#that stuff is worn to be filmed. that stuff is worn to be photographed by paparazzi at events. you do not need it to look good

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

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

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

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

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

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

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

“So definite no to hang out?” 

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

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

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

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

You glance at the time. 11:56am. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks. 

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All three of you look at him dumbfounded. 

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

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

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

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we going?” you ask.

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

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.” 

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

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

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

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–” you start, stopping yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.” 

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

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

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

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

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

“Your problem,” you say.

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

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

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

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

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

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

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

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

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

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

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

“Are you su-”

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

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

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

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

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?” 

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

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest. 

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

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

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

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

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

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

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

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

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

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

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

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

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours are just big,” you tell him. 

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

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

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

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

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

“Reasons.”

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

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

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

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm, makes sense.”

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

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

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

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

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

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

He nods. “You do.”

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

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

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

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

“I asked him for it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

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

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says. 

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

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

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

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

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

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

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t deny it.

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

He sighs. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“Mhm. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

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

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

➸ take me to chapter nine!

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

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY PHOTOGRAPHED BY MATTHEW LEIFHEIT FOR VULTURE MAGAZINE.

TALKING ABOUT HIS CHARACTER ARC IN S2.

Aegon is confident, politically savvy, and even affectionate with his children from sister-wife Helaena (Phia Saban).

“Showing that he has the potential to love was interesting to me. I wanted to investigate that.”

Glynn-Carney, who read the book after a season one conversation with Condal and Sapochnik about Aegon's overall arc, praises the development for its shock factor and the attention it gives to Saban, who says it is "sensational in all its forms."

There’s something about Aegon in his eyes when he admits: “I’d probably go a little more graphic about the gore. I could have done with, ‘Oh, I can’t look at that!’ The sadist in me needed it.”

TALKING ABOUT MUSIC.

The playlist he made for Aegon (he makes one for all his characters) helps get him in the right mercurial mind-set, he tells me at Rough Trade.

It includes some contemplative classical and punk rock like the Undertones, Stiff Little Fingers, and the Sex Pistols.

“Ironically,” he says with a smile. “fuck-the-patriarchy, fuck-the-monarchy stuff.”

In his own life, Glynn-Carney makes “lyrically driven, quite folky” music, citing Tame Impala, Bon Iver, and, of course, Garvey as influences.

He grabs a copy of Jeff Buckley’s Grace because he’s worn down his current edition from listening to it so much. He treats Chet Baker’s 1959 album Chet gently, like a holy object, when he tells me he’d love to play the cool jazz musician in a biopic one day.

“There she is,” he says, as if greeting an old friend, when he sees Patti Smith’s Radio Ethiopia.

“Anyone who says they don’t like music, you can’t trust them. Bodies under the floorboards, isn’t it?” he says.

OLIVIA COOKE TALKING ABOUT TOM GLYNN-CARNEY'S ACTING STYLE.

His acting style is instinctual, a function of his theater training that feels particularly well suited to Aegon’s own impulsiveness.

When filming their first scene on the show together, Glynn-Carney encouraged Cooke to actually slap him in the face:

“The first go, I did it really haphazardly. I only caught his chin with my fingertips, because I was too nervous. And he was like, ‘No, Olivia, just, like, really go for it. Just really go for it.’

“I went for it, and the ringing sound that came from the slap reverberated all through the Red Keep. Tears are springing to his eyes and his chin is wobbling.”

SPOILERS!! S2.

OLIVIA COOKE TALKING ABOUT A SCENE OF AEGON AND ALICENT IN S2.

In a scene they share in season two during which Aegon grieves the loss of a relative:

“He was throwing himself around the room in just the throes of despair. It sort of took me out of the scene a bit. I was like, Bloody hell, Tom’s doing well.”

ABOUT THE PERSONALITY OF KING AEGON II.

“massively bipolar.”

That emotional volatility, fueled by shame, guilt, and an obsessive need to prove himself, becomes a major driver of this season’s increasing bloodshed and brutality.

“Aegon wants to be loved and feared at the same time. But I think it’s a dangerous cycle.”

“We’re not going to get to the core of what’s going on. We’re just going to go round and round and round and round and round until everything burns and everyone’s dead."

ABOUT HIS SCENES WITH RHYS IFANS IN S2.

One of his favorite days on set this season reminded him of the live energy of performing onstage.

They were shooting episode two, when Aegon challenges his grandfather Otto’s decisions and remains steely and resolute in response to Otto’s insults:

“I’ve always wanted to do a play with Rhys, and that felt like the closest thing I’ll get to it for a while.”

“It was an empty set, a big room, like a stage. We were allowed complete free rein of the space.”

TALKING ABOUT HIS FAMILY.

He came from a creatively inclined family: His paternal grandparents were an opera singer and a choirmaster, and his mother sewed all the costumes for his sister’s ballroom and Latin dance competitions.

They were supportive of his acting dreams, he says, but urged a plan B — a suggestion he rejected:

“I remember being so precocious and being like, ‘If I have a plan B, I’m preemptively failing it.’ My mom probably thought, Little dickhead.”

“I always had my eyes on the prize, and sometimes you’ve just got to be like that, haven’t you?.”

[marshgremlin]

Banner credit @grugems on tumblr. Banner id: a cartoon style drawing of Sasappis, Flower and Pete from CBS Ghosts walking through a forest. They are all smiling to each other, and Pete appears to be talking excitedly. Around them are cartoon stars and butterflies. The lighting is warm. End id.

Pfp credit @potatolord on picrew. Pfp id: a picrew of me. I have long straight black hair worn in two braids. i am wearing a yellow hoodie, red hat and sunglasses. i am smiling

gif credit: unknown creator on pinterest.

about me: my name is Chesney. I use he/him pronouns and I am 24 (minors can interact if you want but remember I'm an adult). I have ADHD, anxiety, OCD, chronic pain, you name it. I will complain about it. I'm also Cheyenne!

some things i like: this is definitely a multifandom blog. i like going on walks, nature, video games, the color yellow, horror novels, many different aesthetics, collecting rocks, fashion, '80s music, sketching, obscure animals, bird-watching, pirating whatever niche media takes my fancy, world history, webweaving etc

I tag stuff pretty consistently, so here are my most used tags: #chesney 🦅 - all my original posts. there is a story behind that tag i promise.

#fave - my favorite posts. only the most carefully curated Chesney favored posts here

#important - posts about important world issues

#useful - posts for useful life hacks

#nature - photographs of nature

#art - non fandom related art. pretty self explanatory

#history - historical facts

I also tag all fandom posts with the name of the show/book/film. if you're following me for fandom stuff then you can search my blog

I tag all trigger warnings as 'tw x'. Ask me to tag for specific triggers.

sideblogs: @turtlefog, @a-friendly-xenomorph (yeah i'm only invested in weird and dark and strange aesthetics)

gif credit @mienar on pinterest.

Ps here's a rat my friend gave me!

[knowyourbmovieactors]

OCTOBER HORROR MOVIES (DVD EDITION) #4

SHUTTER

OCTOBER HORROR MOVIES (DVD EDITION) #4 SHUTTER

After the success of "The Ring" and "The Grudge", movie producers were desperate to secure the rights to that next great Japanese vengeful ghost story that they could thoroughly water down with an American remake. One set of producers snapped up the 2004 film "Shutter", which had been a number one box office smash in its home country… of Thailand. OK, so it's not a Japanese original, but we're pretty confident an American audience won't notice the subtle cultural differences as long as it's set in America and features nothing but pretty blonde people. But, you know what? Let's get Masayuki Ochiai on board to direct. With a Japanese director known in his own country for doing spooky supernatural stuff, that should at least give it that good ol' "Ringu" flavor, right? What's that? He wants to cast Megumi Okina from "Ju-On" (the original Japanese version of "The Grudge"). OK, I guess that's doable. The rest of the cast can still be a bunch of pretty Americans doing all their vengeful ghost stuff in America… What's that? He's not comfortable shooting in America, because he doesn't speak English very well? Um…

And that, friends, is how we get the 2008 version of "Shutter": an American adaptation of a Thai film shot in Japan. (And what the hell, let's cast a Tasmanian actor in one of the leads while we're at it.) The world is now truly flat.

The resulting film is OK, if a little too long. It's a pretty standard vengeful ghost story, in the tradition of "The Ring" and "The Grudge". In this case, the twist is that the aforementioned vengeful ghost lets its presence be known through the medium of spirit photography, i.e. blurry white marks on photos that could have just as easily been caused by any number of picture-taking mistakes, but which people immediately attribute to ghosts. In our story, the newlywed American couple relocates to Japan. Husband is a professional photographer who got a high profile job through a couple of old buddies who work over there. Wife is wife. We get one line where she mentions she's certified to teach 6th grade English, but other than that we get no hint that she has any kind of job or identity outside of her husband. He has previously worked in Japan and speaks the language. She has not and does not.

It's actually a pretty good metaphor for a woman trapped in an abusive relationship. She's been cut off from her friends and family. The only information she can get from her surroundings has to be filtered through her husband. His old buddies in Japan are douchey frat-bro expats from America, and you get the hint that he used to behave just like them. Between the way the camera frames his interactions with every pretty woman in his vicinity and the fact that all his photo shoots seem to revolve around Western fetishized depictions of Japanese women, it paints the picture of a guy who's got more than a few little Asian fantasies dancing around in his head that she wasn't aware of. She has no job, no friends, and no way to way to support herself aside from this guy who is hanging out more and more red flags every day.

And of course, there's the ghost that's stalking them through photographs. As the supernatural stuff becomes increasingly difficult to ignore or explain away, Mr. Photographer Husband is forced to dribble out more and more information about his past, none of which looks very good for him. The ghost wriggles her way through the scene, pale faced, with long, lanky black hair, in scenes very reminiscent of "Ringu" and "Ju-On". The dirtbag bros get their comeuppance, the wife is freed, and the ghost--while not exactly put to rest--gets what she wants. It's alright. By the time "Shutter" was released in 2008, the novelty of this particular sub-genre had worn off in America, and the movie doesn't really up the ante in any way. Still, a decently solid film.

