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nanamiskentos · 6 months ago

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SHE TOLD YOU THAT SHE CELIBATE, SHE TOLD ME I COULD NAIL HER SH*T — gojo satoru minors dni

PART I. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

prologue. → you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. college au, reader wears a skirt, reader is choso's twin and yuuji's older sister, but no appearance detailed. kissing, making out, óral (f) receiving, general bitchiness and fuckups 😚 ensemble cast of poor bystanders (geto, shoko, sukuna, yuki etc)

word count. 10k! song inspiration. gang baby — nle choppa

a/n. it's because of that one edit by satorupedia that's going around rn. yall know which one 😭 art by touno_stupa on twt!

dedication. yayyy decided to start my little gift series for new years with this fic inspired and dedicated to @fushitoru who was one of the first blogs i followed on here before i was super familiar with jujutsu kaisen. aashi writes thee most wonderful gojo fics that are so well characterised and heart-stoppingly adorable and HAWT. 😁 🤭 and i easily associate her with physics/college au gojo now, ever since her spiderman gojo fic that lives in my head!!!!

gojo in this fic:

ACT I. don't puck around and find out!

"i ran into gojo today," choso says, his voice as unbothered and monotone as ever, scraping the gravel lazily with the heel of his scuffed combat boots, "or he ran into me."

"gojo satoru?"

"how many gojos do we know?" your twin brother huffs, giving you a dry side-eye. but before you can retort something equally acrid, he's yanking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, halting you midstep, "wait. car."

you blink out of your tired daze just in time to see a battered camry putter past, its engine groaning like it's on its last legs. just how you feel after a long day of seminars and lectures. the car rattles down the street with the grace of a tin can tied to a string.

"thanks," you mutter, half-heartedly as you shift your laptop case from one tired arm to the other, "could have been the end of my genius academic career."

"would have been a short one either way," choso quietly quips, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"so?" you press on.

"so, what?"

"what did gojo say?"

"ohhh," choso drawls, in that irritating way of his that indicates he has no idea how to deliver good gossip, news or any form of tea, "he asked if i wanted to play hockey for his team tomorrow. they're down a player ever since kento went on exchange."

"hockey?" your eyebrow arches, and skepticism curls your lips for choso is hardly known for his athleticism. you mean, you're sure he has the physical ability in him somewhere but you (and the rest of the world) are yet to see it, "are you gonna join the team, then?"

not that you care about gojo's stupid, state-tournament winning team. of course not. you're just curious. and curiosity is harmless.

it has nothing to do with the fact that you woke up last night wanting to jump gojo satoru's bones. just like you did the night before, and before. and the week before that. yeah, suffice to say that this has been going on for a while.

"nah," choso says, shaking dull, greasy strands of dark hair out of his eyes, "got placements tomorrow."

right. placements. choso's all about pathology and lab medicine and test tubes, while you get queasy at the mere mention of haemoglobin. and it unsettles you mildly at how your twin brother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a blood test.

"and?" you prod when he starts to drift off again, his attention wandering like it always does.

choso is often like a calm river. slow, broad and lazy.

this time, you pull at his one of his headphone cords to reel him back, "did gojo say anything else?"

choso gives you that dull look, quiet but loaded. like he's already solved a puzzle that you didn't know you were trying to hide. it just makes your stomach twist, "why do you care what gojo satoru says?"

"i don't," you snap, far too fast, like your tongue is racing your brain to a crash site. the lie sits heavy in your throat, thick and obvious.

choso's pale and dry lips twitch, and you wondered what happened to the lip balm you threw into his christmas stocking last year, "should i have told him you could sub in for his team instead?"

"no-one likes a smartass, cho," you grumble, speeding up your steps as your twin leisurely rummages through his fraying backpack for his house keys. you roll your eyes and push ahead, jamming your own keys into the lock before you die of boredom waiting for him to dig through the trash heap that lies at the bottom of his bag, "anyway, i was just asking. you brought gojo up."

choso trails behind you, his tone infuriatingly casual, "you always get weird when someone mentions him. i thought you guys were friends."

"we are friends. and i don't get weird."

"you get so weird. even yuki said so."

"i love yuki, i do. but she has no idea what she's talking about —"

the door swings open, cutting off your false deflection. standing there is yuuji, with half a sandwich dangling from his mouth like he's some kind of feral creature. there's a smear of mayonnaise clinging to his cheek as he yanks a red, track hoodie over his tank top.

"mmph! hey, you guys!" he muffles through a mouthful of bread, waving at you with the enthusiasm that only a teenage boy could muster after inhaling half the fridge.

"where are you off to?" you peer at your younger brother, your eyes zeroing in on his mutilated sandwich. a sandwich that you're certain you made for yourself this morning, leaving it for a study session upon your return.

"track practice," yuuji says, swallowing the last bite whole, "then dinner with fushiguro and kugisaki." he's already halfway down the driveway, sneakers untied and laces flopping on the pavement behind him.

choso narrows his eyes, "got money? or a water bottle? a hat? did you wear sunscreen?"

"i'm good!" yuuji calls back without breaking stride, waving a quick hand at the two of you.

"why don't you hold his hand and walk him to school, mother?"

"shut up," choso grumbles as he brushes past you into the house, throwing you an exaggerated scowl of wounded, elder-brother pride over his shoulder, "why don't you hold gojo's hand to hockey practice?"

your bookbag swings through the air, connecting to the back of choso's oversized head and a loud thud follows.

ACT II. long overdue and lacking a spine

you had been in this library for hours, eyes blurring as the words in your textbook stubbornly refused to make sense. it was all a gross blur of terms and diagrams, and your $8.00 coffee had gone lukewarm an hour ago.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that was the plan, no distractions.

your phone, however, had other ideas as it sat innocently next to your stack of notes. you tapped the screen quickly under the guise of a 'quick break' but before long, you were deep into instagram stories. someone's dog, a flyer for a rave that you definitely weren't going to, and then, of course, him.

gojo satoru. on someone's reposted story with a classic, grainy photo of one of the campus's most darling boys. long arm draped casually over some girl. both of them lit in the neon glow of what looked like a party bus. he wasn't even looking at the camera, just flashing that effortless grin that you had seen your entire life growing up. and the girl was gorgeous, obviously. not that you cared about that.

but speak of the devil and he hath appear. a long shadow fell over the table, and you felt the chill in your bones, trying not to shift in your seat.

"go away, gojo," you muttered, not even deigning to look up.

"how'd you know it was me?" his voice is teasing, all light and airy as he's pulling out the chair next to you.

"what can i say? lucky guess," you reply dryly, keeping your eyes glued to the suspiciously-stained textbook. worried that you'll look up and your iron resolve will disappear from one glance at big, blue eyes.

but out of the corner of his eye, you try not to twitch at the sight of the soft, pale blue hoodie that swallows his broad frame whole. thick, white strands of hair that fall gently over his face. and that cloying scent of mint and something faintly sweet that leaves your ears hot and your heart sitting in your throat.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that's what you tell yourself in a now failing mantra.

"are you following me today?" you ask, flipping a page with exaggerated nonchalance, like you're not about to tear up pathetically from a stupid crush.

"caught me," gojo says, the grin audible even in his voice, "i just couldn't resist finding you. is that what you want me to say?"

you finally look up, swallowing at unfairly fine features, "saw you were at some party yesterday. i didn't think you'd be on campus today."

gojo just laughs, the sound soft and infuriating, "keeping tabs on me now?" and he's rifling through his bag for something, "or you don't think the library's a good look for me? i'm broadening my horizons. testing the waters."

you narrow your eyes, willing the heat rising in your face to stay put and not crawl into your voice, "i think you're testing my patience. i have a test tomorrow, so if you're here to waste my time..."

"maybe i just wanted to hang out with my friend," gojo says, tearing open a kitkat wrapper in an obnoxious way that echoes through the silent hall, and the crinkle of plastic grates against your nerves, "we haven't seen each other in ages."

"don't you have a lot of other people to hang out with nowadays?" you're mentally beating yourself with a bat at your question, wincing at how it sounds like you keep count of who he hangs out with, and you're pathetically down bad for him. like a 90s singer begging on his knees for a kiss.

"i mean, i could hang out with them," gojo says, breaking his kitkat horizontally like a monster, "but they're not you."

his sunglasses are gone, revealing eyes so blue they look otherworldly, and he's throwing you that smiling, lopsided grin that makes your heart run around a room and bang into the walls. but no. you were not going to let gojo satoru get to you. he probably made every girl feel like this, like they were the centre of his fast-paced universe. until the next shiny thing came along.

besides, gojo satoru dated models. or stunning cheerleaders. the kind of people who looked good under strobe lights, and in the glow of his party bus digital camera pics.

and hey, it's not like you were self-depreciating or awfully insecure. you liked who you were and you would never change it for anyone. quiet and ambitious. reserved, but down for some fun. you'd like to think you were the type of person who saw the world in a beautiful, cinematic light. but it was maddening how gojo satoru seemed to bring out the most juvenile issues in you that had your stomach turning itself into ugly knots.

"gojo," you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "are you even here to study?"

as in why are you really here? please ask me out.

gojo looks unbothered, unshaken, "coffee. cake. maybe even some flirting, if you're up to it."

the universe hates you. it has a way of delivering what you want right into your hands, when...you don't exactly want it.

you blink at the white-haired man, disbelief bubbling under your skin, "you're not serious."

"why wouldn't i be?"

"c'mon, satoru. everyone knows you're not the actual dating type. you ever been in a relationship that wasn't pr and lasted for more than two weeks?"

absolutely bonkers at how your heart and your tongue are not on the same wavelength at all. it's like your mouth missed the memo and is just firing bullets that have gojo's grin faltering a bit, as a flicker of heated annoyance flashes in his eyes. even hurt, but it's gone too quickly for you to read into it.

"didn't realise that you thought i was that much of a joke," and you're not fond of how gojo's voice is quieter now, and a pretty sneer is dancing across his lips. you're biting your lip before you lose your stupid, petty resolve to not get involved with someone who could truly break your heart.

"if you didn't make everything a joke, it wouldn't be," you snap at him, and you're not even sure what you're angry at. there's no reason to be annoyed, or frustrated or even hurt and snippy with a friend who came and sat with you to catch up.

but you don't want to untangle whatever you're projecting onto gojo satoru, so you let bitter words spill over, "some of us don't have time for your games, gojo. we have real lives to deal with."

gojo's expression shifts completely, and that playful spark in his eyes is replaced with something colder as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, "right." and his tone is clipped, pissed, "got it. no time for games."

you watch as gojo walks away, already tapping away on his phone, but his footsteps are quieter than you expect. part of you wants to call after him, to take back the teeth and claws that painted your words.

but instead, you just look away from him and grimace. you must have pulled an awful, twisted face — for the man sitting across from you leans in and asks if you need to take an aspirin, or if you're low on fibre.

ACT III. between the covers

the bookstore smells faintly of old paper and new ink. a sharp contrast to the chill lingering outside, so the warmth hits you like a welcome blanket. the air buzzes with the muted chatter of customers, and the occasional beep of a cash register.

you're winding your way through the aisles, set on two missions. find that jacket-cover book that you had been wanting for weeks, and to hunt down the manga that yuuji had begged you to pick up for him.

you dart past a couple lingering in front of a 'booktube' bestseller display, narrowing avoiding a child wielding a stuffed dragon that you can only assume is smaug the magnificent from the hobbit. straight into the quieter section of the store, tucked in the back and smack-bang right into —

thud!

your shoulder collides hard with someone else, sending you stumbling back a step.

"fuck's sake. watch it," the person snaps, his tone sharp.

"maybe you should —" you start to retort, before the words die and patter out on your tongue as your mouth goes dry.

gojo satoru, ladies and gentlemen.

he's scowling at you, with sunglasses pushed up onto his head that expose those ridiculously pale eyelashes under the glow of the overhead lights. he's layered on a crisp varsity jacket, over a thick hoodie, all shades of soft blue and grey. and he looks irritated, with thick brows furrowed at you. but you don't miss the faint surprise that flutters across his face when he takes you in.

"seriously?" gojo murmurs, though more to himself, and his voice still holds an edge that has you wilting, "out of all the aisles in this store..."

you blink, caught somewhere between an apology that dances on the edge of your lips, and a bewildered laugh at how the divine powers deliver the worst luck on you. instead, you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your aviator jacket, "sorry. didn't see you."

gojo's shoulders relax, but just barely. as though he's still caught in the heavy fog of tension from your last words to him. but to your mild credit, he doesn't quite look ready to storm out either. progress?

"so. what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to break the ice and pretend that you're not doing internal pirouettes.

"just had to pick up a textbook," gojo mutters, holding up a thin and over-priced looking book on something like...quantum mechanics, "exams are coming up. gotta keep the top spot, you know."

you blink, "you're actually studying?"

gojo raises his eyebrow, lips twitching into the faintest smile, "what? you think i roll into my classes and ace everything through sheer willpower? or i spend all day being a joke and annoying everyone, right?"

you sigh, feeling the frosty, ice-gaze settle once more over you, paralysing you from head to toe, "look, gojo. i don't know what came over me that day," and now you're being sincere, looking away from his narrowed stare, "it's like some crazy, evil monster came over me and it possessed me. i think i incarnated some demon king in me and i said all that mean shit."

he shifts slightly beside you, and you don't miss at how gojo's lower lip juts out at your apology, or how close he is to you right now. "and i was jus' being stupid. swear i don't think you're a joke." you try to pick up some random book, pretending you're very busy as you speak.

but it's very hard to look genuine when you've just picked up a glossy copy of 'stand and deliver: a hard look at fixing male erection problems.'

it earns you a small laugh, light and quick, that has you almost falling to your knees, and you can hear choso's voice in your head. muttering out a dulcet 'i told you so. you want him so bad.' but it's worth it as gojo leans against the nearest shelf, the annoyance from earlier starting to ebb.

and for a moment, gojo studies you and his expression is unreadable. for your part, you're pretending to read the back cover of 'stand and deliver' and some blurb about how this award-winning author managed to help her husband 'get it up' after twenty years of marriage.

but the tension in his posture dissolves, relaxing further and gojo hums, "noted." that's all he says, and an awkward silence hovers. it hovers so uncomfortably, leaving you floundering for a new topic until gojo's voice breaks the silence.

"choso's doing good, yeah? i heard he got a girlfriend."

you smile, "yeah. yuki, she's like really cool. i don't know how he did it."

gojo snickers, "i asked if he wanted to play hockey and i think he's been avoiding me all week."

you try to pretend its not because of how you re-enacted your little spat with gojo, demonstrating the entire thing for your twin brother. who had just called you stupid afterwards. among other not-so-flattering terms, with little consideration for your crushing, beating heart.

