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celestie0 · 2 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

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

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+, 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. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ 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. by the way! i'm starting a choso x reader zombie au series, if you'd like to read more about it and/or be added to the taglist, you can reply to this post here also if you want to be added to taglist in general, i'd recommend making sure your tags are on!! since i've noticed a lot of people have them off

➸ take me to chapter nine!

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

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bigification · 1 month

Text

Tag You're Fat

"Bro, why the fuck are we playing tag, we are grown ass adults." John asked.

"Just go with it man, it'll be fun." Brad pleaded. "It's not just any game of tag, It's called tag you're FAT! The way it works is that one person gets selected randomly to be it. He will eat this." Brad holds up a large pill. "It will turn them into a fatass for a short time, the fatass will then be contagious. Any person he touches will also become a fatass. Everyone hides and the last person to get fattened wins."

"Dude this game seems weird." Graham spoke out.

"C'mon just try it, it'll be fun." Brad pleaded once again.

The group seemed to collectively sigh and agree to play. Brad then pulled up a random number generator on his phone. "Everyone pick a number, I'll be one."

Each man then says a number between one and seven. Brad generated a number. "It's 4, who's 4!"

A couple guys pointed at Graham. "Man this is bullshit, I didn't even want to play this stupid ass game." Graham complained.

"That's too damn bad, take the pill." Brad responded.

Graham grabbed the pill and stared at it for a bit. "This is temporary right?" He asked.

"Ya of course, just take it." Brad said as he pulled up a photo of Graham on his phone, just for comparison for after.

Everyone started to get impatient so Graham finally swallowed the pill. Almost instantly, he began to twitch and grunt. As he twitched, his body began to jiggle more and more. His once flat stomach grew rounder and rounder by the second, riding up his shirt in the process. It kept growing until he had a solid beer gut that sagged over his waist line and love handles that thickened his once slim waist. His defined pecs became soft and plump as they sagged onto his gut and his arms became plump with a thick layer of fat. His pants tightened under the pressure of his growing ass and thick thighs. Finally his face widened as fat filled his cheeks.

Graham stood in silence as he took off his tiny shirt. His friends waited in silence for him to say something.

"Huh huh huh, that felt good!" He said in a dumb voice.

No one could tell if he was being serious, but they figured he was when he kept giggling and playing with the fat on his belly.

"Ok everyone, HIDE!" John yelled as he ran to a hiding spot. No one had time to react, so they just ran. Each of them found a hiding spot as Graham started to slowly hunt them down.

John trembled as he heard the large man stomp towards his hiding spot. He struggled to keep quiet as Graham approached. "Boo!" Graham yelled as he turned the corner. John jumped and proceeded to plead for Graham to not tag him.

"Wait wait! You don't need to tag me. You can just go find someone else." He practically pegged.

"isn't that the point of the game though?" Graham asked as he reached for John's arm. John yelled in fear, but immediately stopped when Graham made contact.

His muscles seemed to tense up, and he started to grunt. John started to grow much faster than Graham did. Within moments his belly had grown so big that he looked pregnant. It grew and grew, almost never ending until it was larger than a beach ball, ripping straight through his shirt. His hands grew to twice their size as he held his massive gut. A thick layer of fat covered the rest of his body, giving thick arms and legs, and large man tits. His ass also grew to the point that it ripped through his pants, leaving him completely naked, though it's not like you could seem much under that hulking gut. Similar to Graham, his face was the last to change. His face rounded out until it looked like a circle and he grew multiple chins under his thick beard.

John sat there for a moment, getting used to the way his body felt. The thick legs that rubbed together and the giant gut that changed his centre of gravity made it hard for him to move around.

"Get up big guy!" Graham pulled John to his feet.

"Shut it pipsqueak, you try movin around with a gut like this." John snapped back.

The two men soon went back to searching for the rest of their friends, shaking the ground as they walked. Dewayne and Miguel hid together nearby and peered around a corner to see Graham and John searching.

"Dude is that John?! He's fucking massive, and he's naked." Miguel whispered.

"Shut up, they're gonna hear us." Dewayne whispered back.

Almost as if on cue, John and Graham turn and start walking toward their hiding spots. They were cornered, so they just curled up and hoped they wouldn't be seen. It did not work. Graham turned the corner, chuckled, and grabbed both men.

Dewayne started to grunt as his body grew. His soft gut spilled out of his black tang top and over his shorts. He grew soft man tits that stretched his shirt to its limit. His body quickly started to say under its own weight as a thick layer of pudge covered his body.

Miguel befell a similar fate soon after. Although the effects didn't seem as bad on him since he was such an athletic person, but that could only help him so much. His six pack rapidly turned into a beer belly larger than his own dad's gut, riding up his tiny gym shirt. His solid pecs swelled into a pair of moobs with nipples that showed through his shirt. The defined arms and legs he worked so hard for softened into pudgy limbs.

The two men emerged from their hiding spots, happy as ever without a thought going through their minds.

It didn't take long for them to find Andrew after that. He was the tallest in the group, making it hard for him to hide. He tried to run but quickly ran into John, knocking him straight on his ass. Unfortunately for him, his arms hit John's belly in the impact. Andrew sat on the floor as his mind cleared and his body started to grow. Within seconds he had a giant hairy belly hanging out of his shirt, only rivaled by John's. His limbs bilmped out and his ass expanded, popping open his belt and threatening to rip his jeans. Finally a thick double chin formed under his beard. Andrew stood up, towering over the rest and crossed his arms. "Well who's gonna find the rest?" He asked in a dumb voice.

Brad trembled as he heard someone approaching his hiding spot. He had no idea who it was, but it sounded like someone massive. He got scared and decided to get up and run from his hiding spot. As he got up, he was met by Andrews thick underbelly.

His forehead impacted Andrews belly, knocking him back. He grunted in pleasure and pain as the transformation began. His body was hit the hardest since John. His once unnoticeable belly soon became impossible to miss, riding up his shirt to his chest and drooping over his waist. His skinny chest exploded with fat, growing larger tits than he had ever seen before, with large sensitive nipples. His previously thin arms became engulfed with fat and his legs thickened until it was basically impossible for him to separate them. His love handles spilled over his waist and his ass fattened until his crack was visible above his pants. He got up once his transformation was complete, struggling to stay up due to his immense weight. He pulled up his shirt and looked down at his hulking gut and man tits, he smiled before following the rest of the men to find the last of their friends.

"Omar, you're the last one you can come out now!" John yelled.

Omar appeared from behind a couch and stood in shock at the sight of his friends. Each one of them bursting out of their clothes and sagging with fat, John had even ripped out of his clothes. Omar started to laugh hysterically, pointing out how fat his friends were. Once he regained his composure he asked his friends, "so when does this wear off?"

"What do you mean wear off, why would we want it to wear off?" John responded.

"No no, you said it would wear off." Omar's expression quickly changed.

"What do you say boys, this guy is lookin a bit too skinny for our standards, how about we change that." John asked the rest of the boys.

Omar backed away, but quickly became cornered by the horde of large men. It didn't take long for one of them to grab his arm. He froze in place and started to grunt as his body began to change. He tried to resist, but there was no point. His gut burst out of his shirt, popping off the buttons in the process. His pecs grew into thick moobs, and he grew multiple chins under his light stubble. His ass fattened until it ripped through his jeans, and his thighs ripped what was left of them, leaving him naked from the waist down. His arms fattened up as he held his gut.

"Now for the best part about the game." John started as he approached Omar. "It has made up who we were meant to be, it made us hot." John gets really close to Omar, pressing both their bellies together. "Now we can do whatever we want with each other." John grabbed Omar's dick as he spoke, making him moan.

With all the tension built up over the game, it didn't take long for all of them to rip off their tiny clothes. Nothing in their heads other than sex and food.

#male tf #masculine #fat tf #reality change #male wg #hairy #dumbed down

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moonchildstyles · 3 months

Note

have you ever thought about doing a third person - not in the relationship - point of view for bodyguard h? like maybe the public's opinion as it becomes clear that they’re together? love your work!

wordcount: 2.3k+

—————

"Dude, shut up. Look."

Winnie swallowed her words, halfway offended that Danni had cut her off so rudely. She was about to fire back at him, remind him that she was the reason they had even been able to secure seats at this place and afford more than a crumb of bread—until she followed where he was suddenly gesturing towards.

Under the dim lighting of the restaurant, shrugging out of her taupe coat with a familiar face holding her chair out for her was (Y/N)—the (Y/N). The most notorious socialite of New York. Winnie had just looked at her instagram on the cab ride over here, and now there she was. With her "bodyguard".

"That's who I think it is, right?" Danni asked from across from her, his voice suddenly hushed.

"That's her," Winnie confirmed, tearing her gaze away from the now occupied table, fearing she would be caught staring. "She just posted on her Insta story in that outfit."

Danni obviously shared none of Winnie's qualms with the way he craned his neck, attempting to get a better view around the table sitting between their booth and the now high profile one stationed behind it. "Who is she with? Is it that same guy from the 132 Gala?"

"I think so," Winnie muttered, chancing a glance in their direction, "She says he's just her bodyguard, though."

"That's the bodyguard?" Danni blanched, a pinch appearing between his brows with an incredulous look on his face, "There's no fucking way. They're obviously on a date."

Feeding off of some of Danni's confidence, Winnie pinned her gaze on their table. It really did look like they were on a date. Maybe it was just the lighting of the place or the fact that she is (Y/N), but the way he looked at her couldn't just be that of a man whose job was to be around her. Since when did bodyguards share a table with their client, anyway? Even from where their booth was situated, Winnie swore she could see the hooded set to his eyes and every soft edge to his features as he gazed at her.

It was the way he looked at her in every photo of the pair of them together, every picture that was posted to the feed with articles dissecting everything about (Y/N) and whatever it was that had transpired the night before at whatever party she attended. He was always right there, at her side with something more than professionalism guiding him.

"You think so?" Winnie asked, canting her head as a bottle of wine was delivered to the spotlighted table.

Before Danni could make any kind of argument, they watched as (Y/N) had poured herself a tiny glass of the red wine and took a sip before passing it across the table to her bodyguard. They saw him take a drink from the same spot she had pressed her own lips without a thought. Apparently he must have liked the wine seeing as (Y/N) ended up pouring another glass for him.

"Obviously," Danni said, no room for argument.

Just then, their waiter came by with his hands loaded with plates. "Is there anything else I can grab for you tonight?" he asked as he passed out their dishes, a pleasant smile on his face. He was the same one that had dropped off the wine at (Y/N)'s table—Winnie almost wanted to ask if he thought the pair of them were on a date, too.

"I think we're alright, thank you," Danni spoke up, fluttering his curled lashes up at the waiter.

Once they were alone again, Winnie couldn't help herself, she had to take another look at their table . She caught (Y/N) letting out a peal of laughter, her bodyguard looking at her with dimpled cheeks and a smug smile.

"I just read something that said she was hooking up with this F1 guy, though," Winnie prattled, recalling the professional photos from the speedway and the grainy pictures from the private afterparty where she talked to one of the racers. Now thinking about it, she could remember some of the shots with her bodyguard hovering just out of frame or right at her side—as per usual.

"Maybe, they're open," Danni shrugged, twirling his pasta around his fork, "I don't know, but there's no way they haven't at least slept together with the way they're looking at each other."

