In Your Dreams | M.

in your dreams | m.

pairing: xiao/f!reader

wc: 7.140

genre: smut, hurt/comfort

cw: exes to lovers

tags: past toxic relationship, alluded past abuse, blood and violence, xiaos love language is touch, soft!xiao, dom!xiao, fingering, squirting, wet&messy, spitting (lit once), reassurance kink, very mild dumbification, dacryphilia if u squint, aftercare

summary: your life had finally become normal without him. but it took one encounter to undo a millennia of hard work.

note: it isn't specified what reader is but she is not human and is very old as well as she's known xiao for a long, long time.

+ also adepti do not need sleep in this fic so!!!

this blog is a dark content blog please dni if you don't like it.

Winding up at Wangshu Inn wasn’t in your plans. Tired and worn out, a sudden thunderstorm was the final straw.

You climbed the steps of the Inn, out of breath by the time you reached the front desk. Your room was cozy for the most part, so much so that you felt out of place soaking wet and dripping onto the wooden floors.

You didn’t even have a change of clothes. You opted to shed your outermost layers, the thick material having kept your undergarments dry for the most part. Hanging up your soaking clothes, you place a towel on the floor to catch the dripping water and climb into bed.

The sound of thunder and rain lulled you into a restless nap to pass the time.

It wasn’t often that you dreamt. In fact, many years had passed since you recall dreaming. This one was particularly vivid. Featuring a face you had hoped to never see again.

The golden eyes of your ex lover sent shivers down your spine. The wind blew, tousling his hair every which way. He stared at you, regarding you with the same neutral face you’d known him to wear for all of his existence.

Still as cold as ever, he didn’t speak.

Just as you opened your mouth to say something first, you jolt awake.

You frown and sit up in bed, the sheets falling around your waist haphazardly. Running a hand through your hair, you wince as your fingers catch the tangles.

“I see you still enjoy sleeping...like some kind of human,” the familiar voice has you gasping, whipping around to look at where the voice came from.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are closed, almost as if he were tired but you know that’s not the case.

You scoff, “I knew you were here. Awfully bold of you...sneaking into my dream like that.”

He doesn’t say anything more. It’s silent after that, save or the lightning striking the ground occasionally, mixed with the white noise of raindrops.

“Why are you here Xiao?” you finally ask, knowing that beating around the bush will get you nowhere with him.

“Why are you here?” he retorts, finally opening his eyes to glare at you, “You knew I was staying in this Inn yet you come here anyway. But you still have the audacity to ask me why I’m here?”

“I didn’t know you were staying here,” you spit, suddenly remembering you’re in only your bra and panties. You casually pull the sheet back up to cover yourself.

“That’s a lie,” he scoffs, finally pushing himself away from the wall, “Are you that desperate for my attention that you come crawling back to me under the guise of a mistake in hopes I’ll take you back? Pathetic.”

His words sting just as much as the tears filling your eyes, “No,” you spit, tossing the sheet off so you could get out of bed, “I was worn out and got caught in the storm. If you must know, I didn’t know you were here because frankly I avoid learning anything about your whereabouts!”

His eyes follow you as you tug your still wet clothing down from where it was hanging. Its freezing cold against your warm skin and makes you flinch as you begin to put it on.

“Where are you going?” he asks, voice sharp as ever.

“I’m leaving!” you snap, ignoring the way your voice cracks from your tears.

He scoffs, “Of course you are, all you do is run away.”

“You don’t get to say that to me!” you whip around suddenly, “When you’re the one who ran away in the first place!”

He bares his teeth, “I didn’t run from anything. Instead I got rid of something.”

His eyes narrow and you take a moment to look into them. Eyes you once loved held no softness or light that they once had. You barely remember those times, instead all you remember is the hurt.

You don’t have it in you to speak anymore. Everything that needed to be said had already been spoken. Whether it be now or in the past, there was nothing else to say.

He didn’t flinch as you walked past him, shoulder bumping into him as you headed to the door.

“Make sure you don’t come back here,” he spits the final, parting warning.

You pick up your pack and sling it over your shoulder, opening the door and leaving.

When you’re finally gone, he takes a seat on the bed and sighs, eyes unfocused as they stared into nothing. Lost in thought, he doesn’t know how long he sits there for.

The rain doesn’t show any signs of letting up as you continue on your journey. You don’t have any real need for sleep but your body feels worn, overexerted. You do your best to bypass monsters that lurk around, knowing you don’t have the strength to defend yourself.

Any strength you had had been stripped from you the moment you were confronted with Xiao.

His words hurt just as much as they had a millenia ago. The new, negative feelings festered along with the brought up memories of once upon a time.

He always knew just what to say to you. The two of you had known each other perhaps too well. It had allowed him to see every weak spot you had, he had learned exactly what to push to hurt you most. And he always succeeded.

Xiao’s past was not one that was happy. It was filled with pain, anger, and bloodshed. Much of it by his own hands, actions that haunted him. He had been so consumed by it all that he lost control, becoming a volatile nightmare that only sought to hurt and destroy.

And that is exactly what he did.

There hadn’t been a single ounce of hesitation in the words he’d spewed at you. Hands you once loved holding raised in aggression, laughing at the misery that had been painted on your face. You had been scared of him and yet he didn’t show any regret.