"you going to suguru's party next weekend?"

ah, now that's a curveball.

because, again, you are your own brand of cool. or so you'd like to think, so this isn't really a matter of pitying comparison. but geto suguru is like on another level of effortlessly vogue. at least in your eyes. you know that he's gojo's best friend and he delivered a (controversial) and killer project on gene editing last semester. you know that geto's involved with gig photography as a hobby, and thus, has personal access to some of the coolest bands in the city.

and you also know that he occasionally waves a hand to you, but it's not like you actually know the man. it's just mutual association.

"i wasn't planning on it," you hesitate, for you really had been planning to cram through a mid-term session, "but someone asked me to go as their date."

gojo's smile evaporates, "who?"

"naoya zenin," you say cautiously, watching as gojo's face twists. like he's resisting the urge to gag and tear his hair out.

"naoya? he's like a walking billboard for being an entitled cunt," gojo groans, running a hand through glossy hair that has you trailing your gaze over slender, sculpted hands.

you narrow your eyes, "he seemed...okay. smart, i think."

"oh, he's smart. i'm not questioning that," gojo crabs, "he's so arrogant though. i grew up seeing that guy everywhere. our families were like, half friends."

you cross your arms, suddenly defensive, "are you warning me? or just mad that he asked me out?"

gojo seems to flounder for half a second, quick enough that you could miss it and he could deny it, "jealous of naoya? please," and he scoffs as he leans back against the shelf, "i have taste. unlike some people."

"you can't be the one giving me a lecture on dating etiquette. i mean, how many dates do you have lined up for geto's party? two, three?"

gojo gives you a sly grin, "more than that, hah. gotta keep my options open."

"tacky," you wrinkle your nose, trying to pretend that you don't feel like you just guzzled a gallon of curdled milk, "and classless."

"yes," gojo sighs sadly, "and endlessly charming. it's so hard being me," shooting you back a quizzical look as he pulls up to the register, paying for his textbook.

as he paid, you linger near the shelves, pretending to browse while stealing glances at gojo satoru. there was something different about him today, something quieter that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

and on gojo's way out, he pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. his expression is still entirely unreadable, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual. and then he was gone.

ACT IV. blush confidential

there's a soft hum of pop music wafting from someone's phone, blending in with the rustle of fabric and the hiss of a straightener. your bedroom is a whirlwind of motion and chaos, with clothes thrown over chairs, and pre-game drinks piled up over your vanity.

"i can't believe you're not coming with us," you gripe to yuki, watching as she lounged up on your bed, denim crinkling as she shifted to adjust herself.

"tch, you know i love a good party," yuki grins with sparkling ideas, "but choso and i have a date tonight. he's been texting me about it all day."

you snicke at the thought of your hapless twin, "yeah. he was practically glued to your dm's. ran into the kitchen table twice this morning."

shoko snorts from her spot at the vanity, from where she's running a brush through cropped, chestnut hair, "choso nervous? i need to see that," she catches your eye in the mirror, "do you still have that lip gloss?"

"on it," you're digging into the vast depths of your purse, grazing your wallet and a hal-featen granola bar. stubbing your finger on an opened gel pen, before clutching a small shiny tube that you toss to shoko.

"so," shoko smacks her lips, "how's it going with naoya?"

you blink, pausing in the middle of capping all your drying pens, "what do you mean how's it going? nothing's going."

your friend swivels on her stool, raising a thin eyebrow, "he's your date at this party, right? and why him, of all people?"

"seriously. that guy's got a reputation. and not a good kind, for a very good reason," utahime chimes in from her corner, where she's yanking on a ribbon woven through her hair.

you shrug, suddenly feeling defensive under their collective scrutiny, "hey. he asked, i said yes. it's not that deep."

shoko exchanges a pointed glance with utahime, and both of them looking equally skeptical in a way that has you flushing.

"he's just annoying, you know," shoko points out, "he thinks he's better than everyone else, and half the time? it's just hot air."

"and the other half?"

"still hot air," shoko flatlines, "you can do better."

"anyone's better than gojo," utahime mutters, "you don't want to be stuck with him."

yuki's snickering, and you're doing your utter best to pretend that the mention of gojo satoru doesn't have you crawling up and down the walls like a termite on crack.

"speaking of gojo," yuki drawls, running a comb through a golden sheaf of thick hair, "is he going with anyone to this party?"

you freeze for half a second, before busying yourself with some new body mist that you picked up from a sale, all vanilla and coconut and macademia, "i ran into gojo the other day," and you keep your tone as neutral as possible, "and he said he had a few dates."

"ugh," shoko groans, wrinkling her nose, "of course he does," and utahime mutters an affirmative, exasperated sigh, echoed only by yuki, who pauses mid-brush to look at you sympathetically.

"what?" you snap, defensive, "why are you all looking at me like that?"

shoko tucks a thin strand of hair behind her ear, "well, i mean. you like gojo, right? like really like him?"

"huh?" the question catches you so off guard that you're left sputtering, as the perfume leaves a sharp and awful taste on your tongue, accidentally leaving a fresh spritz into your mouth, and not the curve of your neck.

"oh, blech. absolutely not," you say vehemently, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "i don't like him like that. not that i think he's awful or anything —"

utahime crosses her arms, white sleeves brushing against each other, "he is awful."

"yes, thank you for that, utahime. but he's just not my type," you finish firmly, "he's loud. he's disruptive. he can't take anything seriously. i can't date that."

yuki gives you a long and knowing look, "oh, he likes you," she says lightly, as though she's telling you a casual piece of news, and not something that has you biting your tongue till iron spills, "he's been crushing on you for so long."

you feel your stomach twist uncomfortable, like little, evil goblins are dancing in your gut, "that's ridiculous," you mutter, fiddling with the clasp of your purse, "if he liked me, he would ask me out properly. and not date half the student population."

"he probably thinks it's fair, because you keep turning him down," shoko says matter-of-factly, standing up to grab her bag.

"i just don't think he's good for you. or anyone," utahime mutters, earning a pinch from you.

ACT V. stereo love

normally, gojo thrived at these parties. suguru was always able to pull a crowd that straddled the line between chic and cool, with just enough alcohol to keep things interesting. the thrum of the bass-heavy music should have been the perfect escape after a gruelling day spent staring at equations, leaving him half-convinced that his course coordinator was plotting against him and wanted him dead.

but now gojo satoru was just jittery, restless. and he hated that.

so for now, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a full cup in hand, watching people spill out of the living room and into the backyard. it seemed that other students had been aching for a party, something to take them off mid-terms and yet here he was, scowling like a storm cloud. he took another swig of his drink, ignoring how his own stomach was doing unexplained cartwheels.

"you good?"

suguru's low voice cuts through the noise, startling gojo enough that he has to tighten his fingers around his cup so sticky beer doesn't spill over pristine tiles.

gojo waves his closest friend and confidante off, "i'm fine. obviously."

suguru's frown deepens, though it's obscured by his loose, choppy dark hair. and there's skepticism painted all over his face, "you're never this quiet at any party. i thought that by now, i would have had to convince you not to jump off the roof."

"you think too little of me."

"you think too much of yourself," suguru drawls, but he's leaning against the counter beside gojo, as leather and cool metal rustle against each other, "so where's your date? or dates, i should say?"

gojo freezes, his cup halfway to his lip, "come again? what are you talkin' about?"

suguru arches a thin brow, "it's practically all over campus, man. apparently, you had several dates with lovely, young ladies lined up tonight. and i tried to defend your fragile honour, said it was too ambitious even for you. but..."

this revelation hits gojo like a punchline that he wasn't in on, and then it clicks for him. oh, he had started that rumour a few days ago. in the bookstore, to you. his brain replays the scene like a cruel, little highlight reel: the way your expression had wavered minutely, just for a moment, when he had straight up lied and claimed that he had a few dates.

truth be told, gojo had only said it to make you jealous, to see if he could ruffle you and play your game even better.

but now the joke was so clearly on him.

because gojo satoru had no dates. and you? you were here with someone who wasn't him.

suguru's following his gaze across the room, and gojo doesn't even bother to hide his petulant interest. he can see you standing near the back walls, laughing at something that naoya zenin, mayor of all things putrid, had said. naoya, with his stupid green roots and louis vuitton jacket, standing just a little bit too close to you for gojo's liking.

but before he can stew in it any linger, suguru's reaching out and pinching his ear. hard.

"ow! fuck was that for?" gojo's yelping, jerking away from his clearly evil, traitrous best friend.

"that," suguru says evenly, "was for looking like a lovesick idiot. pull yourself together, man."

"i'm not lovesick," gojo weakly protests, rubbing his bruised, throbbing ear and moving further away from suguru geto.

"you're not exactly screaming cool and collected," suguru dryly comments, "sulking like a sore loser while your crush laughs at another guy's jokes."

gojo feels his face heat up, just a little bit, because he knows that suguru's hitting close to home, "i don't sulk and do all that whiny shit. second of all, it's not my fault she went with zenin of all people. it's up to her if she wants to be stuck with someone who talks about his family's real estate portfolio as foreplay."

suguru snorts, and it's clear that he's not playing the role of sympathetic best man for life, "you know what's more obnoxious? watching you fuck around like this. you need to figure out how to ask her properly."

"i did all that!" gojo shoots back, throwing his arms up so his drink dances over the edge of the cup, "she said no. each time. you know what they call a guy who can't take a hint? she thinks i'm a loser!"

"and are you?"

gojo narrows his eyes, "am i what?"

"a loser."

"is it easier for me if i just say yes?" gojo half-heartedly gripes, "is that what you want me to say?"

"or," suguru says calmly, "you're a guy who hasn't proven he's worth saying yes to."

gojo groans, tipping his head back so he can block out the vision of his irritatingly wise best friend, "you sound like my grandmother."

"that's not even an insult. your grandmother is on some metal shit," suguru counters, unbothered, "and you sound like a twelve-year old. you can't flirt and sleaze your way through this. if you want her to take you seriously, i don't know how else to say this, you have to stop being...you."

"excuse me?"

"no. stop, don't make that face," suguru scowls, "you know what i mean. stop being a stupid flirt, and be a genuinely better person. otherwise, you're just spinning and burning out your wheels."

"did you pick up a self help book?"

suguru elbows him, sneering, "i'm trying to help you. if you don't want my help, i'm telling her you have an std."

"maybe you should just do that. end my misery," gojo downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of cheap beer doing nothing to ease the olympics in his alimentary canal. what's worse is that suguru is right, the bastard always is.

suguru claps him on the shoulder, "relax, satoru. you've got charm in spades. just use it...wisely."

"yeah, yeah. thanks, man," gojo mutters, brushing him off as suguru wanders away, probably to mediate some dumb argument between that big oaf, toji fushiguro and the even bigger oaf, ryomen sukuna. honestly, why were they even invited?

but gojo stays where he is, eyes flicking back to you. away from the distracting curve of your thighs in that skirt, and rather on how interested you look in naoya's stupid, animated gestures. and you look so at ease, but there's something hot and sharp twisting inside his gut.

suguru's soft, measured voice echoes in his head, "prove yourself as a person first."

oh, yeah. gojo could do that. he would absolutely do that. for you, he'd do just about anything, short of donating his vital organs (but he would definitely be considering it). but how hard could it be to be better? more mature? more grounded?

gojo satoru can handle all that. all he had to do was be a dignified, charming man. you know, someone who puts his best foot forward into the world. someone that you might actually consider taking seriously. someone calm and respectful.

if you were happy with naoya zenin, then who was he to interfere? who was he to ruin that for you? even if the guy looked like wile e. coyote when he smiled. even if naoya zenin was the most smug bastard to walk the earth.

gojo scowled at nothing in particular. but the point was that it wasn't his place to meddle. not if it meant risking your happiness. all he could do was be the best version of himself. polite, kind and above reproach. a good and respectful friend.

ACT VI. a shot of love, on the rocks.

"please, i want you so fuckin' bad."

gojo satoru is on his knees. at a party, in the middle of the living room. for you.

you feel like your mind isn't able to process all this fast enough, like your brain is on some pause. the music is still thumping in your head, but not as fast as your poor cardiac muscles as you're rendered frozen from pathetic, piercing blue eyes blinking up at you.

"please," gojo satoru repeats, and his voice vaguely warbles out like he's kinda lost his marbles and —

let's rewind.

five minutes ago, you had been standing with naoya zenin. and despite your initial reservations, you had been entertained. he's sorta witty, and definitely loaded with snarky remarks that cut through the noise of the party. it's hard not to laugh at his biting commentary, although half the time he's skewering people for fun, and the other half? just out of pure spite.

his golden eyes gleam with that edge, the kind of sharpness that makes you think of a hyena circling around its next meal. naoya is definitely full of himself, but it doesn't help that he's also ridiculously good-looking. and he knows how stunning he is, but its bothering him that you're not showering him in enough compliments for it.

still, he's here with you. he's your date. and you're doing your best to remind yourself of that. naoya is the only option you have at the moment, and he's definitely offering you more attention than anyone else tonight.

from across the room, utahime gives you an exaggerated, pained thumbs-up — while shoko shrugs in her usual blithe manner, but she gestures for you to smile more. you plaster on a wider grin, a little too obvious but naoya doesn't seem to notice.

"you know, if you're getting bored of all this, we could always find another room," naoya's low hiss slices right through the bass-thrum of the pulsing room, "do a little more than just talk."

for a moment, it's easy to imagine slipping away with him. but the sharpness in his killer-smile makes something in you bristle, like he's already envisioned you saying 'oh yes, naoya! please take me to bed!' and you shake your head, and give him an amused look.

"maybe later," you say lightly, "not now."

naoya zenin doesn't seem quite offended, but his smile grows wider as he stands up straight again, from where he had curved his tall frame into you, "i'm a patient man. fine by me, 'm gonna get some more drinks."

and you watch as his golden head of hair disappears into the crowd, leaving you all alone while the music blares around you, like a suffocating fog. you rub your temples, wondering if you should just go after naoya and tell him to go to town, something for the night's enjoyment. but before you can go any further, you hear a shout cut through the noise.

"hey!"

you whip around, blinking in surprise at gojo satoru.

but also not quite the gojo that you're used to. the one that you grew up with, and held hands with in kindergarten, one who smiled easy and laughed too loud. it seems he's ditched the oversized hoodies and varsity jackets tonight, opting for a black tee that fits him a little too well and dark cargo pants that only highlight...

you're getting distracted. but it's hard to remain focused, when he's walking towards with you. seemingly determined, as his white hair falls forward over thunderstorm-eyes. for a moment, you're not sure if you’re hearing him over the pounding music, or if it's just your own pulse making everything seem louder.

"i hate that you're here with naoya," gojo says suddenly, and his voice is low and serious, something that you've never really heard from him before.

your brow furrows, "what?"

"i lied about the dates," he continues, as words just jumble out his candy-pink mouth, "i don't have a bunch of dates. fuck, i don't even have one date. i only want to date you."

you blink, and then you blink once more, because again what?

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you think you might have misheard the man. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, and they're staring right at you.

and before you know, he's on his knees. muscular thighs bending so his knees hit the cool tiles with a heavy thud, hands splayed out for you.