Winnie couldn't argue with that. The evidence was right in front of her. She wished she was a little bit closer, just so she could hear what they were saying.

"Maybe," Winnie settled, letting the subject go to focus on her own dinner.

Despite Danni distracting her with another avenue of conversation, Winnie couldn't help herself but to look over every now and then. It was like cinema, a scene in a film she didn't want to miss if she didn't have to.

More than once, she caught (Y/N) laughing with her inhibitions thrown out, her bodyguard looking on with affection in his eyes. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting, but there was a moment Winnie swore she could see (Y/N) leaning across the table and touching his hand or nudging his foot just under the hem of the tablecloth. By the time their meals made it to their table, she and Danni were almost done with their own dinner, but she still caught the way bites of food were shared upon the same fork.

They were doing everything just short of kissing, it seemed like: sharing food, sharing glasses, leaning across the table, whispering as if there was no one else in the restaurant.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom before we leave," Winnie said, excusing herself from the table once their plates were clear and the check had been taken.

"Okay," Danni acknowledged, barely looking up from his phone as he calculated the tip.

While she definitely had to use the restroom, there was a bit of strategy in wanting to pass by their table on the off chance that she might be able to overhear anything. Was it a bit nosy? Sure, but it wasn't like she was planning on tweeting or posting anything she might glean from the moment—Winnie just liked knowing things.

Stepping away from the booth, she took the long way around, passing by the table with distractedly slow steps as she pretended to be on her phone.

From the corner of her eye, she could see (Y/N) toying with the small dessert menu. "Did you want to try the strawberry shortcake, mon amour?"

Winnie's steps almost faltered. Was that French or something? Despite the little knowledge of language outside of her own, even Winnie knew that amour had to be something about love. She was calling him her love?

As much as she wanted to stick around and see what he had to say, there was no way she was blowing her cover any more than she probably already had. Heading to the bathroom, Winnie had to leave her curiosities behind.

After using the restroom, she didn't linger for too long before she was venturing back into the dining area. Passing by (Y/N)'s table, she couldn't help but minutely slow her steps.

By now there was a small tower of strawberry shortcake in the middle of their table, replacing the candle and votive that had been placed there before. A spoon with the perfect bite of a bit of sponge cake, strawberry slices, and whipped cream was held aloft in the bodyguard's hand.

"Y'have the first bite, sweet girl."

Winnie's eyes widened as she kept her pace and passed by. There was no way to misunderstand that. The friends she knew didn't call each other such affectionate names.

Hurrying back to Danni, Winnie was almost bursting with her newly gleaned information.

"Danni, Danni—" she started, only to be cut off by his own bursting tone.

"You missed it, I can't believe it!" he stage whispered, gaze locked on her as she slid back into the booth.

"No, seriously, guess what I heard when I passed them," Winnie started, attempting to hook his attention though Danni didn't seem to be taking the bait at all.

"They kissed," Danni interrupted, his voice considerably lower than before, "Literally right before you came out of the bathroom, they kissed. They're totally fucking."

Winnie sat back, almost cursing herself for missing out on the perfect moment. Glancing back to their table, they were engrossed in one another while sharing their dessert. The longer she looked at the bodyguard, she couldn't blame (Y/N) at all. Even with whatever billionaire or celebrities were knocking on (Y/N)'s door, she doubted there were any that could compare to the way that man looked at her. (Or just looked in general).

"When I was walking past them, she called him love in, like, French or something, and he called her his sweet girl."

Danni followed her line of sight and saw them share another whipped cream filled bite of cake. "That's actually really cute. I really hope they're dating, otherwise that's kind of a bummer for him because he's clearly in love with her."

The longer they looked at them, Winnie had an idea pinging in her head. "Do you think it would be weird if we went and said hi or something?"

Waving her off, Danni shook his head. "No, she probably gets it all the time."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, Winnie wasn't completely convinced. "I don't know, though. She's supposed to be kind of mean, sometimes."

"Who cares," Danni answered with a shrug, "If she is, at least we know that's just how she is and that it isn't us."

While this wasn't usually something Winnie liked to do, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to at least say hello. It was too surreal of circumstances to pass up on—she had been browsing (Y/N)'s Instagram and story on the way to this restaurant tonight, and now she was right there. She had probably learned things tonight that the media had been itching for, for months.

"Okay, let's do it before I get too nervous," Winnie pushed, picking up her coat and bag just as quickly as Danni had his phone put away and was sliding out of the booth.

Danni took the helm as they approached the table, the bodyguard's eyes catching them long before (Y/N) had.

"Are you (Y/N)?" Danni asked, ducking down enough so that he didn't have to speak too loud in the middle of the dining area.

Perking up in her seat, (Y/N) turned around with a swish of her hair. A pleasant expression was stitched on her features with a quiet smile and soft eyes.

"Yes, hi," she greeted them, looking up from where she was seated with the center of her lips tinted strawberry.

"Hi," Danni smiled, turning on the performer persona he had been honing since his NYU days, "I hope we're not interrupting, but my friend and I wanted to say hi before we left for the night."

"Oh no, you're totally fine," (Y/N) chirped, casting her gaze across to take in Winnie as well, "What are your names?"

"I'm Danni, and this is my friend Winnie," he introduced, gesturing to his side where Winnie could see the less than impressed expression worn by (Y/N)'s bodyguard—boyfriend.

"Nice to meet you guys," (Y/N) smiled, engaging with her full attention, "Are you having a good night so far?"

Taking the opportunity to pipe up given the fact that this was her idea in the first place, Winnie gave her own grin to the woman she had only ever seen this close up on Instagram. Weirdly enough, she was one of those people that looked better in person as opposed to photos, which was insane given just how gorgeous she was in photos, too.

"This is our first time trying this place, but it was really good," Winnie said, catching the assessing glare from across the table as she shifted her weight, "This is so weird, honestly. On the Uber ride over here, I was just looking at your Instagram and looking up the blush you were wearing in your story."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, not at all perturbed by the admission. She actually seemed to brighten at the new avenue of conversation, her lashes fluttering with her posture straightening. "It's a Charlotte Tilbury blush one of my friends is letting me borrow! I can't remember the name, but it's this really pink one with this shimmer circle in the middle. It's super pretty, I'm probably going to have to get my own."

This was going better than almost every rumor Winnie had ever read about (Y/N). Her smile widened.

"Thank you! I might get one, too. Then, we'll match," Winnie said, beginning to edge away from the table, not wanting to overstay their welcome, "We have to head out, but thank you for talking for a minute. I hope you guys have a nice rest of your night."

Winnie shot her smile towards the quiet boyfriend across the table, hoping to soften him some now that they were leaving his girlfriend alone. It didn't appear to work, mostly because he had his eyes on (Y/N).

"Of course, thank you guys for being so nice!" (Y/N) beamed, wiggling her fingers in a small wave "I hope you end up getting the blush! Have a good night."

With that, Winnie started heading towards the restaurant's entrance with Danni at her side.

Once they were far away, underneath his breath, Danni muttered, "You don't even wear blush."

"I know, but I didn't know what else to say."

"It was your idea to go talk to her," Danni laughed.

Winnie only shook her head, feeling a bit rattled at the swift meeting. When she moved to New York, she knew there was a high chance that she was going to run into celebrities here and there, but she had always said she wouldn't be able to handle talking to any of them. This experience only proved right.

Now she had to go out and buy an expensive blush.

—————

thank you so much for reading the first elan blurb! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas to share please send them in!

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winkwonkwankwenk · 3 months

Text

Gojo Head-Cannons!! (SFW & NSFW)

SFW

Has modeled a few times just for fun, definitely a Paparazzi-Darling.

Has a major sweet tooth. Will accept any snack if it's high in sugar. He keeps snack cakes and candies in his pockets at all times. He sulks when you make him eat a meal before dessert when the two of you are out, almost like a petulant child. "I'm eating this Spinach because I want to, not because you told me to- and definitely not because it's so fucking good..." He cheers up again the moment you cave and let him run to the chocolate fountain.

Loves traveling. He can't stay in one place long before getting angsty. He'll hop on the nearest train or plane the moment he sees photos of an area, not bothering to pack a bag- he'll just buy whatever he needs while he's there. "Let's go to Morocco tomorrow. Or would you prefer Dubai?"

Black card holder. He's got a couple of them. He leaves most of them laying around the house and has left them in public on occasion. Worst case scenario, he just has to get a new card. Perks of being wealthy.

Shopping sprees! Gojo loves going shopping, so the moment you ask he grabs his keys and runs to the door. Even though shopping was your idea, you end up regretting it. He drags you to every store he sees, making you wait as he changes in the dressing room. He always ends up with hands full of bags, mostly things he brought for you when you weren't looking. He surprises you with gifts as thanks for tagging along.

He has a skincare routine. Toner? Got it. Moisturizer? Got it. You actually use his products because hello- they're clearly working. He also gets his nails and toes done regularly and the two of you often have spa days together. You'll sip and sit, eating fancy wines and cheeses while gossiping. "Did you see what he wore? I would never."

Always scoops you up when it's raining and hides you in his jacket so he can use infinity to block the rain. "Can't have you getting sick." His cheeks are tinted pink when he says this, and all you can do is smile.

Lightweight when it comes to alcohol. A shot gets him tipsy and he makes the worst decisions when he's drunk. You had to stop him from stripping once, and from then on he's never took a sip without you being near.

Loves cuddling. In bed? Yes. At work? Yes. On missions? Hell yeah! Every chance he gets to have you in his arms he eagerly takes.

He's a gym rat. He'll invite you to work out with him and pout if you decline. Sometimes he'll do push-ups with you under him, kissing you every time he goes down. "What? Kisses are my reward for all of this hard work." He'll tease, and then drop down for another. He's seen and heard those audios you have saved, so sometimes he'll taunt you by saying your name each push-up to make that whimpering sound you seem to adore.

Can't cook for shit. He's burned water before. It's funny, the amazing Gojo can't do something as simple as frying an egg or making toast.

Clingy boyfriend! He'll spam call, text, sometimes even show up outside your door with flowers and your favorite sweet. It can be pouring rain outside and he'll still rush over, even as lightning cackles in the sky. That's just how much he loves you.

He's attached to your stuffed animals. You've caught him trying to sneak some out of your place to take to his. You end up caving and letting him take home one squishmellow, he coats your face in kisses after.

Gets jealous easily. He wants all your attention and when he sees you giving it to another guy he'll act nonchalant but really he's holding back the urge to purple-hollow the dude.

Loves dancing. He'll pull you up off the couch or in his arms and loudly blast your song. Your song- the one the two of you listen to all the time. "We'll play this at our wedding for our first dance," he always jokes...sometimes you wonder if he's joking.

He wants children. Whenever the two of you are on a walk and see a family, the children run up to him and beg to play. Something about him radiates paternal energy. The parents of the kids will aways apologize but the two of you laugh it off. "That's going to be us soon, y'know." He'll whisper into your ear before your walk resumes.

It gets...intense when the two of you argue. He's stubborn in his stance, even when it's debating who's turn it is to do the dishes. Part of the problem is he finds you so damn hot when you're mad, the other problem is how he can't take anything seriously. He always plays things off as a joke until he sees how upset you are, and then the guilt will eat away at him. He always apologizes first, accompanied by make-up-gifts. "I shouldn't have said what I did, forgive me?"

