breath, freezing every word in his throat. Because whatever he had come there to say, whatever apology, confession, excuse, died on his lips the moment her eyes found his.

She didn’t have to say a thing. He felt it.

The hurt. The betrayal. The disappointment.

And still, she didn’t look away.

She held his gaze like the lightsaber he taught her to wield.

And somewhere beneath the ache in her chest, beneath the heat rising to her cheeks and the storm of emotions fighting to spill from behind her ribs, she reminded herself of something.

Of him, actually.

Of one of the most beautiful gifts she had ever received, wrapped in silence and sincerity months ago when everything was still soft and new between them. The perfectly placed frame in her bookshelf. 

"The show must go on. Come rain, come shine,  Come snow, come sleet. The show must go on."

And so it would.

She blinked once, and the emotion in her eyes vanished like smoke.

He watched, helpless, as the woman he missed, the one who laughed with him over tea, who tucked pens in her hair and called him Starboy and Moose, was replaced by her again.

The director. Professional. Precise. Unshakable.

“The five minutes are up,” she said, tone clipped and unreadable. And without another glance, she stepped past him, steps firm on the floor, head high, spine straight.

She didn’t look back and he didn’t stop her.

Because how could he, when she was doing exactly what he reminded her to do? Putting the show first. Carrying on. Even when it broke her.

Even when it broke him.

He turned to watch her disappear down the hall, swallowed by shadows and silence. Not being close to her was punishment, one he knew he deserved every second of it.

Mid of August 2021. How did it end? I can’t pretend I understand.

The set was stripped bare, props cleared, lights off, the chaos of production long gone for the day. Only the golden spill of late afternoon sun filtered in from the open bay doors, warming the edges of the metal scaffolding and stretching shadows across the concrete floor.

She was still there. Alone in her chair.

Her legs were curled underneath her, hands resting in her lap, a red pen twirling idly between her fingers. The black canvas of the director's chair framed her like a quiet portrait, serene on the outside, storming on the inside.

Hayden had only come back to grab a script he’d left behind. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the second he spotted her, still and soft in the quiet, something in him shifted.

He shouldn’t but he did.

His feet moved on instinct, slowly across the floor. Easy, careful. His steps were light, like approaching a skittish animal that might bolt if startled. He didn’t want to spook her. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain.

He just wanted to be near her.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low enough to not echo. “You alright?”

She startled slightly, lifting her head from the open binder in her lap. Her expression was tired, guarded. “What? Why?”

“You’re scrunching your nose.”

Her hand moved before she could stop it, fingers tracing the slight curve between her brows. “So?”

He gave a soft, almost sheepish smile. “That usually means you don’t like something.”

She frowned. “How do you know that?”

With a slight shrug, he said, "I notice things about you."

That silenced her.

The pen in her hand stilled. Her eyes dropped to the binder again, but the blush rose to her cheeks anyway, subtle, but real. She hated that her body still reacted to him like that. Hated that after everything, he still saw her so clearly.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she finally admitted. “I stayed late working… and just ended up crashing here.”

“You didn’t go home?” His brow creased, concern breaking through the soft edge of his voice.

“No. I had a lot to do,” she shrugged, brushing it off. “Got up early, too, to finish.”

This woman. Taking a few steps closer to her, his hand hovered over her back and quietly, decisively, he said, “Come on.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her laugh was dry. “I can take an Uber, don’t worry.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, stepping closer now, voice firmer. “I’m taking you. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Hayden…” she started, already shaking her head. 

Oh how much I missed you saying my name. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, shaking her head. “Go home, get some rest. I’m fine.”

“Please.” His tone softened again. “For my sake. I’d like to know you got home safe and sound.”

That got her.

Her lips parted as if to argue, but she sighed instead, and with a defeated smile she nodded. “Fine.”

The drive was quiet.

The soft hum of the radio filled the space between them, some soft song playing faintly as they glided down empty streets. The city was winding down for the weekend, orange light casting long shadows over the dashboard.

But all Hayden could focus on was her.

The jasmine. It was back, her scent, delicate and intoxicating, curling through the air like memory. He hadn't realized how much he missed it until it hit him all at once, warm and bittersweet and so her it almost hurt.

She was tired, he could tell. Her head leaned against the window, eyes half-lidded, but she wasn’t asleep. Just still. And maybe that’s why she accepted the ride. Maybe exhaustion had lowered the wall just enough for him to slip in.

There was so much he wanted to say. Too much. But he said none of it.

When he finally pulled up to her house and shifted into park, she reached for the door, but paused, hand frozen on the handle.

She exhaled deeply, like she was making a decision. “You wanna stay and eat?” she asked, not looking at him. “We can order something.”

“Nono—” he said, almost too quickly.

She still.

The silence that followed felt sharp.

Nodding slowly, she opened the door. “Okay, thank you for the ride” she said, but her voice had gone small, her mouth twitching in a quiet, disappointed smile.

“No—I mean,” he backtracked fast, eyes wide, leaning in slightly. “No to the ordering part. I would love to eat with you.”

She looked at him again then. Really looked. And her lips twitched again, this time upward. “Oh. Okay.” A beat. “Come in.”

He opened his door, already grinning, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. “With one condition.”

She looked at their hands and then at him. “Which is…?”

“Let me cook for you.” A smile drew itself on his lips. “I owe you a pizza date, if I recall correctly.” 

How much he was cherishing her hand in his could not be explained, and when her eyes softened, just a little, and he caught a glimpse of Bubble, his heart almost exploded

“You do,” she said, smiling a little. “And pizza sounds perfect.”

“Great,” he said, smile blooming too.

And for the first time in months, something in his chest breathed.

She opened the door, stepping inside first, and he followed close behind. Her place was quiet and warm, not in temperature but in feeling, lived-in, loved, her. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and old paper and something sweet lingering from the morning.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said softly, tossing her keys into a bowl near the door and slipping off her shoes. Her voice was still careful, but there was something softer in it now. Something that sounded a little like hope.

While she disappeared down the hall to change, he wandered quietly through the space.

The living room walls were painted a soft cream, scattered with paintings, some abstract, others dreamy watercolors. On a side table, a small stack of Polaroids showed her with her niece and nephew: one of her with icing on her nose, another where the kids clung to her like koalas. There were little drawings pinned to the fridge too, crayon portraits signed with crooked handwriting. "The best aunt in the whole wide world." 

Next to the bookshelf stood a low cabinet filled with records and candles. But it was the tall bookshelf in the corner that drew him in.

He wandered over to it, his fingers skimming over spines and worn scripts and film biographies. Tucked among them, pieces of her, real pieces.

Her world was here, tangible and intimate.

There stood the frame with the Singing in the Rain phrase he’d given her for Christmas. And next to it, still perfectly intact and neatly displayed, was the little card he’d attached to the bouquet of jasmine flowers for her birthday.

He reached for it carefully, his heart slowing and then racing all at once.

Happy birthday, Miss Director. I wish you the best and hope you are utterly and incandescently happy in your day.

He remembered writing those words. Remembered how long he stared at the card before daring to write incandescently. It sounded like her. They were her words. 

She’d kept it and his chest ached. 

And he wished he could reach back in time and change that day in the training room. God, he wished.

“You found my treasure trove,” her voice said gently from the doorway.

He turned. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, bare-faced, hair tied up messily. She looked tired. And beautiful.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” he said quickly, placing the card back exactly where it had been.

“You weren’t snooping.” She stepped forward. “You were looking.”

He swallowed. “You kept it.”

“I keep things that matter,” she said simply, then added, “Do you need anything? I can—”

“No,” he cut in, smiling gently. “Let me cook for you.”

She hesitated, but nodded.

The kitchen felt like a dream. A fragile, aching dream.

He stood at the counter, chopping tomatoes with quiet concentration while she leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a look she couldn’t quite name, part disbelief, part yearning, part self-defense.

She watched the way his hands moved, the precise rhythm of his knife, the absentminded way he whistled under his breath like it didn’t break her a little to hear it. Like it hadn’t haunted her in the silence these past few weeks.

He stirred the sauce slowly, the scent of garlic and tomato winding around them, as he murmured something about her not owning a garlic press. He found basil, crushed red pepper, her dwindling olive oil supply. She had three kinds of hot sauce and none of them were what he needed, but he made do anyway.

She watched in silence, hardly breathing. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And while he rolled the dough, glancing at her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still there, she stood frozen in the middle of it all, surrounded by the ghost of what they were, what they could’ve been.

She couldn’t believe how natural it felt. How domestic. How easy. And it shouldn’t have felt easy. Not after everything. But it did.

Something bruised and tightly coiled inside her chest began to slowly, painfully unwind.

They laughed, quietly, carefully, as the scent of bubbling sauce and browning dough filled the air, as melted cheese hissed in the oven. Her laughter wasn’t as open as it used to be and his was laced with nerves. But still, it was laughter.

For a moment, it was like the cracks between them didn’t exist. Like they were still them.

When they sat down to eat at her small table, knees almost brushing beneath it, the silence between them wasn’t cold or tense, it was warm, comfortable. Safe but tentative.

But it didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not with everything unsaid, humming between them like a wire pulled too tight.

She watched him take a bite, eyes closing with exaggerated delight. He said it was good. She said it was better than expected. They smiled. Softly. Carefully. Like holding a glass heart between them that could shatter with one wrong word.

She placed her crust down and looked at him, the smile on her lips fading into something quieter. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, voice hushed and raw.

He hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“That day…” Her voice caught. “In the training room. Did you…” She stopped herself, shaking her head, backing out of it. “You know what, never mind.”

“No,” he said, quickly. “Say it.”

She looked down at the table, at her empty plate, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“I thought you felt something. That day.” She swallowed hard. “In the training room. I thought we were… I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I did,” he said instantly, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months. “I wanted it, more than anything.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Then why?” she asked, her voice cracking wide open. “Why did you pull away?”

He looked at her like the question physically hurt. His jaw clenched. His eyes softened. And still, he struggled to speak.

“Because I felt too much,” he said finally. And that was the truth of it.

Her breath hitched, her chest clenched and her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair.

“I panicked,” he admitted, voice low. “I shouldn’t have. I knew what I wanted. I wanted you. But… I was terrified.” He looked down at his hands, useless now, aching to touch her but too afraid she’d flinch away.

“You’re younger. I’m… me. This industry, this set, it’s yours. It’s your dream. And I didn’t want to be the one to take that away.”

“You wouldn’t have taken anything away,” she whispered. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I know,” he said, broken. “And that’s on me.”

He finally looked up, and she nearly lost her breath at the way he looked at her, eyes full of regret, of love, of everything he never said.

“Loads of things could go wrong, Bubble,” he said softly. “But what I cared about the most is your career.” His gaze was heavy, pained. “People would twist it, me and you, eleven years between us, director and actor, favoritism, headlines. If it ended badly, if anything happened… your name would be the one they dragged. Not mine. You’d become hers, not the director who built something incredible.”

“You didn’t let me decide if I was willing to risk it,” she said, her voice cracking. 

His heart broke. “I couldn’t do that to you,” he said, voice firmer now. “You’re too good. Too talented. You deserve to be praised for your work, not whispered about in back rooms. This is your dream. You earned the place you are in.”

“I love this job,” she said, and her voice trembled. “I love what I’m doing. But I loved being near you, too. And you made me feel like I imagined all of it when you pulled away. Like it didn’t matter to you.”

“It did,” he said, breathless. “You didn’t imaginate anything, but…I was scared,” he admitted. “Of how much I felt. How fast. Of how deep it ran.” He wanted her to look at him. “It matters so much it’s killing me.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. And despite everything, despite the pain, the hurt, the silence, her eyes were soft. Full of longing.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Even when I was angry. Especially then.”

“I missed you too,” he breathed, shifting closer, his knee brushing hers. And then, because he couldn’t help it, Hayden reached for her, his hands cupping her face like she was something holy. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I miss you so much. Every day. I miss talking to you. Laughing with you. Seeing you smile.” A shaky breath. “I miss us, whatever that was becoming.”

Her hands didn’t push him away. But they didn’t move to touch him either.

She was still caught in the in-between.“You looked like you belonged here tonight,” she said, barely audible. “Like this was where you were meant to be. In my kitchen. Cooking for me. Laughing with me. And it felt so right it scared me.”

His throat closed and his heart thundered in his chest, because it felt right to him too. So painfully, impossibly right and that was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just a crush. This wasn’t fleeting, or temporary. It was deeper than anything he’d felt before, profound and terrifying. It hit him like an avalanche, an elephant sitting on his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs, suffocating him with the weight of it.

But still, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t let it live.

Because if he did, and it went wrong, like the rest of his relationships did, she would pay the price. Because what if it ruined her?  What if it tarnished her?

And he couldn't live with that, couldn’t risk that. Not her. Not her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “For all of it. For not being brave enough.”

She didn’t answer.

She just nodded, tears clinging to her lashes, biting the inside of her cheek like it was the only thing keeping her together.

He stood slowly, gathered the plates like a man trying to delay the inevitable. “Let me help you clean.”

“No,” she whispered. “Just… leave them.”

A beat passed.

And then she added, “I’m tired.”

He nodded, already backing away. Like he seemed to always do with her.

She walked him to the door, and when he turned to say goodbye, she was already hugging herself, like she was trying to keep from falling apart.

“I had a nice time,” she said, and her voice broke with words. It sounded like goodbye.

She didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, not with that quiet ache, not with that finality, but the moment felt like sand slipping through her fingers. She could already feel the after of it pressing in.

She watched him nod, his posture tight, his expression unreadable.

“So did I,” he replied softly, the hollowness in his chest echoing with every syllable, like saying them was a lie.

Because how could it be a nice time when all he’d done was want her, and still choose to walk away?

She turned to open the door, fingers brushing the lock, but before she could twist it, his hand found hers. Warm. Firm. Desperate.

She froze. Her breath hitched. Her pulse screamed in her ears.

Don’t do it. Don’t look at him. Don’t make this harder.

Slowly, gently, he stepped closer, his presence a quiet force and her body betrayed her, turning to look at him in those ocean eyes that she wanted nothing more to drown into.

And when she turned to look at him, something cracked between them, something soft and tragic and too full to hold. 

His gaze was glassy, and she could see it now, the grief. The love. The regret. It gutted her.

He reached up with both hands, cradling her face with aching care, as though she were something rare and fragile and slipping through his fingers.

I’m going to remember this. This moment. This version of her, tired, beautiful, sad as hell, and still the strongest person I’ve ever met.