"please," he implores, "you gotta understand. i need you to feel what i feel, because it's not even a passin' thought, i swear. it's not even a stupid crush. this is like —" and he's gesturing wildly with one hand, still kneeling like a knight about to beg for his lady's favour, "this is destiny."

"gojo," you manage, "are you on drugs?"

the white-haired man, bless his sassy heart, rolls his eyes, "no. i'm on beer and vodka. will you please let me finish?"

"yes, but what are you doing?" you hiss, exasperated and sibilant, as more eyes turn to the most ravishing man on campus, who's absolutely off his rocker. and there are phones being pulled out, god help you.

"what am i doing?" gojo smiles, and it's unnervingly wide, "i'm like laying it out all here for you. my love. because that's what you are, to me. like you're everything. and i swear everyone knows this already. should i call you my sun, my moon, my entire universe? it's like time stops when i see you, a-and trust me, i do physics. i know time shit," and he must have caught at how your mouth is flapping open because he suddenly wags a finger, "no! i'm not done. i haven't even told you how the world fades, and all that's left is you glowing. like a star that i can't reach."

he's placing a hand on his broad chest, digging into the tight top clinging to his pectorals, like he's being dramatically wounded, "i have to reach you. i have to be with you."

you're not sure what parts you've processed, or what part of this slow train-wreck has settled in your head, "are you, like, actually begging right now?"

gojo's eyes flash with the intensity of a thousand suns (well, fuck — gojo's awful poeticism is rubbing off on you already). you can hear the low snickers of two men that had been beating the living daylights out of each other half an hour ago, those fuckwits that go by toji and sukuna. you can hear sukuna's deep mutters about how no-one ever would like toji enough to do this for him. and yep, you can hear them scuffle again.

"yes!" gojo booms, and more than a few heads have turned now. you wonder if naoya zenin is watching in the background, and realising that this isn't a battle he wants to pick, "i will kneel for you. like i'd do this shit for eternity, even if my knees hurt so bad right now. but as long as you give me a chance to prove my worth. and my devotion, d-don't forget that! deep as the ocean, endless and vast. and the stars align...oh, how they align for us."

"ah, satoru," you cut in, and you realise that you're now smiling. embarrassment and mild humiliation be damned, there's a quirk tugging at your lips, "you can get up now. this is a bit dramatic."

gojo blinks, not missing a beat, "i'm dramatic because i'm in love, okay? and —" he swivels his head to the crowd, grumbling, "shut up, sukuna! i heard that, i'll beat your wonky ass. you don' know shit about love."

he's turning back to you, all sticky and soothing sugar once more, "where was i? eh, my confession. well, it's all for you. and it's me, givin' you every part of me. beggin' you to see that you're the only one who can break the walls around my heart."

you think that you've completed a full speed-run on every stage of grief that there is to experience, and if the small plink! coming from someone's phone is any indication, gojo's monologue has already made it's way onto someone's private story. and so naturally, everyone will have seen it by tomorrow.

"can you get off your knees? you look ridiculous."

gojo's grin falters for a split second before he straights up, all with a hefty groan as he runs a hand through snowy strands, "ridiculous? i'm being vulnerable as hell, and you think i look stupid?"

"a little," you admit, but you're reaching a hand out to push a strand of thick hair out of his eyes. and it's maddening at how gojo seems to tremble mildly under your touch, at the brush of your fingers against his temple, "kneeling at a frat party is crazy work."

gojo sinks his teeth into a plush lower lip, "that was me trying to show how much i care, and all that sweet shit. you make me lose all my cool, and this isn't even a joke."

"you never had cool, and now you've lost your dignity too," but you're blushing, and it's a giddy feeling at how he's now close enough that you can feel his body heat.

gojo satoru's eyes twinkle, "maybe. but i'd do all that again if it won you over."

"with your future oscar nomination?"

the man shrugs, broad muscles rippling, "he who be a fool for love is far better than he who doth never dare to try at all."

"fair point," you murmur, feeling dizzy in that familiar scent of lemon candies and mint, like the world is swirling around in a heady haze, "do you wanna kiss me to seal the deal?"

"yes please. i think i'm gonna pass out and — mmph!"

you've pulled yourself up, and thrown your arms around his warm neck, drawing gojo into you. crashing your lips into his before either of you can say anything else. it's an urgent, reckless kiss. like a dam has burst and all the pent-up emotions that you've been carrying have finally exploded.

gojo's lips are soft, but demanding, taking more and more air from you. they fit against you with an ease that feels almost too natural. and his broad arms come around your waist with a force that leaves the air punched out of you. he's holding you tightly, as though he's afraid that you'll just disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough.

you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the muscles in his arms that flex as he pulls you in, deepening the kiss. all while his mouth moves against yours with a slow and deliberate intensity, as his tongue parts your lips. all so messy.

when gojo finally pulls away, the last brush of his lips catches your quiet whimper. just as his breath goes ragged, and you're left standing there, dazed, with your forehead resting against his. you can still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that electricity that's crackling and buzzing through your veins as you giggle.

gojo, however, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. he tugs your wrist with a sharp, swift motion. but his grip is firm, not harsh as you pulls you away from the living room, "c'mon. let's get outta here."

shoko's eyes are wide, her jaw practically locked in disbelief, "what the hell just happened?"

utahime's lips curl, "someone took gojo's brain out and replaced it with a clone. ah! geto, what did you do?"

suguru has been standing near the kitchen counter, absolutely floored, and he's shaking his head so hard that he feels a headache forming, "hand on my heart, ladies. i told him not to pull any stunts. swear on destiny's child that i didn't tell him to do all that."

ACT VII. i bet we'd have really good bed chem!

gojo satoru has absolutely lost his mind. but you wish that he had lost it a bit earlier, because you're practically pawing at his top now. critically working to make quick work of the tight fabric, letting your fingers run over hard planes of muscles and lower.

right until you're reaching a trail of soft white hairs that disappear into the band of his pants.

"seems like you're just as desparate as me, hah," gojo snickers, and his broad hand is trailing further up your thighs, letting your skirt bunch and crinkle under his ministrations. thick fingers brush over dewy cotton, and you moan.

"s-satoru!"

"you don't even know how long i've w-wanted this," and his hand clenches at the fabric, gripping it so tightly that you fear it may just be on the verge of tearing, but you can only buck your hips into him further.

no longer even mindful of how you must be already dripping onto the palm of his hand, "and i thought you knew. i r-really thought you knew how much i wanted you."

his middle finger is gliding through your damp and searing slit, with clinging strands latching onto his skin as you muffle a whine into his chasing, teasing lips.

it's sending deep, low curls of arousal in thick waves, settling low in your groin and you don't even care what room of the house you're now in, someone's bedroom with a dark, stylish bedspread and vinyls up on the walls.

the force of his large hands drives you down onto the bed, pressing your back onto the soft mattress.

and gojo looks so pleased, at how you're splayed and sprawled out underneath his torso, his hands tugging at your now bare thighs to spread your legs even further. pulling them far enough so they come to rest on either side of his face.

"fuck, she's so pretty. even better than i imagined," and gojo's voice is husky and low, almost strained, "and believe me. imagined her plenty." the sound of drenched cotton being torn rips through the air, slippery and resistant from your arousal.

it's even stubborn as the fabric refuses to budge, until it gives way under the force of gojo's tug, soft and tearing. leaving your pussy open to the cool, cold air. bare for gojo's eyes to rest upon and widen.

his lips brush against your thigh with an uncharacteristic gentleness, one that makes your entrance clench and wink.

but gojo is nothing if not teasing, and he feels light-headed. pressing featherlight kisses to the crevice of your thigh, and then closer to your aching mound. but even he cannot hold off for much longer, and he's pressing a flat, lazy print of his tongue against your cunt.

that first munch sends a burst of tangy sweetness dancing across gojo's tongue, and he thinks he might just bust a load right then and there. the heat of your clenching cunt is almost overwhelming, but hey.

gojo's never been a quitter, and he doesn't care if he creams his pants at this very moment, he needs to hear that sweet whimper of his name from your lips again.

his lips part, blowing a quick breath on your aching clit, right as his fingers begin to press and meld into your syrupy folds. it's got you practically jumping further into him, so wet strands are clinging to the very tip of his nose. and gojo knows that this is heaven. that he's unlocked true paradise.

"satoru, c-can't you...?"

he's too busy running his tongue over your clit, drawing small circles with the very tip of the hot muscle, "can't i what, pretty? don' want me eating you out?"

and you are so adorable, pushing your head up to scowl down at him with furrowed brows, but the flush in your cheeks paints you the most beautiful shade of cherry red. and gojo vows to spend the rest of his life ensuring that this shade never leaves your cheeks.

"can't you get to the eating part? thought that you were gonna — f-fuck! hnngh, 'toru!"

he's pulling your thighs tighter around his head, and he doesn't give a fuck if this is how he goes. suffocated in this tantalising heat, with your fingers lacing themselves into woven patterns in his white hair.

he's lowering his tongue once more into your throbbing pussy, making sure that his pleased vibrations send pleasurable rumbles right through your core.

grinning and slurring his tongue further into you, right as you buck desparate hips over and over. dragging yourself against his chin, so he's sure that the lower half of his face must be glistening with your sweetness.

gojo absolutely thinks he can get used to being like this, at having you angle and force his head further into your cunt. letting you angle and toy at him and use him for your pleasure. he snaps his teeth around glossy strands of arousal, once and then twice, before delving back in.

making sure that his spare hand finds your clit to draw quick flicks and shapes over it, pushing a finger right up against the throbbing hood.

"satoru, ah, satoru! 'toru!" it's all you can even manage right now, just chants and groans of his names, as he's practically sunken your hips into the mattress, while he's on his knees for the second time this night.

"hey, none of that, yeah?" and gojo's gently tugging at your arm. trying to get you to stop muffling your whimpers and cries, because he just needs to hear your adorable sounds. and he needs to hear your bird-like cries when you come undone.

what a joy it is for gojo. to be able to dive between your legs and run his tongue between your folds. he's losing his mind at how your body trembles under his touch, and how he makes the mistake of peering up at you. your lips are parted, open and glossy. and your brows are furrowed, as lashes flutter against your cheek. you have to cum, gojo satoru needs you to cum right now.

and so, he exerts all his effort ten fold into having you finish. it's so sloppy, and so messy. gojo lets his own eyes dip shut, letting himself feel your glossy, glistening cunt pulse around his tongue. and let there be no doubt that gojo satoru is a munch, for he's eating you out in such an ardent manner, and it basically sends you barrelling towards a heart-stopping orgasm, where tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

you needn't have even tried to warn him of your impending climax, for gojo knows in the way that your legs quiver and get sloppier over his face. stars fall over your vision as you heave and toss your head back, muscles rippling as "satoru, satoru!" falls from your lips, long and drawn out as the rest of the world goes dark around you.

you gasp, struggling to inhale as the syrupy air is stolen from your lungs, all while gojo runs his tongue through your folds, head spinning with the dizzying rush of sensation. it's as if you've been swept away, hurtling towards space, weightless and disorientated.

only to crash back into reality as gojo seemingly hasn't stopped letting himself taste all of you, with not a drop of arousal wasted. your back is further pressed into the soft mattress beneath you, and the surge of overstimulated numbness follows, all pleasurable pins and needles and ferocious need.

"look at that, 'm already addicted," gojo coos, almost to himself, scooping a finger through the translucent gloss that leaks from your cunt. bringing it up to his mouth to wrap his tongue around, "think you can handle giving me another one?"

you let out a weak, breathless laugh. your gaze lingering on gojo's face, the soft moonlight that casts an ethereal glow on his features. his chin still faintly gleams, coated in your mirror-sheen and his lips are a plump, rosy red. you part your lips, propping yourself onto your elbows, but before you can form the words, the door slams open with a force that makes your ears rattle.

"i've looked in every fuckin' room in this house, and i swear to everything holy, satoru. if you chose my bedroom, i'm gonna —"

geto suguru's voice cuts off mid-rant, his words dissolving into a strangled, pained gasp as he takes in the sight before him. gojo, kneeling between your legs, wearing a ridiculously pleased grin. just like the cat who got the cream. you let out a squeak, hastily tugging your skirt over you, but it's hard to look innocent when gojo is still unabashedly pawing at your thighs.

geto pales, his jaw going slack, and he looks like he's about to collapse, "god help me. satoru, i'll kill you tomorrow," and then he shoots you both a nasty look, "and you're both paying for new sheets."

"so you and gojo are...dating now?" choso pries, with a tone that is entirely too casual but his eyes are keen. your twin is nursing a cup of coffee while he absolutely demolishes a plate of fried eggs. he had been quiet so far, but it's clear that curiosity gave out and now he's peering at you like a big owl.

you try, or do your very best not to smile too hard. to not look giddy and ridiculously pleased, "yeah, i guess we are," you admit, keeping your voice as level as possible.

choso blinks once, before setting his fork down and shaking his head, "i knew it. it was only a matter of time," he mutters, and without further ado, he resumes shovelling eggs into his mouth, utterly unfazed.

before you can respond, sukuna appears in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, his tattooed arms crossed and his expression dripping with disdainful amusement, "oh, i was there," he drawls, sharp fangs flashing in a wicked grin, "that loser pulled the dumbest, most dramatic stunt of all time. got on his knees and everything."

choso freezes mid-chew, raising a thick brow as he glances at the older man with mild interest, "wish i'd seen that," he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

to your utter astonishment, sukuna nods gravely, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious look, "yeah. i've got a video if you wanna watch."

your jaw drops as you glance between them, "this is officially the first time that i've ever seen you two agree on anything," setting your mug down with a thud, "if i had known that dating gojo would bring about world peace, i would have done it ages ago and —"

yuuji bounds into the kitchen like an overeager puppy, his blush-pink hair still a mess from interrupted sleep. but he's clapping his hands together like he's just won the lottery, "finally! look at that! everyone's getting along for once."

sukuna doesn't even bother to hide his irritation, shooting yuuji a withering glare. but it's hard to take him seriously when his own pink hair rivals yuuji's in sheer disarray, "don't push it," sukuna warns darkly, grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it in one morose gulp. he slams the empty, cold glass on the counter before stalking off towards the door, "i'm seriously gonna move out at this rate."

"promise?" choso quips, without missing a bit, "wish you'd stop getting our hopes up and actually do it."

yuuji is undeterred, and he elbows you with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, "you have to invite gojo over all the time now. i like him a lot. he's like super cool."