THINGS I LEARNED FROM THE DVD EXTRAS This DVD that I bought (the "UNRATED DIRECTOR'S CUT EDITION") has almost as much in special features as it does in actual movie. There was no way I was going to watch all of them, but here are some highlights: -In the "Inside the Lens" featurette, a lot of non-Japanese people talk very confidently about how Japanese ghosts are different from Western ghosts. (There is one short clip of a Japanese "expert" in spirit photography who seems, frankly, quite bored) Very few of them mention the fact that this is actually adapted from a Thai movie. -There is a short feature about the history of spirit photography, which is absolutely riddled with factual errors; not least of which being their failure to mention that the first guy to "discover" spirit photography was very publicly outed as a fraudster. -Immediately after the short telling you how spirit photographs are totally real, there is another short that teaches you how to fake one with Photoshop. Both of these shorts are narrated by the same guy.

[agnoia-moved]

nikki has a couple of little things that she carries with her. first is her cross necklace that her friend angel gave her. she wears it when she feels especially distressed, otherwise it’s kept in a worn ring box in her backpack. she also has an old altoid tin that she uses as a wallet / storage container. inside is usually a film canister, chapstick, a little bit of money, her id, some bobby pins / ponytails, and a picture of her and angel. she also has a journal that is absolutely packed with all kinds of stuff. she has a tendency to glue things to the pages that make her happy, paperclips holding news articles, photographs, etc. it’s basically just a collage of stuff mixed with journal entries and various mixed media projects she’s working on. she does blackout poetry as well as more traditional poetry. this journal is not for anyone’s eyes. certain pages may be posted to her blog, but the journal itself is meant to be untouched by other human hands. ( images under the cut )

[sexintheatx-blog]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: ● S O L D ● VINTAGE AVIREX JACKET.

[karunanadar]

Reply for @emelinecormier

Emmy couldn’t help the questions that swirled around in her head and inevitably fell out of her mouth direction at the other; curiosity about design elements or the history behind them. Her friends fascination intrigued her, the woman speaking with a passion she recognized, one she felt every time she successfully created a new dish or found a fun kitchen toy to experiment with. Though she wasn’t so skilled with interior design, her own apartment very lackluster when it came to decor, she could still recognize passion in someone’s eyes when she saw it. “So we’re looking for cameras, got it.” She nodded her head, reassuring the other that she’d taken in everything she had said before her brow furrowed and she spoke up again. “Wait, so cameras for decoration? What makes them decoration and not just like... a camera?” Emmy couldn’t help but think of her newfound girlfriend, the photographer, and wondered if an old camera for decoration would be something she could surprise her with, make her feel more included in her new apartment even.

"That...is a fantastic question, and I'm so glad you asked it." For a moment, Karuna paused to run her fingers over an old china doll. It was a little worn, mostly in the hair and some spots where the paint had rubbed off, but still lovely and obviously hand crafted. "Take this doll for example. It's no less a doll, but it doesn't quite keep with the demand of modern dolls meant to be played with, ya know. That's how it is with the cameras. Most of the ones we might find here are usable if you got film for them or made sure their insides worked okay. But no one is really using film cameras anymore, it's all digital. That's the content and the supplies that are current and available and expected. Which means the other cameras, even if in working condition...they're just nostalgia and eye candy for people who are passionate about antiques or cameras." This particular shop was a bit of a hodge podge mess of disorganization and they'd somehow gone from dolls and shelf items to several racks of clothing items. "I had a friend once who loved to make stuff out of antiques. She took a lens from an old camera and literally fashioned it into a coffee mug. It was cute as hell. People...we just cling to nostalgia ya know. How things were done in the past, what we grew up with."

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Goldrush (Taylor Sloane/ Reader)

Hello everyone!

Venturing out from Wanda/ Leigh to provide you all with, drum roll please... fluff! Taylor Sloane fluff to be specific! Loosely inspired by Taylor Swift's "Goldrush".

Summary: Social media influencer were shallow. You couldn't stand them... So why were you letting this one get close to you?

It took all you had to bite back the groan of annoyance when you stepped foot on the beach. Your little hideaway had been discovered and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to find peace there ever again if it was going to be full of all these shallow ‘influencers’.

“Nothing is sacred anymore.” You mumbled to yourself as you carefully pulled out your vintage Olympus OM-1. Your most prized possession.

As you began to prepare the film a commotion caught your attention. You turned your head to see someone approach a small group of obnoxiously loud people. It looked like the person was asking to take a picture with a blonde in the group. The sight immediately lost your interest as you turned your attention back to your film.

You were scouting to see if you would be using this location for your future photoshoots. That was your priority. Not the obnoxious people who wanted attention.

Carefully brushing away the sand, you wandered over to a manmade trail of rocks that lead out into the serene ocean. The sun gleamed brightly on the water and tinged it with an ethereal glow. A beautiful sight if you slowed down long enough to take it in. You kneeled so you were at eye level with the rocks, aligning the camera so it was could capture the sight, the cold water gently lapping against the soles of your worn-out converse.

Just as you had set up the shot a sharp cough made you jump, almost making you drop your camera into the water. The interruption alone made you clench your jaw in annoyance as you turned to find the source of the sound. Your eyes meeting with the blonde from earlier, a fake smile on her face. It was clear she was one of those ‘influencers’.

Beautiful but empty. An illusion of beauty.

“Can I help you?” You mumbled.

The plastic smile never wavered. “You’re a photographer.” You stared at her blankly, waiting for the question. “Can you take a picture for me and my friends? We’d ask someone else, but you’d probably be a little better.”

“Sure.” You eventually replied flatly, taking the phone she held out. The group arranged themselves against the light, so they’d all be washed out, but you didn’t say anything. That wasn’t your problem.

As soon as you lifted the phone they all stopped bickering and began laughing as if they had just heard the funniest joke . Several peace signs showing up among the group.

Fake, you thought to yourself as you took the photo. You then handed the phone back to the blonde, fiddling with the strap of your camera that was slung across your chest.

The woman immediately handed the phone back to you, making you furrow your brows in confusion. “We’re washed out. Do you mind taking it again, but like… better? Maybe try getting lower.” You bristled at the comment. The charming smile she flashed you was something you were certain got her whatever she wanted.

You almost denied the request just for the satisfaction. “Sure.” You mumbled again, crouching ever so slightly to take the picture again.

“Do you mind getting lower?” She questioned.

Before you could stop yourself, you made a face. “What? Like in the sand?”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect! Thanks.” You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the sarcastic comment that was threatening to fall from your lips. As you kneeled down in the sand you heard her whisper to her friends. “It’s cute, an amateur photographer being able to take pictures for me. She’s probably just nervous.”

The comment made your blood boil. That was the issue with all these influencers. They thought they were god’s gift to the world. That’s why you refused to work with them.

Without paying any attention, you took the picture and marched over to the woman. “Just so you know, I have no idea who you are. Have a nice day.” You said in an overly cheery voice, shoving the phone back into her hands.

The woman sputtered slightly in surprise, but before she could say anything you hurried away, clutching the strap of your camera tightly. You needed to find new places to shoot at.

_________________

As much as you tried to avoid all the places that the social media influencers went, you couldn’t help but go to this small café that they had infiltrated. It was on the edge of the coast, close enough that the ocean breeze swept through your hair as you read by the open window.

You had become such a fixture in the shop that the owners had come to expect you at least twice a week. Today was no different as you absently picked at the chocolate croissant that the owners granddaughter had eagerly given you.

Even the little girl had become familiar with your presence (mainly because you let her play with your older cameras when you were around).

Just as you were about to turn the page, the stillness of the café was interrupted by the sounds of exaggerated laughter. You refused to look up, you knew the type. They’d be gone as soon as they got their pictures anyway.

“Excuse me?”

You looked up to see two women standing before you, one the blonde from the beach. You were surprised to see she actually looked a bit uncomfortable when she saw it was you. “Yes?” You replied, placing a finger in your book so you wouldn’t lose your place.

“Do you mind switching places with us? This spot would make a better picture.” The other woman batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.

You couldn’t help but smile in disbelief. “You know what? Sure.”

The squeal that came from the other woman’s lips made you wince. “Perf! Let’s go get our stuff, Tay.” The other woman walked off as you turned to gather your things, it was time to leave. You had a photoshoot early the next morning anyway.

“What are you reading?”

Not looking up, you began packing your things into your backpack. “Middlemarch by George Elliot.” You replied. As much as you were sure this woman was vapid, you didn’t want to be rude. Even if the aftermath of her comment still prickled under your skin.

“What’s it about?”

Curiosity got the better of you as you finally turned to face her, eyeing her skeptically. “It’s about marriage, idealism, self-interest, hypocrisy, political reform… It’s a masterpiece in my humble opinion.”

The woman’s eyebrows raised interestedly. “You sound passionate about it.” You shrugged. It was your favorite book, but she didn’t need to know that. “My names Taylor.” The same charming smile she wore on the beach made a reappearance and you tilted your head in response, not impressed.

“Y/n.” You supplied.

There was a brief moment of silence in the air, Taylor’s smile wavered slightly. “About the beach, I think I came off as kind of a bi-”

“Tay! Let’s take a pic of our coffee. The beach in the background will be adorbs.” The other woman interrupted. “Do you mind?” She asked you, gesturing to the space you were standing in front of.

You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. “Not at all. It’s all yours.”

As you passed Taylor you made eye contact, she looked like she wanted to say something, but you had already walked away. Playfully you ruffled the hair of the owner’s granddaughter on the way out. You were so occupied by the way the young girl eagerly showed you the pictures she took that you didn’t notice the eyes that were watching you with interest.

_____________________

The movement around you faded as you focused on the controlled chaos that surrounded you, the people all living their own lives. Your fingers itched to capture these unsuspecting moments of beauty. Of the elderly couple holding hands on a walk, of the two friends laughing over a picture they had just taken, of the children playing catch with their dog. Of- your peace was interrupted when someone stepped into your line of vision.

You fought the urge to groan. “Are you following me?”