His fingers were gentle against her cheeks. She could feel them trembling. His thumbs hovered by her jaw like they wanted to memorize the shape of her, like he was trying to hold on just a little longer.

She wanted to lean into him so badly her body ached with it, but she stayed still because she knew this wasn’t a beginning. This was the end.

And then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Lingering. Devastating. Full of everything he didn’t have the right to say aloud. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was an apology. A confession. A promise. A goodbye disguised as something tender.

I’m sorry.

I wish things were different.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

When he pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, breath caught in her throat like she was afraid to let it out.

Please stay. Please choose me. Please be brave.

He gave her one last look, gentle, devastated, and then stepped back.

Hayden didn’t want to go. God, he didn’t want to go, but staying meant risking her and he’d rather lose her than be the reason the world tried to take her down.

She opened the door. Neither of them said another word.

And when the door closed between them, neither of them moved for a long, long time, the silence it left behind felt unbearable.

Because now she knew for certain, Hayden loved her, but he wasn’t going to choose her.

Because they knew, they had shared something real. Something that still lived in the air around them, but they had no idea how to hold it without letting it destroy everything else.

Beginning of September 2021. The looming end.

The set was a controlled storm.

Stage lights blazed. Wind machines whirred. Crew members darted like shadows in a well-oiled dance. Sparks flew, literally, from props and visual cues, casting brief flashes of light on every surface.

Today, they were filming the final scene between Vader and Obi-Wan.

The scene.

The one that would break fans apart. The one that would define decades of conflict. The one she’d spent sleepless nights fine-tuning, scribbling notes on the margins of scripts, fighting for silence in moments where words weren’t enough.

And now it was here.

But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She paced the perimeter of the set, headset looped around her neck, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the chatter through the comms. Every corner of her body buzzed with static. The kind of anxiety that didn’t ask permission. The kind that gripped you and whispered, You’re not ready.

She should’ve been thrilled. The little girl in her, the Star Wars fan who grew up drawing lightsabers in the margins of school notebooks, was ready to explode.

But the grown woman, the broken-hearted one, was holding too much.

Because he was here. Because they were a week away from goodbye.   Because this scene wasn’t just the end of an arc. It was the end.

And the thought of not seeing him like this again, half-lost behind the Vader suit but still him, tightened something so deeply inside her, she had to excuse herself before she lost it completely.

I need air, God, I need air.

She pushed through the double doors of the soundstage, stepping into the golden hush of early afternoon. Her boots hit pavement with a shaky rhythm, her arms wrapped tightly around her own torso as if she could keep everything in.

She leaned back against the wall. Closed her eyes and let herself slide down on it.

Breathed in. Breathed out.

The footsteps approaching were lost to her, but when the sun was covered, she opened one eye slowly and saw him. Not him him, but Obi-Wan.

Ewan. In full costume. Robes, beard, calmness and kindness wrapped into one gentle presence. He stood in front of her like he knew,  like he sensed what was breaking inside her without needing to ask.

“You’ve done something special here,” he said, voice low and even. “You know that, right?”

She tried to nod, but her throat closed.

Ewan glanced up at the sky, like he was borrowing some of its steadiness. “You put your soul into this story. I’ve worked with dozens of directors in my time. But you? You bled for this. And it shows.”

Her lips quivered.

“You’re allowed to feel it,” he added. “This moment… it’s not just an ending. It’s yours. It’s your beginning, too.”

Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But Ewan just gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, like Obi-Wan himself, quiet and sure.

“You’ve got this, darling,” he said in that thick accent of his.

And with that, he walked back inside, his robes trailing behind him like the last note of a symphony.

She stayed out a few more minutes, letting the sun kiss her skin, letting the words settle deep in her bones.

Then she wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked back inside.

The set was alive.

Every corner was in motion. The makeup team prepped the final touch-ups on Vader’s cracked helmet. Sparks hissed from the VFX rig. The lighting team ran final checks. And at the center of it all stood Hayden and Ewan, suited and still, ready.

She didn’t sit. She couldn’t. Her body was buzzing, nerves, anticipation, love.

“Rolling!”

“Quiet on set!”

She took a deep breath.

“Action.”

And they began.

Hayden, Vader, was thunder. Ewan was fire contained by grief. Every word they spoke, every breath between lines, every step in the battle, it all landed like poetry. Like pain made physical.

The camera glided around them, catching sparks and shadow and soul. Every crew member was silent, frozen, as if afraid to even blink.

She couldn’t look away.

And when it came, the line, the one she'd rewritten a dozen times and cried over at 3AM, when he said it, voice cracked through the vocoder, eyes visible through the shattered mask, she forgot how to breathe.

“You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker. I did.”

It was perfect. It was everything.   It was him.

And Ewan, her heart, her Obi-Wan, delivered the reply with a broken whisper so raw it echoed through everyone present.

She didn’t even remember saying it. “Cut.” The word came out of her, barely above a breath.

Then, applause, like a wave crashing over the set. Technicians, grips, costume artists, assistants, everyone clapped. Some even cheered. Not because of the spectacle. But because they’d felt it.

Ewan turned, gave a solemn, satisfied nod.

Hayden bowed his head, chest heaving inside the suit.

And she? She stood there, frozen, the applause around her fading into static, like the world had turned to fog. Her lungs tightened. Her throat burned.

It’s done. That was it.

Pride surged in her chest. The scene had been everything she dreamed of and more. But so did grief, sharp and immediate, because it was also the end.

The last scene. The last time I’ll see him on set. In character. In front of me.

She didn’t realize she was crying until her vision blurred and her knees gave out. She crumbled where she stood, arms curling tightly around her legs, forehead pressed to her knees as the sobs came, wild and unfiltered, the kind she’d tried so hard to keep locked away.

The noise of the crew faded. Voices muffled. Only her heartbeat and her breathing remained, sharp, jagged, real.

I’m supposed to be professional. I’m supposed to hold it together. But I can’t. Not now. Not when this is goodbye.

Heavy footsteps, measured and familiar, approached her, the kind only one man in the entire world could make in full Vader gear, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t.

“Bubble,” his voice came, muffled by the vocoder but unmistakably him, “I need you to stand up, 'cause I can’t crouch down in this suit.”

His voice hit her like a jolt, absurd and gentle at once. Even now, he was trying to make her smile.

A wet, messy laugh bubbled out of her, half-choked by tears. “No,” she mumbled into her knees.

Please don’t make me. Please don’t see me like this. Please don’t be kind, it’ll break me.

“Please, Bubble,” he said again, softer this time, like a plea. “Come on.”

She sniffled, dragging a sleeve across her face. “I’m ugly crying.”

“I know,” he replied, warmth curling behind the vocoder, behind the mask. She could hear the smile in it. She could feel it.

“Let me console you.”

God, stop being so you. So gentle. So kind. So patient. I can’t take it.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, towering, half-Vader, half-Anakin, but Hayden, 100% Hayden.

And even with all that plastic and armor between them, the look he gave her was all heart.

Please let me hold you. Please let me stay.

He offered his hand, gloved, massive, comical in a way, but his fingers curled with careful care, like he was afraid of breaking her further. And she was weak, of course she was, because she couldn't say no to him.

And the moment their hands touched, a shudder went through her. Not fear. Not embarrassment. Something else.

Relief.

And as he gently helped her to her feet, pulling her into the softest embrace he could manage with all the armor and wires between them, she didn’t hesitate and collapsed against him again, this time with her arms around his waist, forehead resting against his chestplate.

She just needed him and he held her. Tightly. Tenderly. Like he never wanted to let go.

I can’t do this again. I can’t keep saying goodbye like this and pretending it doesn’t destroy me.

For a few precious seconds, there was no set. No crew. No goodbye hanging in the air. No scenes left to shoot.

Just them. Hearts bruised. Bodies trembling. Still holding each other like it meant everything. Because it did.

Now that it’s over, I still want you. Still in love with you. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Mid of September 2021. Grow a pair.

The sun was gone, the air crisp and the silence heavy but not with tension, but with the weight of everything Hayden was carrying in himself.

He sat low in a weathered Adirondack chair, hoodie on, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bottle of beer untouched at his feet. He hadn’t said much since Ewan handed it to him twenty minutes ago. The sky above them had shifted to navy, the stars faint but flickering overhead. Somewhere behind the fence, a neighbor’s dog barked. 

Exhaling slowly through his nose, the smoke of his cigarette clouded his face, though it did little to match the fog in his brain. The ember glowed at the tip, mirroring the heat that simmered low in his chest.

Ewan glanced at him, his beer resting on his knee, and he looked carved from stillness, like if he stared long enough, he might turn to stone.

“You holding up?” the Scottish asked finally, tone light, casual.

Hayden shifted a little in his chair. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Long months of shooting,” Ewan nodded. “Emotional scene the other day.”

Hayden didn’t answer. Just nodded once and stared into the distance.

Ewan took a sip of his beer. “Lot’s of feelings moved.” 

The brunette exhaled, half-laughing, bitterly. “Yeah.”

“The suits, the props, the set,” Ewan enlisted, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. “The director.”

That one landed.

Hayden’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look over. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, its ash long and untouched, like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Just that. A single syllable packed with regret.

Ewan watched him carefully. “She really gave it everything, didn’t she?”

Hayden nodded once, slowly. “She always does.”

“She’s the real deal,” Ewan added softly. “Knew it the second she walked on set. The story mattered to her. Every shot. Every word.”

“She never treated it like a job,” Hayden murmured. “She treated it like it was hers. Like it meant something.”

Ewan tilted his head. “And it did.”

Another long pause.

“Still does,” Ewan added, watching the ember of Hayden’s cigarette fade. “To you too, yeah?”

Hayden said nothing. He was quiet, but not still. His leg bounced, almost imperceptibly, and his free hand flexed open and closed on the armrest. And Ewan knew, he felt too much.

“You want to talk about it?” Ewan asked, not pushing. Not yet.

“No,” Hayden said hoarsely.

“I figured,” he muttered, then took another sip from his beer. “But I will.”

Hayden finally looked at him, brows furrowed.

Ewan didn’t flinch. “Look, I don’t want to pry, actually, I do. I’ve been watching you two walk around set like ghosts since July, absolutely miserable and I can’t bear it anymore. It was much more fun watching you both give each other heart eyes like a pair of lovesick kids.”

Hayden’s jaw clenched. He looked down, elbows on knees, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes like he could push the ache back inside.

“Before, every time you were together, it was smiles, laughter, inside jokes, cute nicknames, breakfast meetings that ran an hour too long. Now? You only look at each other when the other is not looking. Like something’s broken between you.” 

Hayden’s brows drew together, guilt flickering across his features.

“And I’ve known her,” Ewan continued. “She’s sad.”

“I know,” he said, voice low.

“And I’ve known you longer. And let me tell you something, mate, you’re sad too.”

Hayden looked at his cigarette, now down to the filter. “It’s not that simple,” he said, pressing it out with the sole of his shoe.

“No, it never is,” Ewan said. “What happened between you two?”

Hayden sighed through his nose. “A lot. And not enough.”

Ewan waited, tilting his head to the side.

Hayden looked down at his hands. He hated how exposed he felt. “I fucked up.” He confessed. “It seems like all I do is hurt her feelings.”

“I figured that,” Ewan deadpanned. “Thanks for the confirmation. What’d you do?”

Hayden exhaled sharply. “We almost kissed. A few months ago.”

“And?” The Scottish pressed. 

“I pulled away,” he said, voice low and slow. 

There was a pause and then a slap on his arm. “Are you an idiot?!”

“Thanks, man,” Hayden said flatly, glaring at him.

Ewan patted his back. “Anytime. What else?”

Hayden hesitated, then said, “A few weeks ago… she stayed late at the studio. I found her still there, hadn’t gone home. I took her back to her place. One thing led to another, we ended up eating together. I cooked her pizza. She smiled. It felt like before, when everything was easy. She was tired enough to let me in a little and there was nothing more than I wanted to do than to apologize. I wanted to make it right. But I just,” he exhaled heavily. “I said everything wrong, hurting her even more.”

Ewan groaned and covered his face. “Oh God, you are an idiot. No question this time.”

Hayden shot him a look. “Appreciate the support.”

“I’ve been watching you, man,” Ewan said, turning toward him. “Sulking. Drooling. Making googly eyes at that woman since the third time you met her. But I’d bet money you were already hooked before that.”

Hayden blinked and looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Maybe…”

Ewan rolled his eyes dramatically. “And you pulled away when you were about to kiss her?”

Hayden nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Then you are definitely an idiot.”

Hayden gave a tired laugh. “Thanks, man. Again.”

“But you like her,” Ewan said, watching him closely now.

Hayden sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her?”

Hayden let out a sharp, humorless laugh, eyes pinched shut for a moment as if it could block out the regret clawing at him. “Because I’m a fucking coward.” 

Ewan raised an eyebrow, questioning him silently.

“I told her I couldn’t,” Hayden continued. “I told her all the reasons why we shouldn’t work. The age difference. The job. The spotlight. Because I’m me. Because she’s everything. That if it went wrong, she’d be the one who paid. Not me. And she just looked at me… like I’d kicked the breath out of her.”

Ewan exhaled quietly.

“And then she thanked me for the food,” Hayden said, bitterness in his throat. “She was sad and tired and still polite. Like I hadn’t just broken something sacred.”

“She likes you,” Ewan said simply.

Hayden shook his head. “And I like her, but I couldn’t give it back. Not the way she deserved.”

“You could,” Ewan said. “But you chose not to.”

That silence was louder than the rest.

“And then on set,” Hayden whispered, eyes shining now, “when we filmed the last scene… she crumbled. Right there. All of it, everything we never said, everything I held back, came out in that scene. And when she cried, I held her.”

Ewan nodded, remembering. “You didn’t want to let go.”

“I still don’t.”

Ewan leaned back slowly. “Then grow a fucking pair and tell her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?! Because she’s the director of the series? News flash, not anymore!”

Hayden flinched, already exhausted by his own excuses. 

“The show’s almost done. The lines have been said. The shots are in the can. And she’s still here. Still hurting. Still hoping, probably.”

“I hurt her, Ewan,” Hayden said, his voice rough. “More than once.”

“And yet she let you hold her like that,” Ewan replied gently. “Do you really think that means nothing?”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’ve been in this business a long time,” his friend said. “You’ve seen how rare something real is. And this?” He gestured with his beer bottle. “This is real, Hayden. What you have with her. That little moment of peace, of home, in the middle of chaos. That was real. Don’t let it rot because you were too afraid to open your mouth.”

Hayden looked down at his hands again, like they could still feel her skin, her tears.