"of course," you grin, sliding a plate towards him as he eagerly digs in.

and your younger brother beams like the sun itself. right as a mocking, high-pitched voice floats from the other room, "and then we're all gonna be lovesick, and skip around town while holding hands!" right before falling back into sukuna's usual gruff tone that echoes through the kitchen, "god, you're all so insufferable."

your phone buzzes on the table, and you glance down. gojo's contact photo lights up the screen. it's a snapshot from a year or two ago, taken the summer that you both graduated high school. he's standing at the edge of the beach, with the sun dipping low enough behind to catch his white hair. turning it into a halo of glowing light. it's a photo that you never had the heart to change.

satoru 🪐

good morning princess!! my one and only!!!! my sugar plum (too much? i can tone it down but you just can't put a lid on love) hope you dreamed of me 🙂‍↔️ so what are you doing today because i've got abt eight possible things we can cover today starting with [read more.]

"ugh, gross."

sukuna's disdainful drawl cuts through behind you, as an icy finger prods at your phone, trying to scroll up and snoop through your messages. you freeze and slam your phone down on the table. whirling around to come face to face with the world's most judgemental gargoyle sneers at you, "i think i'm gonna throw up."

"get a life, holy fuck."

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hlseylq · 4 months ago

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June 21, 2023 | Halsey performing ‘Young God’ at the Live String Ensemble Concert in NJ!

#halsey #halseysource #dailyhalsey #halseydaily #halsey daily #hotelhalsey #halseyroom #daily halsey #live string ensemble #new jersey

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halseygray · 1 year ago

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Halsey performing during the Live String Ensemble Shows by tobesostarfox via Twitter

#halsey #edit #live string ensemble #2023 #black #performance

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hidingwhere · 7 months ago

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Price who is dating a very feminine person; you. He doesn’t mind- of course he doesn’t. In fact, you’ve embraced your femininity even more since dating him.

He watches you some nights after your everything showers, gently placing face masks and eye masks on while he leans on the bathroom counter next to you, occasionally pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. He wears a smile while observing you do more skincare, pick a pair of pink pyjamas before going straight back to the bathroom to put cream in your hair and exfoliate your lips with some pink-sugary concoction.

In shops, you make him smell-test different body moisturisers you’re considering on buying. Different perfumes, body wash, etc. Then he gets the luxury of smelling them on you after entering the bedroom from the shower. He buries his face in your neck, humming contently as he smells vanilla, pomegranate, the lot.

He pays for it all, no debate involved. He pays for new clothes you want, pays for your nails to be done. You’ve protested time and time again but he’s already swiped his card before you get the chance to swipe yours.

At Christmas, most decorations are pink and Price wouldn’t have it any other way. His house sparkles with life and serenity now that you live in it. He gets the decorations down for you from the loft, strings up lights on the ceiling and ensembles the big tree for you. You give him a thank you kiss in return and hug him tightly as he steps down from the small ladder.

Afterwards, you force him to rest on the sofa while you decorate the tree and ask his opinion if the decor is too close together or too far apart. Then throughout the evening you make little treats such as cookies dazzled with pink icing and snowflake sprinkles that he tastes-tests for you.

#call of duty #john price #captain price #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #price x you #price x reader #john x reader #john is my husband #me and him #me in my dr #me when i shift #john price i love him #price cod #cod #cod mw2

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salmonmakiii · 16 days ago

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ᯓ★ Your boyfriend had been busier than usual, with the burden and responsibilities of being a Chrysos Heir and all. You'd often watched how drained he looked whenever he finally made it home.

This time was no different. He'd been out of the city for a week, pushing back the Black Tide. Still, you weren't too worried; he sent updates now and then. You believed in him, you always do! He usually comes home without so much as a scratch.

So, you decided to surprise him. He mentioned he'd be back at Curtain-Fall Hour, and what better way to say "Good work!" than by dolling yourself up just for him after a tough mission? Consequently, you bought a new set of lingerie...

The thought of your boyfriend getting flustered and caught off guard had you practically jittering with excitement.

The moment you heard the front door open, you turned to the mirror for one last check. You adjusted your lingerie, fixed your hair, and then stepped out slowly, eager to see that stunned look on his face.

But this time, you were the one left in shock. ᯓ★

Wc: 1,523

Cw: Fem!reader x Mydei, Fem!reader x Phainon, Suggestive, established relationship, mentions of injury, kind of OOC...? maybe (the boys are freaky). For plot reasons, let's just say Mydei's wounds don't heal instantly.

Notes: Back from the dead to write this itchy drabble I've been thinking of... I'm so normal for Phainon and Mydei lol.

Mydei stood before the front door of your shared home, the familiar sight alone already easing the tension from his shoulders. His body ached, bandages wrapped across his torso, joints stiff with soreness, and a limp in his step from the lingering strain. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the day heavy in his breath.

What would you think if you saw him like this? All bruised, battered, barely upright? Still, knowing you, he could already imagine it. You'd accept his vulnerability without question. You'd hold him in your arms without hesitation.

The thought alone tugged a small, quiet smile from him.

He stepped closer, pulling out the spare key, the cute lion key chain you gave him dangling. He unlocked the door as it let out a soft click in the quiet. He pushed it open.

"I'm home," He called out softly.

The living room was empty... huh. You were usually sprawled on the couch, waiting with a smile. No matter, he'd remove his armor first and find you after. His hands reached up to unclasp the golden pauldron on his shoulder, fingers fumbling slightly from the fatigue.

Then he heard footsteps. Yours.

He barely had time to register them before the gasp that followed snapped his attention upward.

Both of you froze, eyes wide, equally shocked.

Clank!

The pauldron dropped to the floor in the dead silence.

Titans. You looked breathtaking.

The red lingerie you wore was delicately revealing. It consists of two finely crafted pieces joined by loose strings along your sides. One pull, and the entire ensemble would fall away. It hugged around your body perfectly, accentuating the curves of your chest and just enough of your thighs to make his breath hitch.

And suddenly, miraculously, every ache in his body vanished.

Well... almost. The ache had simply... shifted elsewhere.

"Mydei! What happened to you?!" Your frantic voice pulled him back to reality.

He blinked, momentarily lost in your presence. He opened his mouth to answer, but only jumbled stammers escaped.

...what?

Why is he stammering? Alongside fear, stammering is not in the Kremnoan dictionary. He hadn't even known he was capable of stammering. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

"The... the enemy- the Black Tide, they... they were..." He trailed off, the words slipping from him. Why was this so hard?

His eyes flicked back to you, who was now approaching him with concern on your face. Titans above help this poor man. He focused, desperately, on your eyes. As if looking anywhere else might turn him into stone.

"Were they that aggressive?" You asked gently, placing your hands on his face.

Aggressive... Right... that was the word he was looking for.

"...Yes." He managed to say, still trying to collect himself.

"Why haven't you healed yet? Are you okay? Can you walk?" Your questions came all at once; panicked, loving, relentless.

He wasn't listening anymore. Not really. Not with your body barely hidden behind that tempting veil of red silk. If he could just... pull that damn string off.

His thoughts were tangled, his focus slipping again, especially when you got even closer. He cleared his throat, trying to stay composed.

"Uh... yeah." He said firmly, then paused, eyes scanning your form again. "You... dressed up for me?"

You froze in place, suddenly flustered and self-conscious. "Oh, Gods! I'm so sorry! I- I thought you'd be fine like always, and I wanted to surprise you, but you're hurt! I should change and help you-"

You turned, ready to flee from embarrassment, but he caught your wrist before you could escape.

"No. Don't," he said, voice stern but laced with something tender, almost desperate.

"What?" You breathed, heart pounding.

"You went through all that trouble to make yourself look this beautiful," he said, stepping closer, limp and all. "I'm not about to let that go to waste." He was already pulling you closer to him, bodies pressed against each other.

"Mydei, this can wait-"

He was already leaning in.

"You have to-"

Your words were swallowed by your own gasp.

Mydei's lips were at your neck, warm and hungry. His hands were now already on your waist, squeezing them, holding you in place. He moved them up and down your sides, making you squirm. The chill of his gauntlets made your skin spark, the metal adding a strange thrill to every touch.

"Please..." He whispered, his voice husky, pleading. His lips trailed lower, from your neck to your collarbone, before teasingly stopping just above your chest.

You looked down into his eyes, half-lidded and full of heat, desperation, need. His fingers were already tugging at the strings of your lingerie. Perhaps they were also tugging at your heartstrings.

Well, who were you to say no to the crown prince?

Phainon limped up the stairs to the front door, cursing under his breath. Why, in all of Amphoreus, had he thought the stairs to be a good idea in the first place? Every step felt like a personal attack. He should have them removed! Better yet, throw them into the River of Souls for the pain they brought him now.

...No.

He sighed. He was starting to sound irrational. He was probably just exhausted, his entire body screaming in protest. Still, the thought of you seeing him in this state worried him more than he'd like to admit. His head was bandaged, coat hung limply from one shoulder since his arms were too sore to slide into the sleeves.

With a twist of the key, he unlocked the front door.

"Sweetheart, I'm home!" He called out, wincing as his shoulder twisted while he pulled the door shut behind him. He shuffled toward the counter and leaned on it with one hand, trying to take off his boots without his body screaming at him.

He heard your footsteps approaching, light and quick. Still crouched over, fumbling with the straps of his boots, he heard you gasp. He sighed, preparing a reassuring smile.

Until he looked up and saw you.

His breath caught.

"You're all bruised and bandaged! What happened to you?"

You stood there, eyes wide with concern, but that wasn't the main focus.

You were wearing baby blue lingerie, so delicate and ethereal you almost didn't look real. The fabric was thin and light, translucent enough for a clear view of the matching bra and panties. The sheer dress floated just above your thighs, the hem trimmed with soft frills that made it look like you were wrapped in clouds. The neckline sat off your shoulders, ruffled sleeves hugged your arms in a way that gave an innocent look. Though it was anything but innocent.

And those garters.

Dear Kephale, those garters. Those soft, tantalizing bands around your thighs made his thoughts spiral into dangerous places.

"Phainon?" You called out to him again, pulling him out of his daze. He stumbled, barely catching himself.

"Y-yes, Sweetheart?" He replied, voice slightly strained as he straightened up despite the protest of his wounds.

"Are you okay?" you asked, voice filled with genuine worry as you placed a gentle hand on his arm.

Gods, your touch felt like fire on his skin.

He suddenly felt guilty. You were so concerned, and all he could do was stare at you like a man starved.

"I'm... okay. Minor injuries," he muttered, eyes flickering from yours to your chest and back again.

"Even your head's wrapped in bandages..." You said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. "Did you get hit that hard?"

Phainon could think of something else that was hard-

He cleared his throat quickly. "A little, yeah." He leaned into your touch, unable to contain himself.

"You look beautiful," he added with a teasing grin, hovering his hands just beside your waist.

You pulled back with a gasp, glancing down. "Oh, Titans- I forgot I was still wearing this," you laughed nervously. "I'll go change-"

But before you could move, Phainon (even in his weakened state) caught your wrist and pulled you gently but firmly back to him. You stumbled slightly, only to find yourself trapped between him and the counter, your back pressed to his chest, your hands bracing on the surface in front of you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and his lips brushed past your exposed shoulder. He trailed kisses to your neck, and a soft gasp escaped your lips when he found that one spot that always made you weak.

"P-Phainon, you're hurt-" you tried to speak, but another gasp cut you off as his gloved hand slipped beneath your dress, gliding over bare skin.

"Yes," he whispered against your jaw, "but my sweetheart dressed up so beautifully for me." His right hand then rose to gently tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "Who am I to refuse a blessing from a goddess, hm?"

You whine softly, "Your injuries, Phainon..."

You tried to push him away, but he didn't budge.

"Please?" He murmured, desperate in his voice, lips hovering just above yours. "I'll be good. I promise."

His eyes burned with heat, pupils blown and hungry.

This man was absolutely not good for your heart.

©salmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.

#Honkai: Star Rail #HSR #HSR Phainon #HSR Mydei #Phainon #Mydei #Phainon x reader #Phainon x you #Mydei x reader #Mydei x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #Mydei fluff #Phainon fluff #Mydei smut #Phainon smut #Amphoreus #Makii's Pen

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vanteguccir · 2 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMET GALA 2025 * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N, worldwide famous singer, goes to the Met Gala 2025 and brings Chris as her pair for the first time.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x singer!reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　some fashion talk because I'm a fashion student whipped for the fashion world.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: This happens in the same universe as my 'Grammys 2025' fanfic. You can find it on my Chris’s masterlist.

There was gold on her collarbone, roses stitched into the hem of her coat, and Sol de Janeiro lotion all over her palms.

Y/N stood frozen in front of one of the many full-length mirrors scattered across the grand penthouse living room of The Surrey Hotel, her fingers nervously pressing the creamy shimmer from her hands into the plush, regal fabric of her coat.

The scent of salted caramel and pistachio danced around her in a tentative to calm her down, but it only made her mind feel fuzzy.

It was her third Met Gala, so why does it feel like it was her first?

Was her clothes too literal for the theme? Was it edgy enough? Too sharp? Too structured? Too obvious?

Her mind raced in loops, bouncing off every invisible standard she’d set for herself. The theme, Tailoring Black, was nothing short of genius. But as the minutes ticked closer to the Met Gala carpet, her stomach churned with anxiety.

Everyone always expected her to be the "best of the best". What if this time... she wasn't?

"Y/N, babe, stop rubbing the cream on your coat." Her stylist, Harry Lambert, chided in his signature playful tone as he ducked past the makeup station with a handful of safety pins and a cappuccino. "You're gonna stain it white."

She looked down, her eyes comically widening when she noticed the small pattern of glitter left behind from her hand cream.

"Alright, Harry? I think I’ve ruined it." She mumbled, voice trembling, palm now pressing over the fabric of her coat with even more strenght. "Like actually ruined it."

"You did not ruin it." Harry talked back, walking closer to take a better look at it. "We can just say that you were moisturizing your nerves. Very couture of you, huh?"

Y/N shot him a glare through the mirror, lips parted in half-exasperation, half-laughter.

"I’m literally shining. This coat is going to have body shimmer forever embedded into it. Daniel, I’m so sorry."

Across the room, a soft string of chuckles floated in from the open double doors of the main bathroom. Daniel Roseberry - the mind behind the art she wore tonight - was bent over a steamer, carefully working out the last crease on the matching tailored pants.

"Darling." He said without looking up. "My design was made to hold a woman’s essence, not reject it. You look divine. Let the shimmer stay. It’s yours."

Y/N turned to the mirror again, slowly dragging her gaze from the tip of her velvet-covered hat down to the gold-accented buttons of her coat, down further to the rich gradient of crimson and magenta pooling into her trousers like royal ink.

Daniel had outdone himself. This ensemble was historical, theatrical, and utterly hers. The old-world glamour of Jacques Fath’s Fall/Winter ‘92 had been revived by Schiaparelli's modern surrealism, made to fit her figure like a poem written in silk and courage.

But her heart still pounded like crazy, her plump lips pressed into a soft pout.

The room bustled behind her: makeup artists reapplying lip liner, her manager Josh frantically scrolling through emails while mumbling about red carpet call times, someone adjusting the velvet sash that trailed behind her.