He gets overstimulated sometimes because of 6th sense, and you're the first person he calls when it gets bad. Your voice is enough to calm him down, but a kiss on the cheek doesn't hurt.

He said "I love you" first, even with a shaky voice he knew he had to say it then or he never would.

NSFW (Kinky stuff ahead)

Loves making out with you but especially in public. He doesn't care how it makes other people feel, he'll pull you into a sloppily kiss and suck at your lips until they're kiss swollen. Drool, lots of drool, because he's obsessed with the taste of your tongue.

The first time you pulled his hair he made such an embarrassing noise he hasn't let you do it since. On occasion, you manage to sneakily bury your fingers in it and give it a firm tongue. A strangled moan will spill from his lips and then you have about five seconds to run. Good luck.

Pussy eater. Ass eater. He loves your taste. He'll bend you over the kitchen table and eat you out until your legs shake and your juices puddle on the floor. He'll lap your juices up and hold them in his mouth, then let them trickle into your mouth as he kisses you. "Mmm…now you know how good you taste."

He's a switch, perfectly fine with letting you lead on days you want to. His favorite positions are reverse-cowgirl, doggy, and sixty-nine. He loves when you sit on his face, nothing turns him on more than having your pussy on his skin. He likes to tell you how good you taste, even when his tongue is buried inside of you.

Three rounds isn't enough- he needs days. If you can still walk when he's done then back to the bedroom you go.

Pink tip. His cock is roughly eight inches, decently thick. He knows how to use it, and that's what really matters. Cum flavor is sweet, what did you expect from a man who's diet is 90% sugar?

He's a foreplay fan, thus why he loves making out with you. He also finds it so fun to finger you, play with your clit until you squirt. "This is where you're weak right?" He knows all of your favorite spots and especially the ones that push you over the edge until you're a soaking wet mess.

He'll try anything once, several times if he enjoys it of course. That's why he lets you peg him on occasion. He's let you cuff him down to the bed a few times. He's even worn a maid outfit for you.

He likes cumming on your skin, leaving his semen sprayed on you like a glaze. He also likes watching you swallow, it makes him shiver because you do it so eagerly. He'll still cum on your face after.

He's a loud lover. The neighbors better hear, or else he's not putting enough back into it. He knows he's doing good when you're screaming and squealing and there's knocking on the front door. "Good girl, let them hear how good I make you feel."

Bomb make-up sex. Whatever the two of you were fighting about doesn't matter now, not when he's ramming into you and holding your legs behind your head. How are you supposed to be mad when he's fucking you senseless?!

Steals your panties and finds it funny when you find them at his place. You've lectured him about it hundreds of times but his only response is a smug smirk. "Come on, I'm serious! I don't know how they got here." and "You must've left them last time you came over."

Only pulls out because he knows you trust him enough to let him hit raw. "Can I pleeease cum inside?" He always asks when he's close, and always respects whatever decision you make.

Aftercare is mostly cuddles, kisses, and takeout from your favorite places. He'll casually go to the door naked, jumpscaring the delivery person but since he tips them double what the food costs they never say much besides thank you. He'll feed you, then bathe with you when you can walk again. He likes to wash your hair, put on your lotion, help you put on fresh pajamas, and then he'll tuck you back into bed. "Rest up," he always says before you drift off.

Like my writing? Check out my Ao3!! Reblogs appreciated!!

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#Wink writes 💗#gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru gojo #gojo jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo headcanons #jjk satoru #gojo jjk #gojo saturo #jjk headcanons

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skyewritesstuff · 5 months

Text

greedy | p. mellark

my masterlist.

summary: after months of being in what you think is a situationship with peeta, you finally confront him about whether or not there's anything truly there or if you're just another girl who has fallen for his kindness and misinterpreted the signs.

pairing: peeta mellark x reader (college!au, fratboy!peeta if you squint)

fandom: the hunger games

warnings: nothing too serious. implied nsfw at the end. afab reader. sorta ooc peeta...it's mostly environmental because we all know peeta's a flirt.

notes: based on greedy by tate mcrae even though the verse at the end gives me everlark vibes. also, this has been beta read. :)

word count: 2.8k

He’s here. Are you coming?

You looked at the blue and gray text thread, Clove’s name, and contact picture with a little clover emoji sitting right on top of it. A sigh escaped you as you looked up from your phone at the fraternity house that was positioned in front of you. You’d been leaning against the fencing that surrounded the yard for what felt like an hour, but in reality, it’d only been a few minutes.

As of late, facing Peeta Mellark has always been an unpredictable situation. While he was kind, polite, and charismatic, that charisma oftentimes led to him getting entangled metaphorically (at least you hoped) with other girls. You couldn’t tell if he didn’t know how to say no, was weighing out his options, or if he was what Clove often referred to as a “fuckboy”.

Fuck it. You rolled your eyes, stuffed your phone into your jacket pocket, and made your way across the cement walkway leading to the house. Having second thoughts, you pulled your phone back out, pulling up the same conversation with Clove.

Is she here?

The person you were speaking of was none other than Katniss Everdeen. She was the most recent girl that Peeta had been hanging around with and was simultaneously the cause of your latest installment of confusion. According to some of your other friends, she’d been friends with Peeta for a while and the study date you ran up on in the library was nothing but a platonic catch-up amongst busy friends.

However, one Madge Undersee had more than the opposite to say. All it took was one group mirror shot in the bathroom at a nightclub posted on Instagram, featuring you and Peeta in the outskirts of the photo, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, for her to send you a heated DM saying that he and Katniss had been a thing for forever and that you were coming between them.

You very quickly sent back, “Funny how the alleged ‘other girl’ always gets shit while the dude gets to slide by.” with a sarcastically placed upside-down smiley that was left on read still to this day.

A typing bubble appeared in Clove’s thread.

I don’t think so!

You let out another sigh, relieved that for now, Katniss wasn’t a worry. You walked into the house, looking around. There was a cloud of smoke in the air, presumably from various substances and/or a smoke machine, and bright lights coming from various directions. You squinted, trying to make out anyone you knew, but specifically trying to find Clove.

“Hey!” The greeting was slurred, long, and drawn out as an arm was all but dropped onto your shoulders. Finnick Odair was standing beside you, laughing at what appeared to be nothing. Finnick was a grad student that you’d met while waiting in line for coffee, quickly discovering that you two had mutual connections.

“Y/N…Y/N…you look…beautiful, stunning, ravishing…Have you seen Annie?”

You chuckled at how rapidly his thought process changed. “Nope, I just got here! Maybe try calling her?”

“Ha,” he let out, “I don’t…I don’t know her number…”

“But she should be in your… never mind, you’ll find her I’m sure.” you grinned, shaking your head.

“Alright, sweet!” Finnick started to walk away, but then quickly turned on his heel back to you, pointing in your direction.

“Almost forgot…Peeta’s looking for you!”

“What?”

The question was ignored as he walked away, approaching another male at the party the same way he’d approached you. Peeta was looking for you? Was he serious or just on another planet from the amount of alcohol in his system?

You kept maneuvering through the crowd, trying to locate the kitchen, knowing that’s where most of the snacks and drinks were. The kitchen also usually served as a good place to wait around if you were looking for someone.

You pulled out your phone, shooting a text to Clove to meet you in the kitchen. You stared down at the screen, hoping for a speech bubble to pop up saying she was either on her way or giving you simple directions to wherever she was located. You then felt yourself collide with someone in a way that wasn’t painful, but most definitely was going to lead to an awkward exchange.

“Oh shit…I’m so sorry…”

You were met with blonde hair and a black hoodie and then a beautiful set of oh-too-familiar blue eyes.

“Don’t be!” Peeta smiled, “I was looking for you! I sent out Finnick to look for you and everything.”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk, “Well, you might want to find someone sober enough to complete the mission next time, just saying.”

“You are probably absolutely correct…but it’s fine. Why send someone else when it’s something you can do on your own way better, right?” he smiled, leaning on the wall, taking a sip from his cup, “Do you want something to drink?”

“What is that?” you gestured to the cup, raising a curious yet somewhat fearful eyebrow.

Peeta shrugged, “I think it’s some kind of jungle juice. The base has to be Hawaiian Punch because of the color if that helps.” He extended the cup towards you, “Want to see for yourself?”

You nodded and took the cup, taking a sip. It was definitely Hawaiian Punch, and it wasn’t as strong as you thought it would be, which could either be a help or a hindrance.

“Pretty good, right?” he asked. You nodded in response, handing the cup back to him. “Do you want me to get you some of that…or I can try to mix you something myself?”

“Whatever that is, that’s fine.” you answered, following him over to a large orange Gatorade dispenser that had the word “NOT” written on a piece of tape, stuck above the label. You chuckled under your breath as you watched the blonde grab a cup, scoop out some ice, and then fill the drink. As he did this, you took the time to take in his appearance as your brain had been busy keeping up with the conversation instead of taking a good look at him.

He was in a black hoodie with a small logo on the chest; his blonde hair falling into his face a little. He also was wearing gray joggers with his university lanyard sticking out of the pocket, falling onto his leg with a pair of somewhat beaten-up sneakers. Despite his relaxed appearance, he looked put together. He looked good.

Peeta turned back to you, handing you the cup, which you took with a smile. “Do you wanna go somewhere quieter?” he asked, gesturing to the surroundings before refilling his cup.

Your stomach turned with nerves. He probably just meant to talk, but what if he didn't? You knew for a fact that your bra and underwear were not fancy, nor did they match, and you probably had the lowest body count in your friend group. You took a hard swallow.

“...To talk…” Peeta laughed, his tone sounding a little nervous as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and took a sip from his cup. The lights well-hid the red flush on his face.

“Oh…okay, yeah!” you laughed back, watching as he extended his hand. You took his hand, noticing how he immediately laced your fingers together as he walked you through the main hallway that you’d just walked through and up the stairs.

Someone at a distance must’ve seen you both making your way upstairs, because someone wolf-whistled and then called Peeta’s name, causing him to sharply turn over his shoulder to try and identify the person. He quickly stuck his middle finger up at no one in particular, given the culprit was never identified, and then sped up a little as you both got up to the top of the stairs.

“I'm sorry. People are dumb and make ridiculous assumptions…like I’m really not trying to…”

“Peeta, it’s okay.” you reassured him, “If Clove had seen me, she probably would’ve been ten times worse and reminded me of one of her ridiculous tips to supposedly eliminate your gag reflex that she learned on TikTok.”

Peeta somewhat choked on the sip of his drink that he was taking, laughing at your comment, “Who said you couldn’t learn something off of the internet.”

He led you down a shorter hallway to a door. He knocked twice before opening it, finding it just as he must’ve left it, as you quickly put two-and-two together that this was his room. He shut and locked the door behind him, took another sip from his drink, and sat it on his bedside table before flopping on the bed as you leaned against the wall.

You took a big sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol kicked in sooner rather than later to get some control of the nerves that were bubbling up across your entire body. You watched as the blonde turned on his side and looked over at you.

“I'm not gonna bite, sweetheart…unless you’re into that.”