“She’s younger,” he said, quieter now.

“She’s a grown woman,” Ewan countered. “Who knows what she wants. Who’s run a damn Star Wars series with more grace than most directors three times her age.”

The brunette cracked a broken smile. “She is kind of a genius.”

“She is,” Ewan agreed. “And she’s also in love with you. So what are you going to do about it?”

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He just stared into the night sky, chest heavy, heart racing.

“You deserve to be happy. And from what I’ve seen, because I’ve been watching, you were never more yourself, more alive, than when you were with her. She makes you happy.”

Hayden ran a hand down his face, cigarette forgotten now, heart in his throat. “She does,” he whispered. “She really, really does.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Ewan said, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. “You two are meant to be. So get a clear thought through that thick head of yours and tell her. Before the chance slips away”

Hayden blinked back the sting in his eyes. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight.

But inside him, something shifted.

Because Ewan was right. And he already knew it.

He could feel it in the center of his chest, under the stars, in the quiet of a friend’s backyard, something inside him stopped fighting. Because he was tired of the distance. Tired of pretending. Tired of living in the “almost.”

“I don’t want to hurt her again.” he confessed, slowly.

“Then don’t,” Ewan said simply. “Choose her. All the way this time.”

They sat in silence again, smoke curling up into the dark.

Then Ewan added, softly, “Choose each other, you both deserve to be happy. So do it. For her. For you. For that Bubble of yours you’re so damn in love with.”

Hayden closed his eyes. And for the first time in months, he let himself imagine what it might feel like if he just… gave in and chose her.

Ends of September 2021. What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?.

The music hummed low from the speakers, warm bass pulsing through the soft glow of string lights overhead. The room was buzzing, crew and cast gathered with drinks in hand, laughter echoing through the space like the fading heartbeat of something once grand.

It was done. Filming had wrapped. They'd all made history.

Everyone was celebrating. Everyone but them.

She smiled when she had to. Laughed at the right moments. Nodded, accepted praise. The series was wrapped. The series she put so much into. She should have felt pride swelling in her chest, but instead, there was a hollow spot where something else had once lived.

Her glass of wine was cold in her hand as her eyes drifted, once again to the far end of the room.

There Hayden was. Dressed in all black, button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The kind of outfit that made him seem even taller than he already was, like the darkness clung to him in reverence. His curls were swept back, golden under the light. His jaw was freshly shaven, but there was something tired in his eyes. Something heavy.

He laughed at something someone said, but to her, who had heard the real thing, who knew the warm, full sound of it, was off. Hollow. Foreign, because it sounded too practiced, like someone doing an impression of him. His smile didn’t quite reach and it felt criminal.

She looked at him the way you look at a memory you’ve been trying to forget. The way you glance at someone you still love but know you can’t have. Her fingers tightened around her glass.

Because of course she still felt it. Every aching, unwanted, impossible part of it.

Hayden, for his part, felt like something had been left unfinished, like the final page of a script had been ripped out and folded away in someone else's pocket.

Across the room, was his end, sad or happy ending, bathed in amber light from the chandeliers, she stood in conversation with one of the editors. Her red velvet skirt skimmed the floor as she shifted her weight, black corset hugging her frame with a quiet confidence, silver rings catching the light every time she lifted her glass. That worn leather jacket, clearly not hers, too big on her shoulders, added just enough edge to offset the elegance.

Her hair was slightly messy, but on purpose. Like she’d spent just enough time not caring and yet still managed to look like a dream, his dream.

Hayden had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from staring.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful, and she hadn’t looked at him once.

He stood near the back corner, drink in hand, and there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache for her, his brain hadn’t stopped thinking about her for a second. And still hadn’t figured out how to say any of it right.

So when she finally stepped outside, maybe for air, maybe to escape, he followed. Not like a man with a plan. More like a man being pulled.

The balcony was quiet, lights dimmer. Away from the buzz of clinking glasses and studio talk, the air was sharp with night, as if to remind her she was still real, still here. Her wine glass dangled from her fingers.

Then the door opened behind her and she didn’t have to turn to know who it was. 

Her back was to him, hands gripping the edge of the railing, her wine glass still mostly full.

He cleared his throat gently and she turned, slowly. Their eyes met. Something inside his chest fractured and in hers twisted.

“I can give you space,” he said softly, the words hesitant, almost hopeful. “If you’d rather be alone.”

“It’s alright,” she said. Her voice was low. Tired. But sincere. “It’s a big balcony.”

He nodded, cigarette between his fingers and walked towards the railing.

They didn’t speak for a while. Just existed, breathing the same air, in the same silence. The laughter from the inside acted like background music, but it felt odd, off to a scene so sad, so full of tension. 

The silence wasn’t comfortable, like before, it itched, it burned, it was like a punch to the gut. But after he smoked half of his cigarette and she drank her wine, something cracked.

“I know I probably don’t get to say this,” Hayden said suddenly, words tumbling from his chest, “but you look… absolutely beautiful.”

Her breath caught. Not visibly. But enough that the glass trembled in her grip before she set it on the railing.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “You look good too.” Her heart was pounding too loudly to trust her voice.

Hayden watched her from the corner of his eye, the ember of his cigarette flickering between his fingers.

The silence was fraying.

“I really don’t know what to say here,” he admitted, voice cracked open. Broken.

She gave a breath of a laugh. Bitter. “You said plenty,” she replied, lifting her glass again. “Just not what I needed to hear.

He ran a hand through his curls, suddenly flushed with nerves and stepped a little closer, not too much. Respecting space. But God, Hayden wanted to fall at her feet. 

God. Say it right. Just once.

“I wasn’t lying, back then,” he said quickly, like the words were a dam bursting. “When I said I was scared of what it could do to your career. I meant it. You’re… you're brilliant. And I didn’t want to be the reason people looked at you like��like you were anything less than the genius you are.”

Her brows pulled together. That familiar twist in her chest returned and he kept going.

“And maybe I overthought it. Maybe I overcorrected. I always do that. I always find a way to fuck up the one good thing.”

Her fingers tensed against the railing, her jaw clenched and then loosened.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt you. God, I never meant that.” He exhaled, fast and sharp. “You have to believe me.”

She turned then and looked up at him, really looking at him. The way he held his cigarette like it steadied him. The way he stood like he might break apart at the joints. The way he had his brows frowned, his jaw tightened, like he was holding something back. He looked wrecked. All of it, written in the fine lines of his face.

He was so close now. Close enough that the scent of him hit her: tobacco, and the cologne that lingering in her office, in her clothes after a whole day together. It still lived on that sweater of his he leant her on a particularly cold night and she never had the heart to wash, nor give it back. In her house after he cooked for her and then broke her heart, more than what he already did.

“I do believe you,” she said softly.

He blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I know you. That’s the problem.”

Those blue as ocean eyes looked down at her with softness, unsureness and devastation. 

“At this point,” she whispered, voice thin, “if you were anyone else, I’d think all you want to do is hurt me.”

He shook his head fast, lips parting. “No, I would ne—”

“I know,” she cut in, tiredly. “Because you’re you and I know that’s not what you want.” Her voice cracked, barely. “But it does hurt.”

His mouth opened, maybe to speak, maybe to say the thing he should’ve said all those months ago.

“Every time you open your mouth and say something trying to protect me, or fix it, or be noble, it just… chips away at me a little more.”

Hayden looked like he was in physical pain.

She stepped closer, her hand almost reaching for him. Her fingers hovered right above his chest, just inches from touching him with trembling fingers, and then, she moved it back. Like the contact might burn her. Like if she touched him, she wouldn’t be able to let go.

Because she wouldn’t and she couldn’t afford to fall again.

He wanted to catch her hand, pull it to his chest and press it there, over his heart, right where it hurt the most. Right where her absence lived. But he was frozen in place.

Her lips parted like she might say something, but she didn’t. Just exhaled through her nose, trembling. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. But he could see her breaking in real time, fracture by fracture.

“So just… stop talking,” she said, no, she pleaded.

Stop hurting me. 

Hayden’s heart broke right in his chest. She was so close now, closer than he had any right for her to be. Close enough that he could see the shimmer of unshed tears clinging to her lashes. The ache. The longing. The love that hadn’t gone anywhere, not even after all the silence.

And he stood there, aching too. Wanting to reach for her. To fix it. Hands itching to touch her. But he just couldn't. But his mouth had betrayed him too many times. Now, even silence felt safer.

“I’m so-” his voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it shook.

She just nodded, blinking the tears away before they could fall. “I know.”

Because it was true, she knew it, he knew it, but it changed nothing. They couldn’t be together. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So they did what they seemed to always do now since July. They said nothing,  letting the moment pass, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. A truce made of ache from two people who wanted each other more than anything.

Next Part →

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[kaisentine]

yippity yappity abt actress!reader and sae

“you sucked at that.” you wince at how bad this pro-soccer player plays his part. to be fair—it was quite obvious he hated this, hated filming, hated his team, hated you . . . what kind of connections did this man have to be in a movie such as this one? “yeah? well no fucking shit, i’m not an actor.” he snarls.

how has this man not been cancelled yet? he’s probably the most insufferable male you’ve met—worked with! “. . . i’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. but for the love of whatever, don’t let go so early.” you murmur, referring to the last take when he let you fall on your back because he let go.

he rolls his eyes before the director tells the both of you to get ready.

“we can’t do this anymore,” crystalline tears start building up in your lash-line just begging to flood down your cheeks. he squeezes your hands in his and holds them up to his chest, the look of sympathy just barely passing sadness is evident on his face as he stares at you. “why not?” it’s asked as a whisper one could mistake for their own hallucinations playing with their head. “ . . . no—i can’t do this anymore.” the built up water starts flowing down your cheeks, a quick warmth turns to a cool sensation against your skin.

his sympathetic look contorts into disappointment at your rewording. “i can do this. fuck . . . just trust me.” you want to believe him, you want to be convinced by his sick reassurance but you’ve been fooled once before, you can’t do this a second time. “i don’t know if i can trust you again. let me go, please.” you plead while trying to thrash his clasp on your hands away. “yes you can.” he further insists with not budging one bit, your mouth feels dry from the words you cannot speak but wet with the guilt that drowns through your body.

“how?” you’ve given up on trying to push him away because now you need the answer. the form of the answer you were looking for was not that of verbal speech but of an action. pushing his arms back so both his and your hands are now pinned to your chest, a slow lean towards you was all it took for him to lay his lips on yours.

“CUT” the director yells through his over the top mega-phone and sae immediately lets go of your hands and rebounds back to his previous stance—you want to flush your mouth out with whatever you can get your hands on just anything. “good work!” he smiles, marking the end of the filming process. you smile along with him but the red-head ( bru what’s his hair color ) remains indifferent.

“it wasn’t that hard, was it?” you ask with arms crossed while everyone else is busy with something. “i just want to get out of here.” he copies your movements but puts his hand on his hip instead. you swallow the urge to crash out on him to the point there’s probably a lump in your throat. “i wasn’t the one who brought you here, calm down—the least you could do after probably making my ass bruise.” you feel your eye twitch just by looking at him,

“wrong, you were.”

what is he talking about . . . is he now telling you that you’re the reason for his misery? “huh? what do you mean?” you tilt your head in confusion. “my team wanted me here because you were going to be here too.” he blatantly explains like you knew this already—you didn’t. your head moves back in surprise.

“why would they do that?” you give him a look that just screams ‘wtf are you on about?’. “famous actor and famous soccer player, great publicity.” he sighs before shaking his head in annoyance.

oh, you get it now. but his team better be right because if this movie doesn’t blow up, you’re going to pay someone to remove your mouth.

their predictions were right, the movie was long awaited and did blow up—more than you thought. theorists, news sites and fans were having a field day, however. making up crazy articles, fan edits, and speculations that you and itoshi sae were dating.

have they never seen a kiss in a movie? have they never heard of the concept of acting? God, you still want to remove your mouth—anything to stop you subconsciously bringing your fingers up to your lips while thinking of the dumb kiss he gave you. it’s an actual nightmare to be thinking of a man who didn’t really want to kiss you.

his team was right but was it worth it? was it worth it to have you shifting uncomfortably in your seat while waiting for the interviewer with sae beside you? was it worth the awkward bickering off camera? “i slept through the premiere.” he says lazily as if you weren’t beside him during the showing. “how are we going to do this interview, then?” you sigh, bringing a hand to your face to pinch your nose bridge.

“adlib,” he says, “i think i’ll be okay..” he finishes. “you better because i’m not carrying this interview.” you retort—knowing damn well you might be forced to because you’ve watched his interviews after games and they . . . suck.

there’s a sound from in front of you, it’s the interviewer getting set up in her chair. she clears her throat, “we’ll be starting soon.” she smiles, smoothening the wrinkles on her white pants. it’s game time when there’s professional cameras almost being shoved in your face.

the conversations and questions were quite tame . . .

“i’ve never seen you act before, itoshi. how were you so good the first time?” you feel your eye twitch.

“i don’t know, i just did what they told me to do.” he’s being way too honest. then again, he was never one to put on a filter, even in front of the cameras. you swear you see her eye twitch as well before she goes back to her light smile while turning to you.

“your performance was as great as ever! do you have anything to say about the filming?”

“ah, i’m very flattered! thank you! filming a movie with such intense emotions was quite the test for my heart.” you replicate the smile on her face. if only reputation didn’t exist—you would’ve said you had the urge to punch your co-worker in the face.

until they weren’t.

“now for the big question that’s been on everyone’s minds the moment the movie released.”

don’t you fucking say it.

“are you,” she points at you, “and him” she points at the man beside you, “dating?”

she said it. you jump in your seat at the mention of you and him dating?! “we aren’t!” you’re quick to shake your head with a laugh as a cover-up, she lets out a prolonged hum—suggesting something—in return. “do you believe that?” sae asks and you dart your eyes to him, what is he doing? is he trying to stir up more controversies? he’s got to be crazy. you silently tell him to shut up but he isn’t taking the hint to zip his lips.

the interviewer smirks. “i mean, most of us do . . . the kiss at the end was way too real.” that woman really needs that paycheck, huh? okay . . . you get it, she’ll get praised by her manager or whatever for grabbing views for this but what would sae get in return for doing this?