The playlist Harry had queued hummed through the Bluetooth speakers – Madonna, Nelly Furtado, and Britney Spears – influenced hips to move slightly.

Then the main ensuite door creaked.

And out stepped Chris.

Y/N didn’t turn, raising her eyes to the mirror first, her pout fading away, and an automatic smile taking over it.

Chris carried an awkward posture that only made him look even more handsome, adjusting the cuffs of his sculptural black and white suit from Alexander McQueen's, the sharp angles of the tailoring hugging his frame in ways that were sinful.

But it wasn’t his clothes that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. It was the way his bright blue eyes widened when they landed on her.

Always his eyes.

"Holy shi-" He whispered, stopping in his tracks.

"No swearing, Christopher. Vogue is literally on this floor." Josh walked by behind Chris holding his iPad.

Chris blinked, then laughed under his breath, like the sight of her was short-circuiting his brain.

"I... I think I just blacked out for a second. You look-" He waved his hands helplessly in front of him, searching for words. "You look like... like some art. No- like a painting. Those rich ass paintings we saw in Milan."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed.

"You’re so silly." She said, breathlessly, biting back a smile.

He stepped closer, eyes drinking her in like a man starved.

"Jesus- that’s illegal, what you’re doing-"

Daniel, crouched nearby and still fussing with fabrics, gave Chris a soft grin.

"She is an artwork, no?"

Chris just nodded, pink tongue wetting soft chapped lips.

"What? Yeah. Shit- yes!"

Y/N turned around now, finally facing him fully, hands still nervously toying with the buttons on her jacket.

"You don’t look too bad yourself, Sturniolo. Very jazz player from the 70's."

"I’ll take that." Chris grinned, cheeks pink, but his eyes softened when he noticed her wringing her fingers, nails nervously playing with her commitment ring. "Hey." He muttered gently, stepping in closer, his voice dipping quieter. "You okay?"

Y/N reached for Chris’s hand, and he instantly laced his fingers with hers, ignoring her sweaty palms. He gently pulled her toward him, his thumbs brushing her knuckles, free hand carefully meeting her hips, pressing her flesh in a grounding way.

"You nervous?"

She nodded silently, her other hand still twitching at her side.

"So much. My chest’s doing this weird thumpy thing, and my makeup’s probably melting already, and I don’t know if I can do the stairs in these heels. And there’s all these cameras and Vogue livestreams, and you’re here, and I just..."

Chris smiled, one hand coming up from her hips to touch the side of her neck gently, thumb brushing along her jaw.

"That’s supposed to make you less nervous, not more."

"It’s just." She sighed, leaning slightly into his touch. "You’re like... this whole different part of my life. My comfort, my normal. And now you’re stepping into the chaos part. I just-" She paused, voice trembling. "I want you to love it. I want it to be good."

Chris frowned.

"Baby, I don’t care if we get swarmed or if I look like an idiot mid-carpet. I get to walk up those stairs holding you. That’s already the best part."

Y/N’s eyes glossed, and Chris leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of her lips, barely there, just enough for her to feel it.

"And if it helps." He added, lips still close to her skin, breath fanning over her mascara covered eyelashes. "I’m terrified, too. Like, super terrified. I’ve watched Met Gala videos on TikTok all week. Matt told me to bring mints. Nick said to suck in my cheeks. I don’t even know what that means."

Y/N let out a loud laugh, forehead falling to his chest, her hat bumping against his skin and tilting to the side.

"God, I love you."

Chris kissed her covered shoulder, breathing in the strong scent of her perfume.

"You’ve done this before. You’re a pro. Everything will be okay."

She let out a long breath, muffled against the fabric of his lapel.

Harry poked his head dramatically from behind the mirror.

"Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up, Vogue’s getting the pre-carpet shots in twenty in front of the hotel, and I need to fix that jacket crease. Daniel, tell me she’s allowed to sit."

"She is, carefully." Daniel smiled, leaning over to fluff the hem of her coat once more, voice gentle now. "Y/N, you’re not just wearing a gown. You’re making a statement. You’re bringing heritage and power and joy to that carpet. Remember that. Every button on this look is telling a story. You just have to let it speak."

"And if the story includes a little sweat under the armpits?" Y/N asked, half-smiling, following Harry's directions, who chimed in, snatching the glass filled with freshly made dry martini from the coffee table and holding it out to Y/N.

"Then it’s high fashion sweat."

The whole room laughed, and Chris reached for her waist, his fingers intertwining around her covered skin.

Her pulse slowed instantly.

"I got you." He whispered in her ear as a stylist passed them with a steamer.

"I know." She whispered back, taking the glass from Harry and gulping it down.

Maybe she hadn’t ruined it after all.

The second her heel touches the first petal-strewn step of the Met Gala carpet, Y/N feels like she’s stepped into a dream designed by a hopeless romantic with a billion-dollar budget.

Everywhere she looks is a sea of daffodils and dreamy blue, like she’s walking through a field of flowers under a velvet night sky, complete with soft starlight. The entire ceiling above them is dotted with tiny glowing stars, and she can’t tell if it's the LED panels or just magic.

Probably both.

Chris's hand tightens slightly on her waist as the crowd ahead of them suddenly roars with excitement, and even though he’s smiling with brows lifted in amused awe, she can feel the tension in his grip.

He’s not used to this kind of spectacle.

Not like she is.

But still, the moment feels too big for even her to pretend like she’s not overwhelmed.

She barely has time to process the first flash of cameras before they’re being whisked to the center of the chaos by a poised woman in a head-to-toe black dress with a clipboard and a headset. She smiles like she’s done this a thousand times (she probably has) and gestures for them to pause in front of the press line.

"You look incredible." The woman says to Y/N with a quick wink, then glances at Chris and grins. "And don’t worry, they’ll love you too."

"Am I that nervous for even her to notice?" Chris's high-pitched voice echoed close to her ear, but before Y/N could respond, the wall of photographers ahead erupts.

"Y/N, sweetheart, give us that over-the-shoulder shot!"

"Chris, look this way! First Met Gala, man, how’s it feel?!"

"Y/N, turn to the left- no, left! There you go!"

It’s chaos, overwhelming and loud, and yet Y/N handles it with an elegance that makes her seem untouchable, clutching Chris’s hand tighter for a second.

They continue climbing the daffodil-drenched stairs, pausing every few steps at the designated posing spots. Chris has stopped flinching at the camera flashes, though he’s still squinting like the whole thing is just slightly unreal.

Which, fair.

Chris leans in subtly.

"Is it just me, or do all these photographers sound like seagulls fighting over some bread?"

Y/N breaks into the warmest laugh, her hand flying to her lips just as the cameras go wild, capturing the moment like it’s staged.

It’s not. Not even a little.

She tilts her head toward him and whispers back.

"You’re the bread."

Chris grins, full and unfiltered. The night doesn’t feel so scary to him anymore.

"Miss, over here- no, to your right!"

"Stunning! Absolutely stunning!"

Y/N turns gracefully, refusing to let the heat faze her even though she can feel it building beneath the fabric of her coat. She focuses on keeping her expression soft, her movements fluid, her posture strong.

Halfway up the flower-drenched staircase, Y/N’s eyes sweep across the crowd and then freeze.

Her heart skips a beat.

Because just a few steps above stands Kendall Jenner beautifully dressed in a gray tailoring set, her best friend since she could remember, the one person who knows every version of her.

Y/N gasps softly, her eyes wide, her smile blooming in real-time.

"Oh my- Kenny!" She calls out over the noise, breathless, one hand instinctively lifting as if pulled by pure gravity.

Kendall’s head turns, scanning, and the second her eyes lock with Y/N’s, her whole face lights up like someone flipped a switch, her serious gaze melting away.

"Y/N?!" She beams, her grin going impossibly wider as she carefully steps closer.

They both reach across the velvet steps, fingers finding each other in the middle of the carpet, paparazzi catching every movement. They giggle as if they haven’t seen each other in a decade instead of a few weeks.

Suddenly, a photographer shouts.

"Y/N! Kendall! Together, please!"

Chris immediately steps aside, grinning from ear to ear, pride practically radiating off him.

"Go, babe." He says under his breath, eyes warm as he watches her light up.

Kendall throws him a friendly wave with a glowing smile.

"Looking good, Chris!" She beamed before sliding right into place beside Y/N.

Cameras go into full chaos mode as they pose, linked at the hip, shoulders back, smirks, and sweetness. Kendall leans in just before the next click, whispering against Y/N’s hair.

"You look absolutely unreal. I loved that color."

"Daniel's magic, babe." Y/N laughs softly.

Meanwhile, the same woman in black from minutes before appears again, smiling gently while gesturing for Chris to step back and pose alone to the other side full of paparazzi.

"Are you- are you sure? I don't know if they even know me." He whispers to the woman, blue eyes traveling to the wave of photographers.

"Christopher, what are you wearing?"

"Chris, to your right."

"Mr. Sturniolo, right here! No- to your left."

"Okay, they proved your point." He mutters before stepping back, letting Y/N keep the spotlight with Kendall and walking to the area where the woman pointed, throwing his girl a soft look behind his shoulder.

She’s glowing, absolutely glowing, and Chris... Chris looks like he’s watching a star come to life, his attention snapping back to the photographers as his name was shouted again.

Joana, Y/N’s publicist, is suddenly at the girl's side, effortlessly chic in a black sheath dress, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s immune to the absurdity of the moment.

She leans in close.

"You’re killing it. Keep smiling. Be you. Don’t overthink it. Let them eat it up."

Y/N nods, grateful for the grounding voice, and not even a second after, Joana is already pulling Chris gently back toward her, smiling when Kendall understood and stepped aside.

"I'll see you inside!" Kendall winked, blowing a kiss toward Y/N before walking to the other side of the stairs.

Joana nodded, adjusting Chris and Y/N side by side, making sure they stood just close enough for the camera to catch that he's her date without overshadowing her look.

He falls back into place beside her naturally, hand ghosting along the small of her back again before he leans in, lips brushing just behind her ear, and murmurs low enough that only she can hear.

"You look so fuckin' good it’s making it hard to think, y’know? Looked kinda dumb to those paparazzi back there."

Y/N’s breath catches in her throat, her body reacting faster than her mind can process. She doesn't flinch, doesn't let it show, except for the subtle shift in her smile.

The cameras go off in a frenzy.

Chris straightens up with the most innocent look on his face.

After some more steps, they reach a floral archway signaling the final stop before the inside interviews begin. A guard in a sleek suit gives them a nod, and the clipboard lady reappears, guiding them up the final stretch of the staircase.

"Ready?" Chris murmurs, his voice quieter now that the roars have dulled behind them.

Y/N exhales slowly, a mix of nerves still swimming in her chest.

"I think so." She says, and then turns to him, softening even further. "You’ve been amazing. Thank you."

He shrugs in that careless Chris-way that always makes her heart flutter.

"All I did was stand next to you and look good."

"You did both very well." She replies with a small smile, brushing her fingers against his hand.

The grand staircase faded behind them, the soft golden glow of the Met’s interview platform shining ahead. The plush carpet beneath their feet muffled the paparazzi chaos.

Up ahead, Emma Chamberlain stood in that signature interview nook, stunning in her custom look and microphone in hand. She was mid-conversation with someone from the Vogue crew when her eyes wandered and then locked in.

Her mouth parted slightly, then her whole face lit up.

She turned fully, barely containing her excitement.

"Oh my god." She whispered with a gasp, already stepping forward just a bit, her hand waving subtly toward her team to make space. "They’re here!"

As Y/N and Chris got closer, Emma beamed like she’d just spotted her favorite people in the world. Which, honestly, she kind of had.

"Hi!! You guys-" She laughed, caught halfway between giddy and stunned. "I’ve been waiting for you two. Please come over."

Y/N broke into the biggest smile, face instantly lighting up like she’s been plugged into a charger.

"Emma!" She gasps, turning slightly to look at Chris, but he was already watching her with the softest, most adoring look. "It’s Emma."

"I can see that." Chris chuckles, soft and low, already steering her gently with a palm to her lower back. "C’mon, doll."

They stepped up into the interview space, and Emma leaned in for a hug, air-kissing each side of Y/N’s face, being extra careful with her hat and makeup.

"You- what?! You look insane. Like, unreal. Both of you. I- hold on... okay, wait- microphone." She babbles, fumbling as she resets herself and stands before them. "Okay. I’m collected."

Y/N giggles, looping her arm around Chris’s.

"You also look insane." She replied, a little breathless. "You’re glowing."

Emma lifts the mic toward them, still beaming.

"Thank you! Okay, so, obviously, hi, I love you both. Now, what are you wearing tonight? Because this." She motions to Y/N’s look. "Is actual fashion history, and I’m gonna need, like, a full rundown."

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a hand down the side of her coat.

"I’m wearing a revival of Fath’s Fall/Winter ‘92." She said, glowing. "It was brought back to life by Daniel Roseberry from Schiaparelli, and he just... he really understood the balance between strong and soft. I fell in love with it the second I saw the sketch."

"I mean, I get it." Emma said, genuinely. "It’s literally art. Daniel always does art." Then she turned to Chris, who subtly adjusted his cuff with a smile. "And you, Mr. Chris?"

Chris chuckled, nodding slightly.

"Yeah, so, this is Alexander McQueen Spring ‘23... but it was customized for me by Harry Lambert. He’s a wizard. I didn’t know I could feel cool and classic at the same time, but somehow, he made it work. He adjusted every little detail to make it personal. Like, the fabric has this texture I’m crazy with. It’s just- yeah. I feel good."

Emma leaned in like she was letting the viewers in on a secret.

"They both look unreal in person, by the way. The camera does not do this justice."

Y/N laughed, mouthing 'stop' while visibly glowing under the compliment.

Emma took a small breath, then grinned.

"Okay, let’s talk theme. This year’s is Superfine: Tailoring Black Style. When you first found out about it, what did you think?"

Chris glanced at Y/N again, giving her space to speak first. She caught the cue and smiled, turning to Emma with that same euphoria in her voice she always had when talking about things that mattered.

"I was honestly really emotional about it." Y/N started, her voice gentle but sure. "It’s a beautiful theme. Because this isn’t just fashion. It’s history. It’s identity. It’s... pride."

She glanced toward the museum for a second before looking back at Emma.

"When you think about the Black community and what it means to take something like tailoring, and flip it, and make it theirs, it’s powerful. It’s this mix of strength, creativity, confidence... even joy. There’s this attitude of, like, 'I know who I am, and I’m gonna take up space loudly, beautifully, and on my own terms'. And that’s what fashion should be, right? Expression. Celebration. Defiance."

Emma visibly softened, her eyes slightly misty.

"Okay. See, this is why I needed to talk to you tonight. You always get it. Thank you for saying that. That’s everything."

Y/N just smiled shyly, glancing down.

"It’s a theme that deserves to be honored properly." Chris slipped his hand into hers briefly, giving it a squeeze, smiling when catching her eyes.