It had been naive of you to try to get him back at first. You were so sure that it wasn’t the real Xiao. You knew him to be a soft, gentle man. But in the blink of an eye, it was replaced with hatred and darkness.

Your attempts to redeem yourself in his eyes, to keep him by your side had been in vain. The final time you had met him, almost a millenia ago, had only ended in bloodshed and tears. He had succeeded in damaging everything you had to offer, dealing irreparable damage to your emotions.

You had vowed that you would never allow yourself to be in his presence again. You didn’t even allow yourself to hear his name, all of his tales fell on deaf ears.

The less you knew about him, the better.

It had been peaceful, not knowing of his whereabouts. You would sometimes catch yourself wondering if he was even still alive before vanquishing those thoughts. What did it matter? The man wished death upon you once, laughing all the while.

You shuddered at the memories, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. The cold was seeping in quickly and you felt like all your energy was sucked out.

Under the heavy rainfall, and the absentmindedness of your own thoughts, you didn’t realize the man snuck up on you until you felt the knife plunge into your back.

Hands desperately cupped your cheeks. They were warm, such a contrast to your own cold skin. Your ears were ringing but when your eyes opened a fraction, you could only barely make out the darkened silhouette of a person hovering above you.

When your eyes opened once again, there was no sound. The storm had passed and you were tucked into a bed. It didn’t smell like freshly made laundry, instead it smelled familiar. Like almonds and qingxin flowers. You couldn’t help but melt into it.

After a moment, you heard the door open. It clicked shut softly, no doubt in an effort to let you continue your rest. The figure moved across the floor, footsteps light before you heard the light sound of something heavy being placed on the side table.

The person paused and you kept your eyes closed, sleep almost overcoming you once again. But the soft feeling of fingers on your cheek had you rousing once more.

You didn’t open your eyes, instead allowed the stranger to continue on. They moved away but didn’t leave the room.

Slowly, you opened your eyes.

It was dark out but the room was dimly lit by lanterns, casting a calm, yellow glow around the room. You blinked a few times to let your eyes adjust before looking around.

Your breath caught in your chest as you looked at him. He had his back to you, leaning against the wall once again. But his gaze was cast out the window, unaware of the fact you had awoken. You swallowed nervously at the sight of him, only to realize how parched you were, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Glancing to the side, you realized the object he had placed had been a pitcher of water. Condensation dripped down from the glass, pooling on the wooden tabletop.

You attempted to sit up, your head swimming as you did but you fought it. The bed creaked as you finally sat up, almost desperately reaching for the pitcher only to realize you had absolutely no strength to pick it up.

Familiar hands intervened, brushing yours away to lift the pitcher up, grabbing the glass he had brought along with it so he could fill it.

Your hands were reaching out for it before he could even offer it. He allowed you to take it, placing the pitcher back down once again. You brought the cup to your lips and took several large gulps before it was ripped from your hands. You gasped and looked up at Xiao to your stolen cup in his hand.

“Drink it slowly,” he orders, rough as usual, “You’ll make yourself feel worse.”

You nod your head and reach out for it again. He keeps it out of your reach, however, eyeing you as if you were plotting something. You whine and attempt to get it back once more before he finally takes pity on you and allows you to have it back.

His eyes burn into you as you take sips, keeping them slow and intermittent despite the fact your body begged for you to down it all.

“Lay back down, you’re still recovering,” he says before taking your empty glass.

You do as you’re told, hunkering back down into the soft bedding, watching him once again. He pours more water into the glass and leaves it there for you to take when you need it.

“Why am I back here?” your question makes him visibly stiffen as he places the pitcher down again.

Your eyes follow him as he moves around. You can’t tell if he’s making himself look busy to buy himself time or not. The question is answered when he returns from the wash room with a damp cloth.

He sits at the edge of the bed and begins to softly pat at your skin, cooling your skin down and making you relax. You close your eyes against the stinging burn of tears that come from his caring actions.

You don’t know what he’ll do if he realizes you’re crying.

It had been so long since you had been close to him like this. No aggressive or negative feelings weighing you both down. It had been even longer since you felt his gentle touch, a touch that didn’t have you flinching away from him.

“You almost died,” he finally says, removing himself from you.

You immediately miss him. It takes you everything not to pull him back to you, to not cry out for him not to go. But you stay silent. He is too.

You’re not sure if he realizes how close to crying you are, but he doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t press you. You swallow the lump in your throat and open your eyes again.

He’s standing in front of the window once more. You can see his face now, the way the moonlight makes his eyes glow.

“I did?” you finally ask.

He looks at you again, a simple sideways glance before nodding, “You did.”

“I see,” you respond, looking down at your hands folded above his blanket.

You suddenly realize you’re not wearing your own clothes, instead wearing some unfamiliar ones. You don’t comment on the fact that Xiao had probably undressed you and redressed you.

You’re too busy thinking that you don’t notice the way he fists are clenched tight at his sides. His entire body is stiff and trembling, jaw clenched tight to keep the pathetic noises that want to free themselves inside.

“You almost died,” he suddenly spits, repeating his words from earlier. You pause and look up at him, the uncharacteristic emotion in his voice catching you by surprise.

