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celestie0 · 9 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

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

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

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

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

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LCD.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

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

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feelings about what?”

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

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

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

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

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

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

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

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

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

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

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

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

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

“Go back where?”

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

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

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

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

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

“I beg your finest pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-Distraction?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could have a concussion.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

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

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck was that—”

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together.

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

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

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

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

“Alright cool, will do.”

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

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

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

“Tell me what?” you prod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I do.”

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

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

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

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

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

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23victoria · 5 months ago

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy

f1 grid x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

warnings: just the guys being jealous, a lil uncomfortable situations ig,

authors note: sorry i took so long with this anon 🥹🤍! also sorry if this is bad for some reason i was struggling 😓 also ignore any typos any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!! if you wanna join my taglist, click HERE!

f1 masterlist

Lewis

You were at a quaint bookstore in London, browsing through the latest bestsellers. Lewis was busy with a media event, so you decided to take some time to yourself. While searching the shelves, a charming young man approached you, striking up a conversation about the book you were holding.

"So, are you a Ana Huang fan?" he asked, flashing a friendly smile.

You smiled back, appreciating the casual conversation. "Yes, I love her Twisted series! Currently reading book 2."

"That's one of the best books!" he said, inching closer. "I can definitely recommend some more books similar to hers! Maybe if I could get-"

Unbeknownst to you, Lewis had wrapped up his event early and decided to surprise you. He walked into the bookstore just as you were chatting with the stranger. He immediately noticed the man's enthusiastic gestures and your engaged expression. His protective instincts kicked in.

He approached with a confident stride, sliding an arm around your waist. "Hey, babe. Who's your friend?" Lewis's tone was polite, but his eyes were intense.

"Oh, Lewis! This is Tom, we were just talking about The Twisted Series!" you said, trying to ease the tension.

Tom extended his hand, but Lewis's grip on your waist tightened slightly. "Nice to meet you, Tom. I'm Lewis."

Tom picked up on the vibe and quickly made his exit. "Nice to meet you too. I'll let you two enjoy your day."

As Tom walked away, you turned to Lewis, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?"

Lewis chuckled, relaxing his hold. "Maybe a little. Can you blame me? He was cleary interested."

You kissed his cheek, reassured by his protectiveness. "You’re cute when you get like this, you know you're the only one for me."

Max

You were at a trendy bar in Monaco with some friends, celebrating your movie premiere. Max was racing that weekend, so you hadn't expected to see him. While chatting at the bar, a guy approached you, complimenting your dress.

"That dress looks amazing on you," he said smoothly.

"Thanks," you replied, smiling politely.

Max, who had finished his practice session early, decided to surprise you. He walked into the bar and immediately spotted you talking to the stranger. His mood darkened as he saw the guy leaning in closer to you.

Max wasted no time, walking straight over and placing a possessive hand on your lower back. "Hey, schatje. Who's this?"

You turned, surprised and delighted to see him. "Max! This is Jason. He just complimented me on my dress."

Jason, sensing the tension, took a step back. "Nice to meet you, Max. You look beautiful Y/N, nice talking to you."

Max nodded curtly, watching Jason leave before turning his attention back to you. "What was that about?"

"Just a compliment," you said, smiling. "Why are you jealous?"

Max pulled you into a deep kiss, making sure everyone in the bar knew you were his. "No."

You laughed, hugging him tightly. "Yes you are, but it’s okay, I like when you get jealous. Besides you're the only one I want, Maxie."

Charles

You were at the university library, studying for an upcoming exam. Charles was away for a race, so you decided to focus on your studies. A fellow classmate approached you, asking if he could join you at your table.

"Sure," you said, moving your books to make space.

The two of you started discussing your coursework, but the conversation soon shifted to more personal topics. Just as the guy was about to ask you out for coffee, Charles walked in. He had flown back earlier than expected to surprise you.

He saw you laughing with the guy and felt a pang of jealousy. Charles walked over, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Hey, love. Mind if I join you?"

You looked up, surprised and thrilled. "Charles! Of course, sit down. This is Peter, we were just studying."

Peter quickly excused himself, sensing the unspoken tension. "I'll see you around, Y/N."

As Peter left, Charles took his seat beside you, his arm draped protectively over your shoulders. "Who was that?"

"Just a classmate," you said, amused by his reaction. "Jealous much?"

Charles sighed, pulling you closer. "Maybe. But I have every right to be, I mean look at you, you're gorgeous. Any person with common sense would want you."

You kissed his cheek, whispering, "You're adorable, Char! You never have to worry about that. Trust me, you're the only one I want."

Oscar

You were at a cozy café in Melbourne, waiting for your boyfriend. He had a busy schedule, but you managed to find time for a quick coffee date. While waiting, a guy at the next table struck up a conversation.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, clearly interested.

"Not really, just waiting for someone," you replied, hoping he would take the hint.

He leaned in a bit closer, a confident smile on his face. "Well, maybe while you wait, we could get to know each other better."

Oscar walked in at that moment, his eyes narrowing as he saw the guy leaning in closer to you as he spoke. He walked over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Hey, baby. Ready to go?"

The guy quickly backed off, realizing he was intruding. "Oh, I'll leave you two to it," he said, standing up and walking away.

Oscar watched him go before turning to you. "Who was that?"

"I don’t know, just some random guy," you said, smiling up at him. "You feeling okay? You look a little red?"

Oscar shakes his head, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Looking at him you say, “You sure it’s not because you got a little jealous?”

Oscar chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Maybe a little. I just can't stand the thought of anyone else getting your attention."

You hugged him tightly, giving him a short kiss. "You just have to get used to having a very attractive girlfriend baby."

“I guess I do.” he says cheekily wrapping his arm around your waist as you guys walk out.

Carlos

You were in the pit lane, watching the preparations for the upcoming race. Carlos was busy with the team, so you decided to explore the area. A fellow fan, noticing your VIP pass, struck up a conversation.

"Are you here for the race?" he asked, clearly impressed by your pass.

"Yes, I'm here with my boyfriend," you replied, trying to be polite but distant.

"That's great," he said, undeterred by the mention of your boyfriend. "Is this your first time attending, or are you a regular?"

"Regular." you responded, hoping the conversation would end soon.

"Oh, so your boyfriend's rich, huh?" he remarked with a smirk.

"Uh, sure…yeah," you replied, taken aback and uncomfortable with his comment.

Carlos, having finished his briefing, spotted you talking to the guy. His protective instincts flared up as he saw him getting a bit too friendly.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, cariño. Everything okay?"

The guy quickly stepped back, realizing who Carlos was. "Oh, hey, big fan. Just talking about the race."

Carlos nodded curtly, his grip on your waist firm. "Enjoy the race."

As the fan walked away, you turned to Carlos, smiling. "Thanks for the save."

"No problem," he replied, his expression softening.

"You know, I love how protective you are," you said, leaning into him. "And maybe when you get jealous just a little. It's cute."

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Lets go get some food, cariño."

Lando

You were at a gaming convention, enjoying the various booths and activities. Lando was busy with a panel discussion, so you decided to explore. A fellow gamer struck up a conversation, discussing the latest games.

"Have you tried the new VR game?" he asked, clearly excited.

"Not yet, but it looks amazing," you replied, sharing his enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it's fantastic," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I wouldn't mind showing a beautiful girl like you how to use it sometime. It'd be fun."

Lando, having finished his panel, spotted you chatting with the gamer. Jealousy panned over him as he saw the guy flirting with you.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey baby! What are we talking about?"

The gamer quickly felt the energy shift. "Just talking about the new VR game."

Lando nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Cool."

As the gamer walked away, you turned to Lando, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

Lando sighed, pulling you closer. "What?! It’s not my fault he was interested in my girlfriend."

You smiled, kissing his cheek. "Key word in that sentence is “my girlfriend”."

Sebastian

You were attending a charity event, mingling with various guests. Sebastian was busy with the organizers, so you decided to socialize. A charming gentleman approached you, engaging you in a lively conversation about the event.

"It's great to see so many people supporting this cause," he said, smiling.

"Absolutely," you replied, enjoying the conversation.

He leaned in a little closer, his tone becoming more personal. "Especially when someone as beautiful as you is here."

You smile nervously, not expecting his direct approach. "Oh, thank you," you responded, trying to look around and grab Seb’s attention.

Sebastian, having finished his duties, spotted you talking to the guy, looking around. He saw the man getting too friendly and walked over to you.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, honey. Would you like a drink? Oh! Who's this?"

The gentleman quickly realized he was intruding. "Just talking about the event."

Sebastian nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Enjoy the evening then."

As the man walked away, you turned to Sebastian, raising an eyebrow. "I love when you get protective, it’s hot, the jealousy too."

Sebastian smirked, pulling you closer. "Jealous? Me?! Don’t know what you’re talking about."

You smiled, kissing his cheek. "Mhmm, yea, yea. Let’s get my drink."

Jenson

You were attending an award ceremony, mingling with various celebrities. Jenson was busy with interviews, so you decided to socialize. A charming actor approached you, engaging you in a lively conversation about the a.

"It's great to see so many talented people here," he said, smiling.

"Agreed," you replied, engaging in the conversation."All nominees this year were very talented and impressive."

He nodded thoughtfully, then leaned in a little closer, his gaze lingering on you. "Speaking of impressive, I couldn't help but notice how stunning you look tonight."

You chuckled softly, flattered but unsure how to respond. "Thank you, that's very kind of you."

He grinned charmingly. "So, are you here with anyone special tonight?"

Jenson spotted you talking to the guy. And started to walk towards you.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, baby. Who's this?"

The actor quickly realized you were taken. "Just talking about the event."

Jenson nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Yea, it’s a nice thing."

As the man walked away, you turned to Jenson, raising an eyebrow. "Nice thing?"

Jenson sighed, pulling you closer so he can squeezing your waist. "Didn’t know what to say without being rude so that's what came to my mind."

You smiled and kissed him gently. "Let’s go check out the catering at this 'nice thing'."

Daniel

You were exploring a quaint art gallery in Paris, enjoying the serene atmosphere and the beauty of the artwork on display. Daniel had left his phone in the car, leaving you to appreciate the art alone. As you admired a painting, a friendly gallery assistant approached, eager to discuss the artist's work.

"This piece here is quite exceptional," he said, gesturing towards a vivid abstract painting. "It really captures the essence of movement and emotion."

"It truly does," you replied, appreciating his enthusiasm. "The color blending and stippling is beautiful."

He smiled warmly. "You have a keen eye for art. Beautiful art for a beautiful girl."

"Oh, thank you," you said, trying to show no interest.

Daniel walked into the gallery, He approached, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, baby. Finding any new favorites?"

The gallery assistant reacted quickly to Daniel's presence and backed away. "Just discussing the beautiful artwork," he explained.

Daniel nodded casually. "Thanks for your insights, but we're good here."

As the gallery assistant politely excused himself, you turned to Daniel with a playful smirk. "Oh, someoness jealouss?"

Daniel chuckled softly, pulling you closer. "No, no. Protective, yes. Jealous, could never be me."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Mhm hm, if you say so."

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ellievenus · 1 year ago

Text

Horny thoughts. That’s it.

Characters: Lyney & Neuvillette x Gender Neutral! Reader.

NSFW! MDNI

A/N: I did the quest, they made me horny. that’s it, this is messy and not proofread so please ignore any grammar mistakes or typos. literally no plot just goes in.

Lyney is the type to like wall sex, like hold onto one of your legs and fuck you onto the wall as you try to stifle your moans under your shaking hands, as the people of fontaine move in the bustling streets while you’re getting your hole ruined…

he definitely puts a hand on your thigh, and winks at you before moving his hand up… up… and up to your sex at such a slow pace that it makes you want to grip his hair and yank his smug face into it and show him what happens when he teases you…

but you can’t, not when you’re having tea and macarons with Navia, and he fucking knows that, just smiles when you let out a gasp and Navia worries, asking if you’re okay. “Oh don’t worry!” he says, with his charming smile and a tinge of tease in his tone, “They just couldn’t sleep last night!”

and whose fault was that?!

you wish you could flip the table on him.

He loves going down on you, so much so that you’re starting to think he enjoys that more than fucking you… all whines, pleading for you to cum, he just wants to taste you, fucking drown in you until he forgets who he is, until his senses are nothing but you, you and you.

Grips your thighs, makes sure to keep his nails a little long so he can dig them in your thighs and hear you hiss, also loves grabbing your ass and pushing you even more to his face when you’re cumming.

Looking up at you with cum on his face or dripping from his lips or both, loves being branded by you.

“So that magic show special I was talking abou—“

“I am NOT letting you go down on me on a stage!”

Neuvillette only likes having sex in your shared bedroom, you can drag him to your bathroom if he’s in a good mood but that’s it.

Still, that man knows how to fuck all and any attitude from you, if you have any. Loves seeing you crying and begging if you’re so good for him. Either way, you’re getting overstimulated, he always makes sure you cry or beg in some form. He likes it.

He likes light bondage, loves cuffing your wrists, or holding your hands above your head while he’s giving you a pounding that makes you see stars behind your eyes and knocks all the air out of your poor body that you have to cry out for a break.

Loves seeing how your expressions change depending on what he’a doing, likes seeing your reactions, it gets him harder than anything else.

The way your eyes widen in surprise, letting out a gasp when he doesn’t stop fucking you after you both came, you whine and cry, you babble on about how can he not even lose tempo and keep going with his thrusts as if he didn’t just cum in you.

Cute. You’re so cute.

Also into spanking, if you want it, just tell him, you don’t have to misbehave. Though, he isn’t gonna fuck you until you cum on his lap from his hand striking your ass until it’s so sore and numb that you can’t feel it for a few days.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact lyney #genshin impact neuvillette #lyney x reader #lyney x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin imagines #genshin smut

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ladycaramelswirl · 5 months ago

Text

definitely not old

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Did I create an extremely improbable scenario just to suit my need to create another highly improbable scenario? Yes. Do I care that it’s unrealistic? No. Please forgive any typos/ grammatical errors.

CW: suggestive content, but not explicit (like 15+?). Use of y/n one time. (Technically this would probably warrant one of those hostile workplace environment seminars like they had for Derek and Penelope. But it’s funny? Idk this isn’t serious.) Sassy Hotch. Crack plot tbh.

Also I know the timeline doesn’t really make sense, because JJ is a profiler and Emily and Rossi exist, but I imagined Season 1 Spencer while writing this! I guess it’s 2005? Btw I do not know how tapes work, so just pretend it makes sense please. This is so unserious.

