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#ongoing series fanfiction
eureka-its-zico · 7 months
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Chaos in Their Bones
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Ongoing Series
Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention. 
Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader
Genre: friends to lovers, frienemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut
Words: 5k+
A/N: I told myself I wasn’t going to do this, so naturally I did it anyway. This is the first chapter in a planned series with a reader insert following the events of the OPLA universe. I sincerely hope that this is a story you all love as this is my first initial time writing for one of my beloved anime. But let’s be real, after seeing Mackenyu play Zoro (my fav) I knew I was going to be whipped from the start. The reader will go by “Doc” in this story at times, and later a nickname by Zoro himself.  As always, I hope you enjoy this. Much love, Jenn. Also, thank you @thegreatesttttttttt for indulging me.
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The ringing of the bell thundered through the sky above. An upcoming warning of four words that would echo through the street's moments later. 
“The pirates are coming!”
You could practically hear the rest of the town groan with a sigh. Their annoyance stunk up the streets as Usopp sounded the imaginary alarm as he usually did every day around this time. Maybe it was because you considered Usopp a friend that his tall tales and wild imagination didn’t bother you. 
Instead, a sly smile tilted your lips as you continued to grind the seeds deep into the mortar. Mr. Edison’s gruff voice from outside your window reminded Usopp for the millionth time that he needed to stop as he sprinted past. 
“What is that boy going on about?” Naan huffed.
You sent a quick glance behind your shoulder at the older woman who was currently folding the recently washed linens. All of them are used with a purpose to either staunch bloody wounds or for the simple purpose of relieving colds. Naan’s linens, like her home, were used for a multitude of healing services, with the only payment she accepted was that of the kindness of others around her. 
“You already know, Naan,” you replied, your smile evident in your words. “It’s the usual afternoon reminder to stay on your toes.”
A deep chuckle came from behind you followed by the soft cough that came after. 
“These toes can’t do very much standing. So, maybe tell your friend to give me a day of rest soon.”
“Usopp has done this every day for seven years. I don’t think anything anyone will ever say will make him stop.”
Even if you could get Usopp to stop, you wouldn’t be the one to make him. You weren’t sure how many people in town knew who his father was - or that he’d been a pirate. A father by suggestion, Usopp’s wild imagination could only recall small things from the stories his mother had been willing to share, and from those stories, even greater ones grew.
While everyone else may have found Usopp’s stories as an ever-present headache you knew they held a deeper meaning. They were the only thing he knew of a man he never got to know. 
The sound of chair legs creaking across the floor cut you out of your thoughts. Just in time from the looks of the seed putty you’d created. A heavy thud on the boards informed you Naan grabbed her cane and the heavier shuffling of her feet that she was heading in your direction. 
“What are you so intently making over here, child?”
Settling down the pestle, you reached over your workstation to grab a pot. You were going to need to fetch some water to bring everything to a bowl before you strained it into a jar. 
“Water. I need to go get some water,” you murmured as you brought the pot down in front of you.
“Am I talking to myself?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Naan. Did you say something?”
This time you did dare to look at her. Her deep-set wrinkles set impossibly deeper as she regarded your work from over your shoulder. 
“Oh, I only asked what you were making that was stinking up my kitchen.”
Your eyes flew open wide as you took a deep breath in. You were sure the only thing you’d put in that maybe - maybe - smelled was the slippery elm, but you hadn’t even steeped it in the water yet. Naan must have read your panic before it began to stitch your brow together. Your eyes still helplessly peeled to the job in front of you instead of the chuckling woman behind you. 
“It’s fine, child. I’m just teasing you.”
All your panic rushed out in a huff of air as your body finally turned to greet her. Your eyes instantly took in the very tired look of hers. 
“You should get some rest, Naan.”
The two of you knew you meant well. You would never try and make Naan feel older than she already felt, except you didn’t give a damn about her feelings when you could easily spot the sweat on her upper lip. The way her body leaned more into the cane that supported her. She batted your concern away with a swat of her free hand. As if it would be enough to make whatever fear that gripped at your heart magically disappear.  
“Don’t patronize me. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You're wheezing with every breath now-“
“I said I’m fine. Leave me alone and start worrying about whatever it is you’re making.”
“Well,  if you would stop interrupting me, maybe I could finish it!”
The irritation in your voice wasn’t hard to miss. Naan heard it too no doubt with the way her brow cocked as if begging you to repeat it. 
The silence stretched uncomfortably between you. Naan wouldn’t even look at you - probably too scared to see your eyes pleading, full of worry for her to just go lay down. 
Why must you always be so stubborn? 
The question sat on your tongue and made your words form like molasses. You weren’t a child anymore. So, it begged the question of why you were still afraid to speak to her like an adult. It didn’t matter if what you said hurt her old feelings. Not when the thought of her not being around made your chest begin to spread wide like an aching chasm. 
“You never did say what you were making.”
You pressed your tongue against your cheek while you debated if it would be worth it to try and argue with her. Of course, you were always the first one to relent and push it under the metaphorical rug.
“It’s a gift for Miss Kaya. Usopp told me her cough hadn’t changed and asked if I would make something for her.”
“Hmm,” Naan hummed in thought. “That boy is strange, but he is kind.”
“Not as strange as Kaya having an unknown illness the last few years and never seeking any aid from the town's doctor,” you grumbled. 
Naan’s hand lightly clasped your shoulder in comfort - comfort you didn’t want to accept. Not only were thoughts of Naan being sick plaguing every ounce of free space in your brain but now so was Kaya. You’d only met her once when you were younger with Usopp and after her parents died that odd butler, Klahadore, kept her under strict observation. 
In all the years you’d been with Naan, learning everything she could teach about healing, you’d found it odd that the staff never came to ask for help. You couldn’t recall a time when Sham or Buchi ever came down requesting any tonics or medicines from Naan, or for her to come with them to examine Kaya in the first place. 
I wasn’t aware they were waitstaff and doctors. 
You knew these thoughts would only dampen your mood until it turned completely sour. You just couldn’t stop the runaway train that was your thoughts from slipping back into questioning everything with the universe never giving you any new answers. 
“How many times have I told you, child, we can’t make people get help. They have to seek it themselves and that- that is when the real healing begins.”
You were already bitter and that bitterness responded to Naan’s words in the form of an eye roll. One you were lucky the older woman didn’t see. 
“It’s just not right.” 
“Right or not, it’s not our place to go butting in.”
She stood behind you for a few more minutes waiting for a reply you didn’t give. You were done talking. Done trying to get her to understand that she was sick too and that all those years of molding words and actions to help others were what drove you to help her. To help Kaya. Only Usopp seemed to notice that something in her grand home wasn’t right. 
Frustration drew tight across your chest causing your hands to seek support against the counter. For a split second, you imagined yourself splitting open and becoming two separate people. One being the doctor Naan trained you to be and the other something less controlled. Someone who was tired of listening but never being heard. 
You listened as Naan began to retreat back to her table where the rest of the linens waited to be folded. You listened as another terrible cough violently shook itself free from her lungs as you focused on your work. 
If you couldn’t help Naan you were just going to settle for helping Miss Kaya. Once you finished making Usopp’s requested medicine you were going to be sure he delivered it to her. 
It was time a doctor paid a visit. 
————
The shipyard. 
Of course, Usopp was going to be here. Why you hadn't thought to come here first felt like a mystery all on its own. 