Finally, you take in his disposition. His head hung low, hair veiling over his face, preventing you from seeing the expression he wore. But from the way his shoulders tremble, you’re sure he’s...crying.

“I thought you were dead,” he hisses, “You were so cold...you weren’t moving. What the hell was I supposed to do then, huh?” He’s not looking at you and you’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or monologuing. Still, you remain quiet and let him talk, “You’re not supposed to die.”

“I didn’t die,” you finally speak, making him fall silent.

“I was...scared,” he admits, so soft that you almost missed it, “I was so scared it felt like I was losing my mind.”

“Xiao…”

“No,” he snaps, finally looking at you. His eyes are glassy, tears clinging to his lashes and the sight makes your heart ache, “How could I have ever...What would I have done if you died? What if you died...and all you remember of me was...the hatred and anger?”

“Is that not what you feel towards me?” you ask softly, “I can’t say I remember the time before you hated me anymore. I don’t know if I even want to. It’s so much easier knowing you hate me now, than remembering that you once loved me.”

“Love,” he whispers, making your brows furrow in confusion, “Don’t say it like I don’t anymore.”

“Xiao…” you sigh, shaking your head, “You don’t have to feel guilty. Truly, it doesn’t bother me anymore.”

He takes a few steps towards the bed until he’s standing right in front of you. You don’t dare look at him but he reaches down and touches your cheek with gentle fingers, “Then why are you crying?”

You scoff, “Why are you crying?”

“Because I know I’m not strong enough to keep this going,” he admits, “I’ve spent so long remembering everything I did to you. Everything I said to you...years upon years of guilt and regret. I tried so hard to pretend like I didn’t search everywhere for you. When I was finally freed of those shackles, when I was finally...faced with everything I had done...I looked for you. But you had already gone.”

“You wanted me gone,” you spit, knowing how bitter you were beginning to sound, “Don’t you remember what you told me?”

“Every word,” he breathes, hand returning to your person to pet your hair, “I’ve spent every moment of my life remembering. I didn’t have any control of who I was back then, ______,” The sound of your name falling from his lips has a sob breaking free from your chest, “I’ll never be who I was before everything. I carry these sins upon me as I deserve to. But I will never be the man who hurt and scared you again.”

You feel him tug you forward, burying your face against his chest as he cups the back of your head. His chin rests atop your head and you cry. He lets you exhaust yourself, lets out a deep sigh when you finally wrap your arms around his middle.

He holds you, allows you to ask him questions before answering with a gentleness he hadn’t allowed himself in what felt like eons. He told you his story, explained every detail of his life, of the dark past, of the vile atrocities that he had been forced to commit against his will.

You listened, heart aching at the pain he had to endure for so long. He was jaded, scarred and burnt from his past. It haunted him so deeply, actions he could never atone for weighed on him as heavy burdens.

“If you’ll let me…” he whispers into your hair, “I just...if I can have one thing in the end...I want you.”

“You’ve done so much,” you reply, “To repay the debt and to protect...and you really just want me?”

“More than anything,” he replies, not hesitation.

You pull away from his embrace and he allows you, meeting your gaze with utmost sincerity. You can see it in the way his eyes shine with hope, searching yours for an answer.

The easiest way to answer him is by cupping his cheek and pressing your lips to his.His entire body relaxes and his hands return to your person, gripping you tight as if you were going to slip away. He kisses you back, every emotion he feels being poured into it.

You tangle your hands in his hair and pull him down. He catches himself on his hands, framed on either side of you. Pulling away from the kiss, you chase him and he sighs.

“You’re still recovering, I don’t want you to get hurt,” he breathes.

You whine and shake your head, reaching out to touch him, “Please, Xiao? ‘M okay, I promise.”

He still hesitates and you decide to take it a bit further to entice him. You reach down for the hem of your shirt and carefully pull it off. When you can see again, Xiao’s eyes are burning as he stares at your body.

“God…” he breathes, resting his forehead against your shoulder, peering down your body as his hands begin to venture across your skin, “Just like I remember…”

His breath comes in pants, smoothing his thumbs over your ribs before he finally cups your breasts. You whine at the feeling and arch your back but he’s quick to click his tongue, “Stay still or I stop.”

You go limp at the threat of him stopping. Instead you reach up and wrap your hands around his biceps. He pulls his head from your shoulder and leans back over you properly to kiss you again.

You whine into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. He allows it with no complaint, simply continues palming your breasts, thumbing over your nipples. You swear you feel him smile when your whole body trembles at the feeling.

“Xiao…” you whimper, moving your hands from around his neck. He sits up, resting back on his heels to run his hands down your body.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even react to your call of his name. Instead he shifts so he can tear the blanket from your body. You squeak when you’re finally completely exposed, tits bare and your bottom half just the same.

You feel your face flush hot, quickly closing your thighs and curling them in on yourself. Xiao clicks his tongue once more at the display of shyness, hands coming to grip your knees.

“Why are you hiding from me?” he asks, voice gruff with lust, “Won’t you let me see all of you?”

“Y-You’ve still got all your clothes on,” you mutter, looking to the side so he can’t see how flustered you are.