Emma nodded, her eyes traveling from Y/N to Chris and back.

"Alright, I won't be holding you back any longer, but I have to know... are you guys going to the afterparty tonight? Or is this the big finale for you?"

Y/N let out a little giggle, shaking her head.

"No afterparty for us. We’re going back to our hotel room, ordering room service-"

"Probably some pizza." Chris added. "I've heard that our hotel has the best one."

Emma's eyes light up, moving her mic a bit higher against her lips.

"If it's The Surrey, I can assure you that what you heard is the truth."

"It is!" Y/N nodded excitedly. "And we’re gonna FaceTime Matt and Nick and just talk about this night until we fall asleep."

Chris hummed lowly.

"It’s tradition now, since the Grammy's."

Emma laughed with affection.

"That’s so unreasonably adorable. I love it. Honestly, that sounds better than most afterparties."

"I know, right?" Y/N grinned. "And we have an early flight back to LA tomorrow."

Emma sighed dramatically.

"Ugh, you two win. Please go be soft and stunning somewhere else before I start crying."

They all laughed again, and as the camera crew gave the okay to wrap up, Emma leaned in one more time, hugging them both gently.

"I love you guys. You always make my night. Thank you for stopping by."

"Wouldn’t miss it." Chris said genuinely, hand falling naturally back into Y/N’s as they turned to walk toward the museum’s grand entrance.

Their night was just beginning.

liked by kendalljenner, christophersturniolo, ynfan1 and 63,528 others

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jiminjamms · 4 months ago

Text

sex therapy :: 33. more than friends

chapter tags/warnings: this is the last chapter to sex therapy!

word count: 3.9k

notes: please read my final comments in the end notes. thank you forever. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Megumi Fushiguro shouldn't feel awkward, but he did.

With tonight marking the most significant event on the Zenin clan’s monthly calendar, distant relatives and the family conglomerate’s executives convened at a majestic top-floor venue in central Tokyo, the occasion naturally bringing together the country’s most powerful individuals.

As per usual, every detail in the ballroom had been curated meticulously to exude glitz and glamor. Indeed, Megumi felt like a prince amid a golden age, surrounded by the euphonious melodies from the string quartet, the cluster of high-class individuals in tailored suits and dresses, and the fragrances of honeyed orange blossoms and sweet sage.

Megumi had attended these events plenty. Ever since he could tie his own tie, to be exact (which—among the Zenins—was something taught early).

His many experiences should have dulled his senses to this evening’s splendid decorations and live classical tunes. Yet, in the months his father had been estranged from the same household that once again heralded him king, the memories had quickly faded from Megumi's mind, and the teenager essentially found the opulence foreign.

His aunts Mai and Maki had urged him to mingle, but Megumi stood toward the side of the room, shy and aloof as he stared into the human sea ahead.

As much as he tried to seem invisible, Megumi didn’t feel invisible as he caught the many eyes sneaking a look at him discreetly, the eighteen-year-old impossible to overlook given his regal-like appearance.

Of course, people took an interest in him.

Now that a) he was an official adult and b) his father returned as the next family leader, Megumi was the second-in-line to the Zenin throne. Exciting? Maybe. Grateful? Surely.

Except, a fidgety Megumi was just a normal teen who would rather be playing video games tonight.

“A blast to the past, eh?”

He glanced over at the unanticipated voice.

To his surprise, Tsumiki slid into the vacant slot next to him and prodded her younger brother's back, knowing how he tried to appear cool and collected when he actually seemed uptight and restricted.

“Relax a little,” she chided with another nudge. Placing her champagne flute onto a nearby table, she smoothed over her lavender ensemble before adjusting the collar on his royal blue mohair suit. “Old habits die hard, hm? Standing in the corner and hoping no one sees you. Don’t you want everyone to know how smart and capable you are?”

“...No, not really.”

“What? Why?” Tsumiki patted his blazer’s fabric in a finishing move before reaching for her glass again, swirling her drink. “Don’t tell me. Is a certain Harvard-bound first-year shy?”

The said soon-to-be college freshman snorted faintly. “Am not.”

“Sure.”

As she examined her step-brother from the side, she tiptoed, relaxed her feet, and then tiptoed again. "Only been six months since I've last seen you, but you've certainly gotten taller again, Megumi," she remarked, this time swinging her hand around to compare their heights.

“Because you’re shrinking early.”

“Hey!”

As the two continued their squabble, Megumi realized just how keenly he had missed his step-sister. Despite lacking shared blood by definition, the two had constantly found security in each other, a sibling bond that became especially important amid the recent whirlwind.

Tsumiki had only been home for a week, fresh from her university semester abroad in the United Kingdom. Yet, in this short period: 1) Naoya had been ousted from the Zenin household by no one other than Naobito Zenin himself; 2) Amid the power vacuum, the family elders had turned to Toji to reinstate him as CEO, a decision fueled by both their desperation and regret for having doubted him in the past; and 3) With his father back at the helm, Megumi found himself positioned as the next presumed successor.

Of course, who could also possibly forget Tsumiki’s mom?

Megumi had heard how his step-sister had furiously confronted her mother after seeing the latter’s affair published by media outlets. Since then, he hadn’t received any updates, which prompted him to ask: "Where's that woman now?"

‘That woman.’

Even without an explicit mention, Tsumiki knew who he referred to. She stopped swirling her glass and let the flute dangle lazily in her hand.

"I don't know where she’s been, and I don't care,” Tsumiki admitted, her tone impassive. "I would not be surprised if she moved away from Tokyo once she realized too many people knew her face.”

Megumi figured as much, too.

Anyone who wasn’t living under a rock these days could recognize Mari Fushiguro, making her an easy target for verbal harassment on the streets. Netizens online already destroyed her, deeming the woman a slut, a whore, and a homewrecker ‘too easy’ for any Zenin with enough money.

Merciless would be the best word to describe the general public. That much step-siblings knew, especially since both had been on the receiving end firsthand when the Zenin clan cut them off months ago. How fickle those very people could be, too. The same relatives who shamed them now praised them all for the sake of politics, for the sake of money, and little else.

“I heard Naoya left the country, though,” Megumi added, given that the conversation had reached the topic.

“Good for him.”

Tsumiki, on the other hand, did not wish to spend a moment longer thinking about them. She instead exhaled deeply and whirled around, peering into the main hall to observe the multitude of guests enjoying sparkling wine and hor d'oeuvres while chatting about their respective ventures.

As her silence continued, Megumi watched along.

From afar, both noticed their father, encircled by older household members and company directors eager to discuss business matters. Toji’s return naturally brought him overwhelming attention, and—as an experienced leader—he came off as distinguished and dignified as the CEO of Japan's largest conglomerate should.

He greeted approaching guests with his signature charismatic grin, exchanging firm and courteous handshakes that subtly reminded them that these events were more about strengthening business ties than lineage connections.

Megumi and Tsumiki had seen their father like this many times before.

Yet, this evening, the two sensed how his demeanor seemed a touch…different.

"Dad's never looked this happy before," Tsumiki noted aloud first.

Her comment stumped him.

Megumi had to pause, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought. Dad being happy? Then, he realized and vaguely beckoned in their father’s direction.

"Because of her."

Now was the girl’s turn to appear confused. “‘Her?’”

Intrigued, she followed her step-brother’s line of vision and didn’t need much effort to figure out who he referred to. Standing at the other far end of the hall was a woman who, despite her understated maroon dress and simple accessories, radiated with regality like a princess.

The realization dawned upon Tsumiki.

“Isn't…Isn’t that Mister Daisuke L/N’s daughter?” She knew your father from his many years as the Zenin Corporation’s Chief Operating Officer. As for you, Tsumiki continued to stare hard with curiosity. “That's the same lady who had been married to Naoya, right?”

Megumi placed his hands into his front pockets, his nails pressing into his palms as he answered. “Yes.”

“Oh, wow.”

With Tsumiki seeing you for the first time in person, her eyes then began to spark with admiration. She now understood why Naoya Zenin wanted to marry you. Given your polished poise and fluid gestures, you were obviously a woman with a refined background and effortless sophistication, the trophy that her unsavory cousin needed to soothe his small ego and shield him from public scrutiny. Why suffer as an unproven bachelor when he could tout around you?

Detecting his sister's interest, Megumi reached for a glass of apple cider from a serving table and drew in one slow sip. “What do you think if she becomes our new mom?”

“What?!” Tsumiki whipped her head around, taken back by stupefaction again. “Where did that come from?”

To play off his curiosity as something casual, Megumi drummed his fingers along his cup. “Just…a thought.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not believing him for a moment before finally letting him free from her scrutiny. “Frankly, I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “This is only the first time I’ve seen her. I need to speak with her first.”

The teenager paused thoughtfully. "Well," and he hummed, "I approve.”

If Tsumki’s shock had not been apparent enough, this time, her jaw fell to the tiled floor.

"That's new!” The girl knew she missed out on some developments during her semester abroad, but she could barely process this whole conversation as revelations kept coming one after another, disorienting her with a flood of unanswered questions that dashed through her mind. She had trouble assessing whether Megumi was serious. If this was a prank, Tsumiki would make sure to send him to Mars. “Normally, you're extremely, extremely judge-y with the women that hang around Dad." Not that she could blame him. "What changed?"

And an amused Megumi shrugged.

"If you talk to her, you'll know.”

Toji Fushiguro was the biggest distraction.

As the man of the hour, he commanded the room such that—despite your best efforts—you couldn’t stop stealing glances in his direction.

Neither could everyone else.

The situation seemed ironic, really, as many of the same people now commending Toji Fushiguro were the ones who had turned their backs on him in the past. The ideal family figure, some lauded, as others approved of his sharp business acumen, but their gushing admiration reminded you of how quickly loyalties could shift in the face of power. With this, guests all around buzzed like bees as they spotted their renewed leader.

To you, Toji was difficult to ignore because his three-piece suit hugged his broad frame wonderfully. The freshly pressed fabric stretched over his sinewy muscles underneath, his satin lapels underlining his flair. His jet black hair had been neatly gelled back while the ink trailing down his arms peeked from beneath his sleeves. Fatigue slightly wore on his features due to his longer hours at work. Yet, in the end, CEO Fushiguro looked striking, handsome, and undeniably robust.

A whistle interrupted your reverie.

“Someone’s staring,” Choso’s voice rang out as he appeared, his words laced with mirth despite his leveled tone.

Averting your gaze immediately, you then watched him adjust the sleeve to his velvet suit. “I am simply admiring him like everyone else,” you countered, trying to play it cool. “Toji’s…just very popular.”

Choso hummed in pretend contemplation. “Admiration is one thing, but you looked like you were in a trance, bimbo.”

Just when your mouth turned dry from the inability to retaliate, Sukuna and Suguru popped up in high spirits, the former offering you a raspberry tart while the latter heartily patted your back.

“What’s with the frown?” Suguru draped a protective arm around your shoulders and noted your little pout before glancing up at the instigator. “Is Choso bullying you again?”

“I am not a bully.”

“Exactly what a bully would say,” Sukuna added this time.

Being stuck in another jest among the three men wasn’t something you had planned for, but dismissing their liveliness was impossible. As they traded pointed jabs, you couldn’t help but smile, their energy a far cry from the iciness that had defined your days as Naoya Zenin’s wife. Since this was your first Zenin family event without your ex-husband’s presence, the evening allowed you to realize how much your previous marriage had weighed upon your spirit.

Most notably, the woman you were earlier this year had clung to Naoya’s empty promises. She swallowed his insults, obeyed his commands, and convinced herself that, despite his belittling actions, he would one day truly love her. That woman had run back to him, apologizing for sins that were never hers to bear, believing that loving him harder could fix what was never hers to fix.

But, due wholly to the support from those around you, that was no longer who you were now.

“Well, what do you think?”

Geto’s question cut through your wandering thoughts, and you blinked rapidly at the unexpected question. “What?”

The pink-haired man purred at your cute and confused expression, unable to help himself from stroking your cheeks, the cold metal from his silver rings icing your hot skin. “Aw, someone spaced out. There’s no fun when you’re not mentally with us too, sweetheart.”

To no avail, you tried to shrink away. “I was just...thinking about how much things have changed. How much I’ve changed, and,” you became shy, “how…lucky I am to have all of you.”

Immediately, the group cooed at your charming comments, complimenting you for being such a ‘good girl’ and a ‘precious doll,’ and how they would do anything to hear sweet nothings from you again.

Even Choso cracked a grin. “We’re amazing, yes.” Quiet on the outside, cocky on the inside. “Who wouldn’t feel lucky?”

Geto elbowed him, a non-verbal sign to shut up. “He’s not wrong, though. You’ve come a long way. We’re proud of you.”

Just when you wanted to thank them again, a synchronized shout chimed along.

“We found you!”

The voices belonged to Mai and Maki. As was typical, the two were keen to converse with you and their animated hands reflected their enthusiasm upon their approach.

As Sukuna, Geto, and Choso stepped aside for them, the twins instantly took the opportunity to link their arms with yours. They dressed in matching cocktail dresses, making them nearly indistinguishable if not for the differences in their updos.

“Girls,” you beamed, happy to spot them. “You both look amazing as always.”

The younger sister shook her head in modest.

“You are even more gorgeous,” she emphasized with overflowing vivace. “You’re glowing these days.”

Mai had to nod in wholehearted agreement. “Looking completely different from how you looked a month ago.”

Forget the opalescent crystals adorning your collar or the subtle makeup highlighting your features. What truly stood out to them was the elegance, assurance, and composure you carried now compared to your timid self from just weeks ago.

Sukuna ran his fingers along the tattoos by his jaw and let out a huff of fake exasperation, wanting them to leave so the therapists could spend more time taunting you. “Guess you’ve both grown old enough so we can’t just order you to go to the kids’ table anymore, huh?”

A proud Mai smirked. “Got a problem?” Her outright challenge led her to receive sulking faces as an immediate response. “We couldn’t let you three hog Y/N all night.”

“Exactly. She’s ours too, you know,” Maki concurred before turning to you. “By the way, can we still call you our favorite in-law?”

At the question, laughter erupted in a homely and unrestrained rhythm to which you soaked in the heartwarming scene. Even if the world could be selfish and cruel, there were beautiful moments like these when people who weren’t bound by blood treated each other like family. They joked around, they laughed together, they fought and argued, but they shared deep loyalty and respect for one another in the end.

Here was where, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you…belonged.

With these thoughts, your sight instinctively drifted across the room and landed on Toji again. He was mid-conversation but seemed to have sensed your stare this time as he turned. When his sharp verdant eyes found yours, your pulse quickened like a mouse caught in the open. What didn't help was how he didn’t look away.

In fact, Toji took your wandering gaze as his signal to hurriedly wrap up his current discussions before he walked in your direction with brisk steps.

Several regional managers chased after him, but the observant Sukuna, Geto, and Choso noted the situation quickly and rushed forward.