In all the years you’d known him, Usopp’s routine hardly ever changed. He usually performed his usual pirate ritual just before he started his day in the shipyard. He was hired to care for and clean all of the ships housed within, however, and upon no real surprise to you, Usopp cleaned and polished the Going Merry daily. 
So, it didn’t surprise you to find him already on the ship. What did surprise you were the three people standing with him steps away from the Going Merry, herself. 
You didn’t feel alarmed in any way. Usopp was good with people - he enjoyed talking to anyone willing to listen. The man with the straw hat, who was grinning wildly in the direction of Usopp and then to his friends, seemed happy to listen. He was giving Usopp his full attention and whatever your friend was saying was exactly what Straw Hat wanted to hear. 
The other two people beside him, however, didn’t seem to share in the excitement. Sure, the pretty woman with the orange hair was giving all the perfect signaling queues of a smile and nod to make it believable that she was interested in anything Usopp had to say. Did she probably care about whatever was being said? Probably not, but at least she didn’t look as sour as the moss-hair-colored guy- 
Holy shit
Your feet stopped working. Your knees seemed to refuse to bend, to make any movement forward for the last few feet to close the distance to the group. For what reason? There had to be a perfectly good reason- 
Nope. Thoughts gone. Head empty. 
That was the best way to describe what was currently happening as your eyes stayed glued to the three-sword-wielding swordsman standing next to the woman. 
Three swords? You wondered. Where does the other one go?
Maybe you would ask him if you ever summed up the courage to do just that. If you could just get your legs to function again. 
In all the time you’d lived on Shell Island you were more than positive you’d never seen someone that looked close to him. Especially someone carrying around three swords or standing with so much purpose. Even as your eyes took him in you could tell he was pretending to be relaxed, but after years of mending bodies, you noticed the tightness between his shoulder blades. The ease he tried to display with a hand resting on the hilt of the sword wasn’t actually resting. Even relaxed, this man was ready to unsheathe those blades and use them at a moment's notice. 
While the idea made you consider him a great swordsman, your heart also ached at the thought of feeling trapped and weary of others' intentions. 
Your thoughts would’ve continued to run wild as you embarrassingly gawked at this stranger and his friends. All of that was ruined, however, when Usopp caught a glimpse of you between orange and green hair. 
“Doc!”
Usopp’s excitement translated to a crazy arm wave and immediately caused all three of his newfound friends to face you. God, this meant you had to get your legs working. You had to physically move closer. You could do that. No problem. 
Taking in a deep breath, you allowed a genuine smile to raise your lips in welcome. Luckily, your feet didn’t betray you as you moved the last few feet. You made a mental note as you got closer that the straw hat was meeting your smile with his own, while the other two regarded you with lackluster enthusiasm. 
Great. They were the grumpy types of people. 
“There you are Usopp,” you began cheerfully. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” 
“You know, Usopp?” Asked straw hat. 
You felt your brow crease in question as your smile wilted at the corners. 
“I would hope so. We’ve known each other since we’ve lived here.”
“Impressive,” mumbled the woman. 
Okay, maybe she wasn’t as friendly as you originally thought, but she was still definitely friendlier than moss hair. Who currently felt like he was drilling holes into your chest. 
“Ugh, Doc I was just going to take these guys to visit, Kaya,” Usopp interjected. 
He was still smiling - always smiling. His eyes darted to the three new faces before landing back at you. 
“Why would you take them to see, Kaya?”
“She owns the shipyard and we-“Straw hat interjected, “Are in need of a ship. That beautiful ship behind us, to be exact.” 
You glanced behind him to the Going Merry. Kaya’s family ship. 
You shot Usopp a questioning glance that you weren’t surprised to see him ignore. He was up to something there was no doubting that. The issue was you weren’t sure what angle he was trying to play. 
“Good luck with that.” 
You did mean it. You didn’t think he was going to get it no matter how good-natured he seemed. That was still a family memory you weren’t sure Kaya would be willing to part with. 
“Thanks!”
“Doc, before I take them over there do you by chance have what I asked for?”
You patted your satchel for good measure before you replied, “That’s why I was looking for you. I have it right here.” 
Usopp took a step towards you, his hand outstretched in waiting for you to deposit the bottle. When you didn’t comply with his request he shot you a look of worry. 
“You do have it right?”
“Yes, Usopp I told you I did. I just want to come with you to check on her myself.”
A look of worry dimmed the mirth in his eyes for one second. If you didn’t know what to look for you would have missed it entirely. You knew he’d been asking you for months to sneak in with him to visit Kaya. His own suspicions began to outweigh the doubt that plagued his heart with every heavy decision that needed to be made. 
Deep down, Usopp knew if you were finally going to answer his request of sneaking in with him, it must be serious. A concept Usopp himself purposely tried to run from often. 
“Wait, you’re a doctor? That is so cool!” 
You needed to learn Straw Hat’s name because he was growing on you fast. 
“I’m no-“
“She’s actually one of the best doctors in the whole East Blue,” Usopp beamed. “She’s cured this small village of at least two possible plague outbreaks twice already.” 
You were willing to bet your eyes were the size of saucers. There was no way any of them would believe that kind of nonsense. There was absolutely no way- 
“Wow, now that is really impressive! Sounds just like somebody who should be a part of my crew-“
“No!”
“We are not a crew!”
The absolute verbal whiplash you just experienced left your head reeling to pick up on every conversation. Straw Hat was practically turning into pure sunshine in front of you, while the other two were glaring like you’d sprouted three heads. 
Geez, what a tough crowd. 
“Ok, wait what?”
“It’s nothing he doesn’t mean anything by it,” the woman replied, a tight smile thinning out her lips. 
“We don’t need someone pretending to play medicine woman to join us.” 
Your eyes narrowed in on the now green-haired monster. He met your cold glance with his own. Whoever - whatever - he experienced in his life meant he didn’t find you the least bit threatening. He regarded you like an annoyance and you found yourself wondering why the universe made all the grumpy ones the most attractive. 
If his lips pouted any harder he was going to have to rent a kissing booth. 
“For your information, I’m not a pretend doctor.”
Whatever he was going to reply with was cut off by Straw hat who quickly pointed at himself. “I’m Luffy, and these are my companions Nami and Zoro.” 
“It’s nice to meet you, Luffy,” you beamed letting them know your name in response. “But most people just refer to me as Doc because of Usopp.” 
Nami clapped her hands together to bring you both back to the matter at hand. Kaya’s medicine. Their boat. 
“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, can we get going? We really should stop by and pay her a visit.” 
“Oh yeah! Come on guys, I can show you the fastest way there.” 
Usopp tossed down his rag and skipped backward to the crate where his own satchel sat. 
“Great! If you guys will kindly follow me this way I can show you something really awesome.” 
You wanted to smack some sense into him. Usopp always wanted to be liked - for people to spend time with him and enjoy it. Besides Kaya and you who humored him with his opulent imagination and ability to spin fables like cotton candy. These people, Luffy excluded, did not deserve his endearing desire for friendship. They were both giving off major chip on their shoulder vibes and you vowed to become an even bigger pain in the ass if they were unnecessarily rude to him. 
They didn’t wait to know if you were joining them or even behind them. They all moved forward to follow Usopp, who was spit-firing a conversation at Luffy who easily seemed to match it with his own charisma. Nami and Zoro trudged behind them both and you brought up the rear. 