Taylor raised the bag in her hand, smiling slightly. “No. I was actually on my way home from the farmers market.” You squinted at her slightly, unsure of what that had to do with you. “I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

“What makes you say that?” Your paused slightly. “Do you think it’s because I’m an amateur photographer that’s nervous to be around you?” You asked with a mocking pout.

Her face flushed. “I didn’t mean to sound so…”

“Stuck up?” You offered flatly.

Taylor nodded slowly. “I swear I’m not… that type of person.”

You chuckled as you began packing your things. “Yeah, for some reason I don’t buy that.” When you stood you noticed how close she was to you. Your breath faltered slightly because you were certain you’d never seen eyes more beautiful in your life. “Why do you care? You don’t even know me.” You grumbled stepping around her.

Her footsteps followed you as she fell into step beside you. “I don’t know, you seem different than anyone I know.” You huffed in amusement. That was probably certain. “Let me show you I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

“You see, as intrigued as I am by that offer I think I’ll pass. I’ve seen your type.” You quipped, glancing at her out of the corner of your eyes. “I have an amateur shoot that I need to get to anyway.”

She groaned. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?” You shook your head. There was a brief pause. “Can I have your number?”

A short chuckle fell from your lips. “Seriously?”

Taylor nodded and held out her phone. “Get coffee with me this weekend and I’ll prove you wrong.”

You had to admit, the persistence was admirable, you’d even say cute. “Fine.” You took the phone and put in your number. “I really have to go.”

“See you this weekend. Same café on the coast.” Taylor said as you turned to leave.

_______________

When you arrived at the café you were greeted with warm smiles as the owner offered you a tea, and raised eyebrows when you requested two. You rolled your eyes at the suggestive waggle of eyebrows you received as you walked the teas over to a table in the corner.

Glancing down at your watch, you couldn’t help but frown. 12:05. It was five minutes passed the agreed upon meeting time.

A sigh fell from your lips when another fifteen minutes passed. You mentally berated yourself for allowing yourself to hope she wouldn’t be what you thought she was. Not even a moment later you heard the chime of the bell, indicating someone had entered.

Like a whirlwind, Taylor came rushing in just as you stood to leave. “Y/n.” She hurried over to the table. “There was an accident and they stopped the freeway. Like… completely stopped it. We literally just sat there for twenty minutes. I was supposed to be here at 11:50.”

Despite yourself you couldn’t help but be amused. “Taylor.” Her eyes were still a bit wide when she met your gaze. You enjoyed the authentic emotion she was showing. “It’s fine.”

“I’m not making a good impression, am I?”

You shrugged playfully as you took a seat again, Taylor taking the seat opposite of you. “You could be doing worse.”

Taylor pushed a hand through her hair. “That’s not very reassuring.”

Again, you shrugged. “I never said I was trying to reassure you.”

For a moment she just stared at you then burst out laughing. You couldn’t help but duck your head at the sound. “I’m glad you aren’t. It’s refreshing.” She admitted when her laughter faded away.

“What? Honesty?” You chuckled as she nodded. “I hate to break it to you, but if authenticity is refreshing, you should probably reevaluate the people you surround yourself with.”

Her hands fiddled with the tea cup that you slid over to her. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be contrarians.” She retorted back.

Her words peaked your interest, you raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me out?”

The smirk on her lips made you fidget in your seat. “How’s it feel to be on the other end?”

You nodded approvingly. “Touché, Taylor... Touché.”

“I read that book you told me about. The Middlemarch?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “I liked it.”

For some reason you couldn’t help but feel skeptical. “Did you really like it?”

Taylor nodded. “Yes, I did!”

“Okay.” You accepted her words as you took a sip of your tea. “Why?”

The woman sitting across from you faltered slightly. “Why?” She repeated back to you.

Your brows furrowed. “Yeah... Why did you like it?”

For a moment you watched in amusement as Taylor looked around the café as if it would hold the answers she was searching for. “I liked the characters?”

The response came out in the form of a question and you couldn’t help but feel entertained. “You know, you don’t have to pretend around me.”

Taylor’s cheeks flushed, seemingly bothered by you not believing her. “Okay. I hated it.”

You couldn’t help the boisterous laugh that fell from your lips. “That’s better!” You exclaimed. “Tell me why.”

“It’s just so pretentious and dull. I thought my eyes would fall from their sockets if I had to read another page.” She admitted flatly, her eyes shimmering with confusion when you smiled back at her.

“That’s what I like to hear!” You said encouragingly.

Taylor let out a disbelieving laugh. “What? I just insulted your favorite book.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “I know. It’s amazing.”

“You can’t be serious.” She mumbled suspiciously.

You leaned across the table slightly. “I am, and you know why? Because you’re finally being authentic.” Silence. “Look, Taylor, you don’t have to like this book because it’s my favorite or because it would make your followers think you're intriguing if you did. Ignore what everyone else is telling you to think because none of it matters. The way I see it is, you can lie and pretend to like what everyone says you should like and be miserable OR…”

Taylor leaned forward a bit as well. “Or?”

You smiled. “Or you can be honest and say when you hate something and talk about what you love instead… and be happy.”

Taylor’s breath hitched slightly and for a moment she just stared back at you. “Show me.”

“Show you what?” you questioned curiously.

“Show me how you see the world.”

For a moment you considered her words, your heart racing in your chest. “Well let’s start with this small little coastal town.” The invitation was wordless as you stood and offered her your hand.

Her hand twitched for a moment as if she was silently debating with herself. The smile she gave you when she finally took your hand took your breath away. You rolled your eyes at the way the owners watch you walk out of the shop hand-in-hand.

________________

“Babe.” Taylor whined quietly.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. Smirking when you finally processed the word. After dating for a few weeks the term of endearment was new. “Babe you say?” You teased lightly.

Her cheeks flushed red. “When I asked you to take a picture of me, I meant with my phone not on film.” She mumbled, ignoring your question.

You decided you wouldn’t comment on it.

Just like you wouldn’t comment on the way she’d develop the film herself just like you taught her. You wouldn’t comment on the way she'd smile when they developed just right. You wouldn't comment when she would say how much better the picture looked on film… And you definitely wouldn’t comment on how endearing you found every single thing she did either.

“Taylor, everything looks-”

“Better on film.” She finished with a playful eyeroll. “I know. You probably tell me that mmm… at least once a day.”

Laughing quietly, you held the camera up to your eye, so you could focus the shot. “Only once a day? I’m going to need to step it up.”

Taylor shook her head lightly, her eyes twinkling from your antics and her lips forming into the beginnings of a genuine smile. You took the shot.

That was an authentic Taylor. No peace signs and fake smiles. The real Taylor was all twinkling eyes and crooked smiles. You had never seen a more beautiful sight.

And when she wandered over to press her lips tenderly against yours, you were sure you’d never felt anything more beautiful either.

__________________

Taylor surprised you. And you fell for her. Fast.

Four months with her and you were certain you were ruined for anyone else.

She was something your heart had never expected.

“Babe?’ you hummed distractedly. “Babe!”

You blinked rapidly, refocusing on the world around you. “Yes?”

Taylor’s laugh drifted into your ears and you smiled at the sound. “I was asking if you’ve seen my Eagles shirt?”

“It was hanging on the door.” You mumbled. “Wait. Don’t you mean my Eagles shirt?”

She pecked your lips to avoid answering. “Thanks, babe!” Taylor winked and ran over to the door, pulling the shirt over her head. “Anything on the agenda for the day?”

You began getting dressed. “I have a photoshoot where they’re giving me complete creative freedom. Then I’m meeting with my manager since I have a few more offers to shoot a couple different things.”

A soft noise of excitement fell from her lips. “Everybody wants you.” She padded across the room, her arms draping around your shoulders. “And I have you.”

The smile on both your faces made it almost impossible to kiss, but you didn’t let that stop you.

_________________

The movement around you faded out as you looked over your camera, feeding the film into the machine serenely. You had no idea who you were shooting today, but the company who booked you was very eager to work with you and let you have complete creative freedom. Complete creative freedom meant film for you. Not digital. The thought alone excited you. “She’s here. Are you ready?”

You looked up at your assistant after you were sure your camera was ready. “Did they water the rose bush?”

“Yes. I still don’t understand why you wanted a rose bush. We’re in the middle of a desert.” Your assistant mumbled.

“Double vision in a rose bush. An illusion… Because of the dessert. The beauty is an illusion?” You explained, rolling your eyes when you saw your assistant bite back a smile. “Shut up. Where’s this person?”

A small tap on your shoulder answered your question. “Looking for me?”

When you turned around you were met with the sight of a playful smirk on familiar lips. You squinted at her teasingly, hiding the surprise of seeing your girlfriend here. “Are you following me?”

“You’re the infamous photographer that this company was telling me about?” Taylor questioned back at you, feigning confusion.

You sent her a sarcastic smile. “No. I’m just an amateur that’s here to take pictures of you. I’m so nervous to be working with you!” You said mockingly.

Taylor groaned, the act falling away almost immediately. “That was a year ago. Before we even started dating! Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Hmm…” You pretended to think, your finger on your chin. “Nope.” You quipped back, popping your lips on the word.

You began walking away, smiling slightly when you saw Taylor fall into step beside you. “Maybe I’m nervous to work with you.” She said softly, taking your hand in her own and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “After all, everybody wants you.”

“What a coincidence because I will only ever want you.” Before you reached the set-up, you turned to face her, pressing your forehead lightly against hers. “Tell me about something that makes you happy.”

Her soft breath fanned over your lips and the smile she sent you made your cheeks flush. “Well... She hates the sand but loves the beach. She practically lives on the coast she’s there so often. I sometimes need to call her out on her contrarian shit, but… I’ll never find a love as pure as her.” Her words were quiet, but sincere. Authentic. “Tell me about something you love.”

“She loves to sing to songs on the radio even if she doesn’t know the words, she dances like a goof when she’ s drunk, but she claims she doesn’t when she’s sober. Hmm… She steals my clothes.” Taylor giggled, and you couldn’t help but smile. “And more importantly, she’s also stolen my heart.” You mumbled, her lips connecting with yours almost as soon as the word left your mouth.