“We’re happy to answer any lingering questions,” they interjected, forming a human barricade that closed in on the pursuers. “We work closely with Mr. Fushiguro and can provide further insights on his behalf.”

With the spotlight shifted away from him, Toji closed the distance between you, stopping just a few steps away. The redolences of bergamot and sage greeted your nose with their familiar velvety, spiced notes as he placed a rough hand against your back, his sudden firm touch nearly lifting you off your feet.

“Hey." Even with Mai and Maki obviously there, his green eyes only zeroed in on you. "I could use some fresh air after speaking nonstop for the past two hours. Want to step out onto the balcony with me for a little bit?”

Oh, goodness. Flustered, you didn’t expect your innocent stares to lead into this. “I—” you began, but your hesitation bubbled perceptibly. As a result, Maki pinched your elbow, prompting you to brave past your bashfulness and mutter, “Sure.”

Toji smiled. “Perfect.”

With that, he swept you away from the waving twins, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back to lead you toward the nearby corridor. He didn’t care about the guests who leered in your directions; he rightfully needed a break, and when he brought you outdoors onto the grand terrace, the man’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

He didn’t bring attention to himself, though.

“Everything alright?” he asked instead. The wrought-iron railing ahead framed the twinkling skyline below. “I can imagine your previous experiences at Zenin events like these aren’t the best, so if you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to…”

His unprompted concern was touching and, when his voice trailed off, you replied by softly shaking your head. “I am doing perfectly fine, don't worry about me. Besides, I have exactly the company that I need here.”

The sincerity in your answer satisfied him, evident in how the tension along his jaw eased. “I’m glad, then. I should check in with you more, shouldn’t I? Sorry that I’ve been busy. Sukuna, Geto, Choso, and I have been neck-deep in redeveloping the company.” Distant lights haloed him like some god as he spoke, and he ran a few thick fingers over inked lines on his neck. “Of course, how can I also not thank our new fantastic secretary?”

There was no need to wonder where Toji’s gratitude stemmed from.

With the therapists thrust back into their roles as corporate leaders, you stepped in to handle their clinic’s appointment schedules and client inquiries. By giving you a renewed purpose in your day-to-day, they were also determined to keep their practices despite their narrowed availabilities, a decision stemming from their dedication to help others during their idle hours. They intended to shift the clinic's focus to more general relationship assistance, which would allow them to broaden their scope and improve the public's favor.

Meanwhile, had it not been for your help, the same four men would not have been able to fully focus on implementing immediate action plans to steer the Zenin Corporation from a public relations and financial disaster. As a result, the company swiftly regained its positive reputation and maintained its position as the nation’s top conglomerate, hardly meeting a dent in total market share despite the shakeup in leadership.

That being said, you didn’t hide your playful pettiness. “I deserve way more than verbal gratitude, you know.”

Testy, and Toji took the chance to humor himself as well. “The answer to that is me.” He winked. “I am already a hundred times a better friend than you expected.”

Some things truly never change. “Arrogant as ever.”

“Only because you know that's true,” and he lolled his head toward his shoulder in pride. “I did let you run your pretty juices in my therapy office, over on my bathroom counter, and inside my executive suite." Hearing him recount all these moments of pure debauchery made you elbow his rock-hard pecs in retaliation, but he continued. "Do you have any idea how much self-restraint a man has to have to let that happen?”

“Probably an immaculate one. Each time, Naoya would ignore me the second after he came.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that guy.” Like Toji cared about having a filter. He found no reason to try to hide his hatred for your former husband. “Officials sent me a note on how that man flew out of the country yesterday afternoon. You don’t ever have to think about him again. You’re with me now, and I warned that fucking bastard to never bother us.” The handsome scar on his lips flexed while he spoke. “Anyway, since you do deserve to be spoiled, you should order all the caviar that you want tonight.”

"Oh?" Impressed by the offer, you jokingly jabbed at his upper arm. "Guess this is what happens once you start making the big bucks again as the Zenin Corporation’s Incumbent CEO and Future Chairman, hm? You weren't this generous before."

Toji frowned. "What do you mean? I've always been a generous man. I gave you my free trial, remember?"

“Yes, only a free trial,” you emphasized, letting his words sink in. “What happens once that ‘free trial’ ends?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that. There’s no expiration date because I like you enough, princess.”

While the pet name was more than enough to make you giddy, his last remarks were what really had you desperate to hide your frazzled face (which, by the way, Toji noticed anyway). "Don't say that."

"Say what?"

"That you...like me. I get flustered easily."

“Don't act like this is the first time. You know I'm straightforward and honest.” A low chuckle slipped past him since he still found your reaction adorable. “I’m too old for drama and playing with people’s feelings. Hey, the cards have always been in your hands. I told you earlier. I’m up to whatever you want to do. For as long as you want, baby.”

“For as long as I want, huh?” The midsummer breezes did not help with the warmth creeping up your neck. “I’ve already clarified before that I wish for us to be friends for a long, long time. Or, as you have suggested before,” and the following thought made more heat suffuse across your cheeks, “…more than friends.”

“Maybe I would happily say yes to that.”

“Just a maybe?”

He huffed in mock annoyance before tugging at your wrist, and you tumbled into his body’s hard planes that you had learned to find comfort in. “Does this feel like ‘just a maybe?’”

Your ensuing silence answered him, and the serene starry night as you snuggled your head into his steady chest was more perfect than words could describe, a soothing escape from the world. He squeezed you tighter, nuzzling his face into your ear while your heart pounded against your ribcage.

So warm, so big, so safe.

“You missed me,” he eventually stated with confidence, and his voice turned husky. Because, oh, he knew. He read you like a book, always.

“I did.”

Only the distant hum from the streets below disrupted the stillness. You sensed his contentment when your neck craned to gaze into his mellow emerald hues, and he similarly pulled away to examine your blissful mien in turn. The two of you became lost, lost in absorbing the peace and serenity such that neither of you detected the third presence that came along.

"Um, hi."

Both heads snapped to the side, gawking at Megumi as he walked in from the doorway.

The eighteen-year-old scratched the back of his head, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink as though he felt embarrassed to interrupt a scene he shouldn't have been watching.

Yet, there's a faint smile on his lips.

"Tsumiki wants to meet you."

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗

last chapter || (at end)

end notes: (see below)

Thank you to everyone who read, liked, shared, and commented on Sex Therapy!

This work, over the past many chapters, has accompanied me through many moments and milestones in life, and I sincerely cannot thank you all enough for going through this journey with me, Y/N, Toji, and the therapists. This was my first big project; there were many areas in which I excelled and others in which I could've improved. I also never wanted this story to merely be Character x Reader, so I touched upon themes like healing and self-discovery, societal and business dynamics among the elite, and (the illusion of) power versus authenticity.

I didn't expect this work to blow up on TikTok or Wattpad during the work's heydays nor did I anticipate encountering so many fanarts, fan speculations, and fan videos. (Yes, I see everything!) I am going cherish this work and reader's community forever.

As my life picks up, I hope to write sporadically for fun and will likely publish shorter and more lighthearted pieces. On Tumblr, I also want to share some writing tips I've gathered over time. Please feel free to find me on Wattpad and AO3, too! Whether or not we meet again, I wish you all happiness, health, and success. Lots of hugs and love always. XOXO, Jamms.

(P.S. As per my tradition, feel free to comment the date and time you finished reading!)

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @sakuraryomen01 @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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hynzsn · 11 months ago

Text

★ LATE NIGHT CALLS ★

☆ sohee x male reader

-> idol!sohee x non-idol!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff

contents: soft!sohee, clingy!sohee, longing, hotel room, tour shenanigans, falling asleep on facetime, established relationship, idol au, long distance, sohee’s missing you, sohee’s wearing your clothes, cute pet names, teasing, playful banter, emotional support, comfort, post-concert feelings, mutual pining, sweet talk, flirting, sohee thinks he’s cuter than your pet

wc: 2.5k

summary: sohee's on tour, living his idol dreams, but his heart's back home with you. after a thrilling concert, he calls you for a much-needed nightly facetime date.

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

the bass was still thrumming through sohee’s veins as he stumbled into his hotel room, the adrenaline from the concert slowly ebbing away. his muscles ached, his throat was raw, and his hair was a sweaty mess, but god, he felt alive. the screams of the fans, the pulsing lights, the rush of performing – it was all still fresh in his mind. but as he closed the door behind him, leaning against it with a heavy sigh, another feeling crept in.

longing.

sohee’s eyes darted to his phone, lying innocently on the nightstand where he'd left it before the show. he bit his lip, fighting the urge to grab it immediately. no, shower first. he needed to wash off the grime and sweat of the performance before he could even think about calling you. but fuck, he missed you so much it physically hurt.

dragging himself to the bathroom, sohee stripped off his stage outfit, leaving a trail of sequins and leather in his wake. the hot water hit his skin, and he let out a groan of relief. as he lathered up, his mind wandered to you. were you at home right now? what were you doing? had you watched any fancams from tonight's show?

the thought made him blush, remembering how he'd blown a kiss to the camera during his solo, knowing you'd be watching later. god, he was whipped.

stepping out of the shower, sohee wrapped a fluffy hotel towel around his waist and padded back into the main room. his suitcase lay open on the floor, clothes spilling out haphazardly. but he bypassed all of that, reaching instead for a familiar, oversized hoodie folded neatly on top. your hoodie.

sohee buried his face in the soft fabric, inhaling deeply. it still smelled like you – a mix of your cologne and that indescribable scent that was uniquely you. he slipped it on, reveling in how it enveloped him, hanging off his frame. a pair of your sweatpants completed the ensemble, and sohee felt instantly calmer, safer. it was like being wrapped in your arms, even if you were thousands of miles away.

finally, finally, he allowed himself to grab his phone. his heart rate picked up as he opened your chat, seeing the string of messages you'd sent throughout the day.

[sohee’s phone pov]

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: good morning sunshine!! hope you slept well~

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: break a leg at the concert tonight (not literally ofc)! you're gonna kill it babe

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: saw some previews on twitter... how dare you look that good wtf

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: that outfit should be illegal smh

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: love youuuu cant wait to talk later!!

sohee’s cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. how did he get so lucky? he quickly typed out a response, fingers flying over the keyboard.

[your phone’s pov]

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: babyyyyyyy im back!!

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: missed you so fuckin much today

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: can we ft?? pls pls pls i need to see your face

he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for your reply. it came almost instantly.

[sohee’s phone pov]

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: ofc!! give me 2 secs

sohee’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw the incoming facetime call. he scrambled to answer, nearly dropping his phone in his haste.

and then there you were, your beautiful face filling his screen, and sohee felt like he could breathe properly for the first time all day.

"hi, baby," you said, your voice soft and fond. "how was the show?"

sohee couldn't help the way his lips curved into a pout, eyes going wide and pleading. "it was good, but i missed youuuu," he whined, flopping backwards onto the bed. "feels like forever since i last saw your face."

you laughed, the sound making sohee’s heart skip a beat. "we facetimed this morning, you big baby."

"that was hours ago," sohee protested, holding the phone above his face. "do you know how many hours that is? too many. way too many."

"poor baby," you cooed, your eyes crinkling with amusement. "however did you survive?"

sohee’s pout deepened. "i almost didn't. i think I'm dying of you deficiency. it’s a real thing, look it up."

you snorted, shaking your head fondly. "you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you," sohee shot back, grinning when he saw the way your cheeks flushed.

"smooth talker," you muttered, but sohee could see the pleased smile you were trying to hide. "so, tell me about the concert. how’d it go?"

sohee launched into an animated retelling of the night's events, gesturing wildly with his free hand as he described the crowd's energy, the special stages they'd prepared, and the couple of minor mishaps that had occurred (like when anton had nearly tripped over his own feet during the dance break, saved only by wonbin’s quick reflexes).

"—and then during my solo, i did that thing with the rose, you know? where i bite the stem? and i swear to god, i thought the fans were gonna riot," sohee giggled, eyes sparkling with mischief. "i blew a kiss to the camera too, did you see? that was for you, babe."

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. "god, i saw. nearly had a heart attack, thanks for that."

sohee preened, feeling a rush of satisfaction. "good. that was the goal. gotta keep you on your toes, ya know?"

"trust me, you do that plenty without trying," you said dryly. "speaking of which, is that my hoodie?"

sohee glanced down, as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing. "oh, this old thing?" he said innocently, tugging at the collar. "maybe."

your eyes softened, a tender smile playing at your lips. "you’re wearing my clothes again?"

"always do when i’m away," sohee admitted quietly, suddenly feeling shy. "makes me feel closer to you. like you're here with me."

"baby..." you breathed, looking at him with so much love it made sohee’s chest ache. "i wish i was."

"me too," sohee whispered, curling up on his side and holding the phone close. "i hate being away from you. i know it's part of the job, but fuck, it's hard sometimes."

you nodded, understanding in your eyes. "i know, love. but hey, at least the time difference isn't so bad this time, right? we can talk more easily."

sohee perked up at that. "true! small mercies, i guess. still hate time zones though. wish the whole world operated on sohee time."

"and what, pray tell, is sohee time?" you asked, amusement clear in your voice.

"it’s whatever time lets me talk to you the most," sohee declared matter-of-factly. "duh."

you laughed, the sound warming sohee from the inside out. "of course, how silly of me. clearly that's the only sensible way to measure time."

"now you're getting it," sohee grinned, winking at the camera.

as your conversation continued, sohee felt the stress and exhaustion of the day melting away. just hearing your voice, seeing your smile – it was better than any post-concert high. he could talk to you for hours and never get bored.

and that's exactly what he planned to do.

"so, tell me about your day," sohee said, shifting to get more comfortable. he propped his phone up against a pillow, freeing his hands to play with the strings of your hoodie. "what’d you do while i was out here being a superstar?"

you rolled your eyes at his playful bragging, but there was fondness in your expression. "oh, you know, just pined away dramatically, waiting for my idol boyfriend to notice me."

sohee gasped, clutching his chest. "how cruel of me! making my precious honey bunny sugar plum wait like that. i’m a monster."

"honey bunny sugar plum?" you repeated, eyebrows raised. "that’s a new one."

"i’m trying it out," sohee said with a cheeky grin. "too much?"

"definitely too much," you laughed. "but somehow still cute coming from you."

sohee preened at the compliment, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "everything's cute coming from me. i'm the cutest."

"can’t argue with that," you agreed easily, making sohee’s blush deepen. "anyway, my day was pretty normal. went to work, had lunch with some colleagues, came home and watched some of your fancams-"

"ooh, which ones?" sohee interrupted eagerly, sitting up straighter. "did you see the one where i did that body roll during get a guitar? the fans went crazy for that one."

you groaned, covering your face with your hands again. "yes, i saw that one. multiple times. i think i've memorized it at this point."

sohee wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "like what you saw, babe?"

"you know i did, you menace," you grumbled, peeking through your fingers. "it should be illegal to look that good."