You’d hoped at some point Luffy or Usopp would drag you into the conversation. Anything that would keep your wandering eyes from constantly burrowing holes between Zoro’s sculpted shoulders. If you didn’t locate some form of self-control soon, you were positive your brain would be sent spinning into a tangent about how martial arts training with weapons was a godsend. So, looking at your feet for the next few miles would have to suffice. 
It was strange how the world between poverty and the rich was such an overwhelming force. The farther you ventured out past the town and into the privacy of the landscape that kept Kaya’s family home hidden, it was a wonder that anyone would know it was there. 
There were endless strawberry fields that farmers planted on one side and potatoes on the other. Dozens of workers tended to their growth with their hard work and sweat until a wall of bamboo cut off any view. All you could see was an endless path swallowed in bamboo branches making the path more foreboding than you thought necessary. 
When you finally came in through the front gates, their iron and mortar was a welcomed sight. The one thing that wasn’t was that stupid Well you’d grown to hate ever since you almost fell in looking over the side as a child. 
“I’ve never seen a house this big before.” 
Luffy’s admission sent your eyes up from your feet to the large garden entrance. And that damned well that sat like a mockery in the middle of the walkway to the front. 
“It’s impressive, right? Kaya’s given me an open invitation to stop by anytime I want.” 
Your eyes darted over to Usopp who was practically skipping with excitement as he and Luffy made their way over to the well. You wanted him to look at you, but you knew he wouldn’t. If he did, Usopp would only find you looking at him - full of questions - with a look calling him a liar. You would never want him to feel bad. It was never your intention, however, it was going to be more embarrassing if you all got caught and thrown out on your ass than just being honest. 
“Wow. That’s pretty awesome,” Luffy breathed. His face was full of wonder as he continued to take in the large space. “All of this is just for one person?”
“Well…she lives here with a few other staff.”
“Yeah. A bunch of asshole staff,” you grumbled under your breath.
By the way, Luffy and Usopp were hanging over the side of the well - ick - neither of them had heard you. Unfortunately, your fellow rear buddies did. 
“You don’t seem to be a fan of the staff?” Nami ventured. 
You eyed her carefully. She came off friendly enough, but she wasn’t giving anything else away. The small smile on her lips wasn’t reaching her eyes. Instead, they were calculating and waiting for you to give her any information you were willing or unwilling to give. 
Nami was incredibly smart and equally dangerous because of it. 
“They do a lot of suspicious things,” you replied slowly, unsure of how much sharing was too much. 
“I’m sure butlers don’t come harboring life-threatening secrets,” Zoro countered.
His hand shoved in a pocket while the other still rested on the sword. He regarded you the way adults do children making up fairytales. The way the townspeople looked at Usopp like a silly child always crying wolf. They both thought you were being silly, and you wish you could say their disregard didn’t make your chest cave in just a bit, but you never were a good liar. 
“No, maybe butlers don’t,” you countered, “but people do.”
When neither of them showed signs of continuing on with the conversation you started forward following Usopp and Luffy. You didn’t care about whatever conversation Zoro or Nami were having behind you. They could’ve been discussing robbing the place blind for all you could care about. 
You were worried more about the people than the objects inside. 
“If you have an invitation, why are we going through the back way?”
Just tell them, Usopp. 
“Oh, well I never go through the front entrance. This is more of a VIP entrance.”
“This guy is full of shit.”
“Yeah, but if he gets us inside who cares.” 
Why was Luffy the only member of this merry band of misfits who weren’t incredibly grumpy? 
“Usopp,” you called out to him in a warning. 
He gave you a glance over his shoulder before he made his way over the giant lily pads without a reply. 
Little shit, you thought as you realized he was very much choosing to ignore your existence. Did you blame him? Not really. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had humored him this long and you were debating on if you should be the one to crush his newfound hopes and dreams. 
Fortunately for you, you weren’t going to have to be the bad guy in that scenario. One already seemed to exist. 
Just as Usopp reached the second lily pad, you knew something was wrong. The hiccup of an, “Oh,” that came out of him registering as panic. He was already turning back to stop Luffy from coming closer, almost begging him to go to another entrance - an extra special one - when he was interrupted by a knife plunging into the lily pad between his feet. 
A very sharp knife. One you knew could’ve easily severed flesh or nicked an artery. Your blood boiled as you pushed past Luffy, your eyes darting wildly as Buchi stalked towards Usopp who stuttered past a greeting. 
“What the hell are you doing here, Usopp?” He snapped as his hands lurched in to grasp the leather of Usopp’s top. “You know you aren’t welcome here.” 
“I know nothing of the sort. I came to give Kaya an extra-special gift.”
You practically glided past the last lily pad when a sharp hiss cut the air. You didn’t necessarily need to look to see if it was Sham. You knew it was. She stood just off the first step from where they’d been disemboweling the hog, mop at the ready, and her teeth bared directly at you.
“He’s brought the doctor,” she hissed. 
Buchi finally seemed to register your presence from behind Usopp and bared his own teeth in warning. 
“You are definitely not welcome here.”
“A rather odd thing to say to a healer when your mistress seems to be suffering a mysterious illness.”
“An illness we are more than capable of handling.”
“I find that highly doubtful.”
With his hands still holding onto Usopp, Buchi leaned forward to growl - literally growl - in your face like a rabid dog. You wanted to poke him in the eye and were incredibly tempted to do so when a soft voice cut through the tension. 
“Usopp! What a wonderful surprise!”
Everyone’s attention shifted as Kaya made her entrance on the arm of Klahadore. You took a step back and away from the two just so Usopp could twist himself free and walk towards the waiting mistress of the estate. 
“I wouldn’t miss today of all days. Happy birthday, Kaya.”
“You remembered.”
My god, she was practically swooning and Usopp was eating it up. 
“I could never forget.” 
This feels awkward. 
They acted like they didn’t have a captive audience watching them look at each other like two lovestruck teenagers. 
It wasn’t hard to notice how Kaya beamed at him or how that attention brought happiness to Usopp. For as long as you can remember, even as children, Usopp always liked her. Sure, he would play it off as if they were just friends. There was no way she could see him that way, but when Kaya’s parents passed away three years ago what was between them seemed to change. Their feelings became something saturated in an understanding of loss. Usopp knew what Kaya needed because it was something he himself had never truly received. 
So, did it bother you that she actually hadn’t greeted you yet? Not really. What did bother you, however, was the way Klahadore’s eyes slithered over to you. It made you feel like you were going to be sick.
“Usopp. Did you bring the doctor with you?”
Please, let me crawl into a hole and die. 
There was something off about Klahadore. It wasn’t just because he made your skin want to completely crawl off your body. It was the way he sounded every alarm bell in your brain. The way your heart speeds up triggering the fight or flight response that was ingrained in your body's defense system. The way he continued to look at you as if you were a bug that needed to be squashed, only drove the feeling home. 
“Oh, yeah. Kaya, I had Doc make you something for your cough. I figured it might be worth a try.” 
God, he looked so happy. He was completely oblivious to how Klahadore seemed ready to smite you both where you stood. 
You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath. Maybe when you opened them he wouldn’t be staring daggers into your face. 
Nope. No such luck. 
“Oh, that is so incredibly sweet,” Kaya beamed. 
Klahadore slowly set his hand out in front of him. The cold obsidian of his eyes never left your face as he spoke. “Please hand over whatever tonic you’ve acquired for Miss Kaya.”
You weren’t aware your hand was already in the satchel. Your fingers wrapped protectively tight against the cool glass of the bottle as you continued to stare at one another. 
“Hand it over. Please.”