After a moment you pulled away, noticing your assistant walk up to you both. You turned to face her. “Never mind about what I said earlier. This beauty isn’t an illusion... and she never will be.”

That's all folks! And you all thought I couldn't write happy endings. Well, anyway, I hope you all enjoyed since this is fairly different from what I usually write.

Please let me know what you think because as always, thoughts and comments are always welcome!

P.s. Should I make a general tag list?

(P.p.s. if the Gerri stealers are reading this... rude.)

[wizkiddx]

Not sure if you are taking request at all but if you do, do you mind writing something about Harry agreeing to be the birth photographer at the birth of his niece (tom and reader’s daughter) 🥺🤍

this was so interesting!! personally I am way too self conscious to have a photographer when I *eventually* have a kid aha, but I hope this is what u were looking for x x p.s. coming at my brand w the white hearts :)

tomholland x reader

summary: harry gets terrified by toms request about the birth of his child, but the reader smoothes it over

Having just had a round of golf with Harry, Tom invited him back to yours for a cuppa and a catch up too. After all the years of living and travelling with Harry by his side, Harry in particular was massively important to TOm. Especially since he’d moved in with you, Tom constantly made a super special effort to spend as much time with him as possible. Harry had a key and had no quam with letting himself in uninvited. Though since he had walked in at *the wrong time* a bit too frequently, and then the announcement of your pregnancy - he had cut down the unexpected visits.

“So, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“This does not sound good” Harry furrowed his eyebrows together, looking suspiciously at his brother as he poured the kettle into the two matching ‘Brothers Trust’ mugs.

“Since when? I only ever ask you to do good things?”

“We both absolutely know that is not true.” Harry deadpanned, pointing to the palm of his right hand which carried a large scar. Scar in question had been sustained during one of Tom’s incredibly ‘good’ aka stupid ideas.

“Right fair… I’ll allow that.” He receeded, placing the two mugs onto the counter in front of Harry. All it took was one look at the pale brown colour for Harry to turn his nose up, shooting Tom a look as though he’d just murdered a puppy. The elder of the two sighed, knowing exactly what his brothers snobbiness was about.

“Seriously?”

“It’s not your fault your awful at this, some people just aren’t born with it.” With a sarky pat on the back Harry rounded the counter, pouring the freshly brewed but slightly too milky tea down the drain - before flicking the kettle on to make his own brew… properly this time.

Tom knew his brother well enough to know not to argue or protest, instead perching on the counter as he watched Harry work his ‘magic’.

“But seriously me and Y/n have been talking about the birth cos you know, it’s not too far away now.” This was true, you were now only 3 weeks from your due date - but going by the size of you, you were ready to pop. Quite literally, you didn't know how much longer you could last.

“I’d be concerned if you weren’t mate.”

“Well yeh and I basically um …  had the idea to get a photographer for the birth right? It’s quite an American thing but I don’t want to forget anything and I’m sure it’s gonna be magical.” In response, Harry slowly turned around, empty mug in hand and eyes fierce.

“Are you fucking stupid?!”

To be fair to Harry, that had pretty much been your reaction when Tom first suggested it - word for word. He’d got the idea from one of the crew he’d filmed his most recent projects with, the guy had been raving about how beautiful it was and once he’d shown the pictures to Tom - he had to agree. Eventually Tom had worn you down to it and actually the idea of being able to save the moment you met your kid for the first time didn’t sound too bad. You had firmly set the boundaries of no photos of your ‘labour face’ and absolutely nothing from the ‘other end of the bed.’

The worry for both of you, as it always was given Tom’s reputation, was privacy. Especially the birth of your child, having a stranger there had you straight refusing, even a friend seemed still a little invasive. It was only when Tom had remembered he had a brother (who you were also incredibly close to) who was handy with a camera. Even if he had no experience with this particular type of photography, Harry was a pretty safe pair of hands for a camera in any situation. God knows he’s had enough practice at it.

“No hear me out, Y/n agreed too-“

“Of course this was your idea! So she’s totally fine with me staring at her fanny through a camera lens?”

“Harry” That was a warning tone, which the frizzy haired boy chose to completely ignore.

“No I-I mean, you want me to stare at your finances bits? Isn’t that some sort of weird incsest?”

“Shut the fuck up about Y/n’s body. You OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t be taking photos of that end, more like when the baby gets handed to us you know?”

“When its covered in gunk that came out of Y/n?”

“I’m pretty sure they clean it-“

“Not properly!”

Thankfully perhaps, the conversation was interrupted by the kettle clicking off, the water coming to a boil. With a huff Harry turned round, pouring and then stirring the tea as Tom watched his back from a distance. Neither spoke till after Harry finished, returning the milk to the fridge and then leaning against the counter top.

“Look I get it if you dont want to but your the only one Y/n trusts to do it and it means a lot to me.”

“Y/n wants me to stare at her fanny?!”

“No calm down you div. But you are the only one she trusts to be in the room when our first child is born. Will you just think about it?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, probably protest, but before he could the front door opened and you called through the house.

“Tom? I’m home!” And becasue the boy was whipped he instantly trotted to the front door giving you a peck on your lips. He murmured to you that Harry was there, his lips moving against yours and you nodded with a small smile. You knew, instantly, that Tom in all his idiocy hadn’t handled it well.

“Would you mind getting all the shopping from car? Pregnant and all, so I’m not allowed to lift a finger.” You cocked your head, laughing as he rolled his eyes with a nod.

“I’m excited for when you can't play that card.”

“But then I’ll be the women who pushed a baby out for you… the mother of your child.”  Winking, you then quickly moved through the house before he could protest, just knowing he was pulling a pouty face as he watched you sway away.

Once in the kitchen you saw Harry nursing his mug like it was the last drink on earth, hunched over it from where he was sitting on a stool on the breakfast bar.

“ You lose at golf?” Opening the conversation, Harry instantly shot his head up, looking slightly terrified to see you.

“Wha- no, no I didn’t actually.”

“Tom asked you huh?” He nodded, seemingly not wanting to commit with words. “I had exactly the same face when he first told me. It’s weird right?”

“Yeh no shit.”

“He’s really keen on it though, I mean he’s like an excited puppy about the whole birth.”

“But you want it too?”

“Sort of. What I do want is for him to be happy though. And I’m fairly certain he’s gonna be terrified throughout the whole birth while I won’t be in a position to help himl.”

“You’ll probably have other stuff on your mind to be fair.” You laughed, at that, nodding in agreement with him.

“Just a little. I did think though, who is a person who I can trust to look after him too during that... and even I draw a line at your dad… Look if you don't want to, I totally get it and I can’t promise that I won’t be screaming at you during if you do. But it would comfort me to know you were there, with or without the bloody camera.”

“Seriously?” Rather than exclaiming it, Harry whispered in shock, not expecting this sort of a revelation.

“Course H! You're my little brother too.”

“I might pass out.”

“So will your brother, at least he won’t be on his own then.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Thnakyouthankyouthankyou!” You squealed, running over to hug him from the back, arms round his shoulders as he squirmed on the stool.

It was at this point Tom walked back in after unloading the ridiculous amount of baby clothes shopping you had done. Big strong Tom had to take 2 trips up and down the stairs to the nursery. Of course, all it took was a few words from you and Harry was falling at your feat. He was hardly surprised. Annoyingly you seemed to have this power over all the Hollands. They never stood a chance.

It wasn’t till later than evening, long since Harry had left and the dishwasher had been put on after Tom had made a mess cooking you dinner. Only then did your phone ping with a text message from Sam.

Sam H

‘I dont know what you’ve done to Harry but I’m scared, he’s binge watching one born every minute.’

Immediately you cracked up, knowing that it was his nervous energy and need to ‘be prepared’. Tom, who was lying behind you on the sofa whilst his hands caressing your stomach, jerked his head up intrigued as the what the ‘ding’ was. You showed him and he snorted in laughter too, whilst nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“How did you bring him round by the way?”

“Oh you know, I’ve got all of you wrapped round my little finger when I want.”

“That you do… do you think I should be worried?”

“Nah your just all softies.” Laughing softly, you pulled his arms tighter around you, wiggling back into him a bit more.”

“You didn’t tell him about the godparent thing though?”

“Course not… we can give him a separate heart attack about that.”

[doublekrecs]

More than Friends

Spencer Reid x Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer have gotten closer after that night of studying, pizza, and a little more. But could there be more growing between the two of you than just sex?

Warnings: smut, oral sex (female receiving), p in v action, risky pictures, fluffy ending!

a/n: Uh oh the feelings train has arrived at the station. Nothing sad I promise. I'm glad you guys liked the first installment and I’m excited to be writing my first mini series. As alway enjoy!

Part 1

It was almost spring break, you and Spencer had been going at it like bunny rabbits since January. Speaking of which, that's what you were doing at the moment. You had helped him gain a little more confidence in himself through the ‘lessons’ which were more you both just trying new things you haven't done before and ruining every piece of furniture in your dorms. 

Ever since you taught Spencer how to properly eat you out he’s been feasting on you like his last meal. He’s taken his time to learn what you like and dislike, paying attention to what moves have you gasping and moaning little louder. You were currently spread out on the bathroom counter. Flowy sundress scrunched around your waist as he was on his knees drinking you up like water in the desert. 

One of your hands was tugging at his hair causing him to moan in your heat, bringing you more pleasure. His right hand was pumping two fingers inside you, curling to reach the spot that made you whimper. The other hand was holding your thigh open to stop it from closing around his head. Even though he’d love nothing more than to die between your legs. 

“Fuck Spence I’m so close baby,” you mewled grinding your hips on his face. His lips wrapped around your clit and fingers sped up their pace, making your orgasm wash over you. He slowed down slightly to help bring you down slowly. Feeling too sensitive you stopped his hand and pulled him up for a deep kiss. Moaning at the taste of him and yourself on his lips. 

He pulled away and you chased his slips slightly placing another quick kiss.

“Well that was one hell of a greeting,” you giggled, stepping down to fix yourself up in the mirror. 

His arms instantly wrapped around you, chin resting on your head. “Yeah well I like dessert before dinner sometimes,” he said smirking. 