“that means we’re just really good actors, right?” you laugh nervously, still side-eyeing sae ‘please do something,’. “i don’t think a beginner actor would be that convincing.” he shrugs—he’s referring to himself. when you meant for him to do something, you didn’t mean for him to mix things up even more! the interviewer’s smirk falls through her jaw as it drops, this is probably the juiciest thing she’ll get out of her career. “are you saying that the kiss just might be a—”

“NO—”

“sure.”

you both say at the same time—sae’s manager is basically lunging at the cameramen to stop the recording.

maybe you’ve been blind up until this moment but now it all makes sense. the lingering thoughts of his lips on yours were totally planned by him—but what he did to make it work was still a mystery.

but the prize he’d get in return was not a paycheck but it would be you.

man, you knew he sucked that bad at acting but he sucks even more at bagging someone.

sticky note. this idea showed up in my drafts on the 31st of january but i kept changing it stop

[polarity-disturbed]

Guys, guys, please—I can't do this. This episode isn't about painting UNIT as some flawless institution under unfair attack. It’s about a deeply flawed system. One that, on little to no evidence of an actual alien threat, invades a small town in full SWAT gear. That’s not meant to be a good thing.

It’s a story where the person in charge literally releases a dangerous creature to prove a point—and that same institution is being targeted by a misinformation campaign. And yet, despite those serious flaws, they do ultimately act to protect people. That’s the tension. That’s the point.

Let me be clear: this is an allegory for COVID and the online grifters and influencers who took advantage of the pandemic to spread hate and gain popularity—and who continue to do so now.

It’s about how institutions—even when compromised, bureaucratic, or short-sighted—still have the capacity to do good. They’re made of people, many of whom are trying to hold the line, trying to save lives, trying to do the right thing while the ground shifts under them.

But those imperfections? They make it easy for grifters to walk in and sell a fantasy. People like Conrad don’t actually want to protect anyone—they want control. And they know how to dress up that pursuit of power in the language of liberation. He says he’s standing up for you, for “truth,” for “the people,” but really he’s weaponizing frustration, anger, and distrust for his own gain.

Conrad always knew aliens were real. He wasn’t trying to expose lies. He was trying to punish UNIT for not recruiting him. That’s it. His whole crusade is built on a personal grudge. He rejects the Doctor’s reality not because it’s implausible, but because he wasn’t chosen.

That’s the core danger here: villains who tell you exactly what you want to hear. Who appeal to your cause, your values, your righteous anger. They frame themselves as underdogs, rebels, visionaries. But when you look closer, their plans are hollow. Destruction for destruction’s sake, dressed up in whatever narrative gets clicks and followers. People saw what they wanted to see in Conrad. Whatever oppressive system they hate, he claimed to be fighting it. He let you project your beliefs onto him—just like grifters do in real life. He made destruction feel like justice.

Ruby drank the vial, Conrad didn’t. That vial was the only thing that negated the Shreek’s vomit-based marking system, and by refusing to drink it, Conrad didn’t just risk his own life—he put everyone else in danger. Just like those that refused to take the vaccine.

And Kate, in releasing the monster, represents those who, during the pandemic, felt frustration and helplessness. She symbolizes the moment some threw up their hands and said, “If they won’t take the vaccine, let them die.” But that mindset didn’t solve the problem; it only escalated it. The monster had already shown it could mark more than one person, and there was no guarantee it wouldn’t strike again. The monster, like the virus, didn’t distinguish between those who made bad choices and those who couldn’t protect themselves. And she released it anyway.

By surrendering to that frustration, she was putting the vulnerable at greater risk, the very people who needed protection the most.

This mirrors the situation with COVID: surrendering to misinformation or personal pride jeopardizes the lives of the vulnerable, children, the immunocompromised, and those without the same choices or protections.

It was only because of Ruby that those consequences didn’t spiral out of control. Ruby didn’t just save lives—she prevented Kate’s breakdown in judgment from becoming a catastrophe.

So no, this isn’t “UNIT good, Conrad bad.” It’s a story about nuance. About how flawed systems can still serve the public good, and how those flaws are exploited by bad-faith actors who don’t care about truth or safety. It’s a warning: be careful who you believe, and why. Just because someone says what you’re thinking doesn’t mean they’re right. And just because a system needs fixing doesn’t mean you burn it all down.

The episode holds up a mirror to us and asks: what do you do when the systems meant to protect you fall short? Do you give up? Do you burn down the establishment, ignoring that it would put people at great danger? Or do you recognize that while the system is flawed, it still has the capacity to do good, and that dismantling it without a plan and without care for who gets caught in the fallout can cause more harm than reforming it ever would? It challenges us to sit with discomfort, to hold more than one truth at once.

Conrad had valid grievances, but his actions still endangered lives. UNIT made mistakes, but it still stood between humanity and annihilation. Rejecting nuance in favor of easy answers may feel righteous, but it often leaves the most vulnerable to pay the price.

That said, I do think the episode would’ve been stronger had the Shreek actually attacked or marked someone else during that final confrontation. Even just one more target could have underscored the point that the threat was indiscriminate—that Kate’s decision risked more than just Conrad. It would’ve made the stakes more immediate, and made Ruby’s choice feel even more necessary.

And yeah—I really hope we get an episode someday that digs into the tightrope UNIT has to walk. How do you hold them accountable without exposing the dangerous technology and classified knowledge they safeguard? But that's not what this episode was targeting.

[ixxivvv]

thinking ab calebs physical traits on commute rn...

- his skin

acne scarring, his cute freckles and sun spots, a scratch from shaving, some razor bumps, how it gets red when hes sun burnt from flying. body acne, his razor bumps on his legs or body. some stubble. when hes applying aloe vera on where he got sun burnt, you couldn't help but watch him from a far.

- his muscles

everyone in lads has a pretty solid build obvi, but i particularly love caleb bc of his firm and trad masc build. (no waist, big thick chest, more beef than lean) he feels rock solid when you push him or receiving a hug, like you could tell hes so strong and like an unmovable force. one wrong move and your strength couldn't stand against him. his triangle build is so dreamy :(

- his neck/shoulders

your delicate touch with your thin small hands against his firm shoulders "it's as if a butterfly landed on my shoulder..". you loved the muscle space that connected his neck and shoulders. his collarbone, adam's apple, his jawline. you loved sinking your teeth into him or leaving a mark on this area. he can hide it w his uniform the next day.

- hes just so clearly proud of his big build, hed be those guys that randomly throw air punches or flexes in the mirror 💔 hes so gymbro and never skips legs!

- his hair

just well clean cut, military approved, and i luv his bangs :(((( i wished i can ruffle it to see his forehead and tell him how hed be handsome without bangs too :(( i think hes the type to get shy without his bangs

"buut half of your forehead is out.. hm, you look handsome, like drama-like handsome.. like those actors? have you ever been told you look like those period drama actors?"

"noo im shy :(( but you think im handsome? :DD"

"you know you are."

":DD"

- no need for glasses!

his eyesight is canonically really good, he needs to read w the text away from him. he does wear sunglasses, thin gold frames or fight goggles. he can see every detail of you which you hate, but he promises that he loves every bit.

- his dry ahh lips

its so kissable, in just wanting to give it moisture. its most likely from sun burn, you give him some good uv lip balm. to begin your makeup routine and sitting down by the dresser, which he loves to watch you get ready, you give him a q tip of vaseline.

"okay so the first step will be skin prep.. id like to take some toner pads and lip balm."

"pretending to vlog?" "other wise it will be boring for you... here."

":D" "you need some."

[floralcavern]

Indie pilots/shows/projects to support!

Click titles for links!

1)) Gods’ School

Do you like Greek Mythology? Do you like drama? Then you would probably love Gods’ School! Indie French Artist, Gaylord, has been working on this series for 7 years! Incredible animation, interesting spins on mythology, and fun voice acting. The only downside is how infrequent the uploads are :(

2)) Pretty Pretty Please I Don’t Want To Be A Magical Girl

Are you a magical girl enjoyer? Or do you hate magical girls? Either way, you will love this pilot! Aika is a magical girl who has grown to hate her job. With just a pilot out, it is hilarious with beautiful art and incredible cast of voice actors

3)) My Pride

An incredible show! Sadly, today (Feb 28) marks the 4 year anniversary of since it’s gone on hiatus. But meet Nothing, the outcast in her lion pride, as she has to fight against the ableism and discrimination she faces while also getting tied up in godly affairs and lions from the outside of her pride

4)) Persona Project

This one is a bit more.. unique. Created by PetPyves, a veteran of indie animation. This is how I found their content, but Persona Project is extremely unique, as it tells the story of the animator PetPyves, Hawley, and them working through their trauma by personifying different phases of their life into characters, or personas. All animated, voice acted, and directed by Hawley, and with frequent uploads, it is incredible and a beautiful project I feel like everyone should check it out. So much respect to Hawley for telling their story and for this incredible animation. Treat this project with extreme respect and care, as Hawley is putting their heart into this and has already had to deal with people being disrespectful, sadly. (Here’s a set of ground rules and boundaries they’ve set, if you want to check it out)

5)) Chikn Nuggit

A silly series of shorts telling the everyday stories of Chikn and his other food-based animal friends. Surely, there’s nothing sinister going on.. right?

6)) Epic the Musical: concept album

Another mythology based thing! While not animated like the other things above, there are many small time artists doing incredible animatics for this indie project! A musical telling the story of The Odyssey!

7)) Theratpy

There is sadly not much out for this one, but I still love it! It follows Ratticus, a rat with anger issues and intrusive thoughts, going to therapy sessions with Dr. Zoro. It’s simple, but it makes me happy. It reminds me of Good Will Hunting, which will always be a plus in my book!

I may do a part 2 if I end up finding more indie projects that I love. I just wanted to share. Check these out and support indie creators and artists!

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

What about an actor au?

EVERYONE is an actor, but Lucifer and Alastor have been doing it for the longest.

They have a weird rivalry, and it's annoying to mainly Lucifer because their agents keep auditioning them for the same movies.

Adam has been acting as a side job for a while, but he got cast as a minor character in a box office hit, so now his career as taken in off.

He's like Pedro Pascal. He's a sweetheart, he's funny, he's hot and the fans LOVE him!

Lucifer has no idea who he is, but he starts questioning why he isn't getting many call bacls for parts that he's auditioned for. Turns out, Adam's snatching them up. He's completely oblivious to the fact that he's making it hard for Lucifer to get work.

But FINALLY Lucifer gets a roll. And of course, Adam has to be involved in that too. Lucifer only got the roll because Adam was offered another one in the movie. Making Lucifer the second choice.

Lucifer has a whole pile of academy awards, and emmys. Why the fuck is this guy taking his fucking roles?

Then he sees him.

And now, he isn't falling. Or he tries not to. He has to fuck him over somehow, and this is his chance.

He hates that Adam is so kind to everyone, even him. And even Alastor, who unfortunately git a role in this movie before Lucifer.

Lucifer's fighting with his demons in this one lol

I like to think that he can't even go through with what he had planned because Adam was so nice lol

Also, what if they starred in a cop show together?

-

Adam was so excited, this was his first time staring in a TV show with a bunch of other stars!

He walked to his dressing room to get ready, filming starts so early but that's okay. Adam was well rested and ready to start shooting. He was cast as Sheriff Mark Powers and Adam was so excited that Lucifer Morningstar was going to play as his deputy.

The guy is a fucking legend and he felt so blessed to work with him.

There was a knock at his door and a thin man dressed in pink was there.

Angel: You Adam? I'm Angel, I'll be doing your hair and makeup.

Adam smiled: Awesome, nice to meet you Angel.

Angel: Damn, you're hotter in person.

Adam blushed: Oh, thank you. Does that mean you've seen my stuff.

Angel started working on him: Honey, I've seen everything. I loved you in Beetlejuice.

Adam: Thanks, that one was a lot of fun.

[camficdiner]

1.5, 2.1, 3.5, 4.3 enemies to lovers with my baby will

so my idea is that her and will do NOT get along at all and everyone knows it. they are in the same friend group, and the whole group is at a party together. maybe someone in the group doesn’t get along with the host and they go there to get them back but need a distraction. since literally the whole world knows will and her hate eachother, the group says they need to be the distraction where they’re kissing in a public space. they do not want to do it but it inevitably is a good plan so they do. maybe the kiss gets VERY heated like it’s a little much for just a distraction but once it’s over they go their separate ways and pretend it didn’t happen. later she is in the bathroom and she sees her neck full of marks and of course will walks in on her and sees them too. he didn’t even realize he left them but now they’re arguing about it and one thing leads to another and they’re on eachother once again.

omg i went a little overboard😭😭 love u & ur writing!!

☕️ cams fic diner — order 097

🍒 thank you:to the girlies who crave tension so thick it snaps. enemies to lovers. hallway kisses that go too far. bruises on your neck and his name in your mouth. this one’s yours.

💬 “Don’t Act Like You Didn’t Like It”

✨ description & prompts:

character: Will Smith (hockey)

prompt: you get caught kissing in a hallway…and suddenly it’s not just kissing anymore

type: enemies to lovers, jealousy, possessive smut

wc ~1.8k

🧁✨🛼🍒

You weren’t even supposed to be at the party.

That was the first problem.

The second? Will Smith was there — standing too close to the drinks table, leaning too hard against the wall like he owned it, and flashing that smug fucking grin like he knew exactly how much you hated him.

And the worst part?

He did.

Everyone did.

You’d been in the same friend group for over a year. Close enough to share group chats, game nights, Uber rides. Close enough to make things uncomfortable whenever you and Will had to be in the same room. Everyone tiptoed around it at first. Then came the chirps, the jokes, the tension so thick it practically became entertainment.

“Get a room,” they’d tease. “Or a boxing ring.”

You’d always roll your eyes. Will would just smirk.

Tonight was no different.

Except this time, there was a plan.

“Okay, hear me out,” Cat said, sliding between you and Tyler near the half-empty beer pong table. “You know how Jeremy wasn’t invited? He’s outside.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“He showed up with his dumbass friends anyway,” she said. “And the host is freaking out because she specifically said no drama.”

“And you care because…?”

“Because we want to help her kick him out,” Cat said, already scanning the room. “We just need a distraction.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes. “What kind of distraction?”

“Something dramatic,” she said. “Something that’ll pull everyone’s attention to the other side of the house.”

Then she turned.

Looked at you.

Then at Will.

Who was, of course, already watching.

Your stomach dropped. “No.”

“Oh come on,” Cat said, already grabbing your arm. “It’s perfect. You two pretend to hook up in the hallway — just long enough to cause a scene — and everyone will look away while I sneak her out to deal with Jeremy.”

“Pretend to hook up?” you snapped. “We’re not actors.”

“No,” Tyler said, sipping his drink. “But you’re both petty enough to make it look real.”

You glared at him. “I hate you.”