“No-“
Usopp’s hand on your shoulder stopped you cold. Your teeth ground tightly to stop your next words. You didn’t want to hand that asshole anything. Not when Kaya looked so damn pale. 
Something is wrong. 
The thought wormed its way into your brain until it gnawed at all other thoughts until it consumed every available spot. It was all you could think as your eyes continued to look over her frail frame. 
Naan taught you that as a doctor, and as a healer, it was your job to fight for your patients. To always do what you could and what was best for their care. Was giving the medicine you made for Kaya to Klahadore best for her care. 
No. No, it sure as shit didn’t feel like it. 
Maybe that was why it felt like such a betrayal to take the medicine from your bag and drop it inside his gloved hand. You watched as his disgusting white fingers wrapped around the gray bottle and brought it up to rest closely to his chest. 
“Now, Usopp we’ve had this discussion about coming here unannounced - and this time with a doctor.”
“Nonsense, Klahadore,” Kaya interjected. “They are my friends. What a sweet gesture it was, Doc to try and make me something. Usopp, did you come to tell me more stories about your adventures?”
“I can do you one better. I brought some of my crew.”
With a sweep of his arm, Usopp introduced Luffy, Nami, and Zoro who registered this gesture with sheer disbelief. Well, disbelief would be putting it mildly. 
“Is he talking about us?” 
Luffy sounded as confused as you felt. 
“I’m sorry, but we do not have any room for any extra guests tonight, I’m afraid.” 
“Oh please, Klahadore couldn’t they at least stay for dinner? It is my birthday.”
You hated how Kaya had to beg to have company that wasn’t her staff. You could vaguely remember the butler who was in charge before Klahadore had arrived. Mr. Thorburr had been an absolute delight and genuinely seemed to care about Kaya and her family’s wellbeing. If he was still in charge, you were positive he would’ve believed in letting Kaya outside to enjoy the garden or have friends stop by, even unannounced, to visit. 
One day he was just gone and slowly the only staff that was left were these three assholes. It all felt awfully convenient or maybe you were just being petty because you disliked them.
The way Klahadore looked at her made your stomach turn. 
“Anything for you, Miss Kaya.”
You wondered if he choked a little over each word as they traveled up his throat.
“Great!” Luffy shouted. “When do we eat?”
“You don’t. Not dressed like that. You will change and bathe before dinner. No exceptions.”
Everyone was willing to accept the invitation. The premise of a bath seemed enough to make Nami practically skip forward to be led inside by Sham. Your feet, however, refused to move. Usopp, Luffy, and Nami practically took the small stairs up to the patio in one giant leap. Your earlier dread from the day was back and something dark borrowed its way into your chest. 
Something is wrong. 
You were about to turn tail and run when you noticed Zoro stop at the edge of the stairs. His body turned slightly to eye Klahadore one last time before he turned to follow after his crew. It was small and barely lasted a second, but it was enough. 
Zoro noticed something wasn’t right either and maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one to believe you. All you had to do was join him inside the house to talk to him. No biggie. 
Taking in a deep breath you finally moved to follow behind Kaya and Klahadore. Your eyes intently following a particular green-haired swordsman and wondering how you were going to get him alone. 
The showers seemed like a great place to start.
_______________________
As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.
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celestie0 · 14 days
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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]
kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear
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ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)
ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)
ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)
a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it
nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9
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an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33
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The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.
It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach. 
It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.
“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.
Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”
Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.
“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.
Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.
“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”
You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.
“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”
Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”
“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her. 
Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”
You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.
Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”
You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?” 
Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.
“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”
You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.
“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.
Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”
You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.
“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”
You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.” 
Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”
Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.
The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.
“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.
“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”
You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”
He smiles at you.
“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”
You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.
“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long. 
“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.
It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.
“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”
You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”
He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”
You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore. 
A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?
“Yeah, show me.”
Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.
“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.
He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”
“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”
“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”
He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.
A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.
He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”
He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.
“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.
He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”
You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”
“LCD.”
“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”
“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”
He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.
He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.
“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”
“I did? Didn’t even notice.”
You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you. 
“Do you mind it?” he asks.
“No, not really.”
“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”
“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”
He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.
“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights. 
Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”
“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.
You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”
His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.
“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.
He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”
Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.” 
“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you. 
You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.
But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give. 
“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.
He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”
“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”
He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”
You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”
“Feelings about what?”
You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.
He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”
“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.
“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”
You sigh.
“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn’t pathetic as hell.”
“That’s pathetic as hell.”
“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.
You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.
“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”
The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”
He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”
Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”
“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.
“Yeah.”
“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”
Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.
“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.
You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.
“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.
“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”
You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”
“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”
“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”
Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”
It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes. 
“No.”
He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.
“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.
“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.
“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong. 
He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”
You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.
You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”
“Go back where?”
“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”
He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.” 
“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.
“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”
“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”
“I beg your finest pardon?”
You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.
Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”
“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth. 
“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.
“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”
Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.
“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.
“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.
“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”
“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”
Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”
“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.
You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.
“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.
You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.
“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.
“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”
“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.
“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”
You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.
“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck. 
“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”
You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field. 
“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”
Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”
Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.
It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.
“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.
“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.
“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”
You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”
He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”
“D-Distraction?”
“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”
Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.
“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”
You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.
Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”
You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed. 
“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead. 
“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”
There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.
You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.
“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.
“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.
You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.
“Canon? Are you even listening?”
“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.
“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too. 
“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!” 
“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.
You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.
“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.
What the fuck?
Where are you?
Who are you?
Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.
There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.
Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.
“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”
Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.
“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”
You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.
The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.
“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before. 
“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.
“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.
You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”
“You could have a concussion.”
“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”
He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”
“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”
He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.
He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air
“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”
He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.
“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.
“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.
You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck. 
You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”
“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”
You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.
“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.
“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”
You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.
“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.
“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.
“You got hit by a soccer ball.”
“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.
“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.
“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.” 
He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”
“So glad to be in such good hands right now.” 
He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.
“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”
“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.
His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.
“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”
He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.
“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”
You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”
“That’s it?”
“Mhm.”
“Has he tried anything funny with you?” 
You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”
“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”
“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”
His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.
Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.
You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.
Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.
“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”
His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.
“What the fuck was that—”
“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”
“I—”
“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”
He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.
“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.
His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”
He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.
You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess. 
He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”
Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.
2:34pm kaito (work): yo
2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera
2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up
2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?
2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that. 
2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one
2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry
2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one
2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that
2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really
2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement
2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field
2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?
You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.
“Oh, hi,” you say.
“Hey, are you free tonight?”
“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.
“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”
You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”
“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”
You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”
“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”
“We?” you ask.
“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”
Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”
Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”
Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”
“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”
You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair. 
“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.
“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.
You purse your lips together.
“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”
You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.
“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”
“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.
“Alright cool, will do.” 
You say bye, and then he hangs up.
A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.
Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.
“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.
“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”
You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”
He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”
You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”
“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.” 
“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”
Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.” 
You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.
“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.
“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”
“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”
He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”
Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”
Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.
“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”
Your eyes widen as you shake his hand.  “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”
Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”
“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”
You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.
You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.
You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry. 
Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.
Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.
“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.
“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”
Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”
Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”
“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.
“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.
Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”
“Tell me what?” you prod.
“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”
You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”
“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”
You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.
Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”
“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”
You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”
“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”
“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—” 
“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.
You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.
Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.
“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”
You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.
“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.
“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.
“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.
“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”
His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”
You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?
“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.
“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”
“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”
“It sounds shady as fuck.”
“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”
“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.