Summary: reader wife and Hotch are private people; the BAU team is nosy. Spencer is just constantly in the right place at the wrong time.

Enjoy!

——————

The screen in front of you depicted horror - just not the kind the BAU was used to. The UnSub had confessed to leaving a message in an old tape. He had already been arrested, but you were all hoping it might contain something that might help the conviction stick. Only he was extremely paranoid, so not only had he left the message in a code, but he had spliced it into a tape he thought people were least likely to watch. His p***. It was the last thing to do for the case and everyone was trying to help. You all sit at the round table, and Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Derek laughs at his shyness and Emily laughs at the very unrealistic movements. She and JJ tilt their heads at the shape the two on the screen have put themselves into.

“That does not look comfortable”, JJ mocks.

The words are out of your mouth before you think. “Trust me it’s not”.

Everyone at the table snaps their heads to look at you.

“Damn Mama”, Derek laughs. “Who are you doing these moves with?”

You try to hold back a laugh. You were not ready to share about your sex life with your colleagues, no matter how close you were. Plus you’re pretty sure Aaron would not appreciate it.

“That is inappropriate workplace conversation”, you say, pausing the video. “And you’re going to miss the next series of code”, you tell him, trying to get him to revert his attention back to the video. Emily grins at your attempted evasion.

“We already got all the code. She just doesn’t want us to tell Hotch she’s capable of all that. Doesn’t want to make the old man feel bad”.

“He’s not old. He’s only 5 years older than you”, you remind her. She puts a hand on her chest in mock offense like you’ve stabbed her. You roll your eyes. “And this is still inappropriate”.

“So it wasn’t Hotch”, Derek laughs.

“You’re just annoyed because you haven’t tried it yourself”, you deflect, moving to sit next to Spencer who seems to actually be doing his job.

“I’ve seen her do yoga and she’s very flexible, so if she couldn’t do it I don’t think you can”, JJ tells Morgan.

“Oh you have no idea what I’m capable of”, he teases, which earns laughs from around the table. “I’m better than the old man for sure”. They all start laughing and talking about you and Hotch.

You roll your eyes. “Wasn’t old in bed last night”, you mutter under your breath. You startle at the sound of a book hitting the floor and see Spencer’s bright red face. JJ, Derek and Emily look over in curiosity at what they might have missed, but you ignore them, attempting to give Spencer an apology for making him uncomfortable. He moves to drink his coffee in an attempt to avoid more of the conversation. Only he chokes on it because Hotch enters the room.

“Have you finished working out the code?”

Everyone’s heads snap to him - JJ, Emily and Derek wearing matching grins. Hotch eyes you patting a coughing Spencer’s back.

“Are you alright?”, he asks.

“Yes! Good! I’m good!”, Spencer squeaks, afraid Hotch is going to ask him why he’s so nervous. Aaron looks to you for some answers but before you can tell him it’s nothing, Spencer suddenly stands up.

“Got the code! Going to call the local PD. DA is waiting”, he warbles before you all watch him run out of the room. Hotch turns back to the rest of you.

“Well then that wraps it up. Go home now, get some rest”, he instructs. Everyone starts packing up. You and Hotch walk towards the door when he realises there’s only 6 of you in the room.

“Where’s Dave?”, he asks.

You’re about to tell him Rossi went to the bathroom when the Italian walks back in. Rossi immediately notes the paused video.

“Wow that looks uncomfortable”, he remarks. Everyone smirks in your direction. Hotch snakes an arm around your waist and looks at the screen. Then at you.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He smiles at the jaws dropping to the floor.

“Good night everyone”.

—————————

A little bonus scene:

In his office later:

“You heard us talking before you came in the room didn’t you”, you question your husband. He was so private, he wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise.

“They called me old”, Aaron grumbles, but his tone is amused. “Just wanted to shock them a little”.

You make your way over to his side of the desk, pulling him to stand up beside you.

“Well Agent Hotchner, I have to tell you, there’s been some speculation about your performance”, you taunt. “Care to prove them wrong?”

“Last night wasn’t enough proof?”, he laughs raising an eyebrow. You run your hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him close.

“The results were inconclusive”, you tease. He grabs your hips and traps you between himself and his desk, his mouth trailing kisses down your jaw.

“Well I can’t have that kind of speculation going around”, he murmurs into your skin. Your breath hitches from the sensation of his lips on the sensitive spot on your neck. But instead of continuing, he pulls away and meets your eyes in a conspiratorial grin. “We should do an in house evaluation as soon as possible”.

You open your mouth to reply when the door swings open, Spencer finding you sandwiched between Hotch’s thighs and your blouse rumpled. His mouth drops open and suddenly all 187 iq points mean nothing when his brain loses function.

“Oh- I- um- sorry!”, he manages before running away. You stare at the slammed door then back at Aaron and burst into giggles. He drops his head to your shoulders and sighs.

“I feel like a teenager”, he groans.

“At least you don’t feel old.”

—————————

Bonus bonus:

Still in the conference room:

“I want to go back to 10 minutes ago when I didn’t know this information”, Emily moans.

“I think I need 5 more minutes before I can form a coherent thought”, JJ laughs in disbelief. Spencer walks back in.

“I finished my report. Where’s Hotch and y/n? Can we go home?”

“Probably doing it in his office for all we know”, Derek mutters.

Spencer’s brows furrow in confusion. “Doing what in his office?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Is this kid serious?”

She shrugs back at him.

“Spence, Hotch says we can go home. But you should probably report about what local PD told you before you go”, JJ tells him.

Spencer nods and makes his way to Hotch’s office. The rest of the team watch him walk away.

“You think we should have told him to knock before going in?”

“Probably.”

The sound of a high pitch yelp and the slam of an office door echo down the hallway.

“Oops.”

——————

thank you for reading :)

masterlist

#criminal minds #bau team #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #emily prentiss #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #crack fic

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chahnniesroom · 4 months ago

Text

hoju (home)

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: even though chan has been living in korea for so many years, he still considers australia to be home. when he finally has the opportunity to go back and visit, he can't wait to bring you along and introduce you to the people and places that he grew up with.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: none :)

a/n: hoju (호주) is the korean word for australia.

this was a request from my sweet 🦦 anon! thank you for the inspiration, i had fun writing this and i hope that it meets your expectations. sorry that i did not write this in chan's pov 😅 as usual, please let me know if there are any typos or mistakes because i didn't have the chance to proofread 🥲

read it on ao3 | masterlist

Chan has been acting strange lately. Not enough that you're worried, just a little bit suspicious. He's never tried to hide what tabs he has open on his phone before and he's looked deep in thought quite a few times, but when you ask what he's thinking of, he changes the topic quickly. You're curious, but trust that Chan will talk to you when he's ready. Still, you can't quite ignore all of the changes in behaviour.

It's the same tonight. When you look up during dinner, Chan's just stirring around the noodles in his plate, only taking a bite every so often. You frown, trying to think of if you've done anything differently to prepare the food in a way that he doesn't like, but it tastes the same to you as usual. You rule out a lack of appetite, as he had just commented that he was starving while you were cooking.

“Is everything okay?” you ask hesitantly, after a few more minutes have passed.

“What?” Chan looks up, startled by the sound of your voice. “Oh no, everything's fine! Just… thinking.”

“Is it about work? Did something happen?” You know that Chan has been busier than usual this month, the boys have some time off in a few weeks and everybody is scrambling to get things finished in the meantime. You've also requested vacation at work, although so far you and Chan haven't planned anything. In fact, he's been a little bit cagey when you've brought up the topic. You try not to think much of it and really, it's just nice to be able to spend extra time together.

Honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if Chan has found out that his break has been cut short or even cancelled. It's rare that they’re able to have more than a few days off at a time which is why you had been so shocked when Chan had let you know that they didn't have schedules for a period of almost three weeks.

It would provide an explanation to everything that you've observed the past few days, you know that he would try his best to fix things before he had to tell you the bad news.

“Well-”

“It's okay if you found out you can't take time off,” you reassure him. “I understand that it's all up to the company and sometimes they change their mind at the last minute. I can just let my work know and take my vacation another time, I'm sure they might even be happy if I'm still around next month.”

“No!” Chan says, his eyes wide in panic. “We still have time off! Don't worry about that. It's actually- How would you feel about visiting Australia with me?”

It's your turn to stare at Chan in shock.

“Australia?”

“Yeah, it's been a while since I went back and-” Chan breaks eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I thought it'd be nice if I could introduce you to my family, in person.”

“You want me to meet your family? In Australia?” you repeat, dumbly.

“Only if you feel comfortable!” Chan says hurriedly. “I looked into tickets, but didn't book anything yet so it's totally up to you. I also wanted to check if my family was available beforehand and it's pretty good timing actually. If you don't want to, then it's totally fine, I'll probably go for either way and I think Felix is also considering it. It's just that we've been together for a while now and I've met your family and I know that my mom basically considers you to be her daughter-”

“I want to go,” you interrupt, not wanting Chan to spiral further. “I was just surprised, I guess, but of course I want to accompany you.”

Chan brightens at that, then grabs his computer, unlocking it and opening up a spreadsheet. As it loads, he reaches for his chopsticks and takes a huge bite of food. You can't help but smile fondly at the sight of his cheeks bulging with food as he chews, relieved that his appetite is back.

“I didn’t want to get too far ahead of myself, but I was looking at flights, and I think that if we leave on a Tuesday, it might be best. It means we can enjoy the weekend here and still have time to pack everything,” he explains excitedly. “It'll be less busy at the airport too, which will be nice, and it works out well with my parents’ schedules anyway.”

You hum in acknowledgement, content to follow along and take mental notes as Chan reads out everything else that he's thought of so far. He continues planning for the rest of the evening, trailing behind you as you clean up and do your nightly routine, only stopping to help you when you do the dishes and put away the laundry. It's cute how animated he becomes, putting together a long list of all the sites and restaurants that he wants to show you.

You can tell that he's still thinking of it as the two of you curl up in bed that night, every so often you feel him jolt behind you and turn to reach for the little pad of paper and pencil that he often keeps on his nightstand.

Eventually, you turn over and squint at him. He doesn't even pretend to be asleep.

“Hi,” he whispers. “Sorry if I'm keeping you awake.”

“Sleep,” you murmur tiredly. “We have lots of time to plan, get some rest for now and we can talk more tomorrow.”

Chan starts to protest, but you just nuzzle closer, pulling his hands to wrap around you. As you drift off to sleep, you can feel that Chan has finally relaxed too.

—

The two of you spend the first day of break slowly, sleeping in and having a lazy meal of bibimbap from all the banchan taking up space in your fridge. You only venture out of the apartment for dinner, going to your favourite local restaurant that you visit so often that the owner starts making your meals the second that the two of you step through the door. The next couple of days are also easygoing, consisting of shopping, watching dramas, and eventually preparing for your trip.

Throughout the drive to the airport and making your way through security and to your gate, you can tell Chan's a bit on edge even though you and Felix try to assure him that everything will be fine. The three of you are in incognito mode, wearing hats, face masks, and plain clothes but Chan’s still scanning your surroundings the whole time. You, on the other hand, can't help but be excited, bouncing at his side so much that he loops his arm over your shoulders to try and calm you down. Felix is more relaxed and laughs at the stark contrast between the both of you, even filming parts of it since he’s getting footage for a vlog. Luckily you know that any content with you in it is likely to be edited out and don’t bother to hide your eagerness.

While Chan is used to travelling often for concerts and other overseas schedules, you've rarely visited places outside of Korea and have certainly never flown business class. You squeeze Chan's hand when you see your seats, thrilled at the idea of having so much leg room and a divider between the two of you that can also be fully lowered. It keeps you entertained for the whole time before the plane takes off, taking pictures together and reclining your seat up and down until the seatbelt sign turns on.

The flight is over 10 hours, so it doesn't take long before you move your attention to browsing the menu that's available and scrolling through all of the movies on the in-flight entertainment system. Shortly after the dinner meal is served, you start to doze off. Wanting to make the most of the experience, you insist to Chan that you'll be able to stay awake to watch another movie with him, but only make it through the first 30 minutes before you wake up to a dark screen.

You blink up blearily as a flight attendant starts making their way through the aisles, handing out customs forms for everyone to fill out. When you receive yours, you stare at it for a few seconds before realising the problem is not the fact that you're still adjusting to being awake.

“Oh no,” you whisper in horror, causing Chan to glance over at you, concerned.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I didn’t think about practising English before this trip,” you reply, distress leaking into your voice. “The last time that I wrote anything in English was when I was in secondary school… I'm not going to survive in Australia!”

“Hey, it's not an issue, I'll be with you the whole time! You don't have to worry about any of that. And you know enough conversational English to get by, I know you do,” Chan says soothingly.

You refuse to be comforted, burying your face into your hands.

“How am I going to face your parents when I barely know anything other than ‘hi, how are you?’” you moan. “I'm not even going to make it through customs! They're going to arrest me when I can't answer any of their questions!”

You know that you're exaggerating, but it makes Chan laugh so hard that tears gather in the corners of his eyes. You try to keep up your act, but end up dissolving into laughter too at the way that Chan is trying so hard to stay quiet, not wanting to bring attention to you two.

Contrary to your fears, you manage to deplane, get through customs, and collect your luggage without any major issues. You had a moment of anxiety when Chan and Felix split up from you since you have to go into the lineup for foreign passports, but you are somehow able to fumble your way through the conversation with the border officer without being detained.

Felix splits up with you shortly after, you see that his tiredness from the long flight melts away the second that he sees his family. He gives you and Chan both a quick hug to say goodbye before running out to meet them.

Chan lights up in a similar way when he finally spots his parents. They're waiting in the pick-up zone and waves the two of you over quickly. You barely get the chance to say hi before Chan’s mother is enveloping you into a hug.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says warmly. “Come on, let’s take you home.”

The drive is fairly short and it feels like no time at all before you’re approaching the house. The second that the front door opens, you hear a distinctive scrabble of claws against hardwood before Berry shoots towards Chan, tail wagging furiously. Chan immediately kneels down to give her better access, laughing when she stands on her hind legs to lick at his face.

Once she’s finished with that, she turns to you, barking curiously before moving closer. You stick out a hand for her to get an idea of your scent and try not to jump when you feel the cool, damp press of her nose against your palm. Whatever Berry smells, she approves of, giving you a few quick licks before running back to Chan.

“She’s so cute!” you exclaim, pulling out your phone so that you can take a picture of the reunion. You don't think that Chan even hears you, caught up in talking to Berry, giving her kisses and allowing her to do the same.