“You hate Will more,” he shot back.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.

—

The hallway was narrow, dimly lit, and already too hot when you got there.

Will was already leaning against the wall when you arrived, arms crossed, smirk in place.

“This is stupid,” you muttered.

“Agreed,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

You stepped closer.

Too close.

He didn’t move.

The air between you buzzed.

Then, before either of you could chicken out, you grabbed his face and kissed him.

It was supposed to be quick. Distracting.

Just a show.

But the second your mouth met his — the second his hand slid to your waist — everything went sideways.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

Teeth. Tongue. Breathless, heated, angry.

You moaned without meaning to. His grip on your hip tightened.

You pushed him against the wall. He pulled you closer.

His mouth dropped to your throat. You gasped.

And somewhere behind you, someone cheered.

“Jesus,” someone muttered. “Get a room.”

You broke apart like you’d been slapped.

Breathing hard. Lips swollen. Your body buzzing.

Will stared at you like he didn’t recognize what just happened.

Then he turned and walked away without a word.

And that — you told yourself — was that.

—

Until twenty minutes later, in the bathroom.

You leaned toward the mirror to reapply your lip gloss — only to freeze.

Because there, clear as day in the yellow light:

Hickeys.

Not one. Not two.

A whole trail of blooming red and purple across your collarbone.

“Fucking hell,” you whispered.

You tried to dab them. Hide them. Swear them into disappearing.

But the second you turned your head, the door swung open.

And he walked in.

Will.

You both froze.

His eyes dropped to your throat.

His expression changed.

“You didn’t even notice?” you snapped.

“I—” He blinked. “No. Shit. I didn’t—”

“You left marks on me, Will.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, you just accidentally sucked on my neck like a fucking leech?”

He stepped closer.

You backed into the sink.

“You didn’t stop me,” he said.

“You didn’t give me a chance.”

“You liked it.”

You should’ve slapped him.

Should’ve stormed out.

But instead — you grabbed his shirt, pulled him in, and kissed him again.

Harder this time. Meaner.

He lifted you onto the counter, hands already sliding under your skirt, mouth hot and heavy on your throat — right over the bruises he gave you.

“You hate me, huh?” he whispered, dragging your panties down.

“Absolutely,” you gasped, grinding against his palm. “You’re the worst.”

“Then why are you dripping for me?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He was already pushing into you, both of you moaning at the contact — the stretch, the heat, the sheer wrongness of it.

You wrapped your legs around his waist.

He bit your shoulder.

You clawed at his back.

Neither of you were gentle.

Neither of you wanted to be.

He fucked you like he was trying to prove something.

You took it like you didn’t care who heard.

When you came, it was with his name in your mouth and your hand tangled in his curls.

He followed seconds later, breathless, eyes wide, body pressed flush against yours.

Then silence.

Your chest heaved.

His hands stayed on your thighs.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Finally, he looked at you — dazed, wrecked, wild.

“…We’re gonna pretend this didn’t happen too?”

You smirked. “We’ll see.”

[hannsluvely]

Buggy Headcanons ˗ˏˋ꒰🍒꒱ˎˊ˗

★ — OPLA Buggy the Clown ♡

﹢he's the type of guy to follow the "i hate everyone but you" trope. the second he sees you, his heart lights up and he drops everything he's doing to go talk to you, even just for a moment. he could be heated, yelling at his crew, but when he sees you, he smiles and drops everything until you leave.

﹢he's a sucker for cuddles. absolutely loves them. if he's had a long and stressful day, he'll just fall on top of you and pass out. he loves to lay on you. his head on your chest as he rub his back or play with his hair. he definitely snores. not too loud but not quiet either. sometimes it'll get loud and you'll need to wake him up to get some decent sleep x)

﹢both a morning/night person. he goes to bed late and wakes up early. he doesn't get too much sleep because of how busy he is. sometimes the only time he gets with you is when you're both in me. if he's not deathly tired, he'll lay on his side with his head propped up on his hand as he listens to you talk about your day. your voice soothes him.

﹢he's very insecure. lowkey hates himself. his ego is forced and a facade for others so he can intimidate them. he hates his nose. he hates the subject being brought up in any conversation. when he was younger, before meeting shanks, he would wear a mask to hide his nose.

﹢i know everyone is like "buggy is a sex god and dominant and-" no. sorry. he is extremely insecure. it took him a while to show you who he really was. he lets himself unfold with you. he is himself with you. his true self.

﹢the crossbones on his forehead and upper cheek are tattooed on but he paints his face with makeup. his eyelashes are naturally long but he does wear falsies to accentuate it and make himself look more like a clown. his hair is naturally long but he tends to tuck and pin it back underneath the striped bandana.

﹢he likes things to be equal during sex. no top or bottom. as cringe as it may sound, he loves to call it 'love-making'. no fucking or hooking up - rather making love with one another. he worships you, especially in the bedroom. constant kisses and praise. loves doing all of the work, especially if you're stressed out. his favorite position is when you're both laying down on your sides and your holding each other while he makes love to you.

﹢he's a strict believer in taking care of you. pays for meals, surprises you with presents, doesn't want you working- he wants you to be completely comfortable and satisfied. someone as special like you should never even lift a finger. he has it all covered.

﹢loves to let you do his makeup. sometimes he'll be reading the newspaper while you're painting his eyes or lips. it's like he's an actor and you're his makeup artist. he can never get the lines as precise and as neat as you can. once you're finished, he gives you a kiss on your cheek, leaving a red mark. this happens every time.

﹢he's a goofy drunk, very humorous and silly. but as he sobers up, he becomes extremely clingy and doesn't let go of you.

﹢in the public eye, he acts very possessive of you, like he's the one in control. he always needs to be touching you. if you're apart, he'll send a hand your way and hold yours while he's busy. preferably his off-hand so he can still get some work done.

﹢people are scared of him for obvious reasons but when it's just the two of you, he's a big baby. sometimes he'll even use a certain voice whenever he talks to you. you tease him in public, telling others he's a completely different person when you two are alone. he laughs, calls you crazy, and plays it off.

﹢he loves no one more than he loves you.

﹢whenever he performs a show, he always gets you a seat up front. makes sure you can kick your feet up, your popcorn is always full, and you're enjoying yourself. whenever he pulls someone up on the set to help with one of his acts, you're almost always the person he picks.

﹢his favorite moments with you are when you're sitting on the deck of his ship, everyone else is asleep, and the two of you are counting the stars together and admiring one another.

﹢he loves to eat. if you two are eating together, he'll ask for the rest of yours and then some. messy eater, too.

﹢he's a great listener. loves to hear about your day.

﹢he loves to give you massages. just loves to pamper you, in general. your feet will be kicked up on his lap as he rubs them and you vent about your day or your laying on your back and he's above you, massaging your shoulders and hips.

﹢he just loves you. and he is a sweet and delicate man so treat him like one. he's the type of guy to sacrifice the world for you, not you for the world.

[butlervibesonly]

𝐴𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝐵𝑢𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑟 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇

~ Things written in my works are not real event, fiction is concerned! Real things such as names, stories or events happening are only a figment of my imagination, and is not intended to offend or exploit anyone! (some events might be inspired by reality; Austin's premiers etc.)

~ I don't own any photos or videos that I use in my works or posts, credits go to owners of these!

~ Do NOT copy my works or use them in any kind of a way without my permission!

~ Each of my works are marked to let you know about triggers or something else! ☺️

🩷 = fluff, ❤️‍🔥= smut or spicy, ☁️ = angst, etc.

ONE SHOTS

• LAZY SUNDAY MORNING 🩷

= Imagine waking up one Sunday morning next to Austin and spending lazy weekend morning with him.

• NEVER LOOKED BETTER 🩷

= You and Austin have been together for a while now and he's attending a premiere with you by his side, making sure you're comfortable enough with public appearance.

• UNSCRIPTED LOVE 🩷

= Austin and you have been close friends since you were teenagers. However, you have never worked together as actors, and certainly not in a movie where you are a couple.

• LATE NIGHT LOVE 🩷

= Austin is on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, while Y/n, his girlfriend, is home watching him in the TV, because unfortunately she's sick. He's questioned about her, and he speaks so beautifully about her, making everyone know he loves her more than anything.

• SWEET HOMECOMING ❤️‍🔥

= Austin had a rough day filming, and Y/n wants him to feel better as he comes home. Dinner, and, welp, a hot bath that isn't just a hot bath...

• WORKOUT FOR TWO 🩷(❤️‍🔥)

= Austin is training for a new role, and he has to be fit and formed, and he asked Y/n to be his company. But who would have thought seeing his girlfriend workout make him crazy?

• FOREVER YOURS 🩷

= It is yours and Austin's 10th anniversary, and it's not just any kind. Austin wants this anniversary to be the best anniversary ever, and as you probably might know — he's going to be successful.

• STRINGS OF LOVE 🩷(❤️‍🔥)

= Austin is playing a guitar, trying to memorize some of Elvis' songs as he's preparing for the role, and he wants his Y/n to try it, too.

• SAFE IN HIS ARMS ☁️🩷

= Y/n is having terrible day, feeling so tired and overwhelmed lately. Until she completely loses it, but Austin gets home and everything feels safe all of sudden.

• AUSTIN'S BABY FEVER 🩷

= Y/n and Austin are invited to birthday party of one of his friend's baby, and who would have thought Austin will catch a huge baby fever by watching his love Y/n play with kids?

• CARING LOVE 🩷

= Y/n's having the time of the month, definitely not feeling good. But that is something Austin couldn't help with.

• WHEN LOVE HURTS 🩷☁️

= You're doubting about yourself as you read some rude and hateful comments. But Austin makes sure you know haters can't tear you apart.

• BEDTIME BOOGIE 🩷

= Y/n's and Austin's daughter is having a hard time sleeping, and all she want to do is dance with her daddy.

• FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT 🩷 PART 1

= Austin is your best friend and you seem to attend the same event without knowing it. As much as the two of you loved the pranks you did on the set as younger, you decide to repeat the past. But this actually turns into the most wildest things you’ve ever done.

• MON AMOUR 🩷

= How might it look when Austin and Y/n surprise each other with their ability of speaking French?

• MARKS OF LOVE 🩷☁️

= Y/n and Austin are expected their first baby… Hormones, changes of the body and other are not very comfortable to go through. But Austin is here to remind her that her body is miracle carrying another miracle.

• VALENTINE’S LOVELINESS 🩷

= Austin surprises you with a wonderful Valentine’s Day… Can even something be more than this?

• DADDY, I WANT TO PLAY HOCKEY 🩷

= Every little boy has dream. And so does yours and Austin’s son. One day he wants to be an hockey player, and you two of course want the best for him.

• ONCE UPON A STAR (Prince Austin) 🩷

= A little princess was used to be chased by little prince. They liked each other, but as they grew up, they both changed. Until one day their paths cross again.

• HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS 🩷

= You and Austin are complete high school sweethearts. You both decide to spend some free time after school together, enjoying something you have both passion for.

• MORE THAN A CHRISTMAS GIFT 🩷

= Christmas is about giving gifts and surprises, but would actually Austin expect this gift? Days before Christmas Day?

• UNDER THE MISTLETOE 🩷

= Can something be more romantic than experiencing a first kiss with Austin, after hiding your mutual love?

• BAKED WITH LOVE 🩷

= Austin and Y/n make gingerbread cookies, and have the absolutely amazing time together!

• CHRISTMAS TREE, OH, CHRISTMAS TREE 🩷

= When Y/n decides to decorate the Christmas tree, Austin do nothing but teases her about it. But in the end, it's the most magical moment of the day.

HEADCANONS

• DATING AUSTIN BUTLER 🩷

= What would dating Austin Butler look like!

REQUESTS

• DOUBLE TINY MIRACLE 🩷

• FROM SET TO HOSPITAL 🩷

• JUST A LITTLE LONGER 🩷

• NEW YEAR’S LOVE 🩷

• NOT SO LITTLE SECRET 🩷☁️

• UNDENIABLE DESIRE 🩷❤️‍🔥

• WHO AM I WITHOUT YOU? ☁️

• LOVE LANGUAGES 🩷

• LOVE BEYOND PAGES 🩷

MEDIA IMAGINES

• VACATION BREAK 🩷

= Austin and Y/n took some time off from the world in Hawaii.

PART STORIES

• His biggest hit 🩷❤️‍🔥☁️

= Every Elvis Presley's fan girl would love to be lucky enough to be his little doll. Y/n is the one everyone envies and would give anything to live her life which is just a dream for some. How is it really to live the life Y/n Presley is living?

• HEALING HEARTS (finished!)

-> PART ONE 🩷 = While chasing freedom you get hurt and precious elf boy finds you. It turns out to be Wil Ohmsford and he is more than pleased to care about you.

-> PART TWO 🩷☁️ = You never thought you would reveal the real secret of your escaping. But now that you are stuck with Wil – nothing else matters.

-> PART THREE 🩷☁️ = Things are going well between you and Wil… But he has one certain nightmare. That you will leave. And so afraid are you. Will you stay? Or will you leave?

-> PART FOUR 🩷 = Your leg is now healed and your heart is healed too. And Wil’s heart seems to be healed as well. Because finally, after all that happened, both of you are having the happy ending you deserve.

• Where love begin | Poem for Healing hearts 🩷

~ ONESHOTS ~

• ROSES AND STRAWBERRIES 🩷

= Wil keeps his promises. Of course he does. He would do anything to make you happy.

• MY LITTLE FLOWER 🩷

= Stella Ohmsford is just like her dad. Caring and loving, and especially when it comes to gardening, just like her dad. And Wil finds himself having another favorite activity to do.

• A LITTLE STAR 🩷

= Stella Ohmsford loves stargazing, just like her daddy. And her little head is very curious, filled with so many questions about every little sparkling dot in the sky.

• A PIECE OF YOU PART 1 🩷☁️

= Gale needs to go to the war. Neither him and Y/n want to… They don’t wanna separate. But at least something keeps reminding them that they are not separated. Not for now.

[amuyyi]

she wants me (to be loved) .

synopsis; you have always loved huh yunjin, but not in the way she loved you.

trope; huh yunjin x f!reader, angst, unrequited (?) love, bittersweet ending

wc; 4.6k

cw; idk like one cuss word LMAO

a/n; i swear im still in forever writers block but THIS FIC IS INSPIRED BY THE SHE WANTS ME TO BE LOVED WARRIOR CATS AMV ON YOUTUBE ITS ABOUT BLUEFUR AND THRUSHPELT PLEEEEK WATCH IT AND/OR LISTEN TO THE SONG WHILE READING IM JUST SO ARRGGHHH also its almost 4 am i am half asleep i just realllyy wanted to finish this. also i used to be a theatre kid so.