“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”
His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”
Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does. 
“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.
He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”
You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.
He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”
“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”
He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.
“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”
At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”
“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”
His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”
“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.” 
His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.
“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done. 
He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.
“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.
His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”
“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”
You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”
He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”
His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you. 
Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.
“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”
You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”
Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”
Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”
Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.
Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”
“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.
“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.
A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look. 
“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”
Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”
Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”
Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.
“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”
Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”
You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing. 
“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.
“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”
Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.
“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.
“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”
“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”
“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”
“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.
“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.
“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness. 
Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”
“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.
“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”
“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads. 
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”
Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing. 
“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.
Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.
“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”
“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.
“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.
“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”
“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”
Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused. 
Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”
You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging. 
There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.
Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.
You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.
“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”
Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”
“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”
Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist. 
You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”
Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”
You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.
When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can’t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.
“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”
You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.
Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are searing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.
You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.
“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”
“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”
You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.
But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.
Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.
Strong hands wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”
Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.
“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.
“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”
You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.  
“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”
You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”
His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.
“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”
You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along. 
His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”
Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.
You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”
He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”
“But I do.”
There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.
You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.
He just holds you closer. “I know.”
“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.
He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”
“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.
“I know.”
--
a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me 😭 and by beta read i mean left the funniest fucking comments everywhere and i will forever remember how hard i laughed 🤣 i adore u sm thank you <33 SHES ALSO A WRITER TOO GO CHECK HER OUT on ao3 she is an amazinggg writer there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!
➸ you're all caught up!
➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here
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taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog
(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)
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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 2 months
Text
Everybody Hurts
Chapter 23
Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader
Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.
18+ Only for eventual smut
Last chapter: 01/31
Word Count: 7.8K
Masterlist
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22
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You pulled off into the grass in front of Eddie’s uncle’s trailer. The small driveway was already filled to capacity with the monstrous truck and the oversized van. Your eyes roamed over the small dwelling with trepidation, wondering once again why in the hell you'd agreed to this, why you were the one who was coming to talk to him. Anyone else had to be a better option than you. 
You'd only known each other a little over a month. Eddie clearly didn’t trust you yet, at least not completely. He definitely didn’t trust you enough to tell you what was haunting him night after night. What would make any of them think that he would be open to spilling his innermost thoughts and fears with you? What could possibly make them believe that you would be the one to get through to him? 
Your arms came to rest on top of the steering wheel, forehead pressed against them as you tried to muster up enough courage to get out of the damn car. Because the minute you did so, the moment the two of you came face-to-face, Eddie was presented with the opportunity to end things, to tell you it was over. If you just stayed in the safety of this car, this little car that he’d so sweetly fixed up for you, then you could stay ignorant. If he didn’t get the chance to end things, then you remained in limbo. 
And you were convinced that was exactly what he would do if given the chance. How many times had he reiterated that the two of you were a bad idea? He was going to run from you as fast and as far as he could, convinced that he didn’t deserve this, didn’t earn the right to be happy, that he was doomed for the rest of his life because of circumstances beyond his control. How would you ever get him to see how wrong he was? What could you say or do to show him how very much he not only deserved happiness, but the entire world?
In such a short time, Eddie had elicited feelings within you, feelings that were stronger and deeper than anything you'd ever felt before. A veritable roller coaster of intense emotions that came out of nowhere and swept you off her feet. It was a wild ride, one you couldn’t stop whether you wanted to or not. If someone would have asked you a few months ago if it was possible to fall in love with someone in just a few weeks, you would have laughed in their face but here you were, completely head over heels.
And that was the problem, that was why you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of this car. Because, ridiculous though it may be, you were already in too deep. The waves were crashing over your head, you didn’t know up from down, swirling in the mass of darkness that was Eddie. The very thought of him ending things, of never looking into those whiskey depths you wanted to drown in, of never running your fingers through those delicious waves, of never being held in those deceivingly strong arms, knocked the wind right out of you. You had already suffered one heartbreak and you'd survived. But you weren't sure if you would make it through losing Eddie. 
How could losing a relationship that lasted thirteen years possibly hurt less than one that had been going on for a few weeks? You didn’t know. There wasn’t a single rational explanation for it. You could never put it into words because you didn’t understand it yourself but there it was. Losing Eddie would hurt worse than losing Cam ever had and whether it was crazy or not, it was the truth. 
Jesus Christ. What were you going to do? What were you going to say? You had been racking your brain the entire ride over here, trying to think up some magic words that would make Eddie see how wrong he was, how wrong this town was. A guy like him didn’t belong in a small town like this, where the people were small-minded, ignorant, set in their antiquated ways of thinking. It wasn’t his fault that he was surrounded by people who couldn’t look beyond clothes and hair to see the good person underneath it all. 
He wasn’t a monster. Eddie Munson was the farthest thing from a monster you could find. He was soft, sweet, nerdy, empathetic, and thoughtful. He put on this armor that was him being a jerk to try to protect himself but that’s all it was, just a thin shell he used to keep people out. Underneath all of that, he was just a little boy that wanted to be loved, that wanted to matter, that wanted acceptance. Was that really such an awful thing to want?
A light rapping on your car window had you jumping with a shriek. Hands clutching your chest, you looked over to see Uncle’s Wayne’s weathered face, a kind smile, and amused eyes peering at you. He chuckled softly, holding both hands up. You released a slow breath of embarrassment at having been startled so easily, reaching for the handle and cranking the window down. 
“Sorry ‘bout that sweetheart. I didn’t mean to startle you or nothing. I just happened to step out for a smoke and saw you sitting in here with your head down. I waited for a bit but when you weren’t getting out, I started to get a bit worried. You okay?”
“Yeah. I actually came to talk to Eddie.”
“Well, you’ll have to get out of that car if you want to do that because I can tell you right now, he ain’t coming out here. I’ve been trying to talk some sense into him all morning but that boy is more stubborn than a damn mule. He don’t want to listen to nothing.”
“Well, then maybe I should just head home. If he’s not listening to you, he’s definitely not going to listen to me.”
Wayne straightened, taking a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes moving to the trailer and then back to you, “Now, I don’t know about that. I have a feeling my nephew might be more inclined to listen to his pretty girlfriend than his old uncle. He’s convinced I don’t know what I’m talking about, like he’s the first one to be tarnished with the name Munson in this town.”
“You too? I guess I just thought that people thought that stuff about him because of his dad.”
“Yeah, well, where do you think my brother learned it?” A long plume of smoke fell from his lips, his hip coming to lean on the side of the car. “My dad was a thief. Cars just like my brother. He’d sell them to this guy at a chop shop for the parts. He taught us how to hotwire at a young age. Well, one day he stole the wrong car off the wrong guy. This guy happened to keep a pistol under his seat and caught my dad right between the eyes.”
“Oh my god…I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
Wayne shrugged, “Well, when you choose the criminal life, you choose the consequences that come with that. Anyway, my mom struggled being all on her own. She worked two jobs just to make ends meet but we still got evicted from our house. She bought a trailer in this shitty park because it’s what she could afford and that’s where we grew up. Don’t think the kids in this place were any nicer then than they are now.”
“Are they ever?”