He regards you for a moment, memories bouncing around in his head. Memories of you and him. The first time you let him touch you all the way to the last time he’d ever touched you. Both had such contrasting emotions to them. He wonders if you think the same -- if you remember that time. How you had cried, how he had made you cry.

“I’ll take them off later,” he whispers and you finally look at him.

His eyes are locked on his hands, where they rest on your knees. His brows are furrowed, as if lost in thought and you have half a mind to question him on it. But you choose not to. Instead, despite the trepidation you feel at being so vulnerable in front of him again, you let your legs fall open.

He inhales sharply through his nose, a noise of surprise and approval. His eyes lock onto your cunt, folds glistening from how wet you already are for him. He mindlessly licks his lips, one hand trailing down your inner thigh -- slow, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him at any minute. But you don’t of course, you want him so much. You have no idea how long you had been craving the familiar, loving touch he once had. But now that you’re reminded of the tenderness he once displayed, you desperately want to feel it again.

“Pretty,” he mutters under his breath when his digits finally meet your folds, which he eagerly spreads open with two nimble fingers.

It makes you squeak and hide your face in embarrassment as he analyzes you, takes in every detail. The way your entrance clenches every so often, drooling your sweet juices, to your little clit that throbs and begs for his attention.

He’s more than willing to give it.

Collecting the slick at your entrance with his thumb, he drags it up to the tender little bud. The sound you make when he finally presses his thumb against it is heaven. His own mouth falls open in wonder as he makes soft, slow circles. Your thighs tremble and your hands mindlessly grapple for whatever they can, which happens to be his bedding and thigh. Though your nails bite into his skin, he pays it absolutely no mind. He’s entranced by how messy your cunt becomes in a matter of seconds. Such a simple touch has your body responding beautifully.

He briefly wonders if you’d ever been with anyone else. He certainly hasn’t. Did you make such a mess for those you had bedded? His jaw clenches at the possessive feeling that overcomes him.

Unlike in the past, it’s not a toxic feeling. It isn’t one that scares him, instead it has him leaning down to press his lips against the soft skin of your stomach. You’re his now. You’re his once again. That’s all that matters.

He trails his lips up your body, now using two fingers to play with your clit. He doesn’t want the sweet sounds you make to stop.

Once he reaches your breast, he eagerly wraps his lips around your nipple. You cry out immediately, hands tangling into his hair. He hums at the feeling and your whole body twitches.

“Xiao…” you gasp, one hand leaving his hand to reach between your body. He continues to mouth at your breast, humming when your hand gingerly wraps around his wrist, “Want more, please…”

His eyes nearly roll back in his head at the sweet sound of you begging. He finally pulls his mouth away and looks at you, eyes sharp as ever, “Tell me what you want.”

He can feel it, of course. The way your pretty hands desperately push on is fingers, all he’d have to do is slide them in. You mindlessly rut your hips against the digits and he growls.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay still?”

“‘M sorry,” you gasp, “Please don’t stop, Xiao. Want it.”

He bites back a groan. You’re just as sweet and pliant as he remembers. The almost blind trust you have in him not to hurt you has him flooding with emotion.

“What do you want? Say it,” he orders, voice much softer than before.

“Put them…” you press his fingers against your entrance and whine, “Inside. Please?”

He’s not prepared for the way you so greedily accept them. You gummy walls stretch so easily to accommodate him. You’re already dripping down his hand. He moves his fingers slowly, watching your face intently as you adjust to being filled.

Your lashes flutter and you sigh almost as if you’re breathless before your eyes open again and you meet his gaze. He sees the bashfulness return but before you can cower away, he crooks his fingers up and finds your spot as if he had it memorized after all these years.

And truthfully, he had. There had been many nights that he had been plagued by memories of your body, of touching you. No one had ever made him feel the way you do.

“Xiao!” you squeal, hands slamming down on the bed as your legs kick almost helplessly under the onslaught of pleasure.

“Mhm?” he hums, pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to keep you nice and spread open for him. His eyes are glued to where your cunt swallows his fingers greedily.

“Right there, please,” you gasp, shamelessly whining and begging.

He huffs a laugh through his nose, “So noisy.”

“‘M, ah, ‘m sorry,” you babble, “Feels so good.”

He loves how responsive you are, how sensitive you are. The way you tell him what it is you’re feeling, how he’s making you feel, makes him painfully hard. But he’s not willing to move on from this just yet, he wants to be greedy for once. He wants to take everything you’re willing to give him.

Your cunt flutters around his fingers and he allows himself to moan softly at the feeling. He knows you must be close, your little tells hadn’t changed after all this time. The way your thighs jump and tremble to the way your hot little cunt gets so messy. You’re creaming around his digits, he can see the way white slicks his knuckles.

You’re muttering nonsense, feet kicking the bed helplessly. He wants to chastise you for moving around so much but he knows you can’t help it. With how tight you squeeze around his fingers, he knows you’re dangling precariously over the edge.

All you need is a final push. The fact that you need him to send you over, need him to do something for you to cum is a rush.

You watch with wide eyes as he puckers his lips suddenly and noisily spits on your cunt. It lands on your clit and in seconds, his thumb is rubbing it in.