You couldn’t refrain from rolling your eyes at his cheesy line before you walked over to sit your drink next to his. Then, you removed your jacket, hanging it from his footrest. Before you could even turn your attention back to him, you could feel his eyes on you. It was like he was bearing a hole into the exposed skin on your back that was left uncovered from your dress now that your denim jacket had been discarded.

When you turned back around, he rolled onto his back with his hands behind his head, smiling up at you. “You’re gorgeous.”

It was spoken so matter-of-factly as if he was telling you the most basic of observations…as if it were obvious to anyone who looked at you. You could feel your chest swell slightly at his words. Your instinct was going to be to tell him to stop or to refute what he said, but you took a breath and let out a small, “Thank you” in response as you sat on the edge of his bed and then slowly inched your way back onto the bed, laying next to him.

The room was silent, aside from the bumping music that was playing behind the door and down the stairs, and your eyes were fixed on the ceiling fan, watching it spin to avoid meeting Peeta’s eyes, fearing the burning blush that would overtake your body if you did.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, breaking that silence.

“Nothing…” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. You weren’t giving your full thought process to anything. Instead, your brain was in several places at once. You’d thought about the makeup tutorial you’d seen earlier set to the song that was playing downstairs. You’d thought about how close Peeta was to you. You’d also thought about Katniss and Peeta’s study “date” from a while back too.

“Baby, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.” he said. You finally glanced over at him. He was on his side, facing you, leaning against one hand while the other played with his hoodie string.

Baby.

Before you could stop yourself, the bigger question tumbled out of your lips, “What’s up with you?”

His features scrunched together in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“You take me on dates. You kiss me. You hold my hand. You call me baby.” you paused, “But then, I see you at the library with Katniss Everdeen and I have one of her stupid little friends in my DMs accusing me of being a homewrecker because you have your arm around me in a photo I didn’t even post…and I’ve seen you talking to other girls too, Peeta. You do the same thing, leaning against the wall, standing close to them. You’re smiling and laughing and the girl is playing with her hair and laughing back at you. What is all of that? Am I just the one you know will answer your random texts and calls to hang out…go to the club… make out in your car? Am I some weird escape from reality like…who…”

You were quickly silenced by his lips on yours, one hand coming up to your cheek, pulling you in closer to him. It was almost second nature at this point and your body quickly betrayed you despite your frustrations and melted into the kiss as it deepened, your hand coming to rest on his ribcage, progressively snaking onto his back and then upwards into his blonde locks as he moved over top of you.

The motion of him nudging your leg with his knee so he could position himself knocked you back into reality like a harsh slap to the face. You put both hands onto his chest and applied just enough pressure to jerk him back into the present as well. He looked confused. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his lips were slightly swollen.

“Did I do something?”

You propped yourself up, causing him to move, rolling back onto his back, his arm dropping across his chest as he rather obviously tried to cool himself down. You sat up, looking down at Peeta, whose eyes met yours.

“You never answered my question.”

“Yes, I did.” He looked at you like you’d missed the most obvious sign in the universe, but you already knew he meant the kiss, and that was not the answer you were looking for.

You shook your head, “A kiss isn’t an answer. If anything, it just proves my point. I don’t understand you. You clearly, in some way, want me. So, what is it? Are you just playing the field…fucking a bunch of random girls…Are you in love with Katniss still?”

“Katniss?” Peeta looked like you’d slapped him clean across his handsome face.

“Yes, Katniss…” You repeated, glancing from him to the door, wondering if it’d just be better to get up and go home. You knew fully well that he’d follow you. There was no getting out of this.

“I get it. You’re hot. You’re nice. I genuinely don’t think you’d try to intentionally hurt anyone, but…”

“That’s it, right there.” He pointed toward you as you spoke, “You talk about me and my mixed signals…what is that? You go from basically saying I’m some piece of shit heartbreaker to saying I’d never hurt anyone. You do that a lot. You’ll go from dancing with me and kissing me…letting me hold you while you’re sleeping to acting completely disinterested in anything outside of a friendship. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. Girls are usually pretty forward with me…regardless of whether I feel the same or not. I don’t know if it’s intentional…like you think it’ll make me want you more or what, but it’s driving me crazy. Other girls may want me...I don't know for sure, but I know for sure that I want you, not them. I’m trying my best to show you that…but you just keep pushing me away and I wish you’d stop.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, suddenly hyper-aware of a scuff on the toe of your boots. Your heart pounded as you tried to process what he’d said. He was usually so confident and sure in his abilities to keep sucking you back in, but the wavering tones in his voice indicated otherwise. He was serious.

You turned back to him, “I…I like you a lot…a lot more than just a friend…which is why seeing you with those other girls drove me fucking insane. I want you and for you to only want me. I don’t want to just be some kind of convenience for you. I’m either your girlfriend or nothing at all.”

His lips curved into a smile as your arms crossed over your chest, waiting for a response from the blonde. Peeta sat up and moved in closer to you, his forehead resting against yours, lips inches from your own.

“As you wish, girlfriend.”

His lips were on yours as soon as the title was spoken, moving slowly and sensually. His hand came to your waist as you fell back onto the bed, pulling him down with you as you finally let him move over top of you. The kisses grew needier and more passionate as your hands moved to the hem of his hoodie, pulling it and his white undershirt over his head and allowing for him to toss them behind him.

The articles of clothing caught your jacket, bringing it to the floor as well. Your phone slid out of the pocket as it vibrated, going completely unnoticed next to the clothing.

Where are you?

Hello?

Oh my god, Cato just said he saw you going upstairs with Peeta. Good luck. ;) Remember what I told you about spelling your name. Trust me, works every single time.

#the hunger games #thg #the hunger games fanfiction #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x yn #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x reader #hunger games x reader #fanfiction #catching fire #mockingjay #josh hutcherson #peeta mellark imagine

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cumikering · 5 months

Text

Keegan Russ x reader

3.5k | fluff, second chance, childhood friends

You matched with Keegan on Tinder

@glitterypirateduck’s holiday challenge, inspired by I Don’t Do Drugs by Doja Cat

“No way.” You shook your head. “Not Keegan goddamn Russ.” You chuckled as you stared at his profile.

It had been over 15 years since you saw him last. His teeth might have been straight, bowl cut replaced by a far more fitting fade cut, but his sharp blue eyes and easy smile remained. They were unmistakable.

This dude hadn’t crossed your mind in years, but you were pleasantly surprised to see he’d grown to be a tall and athletic Marine. You hated to admit that he got hot, even that not having a stupid haircut wasn’t a very high bar to begin with.

You zeroed in on his smile again. He was attractive and he knew it. He couldn’t have been there for anything serious.

You laughed to yourself. “What the hell,” you said and swiped right on him.

At the other end of town, Keegan laid in bed, swiping mindlessly on his phone. Left… Left… Oh!? … Yeah, another left… Until his hand froze when he saw your card.

“Goddamn,” he muttered as he rolled to his side, clutching his phone. Where the hell were you all this time?

He took his time ogling your photos. The first one was a full body picture, your figure on display in your tight jeans. The second was a selfie, your eyes bright, donning a brilliant smile and glossy lips. The last two were group photos. He loved your style – comfortable yet tasteful. Your genuine laughter and the twinkle in your eye as you sat among your friends mesmerised him.

Okay, so you were the life of the party.

Keegan often worried about not having enough to say and preferred chattier dates who’d lead the conversation. Evidently, he didn’t have to worry about that with you… Because you probably wouldn’t even look at him twice. With looks like that, you could have anyone.

He lied on his back and gawked at your selfie again, biting his lip.

“What the hell,” he said to himself and swiped right.

He nearly dropped his phone on his face when it chimed right away. It’s a match! He gasped.

He stared at the empty chat window, fingers drumming on his thigh as he contemplated what to say. He wished he had more game.

After a minute, he settled with a simple Hi, hope you’re doing alright :) are you from the area?

You seemed a little quiet the first day of texting, but he’d expected that, a usual occurrence in his endeavour. Keegan didn’t relent, coming up with discussions, although some he had to admit were rather lame. Soon, you asked him specific questions about himself, allowing the conversation to pour throughout the days. He stopped thinking too hard when replying.

As it turned out, you were from the same hometown. You went to different high schools, but had a few mutual friends, although none he knew anymore. He barely kept in contact with anyone back home safe for the handful of his close high school friends.

Now that he reached for his phone far more often on base, grinning at that, it took no time for people to notice the newfound habit.

“We need to tell command someone’s hardly working.” Ajax nudged Kick, nodding at Keegan at the far end of the rec room. “He keeps looking at that one selfie.”

He chuckled. “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is. Don’t get catfished, bro.”

“Or ghosted.” Ajax roared in laughter. He had no business sounding so proud of his pun.

Keegan’s eyes narrowed at them before looking back down at his phone. He wasn’t going to let his buddies stop him from sending you the What kind of bread are you? quiz.

At night, it’d also become a routine to text. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but it grew to be the highlight of his day. He could unwind and laugh with you without having to wait long to have you text back. His bed felt less empty, a little less cold.

“I’d really like to meet you. You’re wonderful,” he said longingly at his phone.

He knew he wanted to after the third day, but didn’t initiate a date in fear of moving too fast and appalling you. But after over a week, with his next deployment inching closer, he’d grown impatient and a bit mad at himself for overthinking the matter. He didn’t remember asking anyone on a date being that unnerving.

Unprompted, your name flashed across his screen, sending his heart racing. Keegan sat up and cleared his throat before answering.

“Hey,” he said with as much smoothness as he could muster.

“Hi, Keegan.”

He could hear the smile in your voice, and he prayed he had even a fraction of the effect you had on him, on you.

“I was wondering if you’re into soccer?”

His brows furrowed. Hell no, he wasn’t at all.

“You want to watch the World Cup screening with me Saturday night?”

But for you? Well for you, he was the biggest fan in town.

“Sure,” he answered immediately. He couldn’t believe his ears. Was it Christmas already?

“For dinner, there’s a taco truck I like near the sports bar, if you’d like to try.”

He tried not to smile too much, but he was failing miserably. He was two seconds away from puking out the butterflies in his stomach.

“Sounds great,” he breathed. “I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

“Me too.” Your easy voice calmed him.

Kick’s comment crossed his mind. He stilled for a moment and decided he didn’t care what you looked like. The little of you he got to know the past week was enough to get him hooked.

“Well, I only wanted to ask that. I’m going to bed.”

“So soon?”

You let out a small laugh. Oh, he wanted to stay on the phone all night.

“Talk to you again tomorrow, okay? Send me more quizzes.”

After you hung up, he bit down a silly grin as he pulled up your photos again.

The following night, struck with a sudden burst of confidence, Keegan called when you were both in bed. He’d expected the pauses on his end (which was why he always preferred texting), but you didn’t seem to mind. At least he knew you weren’t opposed to talking to him. You stayed on the line for half an hour, your laughter lulled his reeling mind.

Saturday couldn’t have come sooner. He’d shaved that morning and put on some cologne before taking way too long to pick an outfit. He hoped it didn’t look like he was trying too hard.

You declined his offer to pick you up. He didn’t take it personally - he was a patient man after all. But when he’d arrived a little too early, he started to lose his cool the longer he leaned on the streetlamp.