“True. We were the trailer park trash, you know. Our mom had to shop at thrift stores so we were always wearing whatever she could get for cheap. It was often too big so we could wear it for a while before she had to buy more. Sometimes our stuff had holes she’d try to mend or stains she hadn’t been able to get out in the wash. We always packed our lunch. Nothing fancy. Just some bologna on Wonder Bread. Maybe some pretzels if she could swing it. But those kids teased us something fierce. White trash, trailer park trash, Oliver Twist, bums…and the shit they said about our mom…” He sighed, shaking his head, those kind eyes saddened as painful memories revisited him. “Anyway, my brother refused to live that life anymore. He swore he would make himself a bunch of money and get out of here. But then he met Ed’s mom and she got pregnant. I tried to tell him that he needed to grow up and get his shit together, to be a father, someone his son could be proud of. But he had it in his head that the only way to make his son proud was to make lots of money. Clearly, he didn’t learn anything because he went down the same exact path our dad had. And then Ed’s mom…it was just too hard for her. She wasn’t strong like my mom. I tried to help her but she was too far gone. She couldn’t…I’ll never forgive myself for letting that boy see the things he did.”
“That’s not your fault,” you assured him, your hand slipping through the window to rest on the older man’s arm. “Eddie told me you tried to take him but she wouldn’t let you. There was nothing you could do without going through the proper channels. You could have wound up in jail if you’d just taken him. Even if it would have been the best thing for him, it would still have been kidnapping.”
“Yeah. I know. But I knew she was heading down a dark road. I knew he wasn’t safe. I went and talked to a lawyer but money was tight for me too, you know? It wasn’t a fast road because I had to save a bit up so I could afford the fees. I just wasn’t fast enough.”
“You saved him. Eddie thinks the world of you. You’re the one person who has always been there for him, who has always had his back, who has always believed in him. You’re everything to him. That’s why I don’t think he’ll listen to anything I say. If he won’t listen to you, he’s definitely not going to listen to me.”
“Now, I don’t know about that,” Wayne countered, tossing his Marlboro on the ground before grinding it down with his foot. “You’ve brought about a change in my boy, a change I haven’t seen in too long. To be frank, a change that means more to me than just about anything in this world. He’s been unhappy…hell, he’s not even been living since all that nonsense with those murders. He’s just been going through the motions for a long time. Ever since he saw that girl die and this town wasted no time accusing him for it, he’s not been the same. Ed was sad for a long time after his mom but he always had this…this spark about him, I guess. He was animated. Boy could not tell a story without his hands getting involved in the telling too. He was loud as hell, always playing on that guitar or yelling about something, talked a mile a minute, that kid. I had trouble keeping up half the time. He could be downright obnoxious. Back then I would have given anything for him to be quiet for just a little while. But after everything, I would have sold my soul to get that rowdy kid back. You did that.”
“I didn’t do anything, not really,” you insisted, shaking your head. Your fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, gripping it tight as a shadow moved behind the curtain in the trailer. Eddie. He was right there, so close, and your body pulled toward him, compelling you to go to him but you stayed rooted in your seat, your fear winning. 
“Don’t sell yourself short there, darling. I saw it from the moment he brought you here to look at that old car. Which, by the way, he did a hell of a job on. I hardly recognized it. Took me a moment to realize who was sitting outside my place. But the way he looked at you, I ain’t never seen that boy look at anything like that before, not even that damn guitar and his eyes lit up like firecrackers when he opened that thing.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes, your hand coming up to nervously brush your hair behind your ear, “Now I know you��re seeing things because he was mad at me that day. I asked if this was where he grew up and he got bristly, expecting me to judge him.”
“No. He got bristly because he liked you and he feared you’d look down on him like everyone else once you knew his past. That boy looked at you like you were the sun, like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. I knew you were something special right then.”
“I don’t think that’s…”
Wayne held up his hand, skin worn from years of hard labor just inches from your face, “You need to stop thinking so hard. I’ve known that boy his whole life and I know what I saw. Ed hasn’t ever brought a girl around here. Trust me. You’re something special and a girl like that, when a man feels a certain kind of way about her, that girl can convince him to do just about anything.” Grabbing onto the handle, Wayne pulled open the car door. “So, you think you’re ready to go in there and give it a shot? Maybe do what I couldn’t? I’d sure appreciate it.”
Blue eyes that you just couldn’t bring yourself to disappoint begged you to try. You had two choices. You could tell him no, drive out of here, and hope someone else reached Eddie. But what would he think if you just avoided him? Would he assume that you didn’t want him? That you believed all that bullshit about him? No. You couldn’t let him think that. 
So, choice number two it was. You had to push back all the fear of what could happen, walk into that trailer, and tell him who he was. Tell him the man you saw, the man you wanted, the man you loved. Maybe you didn’t use that word just yet. The man had enough scares for a lifetime in the last twenty-four hours. Your irrationally intense feelings could wait. No reason to make him leave an Eddie shaped hole in the side of the trailer as he tried to run from your insanity. 
“Alright,” you finally said softly. “I’ll try but I’m not making any promises.”
“Not asking you to, but listen.” His hand came to rest on your shoulder, even more lines appearing on his forehead as he furrowed his brow. “Don’t you let my nephew push you away, okay? He’s gonna try. I know he is because he’s just as stubborn as I am. But he don’t mean a damn word of whatever bullshit he’s going to spout at you about why you shouldn’t be with him. He’s gonna think it’s for your own good. But if you care for him the way I think you do, push right back.”
You gave him a tight lipped smile, your hand covering his, “That’s the plan.”
“You in this for the long haul, honey?”
“I’d like to be. Eddie…” Your lips pressed together, wet emotion clinging to your lashes. “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about him and I was with my ex for a long time. I can’t explain it. I know it’s nuts. We haven’t known each other that long but I…well, I am crazy about him. And I don’t want to lose him.”
“Then don’t and nothing you said is crazy. Maybe that other guy, your ex, wasn’t the one you were supposed to be with. Maybe your heart just recognized the person who completed it when it saw him. Maybe it looked and went, this is what was missing. Because, I gotta tell you, I think you’re what was missing for my boy.”
You grinned, teeth showing, at the older man’s words. You'd never thought of it like that. Could that be how it worked? Cam clearly had not been the right choice. If he had been, he wouldn’t have strayed because you would have been enough for him. Could it be that something within you, your heart or soul or whatever it was, saw him and went, oh there you are. It recognized him, as if he were the piece that it needed to be complete. Could that be why your feelings for him were so strong, so fast?
“He’s definitely the piece I’ve been missing,” you told him. 
“Then maybe it’s time you tell him that,” Wayne called over his shoulder as he ambled toward his truck, pulling open the door and climbing up into the driver’s seat. 
“Where are you going?”
“Well, damndest thing, I just remembered that 8 Ball is almost out of cat food. Think I would have thought of that earlier.”
Throwing you a wink, his hand giving a short wave out of the window, elbow resting on the frame, Wayne backed out and drove away, leaving you standing in front of the trailer. There was no way he just randomly decided to get cat food. He was trying to give you some privacy for this conversation with Eddie. Maybe he just didn’t want to be there when Eddie crushed you or lost his shit on you for being too pushy. Either way, you were on her own now. 
Taking a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever outcome awaited you, you turned to face the trailer. A long shadow appeared behind the curtain, disappearing and reappearing just as quickly, an anxious body pacing. Would that anxiety cause him to push you away, to get rude and nasty the way he’d done so many times? Maybe but there was no turning back now. You'd given Wayne your word and something about that man would not let you go back on it. You didn’t want to disappoint him. 
Slow steps up to the door. Step. Inhale. Step. Exhale. Step. Inhale. Step. Exhale. You could do this. You could be what Eddie needed you to be. You could make him see. You knew all the facts now. You knew what he’d been through. No more secrets. No walls between them, concealing everything that was hurting him. He could talk openly to you about everything he’d been through and you could listen. You could be whatever he needed you to be, do whatever he needed you to do. 