The entire thing is too much and you cum with a breathless cry. His arm pins your hips down, keeping you from moving around too much as you thrash, cumming nice and hard for him as he works you through the high. He slides his fingers out and lightly circles your clit, easing you down as you shudder and whimper before finally falling still.

You’re panting by the time he removes himself from you, allowing you to close your thighs as the feeling of vulnerability washes over you again.

He can feel your eyes on him as he stands. Suddenly, you’re sitting up and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Hey--” he’s ready to force you to lay back down, eyeing the burning scar on your back but he’s cut off by you tugging at him.

“Don’t go,” you whimper and he softens immediately, running his hand through your hair.

“I’m not,” he responds quickly but you still don’t let him go.

He opts to begin stripping himself despite the fact you’re still clinging. Once his upper half is bared, you look up with wide eyes. He can see the way they sparkle at the sight of him and he nearly melts.

Cupping your cheek, he pulls you in for a kiss, allowing you to tug at the materials adorning his waist until he’s finally as bare as you. Keeping you locked in a kiss, he carefully lays you back down in bed, cupping the back of your head as he does so.

He easily handles your body, pulling your thighs open again so he can slot himself between them. Your knees press into his ribs and you cling to him once more, as if you really believe he’s just going to leave you.

“‘S okay,” he breathes softly, pecking your lips a few times, “‘M not leavin’...”

His words begin to slur together the further he gets dragged down into the lust. He ruts his ips forward and you both sigh when the underside of his cock finds your core. His hips work slow, passing over your folds as he slicks himself up with the mess he’d forced out of you. Every time he grinds against your clit you whimper into his mouth, thighs jumping at the overstimulation.

It makes him want to tease you, to torture your poor, sensitive little cunt and to hear you cry out for mercy as he forces you to cum over and over for him.

But that would have to wait for another time. Right now, he wants nothing more than to be with you, to indulge in your love.

You reach down before he has the chance to, wrapping your hand around the base of him. He pecks your lips again before he looks down, allowing you to guide him inside.

You stretch to accommodate him, the width wider than his fingers had stretched you. But the burn feels deliciously familiar. You keen and whine the further he pushes inside.

He watches how more and more of him disappears, groaning at the feeling of you pulsing hot around him. Before he bottoms out, he suddenly pulls his hips back until just the head is left. His length is glistening from how wet you are.

“So messy,” he spits softly, licking his lips at the sight.

“Mhm,” you whine, hands grabbing at his biceps on either side of your head, “‘S for you.”

Your little confession has him cursing under his breath, sheathing himself inside you in one smooth roll of his hips. As his hips meet yours, you let out a sweet cry that he eagerly swallows as he kisses you.

“‘S mine,” he whispers against your lips. You nod and whimper as he fucks you in earnest.

Though Xiao can keep his touches and kisses soft, as soon as his cock is inside you, he can’t help but use you however he wants. You always love it, however, the way his cock has your mind going blank is otherworldly.

Though you had never had any other lover, you knew that you would always be ruined for anyone else. No one would ever make you feel the way he did, the way he so easily made you cum undone. The soft, filthy words he whispers to himself, as if you’re not even listening. Hissing vulgar things through clenched teeth, like your cunt makes him go feral.

“So tight,” he mutters, eyes still locked onto where the two of you are connected. It’s like he’s entranced, hypnotized.

“Xiao!” you cry out, tossing your head back, “‘M close, please, jus’ a lil more!”

He huffs, changing the angle of his hips just a bit. You squeal, knees knocking against his sides as you begin to squirm.

“Too much!” you cry out, hands pressing against his chest as your body is racked with stimulation.

“You can take it,” he huffs, grappling your wrists in one hand to pin them above your head.

He uses the leverage to fuck that spot harder. Every time he sinks in, he rolls his hips, making sure to grind against your clit. Tears build up in your eyes as you sob, entire body trembling but unable to get away from it as he pins you down with his body.

“Cum,” he orders breathlessly.

And you do.

He groans at the feeling of you squeezing around him tighter than ever. He slows the movements of his hips, the tightness making it difficult for him to keep his pace. He rocks mindlessly into you as you tremble and cry through the intense orgasm.

Before you can recover, he’s releasing your hands and sitting up, gripping you beneath the knees before pinning them to your chest. Neither of you care about your injury, you don’t even feel anything but pleasure anymore.

“No, no, Xiao!” you sob, remembering all too well the damage he can cause in this position.

He shushes you and presses down on the back of your thighs, pulling out until just the tip is inside. You hold your breath, eyes wide as he simply fucks the tip in and out.

You wait for the inevitable, biting your lip as you tremble. He waits for you to release the breath you’re holding. Though he’s not looking at you, he pays attention to every minute detail about you.

When you finally let out that soft little exhale, he swings his hips down, sheathing his cock inside. Your legs kick in his hand and your hands slap helplessly against him but he pays it no mind. He continues pulling his cock out before quickly stuffing you nice and full again.

“‘S too much!” you sob, tears trickling down your cheeks. He ignores your weak complaints, knowing you want it just as much as him, “I-I’ll make a mess! Xiao!”

He groans at your warning and nods his head, “Touch yourself.”

It’s a cruel little command that you can’t help but obey. He can see your hand is trembling as you reach down to swirl timid little circles around your clit. He watches, bottom lip caught between his teeth at the sight. Your walls hug him tight as you continue the circles in time to the deep, penetrating intrusion of his cock.

