the gays and baes

any pronouns

[ceruleaneyedking]

it's been years but i still think about you destiel

[hachikluvr]

[part one] midnight blues

it had been a few weeks since your childhood best friend had moved to hollywood hills to pursue his dreams for the big screen and you could already feel tensions rise against the unusually chilly air. this was your first argument in years, and it was over something as little, as insignificant as this? - (1.7k)

summary: gojo x nepo! reader. acting au. childhood best friends to rivals to lovers.

a/n: i originally started this as a oneshot, but oh well !

“stop it.”

“what?”

"just stop. i know you're not any more fine than I am. so why the hell are you pretending?"

"pretending about what?" you frowned at him, furrowing your eyebrows. 

"nevermind," he sighed, taking a whiff of his cigarette. you watched as the smoke curled lazily into the air, the soft glow of the ember casting shadows upon his pale face. you felt a frown tug at the corners of your lips, but couldn’t find the words to respond. the silence between you hung heavy, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the tree breeze. 

you continued to walk in silence, and you found yourself occasionally turning your head to glance at him wrestling with inner turmoil. eventually, you reached a stop near your house. he quietly opened the gate for you, and you could feel his eyes on your back as you typed in the code.

"i'm not," you tell him, ready to enter in the last code. 

"what?" he asks, as if he didn’t know already. 

"pretending. i can't do it."

"what are you talking about?" he leans against the gate, crossing his arms. 

you turn around, clenching your fists, and reply with a scowl, "you thought i was acting like i was fine? you thought i seemed okay? you clearly haven't been looking hard enough."

"yeah well, that was never my fucking job."

"then why did you say it?"

"isn't that the million-dollar question?” he scoffs, looking away. abruptly, he threw his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. he pulled a hand to his hair, a habit born from stress and attempts to impress girls. with another sigh and shake of his head, he picked it up and walked away, closing the gate. as you watched his figure grow smaller, you couldn't help but wonder where it had gone wrong. 

with a sigh of your own, you entered your prison, once home. large hallways, filled with portraits of disapproving ancestors and paintings by artists you hadn't heard of. handing your coat to a maid, you walked into your room and felt your legs give out, hitting the hardwood floor. putting your hands to your face, you took quick breaths, attempting to prevent the tears you knew would come anyway.  

a little short of thirty minutes later, you got up at last. in a near methodical fashion, you went about your routine, void of any particular expression. applying products of luxury against aging, taking multiple pills, and changing into a particular satin set. the epitome of prosperity taken advantage of by an undeserving candidate. 

night fell at last, the darkness enveloping you like a blanket. as protected as you were in a palace made of the finest golds, stocks, and titles, he felt as if he were on top of a stack of cards. he eyed the week-old bills, threatening him with eviction, but his bank balance remained horrifically short. he even considered living in his car were it not for the lack of space. he had made poor financial decisions, that was true. but if his calculations were right, his precious stocks would be going up any time soon, hopefully. 

so he was screwed. so what? wasn’t as if he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. the only reason he even came to this city of faux angels was because of you, the one girl who didn’t even give notice of his affections. 

speeding up in his gorgeous harley davidson, on an impulse he drove to one place where he could let go of his thoughts. seemed like the only thing that stuck around these days were Cher, who had been with him since that impulse purchase of 2021, and his cigarettes.

five hours later, with little demons poking at his skull, all he could feel was the bitter taste of regret and cheap perfume against his neck. this was supposed to help. yet, he decided, getting off the cheap thrift store mattress, he couldn’t escape you. even the blonde didn’t help. and he loved blondes. that woman had him fucked. that was it. that was the end of him. getting into his clothes, setting aside some coffee and a note for the woman whose name he hadn’t even known, he left the flat. 

it was six a.m., with the bright rays only amplifying the raging hangover he received from a night of one too many budweisers. the ride back to his small apartment was only one of shame, as he carefully walked down the narrow hallway so as not to wake any of his neighbors. at last, he reached his bed. setting aside his leather jacket, he finally let himself surrender to sleep. 