Raising your hand, you knocked on the door gently but firmly. You barely got in one knock before the door was wrenched open, revealing the face you'd been longing to see ever since the moment he’d been led away from you in the jail. 
“The door wasn’t locked, old man,” Eddie began, stopping when he realized the person knocking was not his uncle. His head dropped, fingers gripping the frame of the door, a soft groan escaping his lips, letting you know he was less than pleased to find you there. “Prom Queen, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m here because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
His bottom lip was swollen, his tongue playing over the scab from where it had been split. His eye was a dark shade of violet along with his cheek. A butterfly bandage sat over his eyebrow where the skin had also been split in the fight with Andy. 
You stepped toward him, your hand reaching for his face, every part of you aching to comfort him. As if this man needed any more scars or injuries. You were pretty sure the bats and the freaky science fiction shit that you'd just learned about had given him more than his fair share. But as you opened your arms, needing to feel him close to you, he took a step back, his hands held out as if fending you off. 
There it was, a physical barrier to match the invisible one he was quickly assembling around his heart. Armor to keep you out, to protect himself from getting hurt again. But the last thing that you wanted to do was hurt him. All you wanted was to make every single injury, both internal and external, better. You wanted to heal every bruise. To give him something good, something that he deserved, probably more than most after what he’d been willing to sacrifice to save a town that hated him. 
“Eddie, please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t shut me out,” you pleaded, your hands dropping to your sides as you stepped into the trailer and closed the door behind you. Maybe he could shut down on you but he wasn’t going to make you leave, not until you'd had your say. “Don’t put up that wall again. Don’t tell me that we shouldn’t be together.”
“Are you kidding me?” he scoffed, hair tumbling around his shoulders as he shook his head with annoyance. “Princess, are you delusional? I attacked a man. I would have killed Andy if Harrington hadn’t stopped me. I was headed to jail, which is probably where I belong. I mean, it is what us Munsons do. It’s where this whole town figured I would end up, anyway.”
“You don’t belong in jail, Eddie.”
“Then where does a monster belong?”
You leapt at him, grabbing onto both of his arms, the warmth of his biceps seeping through the thin cotton, heating your palms. You felt your entire body relax just a bit, relieved to finally have him close enough to touch. 
He jerked and then stopped, two pairs of eyes so full of pain that you could drown in it. He was drowning in it, drowning in all the doubts he’d ever had about himself that had been thrust to the surface. A man who struggled to believe there was anything good in him after so many years of being told there wasn’t. 
“You are not a monster,” you stated, trying to convey how much you believed that with your eyes. “You are a good man. You would not have killed Andy. I know you wouldn’t have. He’s been tormenting you for years. He grabbed me. You reacted because you were defending me, defending yourself. Years of torment and pain took over in that moment and nobody can blame you for that. If this town knew what you’d done for them, none of them would have a bad thing to say about you.”
Eddie’s head tipped, eyes narrowing, sweet little lines appearing between his eyebrows, “What do you know about it?”
“Everything,” you told him, feeling like a ten ton truck had been removed from your chest, no longer being crushed under all the secrets, all the information you didn’t have. It was a barrier that had been removed from between them. “After you got arrested, everyone talked and decided that I needed to know what had happened. All of it.”
“All of it?” he questioned, disbelief etched within his features. 
“I think so. I know about the lab, Eleven’s powers, the Upside Down, the Mind Flayer, Vecna, how you saved everyone with your guitar playing skills, how you put yourself at risk to give them more time.” You swallowed hard, your last words coming out as a sob. “How you almost died…”
“Then you know that I ran,” he spat angrily, pulling his arms from your grip, pacing across the room. A shaky hand rested on top of his head. “I saw Chrissy and I ran. I didn’t stay to help. I got scared. I was a goddamn coward. I’m still a coward. I can’t even sleep without being terrified by my nightmares. That was how he got you, you know? Vecna. I never saw him. He killed Chrissy in her mind. And then Patrick…how do you hide or protect yourself from someone who can access your damn mind?”
“Eddie,” you urged, taking a step toward him. As your hand landed on his shoulder, he jumped, lurching away from you. “Anyone would have ran. That doesn’t make you a coward. If I watched someone get plastered to the ceiling and their limbs started snapping I would run. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”
“What credit? You think Harrington would have run? Hell, you think Henderson would have? No. Harrington got pulled into the lake by those damn vines and Wheeler and Buckley dove right in after him. No hesitation. They put their lives on the line because he needed help. And Henderson? He jumped through that gate, hurting himself, to come and find me. He didn't think twice about those bats. He just came to save the day.”
“And according to him, you cut those sheets and raced out to distract the bats so the others could end Vecna. Eddie, how can you not see that’s the same damn thing? You risked your life, you almost died, to protect all of them! This town couldn’t be more wrong about you.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not…I’m not good, okay?”
“No. You’re perfect.”
“Goddamn it! No I’m not! I told you when this whole thing started that being with me was a mistake. I tried to be a dick so you’d stay away from me. I fought it because you…you’re too good. You’re beautiful and you’re smart and you’re sweet. You’re a fucking teacher. You are a blindingly bright light and I am the darkness that will drag you down. You don’t deserve this shit.”
“This isn’t a mistake! Stop saying it’s a mistake!”
“Why?” He spun, chest heaving, soft brown eyes as dark as a moonless sky. “It is and the sooner you see that, the better off you'll be. Hell, the better off I’ll be. Because one day, maybe not today, maybe not next week. Hell, maybe not even next month, but one day, you are going to look around and realize that this was one giant fucking mistake in your life. That I am a mistake and then you’ll leave and it will be what’s best for you. I won’t even be able to be mad at you but I…”
 “You’ll what?”
Eddie closed his eyes and when they opened, there was the man you knew, the man you'd fallen for. Sweet chocolate brown gazed at you, like two windows into his soul, a soul that was fighting for its life right now between what it wanted and what it thought was right.
“I’ll never recover,” he admitted softly. “There won’t be any getting over you. I’ve never…I’ve never had a real relationship, princess. No one has ever wanted me like you do. No one has ever looked at me like you do.”
“And how is that?”
“Like I matter. Like I’m worth something.”
“You are worth something and you do matter. And I’m not going anywhere. Eddie, you are not a mistake. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. With you…with you, I feel things I didn’t even know were possible. You’re everything. You’re worth everything to me and you can push all you want but I am going to push right back.”
“What if I just end things?” he challenged.
“Is that what you want?”
“Sweetheart…”
“No. If you can look me in the face and tell me that you don’t want to be with me, then I will leave right now and I will never bother you again. But if you can’t…why are you fighting this so hard? I don’t care about your past. I mean, I do, but only because I want to be there for you. I want to be the one to soothe you out of your nightmares. I want to be the person you talk to when the shit in your head gets to be too much. I want to kiss every scar, ice every bruise, and clean every cut. I want to be here. I want you.”
“Why?”
It was such a simple question. One syllable, three letters, but the answer was anything but. Three words, eight letters…but the weight behind them was so heavy. The potential for how wrong everything could go if you said them was a train bearing down on you, you standing on the tracks, watching it come, waiting for the impact that would crush you. 
But you had to say it. You had to make him see how much he meant to you. So, you braced yourself for collision. Your eyes squeezed shut as if you could keep it from happening if you just couldn’t see it. 