“Xiao--” you gasp, quickly abandoning your task to press your hands against his hips.

“Stop pushing me away,” he spits, slapping your hands off of him.

“It’s too much!” you repeat your complaint.

He huffs, “You can take it. You’re almost there.”

He meets your gaze after a moment, taking in the wide eyed, open mouthed look on your face. The pressure in your core intensifies and your whole body begins to tremble. Your hands return to his body, though they wrap around his biceps once again, nails biting into the skin. You leave red lines across the green of his tattoo. He hisses at the pain but it doesn’t deter him.

Though your eyes are open, he’s sure you’re not seeing anything but stars.

“You’re gonna cum,” he mumbles, he takes one of your hands and laces your fingers together.

You blink up at him and sob his name. He softly shushes you, tenderly kissing your forehead as if his cock wasn’t stuffing you full.

“‘S okay,” he whispers into your hair, “C’mon, give it to me.”

You cry out his name again, your free arm wrapping around his neck, scratching his back. He’s panting, growing close to his own end quickly.

“I know,” he whispers, knowing you’re overstimulated and wound too tight. The way you cling to him as if he’s a lifeline has him pressing the softest of kisses against your skin, squeezing your hand between his, lacing your fingers together. A reminder that he’s there to ground you, that he’s with you, he’ll get you through it. You just need to let go.

You go completely still for a split second before your back arches. He slips his arm beneath your back to hold you close, supporting you as you thrash and cry. You bury your face in his neck, muffling the lewd noises in his skin. Your hands grab onto any part of him that you can as he continues the same, brutal pace of fucking you.

“Ah!” you squeal, your orgasm dragging out for much longer, only growing in intensity.

He can feel it. The way you squirt, gushing around his pistoning cock. Every movement has you gushing over and over again, wetting not only your skin, but his and the bedding as well. Neither of you can be bothered to care about it, however.

“That’s it,” he coos, finally slowing after a moment.

Your entire body is trembling, harder than you had all night. He pulls himself away from you despite your desperate cry. He folds you back into the previous position and you sob, shaking your head.

He shushes you, the same as he had been all night, “‘S my turn,” he assures.

You relax into the bed, arms dropped on either side of your head. You watch him through lidded eyes as he begins to rock into you once more. He avoids grinding himself against your clit when he sinks inside, knowing it would, in fact, be too much for you right now.

He looked down at where you were connected.

Strings of your slick connected your skin and his every time he pulled back. Your cunt was puffy, clit throbbing in the aftershocks of the intense orgasm. A ring of white was at the base of his cock, a symbol of just how hard you had cum.

The mess you’d created made his cock throb. You were such a good girl, so sweet for him. He looked back up at your face, at the dreamy look on your face and he groaned.

“So pretty,” he whispers, his own blunt nails biting into the underside of your thighs.

You whine at the pain but make no complaints. He has half a mind to feel embarrassed as you watch him cum. Your hand reaches down to caress his chest and stomach as you feel him pulse inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

You sigh, a happy sound that makes his heart warm.

Pulling out of you, you wince at the feeling of his cum dripping from you but neither of you comment on it. Instead, he leans back over you and presses his lips to yours once more.

Your hand tangles in his hair and he sighs, allowing you to hold him and cling to him for a moment. He feels you shiver and frowns, watching as goosebumps rise over your skin.

Suddenly, too sudden for your liking, he pulls away. You squeeze your thighs closed and subconsciously cover your breasts with your hands, watching as he climbs off of the bed.

He takes the rag he had used earlier to wipe your skin, to clean the mess that covered him.

You can feel your heart hammering so loud it makes your ears ring. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge you as he moves around the room, slipping his clothes back on --though without all the accessories.

He runs a hand through his hair, straightening himself out before he heads to the door. You sit up quickly, eyes wide as you watch him open it. Before you can call out to him, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’re left alone and feel a deep ache in your chest. You let yourself fall back into the bed, ignoring the soreness of your body as you tug the cover over yourself. The silence of the room is deafening, but before long it's filled with your sad, pathetic sniffles.

Mentally, you shame yourself for being so foolish. Even after so many years, you were just as naive as before. You can’t actually believe you’d been stupid enough to allow yourself to believe any of it was real. You’d gotten a taste of him once more, and now you were being punished for being so greedy.

It hurt to think that, just for a moment, you remembered what it was like to be loved by him.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the door open again. You also didn’t hear his weary sigh.

He moved around the room, glancing at you curled up on the bed, assuming you had fallen asleep. His own mind was abuzz, processing everything. It was easy to fall into the rhythm, no matter how long it had been since he performed it.

He knew you liked a nice, soft cloth to clean you up. The harshness of a normal cloth was too much given how sensitive you always were afterwards. You would also no doubt be craving some water -- though he made tea for you instead. He wasn’t quite sure what you enjoyed about it so much, but he was more than willing to indulge.

When he finally moved to the bed, he sat down, placing the cloth and bowl of warm water on the table. He turned to you and tugged at the sheet, making you gasp. You looked over your shoulder and he frowned at the sight of your tears.