You pushed him off before reaching for your makeup bag to add some finishing touches. “Well if you plan on actually going to dinner then leave me alone so I can get ready,” you said playfully scolding and pointing a mascara wand at him.

He raised his arms in surrender and turned to wait on the couch. Picking up one of the many spare books he left at your place. 

_

To say you guys had gotten close was an understatement. He had honestly turned into your best friend and you guys spent a lot more time together. There were many sleepless nights spent at each other's dorms and not just for sexy times. You stayed up learning everything about one another. Childhood memories to favorite films and biggest fears. He told you about his mom and his life growing up. Then you told him about yours, both shedding a few tears. That night as you fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms you knew it was different. 

There wasn’t much said about your growing closeness but it was mutually accepted and welcomed. Petnames grew outside of the bedroom. It was normal for you guys to slip a “babe” or “sweetheart” somewhere in conversation. Same with holding hands, Spencer had mentioned he had a thing with germs but he made an exception for you and always found comfort in holding your hand when walking down the street or being cuddled up on the couch. 

Even your professor had noticed. Besides noticing the improvement in your grade due to the study sessions you'd been having with his trusty TA, the older man would smile when he saw you guys interacting. Either when you'd first enter class with two coffees in your hand, one for Spencer which would usually have post-it on the lid with a physics fact he obviously already knew. Or when you guys would leave together, he would hold your books in one arm and hold your hand with the other. 

_

The outing for tonight was to some new restaurant that opened up downtown. He opened the door for you and walked with his hand on your lower back as the hostess led you to a table. Completely ignoring you she kept her gaze on Spencer, practically the embodiment of the heart eyes emoji. He didn't seem to notice as he kept a polite smile until she walked off to bring you some waters. 

"I wonder if she noticed you're not dining alone?" you said looking up from your menu. 

"What do you mean?" he said looking confused.

You sighed, "Spence she was practically giving you the 'fuck me' eyes in front of me."

His eyes widened at the realization before clearing his throat and leaning in to whisper, "Obviously I didn't notice they don't work as good as yours." 

He comically winked which caused you to giggle just as the hostess was returning with the waters. Spencer took your hand in his rubbing this thumb over your knuckles before saying, "I think we're ready to order. Right babe?"

That sly dog. You nodded and proceded to set your orders with a now pissed off worker, biting your cheek not to laugh at the bitter look on her face. Conversation flowed like normal after a different server brought out your meals. 

"So are you going to see your mom for spring break?" 

He perked up at the thought before diving into his last conversation with his mother. He had told her a little about your relationship and sent her a polaroid of you he took while you guys went bowling. He mentioned she was doing really well this month and it was a perfect time for him to visit. 

"She says she'd want to meet you someday," he said with a little tint of pink on his cheeks. 

"From what I’ve heard she sounds so lovely. You better tell her that I'm expecting a book full of embarrassing baby pictures."

You both laughed at the thought before Spencer asked what your plans for the break were.

"I'm uh not going anywhere. My family is a lot more focused on my older siblings since they're married and have kids to take back home and visit," you said playing with the rice on your plate.

"Well there's a few days before break starts so I say we make the most of them together before I leave," he said with a large smile. 

You nodded and carried on with dinner. Afterwards you guys went on a walk through the park across campus before picking up some ice cream and making your way back to his place. 

_

Watching a movie on the couch quickly turned into a heated makeout session. Spencer now let his hands wander freely. Slipping under your dress to rub small circles on your ribs then running down to squeeze your behind. His lips traveled to your neck as he sucked faint marks and bit the skin. You let out moans at the feeling of his lips and growing erection grinding against your warm center. 

Your hand was at the nape of his neck playing with the hair that had gotten longer giving slight tugs. He pulled away and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before sitting up on his knees. 

You got up on your elbows before asking, "What's that big brain of yours thinking of?"

"I want to try something new." 

"Alright I'm all ears Spence."

He took a deep breath before spilling what he was thinking, "Would it be weird to um take pictures.."

You looked at him confused since you were sure the flip phone he carried around didn't have the best quality. He reached for his bag and pulled out his polaroid camera before he continued, "I'm uh gonna miss you when I leave, even though it's just for a week. And you always look really pretty when we do stuff."

"I'm sure I look like a dream, all sweaty and gross," you snorted. "But thank you Spencer," you smiled, "I'm ok with it as long as they're for your eyes only."

He crossed his heart and leaned back in to kiss you before pushing down the straps of your sundress. He moved away so you could push it down your legs, leaving you braless with just a pair of back undies with a lace trim. You would have worn a better set had you known about the impromptu photoshoot. 

He took a few pictures of you with your hands on your breasts. He had you sit in his lap while he shot some with one of his hands right on your ribs. And some of you spread out on the couch giving the camera lust filled eyes. That was until you both got antsy and sped into his bedroom. The camera was placed on his bedside counter and instantly forgotten with the new mission of him grabbing a condom. You laid back on the soft pillows as you watched him pump himself to hardness and slip it on. 

He crawled on the bed and made his place between your legs. You then reached over and grabbed the camera to snap a picture of your own, "Keep going."

He aligned himself with your center and pushed in a little. The stretch always making both of you gasp. Just then he heard a *click*. Out came a tiny photograph of the place where you were both connected. Setting the camera down in its place, Spencer took it as a signal to start moving. 

He leaned down so he was resting on his elbows. The close contact had you looking deep into each other's eyes. Big brown eyes were dark, just a ring of the color you loved so much visible. Your arms were wrapped under his clawing at his back. He hissed at the feeling and started to thrust into you quicker. 

Your head fell back in pleasure as your moans got louder. He was buried into the crook of your neck, you could hear and feel his heavy breathing on your shoulder. Your arms untangled from behind him as you placed your hands on his face to bring his lips to yours. It was deep and rough but there was a hint of something more there. Need? Passion?

You pulled away for air but stayed close enough that you shared the same breath. He didn't let up on his pace. You could feel every inch inside of you hitting spots you'd never felt before. He could feel your walls clenching around him signaling your incoming release. 

"I'm not gonna last much longer Y/n. I need you to cum for me sweetheart." His hand went down to rub quick circles on your clit. 

"Ah Spence I'm cumming," you gasped out connecting your lips together. 

His thrusts started faltering and you felt him spill into the condom. You disconnected from the kiss as he fell on the bed next to you. He went to discard the condom and came back to wrap you in his arms. 

Your head was resting on his chest as you traced little shapes with your fingers. You both shared the comfortable silence before he spoke up. 

"Hey I was thinking, what if you came with me to Vegas," his hand was rubbing comforting circles on your back but you stopped with your shapes. 

"I.. Spencer are you sure?", you asked sitting up to look at him. 

"Yeah why not. I don't want to leave you here alone. But maybe I can introduce you to my mom," he cleared his throat, "as my girlfriend."

You sat there in a little shock and he started to ramble, "Or maybe not. It was a dumb idea. Just ignore what I said-"

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a huge kiss. "I'd love to go! And I'd love nothing more than to be your girlfriend, genius."

You both laid back down but he quickly grabbed the camera and turned it around to face the two of you. You pressed your lips to his cheek and he put on a bright smile for the camera to capture. The little piece of film came out and you both looked like you were glowing, with more than just the fuzzy feeling after sex.

taglist

@addie5264​

[tipsydipsydo]

Touched [M]

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fluff; Smut

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff; Full Body Massage; Petnames; Praising; Body-Worshipping; Nipple Play; Fingering; Mentions of pubic Hair; kinda tantric orgasm (?); Yoongi is awfully sweet and adorable! 🤧💕

A/N: I wrote this here for my sweet Darling Sibi @borathae​ who had an incredible awful week and I just thought about how to make a little bit up for this shitty week. I love you and I hope you like it, Baby~ 🙈💖

Summary: This week was just so awful and shitty, every muscle in your body hurts and you're absolutely exhausted from this horror week. But Yoongi has an Idea to relax you and make you feel so loved in a way, that couldn't make thousands of compliments.

[Links]

▪ My own writings

▪ My Blog Navigation

「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

"Just relax. And if you don't want something, please just tell me.", Yoongi whispers in your ear as he lays you down on your stomach on the big king size bed. You just nod exhausted and worn out, really don’t want anything more than relaxation and rest.

This week had just been terrible and exhausting. You don't know why, but Mother Nature thought this week is a good week to let the temperatures reach 40°C. Exactly in the week where you no longer have lectures and therefore you have to work a 40 hours week in your side job. Not that it's bad, no. You work at a photographer and you study photography, so it couldn't be that bad... wrong. It is already shit if you have to renovate in blazing sun without shade a barn (for photo shootings etc). You are studying photography, not trained as a craftsman! Now you regret having applied with your craft skills.

Yoongi already said the last few days, you should finally quit and find a better part-time job, with a boss who also appreciates your photographic skills. But you need this Job, your Boss pays you well. Only you would like to do more often the things you have applied for and no other stupid work.

Especially when this man, who call you your boss, is sitting in his air-conditioned office and you had to work outside your ass off in this unbearable heat?!

But now this cruel week is finally over and you should not get upset even more with it. You’re finally at home, with Yoongi.

You close your eyes, inhale deeply the smell of the Ylang Ylang oil, which the Oil Burner on the windowsill lets spread throughout the room. A slight smile plays around your lips, Yoongi has remembered which kind of scents you like so much in the summer months. In your bedroom it’s pleasantly cool, the approaching night brings the first fresh breeze through the wide-open terrace door to you, caresses your naked skin tenderly. The sinking sun bathes the entire room in a soft red-orange tone.

It is incredibly comfortable to lie on the bed just in panties, between all the big soft pillows and blankets.

Your Boyfriend is up with something for you, something that is relaxing, sensual, tender. You admit, these last few weeks, you couldn't really be there for each other. Too much work, too many other things had just taken too much time. And the fact that he also spoils you now, only made your guilty conscience towards him grow even more. 

The mattress sinks down a little, you felt him shift his weight and sit in front of your head.

He seems to rub oil or something else between his hands before bending over and stroking with his warm and big hands over your shoulders to the swell of your butt cheeks. You sigh softly at this loving touch, enjoy this single touch already so much.