You have always loved Huh Yunjin. But not in the way she loved you.

You recall very vividly the first day you met her.

It was the middle of freshman year of high school, and you had just moved into New York from out of state. Your father had just gotten a new job opportunity, and practically wasted no time packing all of your things to move in the middle of the school year. Perfect. New place, new faces, and definitely no friends. Everything an emotional teenage girl needed in a cruical stage of her development. All of the other students in your classes were nice enough, but everyone already had their established friend groups by now, and you simply didn't fit what they were looking for.

Despite the different environment, there was one thing that this school provided that provided some sort of familiarity.

Theater.

Back in middle school and for the brief semester you had in your old high school, you had always been a fan of the big stage. The music, the dramatics, the acting… It was all so whimsical and alluring to you. How could you not get involved?

(Okay, honestly.. You had gotten really into musical theater in middle school once you found a Hamilton animatic and it became your sole personality trait for a good two years or so–)

Unfortunately, you were too much of a coward to truly put yourself out there like the actors around you. High school insecurities and poor self esteem truly did take its toll on you back then. So instead, you settled for being part of the stage crew. 

You thought that getting involved with a club would make it easier for you to socialize and make friends. You could join a community. Yet somehow, it made everything all the more difficult.

Everybody seemed to already know each other and have their own established friends. On top of that, everyone also seemed to know who they hated as well. You would always overhear what other actors and techies would say about one another and it only just put you off from making friends even more. The whole environment was incredible… cliquey. 

Still, you had nothing else better to do, so you stayed. It was… Fine. You still had no real friends, but you did enjoy doing various tasks around the stage. Working with stage lights, helping prepare costumes, painting backdrops. It keeps you busy. It was routine.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight to walk in on actors practicing their lines or their songs backstage. Back home, you knew everyone involved within the production– including the actors. You would always compliment them and occasionally even provide help whenever you didn’t have your own techy jobs to fulfill. The main problem? This isn't home. Nobody here was your friend.

But when you found a pretty girl practicing for this semester's production of Phantom of The Opera in an empty hallway, you couldn't help but stop in your tracks and stare. You’ve never seen her before. Well, it's not like you bothered to pay much attention to the people around you anymore— but you feel like you wouldn't miss a face like hers.

She had the prettiest brown hair with highlights and the cutest beauty mark near the corner of her mouth. She was pacing around the hall, script in hand as she did various vocal exercises. The sound of her voice echoes off the walls, and it was just as angelic as she looked. 

“Prima Donna, your song shall live again…!” She sings out, her voice at a steady yet powerful vibrato throughout her verse. Her Bel Canto was skilled and practiced, and you can't help but wonder how long she’s been doing this for. Surely she’s overqualified for a simple high school production? You needed to hear more…

She moves her hands in elegant and dramatic forms as she immerses herself into the self-centered character of Carlotta. She played the roke perfectly, considering how most definitely had your attention now.

 “You took a snub, but theres a public who needs you, think of the cr—“

A loud thud rings throughout the hallway, startling the mystery opera singer as well as yourself. Shit. You look down and see the culprit. Well, it was you. you caused the interruption— but more specifically, it was a freshly decapitated mannequin head with a wig you were going to more securely attach to the top. It was a bit of a horrific sight, in all honesty.

Now that you think about it, this prop might actually be for her. Though you didn't have much time to ponder that thought considering the mysterious brown haired beauty has now caught you eavesdropping on her singing.

The head rolls across the tile floor and lands at her feet. You feel your face warm to what was most likely a bright tomato red as she picks it up by its shortened neck, the wig threatening to fall off as it dangles limply off of the top of its head.

“I'm assuming this is yours?” She smiles kindly at you, though a bit wary. Understandable, really. You would be wary of yourself too if you were in her shoes.

“Y-Yeah, sorry…” you nervously laugh, taking the head from her hands as you try to pat the wig back into place. 

“You sounded good, by the way!” You quickly stammer out, absentmindedly hugging the head to your chest, “Like… really good. Seriously.”

The mystery girl laughs at your flustered words, and she waves her hand dismissively. Her cheeks warm bashfully as she shakes her head.

“Thanks but… I have a lot to work on. My tones off, and I still need to memorize these lines by tomorrow…” she trails off, moving to press her back against the wall, sliding and sitting down on the floor.

Fiddling a bit with the mannequin head, you don't allow yourself to think too hard before you suddenly blurt out.

“I-I can help!”

You watch as her pretty brown eyes widen slightly, and

“Really? You sure you arent too busy?

You were actually quite busy, but she didnt have to know that.

“Of course not,” you lie confidently, sticking a hand out, “I’m y/n.”

She eyes your hand curiously, but ultimately shakes it, “Yunjin. Jennifer, if you’d like.”

From then on, you would spend every other day after school with Yunjin, helping her recite her lines, fitting her for costume changes, and even finishing that mannequin head prop for her.

Soon after, your after school hangouts turned into out of school hangouts and then eventual sleepovers every weekend. You learned everything possible about Yunjin. Like how she had always dreamed of being a performer, how she wanted to make it big in the Kpop industry, how she loves snakes…

Since then, you knew you loved her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

On one seemingly normal spring afternoon, you were abruptly torn away from your sunkissed siesta with the sound of your door being kicked open.

With the growing bond between you and Yunjin, you made the mistake of giving the girl a spare key to your own home. (Oddly enough, your parents werent against the idea. They considered Yunjin like a second daughter.)

You whine out as she grasps at your half asleep form, shaking you aggressively.

“I got accepted into a company, y/n!! I'm gonna be a trainee!”

Eyes shooting open, you try to sit up through the aggressive grip Yunjin had on you.

“No kidding?” You croak out, looking at her with disbelief.

“I'm not!” She cheers, bouncing happily through your bedroom. Trying to match her energy through the grogginess, you slip out of bed, stumbling a bit as you tumble into her arms. Yunjin laughs at your state, wrapping her arms around your waist to keep you steady as she jumps excitedly.

“I’m  going to move back to Korea next month— this is so exciting!!” She squeals out, and your smile falters ever so slightly. Move? To Korea?

Still, you bite back the sickly feeling developing in your stomach as you squeal alongside her.

You were happy for her, and did nothing but support her all throughout her time in Korea. Called her every night after training, sent her pictures of school life without her, even voting for her in that odd survival show she participated in. You did anything and everything you could to be the best friend you could be.

Yunjin always had the stars in her eyes. But in yours? There was only ever her. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The day that everything truly changed is still fresh in your mind.

After spending years chasing after Yunjin, it feels like you have finally caught up to her. She's back in the states after her time in Korea, and she's planning on staying. She looked a little different than before, but it was the same old Jennifer you knew and loved— even when missing a few moles and deeper eyebags.

Upon her arrival back home, it was like no time had passed. Once again attached at the hip, as it should be. You practically made it your job to crawl into her skin at any given moment and to pamper her with all of her favorite things. 

You would treat her to meals, spontaneous shopping sprees, and simple girls nights out. All of the good stuff to make up for lost time. Unfortunately, your attempts to keep your best friend happy came with their own obstacles. you would occasionally find advertisements or clips of idols that would show up during your time together, and for just a brief moment, you would see that usual spark within Yunjin’s eyes falter. It was a stark reminder of what she could have had.

It hurt you to see her get reminded of her time as a trainee. It truly was everything she wanted and more. But it was okay, you were here now, and you weren't planning on letting her go this time.

You’d drop any and everything for Yunjin. You allowed her to vent whenever she needed, to come over whenever she wanted, and to indulge in spontaneous late night meals whenever you two felt like it.

Needless to say, your wallet was crying by the time summer was nearing its end, but you didn’t mind at all. Yunjin was back. She was happy. You were happy. Things were finally returning to normal.

The two of you decide on a college to attend together in Boston, both pursuing a major in business. It's neither of your first choices in majors, but it's a good enough money maker in the long run. 

The pair of you sat in Yunjins bedroom, with you comfortably propped up against her bedframe on the floor whilst the brunette lay comfortably on the mattress. You hugged the  djungelskog plushie you had gifted Yunjin some birthday ago close to your chest as you atared at your phone, with Yunjin crunching away on cheez-its as the entire La La Land soundtrack softly plays from the record player in the corner of the room. 

Its nearly less than a month until move in day at Boston University, and you feel beyond giddy. Actual independence? And spending it with your best friend slash secret crush? Your dreams were coming true. Looking through your college dorms on the website, the pair of you converse about the future.

“What kind of theme do you think we should go for our dorm?” you ask, leaning your head against the bed to look up at Yunjin, who was still crunching away contentedly at her snacks.

“I'm not sure… But I do know I want to cover my wall with all of my posters…”

“Ooh! Yeah!! I can add fake flowers on the walls…”

“ Of course, we need a bit of girlish charm— oh! we need to make room for a record player and my guitar.”

“Google maps says there's a 7-eleven near the campus…” you murmur, your short attention prompting you to immediately shift to another topic.

“ Should we go got late night snack runs?”

“Duh.”

“Or maybe if we get tired of the dorm food, we can get equally as crappy convenience store food for instead–”

Suddenly, the music from Yunjin’s phone gets cut off, being replaced with her ringtone (it was Come Inside Of My Heart by IV of Spades ) as she huffs.

“ sorry, hold that thought..” She murmurs, answering the call.

You didn't know any Korean, the only bits you’re familiar with are the phrases Yunjin taught you to talk with her parents (which you also butchered) so you naturally begin to tune out whatever she begins to say on her end. Despite this though, you easily pick up on the shift in tone as she speaks. Professionalism, skepticism, to Shock. That was all you could read off of Yunjin as you looked up from your phone, curiously glancing at her. Her eyes were boggling out of her skull, and she placed a hand over her mouth before ending the call.

The brunette remains frozen in place, hand still over her mouth as a silence passes over the room.

“So….?” You ask, crawling up onto the bed to sit next to her.

Yunjin’s voice is shaky, yet laced with a twinge of excitement and disbelief as she speaks, “I just got a call from Hybe. I… I have the chance to debut.”

You don’t know what came over you at that moment. It felt like the world came collapsing down on you. Right now, you should be happy. Jumping for joy, focusing all on Yunjin and her chance for success. She's been given a real chance to make her dreams come true, even after it seemed impossible, even after all the years of rejection and work. This was all she wanted in life and more— you should be happy? Right?

But you’ve always been a selfish person. Or maybe you convinced yourself you were ever since that day. You don’t know. Maybe in that moment, you realized you could lose everything you’ve been waiting for. You’d lose the girl you've chased after for so many years now. If you didn't do something now, you wouldn’t have the chance to do it ever again. You were a greedy person, so you confess.

“Yunjin, I love you. I always have.”

The words feel like a slap to the face, and it shows. It shows in the way her eyes widen and smile falls. This was a bad idea, but you can't back out now. Your eyes begin to water as your voice cracks.

“I… I don’t want you to go— to leave me…” you choke out, “What about uni? Our dorm? What am I going to do without you?”

You knew you were being manipulative, you knew you were being selfish. But you didn’t care. You wanted her to know how you truly felt. You didn’t want her to leave you, not again. Your heart couldn’t handle it.

Through tears threatening to spill out, you can see her cheeks slowly dust a faint shade of pink as she processes your words. She seems… hesitant. Over what? You weren’t too sure. You weren’t too sure if you even wanted to know. 

The silence that washes over the two of you is beyond suffocating. You feel like you’re drowning, digging your nails into your palms as you look away. If you looked at her, you were scared you’d break, and the tears would begin to flow. After a few moments that feel like hours, she finally responds.

“I believe you have feelings for me…” she begins, voice soft yet strained. For some reason, those words leave a bad feeling in your gut. You muster up enough courage to meet her gaze. She looked just as hurt and conflicted as you felt. Yunjins grip on her phone tightens as she takes a deep breath, continuing, “...but I can’t give this up, y/n. It's my dream.”

That was the moment you knew you truly lost her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

In another life, you and Yunjin would be at Boston University together, pursuing that business degree that neither of you want.

It's a dream that used to occasionally return to you when Yunjin was overseas. Every now and then, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, and you’d check Yunjins location. She’d still be in Seoul. It was okay though, because you knew she’d always come back. She always came back. Now it haunts you every other night.

The dream is always so incredibly vivid and real. You would wake up to Yunjins many alarms that she somehow manages to sleep through every single time, and you’d peel your eyes opened to your shared dorm room. Though you didn’t have much time to admire the beauty of it all through the sound of an alarm continuously dragging you out of your slumber. She’s always been a heavy sleeper. you’d have to jump on Yunjins sleeping form to even stir her into some form of consciousness.

Yunjin groaned in protest, but you knew her. She wasn’t truly bothered, not when it came to you. Instead of entertaining your futile attempts to wake her up, she would wrap her arm around your waist, dragging you down with her as you squeal out.

She's warm. Her brown bobbed hair has grown out by now, black roots peeking through the top of her head as you join the mess that is her bed (and hair.) She smells like vanilla and wood, and you can't help but laugh into her embrace. You’ll be late to the dining hall for breakfast, but it doesn't really matter. There was a 7-eleven nearby that could provide breakfast while the two of you rushed to your classes– in which you had meticulously planned to have almost every single class together.

After a long day of school, you would return back to your dorm both collapsing on your respective beds as exhaustion settles in. It was decorated just the way you two liked it. With both boy and girl band posters littering the walls alongside some fake vines, flowers, and a multitude of polaroids you two have accumulated over the years. 

Once the two of you move out of the dorms and graduate, you’d find an apartment to share. Dual income and no children, that was the way to live. Alongside a cat and a dog, of course. You’d have a black cat named Binx, and a golden retriever named Dug, something you two had discussed many times before. 

It’s beyond perfect. You lay on the couch, comfortably in Yunjins arms as a blanket is lazily draped over your forms. Binx is settled upon your lap as Dug takes up the space on the rug. The tv is playing Coraline— a staple movie for you two, and you'd smile. Yunjin would lovingly return the grin, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

And then you’d wake up, the grim reality of your situation compared to your dream sending tears flowing down your cheeks. You’re constantly reminded how Yunjin wasn't yours. Not in this lifetime. And it hurt more than anything else.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You’ve always been there for Yunjin, both before and after she became famous.

In High school, you of course supported her throughout your brief time in the drama club. But you also provided a shoulder to cry on, a free source of math homework answers, a friend.