“I'll help you with your bags,” Chan's father says from beside you, easily lifting them out of your hands and motioning for you to enter the house. You exchange greetings with both of Chan's siblings as you remove your shoes, familiar with them through video calls and the one time that you met Hannah when she was travelling in Korea.

Chan’s family recently moved so this was also Chan’s first time seeing the house in person, the two of you trailing behind Chan’s father as he gave you a brief tour of the first floor before leading you upstairs. When you get to the guest room that you'll be staying in, Hannah pops her head in.

“Chris doesn’t spend enough time in Australia to have his own room in this house, so you guys are in this room.” She eyes you for a moment and based on the mischievous smile that’s growing, you can guess what she’s about to say. “Y/n, if you get sick of him, then feel free to stay with me instead!”

“Hey!” Chan complains, not even looking up from where he’s unpacking his bag. He grabs onto one of his shirts and chucks it at Hannah, but she easily dodges, throwing one of her slippers at him in retaliation. It hits Chan right in the chest and he looks at her in disbelief. He abandons his task in favour of chasing her throughout the house. You don't follow after, but you hear as their yelling and laughter echoes through the halls.

It’s refreshing to see Chan at home, no matter how comfortable Chan is with the rest of the kids, he’s still the leader of the group and the oldest member and the dynamic of their relationship reflects that. Even though it has barely been a few hours, you’re relieved to find that Chan has left behind the stresses of being an idol and can instead just be a son and an older brother.

His parents are hilarious and kind, it’s easy to see how Chan’s personality is a reflection of the environment that he was raised in. During dinner, you laugh at the way Chan pouts dramatically when Chan’s father pretends to forget about Chan when serving the food and how he groans in pleasure when he finally gets to taste his mother's cooking after so long. Hannah and Lucas continually crack jokes as you eat, especially if they're at Chan's expense and he pretends that he doesn't find them funny.

—

One afternoon you find Chan fiddling with the camera that he’s brought with him. You step up behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Are you planning on filming tonight?” you ask, knowing that Chan was always careful to alert everyone in the house beforehand.

“Not today,” he replies. “Probably tomorrow, when I take out Berry for her morning walk. Did you want to join?”

“Of course!”

“I was thinking of going right after breakfast, before it gets too hot out,” he says as he pulls out the camera battery and fits it into the charger.

“Anywhere in particular you wanted to go?”

“Mmm, maybe by the water? There's a path that's not too far away. I don't want anything that's too close to the house, you know?”

“Good idea.”

“Are you planning on putting it into a vlog?” you ask curiously. "You haven't been filming much.”

"Actually…”

“What? You're making me nervous.”

“I was hoping to use it for a music video,” Chan says sheepishly.

“What?! I'm not qualified for that!! I can't- you need to find someone else-”

“No no, it's going to be fine! It's for a record, not like, an actual music video.”

“I don't know,” you say, still feeling hesitant.

“I promise, I'm going for the casual vibes and it's either you or like, my eomma, and I guarantee that you would do a better job.”

“Okay,” you say reluctantly. “But I can't guarantee it'll come out well.”

“Thank you! I know it'll be great,” Chan says, showering you with kisses in gratitude until you're squirming away.

—

The next morning, Chan’s parents are out, leaving all the kids to prepare food on their own. It's a little chaotic, but you manage to cobble together a decent meal. It's a lot of fun to see how Chan and his siblings interact without their parents around to mediate. You're amazed by how similar the three are, not only in appearance but also the way they behave.

Although much younger, Lucas shares a strong resemblance to Chan, especially once he smiles and shows off matching dimples. They quickly disappear once Chan reaches out and musses up his hair playfully as you’re all cleaning up.

“Chris, stop it,” he complains, pushing his older brother away before trying to fix the strands that are all over the place. It only encourages Chan to move closer, wrapping his arms around his brother and lifting him into the air. When trying to wiggle free doesn’t work, he turns pleading eyes to you, knowing Hannah wouldn't step in to help. “Noona! Get him to let me down!”

The two of you had been awkward the first time you had been left alone, it hadn’t helped that Lucas’ Korean could be considered conversational at best and your English was significantly worse, but you had quickly grown close through attempts to tease Chan. Now, it’s easy to treat him like the little brother you never had.

You approach quickly, trying to avoid Lucas’ flailing limbs, and reach out to poke at Chan’s waist. He twitches away from your touch and when you persist in prodding at all his ticklish spots, unwinds one of his arms to swat at your hand.

The distraction is enough for Lucas to break away and he quickly moves out of reach. Instead of chasing after him, Chan turns his focus to you. You back away nervously, but find yourself with nowhere to go. Chan grabs you and easily slings you over your shoulder, ignoring your shrieks of protest.

“Betrayed by my own girlfriend? I should have known that introducing you to my siblings would just be asking for trouble,” he growls in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Hey! Where are you taking me?” You look to see if his siblings are going to rescue you, but they must be trying to avoid Chan's wrath as you don't see either of them as Chan brings you up to the guest room.

“I am enlisting your help,” he says casually, as if he wasn't carrying you up a flight of stairs and dropping you on the bed. “I would like your advice on what to wear for Berry's walk.”

“Ooh,” you say. “Very important business then, I'm honoured that you would ask me.”

It doesn't actually take much time to get ready, the two of you change into clothes for the heat and you just have to convince Chan that he doesn't have to try to do his hair or makeup. The second that you mention to Berry that you're going for a walk, her tail starts wagging non-stop and she even fetches her leash and drops it in front of you.

Chan doesn't give you much direction for filming, just hands you the camera and tells you to capture whatever you want. The two of you walk hand in hand through the neighbourhood, Berry happily exploring the area. As you get further away from the house, you let go of Chan, motioning for him to continue walking as you turn on the camera and get used to it.

By the time you've reached the waterfront, you're feeling more confident and have a better idea of what you like. You try out different angles, feeling a little bit like paparazzi, and after a few minutes, even try directing Chan too. You let him keep going, wanting to see how far away he'll go before he realises that you're not following. He's almost a block away before he turns back.

“You’re smiling, did it come out okay?” Chan asks as he jogs back towards you.

“Yeah, it was great! I was just thinking that Stay are going to go crazy over this,” you tell him.

“They do really like it whenever they get to see Berry,” he says thoughtfully, picking her up and scratching her head. You burst out laughing at that and Chan frowns in response and goes as far as to cover Berry’s ears, insulted on her behalf. “What? Don’t laugh at that, it’s true! Berry is just so cute.”

“I’m not saying that they don’t like Berry, of course they do. I was more referring to the fact that the video is… domestic. Very boyfriend.”

“Ooh you think that's what Stay are interested in?” he asks. “What about this?”

He gestures for you to lift up the camera, and once you're recording, grabs your hand to pull you along behind him. You let out a small noise of surprise as he tugs on your arm, struggling slightly to keep everything steady and ensure your hand is out of frame. At your sound, Chan looks back slightly and bursts into laughter.

“So concentrated, you’re so cute,” he giggles.

“Of course,” you grumble. “I want it to turn out nice.”

“Thank you,” Chan says sincerely, no traces of laughter in his voice. “I really do appreciate it a lot that you're helping me with work even though we're on vacation.”

“Hmm,” you say, turning away from him. “You're just glad that you didn't have to ask Hannah, because she would make fun of you the whole time.”

“That's not true! I mean, it is true that Hannah would do that, but that's not the only reason.” Chan uses your connected hands and pulls you close. “I also wanted to spend time with my favourite person in the whole world.”

“You're lucky I love you so much,” you sniff, still pretending to be annoyed even though you've practically melted into Chan's hug. “Now stop getting distracted, I thought it would look nice if you walked along the sand and there's nobody there right now.”

—

The rest of your time in Sydney is a whirlwind of activities. Chan is determined to take you to all his favourite places in the city and you eat more food than you thought possible. Chan’s family, and sometimes Felix and his family, accompanies you two for a majority of the outings and your initial hesitance interacting with them is replaced by fondness, eased by the way that they treat you like one of their own.

You even have a chance to meet some of Chan’s childhood friends, ones that he kept close with despite the long distance. It feels strange to eat dinner with them. Although they do their best to make you feel welcome, they have a lot of history together and you find yourself struggling to keep up with their conversation, not just because of the language barrier but due to references to people, places, and events that you're unfamiliar with. Regardless, you're glad to finally know the people that Chan grew up with and you love seeing how happy Chan is to be reunited with them.

It’s also nice that while you're meeting so many people, you don't have to hide your relationship at all. In Korea, you and Chan are more careful in public. It’s not totally a secret that you’re dating, but you are more on the cautious side due to the popularity of Stray Kids and inevitable scrutiny from fans. In Australia, Chan has no such reservations, excitedly introducing you as his girlfriend to everyone. It never fails to make you blush, feeling shy, but secretly pleased.

Wherever you go, Chan keeps you close to his side, linking your hands or looping an arm around your shoulders. Throughout the day, he presses kisses to your head or cheek. The first time he does it, you look up at him questioningly. He just shrugs, saying that he’s happy and well, you can’t argue with that.

You don’t want your vacation to end and you know you're not the only one. You and Chan have both procrastinated packing your luggage until the last possible moment, and when you finally do begin, Berry seems to sense it. She starts hiding all of your things- Chan's family members finding them lodged in one of the couch cushions or in her dog bed- and curling up inside your suitcase, making it practically impossible to continue packing.

When Chan enters your shared room and pauses when he sees you staring into the suitcase helplessly. You wave him over so that he can look inside.

“She’s too cute! Look at that little face, how could you disturb her?” you ask.

Chan has no such reservations. He reaches in and gently lifts Berry out, cradling her against his chest so that she can’t jump back in.

“Berry, do you want to come to Korea with us?” he asks patiently. When she licks at his face in reply, he groans and pretends to lower her back into the suitcase. “Ah, I guess we have no choice but to bring you! I think we can sneak you in with the rest of the souvenirs that we’re taking with us.”

Despite Chan’s promises, Berry ends up staying behind, not even joining you on the drive to the airport. You’re lucky that you decide to leave well before your flight is expected to depart as you end up taking almost half an hour saying goodbye to everybody.

You know that you’re going to treasure these memories for a long time and you’re certain that Chan will too. It’s amazing that even though you were only in Australia for a couple weeks, it already feels like a second home.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

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imaginespazzi · 3 months ago

Text

Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance.

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away.

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night.

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily.

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved.

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else.

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone.

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?”

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around.

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet.

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late.

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard.

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave.

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay.

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months.

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question.

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away.

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter.

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart.

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine.

Until she’s not.

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine.

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck.

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down.

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out.

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion.

“I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers.

“What?”

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home.

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind.

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight.

April 2033

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age.

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word.

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her.

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen.

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother.

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes.

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room.

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it.

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse.

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too.

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever.

“Why would this be about Clémence?”

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again.

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown.

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen.

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks.

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?”

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave.

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off.

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had.

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There’s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years.

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen.

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown.

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again.

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it.

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp.

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could, “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze.

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever.

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too.

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back.

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk.

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug.

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face.

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs.

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests.

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women.

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins.

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking.

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world.

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette.

“Clém-” Azzi sighs.

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home.

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand.

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence.

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip.

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless.

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up.

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly.

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently.

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns.

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door.

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles.

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand.

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally.

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow.

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously.

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much.

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound.

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells.

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right.

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi.

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first.

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs.

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice.

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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zegrasdrysdale · 9 months ago

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[ sober thoughts ] n. hischier

paring: Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico appears on his best friend’s doorstep after the Stadium Series win and confessions are made

warning(s) : slightly drunk nico, mentions of alcohol (but no actual alcohol consumption involved)

author’s note : pls ignore any typos bc i thought of this while drunk and wrote it while tipsy so i will go back and edit when i am 100% sober. it’s a v short and cute thing that i wanted to write (even tho i am working on like 7 different requests rn)

༺═──────────────═༻

The moment ‘nico 🏒🤍’ appears on her phone screen, she thinks something is wrong. She’s especially worried because it’s nearly two in the morning. Something could be seriously wrong.

The last time they talked, Nico was getting in an Uber to go to the bar after they won the Stadium Series game against the Flyers. That was a half hour after the end of the game and nearly three hours ago at this point.

A very exhausted and confused (Y/N) quickly answers the phone as soon as she processes what’s going on.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep. “Do I need to come get you from the bar?”

“I’m outside your apartment building,” he tells her. “Can I please come inside? It’s so cold outside and I just played a game in this weather. Please let me in.”

She rolls over and turns on her bedside lamp before she walks to the window. Outside on the sidewalk stands her best friend and captain of the New Jersey Devils. He smiles up at her and waves. “Oh my God,” she gasps as she puts on a pair of slippers. “Why are you just standing outside my building like that?”

“Because I missed you and wanted to see you,” he tells her as she grabs her keys and leaves her apartment. “It felt very wrong that I wasn’t celebrating with my best friend after one of the most amazing games and one of the most beautiful moments of my career. If I woke you up, I’m sorry.”

Without tripping down any stairs, she says, “It’s okay. I was just worried you were passed out on the side of the road in East Rutherford.” She pushes the main entrance door open. “Yet here you are on my doorstep.”

Nico smiles and stumbles up the steps after he hangs up the phone when he sees her. He trips on the last step. She catches him and he catches himself on the doorway. She can smell the alcohol on his breath because of how close they are to each other, yet her heart races in her chest since they’re so close to each other.

“Are you drunk?” she asks as she backs away from him with a look on her face. “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you drove because I might kill you and your team is going to be left without a captain.”

“I’ve had a few drinks,” he admits to her. “I took an Uber because I did have a few drinks. I didn’t drive here. Don’t worry. I still have brain cells.”

Nico walks into the building in a hoodie and jeans instead of the tracksuit he showed up to MetLife in. She’s happy he is in actual clothes because if he showed up in that tracksuit, she might lose it.

“Why did you come here instead of going home?” she questions as they make their way up to her apartment. “I thought that maybe after the game you’d celebrate with your teammates then go home to sleep.”

They walk into the apartment as soon as she unlocks the door. “I told you that I wanted to come celebrate with my best friend,” he replies. She closes the door behind her. “Especially since I couldn’t get you into the stadium to watch the game. I wanted you to be a part of this day.”

She pouts and sits on the couch as Nico turns on one of the lamps. “Your family flew in for the game,” she says to him. “I shouldn’t take priority over them. I get to see you play all the time. They don’t.”