His hands glide again and again in full strokes with gentle pressure over your back and then begin to massage you gently. Your breaths get deeper, undreamt-of tension gradually eases and you enjoy every single caress from him.

Circling, he lets his fingertips wander over your back, scratching lovingly with his fingernails delicately over it, which gives you tingling goose bumps.

Every patch of skin is getting pampered by him and leaves pure relaxation and deep inner peace. You no longer think, you just feel and and

gratefully accept his tender touches and this deep calm as a sensual and confidential gift from him.

Finally, he straightens himself up again and goes to the height of your hip and kneels above you, but lets his hands lie on your lower all the time, thereby not interrupting this physical and mental contact with each other.

His hands exert completely different pressure on your body through this altered Position, which is a completely different experience.

Yoongi really always knows what is good for you, even if you have never said those things before. He likes to massage you, let all his love and appreciation flow into you through these touches.

Things he would never have gotten over his lips otherwise, so that you feel downright adored.

Yoongi had always been a quiet man who had a hard time getting feelings across his lips and yet he is so incredibly soulful that he constantly tries to express all his love differently. And it is precisely through these touches that he can convey it much better than with any words.

For what he feels for you and shows you through these gestures, there are simply no words.

You groan softly and muted as his lips touch your neck and shoulders. Every single feather-light kiss leaves an exciting tingling on your skin, which made your pleasurable sigh slightly tremble.

You gulp a little, a lustful feeling shoots through your nerves and bales in my stomach, which slowly pulls into your lower abdomen.

His tender kisses and nibbles on your skin excite you. It is not a hot and craving desire, it’s a permanent subliminal and sensual pleasure that goes through your entire body and reaches, occupies all nerves and fibers.

His body slides backwards, his hands wander over your butt. It was just a gentle stroke over it and yet it aroused you even more. He continues this loving, slow treatment on your legs, massages and kisses every conceivable place. Even the soles of your feet and toes were kneaded with calm pressure. Your body is completely relaxed and yet you feel pleasure. Lust that let you otherwise expectantly tense. It is new and exciting to experience it like this.

His fingers are back up on your thighs and each of your two butt cheeks is now nestled in his palms.

From your coming sigh your excitement can now be heard, which makes him hum contentedly. There was still the thin stuff of Panties between you, but that doesn't stop your excitement for more. Rather, you feel your nascent moisture between

your legs just even more. At some point, his hands glide once more over your entire back, over your arms and hands, which you have placed at a laterally bent angle next to your head.

"Please turn around, Darling.", he breathes into your ear. A little sluggishly and slowly you turn on your back and notice how some blush rises on your cheeks. Your Breasts are bare.  Even though Yoongi is your Boyfriend, it was often unusual for you to show yourself so naked, so vulnerable.

He spoils you now just as tenderly as it has done before with your back. Massages and rubs your scalp, temples and stroke all over your body in long strokes.

Every now and then a fresh breeze pulls over your body, brings the Lust in your blood more into action and makes your nipples hard. You you’re feeling warm, even quite hot. Yoongi feels your Lust now downright, nevertheless he spoils you slowly further, which became a sensual tormenting. He bypasses your erogenous zones, cancels them until the end of the extensive Massage.

Kissing every accessible spot of my skin and you feel as valued as you haven’t felt for a long time. You are tough and don’t get overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted easily, you want to show that you, as a woman, can be strong and independent. But you are also just a normal person, you struggles sometimes too, you also need from time to time a shoulder to lean on.

Yoongi gives you exactly this shoulder to lean on. He is solid as a rock and catches you when you fall. You are not alone in this cruel world. Yoongi is with you.

A light sweat film lies on your skin and you bite down on your lower lip softly, trying to hide your moaning away. Your breath is still deep, but it trembles a little with excitement and arousal.

Every Pore begins to tingle longingly, all over your body, from the hairline to your toes. From your feet, his hands glide in a fluid motion across your shins and the insides of your thighs. Caressing strokes, no more than a breath of wind over your Vulva.

You sigh tremblingly, automatically open your thighs a little more and your fingers run through your hair, which is spread like a fan around your head.

His touches give you immense trust in him. You present to him your soul. Your wishes, dreams, ideas, but also your fears and insecurities. He accepts you, he accepts you the way you are.

Touch you almost reverently, as if you were something so precious that is not worthy his touch. This realization of being valued and on an equal level with him, with him as a man, almost brings tears to your eyes. He shows you the respect that every woman would have deserved.

His fingertips dances across your Vulva up to your stomach and draw blurred lines that find themselves somewhere invisible.

They keep sliding back up and finally, they find your breasts. Finally. You wanted to be touched by Yoongi there so badly.

His fingertips drawing a spiral that circles ever tighter and ultimately reaches your nipples.

Carefully he caresses them and gently breathes his hot breath on them. Your body trembles.

Your folds were swollen and wet with Lust. This sensual game arouses you completely. How badly would you be touched there by him, caressed... Suddenly, his warm lips closes around your right nipple and caress it with light sucking, touching it with the tip of his tongue.

Your body is completely relaxed and yet it seems to you that everything in you is contracting with longing for him.

He plays the same game on your other nipple and you put your head in the back of your neck with your eyes closed. You whole body is so hot... A soft lustful moan escapes your open lips.

"You are so beautiful... you’ll ever be.", Yoongi whispered softly. His voice is also shaky and... there is a certain awe in his deep harsh voice. Another gasp comes out of your throat, his deep voice makes your hot, aroused body tingling. Makes my body pulsate. His lips touch your chin and kiss a trail down between your breasts across your stomach to your hot center.

Just before your Panties he stops and hooks his thumbs under the waistband on each side. Slowly he takes off the last piece of clothing before he lies next to you in a sideway position and lets his one Hand slip between your thighs.

You gasp for air and open your thighs a little more. His fingertips glide through the soft curls of your pubic hair, tugging gently on it to make you mewl. Moving lower to your folds before dipping with two of his fingers between them.

Gently he caresses them, playing gently with your entrance, while you quietly gasp out my Lust. Yoongi kisses your shoulder and your neck, in the Moment he finds your Clit that finally wanted to be found.

Your hip bucks up, you just bring out a strangled moan. You trust him so much, want to be able to open yourself completely up to him and let yourself fall, in the conscience of being caught by him again. He feels this intimate emotion in you, this desire to be completely his.

He whispers barely audible words into your ear, tells you what he loves about you and puts  after each compliment a kiss under it. His fingers rubs over your pearl, carefully and sensually. Taking his time for you.

Again and again, two of his fingers sinks deep into you, then he stimulates all over again only your clit. A long, lustful game begins.

Your pelvis rises towards him, you reward his actions with soft, breathless moans and the search of your lips for his own. Your thighs fall apart to the side, open your folds open even more up for him and the idea that it sees you so open, bare and so vulnerable turns you incredibly on.

It’s the last time when his fingertips circles around your pearl, until you tremble and cramp with the fulfillment of your Lust. Feelings and emotions rain down on you, which could never have been properly described with words. Only your facial expressions can show approximately what fulfilled pleasure you are feeling right now.

Tenderly Yoongi kisses you and wispers a breathy "I love you" into your ear, before you look into his dark brown eyes and find nothing but love, honor and respect, which applies only to you alone.

[thatsamericano]

One Look, Dark Room, Meant Just for You

Pairing/Characters: America/Romano, with Lithuania.

Rating: Teen, for cursing only. No warnings.

Word Count: 1544

Summary: In 1925, America takes Romano and Lithuania to get their pictures in a new Photomaton in Times Square. Nearly eighty years later, he shows the old film strip to Romano and reminisces about that special evening.

A/N: For @aphrarepairweek2021, day 4 “historical.” Title from “You Are in Love” by Taylor Swift.

September 1925

A new machine that took photographs automatically called a Photomaton had recently been installed in Times Square. For only a quarter, you could go into a studio housing a small booth and get eight pictures of yourself in about ten minutes. Of course, as soon as he read about the photomaton in the newspaper, America wanted to go try out the new invention, and he took his housemates Lithuania and Romano with him.

The line to get into Anatol Josephewitz’s studio was ridiculous. It stretched out over several city blocks, and it was clear as soon as they arrived that they wouldn’t simply be able to walk in and get their photos taken.

They slowly shuffled forward in the line for hours. By the time they arrived at the studio, it was around two o’clock in the morning, and Lithuania and Romano were both practically falling asleep on their feet. America, full of energy as always, cheered loudly. “We’re here!”

Lithuania blinked in confusion. “They’re still open?”

“Yep, let’s go!” America grabbed Lithuania’s and Romano’s hands as he pulled his friends into the studio.

Alfred holding his hand, even if it was just because he was eager to use the Photomaton, woke Savino fully out of his dazed half-slumber. He could only hope that he wasn’t blushing too obviously, and that his palm wasn’t sweating to the level America might notice.

An attendant in white gloves showed them to the Photomaton, and Romano pulled the curtain behind them as they entered the booth.

“It’s pretty tight in here,” Savino noted.

Alfred laughed. “Guess you’ll have to stand extra close to me then, Vinny.” Then the flirtatious bastard winked, because of course he would.

Savino huffed and turned to face the front, where the camera would be. A flash went off, and Romano smiled so at least he’d look good in the next picture. Alfred had his arms around both Tolys and Savino’s shoulders as the flash went off again.

As the machine took the third picture, Tolys started giggling for no apparent reason. Romano glanced over at him. “What the hell’s so amusing, damn it?”

“Alfred, he, uh, he gave you bunny ears.” Lithuania started laughing even harder as Romano directed an irritated scowl America’s way.

“Is that true, stronzo?”

Alfred shrugged. “I thought it would be funny. You’d look cute as a bunny rabbit, and I thought you look cute when you’re annoyed too.”

Savino wanted to be angry, and he wanted to protest Alfred’s ridiculous reasoning. But all he could do was gape up at America and make a distressed, confused noise as he gently tipped up Romano’s chin and started to lean down towards him.