He had to do a double take when he caught sight of you walking towards him. Oh, look at the way you lit up, your smile the same brilliant one like in your photos. You were in those delightful jeans again, your hair bouncing to your steps. He straightened up and met you halfway.

“Hi,” you said when you got to him.

“Hey.” His smile didn’t waver. “You look great.”

You took the words out of his lips, the words that he already had so few of. This was the opposite of catfish because you were far prettier in real life. He needed you to hold his hand because he wasn’t going to look where he was going.

He couldn’t wait to brag to Kick and Ajax.

You looked up at him, eyes bright. “Thank you. You look nice yourself.”

He followed you to join the short queue. He stole a glance as you ordered.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said to the cook, giving your hand a gentle nudge when you tried to pay.

First skin contact. Innocent enough.

But why did it get so warm all of a sudden? He hoped he wasn’t sweating. Fuck, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he shove them in his pockets? How close was the acceptable distance to stand next to you?

Well, he certainly stood close enough for you to catch a faint waft of his cologne.

You meant it when you said he looked good. He wore a light jacket over a black shirt, light washed jeans and sneakers. His jet black hair was styled, a little longer than in his photos. The way he stood with his hands in his pockets accentuated his build, his watch a nice touch.

Sure, curiosity got you at first. It quickly came to light that he didn’t recognise you – granted you used a nickname – but you found it amusing nonetheless. You didn’t even mean it to get that far but after talking to him, you couldn’t help but want more.

Dating was always daunting; putting your heart on the line like that rendered you vulnerable. It wasn’t that he didn’t reciprocate – his company was delightful, but whatever you had between you felt stagnant. You thought your initial assumption was right: he wasn’t looking for anything more. Was this a mistake after all?

You sat on the bench nearby, the drinks between you. You took two bites before you stalled.

Your face twisted. “Why’s this hot?”

“Is it? Mine isn’t at all.”

“It is ridiculously hot.” You blinked the tears away.

“Can’t be. Let me try.”

You handed him the taco, instead he grabbed your wrist and leaned in for a bite.

He gave you an amused smile. “It’s not hot at all. Here, I’ll have yours.”

By now, a few drops of sweat had broken out of your forehead. You didn’t question it when he swapped the paper plates on your thighs and took a huge bite.

It wasn’t supposed to be hot! This was so uncool, at your first meeting at that. Your gaze trained on the ground as you took a small bite of his which actually tasted normal. When you looked up, it was his turn to frown.

“Wait. It is.” He put the taco down. ”It is hot.”

“I told you!”

“Oh God. Oh shit,” he hissed, scrambling for his drink. “Why is it so hot?”

You stifled a giggle. “They must have put the wrong sauce in mine, because yours tastes fine.”

“My tongue had never known such pain. What the hell is in this thing?” He continued gulping down his drink. “Oh no, it’s getting worse.” He sniffled before shoving the last half into his mouth.

“You know you don’t have to eat it, right?” You busted into laughter as he chew with all his might. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

His brows knitted, the agony in his watery eyes as clear as day. You handed him a serviette.

“That’s inhumane, but I’m a man of my word,” he said between hisses, wiping at his forehead. “My mouth is on fire. I need to inhale fire extinguisher.”

You could only offer him your drink which he gladly chugged. Still giggling, you finished your meal before making your way to the bar.

“I’m sorry, that was really embarrassing.” He grimaced through his drying tears, forehead still damp. “But at least you’re laughing. I like it when you laugh.”

You wanted to kiss him right then.

Keegan was the first man to make you willingly lose sleep in a long time, but his inaction didn’t sit right with you. Self-doubt inevitably crept up - maybe you simply weren’t his type, but you were too hooked to not at least shoot your shot despite your mounting fear of rejection. Your heart lodged in your throat when you called him that night.

Oh but his voice was so calm and soothing, and what for? He got you hanging onto every word - some straight up sounded like he was purring. Like now, he had to lean in closer and closer to talk over the noise as the bar continued to fill up. The deep rumble of his laughter so close in your ear got you biting your lip.

You didn’t want to like him so much, but here you were smiling non-stop the past hour. He’d taken his jacket off, his sturdy arms on display as he lied back. Now that was the highlight of his outfit. It didn’t help that he kept looking at you like that either; blue eyes piercing, brows striking with a cool smile.

It was unfair how effortlessly charming he was, like it was simply an unfortunate by product of being Keegan Russ, like he didn’t even mean it.

Well, evidently, Keegan was literally sweating about the humiliating incident. He sincerely hoped you wouldn’t excuse yourself to the bathroom to stand him up, but the smile hadn’t left your pretty face ever since. That was a good sign right?

Halfway into the first half, he extended his arm along the back of your seat, eyes still on the screen pretending to not notice the way your lips curled in amusement. You dragged your chair against his, thighs touching now. His fist clenched when you placed your hand on his knee.

He was secretly glad this was your first date – if he could even call it that. At least there was no pressure to keep making conversation and he could focus on your company, which he thoroughly enjoyed thus far. Was wrapping his arm around your waist an appropriate next move? He itched to be closer.

“How long have you been on Tinder?” You turned to him during halftime.

“A few months now.”

“Any luck?”

He looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t get a lot of matches, and when I do - even after many weeks of talking… Well as it turned out, people just aren’t very interested in dating long distance.”

When his eyes flicked up and met your sympathetic look, he wondered if he shouldn’t have been so honest.

“You? Any luck so far?” he asked quickly.

“I went on a few dates with someone who looked an awful lot like my first crush.” You let out a small laugh. “But that’s all. It didn’t work out.”

A speck of jealousy flickered in his chest. “Tell me about him. Your first crush.”

“Well, I was a late bloomer. It was in high school, he was a sophomore when I was a freshman.”

“Handsome dude?”

“Yes, but I actually never spoke to him.” You tilted your head and smiled. “Well, I did once, kind of. I don’t know what possessed me, but one day I walked up to him and gave him a bar of chocolate. He said thanks, and that was it.”

You looked over him. The crowd had started to move towards the bar

“I’ll get us more drinks before the wait gets too long.” You stood up.

Keegan perked up; he wasn’t going to miss his chance. When you came back, he’d mustered all his courage to tug on your wrist in the direction of his parted thighs. There was a glint in your eye as you indulged and he snaked his arm behind you, hand on his knee. You had a playful smile on your lips when you moved it to your waist and wrapped your arm around his neck.

He leaned onto your shoulder, his chest pressing against your side. He watched the way your eyes transfixed on the screen, how your glass would freeze against your lower lip at times. He couldn’t help smiling when you tensed up whenever someone got close to scoring a goal. His other arm wrapped around your waist.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you when the bar erupted in cheers. You turned to him with a proud grin. Oh, your lips were just right there. He wasn’t going to survive the night.

Your favourite team won and you left the bar beaming. You were glad he offered to walk you home because you still wanted his presence. Your fingers curled around his forearm.

“I didn’t get to ask about your first crush.”

He chuckled to himself. “We were in fifth grade.”

“You ever told her?”

He shook his head. “She hated me. My friends used to tease her about her weight. I didn’t join in but I hung around anyway. I guess when you’re young you do dumb things to fall in.”

You remembered the raucous boys he hung out with.

“Over the summer, I convinced myself to finally say something, but she’d moved away.”

Had he not looked at where you were going, he’d have seen the shock on your face. Your heart skipped a beat. Is he talking about me?

“What was she like?”

“My memory’s fuzzy now, but she had two other girlfriends they teased too but she always stood up for them. Oh, was sassy too.” He smiled. “I used to stand around to overhear her jokes. If I laughed along, she’d stare me down until I left.”

You laughed, too hard for someone who supposedly wasn’t involved in the story. You remembered that too, the way prepubescent Keegan Russ and his dumb bowl cut scrambled away when you gave him bombastic side eye.

You couldn’t believe it. He had a crush on you?

“I think had I spoken up, we’d have been good friends.” He glanced at you with a smile. “You know, when I heard she’d moved away, I came home crying and my mum smacked me upside the head. Told me not to hang around with the shithead boys anymore.”

You stopped in your tracks and took your hand off his arm. “You really don’t recognise me?”

He turned to you, brows furrowed. “What?”

“You used to paste Superman stickers on my Barbie backpack.”

Keegan’s eyes widened. He turned away, a hand over his face, laughing out of pain. No fucking way. He wanted to disappear.

You chuckled. “A new one whenever I managed to peel the previous one off. Said they were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t recognise you at all.” He lowered his hand. “But you don’t even have the same name?”

“It’s the internet. You’re the weird one for using your real name.”

His brows rose. “You knew it was me all along?”

“Right away.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” He shook his head. “That’s just mean.”

“Was wondering if you remembered, but we were kids. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognise me or forgot.”

The corner of his lips pulled. “Well, I didn’t forget.” And probably won’t. You haven’t left my mind the past week.

And that voice was back, of course. He definitely knew what he was doing, and still you couldn’t get enough.

“Wait, no. Is this it?” He frowned. “Did you talk to me the entire time- meet me just for this?”

“No! No. I wanted to see you.” The edge in his voice stung more than you expected. “I… I didn’t think you’d even want to, because you didn’t make a move.”

His cold eyes searched yours, making your heart ache. If only he knew how much he made you smile, how many times a day you wished he’d replied when you checked your phone. You never wanted to see that pain in his face again.

“Please don’t lead me on,” he finally said, his gaze softening. “Not when you know you don’t want this.”

You wanted to hold him. “I promise I won’t. I know it’s early to say, but I want to try.”

He took a small step towards you. “Are you sure you like me?”

Suddenly he was once again the young Keegan who couldn’t meet your eyes, asking if you wanted to share the last of his favourite chocolate with him.

“Are you?”

“Positive.” His icy blues were back on you. You saw the wary hopefulness in them.

You closed the gap, arms wrapping around his waist. You let out a small sigh as your head rested on his shoulder.

“May I see you again?” He pulled you closer, his voice lighter now. “I want to go on a date. A real one, with my first crush with the death stare.”

You laughed against his neck.

Keegan hated getting ahead of himself, not knowing how many more times his hopes could be shattered before the shards got to small to meet again. But as he held you, he let his mind drift, just a little further, just this time.

With his eyes closed, he thought that maybe in the future - perhaps soon enough, someone would be waiting at the base to welcome him back with a smile and an embrace just like this.

More Keegan: fake dating, werewolf AU

A/N: I think the song represents the uncertainty in the initial stages of falling, when you keep trying to swallow the hopefulness, cautious of each other’s intentions as to not get hurt. It takes bravery handing your heart over to a stranger, unsure if they’ll just stomp on your feelings or be the best thing ever.

@sofasoap @b1rds3ye @macravishedbymactavish @shadofireshinobi @two-gh0sts

#codholiday2023 #call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #keegan x reader #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod fluff #call of duty fluff #keegan russ fluff #keegan russ #keegan p russ #brian bloom u my fave tuker tambah dong

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solar-wing · 14 days

Text

⚣ 5+1: TikTok Trends 🤳🏽

⚣🤳🏽 A/N → I kept seeing all these couple trends on TikTok and it made me think of how Jason would react to these very same trends with his boyfriend...so I wrote it. tee hee WARNINGS: established relationship | social media trends | relationship goals | fluff/comfort | jason's had enough |

⚣🤳🏽 Summary → Five times Y/N did a social media trend/prank on Jason and the one time the vigilante finally got his boyfriend back.