He sits next to her. Not too close but close enough where she can feel the heat coming off his body. If he were to move his knee, it would bump into hers.

“You’re my family too,” Nico softly says. “I wanted you to be there.”

“I’m your friend, Nico,” she sighs. “I’m not your girlfriend or your wife. I didn’t need to be there.”

It feels like she is trying to convince herself too because sometimes the line blurs. Sometimes she doesn’t know what she is to him. She has to remind herself that they aren’t together, and probably will never be together.

A moment of silence falls over them. She looks at her hands on her lap while she plays with her thumbs. Nico’s big brown eyes never leave her while she avoids looking at him.

Nico sighs and practically whispers, “I wished you were there as my girlfriend.”

Her head snaps up and she blinks at him. “You what?”

“I wished you were at the game as my girlfriend,” Nico repeats. “The entire time I wished that you were at the family skate and sitting in the suite with everyone else’s families. I wished you had one of those cute jackets that the wives and girlfriends had with my number on it.”

She stares at him until he’s done talking. Then she starts to shake her head. “You’re just saying that because you have been drinking,” she replies. “You don’t actually mean that.”

Never once has Nico shown that he wanted to be in any kind of romantic relationship with her. He’s never given her any kind of hint or sign that he wanted to be more than just friends with her.

They’ve known each other since Nico moved to the US in 2017 to play in the NHL and never once did it seem like he wanted something more.

There is no way he means that.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he says.

“Then tell me when you’re sober,” she retorts. “Tell me in the morning if you actually mean it.”

Nico frowns and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Schätzli, you have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that,” he tells her. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until I wake up before I tell you again.”

Almost as if on cue, he yawns. “Go to sleep, Nico,” she says to him. “Tell me whatever you want in the morning. You know where the guest room is but do you need my help in getting there?”

He shakes his head and sinks down against the back of the couch. “I’ll get there eventually,” he replies. “You can go back to sleep.”

With a nod, she stands up. Nico’s eyes are half open so she takes off his shoes and pulls his legs up onto the cushions. She grabs a blanket to throw over him as he lets out soft snores. The alcohol has finally caught up to him and knocked him out.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say that you wanted me to be your girlfriend,” she whispers to a sleeping Nico. “All it took you was having a few drinks and winning a big game before you told me how you felt.”

She presses a soft kiss to his temple before she retreats down the hallway to her bedroom just in case he wasn’t actually asleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The smell of coffee is the thing that wakes her up in the morning. Not the sunlight or an alarm. Coffee. It takes a second before she remembers that Nico stayed over.

She remembers Nico telling her that he wishes she was at the Stadium Series game as his girlfriend. She has no idea if he remembers that he said that to her.

It’s time to find out.

Slowly, she makes her way out to the kitchen. She finds Nico standing at the coffee machine with his back to the hallway. She yawns and walks into the kitchen area.

“Morning,” she softly says so she doesn’t scare him. He turns his head and looks at her. “You making coffee?”

Nico nods and pours them both a cup. He puts cream in her cup and hands it to her. “I figured we could both use a cup,” he tells her. “Me to get rid of this hangover and you because I woke you up at two in the morning.”

She blows on her coffee before taking a sip. “How much of last night do you remember?” she curiously asks as she leans against the counter beside him.

The moment of silence that follows worries her. He probably doesn’t remember what he said, and she isnt going to remind him if he doesn’t remember.

He takes a sip of his own coffee before he asks, “Are you asking me if I remember telling you that I wish you were my girlfriend? Yes, if that’s the case. I told you that I meant it.”

“And you’re sober?”

“Very,” Nico replies. “And very hungover.”

It surprises her to the point where she almost drops her cup of coffee. Her eyes widen and Nico smiles. “Nico, I could kill you and kiss you at the same time because why did it take you playing in one of the biggest games in your career before you-”

Nico takes the cup of coffee out of her hand while she’s talking then cuts her off by bringing his lips to hers. She gasps in surprise then melts against him as he presses her against the counter. She wraps her arms around his neck and puts her fingers in his hair so he can’t break the kiss.

Never in her life did she think that she would be in her kitchen kissing her best friend of nearly seven years. The thought only occurred in dreams and occasionally during games when she found him attractive, which is really all the time.

This is something she has wanted for two years. Since the moment she realized that she was in love with Nico.

He lifts her up and sits her down on the counter. He stands between her knees and rests his hands on her thighs.

It becomes too much for her and she has to pull back for a second to breathe. Her eyes meet his and finds worry in them. “I just- I don’t think you understand how long I have waited for this,” she breathes out. “Wanted this. Wanted you. I just need a second.”

Nico smiles and pushes her hair behind her ears before he cups her jaw. “I’m such an idiot for waiting so long before I told you,” he replies. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, Schätzli.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper and his thumbs brush her cheekbones.

“We’re both idiots,” she tells him. “I’m glad you meant it though. I thought you were going to get my hopes up.”

He shakes his head and kisses her nose. “I would never lie to you about loving you.”

“Well I love you too,” she says. “Just so you know.”

Nico laughs and envelopes her in a hug. She smiles and happily accepts the hug.

“I told you that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“I believe you now.”

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riekirei · 3 months ago

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retroactive. — nishimura riki

“it’d be easier if you just didn’t ask, but it’d also be easier if she wasn’t his last.”

pairing: boyfriend!riki x afab!reader | genre(s): angst | content/warning: both riki and reader are of legal age in this work, consumption of alcohol, mentions of getting drunk, riki calls reader baby and vice versa

word count: 1.8k

author’s note: i’m back from the dead, hi guys. i hope you enjoy reading thisss. please ignore any typos or grammatical errors (if there are any) and lmk if i missed any warnings.

[🎧 now playing: did you like her in the morning? by NIKI]

you slipped your shoes on, heading out the door. you were on your way to yongsan-gu to accompany your boyfriend, riki, to a get-together at a pub with his friends. it wasn’t really your thing to go out drinking with your boyfriend and a few other people at around 10 pm at night, but you agreed to go.

riki said he’d meet you at a nearby landmark in yongsan-gu as it’d take him just a few minutes to get there since the building he works at was in the district. you call a taxi and make your way there. the ride to the district was short, it took around 20 minutes considering how late in the night it was and how you were just within seoul anyway.

the moment you step out of the vehicle, you walked around for quite a bit before you spotted riki, who stood by a bus stop, leaning on its shade, waiting for you to arrive. you ran up to him, hugging him from behind. riki quickly turned around and greeted you with a big smile on his face. “am i late?” you ask, looking up at him. “nope, looks like your just on time” he responds, showing you the time on his phone’s lockscreen. he wrapped his arm around you and rested his hand on your shoulder. “the pub’s nearby, actually. let’s get going” he says. “okay baby” you reply, taking his hand off your shoulder and locking it with yours as you walk.

after around 5 minutes of walking, you two finally reached the pub. the neon sign fixed on the pub’s entrance flickered and the chatter of people from inside brought the night to life. riki walks in first and you closely follow. you walk past a couple of tables before finding riki’s group of friends settled on a long table further back into the pub. they all greet the two of you as you sat down on the two empty seats. riki’s friends from work, from highschool, and from anywhere else were there, considering most of them knew each other anyway, but you didn’t expect his most recent ex to be there. his ex of 2 years. you didn’t really know that much about riki’s past relationships, but you for sure knew about this one. she was that one girl he really got along with and they just ended up seeing each other. they had so many common interests and personality traits. i mean, it didn’t mean you and him were any less alike, but the fact she was his last just wasn’t something that you could move past by.

“hey? you okay?” riki tapped you on your shoulder, snapping you out of your little zone-out moment. “oh, yeah, sorry” you say, shifting your focus onto the group’s conversation. “so, riki, y/n, how’s things between you two?” heeseung asks. “we’ve been doing well, nearing to our two year anniversary on november actually” riki answers with both of your hands intertwined, resting on his lap. “and our work schedules have loosened up a bit so we’ve been able to see each other a lot often recently” you add. the chat between the whole group continued as you two immersed yourselves into it as well.

the night passes but you can’t help but notice the stolen glances riki’s ex has made with both you and riki. they’ve exchanged some words too while in conversation with the rest of the group. maybe you were just overthinking it? you knew it was a get-together with his friends, and you are his girlfriend after all, so maybe there was no malice or intent of her glances. plus, you and riki have been together for quite some time. but two years? him and her? of course it would be impossible for him to forget. but he was with you now, and he looks like he’s the happiest he’s ever been. there’s no problem there, right? but why has this whole scenario been messing with your brain since the moment you sat down on the table?

you take a shot of soju, slamming the shot glass back down onto the table. you were probably on your third, fourth, maybe even fifth bottle? you don’t know, but you were lowkey getting drunk at that point, actually, everyone at the table was getting drunk at that point. after some time, you all decide to stand up and head home. you weren’t as dizzy, so you were able to slowly stand upright. you sighed to yourself, the night was finally over.

as everyone walked towards the front door to exit the pub, riki’s ex stumbles forward. she probably had gotten sloppy after a few bottles of soju. riki’s hands naturally found their way onto her waist, standing her back upright. “you okay?” he asks. she nods and hums in respond, with heavy eyelids and a face tinted with the color red. you stood there, blankly watching what had just unfolded before you. you didn’t know how to react, you didn’t want to cause a scene. were you just being overly sensitive? it was just coincidental that she so happened to have tripped and riki was right behind her. but, you saw the concern in his eyes and how it was second nature for him to have placed his hands onto her waist. this whole thing was most probably not a new thing to riki. how he’d spend the whole night with her, drinking and having fun, how he’d drive her home in the same ford he drives around now, and how he’d probably walk her inside, making sure she got home safe. was the alcohol getting to you? or were these thoughts coming from your completely sane, rational, sober self?

you let it pass until everyone parted ways. riki walked you to his car which was parked somewhere near his company’s building. he didn’t notice anything wrong the whole walk there, but he sensed the tension as soon as he shut the car doors. the air grew thick. you tried avoiding riki by looking out the car’s window, or mindlessly staring into the road ahead. in his mind, he was trying to work out what he had done wrong. were you just sleepy? were you just tipsy? or were you simply just not in the mood? he got a hint that it may have had something to do with his ex, knowing you and how you think about such things.

the car ride to your apartment was silent, with only the sounds of the engine, the other cars passing by, and the road being heard. you two did not exchange a single word the entire drive. riki parked the car by the sidewalk of your building, switching the engine off. he finally broke the silence by saying “hey, i’ll walk you inside, ‘kay? i don’t want you getting hu-“ but you cut him off halfway “no, riki, it’s alright. i’ll be alright.” “but, baby, it’s like 3 in the morning. it isn’t-“ and you cut him off once more “i said it was alright, didn’t i? just go home, riki.” you said, walking towards the lobby of your apartment building. he walked and followed closely behind you, not letting you go up to your apartment alone, both under the influence and with something going on between the two of you too. “baby, look, i don’t understand what’s wrong? what did i do?” he asks you while looking you straight in the eye. you couldn’t do anything but look away from him as the two of you stood in the elevator going up to the third floor of the building. you storm down the hallway, towards your flat. the tears formed in your eyes, holding them back from streaming down your face. “hey, hey, baby-“ riki says, fastening his pace to keep up with you. you grab your keys and unlock the door, shutting it close as you walk in. he stops the door from closing and grabs your hand, stopping you from walking in further into your apartment unit. “what is it that you want, riki? WHAT?” you exclaim as you finally turn around to come face to face with him. he comes into your apartment, shutting the door behind him before leaning onto it. the tears formed from earlier began to escape the corners of your eyes as you start to sob in front of your boyfriend. “i’m sorry, baby. w-what did i do?” he says, pulling you into his embrace. all you could do was cry in his arms. he caressed your back, rubbing it up and down to relieve you. he repeated the words “i’m sorry” all over and over again. the sight of his disheartened girlfriend in his arms, crying her eyeballs out, shattered him into a million pieces.

“why are you hugging me right now?” you quietly say, wiping your swollen eyes with the palms of your hand. “what do you mean, baby? you’re my girlfriend, why wouldn’t i hug you?” riki answered, with tears running down his cheeks too. “t-then what the hell was that earlier? do you still love her? do you love her more than you love me?” you ask him, looking up at him. you pause. “i saw the way you two looked at each other, how you to conversed and interacted still. and i’m probably stupid for thinking all this, knowing you two have moved onto new relationships, but i don’t know if i can compete with her. and it’s driving me fucking crazy, riki. it’s driving me fucking insane.” you add. “y/n, baby. past is past, okay? i love you and i’ve been the happiest i’ve ever been. being with you, being able to love and care for you, it’s all i could ask for. please don’t think of whatever happened earlier as something different. please don’t take it as a sign that i haven’t moved on just yet. she trips and falls, i catch her, and it ends there, okay? but you could trip and fall a million times, i’d always be there to stand you back upright and it doesn’t end just there. even if you try and fail, i’ll be there for you. even if you cry or weep, i’ll be there wiping your tears. even if you jump with happiness, i’ll be there celebrating with you.” riki responds as tears continue to come streaming down his face. “i love you, y/n, hm?” he holds you tighter. “i love you too, baby. i’m sorry-“ “no, don’t be sorry. it’s okay. we’re okay.” you lightly push yourself out of riki’s embrace and look up to smile at him. you pull him towards your room and you tuck the both of you into your bed.

you drift off into sleep, buried in riki’s nuzzle. he kisses your forehead and finally falls asleep, holding you close til morning.

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bunnykawa · 8 months ago

Text

all mine (sakusa x f. reader)

summary: Big brother Sakusa has to deal with his flirty little sister. word count: 6k? warnings: 18+, sexual themes, incest, noncon/dubcon/rape, voyeurism kinda, some yandere themes, sakusa is delusional a/n: just a little thing i wrote out of nowhere to let out some steam and because battle of the garbage dump got released in japan and yeahh i just thought about my handsome man LMAOO. sorry if it's not that great since it's been like how long?? but enjoy!! also no this isn't a part 3 to my fic from 4 years ago lolol and excuse any of my typos 😵‍💫

Sakusa doesn’t know if he should be mad or not. The glow of his alarm clock is illuminating his dark room with the soft moonlight slightly peeking in through the blinds. He runs his hands through his curls before he sighs and puts his pillow over his face.