"aww, you're making me blush," sohee cooed, even as his cheeks flamed red. he batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly. "tell me more about how hot i am."

you snorted, dropping your hands. "as if your ego needs any more stroking. you fish for compliments more than my pet fishes for attention."

"hey!" sohee protested with a pout. "i resent that comparison. i’m way cuter than your pet."

"debatable," you teased, laughing at sohee's indignant expression.

"take that back!" sohee demanded, jutting out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "i'm the cutest thing in your life and you know it."

you pretended to think about it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "hmm, i don't know... my pet is pretty adorable..."

sohee let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "i can't believe this betrayal. my own boyfriend, choosing his pet over me. i’m heartbroken. devastated. i'll never recover from this-"

"oh my god, you're such a drama queen," you laughed, shaking your head fondly. "fine, fine, you're the cutest. happy now?"

sohee immediately brightened, his pout transforming into a dazzling smile. "ecstatic," he chirped. "i knew you'd see reason eventually."

a comfortable silence fell between you, both just content to look at each other for a moment. sohee’s eyes traced every detail of your face, committing it to memory. the curve of your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed – he loved every inch of you.

"i miss you, you know?” sohee said softly, his earlier playfulness giving way to a more vulnerable honesty. "like, really miss you. being on tour is amazing, don't get me wrong. i love performing and meeting fans and all that. but sometimes... sometimes i just want to be home with you."

your expression softened, a mix of love and sympathy in your eyes. "i know. i miss you too. so much. but i’m so proud of you, you know that right? you’re out there living your dream, and i couldn't be happier for you."

sohee felt his eyes start to water, overwhelmed by the love and support in your voice. "even if it means we're apart so much?"

"even then," you assured him firmly. "yeah, it sucks sometimes. but seeing you on stage, doing what you love? it’s worth it. you’re worth it."

a tear slipped down sohee’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. "god, i love you so much," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "how did i get so lucky?"

"i ask myself the same thing every day," you replied with a soft smile. "now stop crying or you'll set me off too."

sohee laughed wetly, sniffling a bit. "sorry, sorry. i’m just feeling extra sappy tonight i guess."

"post-concert emotions?" you guessed, and sohee nodded.

"probably. everything feels more intense after a show, you know? the highs are higher, the lows are lower... and right now, missing you is like, cranked up to eleven."

you made a sympathetic noise. "i wish i could hug you right now."

"me too," sohee sighed, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie over his hands. "this helps though," he added, gesturing to the oversized garment. "it’s like a hug from you, kinda."

your eyes softened even further, if that was possible. "i’m glad. does it still smell like me?"

sohee nodded, bringing the collar up to his nose and inhaling deeply. "yeah," he mumbled into the fabric. "s'nice. comforting."

"good," you said, your voice warm. "i sprayed some of my cologne on it before you left, hoping it would last."

sohee’s heart swelled at the thoughtful gesture. "you’re the best boyfriend ever, you know that?"

"i try," you said with a playful wink. "someone's gotta keep up with korea's sweetheart, right?"

sohee groaned, burying his face in his hands. "oh god, don't call me that. it’s so embarrassing."

"but it's true!" you insisted, grinning widely. "my boyfriend, the nation's darling. stealing hearts left and right with his angelic voice and killer moves."

"stooooop," sohee whined, peeking through his fingers to glare at you halfheartedly. "you’re the worst."

"i thought i was the best boyfriend ever?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"both. you’re both. simultaneously the best and the worst. it’s very confusing."

you laughed, "i'll take it. as long as you still love me."

"always," sohee said without hesitation, dropping his hands to reveal a soft smile. "no matter what."

the conversation flowed easily from there, jumping from topic to topic. sohee told you about the prank war that had broken out between the members on the tour bus (seunghan was currently winning, much to everyone's chagrin). you filled him in on the latest drama at your workplace, complete with exaggerated impressions of your coworkers that had sohee in stitches.

as the night wore on, sohee felt his eyelids growing heavy. he tried to stifle a yawn, not wanting the call to end, but you caught it anyway.

"getting sleepy?" you asked gently.

sohee shook his head stubbornly, even as another yawn escaped him. "no, m'fine. not tired at all."

"uh-huh, sure," you said, clearly not buying it. "when’s your schedule start tomorrow?"

sohee pouted, knowing where this was going. "not till noon," he mumbled reluctantly.

"then you should get some sleep," you insisted. "it’s late, and you need to rest after the concert."

"don’t wanna," sohee whined, clutching his phone tighter. "if i go to sleep, you'll hang up. and then i’ll be alone again." sohee bit his lip, considering. "...can we stay on the call?" he asked hesitantly. "even if we're not talking? just... knowing you're there helps."

"of course," you agreed immediately. "whatever you need. i’m here."

feeling reassured, sohee nodded and settled down into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. he propped his phone up on the pillow next to him, angling it so he could still see your face.

"comfy?" you asked, and sohee nodded sleepily.

"mhmm. wish you were here though," he murmured, already feeling himself start to drift off.

"i know, love. soon, okay? just think about the moment you come back, i’ll be waiting for you."

sohee smiled at that, his eyes fluttering closed. "promise?"

"promise," you confirmed softly. "now get some sleep, superstar. i love you."

"love you too," sohee mumbled, already half-asleep. "so much."

as he drifted off, the last thing sohee was aware of was the sound of your steady breathing through the phone, and the comforting scent of your hoodie surrounding him. it wasn't the same as having you there, but for now, it was enough.

he fell asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of the day he'd be back in your arms for real.

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halseygray · 2 years ago

Text

Halsey performing during the Live String Ensemble Concerts requested by acvross-the-universe

#hope this is close to what you were looking for!#edit #wallpaper #halsey #lockscreen #halsey lockscreen #halsey wallpaper #live string ensemble #performance #2023

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

Note

Please help! I’m writing musicians but am gravely afraid of being so inaccurate I’ll get laughed at. Do you have any general tips for writing musicians/celebrities/rich people or all three?

Writing Notes: Musicians

Musician - creates, performs, or composes music.

Diverse in their talents, encompassing a wide range of instrumental, vocal, and compositional abilities.

They may specialize in various genres such as classical, jazz, rock, pop, electronic, or folk music, and their proficiency may extend to multiple instruments or vocal techniques.

Duties & Responsibilities

The duties and responsibilities of musicians can vary depending on their specific roles, genres, and settings. However, here are some general duties and responsibilities that musicians often have:

Practice and Rehearsal: Musicians need to dedicate significant time to practicing their instruments or vocals to maintain and improve their skills. They also participate in rehearsals with other musicians or bands to synchronize their performances.

Performances: Musicians are responsible for delivering live performances, whether in concerts, gigs, recitals, or other venues. They must prepare their repertoire, select appropriate songs or compositions, and perform them with skill and expression.

Collaboration: Many musicians work collaboratively with other musicians, bands, orchestras, or ensembles. They must be able to communicate effectively, listen to others, and contribute to a unified musical performance.

Composition and Arrangement: Some may create original compositions or arrangements of existing music. This involves writing or reworking musical ideas, melodies, harmonies, and lyrics to create new pieces of music.

Recording and Studio Work: Musicians often record their music in studios or other recording environments. They may need to work with audio engineers, producers, and other professionals to capture their performances accurately and achieve the desired sound.

Promotion and Marketing: Musicians, especially those pursuing a professional career, need to actively promote their work. This may involve creating a brand, establishing an online presence, networking, and marketing their music through various channels.

Music Education: May engage in teaching and mentoring aspiring musicians. They may offer private lessons, lead workshops, or work as music educators in schools or colleges to impart their knowledge and skills to others.

Equipment Maintenance: Responsible for maintaining their instruments or equipment, ensuring they are in good working condition. This may involve regular cleaning, string replacement, tuning, or repairing any issues that arise.

Continuous Learning: Musicians must stay updated with the latest trends, techniques, and developments in their respective genres. They may attend workshops, masterclasses, or pursue further education to enhance their skills and expand their musical horizons.

Types of Musicians

There are various types of musicians based on their roles, expertise, and the context in which they perform. Here are some common types of musicians:

Vocalists/Singers: Vocalists specialize in singing and using their voice as their primary instrument. They may perform solo or as part of a vocal group, choir, band, or opera company. Vocalists can have various vocal ranges and styles, including sopranos, altos, tenors, baritones, and basses.

Music Artists: Music artists, or soloists, are musicians who perform as the featured artist or performer in a concert or other musical setting. They often showcase their virtuosity and mastery of their instrument or voice. Soloists can be instrumentalists or vocalists.

Session Musicians: Record or perform with other artists or bands. They contribute their instrumental or vocal skills to enhance the recording or live performance. They may be hired for their versatility and ability to adapt to various musical styles.

Composers: Create original music by writing scores or arrangements. They may compose for a wide range of genres and mediums, including film, television, theater, orchestras, bands, or solo performances.

Conductors: Conductors lead and direct orchestras, choirs, or other musical ensembles. They interpret the musical score, guide the musicians, and shape the overall performance. Conductors use their knowledge of music theory and interpretation to bring out the desired artistic vision.

Music Educators/Teachers: Specialize in teaching and imparting musical knowledge and skills to students of all ages. They may work in schools, colleges, universities, or offer private lessons. Music educators can teach various subjects, including instrument instruction, music theory, composition, and conducting.

Music Arrangers: Music arrangers take an existing piece of music and restructures or adapts it for a different ensemble, style, or purpose. They make artistic decisions regarding instrumentation, harmony, rhythm, dynamics, and other musical elements to create a new arrangement that showcases the original composition in a fresh way.

Orchestrators: Orchestrators specialize in translating composers' musical scores into fully realized orchestral arrangements, determining the instrumentation and voicings for each instrument. They collaborate with composers and directors to bring musical visions to life in various contexts, from classical performances to film and television soundtracks.

Music Therapists: Use music as a therapeutic tool to address physical, emotional, cognitive, and social needs of individuals. They create and implement music-based interventions to promote healing, improve communication, enhance emotional well-being, and support overall therapeutic goals.

Instrumentalists: Specialize in playing a specific musical instrument. They may perform solo or as part of an ensemble, orchestra, or band. Examples include pianists, guitarists, violinists, drummers, saxophonists, and trumpeters.

Orchestral Musicians: Orchestral musicians perform as part of an orchestra, which typically consists of various instrumental sections, such as strings, woodwinds, brass, and percussion. Examples include violinists, cellists, flutists, clarinetists, trumpeters, and percussionists.

Studio Musicians: Studio musicians work in recording studios and contribute their skills to create and record music. They may be hired to play instruments, sing backing vocals, or add specific musical elements to a recording. Studio musicians are often proficient in multiple styles and genres.

Jazz Musicians: Specialize in performing and improvising within the genre of jazz. They may play instruments such as saxophone, trumpet, piano, double bass, or drums, and often engage in improvisation and complex harmonies.

Rock Musicians: Perform within the rock genre, which encompasses various subgenres like classic rock, alternative rock, heavy metal, and more. They may play electric guitars, bass guitars, drums, keyboards, or sing as frontmen or frontwomen of rock bands.

Pop Musicians: Create and perform popular music that appeals to a wide audience. They often incorporate catchy melodies, hooks, and contemporary production techniques. Pop musicians can be solo artists or part of a band.

Folk Musicians: Specialize in traditional or contemporary folk music, which typically features acoustic instruments like acoustic guitar, banjo, mandolin, fiddle, or harmonica. They often draw inspiration from cultural and storytelling traditions.

Classical Musicians: Perform music from the classical music tradition, which includes composers like Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, and many others. They may play instruments such as violin, cello, piano, flute, or perform as opera singers.

Electronic Musicians: Electronic musicians create music primarily using electronic instruments, synthesizers, drum machines, and computer-based production techniques. They may specialize in genres like electronic dance music (EDM), techno, ambient, or experimental electronic music.

Hip-Hop Artists: Create and perform within the hip-hop genre, combining rap vocals with beats, sampling, and other elements. They often deliver rhythmic and poetic lyrics over instrumentals or electronic beats.

Country Musicians: Perform within the country music genre, characterized by its roots in folk and blues and often featuring instruments like acoustic guitar, fiddle, banjo, pedal steel guitar, and vocals with distinctive country-style twang.

Gospel Musicians: Gospel musicians perform within the genre of gospel music, which has its roots in Christian religious music. They may sing or play instruments such as piano, organ, drums, or guitar, and often incorporate powerful vocal harmonies and uplifting messages.

Personality & Interests

The Holland Codes: Musicians and singers typically have an interest in the Creating and Persuading interest areas.

The Creating interest area indicates a focus on being original and imaginative, and working with artistic media.

The Persuading interest area indicates a focus on influencing, motivating, and selling to other people.

Musicians vs. Non-Musicians. They seem to differ in 2 traits (Gjermunds et al., 2020), using The Big Five:

They somewhat tend to have lower scores on Conscientiousness, and considerably higher scores in Openness to experience.

Thus, Openness seems to be the most typical personality trait for musicians.

These results suggest that musicians are more creative and openminded than non-musicians.

Musicians and singers also typically possess the following specific qualities:

Dedication. Auditioning for jobs can be a frustrating process because it may take many different auditions to get hired. They need determination and dedication to continue to audition after receiving many rejections.

Discipline. Talent is not enough for most musicians and singers to find employment in this field. They must constantly practice and rehearse to improve their technique, style, and performances.

Interpersonal skills. Musicians and singers need to work well with a variety of people, such as agents, music producers, conductors, and other musicians. Good people skills are helpful in building good working relationships.

Musical talent. They have superior musical abilities.

Physical stamina. Those who play in concerts or in nightclubs and who tour must be able to endure frequent travel and irregular performance schedules.

Promotional skills. They need to promote their performances through local communities, word of mouth, and social media platforms. Good self-promotional skills are helpful in building a fan base.

Musicians are storytellers and conveyors of emotions.

They have the ability to evoke feelings, inspire, provoke thought, and create a sense of unity through their music.

Their music can serve as a medium for self-expression, cultural representation, and social commentary, making them influential figures in shaping the artistic landscape and reflecting the diversity of human experiences.

Musicians contribute significantly to the cultural landscape by expressing emotions, telling stories, and communicating ideas through the universal language of music.

They may perform as solo artists, collaborate in ensembles or bands, or work with orchestras, choirs, and other musical groups.

Musicians often undergo extensive training, practice, and continuous learning to refine their craft, and their creativity and dedication helps to shape the auditory experiences that resonate with audiences across the globe.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more details in the sources linked above. As for writing celebrity or rich characters, you can choose actual rich celebrities as a basis to develop your specific character. And also consider some Celebrity & Rich People tropes as inspiration. Just alter as needed/desired. Hope this helps with your writing (don't let getting laughed at discourage you. Keep writing, editing & learning throughout)!

#anonymous #music #character development #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #writing reference #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing tips #writing advice #light academia #writing inspiration #writing ideas #character building #writing resources

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