His heart lurched in his chest -- worry that he did something wrong, that he hurt you, or even that maybe you were feeling regret in accepting him back.

“Y-You’re back?” you ask it, sounding so pitifully broken that he can’t help but pull you into his lap.

You’re easily adjusted, allowing him to lean back on the headrest with you curled into his body, still sniffling and crying.

“Did you think I left?” he asks softly, petting your hair.

You solemnly nod and he sighs, “I’m sorry I just...I want to believe that you...But I…”

“It’s okay,” he assures, “I haven’t earned your trust back. But I will.”

“Xiao…” you whisper, looking up at him.

“Let’s just get you cleaned up, alright?” you nearly start crying when you see he had gathered everything he would have back then.

BY the time you’re clean and curled up in bed, you’re exhausted. The tea had made you nice and warm and as you snuggled against his chest, you began to doze. Though you didn’t particularly need sleep, your injury had weakened you enough to warrant it lest you get worse.

Xiao’s body is worn but he chooses to lay there in the darkness of the bedroom. He stares at the ceiling, listening to the sound of your breathing. He desperately wants to close his eyes and, for once, sleep as well. Just so he can experience sleeping with you again.

But he can’t bring himself to. He’s terrified that if he opens his eyes, you’ll be gone and nothing will have changed. He’s not sure if he would survive if all of this had been a dream.

So he stays awake until he’s sure.

Xiao: First Kiss HCs

I’m so sorry it took me actually forever to reply to you. But I really hope you like this and it was somewhat worth the wait;; I tried really hard but ty for liking my Xiao content and yes! Let’s be absolute trash for Xiao. In this house we only believe in Xiao supremacy 💕💕

—

Semi Part 1: Friendship

Semi Part 2: Falling in Love

Semi Part 3: Cuddles

Semi Part 4: Protective

Semi Part 5: Affection

Semi Part 6: Jealously

Considering how many more Xiao fics I need to write. This semi part link might not be a good idea lol. Also let’s ignore if I wrote in a kiss in a previous post haha.

—

[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover@youaskedfurret @snowy224

—

Xiao: First Kiss HCs

When you and Xiao first got together. It was a slow and steady process of learning each other boundaries and what felt comfortable. Xiao knew he was a difficult partner but you loved him and even becoming his friend was a slow and worthwhile adventure. It started off small leading from small handholding, to cuddling, to showing each other affection. But the one area that you both weren’t familiar in was kisses. He was an isolated adepti and you were an adventurer. You didn’t have any experience in being kissed and Xiao sure as hell didn’t either. Plus it was a lot more intimate and nerve wracking compared to holding hands and that was an hard hill to tackle in itself.

You didn’t mind that he wasn’t comfortable with initiating affection or never went in or talked about kisses. You were just happy that he was by your side and that your love was reciprocated. That he was comfortable in your presence and seemed content in your arms. It still made you a bit giddy when you reflected on how far you both came and that was enough for you. Xiao, on the other hand, couldn’t exactly say the same. While he was happy and he was content, he couldn’t help but feel that maybe your relationship was too one-sided? He knew that you were comfortable and okay with waiting for him to work out his issues and figuring out how to love again but he also really wanted to do more. He just wasn’t sure how to start.

It suddenly dawned on him one day when he saw you off on your next journey, that he had never really kissed you. Even a small goodbye kiss. It was usually you initiating affection or giving words of love and you always told him that it didn’t matter if he said it or not. His actions said more which always made him flush a bit. But on slow and quiet days where you were off on another adventure and Liyue was calm, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to you. To your face, your bright eyes that would light up whenever you talked about the interesting sights you saw on your journey, the curve of your nose whenever he tapped it when you started to ramble on to much, your lips and how they would spread into a soft smile when it was just the two of you.

Xiao quickly flipped himself up into a sitting position and groaned into his hands. What was happening to him? He needed to take a walk to clear his mind again. He’s been going out a lot since he met you. He had faced an army of demons and fought in a war and yet this felt like the hardest challenge of his entire thousand year long life. He could almost hear Guizhong’s laughter at his predicament and her words of wisdom saying to take whatever problem he had and face it head on. Just without his spear. The spear needs to stay home.

So the next time you visited Wangshu Inn he asked for you to close your eyes. You complied but you were surprised, sitting by the railing facing Liyue up on the balcony. Was he going to gift you something? This was the first time he asked you to close your eyes but you trusted him. You could almost feel the anxiety waving off Xiao so you kept quiet and patient and waited for him to be ready.

He was ready. He could do this. You weren’t even looking at him so what was there to be worried about? He slowly leaned in, just hovering above your lips. But then he leaned back a bit, flushing red. He nearly chewed his lip before stopping since you probably didn’t want to taste blood. It wasn’t that he wasn’t ready or he thought that you would hate it, he was just nervous in messing up. What if his accidently transformed? What if he accidently pushed you off the railing? Even worse, what if someone showed up and saw you both like this?

Turns out he didn’t need to worry. Somewhat. Zhongli, who Xiao knew now was actually Rex Lapis in disguise, made a sudden appearance behind him. The whiplash of suddenly seeing his Master, the nervous butterfly’s fluttering in his stomach, and pep talk Xiao was trying to pound into his mind made him suddenly lurch forward and kiss you deeply. A bit too deeply as his little fangs nipped at your bottom lip.