He can hear you. The soft moans and suppressed whimpers coming from plump, swollen lips can be easily heard through your thin walls. If he closes his eyes and really focuses, he could hear how wet your pussy is as you get drilled right next door—right next to the wall, too, because he knows that you prefer your bed in the corner of the room and the sound of the bed creaking is getting unapologetically louder and louder. He was supposed to be asleep an hour ago for early volleyball practice the next morning, but instead he’s listening to you. Every little noise, every creak, every word that slips out of your clenched teeth as you try to be as quiet as you can—”Please,” you beg in a broken voice, “Y-you’re so big, ‘Tsumu.”

’Tsumu; the little nickname that makes his blood boil and all he can think about is how much of a fucking asshole he is. Yeah, he should be mad—he has every right to be angry, he thinks. Sakusa has to see Atsumu Miya’s cocky face and disgustingly bleached hair at volleyball practice every week and now he has to hear the fucker himself fucking his little sister into oblivion in the next room.

And now it’s getting hot in his own room! He scratches the side of his neck in irritation. Why does it feel like his comforters are suffocating him? Sakusa throws his pillow across the room and rips the blankets off of himself. The tip of his hard cock is peeking out from one of the legs of his boxers, almost as if his body is mocking him for feeling this way—for getting hard at the sound of his little sister getting split open. He grimaces for a second, but the guilt and shame can hit him later. Right now it’s too fucking hot.

So, he’s angry because he hates Atsumu—hates how Atsumu has managed to infiltrate his professional life and personal life in such a gross way. Why is Sakusa bitterly pushing his boxers down around his thick thighs? His cock springs free and he grips the shaft harshly.

“Fuck,” Sakusa mutters. He starts slowly, gently pumping his hand around his cock. It’s warm in his hand and twitching at the small bursts of pleasure, enough to allow a pained moan out through gritted teeth. When was the last time he even had someone over to use their body how he pleased? He wishes he could ignore it—ignore you—but all he does is pick up his pace as he listens to the sound of your cunt getting destroyed and your sickeningly sweet begging for Atsumu to fuck you harder.

Oh, he’s mad—so mad that everything is throbbing from his head to the head of his dick. He hisses at the pain in his temples but it does little to stop him from continuing to fist his cock.

“‘Tsumu!” he hears you cry out. The sound of your headboard slamming against the wall is getting even louder, accompanied by the slick noises coming from between your legs and skin slapping against skin. The room feels like a sauna at this point, but nonetheless, Sakusa squeezes his eyes shut as he picks up speed and fucks into his own hand like a pervert at the sound of his little sister.

Would you be scared of him if you knew how badly he wanted to be in Atsumu’s place? How he wants to rip Atsumu away from you and make you cum on his cock the way he wants to? His skin is getting sticky from his sweat—his arm is getting tired from how fast he’s pumping his cock, desperate to release his frustrations in a stream of hot white liquid and how he wishes he could paint your face with it. He imagines how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock—if you would beg for him through watery eyes and tear-stained puffy cheeks trying to put all of him in your mouth. Is his cock too big for you? Is your pussy as warm and sopping wet as he imagines it is?

“I’m gonna cum!” you scream, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” Your voice cracks when you chant for Atsumu. Sakusa’s whole body tenses, every single nerve and muscle in his body on fire because damn it, he wants to be the reason why you're screaming and convulsing and crying from pleasure like a whore.

Then with a few more strokes of his cock, he releases his cum in heavy streams that land in a sticky mess on his sheets and lower abs. He groans as his cock twitches against his aching fingers. After a few seconds, he lets go of his shaft and lets it fall against his pelvis. It’s like the whole world has stopped—there’s no more erotic noise coming from your side of the wall. It would have been completely silent if it weren’t for the sound of labored breaths and giggling. He wonders if Atsumu is going to cuddle you to sleep and stay the night or if he’s going to run away and leave you yearning for more.

Embarrassment creeps onto his cheeks with how fast he came, but as fast as the embarrassment comes, the guilt suddenly settles deep into his stomach, into his joints, into every muscle of his being. Sakusa is disgusted with himself for letting his lust take over during a moment of weakness—lust for his imouto who doesn’t know any better, who is in the prime of her life to fuck around and find out without much of a care in the world, who doesn’t think about the consequences. Sakusa can’t do that like you do, it’s not built into him except for the few times where he did let loose—although he’s not as sloppy as you. Sometimes it feels like you were raised in different households. It shouldn’t be a surprise to him that you flirt and fuck with his volleyball teammates—or anyone that breathes in your direction for that matter. It shouldn’t—but for the first time in his life, he asks himself that if you undress for anyone…then why not for him?

He curses to himself. His expectations are too unrealistic. You’re siblings! And he knows that you both could and should never unless you wanted to ruin your relationship and test your morals. He reaches over to the towel hanging on his desk chair and quickly wipes away the mess he made. A nice, steamy shower pops into his mind, but he’s too tired to wash away his sins.

The room gets colder and his transgressions have nowhere to go, marinating into his skin, reminding him that he’s a shitty big brother for wanting to ravage you from the inside. As his mind goes hazy from how sleepy he is, he also hears a door open and shut followed by heavy footsteps and another door—your door and the front door. A small smirk finds its way across his lips. Sakusa may have a sick attraction to his little sister that he may have recently discovered, but at least he’s never lonely. You, however—

You can never make them stay long.

“Omi-nii~!” Sakusa hears you sing, bouncing through the hallways of your shared apartment until he feels you wrap your arms around his naked waist. He’s in the kitchen warming up the leftovers you cooked earlier in the day over the stove, looming over the counter and scrolling away at his phone.

He scoffs and leans away from you in mock disgust, “Weren’t you sick last week? Get off me before you give me your disease.”

“I don’t have one! I’m clean!” you whine with a pout, squeezing your arms around him tighter. You press the front of your body against his back, a gesture that makes Sakusa feel fuzzy, especially when you also press your nose against his bare back to inhale his scent. There’s something so intimate with the way you’re not even scared to hold him while he’s not wearing a shirt. His skin is fresh from the shower and his hair is slightly damp. He pulls away to look at you when he notices how nicely dressed you are.

With a raised brow, he asks, “Where the hell are you going this late?” You pull away from him to adjust your dress. He turns to face you, his eyes going up and down your body with sick thoughts beginning to cloud his brain—sick, twisted thoughts that should have never crossed his mind.

“First of all—” you say, rolling your eyes at him, “—it’s not late. It’s literally only six-thirty, you weirdo.” Sakusa narrows his eyes as he begins to scowl. But despite his obvious look of you better not be going out like that, you happily ignore him. “Second of all, I’m going out on a date!”

“A date with who?” he asks sharply, folding his arms against his chest and straightening his posture. He always does this to tower above you, to hopefully make you feel smaller than you are. It worked much better when you were both younger.

You bite your lip before giggling his name, “Atsumu.” You seem to get bubbly as his name rolls off of your tongue naturally with a smile playing at your lips and warm cheeks to accompany it. Maybe his heart aches a bit with jealousy when you say that stupid name, a feeling that makes the guilt settle heavily again. The last time he heard you say his name—moan his name—was a few nights ago when he did something no brother should ever do, separated by a few inches of thin walls. As quick as he is to question you, he is also quick to shake those damning thoughts out of his head before they manifest into something more and he ends up losing it in the kitchen you share. He’s scared that he might never forgive himself if he does.

“Since when the hell did you get so close?” Sakusa shoots you another question with furrowed brows. As monotonous as Sakusa usually is, the distaste is present in his tone and his stance.

“I don’t know,” you sigh so dreamily, “It just happened. I didn’t know he could be so sweet.” He could vomit if he had the chance. Out of all people—Atsumu? Really? Sweet?!

“Well, I guess you do have a disease then,” he retorts, sticking his nose up in disgust, “He’s sick in the head, (Y/N). I thought you had better taste in men but here you go fucking around with my teammate—”

“Omi-nii...” you pout.

“—like he’s the only guy you know. I expected better from you,” Sakusa continues with a puff of his chest. He turns away from you to turn the stove off. “He’s always sick, too. Always getting a cold and then going to practice like he’s not contagious.”

It’s Atsumu taking his little sister away from him that angers him more than he could ever imagine—but it’s also knowing that he will never be the one between your thighs that makes him so disappointed. There’s a silence in the room that creeps up his back.

“You’ve been so out of character recently, Nii-san,” you ponder behind him, placing your finger on your chin to pretend that you’re thinking, “It’s not like you to lose your cool over a guy. Are you…

…jealous?”

No.

He’s just looking out for you—he’s your big brother after all! But he doesn’t know how to respond and stands still, holding his breath. Deny, deny, deny. He turns his head to look at you in his peripherals; you’re staring right at him with the same sweet eyes that he remembers from your childhood. Maybe he has been out of character—did you really notice? As it feels like some kind of tension is suffocating him and the ground is going to swallow him, you crack a wide smile and start giggling uncontrollably, which instantly makes him frown.

This is why you two are complete opposites—Sakusa; as serious as ever and always playing the voice of reason like a good older brother, and you; the first to laugh when it’s quiet and always being the fun little sister when things get too serious for your liking. You skip towards him and wrap your arms around him again with the biggest smile on your face, snuggling your nose into the skin of his back.

“You’ll always be my favorite, Omi-nii. I love you more than any boy in the world,” you hum. He wonders if you can hear his heart beating louder with each syllable of your words.

Sakusa could laugh. Usually he would, before pushing you off and scolding you for getting too close to him. But his heart continues to thump and his voice gets stuck in his throat when your hand slides down his abs and brushes lightly over his twitching cock. It’s not like him to lose his composure like this. You place a saccharine kiss on the curve of his back before you hastily let go of him and walk away.

You didn’t touch him enough for him to say anything—to reprimand you for touching your Onii-san like that—but just enough for your touch to linger where it shouldn't.

A soft knocking at Sakusa’s bedroom door stirs him awake. He groggily twists and turns under his bed sheets, irritated that someone would wake him so late at night. He hears the ‘click’ of the door knob and the hinges creaking as the door opens.

“Omi-nii?” you whisper gently from your place at the door. Sakusa ignores you easily, choosing to keep his eyes shut in hopes that maybe you’ll leave him alone and let him have his peace.

“Omi-nii,” you call his name louder and more firmly, “Onii-san, are you awake?”

What a stupid question, he thinks to himself, but Sakusa figures that you’re not going to leave his room any sooner, so he finally opens one of his eyes slowly to see your head peeking into his room. It’s dark—you’re almost just a black silhouette in his blurry vision, but he can make out your soft and surprisingly tired features just enough. “What, (Y/N),” he groans, his voice gravelly with fatigue.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Your voice is timid when you ask—it brings Sakusa back to when you two were younger and you were just as shy to ask him the same question—and the same question is what prompts him to suddenly sit up, letting his bed sheets fall to expose his lean upper body. He rubs at his eye before looking up to gaze at you, clad in a shirt of his (that he begrudgingly noticed went missing months ago) engulfing your figure.

Omi-nii’s shirts are way more comfier than mine, you would whine. He would roll his eyes and snap at you, usually, but would still let you take his shirts anyway. The perverted part of him secretly loves how his clothes fit you.

Sakusa doesn’t ask and figures that it’s best that he doesn’t. He sees the way you’re twiddling with the bottom of his shirt between shaky fingers. He could tell you that he was right all along, laugh in your face, anything to rub it in—instead, he pulls the covers aside and scoots over, creating an empty space for you, just for you.

“Come here,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. You move instantly, your feet delicately pitter pattering against his hardwood floors. The mattress dips lightly as you climb into his bed. You pull his blanket up to your chin instantly and Sakusa grabs whatever he can get. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).” Without another word, he turns away from you and settles into his sleeping position on his side.

After a few moments of silence, you mumble something Sakusa can’t quite make out. And when he chooses not to respond, you say it again, “Can you hold me, Onii-san?” Then his body completely stiffens in response. He always said yes when you two were kids—hell, even when you were teenagers and it was definitely considered inappropriate by then. Would it be weird if he said no now?

But he sighs, knowing that he can't just say no. He turns around and drags himself closer to you, lifting his arm so that you can move underneath it and press yourself into the front of his body. His breath hitches as you do, an all too familiar heat igniting in his stomach as the curves of your body fit perfectly against him.

When he wraps his arm around you, he suddenly feels so complete and so awful, almost having to hold back on how tightly he wants to really hold you. This time he can inhale the scent of your hair—a mixture of whatever shampoo and conditioner you keep in your rotation and your favorite leave-in conditioner. The skin on your arms is soft from your lotion, your legs are smooth and buttery against him, and fuck are you so warm. He could absolutely eat you up right here if you’d let him. Maybe in your vulnerable state of mind…you wouldn’t say no.

Sauksa doesn’t know what demon has decided to possess him. He’s been thinking too much for the past few weeks for sure. A little earworm is corrupting him, whispering in his ear and daring him to do something and destroy you.

His hands are moving on their own. They slip underneath your shirt—hot fingertips caressing your skin so carelessly and trailing up and down your hips. He wants to laugh because you’re only wearing panties. How obvious can you get? If you were thinking about him the same way he thought about you, you could have just said something.

You tense up at his unexpected touch, but don’t move away from him—you don’t even say a word, not when his hand slides up to cup one of your tits to pull you closer to him, not when he decides to press his hard cock against your ass, not a single word.

Sakusa thinks he’s been too hard on himself recently, especially with how his feelings about you have changed so drastically. You’re not ready for him like that, that much is obvious with how much you’re shivering, but he deserves this after all the mental anguish you put him through because of how stupid you are.

First, you fuck his dumb teammate in the apartment that Sakusa pays for. And out of all the teammates, you choose the one who used to have piss blond hair back in high school and still slurs his words. Second, you have the audacity to touch him and kiss him and tease him, knowing that he can never have you the way that he wants. Third, you wake him up in the middle of the night to sleep in his bed in one of the shirts he’s been looking for for months and just your thin panties that leave so little to the imagination—

“Omi?” you quavered, knocking him out of his thoughts. Oh, he didn’t realize how hard he was squeezing you or how rough his grip is on your perky tits. He also didn’t realize how he started grinding himself against your ass, wedging his covered cock between your covered asscheeks in an attempt to feel the warmth from your core. The guilt should have been settling in him again, yet to his surprise, he feels…nothing. All he wants is to hold you down against the bed and wreck your insides until you bleed and beg for him.

“Omi-nii!” A panicked gasp escapes you and suddenly Sakusa is on top of you, holding you down by your wrists. You gaze up at him, lips parted in shock, eyes so wide, and the first thing that goes through his mind is beautiful. He leans down and presses his lips against yours, leaving you so shocked that your entire body freezes.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, and his words flip a switch in your brain. You’re already fighting against him, desperate to escape from his hold on your wrists and the sins he’s planting on your lips and for the first time in your life you’re actually scared of him.