⚣🤳🏽 Words → 3.7K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🤳🏽

Social media is an interesting thing with a variety of uses. You could use it to connect with old friends from high school and college, remembering the good ole days. It could be a place to connect with other people in specific communities so individuals could find those they related to and shared similar views and interests with. More than ever, it could be used to spread activism and political messages.

For Y/N L/N, it was a place for him to display his loving and chaotic relationship with his boyfriend Jason Todd.

They both had very different relationships with social media.

Y/N was a whirlwind of hashtags and filters, a living embodiment of the digital age. His phone was an extension of his hand, scrolling through endless videos and GRWMs where they were always running late for whatever they were getting ready for.

The boy took his college studies seriously, but the thought never not crossed his mind that he could become a full-time content creator if he wanted to. Ask any of his friends or especially his boyfriend, the dude was a walking meme who kept hundreds to thousands of reaction pictures and videos on his phone which is something he successfully managed to get his boyfriend addicted to as well.

No seriously, it had gotten so bad that Bruce had to reach out to Y/N to see if he could get Jason to stop or at least delete the photos from his phone. Apparently, in their family group chat, his boyfriend had taken to sending some very targeted and specific images.

It was fine until Bruce said something about Jason being reckless or something and risking lives, and his boyfriend responded with some interesting images and a very petty caption.

Jason: this u?

It was safe to say Bruce was less than amused, though apparently everyone else found it hilarious. But, sadly Y/N had to inform the billionaire that he wouldn’t be able to get his boyfriend to stop even if he tried and that he was also a victim of this new ordeal.

Bruce was confused until Y/N showed him a picture Jason sent him after Y/N refused to come cuddle him because he was studying for a midterm.

Jason: get ur ass in here now or else...respectfully

This was the exact fun and chaotic energy Y/N wanted to share with the world on social media and TikTok. But, Jason had a different relationship with it than his boyfriend.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Jason was a firm believer in a simpler existence, preferring face-to-face conversations over likes and retweets. He possessed a refreshing aversion to the constant buzz of notifications and the pressure to document every meal or outing.

His only exception was Twitter, where he could voice his unhinged and questionable thoughts freely without raising suspicion or judgment because it was…well, it was Twitter.

However, that did not stop Y/N from using his poor and innocent lover in his little TikTok exploits when he wanted to.

The first one was something innocent, at least in his eyes. He and Jason were in their shared apartment near Y/N’s campus. They were lying together on the couch, with Y/N parallel to the piece of furniture while Jason sat up properly with his boyfriend’s legs over him.

He was silently reading a book while Y/N pretended to scroll through social media, fidgeting now and then when Jason would accidentally tickle his feet while unconsciously rubbing his feet. Then, the sneaky little man would pull up an audio from TikTok of a man’s voice, talking as if they were on a Facetime call.

At first, Jason didn’t think anything of it when he heard the ring from his boyfriend’s phone and he knows that he frequently calls his parents or friends. Besides, Jason knows almost everyone that Y/N knows so it definitely wasn’t out of the ordinary.

So why the fuck did he not recognize that voice that was speaking on the other end of Y/N’s phone? More than ever, why was it male?! The second he heard the random male voice ask his boyfriend why he was smiling like that, the phone was snatched out of his hand and Jason was prepared to threaten extreme bodily harm to whoever was on the other side of that phone.

So imagine his confusion when was looking back at himself.

When he noticed the recording button at the bottom, he looked toward his boyfriend who was trying his best to hold in his laughs and was doing a terrible job. Y/N made sure to snatch his phone back though so Jason couldn’t delete the footage.

Jason allowed it though despite his annoyance, seeing Y/N happy and laughing always trumped over any negative feelings he was experiencing. However, he did give his boyfriend a nice gentle lesson about what happens when he plays with the vigilante’s jealous side.

It ‘twas not gentle though, not one bit.

And Y/N was a little fucker who never learned his lesson. Proud of it too.

The second time wasn’t even a week later after he’d seen a new trend going around the clock app that he just knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Might be a little bit controversial but get ready with me while I give you my reasons on why cheating on your significant other is okay in certain scenarios.”

In under 5 seconds, the bathroom door shot open after the apartment sounded like a large predator had come running through it. Judging by the very unamused look Y/N was receiving, it may have been just that.

Y/N had to do his best not to laugh (or moan) at the image on his phone’s screen of a hulking, pissed-off Jason standing over him as he watched his skincare in silence. He knew his followers were going to get a kick out of this, probably detailing the filthiest things their horny little minds could cook up in his comment section like the little horny bastards they were.

Though, Y/N would be no better.

Jason still didn’t say anything, continuing to stare down at him like an angry parent who’d just been embarrassed in church by their child.

“Um, can I help you?” Y/N asked, desperately holding back the smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Jason’s dark hair fell over his forehead, his white streak hanging lazily between as his eyes narrowed down at his smaller boyfriend, his large, intimidating arms crossed over his chest. Y/N had to take a large breath to calm down the fluttering in his stomach.

Why did his boyfriend have to be so hot? The world was not fair.

When Jason continued to not say anything, just staring silently at his lover, Y/N decided to finish his skincare in silence while checking to make sure his video was still recording.

When about five minutes passed and neither of the boys said anything, the taller and larger male started to become slightly confused. Why wasn’t Y/N saying anything? He wasn’t crazy, knowing exactly what he heard until a lightbulb went over his head and he realized what was going on.

Once Y/N finished patting his face with sunscreen, he looked up to his boyfriend to see him with a now slightly less peeved expression and more of a smug, amused look.

“What?”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think I’m quite hilarious actually.”

Jason didn’t say another word before turning on his heel, slowly walking out of the bathroom back towards the kitchen with that damn slutty walk of his. Seriously, why was the universe so unfair to Y/N? Then again, he definitely wasn’t complaining.

But, just because Jason realized what was going on didn’t mean he was going to just let the harmless prank go so easily. Y/N would be reminded once again how petty his boyfriend could be in the worst ways possible.

There really should be a hotline or emergency number for guys whose boyfriends decide to tease and edge them for over an hour. These crimes should not go unchecked!

Anyways…Y/N still didn’t learn his lesson. Third time’s a charm.

By this time, Jason had become well aware that Y/N would not stop using him in his little videos and pranks, so he figured if you can’t beat em, join em. He got his own TikTok account and only followed his boyfriend while also doing his best to keep up with whatever trends were going around, especially with couples so he could stay one step ahead.

This proved very useful, as when the ‘Water’ song by Tyla became a trend all over TikTok, Jason was more than aware of what his boyfriend was trying to do when he noticed from the corner of his eyes him recording him, pretending like he was just watching the videos.

Ah ah ah, gonna have to try harder than that, babe. Jason didn’t even budge like he was going to look, not like he would’ve either way.

But, he was NOT prepared to come home one day to find his boyfriend with his tripod set up, starting the countdown timer to record a video. The second the video started recording and Jason realized what song was playing, he didn’t waste a second before running and tackling Y/N out of the camera view before he could even hit the first beat.

He didn’t care if he fell for that one, those moves were for Jason’s eyes only. Something else the vigilante was going to have to remind his boyfriend about.

But, at least when Y/N looked at the footage, he realized he finally had something to post for that trend where people ran and tackled their significant others to that Barbie Girl remix. He’d always wanted to do that trend but hadn’t met Jason yet, so he was a bit too single to do it.

The fourth time was something also a little bit simple, less of a prank and more of Y/N just being a little shit that went looking for trouble.

When Jason was once again in the kitchen cooking, with his usual tank-top and jogger combo, Y/N thought it a perfect opportunity for him to get some revenge on his boyfriend since the gargantuan male always found it funny to slap Y/N on his butt hard as shit. Vengeance was needed.

So, when Jason wasn’t looking, Y/N walked into the kitchen positioning his phone in another spot so it could see the entire action, knowing if he tried to be sneaky, the vigilante would still catch on to him and turn around. He walked up behind him and gave his boyfriend a little hug as usual and a kiss on his back, something the towering male pretended not to be giddy at.

However, his sweet, tender moment was interrupted when he felt a medium-palm land on his ass with a precision aim, leaving a tingling sting behind.

“Payback!” Y/N decreed, already turning around and running for their shared room.

When he went back and looked at the footage later, he had to admit, the view of Jason turning around slowly as Y/N scurried away was very amusing. Especially considering he layered the video with the Wii Sports fencing music as his mammoth-sized man stalked after him like a predator cornering its prey.

His vengeance did not last long.

By this time, Jason had become somewhat of a regular presence on Y/N’s TikTok account, and all of his followers wanted more content with the two of them together.

So, after a long time coming, Y/N had managed to successfully convince Jason to do a video with him on camera. They decided to do the Alphabet challenge, something Y/N thought he’d have an easy win at.

He was not prepared for his boyfriend's extensive vocabulary. “Are you ready to start, honey?” Y/N started sneakily, thinking his boyfriend wouldn’t catch it.

“Bet you thought you were slick, huh?” Jason replied with his usual smug look.

“Can you be any less smug?” Y/N said with a playful eye roll.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

At that point, it was almost like they weren’t even doing a challenge, but rather doing their usual relationship banter back and forth that just happened to be getting recorded. The longer it went on, the more chaotic it became, both boyfriends pulling the absolute wildest sentences they could think of out of their mouths to throw the other ones off.

“Suck my ass.”

“Turn around”

He’d also underestimated Jason’s lack of shame and vulgarness.

“Explain how you get a body like that?”

“From fucking whiny little pretty boys like you.”

Oh.

Yeah, he should’ve thought this one through a little more.

They’d managed to go through the whole alphabet at least three times, going from bantering back and forth to Y/N reciting lines from movies he could both think of, to Jason reciting lines from some of his favorite books. The smaller man at some point figured he could start using lines from pop culture and trends to throw his colossal boyfriend off. However, he was absolutely not prepared for him to quote the Rachel voicemail, word for word, knowing how much that whole message always made him weak.

“This is for Rachel you big, fat, white, nasty-smelling fat BITCH.”

Why did he have to put so much emphasis on the ‘bitch’ part? He threw in the towel there and let Jason have it, swearing victory on their next face-off.

Now, Y/N didn’t think it would go any farther than that. He figured he would keep making videos pranking Jason and that now and then, the vigilante would begrudgingly join in.

Oh, he was wrooong…

Frankly, Y/N should have known Jason was playing a prank on him the second he called him by his actual name instead of one of his pet names. The vigilante always got upset at him when he used Jason’s actual name instead of babe, baby, Jaybirdie, love, or even just simple Jay.

So, when Jason was not only calling him by his name but refusing to touch and or kiss him at all. Y/N absolutely should have figured something was up.

When Jason got over his initial awkwardness of physical touch in their relationship, that meant became a touch-clingy animal. Whether a hug, hand holding, cuddling, or even simple finger grazes, he needed them all. And kissing, if Y/N ever even dared leave their bedroom, let alone their apartment without giving his giant teddy bear of a boyfriend a kiss, he basically committed the ultimate sin.

So, imagine his surprise when he wakes up and leans over to give his Jaybirdie his kiss, and the big lug rolls over to the other side of the bed before his lips can even get close. Never mind the fact that he woke up and Jason was not cuddling him, hugging, or even just touching him for the matter.