“Zhongli!?”

“Rex Lapis?!”

You both quickly broke apart as your eyes flew open when you heard the man but also surprise at the sudden but, not completely unpleasant, pain and pressure on your lips. You could almost see the soul leave Xiao’s body when he spun around to see the surprised Zhongli. It was silent for a moment, all three of you just staring at each other. You were still processing what the hell just happened, Xiao was trying to find a way to astral project, and Zhongli was computing the fact that yes, the ever grumpy and “don’t touch me” yaksha both had a lover and was in the middle of…courting.

“Oh. My apologies. I wasn’t aware you were both occupied. I shall take my leave and visit another day then.” Zhongli simply nodded and left before you or Xiao could say anything. You both stared at the empty figure of where Zhongli was before you started to burst into laughter at the situation. You really felt bad, you did honestly, but with all the overwhelming emotions you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m…sorry. I didn’t know he was going to visit today,” Xiao muttered as he pressed his hand into his face and groaned at the embarrassing moment. You could see the tips of his ears were getting redder by the second which made you chuckle. For such a fearsome Yaksha he was really cute sometimes.

“It’s okay Xiao. I don’t mind. But are you alright?” you stifled the last of your giggles and reached out to pull him closer and remove his hand from his red face before cupping his cheek. He huffed but leaned into your hand. He really was sometimes like a cat.

“Are you hurt? Was I…too forward?” Xiao asked but he still wouldn’t look you in the eye. The floor was very interesting this afternoon. Wood was nice. Wood was good.

“No! It was…nice,” you answered, starting to go a bit pink yourself now before you felt a stinging pain in the corner of your lip, “Ah. I think you might accidently bit my lip though.”

“I see,” Xiao was now looking at you with his piercing eyes as he watched your small pink tongue brush over the corner of your bottom lip. His attention began to focus on that small part as the world seem to narrow down. Just the two of you. But unlike when you both would lie on top of the inn and watch the sun go down he felt hungry.

“Do you-”

Before you could ask anything Xiao suddenly pounced and pressed his lips against yours in a heated kiss. He took you by surprise but you quickly recovered as you gripped the purple ribbon on his back and yanked him forward as his hands slammed against the railing, trapping you. You felt his tongue press against your lips as you slowly opened them to let him in. It was overwhelming and you were sure if you hadn’t been grabbing onto the purple ribbon you would have fell over but then a sudden deep rumble snapped you out of your trance.

“Xiao? Are you…Are you purring?” you giggled when you got a tiny but of separation from the lack of air but he frowned at you, really it looked more like a pout, before leaning over once again. Just barely brushing over your lips as he whispered

“Meow”

—

This isn’t even OOC anymore. I feel like I’m writing a fucking k-drama right now, what am I doing anymore? English? Huh? I do not compute.

I’ve just awakened something in me with Cat! Xiao and I am flying with it (and casually ignoring lore. Isn’t he a bird?). Heading straight for the stratosphere and you cannot stop me. Just gonna hide away in shame now don’t look at me.

Okay. Time to commit sleep for uh 2 hours lol. I’m really tired but I feel kinda proud of myself haha. Tomorrow’s fics are going to be Venti, Lisa and Diluc pairing, and Venti and Barbara pairing. Good night!

Oh, and yes there is a lot more Xiao content to come and uhh might continue this cat!xiao idea. Unless that’s too weird. I’m sorry don’t shame me pls 😰

my god tumble just work. i dont want to deal with you and your tags.

2K notes View Post

xiaotopia

4 years ago

I just saw Albedos new trailer. Quickly went to make this dumb short thing

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xiaotopia

4 years ago

childe but with precious playing at the back

Reblog if you want anons to tell you who they ship you with and why.

Celebrities, other tumblr users, anyone..

335K notes View Post

xiaotopia

4 years ago

HE ALREADY DID I GOT HIM ON MY 56TH PULL

6 days left and I still don't get xiao ㅠㅠ

NOOO YOU GOT THIS. I FUCKING BELIEVE!! THE STARS WILL BE ALLIGNED. HE’S JUST TESTING YOUR DEDICATION. LAST DAY HE WILL COME JUST WATCH. C1 XIAO IS HEADING YOUR WAY.

I’m about to bust open another summoning circle. We need to hold hands stronger and channel our inner gacha luck. I will be so upset if you don’t get him. Please xiao, don’t be a bitch and come home.

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xiaotopia

1 year ago

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

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

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (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, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

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

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

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LCD.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

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

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feelings about what?”

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

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

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

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

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

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

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

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

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

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

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

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

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

“Go back where?”

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

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

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

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

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

“I beg your finest pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-Distraction?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could have a concussion.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

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

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck was that—”

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together.

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

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

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

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

“Alright cool, will do.”

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

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

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

“Tell me what?” you prod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I do.”

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

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

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me 😭 and by beta read i mean left the funniest fucking comments everywhere and i will forever remember how hard i laughed 🤣 i adore u sm thank you <33 SHES ALSO A WRITER TOO GO CHECK HER OUT on ao3 she is an amazinggg writer there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ you're all caught up!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

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

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

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