Sakusa grips your wrists even tighter and hisses as you squirm, “I said hold still.”

Then you force yourself to relax with no choice but to let Sakusa explore your mouth. Your hesitation is obvious (of course, it is) and instead of pulling back and knocking sense into himself, he’s offended—out of all the guys you let violate your body, you won’t let your own brother do the same?

He disconnects from you to grip both your wrists above your head, holding you down easily with one hand. Then his other hand quickly pushes the bottom of your shirt up to your stomach to display your bottom half and grabs the top of your panties. You’re horrified as Sakusa effortlessly rips your panties off of you and throws the shredded pieces off to the side, exposing you to the cold air and to your brother’s eyes.

Your brother’s eyes. You can feel the bile coming up to your throat at the realization. Your brother is going to do something to you against your will and you can’t do anything to stop him because he’s bigger and stronger than you and you live alone together. As you make eye contact with him, it’s like you can’t even recognize him. You jerk your body away in a feeble attempt to free yourself, but it’s no use.

“Stop!” you cry, ashamed, scared, and so confused, “Nii-san, stop!”

He splits your thighs apart with his own muscled thighs and you feel so weak trying to close them again, to hide that part of you that your big brother should never ever see.

But to Sakusa, it’s a sight that he wishes he could see over and over again and he has no problem taking his chances if it means that he can have you—he’s already gone way too far, past the point of return, and he doesn’t want to care anymore about what consequences his actions might bring. A small smirk appears on his face as he looks down at you, so vulnerable and small underneath him. He doesn’t want to waste time—his boxers are already down his thighs and his cock is free. You’re looking down at his cock with pure fear on your face—fuck, he’s big, so big that you’re dumbfounded that he’s even real. But he’s also your brother. You literally grew up together and he still takes care of you and you see each other everyday.

You want to look away but you can’t. Although your vision is blurry due to your tears, you can still see him and only him. “This is why you asked to sleep with your nii-san tonight, right?” he breathes, looking down at you with a hunger in his eyes that you’ve never seen or noticed before. You’re shaking your head no. Never. You were just sad and needed your big brother to comfort you without asking any questions.

“Stop lying to me, (Y/N). You know what you’re doing,” he scoffs, “I’ll take care of you. Just like I always have.” Then, he grabs the back of your thigh with his free hand to hoist one of your knees up against your chest, exposing you even more than you already are. Before you can even process it, the head of his hard cock is pressing against your entrance so delicately and so carefully but it’s terrifying all the same.

A loud gasp escapes you and you attempt to yank yourself away from him again. Tears are fully streaming down your face now, dampening your hair and the sheets. Your chest is tightening— you’re so scared. You don’t even know what Sakusa is talking about so you're even more puzzled. As far as you know, you’ve been the same as you’ve always been. “Don’t d-do that,” you beg with a crack in your voice, “Omi-nii, please.”

But Sakusa is pleased to hear your broken voice—irritated that you don’t want him to continue, sure, but pleased nonetheless. He’s always wanted to see you like this underneath him and he finally has you. Your legs spread wide open for him to feast on is something that seemed so unobtainable yet you’re in his bed, exposed and ready.

Please.

He pushes through the tight rings of your pussy until he completely fills you up—the tip of his cock is fighting its way through plush walls to kiss your cervix and you swear that your world has shattered into a million tiny pieces. A sob breaks free from your throat.

The room is ice cold. There’s no more air in your lungs as you convulse around him. You can hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears but everything is so silent. Sakusa lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and suddenly everything is okay now—he knows that there was no demon possessing him to think about you in such a dirty way because it was really him all along. All his sick fantasies and insatiable desires, dreams of devouring you, and all those sleepless nights imagining what you would look like with his cock so deep inside you that you couldn’t breathe—it was just him, so painfully in love with you even if he can’t have you. And now he’s inside of you. He’s actually inside of you.

“Fuck,” he curses in a strained voice, “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.” It feels as if your mind and body are attempting to recover from the shock of Sakusa forcing himself inside your cunt but there’s no time for recovery at all—hell, you’re both surprised that he even managed to slide into you as easily as he did.

Then he starts moving, slow and steady to open you up more. The sting of him stretching you is enough to make you let out a few wails between quivering lips. You can physically feel your walls shudder around his length and your nerves are practically screaming, ringing your inner alarms, knowing that this is so fucking wrong.

“Get the fuck off of me!” you sob, attempting to jerk your wrists away from his one-handed grip. You’re not even sure when you became so weak, even with adrenaline coursing through your veins. And you’re even more shocked when he lets go of your wrists for a split second only to hold you by the throat firmly.

“You need to shut the fuck up sometimes,” Sakusa breathes with a hint of annoyance. Your shaky hands find their way to wrap around his wrist, nails clawing at his skin, hopelessly trying to loosen his grip. His cock is still moving dangerously inside you, filling you up and then leaving you empty with just his tip, only to fill you up again. The slow rhythm of his hips pressing against yours is tormenting—your skin is crawling with every moment that your hips meet and you wonder if he moved more then would time go by faster?

Labored breaths and wheezes are the only sounds that you’re able to let out with Sakusa’s hand on your throat. There’s fatigue creeping in your bones yet you feel the energy in your veins and it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense and everything hurts and just—why?

“C-Can’t…breathe,” you manage to gasp out. As much as you want to stay awake, afraid of what your older brother might do to you if you pass out, you can see your vision starting to blur and your brain beginning to turn into mush. Your hands are loosening their grip around his arm that’s holding you captive. He’s squeezing your throat tighter and tighter.

You just needed someone—needed your onii-san to help you during this fucked up time between you and Atsumu. Usually he’d be on top of you like this, fucking you until you cry for him and cum all over his cock. You’d moan and drool and beg—anything for him to claim you over and over again. Instead of seeing stupid bleached hair and flirty eyes, you see black curls and dispassionate voids gazing at you as you’re about to pass out and it’s like he doesn’t even fucking care! You just wanted to feel better and to feel your onii-san’s comfort again and he decides to touch you and—

He presses his forehead against yours all of a sudden, and you can barely hear him when his lips start moving. “...What?” you choke out through wheezes.

“If you want me to let go, you have to let me fuck you as hard as I want,” he repeats himself firmly. You don’t realize that he’s stopped moving inside you, leaving you feeling oddly empty. All you know is that you need to breathe and maybe that desperation is what makes you attempt to nod your head in agreement. A smirk appears on Sakusa’s face and before you can even register what's going on, he’s straightening up to thrust his cock even deeper into your core and he finally lets go of your throat.

You’re coughing and sputtering, oddly embarrassed at how much saliva you’re spitting out, and you’re hyper aware that you have him inside you again, deep inside you and painfully stretching you to the point where you’re afraid that he’s going to rip you in half. Sakusa grabs the backs of your thighs and presses both your knees against your chest again, leaving his hands there to hold you down once more and to expose your pussy to the cold air. You feel the warmth spread across your cheeks from how embarrassing it is to be on full display and how repulsive it is that it’s Sakusa between your legs to ogle at you as much as he pleases. You wonder what changed between you two—has he always felt this way? It makes you sick to your stomach to imagine that your brother that you love so dearly and looked up to your whole life wants you and it’s diabolical how this is what he wants from you.

And when he starts thrusting harder than before, slamming his cock into you with such a force that your body lurches with his movements, your brain is back to turning into mush and a part of you wishes that you did pass out—at least you wouldn’t have to be conscious to feel everything. You can’t help but let out quiet whimpers and gasps that don’t even sound like you. It hurts—the stretch of his thick cock is so unbearable and his hands on your thighs are sure to leave ugly bruises.

“You feel so good,” he almost laughs, like he can’t believe this is happening. You are as soft as he imagined, maybe even more, and how easily your pussy starts creaming around him makes his heart skip a beat. When he presses his forehead against yours again, you want to recoil even though you physically can’t. You don’t want to look him in the eyes yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. You don’t even know if you can hate him after this and Sakusa knows that—how you love him so much, even if it’s not the way that he wants you to—

—because you need him.

It’s nauseating how much you still need him. It’s horrifying how your legs are beginning to shake from how deep he is and how he’s shoving himself against your cervix unkindly. Most of all, it’s disgusting how you can feel—even hear—the puddle pooling from your cunt, forcing you to stretch to accommodate his size—and maybe in the midst of your hysterical state, maybe Sakusa feels good, too.

You can’t admit that—you definitely don’t want to—but for fuck’s sake, you know what your body likes and although it’s Sakusa punishing you in the worst way possible, you recognize that tightness in your stomach—the corrupt feeling that makes you scream and cry and beg, that makes your body writhe in desperation to have more. Fuck, it’s morally wrong but at the same time, your body loves to feel full and stretched to its limits. You’re so sad that Atsumu “broke up” with you (you weren’t really dating in the first place) because Atsumu knew your body so well and his dick was huge. You really shouldn’t be comparing since the thought is so sickening, yet the way Sakusa is splitting you open is different—so different from Atsumu with no gentleness, no delicacy, just pure lust and a desire to fuck you until you faint and it’s…better. It shouldn’t be better, shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but it's better.

When the realization hits you, the shame and embarrassment floods your stomach, too—how could you let your own brother fuck you like this and how could you enjoy it? And now you’re angry at yourself, for how Sakusa is making you feel, how your body is reacting, how raw and wet your pussy, how Atsumu blindsided you, how this whole situation is so fucking unfair.

“Omi-nii,” you whine with a dry throat, reaching up to grab his thick biceps, all tensed up and veiny from gripping your thighs and turning them purple. His muscles are so well-defined that you almost forget that he’s your brother and start melting into his skin. The base of his cock is hitting your clit every time your hips meet, sending shocks of pleasure all throughout your core. The walls of your cunt are convulsing around him. It shouldn’t feel good, it really shouldn’t, but the burning sensation on your thighs from having your knees pressed against your chest to expose your cunt and Sakusa carving the shape of his cock into your pussy is the best fucking thing you’ve ever felt in all your years of living. As guilty as you feel for wanting more, you start to beg for him, “Please make me cum, Omi-nii.”

A smug smile plays on his lips. Your pussy is dripping everywhere, making wet noises every time Sakusa moves, and he thinks he’s finally satisfied. Not completely though, because he wants you to squirt on his cock and he wants you to squirt on his cock every night from now on. He deserves it, deserves this, deserves to be the one inside of you and claiming you and pumping you full of cum.

He leans down and captures your lips with his once again, and this time you let him slip his tongue against yours in a messy passionate kiss. When he lets go of one of your thighs to rub at your clit with his thumb and your body tenses up harshly as a result, he sneers at you, “Cum all over my cock, you bitch.”

Then your cunt tightens around him and you hate that he’s being so mean to you but you cry and scream and dig your nails into his muscles like you’ve never came before because you like how mean he is and the only thing you can pathetically moan is Onii-san~!

He doesn’t stop when you cum, chasing his own high to drown your pussy in his sticky seed and hopefully force another climax out of your body to feed his ego, so he wraps his hands around your throat again while you’re delirious and kisses you again and again. “You can fuck whoever you want,” he mutters against your plump lips, “Think that you know what love is when you have some other loser inside you—”

“—but this stupid cunt is all mine.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu imagines #yandere haikyuu smut #haikyuu smut #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #yandere sakusa x reader #yandered sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #yandere sakusa kiyoomi #yandere kiyoomi sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #kiyoomi sakusa smut #sakusa #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu thirsts #tw yandere #tw noncon

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simp4konig · 2 months ago

Note

I'm so normal about Nikto rn

Mildly nsfw?? Idk just a heads up

But just

Nikto, gripping her hips, thinking to himself: She's just being friendly- she's just being friendly- think pure thoughts

Y/N, sitting on his lap and holding his face hostage between her titties, thinking to herself: I wonder when he's gonna make the first move... do I have to make it if he doesn't? Oh my god what if I've been reading him wrong all along and he doesn't even like me??

Nikto: Well, maybe I am obsessed with you

Y/N: Well, maybe I like that :lipbite:

Flirtatious Reader x ...Dense? Nikto

Fem! Reader coded, BUT it can be viewed as gender-neutral if you squint. 🩷💟💜

Word Count: 2237

🪼

Reader is addressed as "You". No Y/N used.

May be self-indulgent. May be a projection of my own feelings. Oops. 🙊

Please read the * at the end of the post for my clarification 💙🩵🤍.

Edit: Minor typos. I fucking hate EVERYTHING!!!

❗SUGGESTIVE CONTENT AND SOME DISTURBING IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT ❗ (No sex nor anything overly grotesque, but includes some descriptions of both). Readers are warned for suggestive content.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Well.

The title is perhaps a teeny, weeny little tiny bit misleading 🤏…

…

…Who am I kidding 💀,, it's as misleading as it gets LMAO

Because let's not kid ourselves here: Nikto is NOT "dense", NOT an "oblivious" man, NOR is he the type to be misinformed about someone's objective[s].

Nikto is a perceptive man — he's interrogated enough people to know what makes them tick, to distinguish lie from truth.

If somebody's intentions aren't innocent and they have ulterior motives, Nikto is always the first to know; it's his job to be informed, after all.

Hence, he notices the intonations of someone's voice growing or lowering, the imperceptible change in pitch, their nervous stutter as they unconvincingly concoct a lie, how their testimony does not align with the facts, and how they've suddenly become fidgety and shift from his scrutiny...

Hence, he recognises the subtle shifts in someone's facial expressions, can read between the lines of their non-verbal gestures, their change in behaviour, their overall unease expressed without them realising it, how they're giving themselves away no matter what they say…

Hence, he takes notices the way that someone fiddles agitatedly with something in their hands, how they pick at their nails in an almost panicked way or dig their fingernails into the skin of their palms, how they're biting their bottom lip or chewing on their cheek, how their smile is lopsided and doesn't quite reach their eyes, how they avert their gaze…

Nikto is anything but perceptive. He isn't oblivious — not "ignorant", not "unaware", and certainly not "stupid", or any other words synonymous with the previous — especially when it regards what people think of him.

How people think that he's disgusting.

How everyone avoids him like the Black Death, as if he's diseased and close proximity could kill you. As if his disfigurements were contagious, and the best bet would be to stay far, far away from the diseased.