When she moved back to Korea to become a trainee, you helped her through the rough patches. Hours of dance training, rigorous workouts, and unhealthy dieting took a toll on her. But you were always there through the phone, no matter the time. 

Even after her debut, you remained loyally by her side. Yunjin grew busier and more distant over the years, and it was understandable. You were busy too. With college, internships, and general “adulting,” it was a challenge to remain in contact. Still, when you two did find time to talk, Yunjin would tell you stories of her members, of the rumors and scandals that would plague the group. It hurt to see her hurting, especially knowing you couldn't be there for her like before. But you were glad to see her achieving all she wanted and more.

You hop into one of Yunjins late night livestreams (even if it was the morning for you.) It wasn’t like you couldn’t just call her whenever you wanted, but it was just another one of the little things you would do to continuously support your friend. Yunjin never made a scene whenever you popped in, but always made sure to look for your comments and read them out every single time.

“Sing something from Phantom or you’re lame?” She reads out, a soft laugh slipping past her lips as she does so.

The idol gives the camera a knowing look, one that only could be read by you, and you smile as she clears her throat. Phantom of the Opera is what brought you two together, after all. She spends a few minutes doing short vocal exercises to warm up her voice, and the sight is oddly nostalgic. Yunjin then sits up straight as she begins to sing, and you feel your heart twinge slightly at her song choice.

“Think of me,

Think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye.

Remember me,

Once in a while,

Please promise me you'll try.” 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Now here you were, in a completely foreign country, placed in more than accommodating seats within the VIP section of this unfamiliar venue you’ve never even heard of before. There were hordes of men around you, all cheering in a deep voiced mass for the girls on stage. You stuck out like a sore thumb. Yet, there was Yunjin. You watch her, shining brightly on stage whilst donning a fresh head of bright orange hair. It suited her. Her fiery passion, her fierce determination that got her here in the first place, her glowing smile. It was all only a physical expression of who she was on the inside.

Yunjin had insisted on getting you these tickets– even going out of her way to even cover part of your plane ticket here despite you having a very stable and office job now. You tried to tell her you were happy enough to see her from the nosebleed seats in the back, especially since it was all you could afford on such short notice. But she refused, pulling some strings to give you the best seats possible. She wanted you here. More than anyone else.

You’ve seen Yunjin perform before. How could you not? You could vividly recall the way she would sing out and capture the entire crowd’s attention from the stage of your high school’s auditorium. How she would perform with such confidence and precision, how she performed like she was made for this. 

Things have changed a lot since then. There was no business college in your future together anymore. No planned dorms together. No more late night talks. No 7-eleven snack runs. Yet oddly enough, despite the changes, this was seemingly no different than before. Every person in the crowd was entranced, immediately allured by her natural charm and her passionate voice. You included. Just like those many years before, she still managed to have you bewitched on the sidelines while she chases after the spotlight.

So you cheer. Joining the roaring crowd as you call out Yunjins name, a bright smile playing on your lips as you do so. You’ve always been her biggest fan, after all. You swear you saw her make eye contact with you, seemingly providing her an energy boost as she sings out to the audience. She was beautiful, and she knew it.

Once the show is over, you find your way to the backstage area. You tried your best to explain to the security how you were friends with one of the members, and how she invited you back there. Unfortunately, your Korean was less than conversational, and you pretty much looked like an embarrassingly desperate and obsessive fan until Chaewon came and saved the day.

“y/n-nnie! Come, Come!! I saw you in the crowd!!” She chirps out sweetly, abruptly pushing past the guard and dragging you backstage, leaving the security both confused and a bit exhausted. This might not have been the first time the girls have tried to meet with their friends after performances.

There were people everywhere. Stage hands, stylists, makeup artists, and more, all rushing around you two and occasionally praising Chaewon. You felt beyond out of place, and probably looked the part too. Despite having Yunjin as a friend, you’ve never once felt like you were friends with a celebrity. She was simply your Jennifer, and that was more than enough. Being here though, you could truly see the extent of the impact she had on people. How so many people respected her and admired her.

Lost within your thoughts and observations of the crowd, you barely notice when Chaewon lets go of your arm, leaving you to fall victim to a bright orange mass stampeding your way. Without warning, you’re tackled into a hug by none other than Yunjin herself. You swear you see stars as the air gets forced out of your lungs.

“y/n!! You made it!!” She beams, giving you a firm squeeze pulling away to fully take in the sight of you. Her arms are still firmly wrapped around your form as her eyes almost sparkled with pure affection for you. Your cheeks warm at the contact, and you can't help but shyly avoid her gaze. Even after all of this time, she still has the same effect on you. After letting out a soft breath, she quietly murmurs, “I was singing for you, y’know.”

And your heart aches. Aches for what you two could have had. Aches for feelings she chooses not to reciprocate. You want to be angry with her. Despise her for leaving you behind and living this luxurious celebrity life. 

Yet your heart also swells. Swells with pure affection for the girl you love. The way she holds you, how she insists on having you attend, how sweetly she says your name. All of it makes you crumble all too easily. She truly cares for you, and never let the fame change that. You truly were lucky to have her.

“Really, now? You sure you weren't singing for the sea of men you forced me to sit with?” You laugh out, gently shoving her, “I swear I heard a guy say he ditched a family dinner to be there.”

Yunjin loudly laughs at your comment as she shakes her head, “How about you come over to our dorms to celebrate tonight, yeah? We’ll even let you pick a movie – or I’ll make them watch whatever you choose… Please?”

You were a bit hesitant. These were Yunjin’s friends. You didn’t want to intrude, especially after a crazy night like this. Yet, despite your reluctance, Yunjin stares down at you with those damn puppy eyes, and somehow manages to get Eunchae and Chaewon to join in…

“... Okay, fine,” you groan out, feigning disappointment as you see Yunjins eyes light up. “but we’re watching Coraline.”

The girls all cheer and pull you into a tight hug, with Yunjin holding onto you just a bit tighter than the others.

Huh Yunjin loves you. But not in the way you want. Yunjin wants you to be loved. 

And loved you are, even if it means she can't be yours.

[theunsinkableship1]

Friends the one with the mirrors

⚠️#lukolaship skip if you don't believe.

This week has been a heavy and painful one on the Lukolaship. Nicola Coughlan a person whose kindness, talent, and heart have touched so many is facing a wave of hate and hostility simply because she stood in solidarity with trans rights which is admirable

It’s easy, in hard moments, to feel overwhelmed by the ugliness out there. But the truth is: love is louder. Solidarity is stronger. Kindness will always outlast cruelty.

It is important to emphasize that hate should not be directed towards anyone, sending love to Nicola, her friends and everyone standing for dignity and inclusion. Hate has no place here.

Yesterday’s news felt like a small fracture, one we’ve sensed coming for a while, yet hoped might shift course. Nicola appears to have re-launched a relationship on the red carpet with someone who is not Luke. For many of us who’ve followed the story of Lukola with curiosity and admiration, those of us who have quietly hoped, believed, and felt something rare in the space between her and Luke, it stung, not out of resentment, but out of reverence. It marked a shift. The soft fading of a path we imagined brightly lit.

It’s not surprising, though. This has been the trajectory implied since summer 2024. The media breadcrumbs, the distancing, the new alignments, they've all pointed to this narrative. And still, here we are. Still believing. Still showing up with open eyes and hearts.

This isn’t delusion. It’s not denial. It’s about honoring something we’ve seen with our own eyes an extraordinary connection between two people that sparked not only on-screen, but in rare, unguarded moments off it. It's about intuition, patterns, silences, and symbolism. And yes, it’s about love, however complicated, quiet, or off-limits it may be. But because some connections don’t just disappear when the headlines change.

“I will go down with this ship And I won’t put my hands up and surrender.”

Because this never felt ordinary.

And even if we can even begin to comprehend,

We understand this is their life, not ours. They don’t owe us answers. If Nicola is happy, that matters. If Luke is at peace, we’re grateful. But belief, when grounded in truth and tempered with grace, isn’t something you simply abandon because circumstances shift. We don’t stop believing in the sun just because it's cloudy. The truth, as always, reveals itself in time.

For many of us, Lukola was never just about shipping two actors. It was about the rare kind of chemistry that transcends performance. It was the softness between takes, the quiet care, the electric stillness in their shared glances. It was how safe they seemed around each other, how joy radiated in their presence. It felt real, like something not manufactured, not scripted. Like magic, yes, but the kind of magic that only exists when something true is underneath it.

And you don’t just unsee that. You don’t forget how it made you feel. You don’t owe detachment just because the story didn’t go the way you hoped.

None of this is about hating anyone, certainly not their supposed current partners. Most of us are not interested in interfering, or in stirring anything up. We just… care. And we’re trying to process it kindly. Respectfully. Quietly holding space for something that feels luminous.

So, no, we won’t be waving white flags. Because we’re not fighting anyone. We’re simply choosing to wait with love. To hope without pressure. To imagine without expectation.

Because here’s the thing: something’s still mirroring.

"It’s like you’re my mirror, my mirror staring back at me."

One of the more curious patterns that’s emerged over time is how much Luke and Nicola seem to one another. Even now, as they appear on separate tracks, there are synchronizations, emotional, visual, tonal. It’s like a dance of shadows. Like the same song heard in two different rooms. They seem to respond to each other instinctively not as scripted characters, but as two real people who have grown deeply connected, whether they can show it openly or not.

The mirroring between Luke and Nicola has become one of the most fascinating, emotionally loaded aspects of this journey, something subtle, yet too consistent to ignore. Whether it’s in interviews, social media timing, fashion, or even the emotional tone of their public appearances, it feels as though they’re unconsciously (or very consciously) moving in tandem. We’ve seen the pattern enough times now that it can’t be purely coincidence: when one of them steps forward, the other retreats. When one posts something emotional, the other echoes it days later with a similar mood. Their energy shifts seem to occur in tandem even when they’re physically apart or not interacting publicly.

And it brings to mind Justin Timberlake’s “Mirrors,” a song often used for Polin edits, but hauntingly fitting for Lukola, too. “It’s like you’re my mirror, my mirror staring back at me.” That lyric carries the weight of connection of unfinishedness, of two people bound beyond words.

So, what could this mirroring mean? What is happening? Here are a few theories:

This mirroring goes beyond surface-level synchronicities. It feels emotional. Symbolic. Like two people tethered, whether consciously or not.

The Soulbond Theory

The most intuitive theory of all: they’re soul connected. Not necessarily in a romantic fairytale way but in the sense of two people who recognize each other on a deeper frequency. Some bonds are simply there, whether or not they’re acted on. The mirroring, in this case, would be the quiet truth of souls still aware of each other. It will explain why they ignite so much fire and passion on so many levels.

The Parallel Journey Theory

“And now it’s clear as this promise, that we’re making two reflections into one…”

They’re on parallel paths that haven’t crossed back yet but still might. They’ve been growing, evolving, healing, learning, becoming separately. But the mirroring suggests a spiritual alignment. They’re becoming the versions of themselves that could finally meet at the right time.

Perhaps their journeys are still aligned, but not yet converged. Sometimes people walk separate roads only to meet again when the time is right.

We see both of them stepping into new chapters Nicola with more vulnerability and boldness, Luke with introspection and quiet growth. They seem to glow up in rhythm. It feels like they’re building the versions of themselves that could, one day, reunite.

The mirrors aren’t just reflecting now they’re preparing for later. They’re growing in ways that may allow them to reunite from a place of deeper readiness.

The Hidden Communication Theory

“Show me how to fight for now, and I’ll tell you, baby, it was easy…”

Another possibility? They’re responding to each other in code. Not necessarily literally but emotionally, symbolically. When public closeness is restricted, mirroring becomes a subtle way of communicating. We’ve noticed it: Songs and words posted on one side, echoed emotions on the other. Softness on red carpets. Thoughtful timing. The silence speaks. Perhaps the mirroring isn’t just unconscious, they’re aware of what they’re doing. They’re offering a kind of silent reassurance. It’s not for the world. It’s for each other. Like sending smoke signals across the hills.

The Emotional Residue Theory

“Aren’t you something to admire, cause your shine is something like a mirror…”

This theory suggests they were once romantically, spiritually emotionally involved maybe deeply and that connection left a lasting imprint. Even if they’ve moved into new relationships or directions, the energetic blueprint remains. Like twin stars that once orbited the same system, their movements still reflect each other. That could explain why their energy still shifts in sync, even when they aren’t seen together.

We see it in matching moods, parallel themes in interviews, or social posts that seem emotionally in conversation with each other. It’s not staged. It’s not necessarily conscious. It’s just... resonance. Still flickering under the surface.

The Timing Mismatch Theory

They did feel something real during filming. Maybe it was love, or the seed of it. But the timing wasn't right. One or both of them were emotionally unavailable or focused on their careers. So, they made a choice: to preserve the friendship or leave the connection undefined for now. But real feelings like that don’t vanish, they pause. Maybe what we witnessed was a beginning that hasn't found its middle yet.

The Private Pact Theory

They are or were together but chose early on to keep it under wraps due to personal values, family privacy, or career strategy. They may have separated quietly or are still quietly present in each other’s lives. A “soft pause” rather than a breakup. In this theory, the heart of their bond is intact, but they're not making it public and perhaps never will.

The Image Management Theory

There may have been (or still are) real contractual or PR-related factors shaping how Luke and Nicola appear to the public. Whether it’s brand deals, Netflix strategy, or other alignments, what we see might be curated. In this reading, current public appearances don’t necessarily reflect emotional truth. And in time, the curtain may drop.

The Emotional Delay Theory

They’ve both felt the pull but haven’t acted on it romantically yet. Maybe they're still figuring it out. Maybe the weight of fan attention actually made them more cautious. The myth of Lukola grew so big, so fast it’s possible they needed to step back and ask themselves what’s real and what’s projection. And they might still be doing that, privately, in their own way.

The Red Herring Theory

The current relationships are real, but they might not be permanent. Like many in adulthood, these could be stepping-stone relationships. Good people, good timing, but not the person. This theory doesn’t deny Nicola’s or Luke’s perceived happiness now it just holds space for change. Not everything we see today is forever.