The kiss landed about a centimeter away from his mouth, and it lasted less than a second. Logically, such a simple, barely romantic gesture shouldn’t have affected Romano so much, even if it was unexpected. But his heart was pounding like it was about to lurch out of his chest, and the fact that America was staring down at him with a soft little grin on his face wasn’t helping.

Romano broke the eye contact, which was becoming way too intense for his heart to take. “Quit staring at me like that.”

“Can’t help it,” America whispered. “You look gorgeous after you’ve been kissed.”

Savino had no idea what to say in response to that. Alfred didn’t sound like he’d been joking. He let go of Savino’s chin, and he put his arm around his shoulders once again. Romano leaned into America, smiling despite himself. As the last picture was taken, Romano glanced up America, and he was beaming at the camera, like all was right with the world.

Several minutes later, the machine had developed all of their pictures, and they were ready to go home. America looked at them first, and then he passed the photo strip over to Lithuania. “I think these turned out well.”

Tolys hummed appreciatively as he looked at the photographs. “These make a nice keepsake. I’m glad you took us out here tonight.” He yawned and handed the photo strip to Romano.

Romano stared down at them for a moment. His gaze lingered on the black and white image of America staring down at him affectionately right after he’d kissed his cheek. Romano was looking away from America, clearly embarrassed, and Lithuania was smirking at the camera like he’d figured out something neither America nor Romano understood.

Romano gave the photo strip back to America and did his best to the odd tingle he felt from the brief brushing of their fingertips. “I guess you’re planning to put these in that photo album you started making?”

“Yeah. Like Lithuania said, I think they’d make a good keepsake.”

June 2005

Romano was visiting America, who was now his boyfriend, during his yearly vacation. They’d spent the afternoon relaxing on a California beach and splashing around in the ocean, and they’d only returned back to America’s house in Los Angeles as the sun was beginning to set.

Once they arrived home, Alfred had kissed him and told Savino he would be back in a minute with “something cool” he wanted to show him. He rushed off upstairs, and Savino sat on the couch and waited.

A couple minutes later, Alfred had returned. “I was cleaning out my apartment in New York a couple weeks ago, and I found this old picture in a box of old stuff I hadn’t looked through in a while. It must’ve slipped out of the photo album back when I was moving in the seventies.”

Alfred joined Savino on the couch, passed the film strip to him, and curled an arm around his waist, much more intimately than he would have dared touch him even a decade ago, much less when the photographs were taken.

Savino gingerly examined the film strip, worn and yellowed with age. “God, this was so long ago. When was this taken?”

“1925, I think. I was so excited about the photo booth in Times Square that I dragged you and Tolys out to go get our pictures one evening.”

Lithuania and Romano both looked exhausted in the first couple of pictures. “It was two a.m. by the time we actually got to the studio,” Romano recalled. He chuckled at how energetic America looked as he made the bunny ears sign over his head. “You were the only one who wasn’t practically falling asleep on your feet.”

“I was happy to get my picture taken with you guys. Lithuania was one of my best friends, and you, well…”

Savino turned to look at Alfred, who was staring down at the pictures with a thoughtful look on his face. “I, what, Fredo?”

“I didn’t understand how I felt back then, but clearly I was head over heels for you. It’s right there in the pictures once you know what to look for.”

Savino examined the photographs again. The sly grin on Alfred’s face when Savino whirled around to rant at him for making him look silly in the previous picture, the way his eyes were closed when he leaned down to kiss Savino’s cheek, the warm look on his face afterwards as he stared down at him, which wasn’t that much different from the way Alfred looked at him now. And finally, the sheer glee on his face in the final photographs, when Savino had snuggled in close to his side.

Savino smiled down at the pictures. “You’re right. I was pretty obvious too.” Back then, he’d been terrified that everyone could see how he felt, especially Alfred. It had taken him a long time to get past that fear, but he was glad he had.

America pulled Romano smoothly into his lap. “This was taken almost eighty years ago. I’ve been in love with you for eighty years. That’s almost a whole lifetime.”

Savino set down the old film strip on Alfred’s coffee table and turned around to face his boyfriend. “I think we’ve got at least another eighty years in us, don’t you, caro?”

America nodded at him, with that sweet, bright grin, that always, without fail, made Romano want to kiss him. He closed his eyes and leaned in to do just that, because he wasn’t too scared to, like he’d been eighty years ago. Alfred pulled Savino in as close as he returned the kiss, mouth against mouth and heartbeat against heartbeat.

When he reluctantly pulled away for air, Savino looked down at Alfred. His glasses were askew, his lips were slick and reddened, and he was blushing from his forehead down to the collar of his shirt. Once Alfred blinked his eyes open, they were twinkling brighter than starlight.

This image was better than any photograph, whether in black or white or full color. And Romano didn’t need a camera to preserve this moment in his memory. He would never forget the way Alfred still looked so wrecked every time Savino kissed him, even if this definitely wasn’t the first time. And he could never forget the way Alfred surged up to kiss him, then switched their positions so Savino was underneath him, laughing at the ticklish sensation of his boyfriend’s lips on his neck.

[bananaofswifts]

In the new Taylor Swift documentary, “Miss Americana,” which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival Thursday night, there’s a montage of derogatory commentary about the singer that has appeared on cable shows over the years. One of the less nasty remarks: “She’s too skinny. It bothers me.”

As it turns out, it eventually bothered Swift, too.

In one of the most revealing and surprising segments of the Netflix film, Swift talks for several minutes about having struggled in the past with an eating disorder.

After being pictured facing a phalanx of photographers after she emerges from her front door, Swift is heard in voiceover saying that “it’s not good for me to see pictures of myself every day.” Although she says “it’s only happened a few times, and I’m not in any way proud of it,” Swift admits there have been times in the past when she’s seen “a picture of me where I feel like I looked like my tummy was too big, or… someone said that I looked pregnant … and that’ll just trigger me to just starve a little bit — just stop eating.”

Swift elaborated on what she’s gone through with that in her interview with Variety for this week’s cover story, saying that it was difficult for her to speak up about it for the documentary.

“I didn’t know if I was going to feel comfortable with talking about body image and talking about the stuff I’ve gone through in terms of how unhealthy that’s been for me — my relationship with food and all that over the years,” she tells Variety. “But the way that Lana (Wilson, the film’s director) tells the story, it really makes sense. I’m not as articulate as I should be about this topic because there are so many people who could talk about it in a better way. But all I know is my own experience. And my relationship with food was exactly the same psychology that I applied to everything else in my life: If I was given a pat on the head, I registered that as good. If I was given a punishment, I registered that as bad.”

In the quiet of a hotel suite, she goes into greater detail on how formative an effect that one early tabloid torpedo had on her. “I remember how, when I was 18, that was the first time I was on the cover of a magazine,” she says. “And the headline was like ‘Pregnant at 18?’ And it was because I had worn something that made my lower stomach look not flat. So I just registered that as a punishment. And then I’d walk into a photo shoot and be in the dressing room and somebody who worked at a magazine would say, ‘Oh, wow, this is so amazing that you can fit into the sample sizes. Usually we have to make alterations to the dresses, but we can take them right off the runway and put them on you!’ And I looked at that as a pat on the head. You register that enough times, and you just start to accommodate everything towards praise and punishment, including your own body.”

She hesitates. “I think I’ve never really wanted to talk about that before, and I’m pretty uncomfortable talking about it now,” she says quietly. “But in the context of every other thing that I was doing or not doing in my life, I think it makes sense” to have it in the film, she says.

Wilson, the director, is proud of Swift for taking up the subject with such candor. “That’s one of my favorite sequences of the film,” she says. “I was surprised, of course. But I love how she’s kind of thinking out loud about it. And every woman will see themselves in that sequence. I just have no doubt.”

The filmmaker points out that there were clearly plenty of people who didn’t think Swift was too thin back in the mid-2010s. “You can also just not notice people being really skinny, because we’re all so accustomed to seeing women on magazine covers who are unhealthy-skinny, and that’s become normalized.” Even with non-celebrities, Wilson says, everybody’s a body critic. “It’s incessant, and I can say this as a woman: It’s amazing to me how people are constantly like ‘You look skinny’ or ‘You’ve gained weight.’ People you barely know say this to you. And it feels awful, and you can’t win either way. So I think it’s really brave to see someone who is a role model for so many girls and women be really honest about that. I think it will have a huge impact.”

As much as Swift may be seen as a role model for speaking frankly on the subject, she’s got her own favorite artist, so to speak, when it comes to advocacy for women’s bodily self-image issues.

“I love people like (actress and activist) Jameela Jamil, because she says things in a really articulate way,” the singer tells us. “The way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. If you read her quotes about women and body image and aging and the way that women are treated in our industry and portrayed in the media, I swear the way she speaks is like lyrics, and it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down. Because women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty. We’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have harmful or unhealthy thoughts. So she’s one of the people who, when I read what she says, it sticks with me and it helps me.”

In the film, then-and-now photos illustrate just how thin Swift had gotten during the “1989” era, versus the still svelte but healthier look she sported by the time she toured behind the “Reputation” album in 2018. Swift says that her under-eating in that earlier time severely affected her stamina on tour.

“I thought that I was supposed to feel like I was going to pass out at the end of a show, or in the middle of it,” she attests in the documentary. “Now I realize, no, if you eat food, have energy, get stronger, you can do all these shows and not feel (enervated).” Swift says she doesn’t care so much now if someone comments on a weight gain, and she’s reconciled “the fact that I’m a size 6 instead of a size double-zero.” Swift says she was completely unaware that anything was wrong in her double-zero era, and had a defense at the ready should it come up. If anyone expressed concern, she’d say, “‘What are you talking about? Of course I eat. …. I exercise a lot.’ And I did exercise a lot. But I wasn’t eating.”

Few women viewing the film will fail to nod their heads as Swift describes the impossibility of any body shape or size living up to all the standards for beauty. “If you’re thin enough, then you don’t have that ass that everybody wants,” she says in the film. “But if you have enough weight on you to have an ass, your stomach isn’t flat enough. It’s all just f—ing impossible.” As she became aware of the problem, Swift says in the film, it would cause her to “go into a real shame/hate spiral.”