Therefore, he's not oblivious that the words which you would whisper into the brocoli ears obscured by his mask are innuendo for something for more; he's not oblivious of the sexual nature of your hands absentmindedly caressing his lower abdomen, simply inches from his clothed crotch; he's not oblivious that your touches are quite risqué, that you would provoke him on purpose, that you would sit directly on his lap and feign innocence as you would flutter your eyelashes and smile ever so sweetly.

Nikto is perceptive. Very perceptive. And he's certainly not stupid...

...they just don't perceive your flirtatious actions as anything other than some joke.

So, he has rationalised your flirtatious behaviour as friendliness. As how you express your personal affection. Or, affectations.

Whatever it is that you're expressing, it must be a joke. Surely.

Since you're the Beauty, he's the Beast. But, unlike the Beast, he is a monster which cannot be redeemed. He's been cursed to suffer mortal purgatory, while immortal, demonic voices haunt him every hour, every minute, every second of every day. It's torture.

And you want to torture him some more by tormenting him with your unashamedly forward displays, your devilish seduction, tempting him into finally taking what he's been desiring ever since you arrived in his life.

How could you want him? Do you even want him?

No. You don't. There is no way that you do.

Because he's not talkative like some of the other operators, not hilarious like the colleagues who make you laugh, not affectionate like a lover could, not good company, not a good person as a whole.

He's introverted to a concerning amount, so silent that sometimes he appears deceased as he lies next to you on the nights you come over.

Maybe it all used to come naturally to him, but it's a struggle to feign his role as a functioning human being, so to actually be one? Sometimes he questions if he's more monster than man, as that role seems to be effortless.

Perhaps this is all some heartless idea of a practical joke, some sort of sick sense of satisfaction arising in you to toy with Nikto's emotions. And, like a child bored of that toy, discard it in favour of a newer, better, prettier one.

Why would you want to be around him? What is there to like? Is there even anything to like?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Because what's there to like? Frankly, if he doesn't like himself — or selves — then how could he expect you to like him? All of him? Them?

This isn't affection, he would tell himself; either it's disingenuous and forced, or you're faking it for your own amusement.

Or... maybe it is genuine, and it isn't fake... but it's all an act of pity, since you feel sympathy for the lonely outcast and have some sort of strange moral obligation to a lunatic as fucked-up, ugly, and disfigured as him, whose been unable to have a meaningful relationship — platonic or otherwise — in years.

Especially right now, with you straddling his lap and cradling his masked face in between your breasts, he still can't wrap his head around it, and it's all incomprehensible.

At times, Nikto has considered that he's overthinking it, and that you have no ill intentions, and you're just innocent and clueless with how much you affect him.

And it would have been endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating.

With that in mind, for him to make the first move and jeopardise what he thought you thought was a strictly platonic friendship? He couldn't be more sorry, and would leave you alone forever and never speak to you again, even if it was physically painful and equivalent to ripping his own heart out and squeezing it until its contents popped — just for the pain and the heartache to go away forever.

...

Seriously. It's so fucking frustrating, and it's as if he's being wilfully ignorant or something, and doing it on fucking purpose.

He's delusional, yes, and you've always acknowledged the fact that more than a few screws were loose, but the entire mechanism, but it pisses you off that he continues to delude himself, rather than accept that your affection is genuine, and not some cruel joke.

You don't get bored of him, and won't. Ever.

Yes, he's not talkative, but you find solace in presence and relish the peace and quiet; yes, his sense of humour is nonexistent, but you don't need to be laughing when he still brings a loving smile to your lips; yes, he's introverted, but does that really matter? To you, you being the exception to his isolation is worth everything.

Do you care that he's not a good person? No. To some extent, neither are you — you're no saint yourself. Nikto's morals may not be grey, but smudged entirely, and his methods questionable…

…and? You don't have it in you to care. Because it has reached a point where Nikto genuinely cares for you, and you likewise for him, and his actions demonstrated what he could never convey through words; that he would never, ever hurt you. And that's enough.

As for him not being naturally affectionate?

Well. You've tried everything: guiding his hands onto your hips; sitting in his lap and straddling his lower half, arms around his neck; hell, even flashed your tits under the guise of the clasp of your unintentionally becoming undone, and, oh, could you please do it for me, Nikto? You aren't bothered by the nudity? Sorry. That was just a wardrobe mishap. You don't mind, right? You can touch all you like, because I don't mind.

But he doesn't respond. Doesn't fucking do anything. Just has his shoulders tense and arms loose by his sides, not reciprocating any touch, not touching you unless you give him permission, as if he's been lobotomised and can only take explicit orders.

You're exasperated. It's exhausting.

But how much more goddamn obvious can you be? What will it take for him to open his eyes and see that this isn't a game to you? That you're willingly giving yourself to him, because you want to? Because you want him?

And, yes, his hands twitch with the gnawing itch to touch you; his body shakes with anticipation, antsy; his shoulders are tense, back straight as a plank, muscles flexing with restraint; and, of course, he's so fucking hard that he's almost nauseous.

But will he dare misinterpret your suggestive behaviour as anything more than flirtation, teasing, and risk jeopardising his whole friendship with his one and only friend? No. Not a fucking chance.

One of these days, you swore, you were going to tear off his mask clean off his face and grab his jaw to roughly kiss him on his scarred, mishapen, and malnourished lips, only pulling away when neither of you can breathe, then look him dead in those steel blue eyes and confess that you don't give a shit what, who, or why he is, only that you want him, uncaring of the whats, the whos, and the whys — especially the "whos".

No amount of initiating physical contact could entice him to touch you. You were at wits' end.

One of those days came; and that day was today, as you two were lounging on the bed, with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs straddling his lap.

Sheepishly, you untangle your limbs from around his, and crawl to sit beside him, legs tucked up to your chest and arms wrapping themselves around your knees pitifully if it wasn't for the fire in your eyes.

"...Nikto."

Nikto's back straightens at the speed of light at your tone of voice.

...Oh. Oh God.

This is it, he thinks. This is the day where everything ends. Eventhough you're his everything and that without you he'll be nothing, you're going to tell him to go, to get off you, because you've realised that he isn't worthy of your time or your company. Or maybe you've discovered his obsession — you — and the shrine he keeps of your stolen "lost" possessions and prays to it as if by an altar, how he would worship the ground you work on if it wasn't so conspicuous, how you're the only reason he hasn't given up and put a bullet straight through his own skull so the voices shut up once and for all and—

"Do... you even like me?"

...What.

What.

What?!

Like you? Are you serious?!

He doesn't like you! He couldn't ever like you!

He adores you! Loves you! Worships you! But even then, no synonyms of these words would sufficiently convey his adoration, his unconditional love, his devotion. Would kneeling by your knees and ripping his beating heart out be enough? It still wouldn't. So he won't... mostly for your sake.

Struck dumb, dumbfounded, and utterly confused, he stares at you, his bloodshot steel blue eyes unblinking. Since he can see how your eyes are glistening, he's willing tears on your behalf, just so tears don't stain that pretty face.

Eventually, he says with complete certainty: "...Like would be putting it lightly."

"Then..."

You sniff, and Nikto flinches, but he otherwise remains stiff, not wanting to touch you and make your state worse.

"...then why won't you touch me? Don't you... find me attractive?"

Instantly, he states: "Because the touch of our hands would insult your body."

"You've... you've got to be fucking joking."

"No."

"Is... i-is this some— some kind of fucking joke?"

"...No."

Sadness dissipating, it transforms into incredulity, until you almost laugh. This is unbelievable. It would be endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating. You don't know if you want to punch him or kiss him.

"Nikto. Nikto Nikto Nikto. For crying out loud — I WANT you to touch me."

"We're… I'm fucked up. You should have... better."

"Haven't you ever considered that I like my man fucked up?"

Oh God.

Man. Not men. Man.

“You... still should have better.”

You snort in amusement. "What, someone more fucked up than you?"

You roll your eyes, almost out of boredom, but you don't miss how his fists clench, blood boiling as he's silently seething at the mere idea of someone else stealing you. Having you.

“Better is not an option. From my eyes, you're the best man for me out there.”

A wheeze leaves his broken vocal cords — a poor imitation of a human laugh.

But it wasn't a laugh. He isn't laughing. Miraculously, tears collect at the corners of his dehydrated eyes, and he thinks that he might cry.

His voice cracks as he asks uncertainly: “...Best?”

“The very best," you affirm with a smile.

He must be dreaming. This is all a dream. It's everything that he's been dreaming about. Maybe he's dreaming right now, and he'll wake up in a cold bed. Alone.

“Well… maybe I am obsessed with you."

"Maybe?"

"...I am obsessed with you."

"Okay."

"Maybe... we're so possessive that we'll never let you go. Never."

"Never?"

"Never."

“Well,” you begin, clucking your tongue, as if chastising him with the "tsk". “Maybe I like that. Maybe I like being wanted like that.”

"...You won't."

"I do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have even entertained the idea of being around you. If I was a rational person, I'd have ran for the hills. But? I'm not."

"..."

"Now touch me already," you say, unceremoniously snatching his idle hands and guiding them onto your body. "I'm yours. Don't wait for permission like some fucking dog."

You don't have to tell him twice.

"Yes."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

*imma b real w u guys, i had no fucking idea what to name this: ...Oblivious Nikto? ...Ignorant Nikto? ...Delusional Nikto? ...Unaware Nikto?... eventually I settled with "dense", tho i STILL don't know if that's suitable?????

Anyways... sorry for the sort of misleading title??? It was not intentional 🥲. The only reason that it's addressed at the beginning is because I didn't want any misconceptions about what I think of Nikto. No, he is not oblivious, as I gone above and beyond to clarify at the start. 😭

A/N:

To 🪼 anon sending me the asks: I love you. And I love you. Did I mention that I love you? Because I love you. 💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡🧡💖✨💖✨💖🧡🧡✨✨✨ (im the monster under your bed, but instead of scaring you, i hold your hand at night 😈... I LOVE UUU/!!!!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡💖✨✨✨💫💖🧡🧡💫✨💫 DONT THINK THAT I DONT SEE YOU 👿👿👿!!!! ggRRGRHGKG FROM NOW ON ALL OF MY NIKTO WORKS ARE A PERSONAL TRIBUTE TO U IDONT EVEN CARE ANYMORE)

Random notes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NIKTO, THE UGLY UGLY UGLY MOTHERFUCKER!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎁🎁🎁🎂🎁🎁🎉🎊🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎉 (yes his bd is tomorrow but i dont CARE!!!!!!)

Nikto and I are both Libras... 😳 OMgogmgomg we are DESTINED to be together!!! 🫣🫣😫💦💦💦💦💧🌊1!1!1!1!!!!! GUys IT WAS FATE! 1!1!1!!!!1!!!!!!!! /j

Ok but /srs, got the Ghostrunner 2 Endless Moto DLC for my birthday and ive never been happier omg 🥹 (going to replay the whole game all over again lmao 💀)

Lastly? Um. I love you all!!! Thanks for 750+ followers???+@?! When did THAT happen? @?!@??????!?? 😭😭😭💫💫💫💫 THANK YOUUU 🫶🫶🫶🫶💖💖💖💖

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leclerc-hs · 11 months ago

Text

the blueprint - cl16

pairing: architect!charles leclerc x coworker!reader (fem) summary: in which you and your co-worker can't help but constantly butt-heads on projects warnings: 18+! SMUT! (obvi), kinda mean!Charles, squirting, language, some French (badly translated prob) word count: 4.1k author's note: hi I absolutely LOVED writing this. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. i didn’t proofread so if there’s any typos please let me know!!! xoxo!! please let me hear your thoughts!!!! don’t be shy

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

YOU COULD’VE SWORN you’ve never been so irritated in your life.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, ferme ta guele for once!” Shut the fuck up. You stood in the door of Charles’s office, a crescendo of emotion echoed in your voice, almost reaching a fervent shout. Your face, now tinged with a reddish hue, reflected just how frustrated you were.

For a little over a year, both you and Charles had been integral parts of the same company. You, an interior designer, who occasionally delved into architecture every blue moon for fun. You never got the degree for architecture, but you loved to sketch building ideas from time to time just for fun. And then there’s him, an architect, with a stick too far up his ass sometimes.

Anger painted Charles’s demeanor, evident from the subtle reddening in his ears and the clench of his jaw. With matching frustration, he strolled behind his desk, easing into his chair. His green eyes narrowed at you, a silent yet potent communication.

“Moi?” Me? His tone was incredulous at he pointed his own fingertips at him, tapping them directly into his sweater covered chest. “Porquoi tu ne le fais pas?” Why don’t you? His voice dropped lower at the end of his sentence, while he directed his fingers to now point at you.

You took a step further into his office, not bothering to shut the door behind you. “Tu es incroyable!” You’re unbelievable! The sarcasm dripped off your tongue as you ran a hand through your hair, your chest slightly heaving up and down.

To which, Charles only smirked at, ignoring your sarcasm, and responded with a cocky “J’ai beaucoup entende cela.” I’ve heard that a lot.

The memory of the initial cause of the argument had become hazy but it was likely that it stemmed from the inherent clash that seemed inevitable whenever the two of you worked together on a project. The two of you were constantly perplexed by the company’s decision to consistently pair you two together, especially because it was not a secret that you didn’t get along. However, the undeniable reason might be rooted in the remarkable success followed. Almost every building, house, or structure designed by the both of you stood out as some of the company’s best creations.

Charles couldn’t help but trace his eyes along every crevice of your face while you ranted on. He honestly wasn’t even listening as you bitched on about something you claimed he did. Instead, he was too enraptured with the way your cheeks reddened, the way your eyes narrowed at him, and the way your breasts moved with every exclamation you made. Because really, he is still a man after all and the tight button up shirt you wore was almost sinister. Like seriously, he could’ve sworn the buttons were about to pop open with each breath you took.

“Mon dieu! Even now, you’re still not listening!” You noticed the distant look in Charles’s eyes as he leaned back into his chair. It was like he was looking at you, but not at you.

You snapped your fingers repeatedly, leaning over the desk, your breasts even more in Charles’s face now. He swore it took everything in him to look at your face, and not your perky breasts dangling in front of him.

“What?”

You stormed out of his office immediately with a loud groan. You didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

“Mamma mia,” Oh my god. Charles exclaimed to no one except himself as he stood tall, his hands tapping the sides of the heavy machine before him. It felt like an eternity, although it had only been about 5 minutes. The matter at hand was perfecting the model of his latest project, but the 3-D printer seemed to be malfunctioning.

Taking a step back, he began to stare at the machine as if it were his enemy, one hand rested on his hip. A million thoughts ran through his mind as to what could possibly be wrong with the machine. No matter how many times he tried, the layers seemed to be separating far too much, deeming each piece of his model printed earlier as garbage.