What can we make of this? I don’t know why things turned out this way, but it's clear they want us to perceive their relationships as they show now, and they choose to identify as friends. While I trust what I saw, which seemed more than friendship, and I’m pretty sure that it clearly went beyond that at one point. Their chemistry was unique and their comfort with each other exceeded professional norms. Their emotional mirroring suggests a deep personal bond. There is logic in seeing something special and reason behind our intuition. We recognized something genuine, even if the full truth isn’t public. Because we heard the truth even when it wore a costume. The connection between Luke and Nicola was real enough, consistent enough, and alive enough that it didn’t need "proof." It was evident in their eyes, their body language, their protective instincts toward one another, the ways they looked for each other, comforted each other, shielded each other especially during the most intense times and in spring and early summer 2024. After that, it’s unclear and very much complicated, because life happens, perhaps they couldn’t say it clearly or weren’t ready. Timing and life might have played a role, circumstances shift, private decisions are made, and public appearances aren't always faithful reflections of private truths, still the authenticity of what existed between them does not vanish

I know what I saw. I know what it meant. I honor it, I cherish it, but I also release it into the hands of time. Whatever is real will remain real. I trust that truth does not need my control to survive.

Some truths belong to the people living them, and it is enough for me to know that, once, something extraordinary touched the world and I was lucky enough to recognize it.

We are not lost. We are not adrift. We are simply moving with the quiet rhythm of time, believing that what was true once, still hums beneath the surface. No matter how silent the water grows, we remain aboard, steadfast, at peace. Sailing not with noise or force, but with the quiet, elegant grace of knowing: the heart remembers. And that is enough.

I will not abandon this ship. I will step back a little for now, not out of disbelief, but out of love and to show some respect and put less pressure on them. Out of trust in time, in life, and in the freedom of hearts to follow their true paths.

Whatever was real will always be real. We’ve seen their true colors. And they’re beautiful.

If all things in time, time will reveal. And we’ll be back on.

Remember this⚓

[sydwritess]

Acting and Racing

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Summary: You were currently in Montreal, Canada. You were a known actor for your small role on Ginny and Georgia, but that quickly grew, and now you were in all of season three. Charles was with you in Canada for his race. And invites his friends to come watch you act.

First Person POV

Warning: swearing, switched the G&G scenes up a bit

"Good morning." A voice said beside me. I slowly open my eyes to see Charles standing over me.

"Morning." I said, smiling back at him.

"Today's your big day." He said, clapping his hands together and walking over to the little kitchen area in the hotel.

"I know." I said sitting up. "Can't believe it." I said.

"I can. You are a great actor." He says.

"Thanks." I said, going over to the dresser and getting out clothes that I was supposed to wear on set today. "What do you have going on?" I ask him.

"Nothing. I think today is going to be a relaxing day." He said, getting a water.

"I know, I'm surprised your up early." I said.

"I wanted to make sure you were ready for the day." He smiled.

"Thanks. You know you can always come if you want. I'm sure Deb wouldn't mind." I said, going into the bathroom to change.

"I don't know. It seems like you have a lot going on today." He said. I open the door back up, walking back out into the main area.

"I think it will be fine. Plus, free front row tickets to the show." I smirked.

"Okay, I guess." He said, looking at me. "Can I bring a few people?" He asked.

"Depends on who it is." I said, throwing my hair up in a ponytail.

"Maybe Lewis, George, Lando, Kimi."

"The whole team?" I question.

"No no, just them." He said.

"Yeah, they can come, as long as hey stand still and don't get in the way." I said.

"Perfect. I'll text them." He said, grabbing his phone.

"Well tell them to be at the set in 20 minutes cause i have to be there soon."

"Oh don't worry. They find out and they will teleport there practically." He laughed out. I got my shoes on, grabbing my car keys and finishing some last minute things before we both left the hotel.

We were driving down the highway, coming close to the set when Charles phone rang.

"Hello?" He asked.

"Max, hey, what's up." He said nervously.

"Well, we invited George, and well, you hate him. Plus don't you want to get practice in?" He asked. Max had said something but I couldn't understand what.

"Fine, you can come to. But you have to be quick." He said, hanging up the phone. I pull into the set, parking the car near my trailer.

"What was that about?" I ask.

"Max got jealous, so now he's coming." He said. I nodded and we both got out of the car. I up the steps and into my trailer to find everybody sitting on the couch in there.

"Hey y/n. I let them in. You got quite the crowd." Marissa, my stylist said.

"Yeah. They like me." I said, sitting down in the studio chair.

"Here is this." She said, handing me a packet. I look in, finding a mark in there that indicated where I would be starting. It said we would be starting the scene in the upstairs bathroom, me talking to Brianne, or Georgia, while getting ready for court.

"So, your outfit is over there." She said, pointing to the clothes rack. "They said to just leave your hair naturally." She said, brushing it out.

"Thank god. It's about time." I said. She got done doing my hair and makeup and I went in the opposite side of the trailer to get into the costume. It was Georgia's pink suit that she wore the day before in the show.

I walk back out, looking in the mirror, and I noticed Max had arrived already.

"Y'all ready?" I said, everyone nodded and followed me outside. Luckily the neighborhood wasn't far from the trailers, so we walked there.

"You going to do great." Charles said, walking next to me.

"Thanks, going to need it." I said, fixing my hair.

"There you are!" Brianne said, walking up to me. "Looks like you got yourself a fan club." She said.

"What can I say. I'm just that popular." I smiled at her.

"Not as popular as me." Lando said with a grin.

"What was that?" I said.

"Nothing." he said hesitantly. "Good luck with the show!" He said cheerfully. I nodded with a smile and walked inside the house we were filming in. The guys were outside watching from the computer the crew had set up.

" Season 3, Episode 5. 3...2...1 action." Debra said, snapping the board down. I began brushing my hair out in the mirror, in the bathroom, the camera angled just on me perfectly.

"Nobody truly know what we went through..." I said, the fake southern accent pulling through perfectly. They think we grew up with the best life out there. They have no idea what we've done to get here, and now they want to believe some know-it-all PI?" I said quickly.

"Please. He wants to target you for lying about your life when he lied about his. How's that for shit." I said. The camera now focused on me in the mirror, and Georgia in the background, holding a glass of wine in her hands.

"I know." She said, drinking the wine. "Trust me. I know." She said tiredly. Then the introduction played. The camera's stopped, and everybody went downstairs where breakfast was already set.

"Action!" Deb yelled.

"So, aunt Nikki, how long are you staying?" Ginny asked me.

"Well. Maybe until this is over with." I said.

"Are you from Alabama to?" Austin asked.

"Sure am." I smiled before drinking from the wine glass.

"Are you here to make sure my mom doesn't go to jail?" Ginny asked.

"Alright, well. This has been fun." Paul said, getting up and getting is work bag.

"Nice to meet you. I suppose." He said, looking at me. "I will see you in court." He said, looking at Georgia, then walking out the door.

"Do you guys like ride horses all day and live on the farm?" Austin asked.

"I hate horses, they scare me." I said. His smile turned to a frown. "But I'd always give it a shot." I smiled at him.

"Well. Why don't you two get going to school." Georgia said, getting up and pushing the kids out the door. Just then the camera's stopped rolling.

"Alright, we will get you two on set soon." Debra said, giving me and Brianna papers and walking us outside. "Go over to the courtroom, you sit, and you wait outside. We'll get the kids rolling while you make your way over there." She said quickly, walking away.

"Yay! Look who's a serial killer!" Brianna screamed, laughing. We both walk over to the group of guys standing there.

"Gabriel is back again?" I ask, looking at the lines, reading his.

"Yeah, look what he says." He said, pointing to a specific line.

"Wow. Hm, interesting." I said.

"Hey, you were great." Charles said.

"Thank you." I said. Me and Brianne were waiting until the rest of the scene's were done rolling. We went back inside the house, while half of the crew went to go film Ginny, the other half set up for us.

"Okay, Brianna, Y/n, Diesel, we need you inside." Deb said, I nodded, waiting. The camera's began rolling for us. We were stood in front of the TV, watching the new channel. Georgia calls Ginny to rush home from Zion's house. And she got there within a matter of time between the scenes.

Ginny walks over to us in the living room, focusing on the TV, ad they talk about Georgia's past. The cameras film all of us.

"What are they saying?" She asks Georgia.

"Georgia Randolph, originally born Mary Rielly, sat visibly shaken in court yesterday ad news of her sordid past, came out." The news lady said on TV.

"Mom?" Austin asks.

"The most explosive being, that the accusation that she is a serial killer. The prosecutors should argue that this is part of a larger pattern, referencing mysterious circumstances around her last two husbands. She was recently married to Wellsbury's mayor, Paul Randolph, who was seated behind her, along with her two children." She said, going on and on about the circumstances.

Different camera people at different locations, filming the cast's reactions. Everybody linked hands now. All four of us standing in a line. Ginny clicks the remote to shut the TV off.

"Boom goes the dynamite." I said.

"Our dad used to say that." I said, tears coming out of my eyes. The camera's slowly shut off, and through the computer outside, they start playing music. "Were really screwed aren't we?" Georgia asks.

"Alright! Everybody to the courthouse!" Deb says, everybody picks their things up and we walk down to the courthouse.

Brianne was sat in the courthouse, the press taking pictures of her as the camera's begin to roll. One camera pointing to her, the other pointing to Ginny and Austin.

Suddenly I got my queue from Deb, and I start walking intot he courthouse, my feat matching the beat of the song. I walk slowly up, the camera getting me and the full courtroom in the shot, I walk and sit next to the kids.

'Paul?' Georgia mouths. We shake our heads.

'Zion?' She mouths, we shake our head again. The camera going to other cast members now. The song continues to play, the camera going to many different angles. Josh stands up, and walks over to Gabriel asking him question after question. It had been a while for the scene to get finished. Josh calling Gabriel out on being a liar. Finally it ends with Georgia worrying the next court case.

"Cut!" Debra yells. The cast starts to slowly leave the room after the camera's shut off.

Me and Brianne walked outside together, going up to the guys.

"Okay, I need to know how you cry like that." Kimi said, holding up his hands.

"You just need to, sit in front of a mirror, and maybe think of something sad." I said.

"I want to act now!" Lando said.

"Maybe you can be my next judge." Brianne said, smiling at him.

"Oh my god! Absolutely love your show! Can I get your autograph?" Lando asked, stepping closer to her.

"Of course." She smiled, grabbing a pen from somebody. "Where at?" She asked Lando took off his cap and handed it to her.

"Oh my god, what a fan girl." I said, sitting in my directors chair.

"What can I say?" He questioned.

"You want my autograph to?" I ask, working up fake tears again. "I just feel so left out." I said, getting them to fall.

"I see you like everyday!" He backed.

"How do you cry so much! Listen, after this race, I'm hiring you to teach me how to cry!" Kimi said. The group laughed. Everybody on set took a break, all gathered around. Suddenly Nathan, who plays Zion, came up to us.

"Oh my god! Nathan Mitchell! Can I get your autograph?" Lando asked, jumping up and down like a kid.

"Nate, this is Lando, a big fangirl of the entire cast." I said.

"Lando, nice to meet you." Nate said, Lando handed him his cape and he signed it.

"Nate huh?" Charles asked.

"You jealous?" I ask.

"No, no, just curious." He shrugged off. I turn back, noticing Lando hugging Nate.

"Lando, quite suffocating him." I said.

"You need to invite me here more! I need to meet everybody!" He said, walking over to me.

"No, no." I said, waving a finger at him. The group began talking for a while, while me and Charles sat together.

"You were really good today." He said with a smile.

"Thanks." I said.

"I love the part where you tell the guy to shut up." He said.

"Maybe next week you'll be even more in love with the fact that I spray people in the face with a gardening hose." I said smirking.

"I'll definitely be there to see that." He said.

"Me two!" Lando said from afar.

"Me three!" Kimi said.

"Me four!" Max said.

"Me five!" George said.

"No, no, no, and no!" I said, pointing to each of them.

"Awe man." Lando said.

"You just crushed their hopes and dreams." Charles said, laughing slightly.

"It's okay. Maybe just keep it a secret." He said, leaning in to kiss me.

"Love you... Nikki." He said against my lips.

"Love you Charlie." I said.

"Wow, off limits." He said, pulling away while laughing.

"Your cute. Charlie, Charles. Your cute." I said.

Hey loves! Just watched G&G so I just had to add some of it into a piece! Hope you like it! Comment to be added to the tag list!

[fallendev0tionvn]

Oh my god, I just played the demo and i loved it so so much!!!The artstyle is so impeccable, and im super interested in the whole plot 😻😻

RLLY THANK YOU SM, Clive is the cutest(Im literally so obsessed with him ,and in desperate need of more Clive content, maybe some hcs if it's fine??)I really hope your VN will get popular cuz its just peak,and yeah hope you have an amazing day/night<33 💞💞

THANK YOU SO MUCH HSHDJA, you're such a kind soul. Also here are some old and new facts about him:

Clive loves old, vintage things- analog cameras, movies, worn out books, vinyl records ecc ecc.

He's a metalhead, we can tell from the band tees (I considered drawing my cat's markings as a fake death metal shirt but too much work..), all kinds of boots, studded bracelets and belts- BUT he is SO fascinated by goth culture. Maybe cause used to tell everyone he was a vampire when he was kid, even tried a fake ritual he found somewhere...💀

He loves giving you handmade gifts, maybe a ceramic cup with your favorite character, stickers made by him, or paper flowers..anything that feels meaningful. (actions over words)

He has trouble verbalizing his emotions sometimes, he feels too much at once.

He loves nightime, he gets to work on projects, enjoy how quiet the world gets, and most importantly, he gets to think about you.

You've always been canonically taller than him till he got a random growth spurt at 14..

He's a good cook but he can't bake for shit, cried cause he messed up what was supposed to be your birthday cake once...

Worried about him looking at others when he's on his phone? his fyp is filled with bikes and red pandas.

The tattoo on his stomach is the hannya, demon of jealousy, he chose that exact placement because he physically feels his guts twist and turn the moment someone else catches your attention.

He heard people talk about how attractive eyeliner looked on men so he tried to apply it on his waterline as well. Problem is...he almost stabbed his eye in the process, after a string of curses and one hell of a watery eye he gave up. He spent the day acting like it was intentional, I mean..it did catch your attention at the end, just not in the way he'd hoped.

Horror movies? "omg no I hate them" (he loves them), waits for the right moments to lean into you or hide his face into the crook of your neck, you smell so good it's comforting, not his fault.

He's your best friend right? when you tell him about your crushes, he'll smile, tease you a bit. "BE FOR REAL. that guy? I saw him picking at his nose earlier, shoved it in his mouth too- gross don't kiss him". All an act, though. He'll learn every detail about him, what you like about him, anything that helps him understand why you'd choose someone else over him.

I don't know if he'll ever have a voice actor but I think he'd sound like Jim Halpert from the office👁️