But, he figured Jason was just out of it, discombobulated after waking up or something, and needed a moment. Then, when he was getting ready for his classes and making breakfast, Jason came out and Y/N plated his food for him while grabbing some juice from the fridge.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

Immediate strike two.

Y/N immediately turned around to his lover who was slowly eating his food, rather than inhaling it like he usually does which is why Y/N always has to make extra because the man is still hungry after the first plate. He gave him a weird look and just shrugged it off like he was hearing things, continuing to fill up the glass of juice before handing it over to the vigilante.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

There it was again. Okay, so he wasn’t imagining shit.

And, now that he was thinking about it, Jason was acting really weird. He didn’t come in and hug from behind like he does when Y/N is cooking. He hasn’t made one lewd sexual joke all morning. Heck, he’s barely looked towards the smaller male since this morning.

“You’re welcome. Is everything okay?”

Finally, Jason looked up at him, but it was with a straight face instead of his usual small smile or even the smirk that he always seemed to carry.

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, you just seem like you’re upset about something. Did I do something to make you mad?” Y/N asked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and uncomfortable. He was not used to this behavior from Jason. It was almost like the beginning of their relationship when the vigilante wouldn’t be very guarded against him because he didn’t trust him yet. A feeling he was very happy to forget.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Are you okay?” Jason asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just worried about you, I guess. You seem quiet.”

“I’m good, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about me.” Jason said, going back to scrolling on his phone while eating.

“Oh, okay,” Y/N said softly, looking down at the ground and feeling very out of place all of a sudden.

On the other end, he didn’t realize how much it was KILLING Jason on the inside to keep up this ruse. He was just about ready to fold and call it quits this morning when he turned over and avoided his boyfriend’s kiss.

Now, he felt absolutely disgusted and horrible at how hurt Y/N looked. He planned to wait it out until he got back from his classes, but he knew right at that moment he wasn’t going to be able to make it that long. He underestimated how much seeing his boyfriend upset would affect him.

“Alright, well, I’m gonna head to my class now. Text me if you want to meet up for lunch.”

“Okay,” Jason said, not saying anything else which he could see was visibly confusing Y/N even more.

He knew that Y/N didn’t like to push because of Jason’s boundaries, always rather giving him space than crowding him and trying to force him to tell him what was going on. It did nothing to help alleviate the guilt he was feeling.

When Y/N came over to try and give Jason a hug and goodbye kiss and Jason visibly moved away, the vigilante wanted to kill himself right at that moment at the wounded expression all over the boy’s face, who just moved to grab his bag, keys, and phone and damn near ran for the door. That was a clear strike three for the college student.

Absolute shit Jason felt like.

When he heard the front door open and slam, he immediately jumped up, grabbed his phone, and ran after his boyfriend who was booking it towards the stairs.

“Y/N, wait.”

When he made no moves to slow down, Jason had to pull out the vigilante moves to catch him since he was nearly out the complex door.

“Baby, stop. I was just messing with you,” He said, grabbing his boyfriend and planting kisses all over his face.

“No, that’s not funny. Get off me you jerk,” Y/N said not making any move to push Jason off which the vigilante smiled at.

“I’m sorry, but now you know how it feels,” Jason showed Y/N his phone that had been recording the entire interaction, “Payback,” He declared, clearly mocking the smaller boy.

Y/N rolled his eyes before heading back inside with his boyfriend who showered him with love and kisses for his prank but made fun of him the entire time. And it didn’t stop there.

Jason did scare pranks, couples challenges where they had to answer questions (his favorites were the ones that came with punishments like dunking each other’s head in water or getting hit with a pillow), and more.

It was the reaction memes all over again.

But, there was still one challenge he hadn’t come across yet that Y/N did and was more than ready to do on his boyfriend.

They were currently sitting in the car, spending a day out together since Y/N's load from his classes was light and there weren’t any cases Jason was working on with himself or his family either. They were parked in a parking garage outside a shopping center, having just come back from shopping and grabbing some food inside when Y/N set up the camera.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Jason asked while stuffing his face with the freshly baked pretzel bites they got.

“Saw this new couple challenge on TikTok and wanted to do it,” He said, setting up the phone mount and adjusting it so it had him and Jason in full view.

“So, I saw this new challenge where couples are asking their partners random questions about each other and seeing who knows more about the other. So me and my husband are going to do the same thing and I’m going to start.” Y/N said into the camera.

The moment it came out his mouth, Y/N could see the initial surprise on his face turn into a small smile, but he didn’t say anything or question him, so he kept going. As he did his best to think up random questions to ask Jason, he kept referring to him as his husband, increasing the smile to a shit-eating grin the longer it went.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Y/N asked.

“I’m your husband now?” Jason asked, turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, is that a problem?” Y/N asked with his own raised eyebrow.

“Absolutely not,” Jason said, not saying another word as Y/N ended the video. He pulled out his phone as they finished their food and Y/N showed the original challenge that everyone was doing, agreeing with him when he called the guy from the original video a complete idiot.

But, he definitely noticed Jason not being as discreet as he thought he was, immediately noticing Jason’s browser on his phone being pulled up to engagement rings.

Oh boy.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 2 months

Note

Hi omg i absolutely love your work so much!! Literally had to turn on notifications just for you🩷 i wanted to request an enemies to lovers trope with ethan (but kinda slowburn) where he is really nice and shy/dorky with the rest of the group & rude to y/n specifically because he feels like thats the only way to get her attention. He walks in on her changing but leaves quickly due to embarrassment & a few days later just confesses during an argument and it ends in smut. Lots of angst & tension pls pls thank you so much🥲

Hiii! I hope you like it!

Holding on to You - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: Ethan thinks he needs to be a jackass to get your attention. After months of dealing with his annoying ways, he confesses how he feels.

Contains: fluff, angst, use of pet names, mean!ethan, dry humping, riding, p in v sex. (If I missed anything, let me know!)

A/N: Apparently if I get stoned and listen to Twenty One Pilots, I write longer fics lmao. 3.7k words...jeez.

When Chad and Ethan needed a new roommate, and you hated yours, you decided to take Chad up on his offer for you to move in. Yeah, living with two boys wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Well, Chad wasn’t as bad as you thought he would be. Ethan on the other hand, loved to do things to piss you off.

As you stood at the sink doing your own dishes, Ethan walked by and dropped a bowl in the sink.

“Seriously?” you asked, looking over at him.

“What? You’re already doing dishes.”

Chad walked in the room before you could say anything else to Ethan. He smirked at you as Chad started to speak.

“Hey dude, you want to go with me to get the pizza for tonight?” he asked. You were having your friends over, and you were happy to have an interaction with someone that wasn’t a guy.

“Yeah,” Ethan said, sitting a cup in the sink, too.

“I’m not doing all your dishes, Ethan!” you yelled, as he and Chad made their way to the door.

He turned around to look at you again, flashing a smile before walking out.

The way Ethan acted was infuriating sometimes. He was completely different in the presence of everyone else, but when it was just the two of you, he was so rude.

When your friends started to arrive after Chad and Ethan got back, you were grabbing plates out of the cabinet when Ethan walked up behind you.

“Let me take these. I wouldn’t want all of them to get shattered,” he said, reaching over you and grabbing the stack. You huffed as he sat them down on the counter.

“I wouldn’t have broken them,” you mumbled, looking up at him.

“You just broke one last week!”

“Well, if you didn’t stack so many plates on the top shelf so only you’re giraffe-looking ass was able to reach them, maybe it wouldn’t have happened,” you snapped, grabbing the plates off the counter and carrying them out to the living room.

“Thank you,” Chad said as you sat the plates down.

“Yeah, thank you,” Ethan said as he followed you out, the sweetness in his voice making you want to gag.

As you all sat around eating, Tara brought up needing help for one of her classes.

“I can help you,” Ethan said, “I took that class already.”

“Let me guess, you had the highest grade in the class?” Mindy asked, already knowing the answer.

“I can’t help that I have a photographic memory,” he said, taking a bite of his food. “But seriously, if you need my help, let me know.”

You were quiet as you focused on your phone, trying to distract yourself from Ethan. You hated that he could be so nice to everyone else but was a total dick to you. It was disappointing because at one point, you thought he was sweet. The kindness and the fact that he was tall and very attractive was starting to draw you in, but then his personality just flipped one day.

“Why are you being so quiet?” Tara asked you, as you scrolled through your phone.

“I got a text from my ex earlier. Still an asshole,” you sighed, “But he’s been liking all my Instagram photos that he unliked when we broke up.”

“Don’t give him another chance, please,” Mindy begged, “He treats you like shit.”

Your cheeks started to turn pink as you sat there. You didn’t want to directly tell them that you were considering it, but the knowing look on Chad’s face confirmed that you were doing a bad job at hiding it.

“Seriously? He’s going to be in here trying to square up with me and Ethan, because he’s an insecure idiot,” Chad said, his tone full of disappointment, “You know he’s not good for you.”

Ethan was really invested in the conversation happening in front of him. He’d always kind of hoped that you’d just tell him you were interested in him. The type of guys you normally went after was the reason he was being a jerk, after all. He’s always wanted your attention.

“That’s my type though, Chad,” you sighed sarcastically as he shook his head.

“Yeah, but you could go after a sweet guy, like my boy Ethan over here,” he said, gesturing to the curly-haired boy that started to blush. “He’s a snack, right?”

“That didn’t work when you pitched it to the cute girl at the Halloween Party, and it’s not going to work now,” you giggled, happy that you were able to make a little dig at Ethan since he always says rude things to you.

“That wasn’t nice. I think you’re a snack,” Chad said to Ethan, as Tara started to laugh at their bromance.

“At least someone does,” Ethan said, glancing over to you and looking down at his lap.

“I’m not saying you’re not attractive, Ethan,” you sighed, feeling guilty for being so mean, “I guess you are a snack.”

“Oh, am I sensing a love connection here?” Chad said in a horrible fake-British accent.

“I didn’t say that.”

As everyone started to leave for the night, you went in your room to change into your pajama shorts and a big t-shirt.

Just as you took off your jeans, shirt, and bra, the door to your room opened.

“Hey, you left your…” You grabbed your shirt you were about to change into and quickly covered yourself with it as Ethan stood there. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

When he turned around and pulled the door shut behind him, your cheeks turned bright red. The guy that loves be an ass to you had just seen you in nothing but your panties. You sighed as you pulled your shirt and shorts on and walked out to get some water.

You jumped when you saw a shadowy figure in the dark kitchen as you turned the corner.

“It’s just me,” Chad said, as you flipped the light switch.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you said, as he stood there eating some of the cold, leftover pizza. “Why are you eating in the dark?”

“Why are you so jumpy? That’s how Ethan was a minute ago when he walked in here,” he said, chewing his food. “He sat your phone on the counter, by the way.”

“Maybe we’re jumpy because you’re lurking in a dark kitchen,” you said, grabbing your phone.

“You’re probably right. Well, good night.”

As he walked back to his room, you pulled a cup out of the cabinet, getting some water. You couldn’t stop thinking about how awkward it was going to be to see Ethan again, which will happen eventually because he shares your living space.