The word “shame” comes up elsewhere in conversation with Swift, who by virtue of becoming one of the most celebrated women in the world has also had to deal with more catty comments than almost any celebrity in the world — and hasn’t always succeeded in shaking it all off.

“I was watching a Netflix Brené Brown special on shame, because I read a lot of her books, because I have dealings with shame every once in awhile,” Swift tells Variety. “She was saying something like, ‘It’s ridiculous to say “I don’t care what anyone thinks about me,” because that’s not possible. But you can decide whose opinions matter more and whose opinions you put more weight on.’ And I think that is really part of growing up, if you’re going to do it right. That’s part of hoping to find some sort of maturity and balance in your life.”

She continues, “I don’t expect anyone with a pop career to learn how to do that within the first 10 years. And I know that there’s a lot of bad stuff that’s gone on recently, a lot of really hard stuff my family is going through, and a lot of opposition and feeling pressure or suppression of one kind or another. But I am actually really happy. Because I pick and choose now, for the most part, what I care deeply about. And I think that’s made a huge difference.”

[sexintheatx-blog]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: VINTAGE AVIREX JACKET.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

Makeup in the age of internet

I know a lot of girls these days are probably learning to do their makeup from their peers or from YouTube/Instagram, and I think this is a problem

my mom wouldn’t let me wear makeup (apart from lip gloss) until I was 11, and I wasn’t allowed to wear mascara until I was a teenager. I actually didn’t resent her for it like I imagine many girls would, but in retrospect I see exactly what she was thinking in doing this:

She was preventing her child from being sexualized

She was making sure that she would be the one to teach me how to do my makeup

now I don’t know how y’all’s moms taught you to do your makeup, but my mom utterly drilled this into my brain:

Makeup is not for changing your face; it is for accentuating the features you already have

So what are girls learning about makeup from the Internet? They’re learning to contour their cheekbones higher or lower, contour their noses narrower or perkier, add or erase freckles, overline their lips into shapes that make their smiles unrecognizable, etc.  Now I won’t deny there is real artistry involved in this, and there’s a time and place for all manner of makeup styles, but what kind of mindset is developing when a girl expends energy every day into making a completely new face for herself? Why are we teaching girls they look better as a certain type of woman instead of teaching them to see the beauty in their own features?

Mothers need to stop leaving their daughters’ beauty education in the hands of the culture, because culture will teach them there is a mold to fit. That the face God gave them isn’t good enough. Today’s culture tells me my nose is too bird-like, my forehead is too tall, my lips are too small, and my eyebrows aren’t symmetrical enough. Thanks to how my mom taught me, I know my nose is unique (I got it from my dad, after all), my forehead looks noble, my lips make me appear sweet & personable, and my eyebrows make me expressive.

And when I say a Certain Type of woman is perceived as “the goal,” this is what I mean:

Before the makeover, each woman looks like an (absolutely gorgeous) individual about whom I can learn something just by glancing at them. After the makeover, every single one of these women looks biologically related to the other. Every single woman has overlined her lips, donned fake lashes, contoured herself into a different ethnicity, and altogether looks like a Bratz doll.

I’m also gonna go out on a limb and say this is bad makeup, because beforehand we know that the focal point of their face is their eyes. Afterwards, we don’t know where to look, and because of this, we can’t pick up on any particular personality trait in their expressions. But this is the makeup that current Internet culture props up as the pinnacle. The ideal product of your time and money. And no matter how much we talk about artwork and skill, that’s just false. The ideal use of your powders and brushes is to bring attention to the features that make you You.

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift Opens Up About Overcoming Struggle With Eating Disorder

By: Chris Willman for Variety Date: January 23rd 2020

Taylor Swift tells Variety more about "how unhealthy that's been for me - my relationship with food," a subject boldly broached in her Sundance documentary, "Miss Americana."

In the new Taylor Swift documentary, “Miss Americana,” which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival Thursday night, there’s a montage of derogatory commentary about the singer that has appeared on cable shows over the years. One of the less nasty remarks: “She’s too skinny. It bothers me.”

As it turns out, it eventually bothered Swift, too.

In one of the most revealing and surprising segments of the Netflix film, Swift talks for several minutes about having struggled in the past with an eating disorder.

After being pictured facing a phalanx of photographers after she emerges from her front door, Swift is heard in voiceover saying that “it’s not good for me to see pictures of myself every day.” Although she says “it’s only happened a few times, and I’m not in any way proud of it,” Swift admits there have been times in the past when she’s seen “a picture of me where I feel like I looked like my tummy was too big, or... someone said that I looked pregnant... and that’ll just trigger me to just starve a little bit - just stop eating.”

Swift elaborated on what she’s gone through with that in her interview with Variety for this week’s cover story, saying that it was difficult for her to speak up about it for the documentary.

“I didn’t know if I was going to feel comfortable with talking about body image and talking about the stuff I’ve gone through in terms of how unhealthy that’s been for me - my relationship with food and all that over the years,” she tells Variety. “But the way that Lana (Wilson, the film’s director) tells the story, it really makes sense. I’m not as articulate as I should be about this topic because there are so many people who could talk about it in a better way. But all I know is my own experience. And my relationship with food was exactly the same psychology that I applied to everything else in my life: If I was given a pat on the head, I registered that as good. If I was given a punishment, I registered that as bad.”

In the quiet of a hotel suite, she goes into greater detail on how formative an effect that one early tabloid torpedo had on her. “I remember how, when I was 18, that was the first time I was on the cover of a magazine,” she says. “And the headline was like ‘Pregnant at 18?’ And it was because I had worn something that made my lower stomach look not flat. So I just registered that as a punishment. And then I’d walk into a photo shoot and be in the dressing room and somebody who worked at a magazine would say, ‘Oh, wow, this is so amazing that you can fit into the sample sizes. Usually we have to make alterations to the dresses, but we can take them right off the runway and put them on you!’ And I looked at that as a pat on the head. You register that enough times, and you just start to accommodate everything towards praise and punishment, including your own body.”

She hesitates. “I think I’ve never really wanted to talk about that before, and I’m pretty uncomfortable talking about it now,” she says quietly. “But in the context of every other thing that I was doing or not doing in my life, I think it makes sense” to have it in the film, she says.

Wilson, the director, is proud of Swift for taking up the subject with such candor. “That’s one of my favorite sequences of the film,” she says. “I was surprised, of course. But I love how she’s kind of thinking out loud about it. And every woman will see themselves in that sequence. I just have no doubt.”

The filmmaker points out that there were clearly plenty of people who didn’t think Swift was too thin back in the mid-2010s. “You can also just not notice people being really skinny, because we’re all so accustomed to seeing women on magazine covers who are unhealthy-skinny, and that’s become normalized.” Even with non-celebrities, Wilson says, everybody’s a body critic. “It’s incessant, and I can say this as a woman: It’s amazing to me how people are constantly like ‘You look skinny’ or ‘You’ve gained weight.’ People you barely know say this to you. And it feels awful, and you can’t win either way. So I think it’s really brave to see someone who is a role model for so many girls and women be really honest about that. I think it will have a huge impact.”

As much as Swift may be seen as a role model for speaking frankly on the subject, she’s got her own favorite artist, so to speak, when it comes to advocacy for women’s bodily self-image issues.

“I love people like (actress and activist) Jameela Jamil, because she says things in a really articulate way,” the singer tells us. “The way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. If you read her quotes about women and body image and aging and the way that women are treated in our industry and portrayed in the media, I swear the way she speaks is like lyrics, and it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down. Because women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty. We’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have harmful or unhealthy thoughts. So she’s one of the people who, when I read what she says, it sticks with me and it helps me.”

In the film, then-and-now photos illustrate just how thin Swift had gotten during the “1989” era, versus the still svelte but healthier look she sported by the time she toured behind the “Reputation” album in 2018. Swift says that her under-eating in that earlier time severely affected her stamina on tour.

“I thought that I was supposed to feel like I was going to pass out at the end of a show, or in the middle of it,” she attests in the documentary. “Now I realize, no, if you eat food, have energy, get stronger, you can do all these shows and not feel (enervated).” Swift says she doesn’t care so much now if someone comments on a weight gain, and she’s reconciled “the fact that I’m a size 6 instead of a size double-zero.” Swift says she was completely unaware that anything was wrong in her double-zero era, and had a defense at the ready should it come up. If anyone expressed concern, she’d say, “‘What are you talking about? Of course I eat... I exercise a lot.’ And I did exercise a lot. But I wasn’t eating.”

Few women viewing the film will fail to nod their heads as Swift describes the impossibility of any body shape or size living up to all the standards for beauty. “If you’re thin enough, then you don’t have that ass that everybody wants,” she says in the film. “But if you have enough weight on you to have an ass, your stomach isn’t flat enough. It’s all just f—ing impossible.” As she became aware of the problem, Swift says in the film, it would cause her to “go into a real shame/hate spiral.”

The word “shame” comes up elsewhere in conversation with Swift, who by virtue of becoming one of the most celebrated women in the world has also had to deal with more catty comments than almost any celebrity in the world - and hasn’t always succeeded in shaking it all off.

“I was watching a Netflix Brené Brown special on shame, because I read a lot of her books, because I have dealings with shame every once in awhile,” Swift tells Variety. “She was saying something like, ‘It’s ridiculous to say “I don’t care what anyone thinks about me,” because that’s not possible. But you can decide whose opinions matter more and whose opinions you put more weight on.’ And I think that is really part of growing up, if you’re going to do it right. That’s part of hoping to find some sort of maturity and balance in your life.”

She continues, “I don’t expect anyone with a pop career to learn how to do that within the first 10 years. And I know that there’s a lot of bad stuff that’s gone on recently, a lot of really hard stuff my family is going through, and a lot of opposition and feeling pressure or suppression of one kind or another. But I am actually really happy. Because I pick and choose now, for the most part, what I care deeply about. And I think that’s made a huge difference.”

*** You can read other parts of Taylor’s interview with Variety here: Taylor Swift: No Longer ‘Polite at All Costs’ and How Midterm Elections Inspired Taylor Swift’s New Song, ‘Only the Young’