one week. that’s how long you had gone on without any form of communication. a lot could’ve happened in one week. he could’ve gotten engaged or even married for all you knew. but you knew you were also at blame. just how many times have you opened up your dms, staring at that little “read” icon? how many times have you nearly clicked that call button, only to stop yourself out of pure stubbornness?

at the very least, you knew he wouldn’t attempt to reach out. you couldn’t force a person into communication, and you had found yourself preoccupied with other tasks anyway. photoshoots, interviews, and even the initial filming of the pilot for your new series, ‘how i found you.’ you knew he was just as busy with auditions and whatnot. it was fine. it was completely fine

….so turns out, your initial status of ‘fine’ was not as true as you thought it was. it was as if life always came back to bite you in the ass. conveniently enough, the male lead of the new series had found himself in a car crash. with a scoff you turned off the tv, ignoring the many buzzes coming from your phone, either in anger or panic. to make matters worse, you had been accused of being the cause of his accident. so not only were you potentially going to be out of a job, but now you were being hunted by an angry mob of brainless twitter idiots. how lovely.  

one photoshoot and a long scented candle-filled bath later, you decided perhaps you were being a bit dramatic. the casting director had just called you to inform you of a tall rookie who was bound to have chemistry with your character, ‘nicole,’ a shy know-it-all with a penchant for mischief. a rookie? lord save us all, you thought. at the very least, you knew the director, shoko ieri, well enough to trust that this rookie would have skill in acting, despite how limited it may be. 

unwillingly, you opened your phone again. in the midst of mindlessly tapping away through the instagram stories of the many celebrities of beverly hills, your eyes widened in shock upon viewing the story of your one and only idol, toji fushiguro, a renowned actor, former teen heartthrob of the early 2000s posing happily next to satoru fucking gojo. what the fuck.

a boy you had once met drawing chalk on the streets of downtown san francisco now chatting up one of the most talented actors in the industry. you were going to scream, or hurl, or kick a trash can. you didn’t know. funnily enough, that very man was probably lounging on his vintage sofa, shades on, with that oh-so-insufferable smile. 

despite all assumptions that have been made about him, satoru was very much not relaxed at all. he wasn’t particularly panicked either, that was one emotion he was far too above to deal with. but as he frantically calmly looked through the scripts, he realized that perhaps he felt slightly nervous. it was only natural after all. his first tv show. not only that, the cast list, which he had very deliberately looked over, was filled with prominent stars. apart from the one name he had avoided, he found himself relentlessly stalking the instagrams and wikipedias of the celebrities. just some mild research, he told himself. to think he would be the one with a wikipedia worth of stalking very soon if he played his cards right. 

regardless, he knew this was it for him. this role would be the start of a lifetime among stars. no. he would become the north star, shining brightest in the sky. how could he not? he was blessed. this was a fact. initially told by his grandfather, he carried this ideology with him through times of good and bad. it was how he found himself at a party with the likes of toji fushiguro and ryomen sukuna. highly acclaimed actor and equally if not higher producer. these two men would be the key to his start but satoru was well aware that it was just as likely for them to be the key to his end. 

a few days before receiving his key, satoru was annoyed. just as he had recovered from his hangover, his former best friend and current (as in 1 minute ago) enemy, suguru geto had quite rudely barged into his apartment, forced him to clean it up, and dragged (kidnapped) him off to god knows where. obviously, satoru was dressed like the fashion god he is, but seeing how he had no idea where they were even going, he wouldn’t be shocked if that asshole took him to some renaissance fair for all he knew. 

despite his whines and complaints, which he did not do, which is a false accusation, suguru did not take him to a renaissance fair. with all of his connections in his job as a pr agent, satoru’s best friend was finally repaying the favor he owed him for all those years of covering for him, and had taken him to a party filled with the names of the stars he had been walking on just a few hours earlier. 

what a drag. walking into the party, he could feel eyes drift to him, sizing him up no doubt if not for a few seconds. he didn't mind the stares, if anything he thrived off them. what use was an actor too afraid of his own shadow right? there were few that lingered too long, but he paid them no attention. he had a far larger target, something he had only learned of in a hurried conversation in the car, and he never missed the mark.