That didn’t happen for several days, though. He intentionally avoided you, only coming out of his room if you weren’t home, or you were in your own room. It was starting to bother you, because even if he made you feel like shit before he walked in on you, he at least talked to you, and it was significantly less awkward.

When you walked out to the living room, you saw Chad and Ethan sitting on the couch watching tv. You flopped down a few cushions away from them, looking at the screen.

“Star Wars, huh? I wouldn’t expect anything less from you two dorks,” you joked, as Chad scoffed.

“You know, I used to think you were cool,” he said, throwing one of the decorative pillows at you.

You threw it back at him, hitting Ethan in the process.

“Hey!” he yelled, grabbing the pillow that eventually landed on Chad and threw it back at you.

“You know what we need? Snacks,” Chad said, standing up. He grabbed the remote to pause the movie. “Ethan, Cheetos?” he asked as Ethan nodded. “Do you want anything?” he asked you, walking towards the kitchen. “No, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself. Maybe if your nice, Ethan will share his snacks.”

You laughed at his comment as you looked over to Ethan. He wasn’t saying anything, but you could feel the tension in the air. The only thing that came to your mind was that he was probably dying inside from not saying anything shitty to you for the last several days.

“What are you looking at?” he snapped, glancing over to you.

“There it is. I thought you were never going to be mean to me again.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t feel like I should have to speak to you,” he said, as Chad walked back in, completely missing Ethan’s comment. “Thanks, man,” he said, after Chad handed him the Cheetos.

He pressed play on the movie again, as you tried to get interested in it.

“That thing is kind of cute,” you said, pointing at the character.

“Jar Jar Binks is cute? That explains your taste in men,” Chad said, as Ethan started to laugh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, staring both of the boys down.

“He’s one of, if not THE, most hated Star Wars characters,” Ethan said, looking over to you. “Just like how every single guy you date is completely unlikable.”

“You don’t have to call me out like that,” you sighed, standing up to grab the blanket that was on back of the couch behind Ethan. “Can you sit up a little bit so I can grab this,” you said, tugging on the fluffy material.

“No, I’m comfortable like this,” he said, his tone playful because Chad was beside him.

“Please, I’m cold,” you whined, as he rolled his eyes and sat up.

You grabbed the blanket and snuggled back up in your spot. Ethan kept looking over to you, trying to be as discreet as possible about it. You caught his gaze, giving him a ‘What’ look, before looking back at the tv.

When the movie was over, Chad stood up. “I think I’m going to Tara’s. You guys want to come?”

“Yeah, like I want to be there while you try to put moves on my friend,” you said, as he shrugged.

“She’s cute. I can’t help it. Ethan, you coming?”

“I don’t want to be a third wheel,” he sighed, “I have stuff to work on anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll be back later,” Chad said, pulling his hoodie on.

When Chad left, Ethan got up to walk to his room.

“Hey,” you said, as he stopped and turned a little to look at you, “If you hate me so much, why did you agree to me moving in?”

“Because you can pay the rent,” he said, “Is this conversation over?”

“No, it’s not,” you stood up, as he fully turned back around. “What the fuck happened? Because you used to be nice to me. Then you started to treat me like every other guy ever has.”

“Yeah? What was that jab a few nights ago where you made me feel like a loser in front of our friends?” he started to raise his voice at you, “Because that wasn’t very nice.”

“I wanted you to know what it feels like, Ethan! You treat me like I’m stupid! You know how many times I’ve gone to my room and cried over some of the things you’ve said to me?” you were yelling at this point, the anger in his face softening as he started to feel guilty. “You used to be so sweet and caring, I miss that Ethan.”

“I couldn’t be like that anymore,” he sighed, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

You were still mad, yelling “Why?” at him as he started to walk towards you.

“Because you aren’t interested in nice guys!” he yelled back, “You always go after people that don’t treat you right, when all I’ve wanted to do this whole time is to be what you want!”

“You really are dumb,” you started to laugh, shaking your head. “You had a fucking chance, Ethan! I was interested in you. It was weird for me, and I wasn’t sure how to act because you aren’t my normal type, but that’s what made me like you!”

“How was I supposed to know that?” he said, sighing as he sat back down on the couch. “I just wanted to be what you wanted.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s something wrong with my normal ‘type’,” you laughed, sitting beside him. “In some sick, twisted way, I think it’s sweet that you wanted my attention so bad.”

“So, it worked?” he asked, cocking his head to look at you.

“I’m not going to validate you being an asshole. I want you to be yourself, that’s the Ethan I like,” you smiled at him.

“I’m sorry for making you cry before, I feel awful about that,” he said, the guilt present on his face.

“Just don’t do it again.”

“I totally ruined everything, didn’t I?” he asked, “I remember you mentioned your ex the other night. Are you going to give him another chance?”

You started to laugh as you looked at him, “Why would I do that? I mean, unless you aren’t interested in me, and this is just some sick joke.”

“No, I’m interested,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

The kiss was sweet at first, exactly what you expected from Ethan. He started to pull away, but your head moved with his, not wanting the kiss to end. His lips kept moving as you felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip. You started to straddle him as you let him deepen the kiss, his tongue dancing against yours. When you felt him get hard through his jeans, you pulled away to look at him. His eyes were dazed as he watched you, craving more.

“You okay?” you asked, your breathing heavy.

“Yeah, can we do that again?”

You leaned back in, his hands going to your hips as you kissed him. His grip tightened a little as he started to squirm underneath of you, desperate to get a little friction. His lips moved to your jaw, before kissing down your neck. You whimpered when he found your sweet spot, his mouth attacking it so you’d keep making that sound.

Your hands were resting against the hem of his shirt, so you started to lift it to graze your fingers over his toned stomach. He followed your lead, his hands rubbing against your sides underneath your shirt. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingertips brushed against your ribs, the tickling feeling surprising you.

“You tensed up, are you okay with this?” he mumbled against your neck.

“Mhm,” you said, removing one of your hands from his abs and putting it under his chin. He lifted his head so your mouths could connect again, as you started to grind against him.

He started to groan into the kiss, his hips moving against yours. “Do you want to do this,” you asked pulling away a little. He nodded his head as you slid off of him to unbutton his jeans.

“Wait, are we about to fuck on the couch?” he asked, as you nodded.

“Stand up,” you said, grabbing his hands. You grabbed your blanket from the other side of the couch, spreading it across the cushions. “Now we don’t have to feel guilty whenever we see Chad sitting on the couch.”

He smiled as you slid his jeans down over his hips. “I think you should let me take something off of you.”

You smiled at him as you stepped back a little, your hands at your sides as you waited for him to make a move. His hands went to your shirt, lifting it over your head. He felt like his eyes were going to pop out off his skull when he realized you didn’t have a bra on.

“You’re even more perfect up close,” he said, leaning down to take one of your nipples in his mouth.

“How many times have you thought about me almost naked since the other night?” you asked, your fingers tangling in his hair as he moved his mouth.

“So many times,” he said as he pulled away and moved to the other one. He groaned a little at the feeling of your fingers tugging on his curls.

His hands reached down to the top of your jeans, slowly unbuttoning them, and sliding them down your hips. You shimmied out of them as you slid your feet out.

As you both stood there, he leaned in to kiss you again, the tent in his boxers pressing against you.

“Do you have a condom?” you asked, as he nodded.

“Good idea,” he said, running down the hall to his room. You took the opportunity to take off your panties as you waited for him to come back. His jaw dropped when he came back and saw you standing there, completely nude. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It can’t happen until these come off,” you said, grabbing the waistband of his boxers and sliding them down his thighs. After he stepped out of them, you pushed him back onto the couch.

He opened the condom as he sat there, rolling it on his hard cock. You really started to look at his size, nervous that it wouldn’t fit inside of you. His hands reached out, grabbing yours to pull you back on his lap. You kissed him as you grabbed his erection and lined it up with your soaked core.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, sinking down onto him. You sat in place as you kept kissing him, giving yourself enough time to adjust to the pressure as he stretched your walls.

When you started to roll your hips, his hands held onto them. “God, this feels amazing,” he said, loving the feeling of you around him. “You’re so tight.”

As you started to bounce on him, his thrusts started to meet yours. You kept making eye contact with him as his mouth started to fall open, faint moans slipping past his lips.

“That’s so hot,” you moaned, as he looked at you, trying to understand what you meant. “You can be as vocal as you want, baby. I love it.”

His heart melted as you called him ‘baby’, loving the sound of it. He started to get a little louder, letting you know exactly how good he was feeling.

“Rub my clit,” you whimpered, as your hands went to his shoulders to stabilize yourself so you could move faster.

His fingers started to rub circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves, the whines flying out of your mouth echoing off the walls. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

His fingers soon sped up as your moaning got higher. “Yes yes yes,” you cried out, that euphoric feeling so close to taking over your body, “I’m gonna cum.”

Your pussy started to flutter around him as your body started to tense up. He kept thrusting up into you, so close to his own orgasm. “Shit, gonna cum,” he groaned out, his hand leaving your clit and going back to your hip as he pounded into you. “Fuuuuck.”

He let out a long, shaky breath as he released into the condom. Your body relaxed against his as his hands rubbed your back. “You okay, baby?” he asked, as you nodded against his shoulder.

You laid there for a few more minutes, just enjoying his arms around you. “You want to take a shower?” you asked your fingers rubbing across his chest.

“I’d love to.”

When you were in the shower with Ethan, he was so sweet and caring. As he ran the soapy loofah across your back, you started to tear up a little. No one had ever done anything like this for you. Any other guy you’d showered with expected round two, but Ethan just wanted to take care of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, as you stood under the water, the suds washing off your body.

“Stop. You keep saying stuff like that, you’re going to make me fall for you,” you laughed, as he laced his fingers with yours.

“You promise? Because you’re so amazing, and so perfect,” he said, and you knew he meant every word he was saying.

After the shower, you grabbed the blanket off the couch and threw it in the washer, before starting it. It would’ve made no sense to put the blanket down if you were just going to leave it there. Ethan walked up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. “You’re still naked.”

“You are, too,” you said, turning to face him. “I want to cuddle tonight. Your bed or mine?”

“Let’s grab your clothes and lay in mine. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about you in my bed,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

“Okay, let’s go before Chad comes home and sees us naked,” you giggled, pulling away from him to run down the hall.

The next morning, you woke up with your head on Ethan’s chest and his arms wrapped around you. You sat up a little, your tired eyes connecting with his as he opened them.

“You look so cute first thing in the morning,” he said, sitting up too.

“I’m starving,” you said, running your hand through your hair as you attempted to tame the bed head.

“I could take you out to breakfast, if you’d like to.”

“I’d like that,” you said softly, leaning in to peck his lips.

You bumped into Chad in the hallway as you both walked out of Ethan’s room.

“Uh…okay,” he said, as you started to laugh. “Was I right about the love connection?” His fake accent was back as you rolled your eyes.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumbled, walking into your room to change.

When your door closed, Chad whisper-yelled, “Yessss dude I’m so proud of you! You’ve been crushing on her forever.”

“It’s a long story, but I’m so excited that she’ll know how it feels to be treated right.”

Chad and Ethan started to do a little happy dance as you walked out of your room, both of them stopping as you smirked.

“You ready to go?” you asked, reaching out to grab Ethan’s hand.

“Yeah, I’m starving.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #ethan landry smut #scream

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