The fragrance of sandalwood, laced with a subtle sweetness of vanilla, announced your presence before he could even lay eyes on you. The warm and captivating scent enveloped him, much like it always did. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger in annoyance that he knew it was you without even having to turn around. Without turning his head, he spoke up, catching your attention abruptly.

“Sais-tu comment réparer cela?” Do you know how to fix this?

It was one of the rare occasions when he addressed you without any trace of hatred in his words. Your mouth hung slack in surprise, and you almost felt the need to rub your eyes in disbelief at the fact there was no back-handed comment involved.

For a few moments, you just stared at the back of his head. Unable to understand why he was even asking for your help in the first place. When he got impatient of waiting for a response, he spun his body around, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and eyes pointed at you.

“Hm?” Snapping out of your surprise, you urged him to continue, seeking clarification on what he was referring to. Charles couldn’t help but take note of the tight black jumpsuit that you wore, a black and gold belt cinched at your waist. He felt his heart pound in his chest just a little bit more than normal at the accentuation of your curves as you stepped in front of him, acknowledging the curve of your ass before him.

“It, uh..” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed away his thoughts of your ass. You turned to look at him, waiting for him to finish his words. His cheeks slightly tinted pink as he offers a sheepish smile to you, “it keeps separating the layers too much.”

You nodded your head slowly, “Je déteste quand ça fait ça.” I hate when it does that. You quietly agreed with him, before playing with some of the buttons on the machine. Without any luck of fixing it on your own, your eyes lit up like a light bulb as you remembered Josh, one of your other co-workers, solved this issue before.

“Let me get Josh!” You uttered the name with such excitement that Charles felt an involuntary growl building within him. Josh, a fellow architect at the firm, seemed uncomfortably close to you for Charles’s liking. Not that he cared or anything, but few things irked him more than witnessing you and Josh together in the office like two peas in a pod. The way Josh shamelessly flirted with you constantly only added to his irritation. Not that he liked you or anything, but that didn’t mean he hasn’t thought about shoving you face down over his desk and stuffing you full of his cock. Or that he hasn’t thought of you pressed against the windows of his office, your bare chest against the glass as he slips his cock into your wet folds. Or that he hasn’t thought about shoving his cock so deep into your throat just to get you to be quiet sometimes.

It was like the flip of a switch, Charles’s irritation pouring out of him, as he spontaneously stomped away from the printing room. Trudging back to his office, leaving you behind in confusion. The last thing he wanted to see was you and Josh fixing something for him.

“She’s such a fucking know it all,” Charles groans to a group of his co-workers, bringing the neck of the beer bottle to his lips before taking a swig. His eyes have been following your every move since you stepped foot in the banquet hall tonight.

It was the 42nd annual office party, which may sound boring at first, but it always ends up with some chaotic story. Last year it was Jane, one of the executive assistants, who got way too drunk she vomited right by the CEO’s feet. The year before that it was Nick, a man who is part of the custodial staff, who went almost too crazy on the dance floor that he knocked a handful of people down and resulted in multiple broken glasses around the place. All in all, the office party is usually the opposite of a bore.

And tonight, Charles decides that it’s definitely not a bore when he spots your outfit for the night. Charles doesn’t miss the curve of your ass as your back faces him, or the fact that Josh’s hand rests lightly against the small of your back either.

You’re dressed to kill tonight. A long silky black gown rests tightly against your skin, aside from the bottom that fans out much like a mermaid tail. The neckline wraps around your neck much like a scarf, a long tail of it falling at your side.

Charles was so focused on Josh’s hand on you, that he didn’t even hear his co-workers speaking to him until they shoved his shoulder lightly.

“Dude, do you like her or something?”

“Or something.” Charles said with such disgust and hatred laced in his voice. “I don’t know why I always have to get paired with her.” He finished his beer in a hasty speed as you head towards the bar, excusing himself from his friends as he made his way to the same area.

The grip he had on the neck of the empty bottle was so tight, it was close to breaking in the palm of his hand. He leans against the bar, staring straight ahead as he waits for the bartender to acknowledge him.

“What’s got you all wound up?” Sandalwood and Vanilla.

He turns his head, to you and a smiling Josh at your side. He wants to roll his eyes almost immediately. What he would give to be able to punch him right in the face for even being able to touch you. He doesn’t bother to respond to you, turning his head back to the bar.

He’s sick in the head, honestly. He knows he approached the bar only to be closer to you but then ignores you as soon as you’re near. To get some glimpse of you. To smell you. To hear your voice.

You hate the rejection. No matter how much he grinds your gears, you always try to be polite. You don’t want to argue with him. It’s honestly exhausting to stay arguing with him almost every day. On your first day of work, you actually thought you could be friends, until he opened his mouth and rudely dismissed you. It only made you work harder.

Charles got his drink and made his way back to his group of ‘friends’. He didn’t look at you the rest of the night.

At least until you both crossed paths outside the venue. Josh had left earlier in the night due to not feeling well, leaving you alone, with no jacket, as you tried to call for a ride home.

Charles’s hands were shoved in the pockets of his dress pants as he approached you, awaiting for the valet to pull his car around. “Where is your jacket?” He questioned, simply curious.

“Why do you care?” You remarked back, a hint of annoyance in your voice. “You ignored me earlier and now you want to talk to me?”

Charles felt his patience wearing thin, especially at the sight of the goosebumps all over your skin and the chatter of your teeth between each word you spoke. Your nipples were rock hard, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Charles. He felt the blood rush to his cock as his eyes quickly glanced at them.

He rolled his eyes before shoving his suit jacket off and tossing it over your shoulders. “Can’t have my partner getting sick.” He began, “The project is due too soon for you to call out.” He pulled the excuse out of his ass. Because really, how was he supposed to say that he cared? That he cared about the woman he’s an absolute dick too.

You wanted to argue, he could see the detest in your eyes, but you snuggled into the jacket anyways. Appreciating his gesture and the warmth of the jacket.

The valet pulled his car up, opening the door for Charles, to which Charles handed him a crisp bill for fetching the car for him. You stood on the sidewalk, Charles’s jacket swallowing your body whole, a small breeze blowing the front pieces of your hair off your face. You looked beautiful, and Charles’s knew it was a complete lie if he said other.

“Get in,” He motioned the passenger door open, not bothering to wait for your response before he grasped your small forearm and ushering you into the seat. The car smelt just like him. A smell you wanted to bury yourself in, regardless how annoying he was.

Charles wove through the streets at a leisurely pace, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his knee. The radio volume was low, playing a song you couldn’t remember the name of, as you stared out the window and directed Charles to your home.

He wanted to argue that he knows where it is. That he’s already been there before because one time he went to check on you because you didn’t show up to work without calling in (which was very abnormal). That it’s the building right next to his. But he doesn’t say it and just lets you direct him anyways, just so he can hear your voice a little more. He was greedy when it came to you.

Within a few minutes, he pulled in front of your building, placing the car in park and unbuckling his seat belt. You sat silently after unbuckling your own seatbelt, trying to decipher his mood. You never knew what mood you were going to get, but most of the time it was annoyance and anger.

You turned to look at him and your eyes instantly met with his, as he was already looking at you. “Merci.” Your words were soft as you spoke, reaching for the door handle, he stopped you.

“You should dress warmer,” His lips lifted into a small grin, “It’s too cold and I can’t handle this project without you.”

Although it was work related, it was probably the closest compliment you’ve ever received from him. If you wanted to count it as a compliment. You felt your cheeks turn pink at his confession. Who are you? You don’t blush at Charles Leclerc. The architect with a stick up his ass. The guy who grates your every nerve. The guy who is undeniably hot and smells so good, you think about it more often than you want to admit.

“I’ll remember that.” Your hand goes to reach for the car door handle, but he stops you. His muscular arm stretches across your lap, grabbing the door and holding it in place from opening. He’s now practically stretched across the small space of the car, his scent enveloping you, the warmth of his body heating you right up. A small smirk formed on Charles lips as he noticed how flustered you were getting towards his proximity.

“Are you and Josh dating?” It was a simple question, but the words felt like acid on his tongue. You couldn’t help but notice the displeased look on his face as he straightens his body, providing more space between the two of you.

Your eyes widened in shock before muttering a quick, “No!” You coughed slightly, almost choking on your shock.

“Bien.” Good. Was all he said, before unlocking the doors, giving you the go ahead to get out of the car. It was when you were about three steps from the car door that he rolled down the window and said, “You can return the jacket at work.”

It’s today, that Charles decides he has had it up to here. If he must witness Josh’s fingers graze your skin one more time, he swears he will combust. So, to make himself feel some relief of his anger, he starts a fight with you. Naturally.

“It’s a shitty plan and even you know it!”

Honestly, it is a shit plan. And Charles knows that it’s a shit one too, but he would never admit that to you. Not when he is this pent up over fucking Josh. Not when it gives him an excuse to spend more time with you.

Which is what led you into his office, the clock nearing midnight, as you both are sprawled (as much as you can be) around his desk. The current plans of the project are scattered everywhere and not one other person, beside the both of you, are within the offices floor.

Your hair had made its way into a clip, leaving your neck uncovered and exposed. Charles’s found himself often staring at the nape of your neck when you weren’t looking. His desire to litter marks all over it was growing with each second that he spent in your proximity. Sandalwood and Vanilla.

“Is there a reason you’re always so mean to me?”

The words caught him completely off guard as he lifted his pencil, leaning back in his chair to face you more. You looked beautiful, like always. He could feel the burn in his chest as the words left your lips.

He was silent for a moment. Contemplating if he’s supposed to tell you that he’s mean to you because he doesn’t know how to act around you. That he’s mean to you because he wants to fuck you so badly, it consumes his every thought. That he’s mean to you because you are mean to him too.

“You’re not innocent either,” He remarks. His eyes shifting back to the drawing in front of him. Honestly, the plans weren’t looking much better but you both refused to give up.

You nodded your head slowly in agreement. You couldn’t deny that sometimes you were snippier towards him for no reason. It probably had to do with the fact that almost every week since you met, you’ve had to use your vibrator to the thought of him to ease the burn in your stomach just enough to get through the day.

You both didn’t know what it was about each other. You got under each other’s skin like no other.

And it wasn’t until he brought his eyes back to you, green meeting yours, that he noticed the dilation in your pupils. He could no longer pretend that he didn’t want you. It was killing him.

His hand grasps the back of your neck in a tight grip, asserting his dominance, as he pulls you into him. Your lips smashing into each other. He wasted no time before slipping his tongue directly into your mouth, moaning in the process as you let him in with such ease.

Your taut nipples poked through fabric of your bralette underneath the silk top you wore. Charles kept one hand on the back of your neck, pressing you into him, while the other slipped into the buttoned shirt, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

He groaned hotly into your mouth as he grabbed a handful of your breast, something he’s always wanted to do.

You crawled your way into his lap, the short skirt riding up your waist as you straddled his lap in the desk chair. You grinded against his thigh, moaning into his mouth. He swallowed every moan you gave, his hands eventually sliding down to your hips and guiding your movement.

“You drive me fucking crazy, chérie.” He spoke the words in between kisses, the sentence sounding broken as your tongue swirled around his.

“Are we really doing this?” You pulled away, unable to stop the motion of your hips as you stared at him. His hair was in complete disarray, lips swollen from kissing you so hard, and his eyes were half-shut like he was drunk off of your kisses.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he places his hands onto the backside of your thighs and lifted you as he came to a stance, placing you directly on the edge of his desk before him.

You both were frantic, ripping off each other’s clothes as fast as you could in between the wet, hot open-mouthed kisses. It wasn’t long before you were almost completely nude, aside from the mini skirt bunched above your waist, and sprawled along his desk with his hard cock stretching the velvet walls of your pussy with a delicious burn. His thumb pressed tiny but firm circles on your swollen clit, leaving you delusional on his desk.

His lips trailed all over your body. They moved from the spot right below your ear, to the underside of your jaw, up to the corner of your mouth.

“Feel so fucking good, chérie.” He groaned. His hips moving at a fervent pace, you don’t think you would last much longer, especially with his hot words whispered into the shell of your ear.

He pulled away from you for a moment, just to stare at how fucked you were. Your hair was no longer in a clip, seeing as he pulled it out of your hair and tossed it across his office just mere minutes ago. Your cheeks and chest were flushed, and the bounce of your tits almost had him cumming on the spot.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” He confesses. The words jumbling off his lips as he ruts against you, the large wooden desk pushing forward with each powerful thrust of his hips into you. The office walls echoed your moans, you were practically screaming in pleasure for the entire world to hear.

You nodded your head repeatedly, unable to form the words, too drunk off the feeling of his cock pressing against the very spot that ached the most for him. Because you too, wanted this for so long.

“Yeah?” He smugly asks. “You wanted this too?” He slows his hips down, but it doesn’t lessen the effect of just how good his cock feels against you. Your walls are clamped around him tightly, not wanting to let him go.

“Mhm,” you groaned. “Needed this so bad….needed you” You words were almost incoherent as he spits directly onto your clit, his thumb now speeding up the little circles he’s been doing all this time.

He had to pinch his eyes shut at the confession, almost sending him to release his cum right into you. “Mon dieu,” His voice grumbles, reverberating in his chest as he leans over your body on the desk, trailing his tongue and sucking on your nipple.

“I’m gonna,” you begin. “fuck, fuck,” It takes a few seconds of Charles sucking on your nipple before the burn deep in your stomach completely takes over, sending your legs spasming around his waist. Your orgasm was explosive and wet. You don’t think you’ve ever experienced this before as you squeeze around Charles’s cock so tightly, he feels like he can barely move his cock.

“Fucking, mmm,” He can barely get full sentences out as you squirt all over his cock and onto the papers of his desk. “That’s a good girl,” He stands up tall, watching you thrash around on his desk, and the now soaked plans beneath your body.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Feels so fucking good”

“So fucking beautiful”

“Does my cock feel as good as you feel to me?”

With a few more mumbled phrases spewing out of Charles’s lips, his own orgasm hits him, as he pulls out quickly, his hot cum landing directly across your stomach in a gooey string.

You both were panting, unable to form words as he collapses his chest down onto you. The ability to stand lost on him as his pants rest at his ankles. Your chests move in sync as you catch your breaths, Charles’s cum pressed to both of your skin.

“Looks like we need to re-do the plans again.” Charles jokes which quickly earns a soft chuckle from your lips in response.

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