“Because I love you.”
Silence. You stood, eyes closed, a boulder the size of a house sitting in your stomach. Was he going to laugh at you? Say how could you even say that when it hadn’t been that long? That you were just starting to date, to get to know each other? Would he tell you to get out?
Then large hands, metal rings cool against your flushed cheeks, cradled your face gently between them. Your eyes fluttered open to find Eddie looking down at you, his swollen lips curved up slightly on the side into the softest smile, those pools of chocolate melting right down, slipping between all the crevices within you. His head tilted forward, soft ends of his waves tickling the curve of your cheek. 
“Say that again,” he implored, fingers wrapping around your jaw, thumb coasting over your bottom lip. 
You swallowed down the fear that had risen up at your declaration, whispering, “I love you. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s too soon. I probably sound insane and I am not trying to scare you and I don’t expect you to say it back. I just…I realized it yesterday. I mean, I think I knew before that but I ignored it because…totally insane, right?”
“Prom Queen.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
Hands wrapped around your hips as his lips slammed into yours just before he pulled back, hissing, covering his mouth and yelling, “Son of a bitch!”
“Your lip!” you shrieked, fingers prying his hand away to reveal his lips bleeding fresh, the skin split anew. 
“It’s fine. It’s fine,” he grumbled. 
“No, it’s not. Here. Hang on.”
You walked over to the small kitchen, opening drawers until you found one that had a few kitchen towels. Pulling one out, you ran it under the cold water in the sink for a bit before carrying the blue checked cloth back to Eddie. 
“Let me see,” you commanded.
“I said it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Stop being so damn stubborn for one minute and just let somebody help you,” you huffed, stepping in front of him. You brushed his hair back from his face, gently applying the cold, wet cotton to the spot on his lip. Blood was running, a little red river, down over his chin. Using the dry part of the towel, you dabbed that off before it ruined his white shirt. “There. Is that better?”
Eddie’s eyes rolled upwards as he nodded, “Yeah.”
“See? You know, there’s nothing wrong with admitting that you need a little help every now and then. Especially when you have people who want to help.”
“It’s not that. I just…ugh!” Eddie huffed, taking the towel from you. Holding it to his lip with one hand, he took your hand in the other, leading you over to the couch. He sat, tugging you down with him. 
“What?”
“We had this really important moment and I fucking ruined it with my stupid lip. I just wanted to…look, I’m not great with words but I make up for it with my hands.”
A shiver raced along your spine because he was not lying. That man could write sonnets with his hands, he could write epic tales with his fingers, and compose complete novels with that mouth. An endless adventure that had you craving more, turning page after page until the sun rose because you just needed what happened next.
“I wanted to show you…you know? How I feel?”
Your body twisted toward him, arm resting along the back of the couch, head tilted in interest. You'd confessed that you were in love with him and no, he didn’t have to say it back. The only thing worse than him not feeling the same way you did was for him to lie and pretend he did. But you couldn’t help the desire burning within you to know exactly how he did feel about you. 
“I’m listening.”
“I…well, you know, you’re…I mean, I’ve never…” He groaned, head rocking back against the couch, free hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never had…no one’s ever looked at me like you do. I’ve hooked up with plenty of girls but it never meant anything, you know? I was just getting my dick wet and…fuck, why is this so hard? Why am I saying that to you? Jesus H. Christ.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” you assured him, fingers dancing over the back of the couch, slipping along his shoulder to his neck, your palm pressing against the side of it. No, you absolutely did not want to hear about Eddie getting his dick wet with anyone but you also knew talking openly about how he felt was foreign to him. So, you weren't going to comment on that, to give him any reason to shut down on you. “You’re doing fine, baby. It’s just me and you.”
“I know. I don’t know why it’s so hard to just say the fucking words but I’ve never said them to anybody who wasn’t my uncle or Henderson, but I mean I thought I was dying. Not that I don’t love the little shrimp but it’s just not something I throw around. It’s never gotten me anywhere, you know? My dad never said that shit. Men don’t get all emotional. And my mom, she did but then she was gone and…it should be easy. They’re just words, right? But they’re not just words. Those words are everything and once you say them there is no taking them back. And if you say them and everything goes to shit, then it sucks so much more. That’s why it was always easy because I never felt that for any girl I was with. Even some of the girls that lasted a few weeks. Never and now it feels fucking impossible to just tell you and I want to tell you. I want you to know.”
“Eddie…” you said softly, your heart bouncing around in your chest like a pinball machine. Could he mean what you thought he meant? Did you dare allow yourself to believe it?
His body rocketed forward as he sat up, tossing down the dish towel, his hands grabbing onto your face. He held onto you as if you were going to disappear, turning to dust in his fingers, as if you were a balloon that he was desperate to keep from floating away into the clouds. 
“I feel like that too,” he whispered, his words urgent. “I…you know, that thing you said. Me too. I mean, you’re right. It’s nuts. We’ve only known each other for a handful of weeks and yes, I just knew. I knew it was you. I knew that this wasn’t just some way to get my rocks off for a bit. This wasn’t some girl who just wanted a taste of the dark side for a few weeks. But I have nothing to compare it to because I’ve never felt this. I wasn’t married. Hell, I haven't had a relationship last for longer than two months. So, is it that crazy?”
“Is what crazy?” you urged, knowing it was hard for him but needing him to say it. You needed those words like you needed your next breath. You needed to know if you were in this alone, if you were insane for feeling the way you did, or if he felt it too.
“Me…you know…”
“I don’t know.”
Eddie groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against yours, fingers slipping into your hair, cradling the back of your head. Your eyes slipped closed, breathing him in, swearing you could hear the sound of his heart beating in time with your own, thunderous and purposeful, like a herd of horses racing down the beach. 
“Damn it, sweetheart. You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
“I need to hear the words, Eddie,” you pleaded, fingers grabbing the white cotton of his shirt, twisting it. “If you really feel it, I need to hear it. I promise you, you’re safe with me.”
“But what if you decide to go? What if you realize, like everyone else in this town, that I’m not worth it? That you could do better? What if you don’t have the energy to deal with what’s broken inside of me? I’m exhausting, sweetheart. Even my friends will tell you that.”
“Eddie, I am not going anywhere.” Your lips pressed against the side of his mouth, tender, careful not to touch his freshly split lip. “I could never do better than you because, I think, the reason I fell for you so hard, so fast, is because something in me recognized you. It recognized that you were the thing it was missing. Eddie, I have never felt with Cam even a fraction of the things I feel when I’m with you.”
“Well, we already established that he sucks in the sack.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you chuckled, one hand slipping underneath his shirt, resting over his heart. “I’m talking in here. My heart somehow knew you. It sounds nuts. I know. But something in you made my heart go, there he is. That’s the one we’ve been waiting for. You’re not getting rid of me. I already told you, you can push all you want but I am going to push right back even harder. I’ll knock you on your ass if I have to.”
His nose traced over yours, over your cheekbone, until his lips were resting right neck to your ear, “I love you. Fuck, I am so in love with you and it scares the shit out of me.”
One hand still pressed to his chest, the other cradled his cheek, your insides going warm when he turned and nuzzled into it. You leaned into him, lips pressing gentle kisses to every inch of skin that wasn’t bruised or split open. You felt as his heartbeat slowed, the tension slowly easing from his body, relaxing under your touch. 
“Don’t be scared of me,” you breathed, your cheek rubbing against his and then he was cradling your arm, bringing your wrist to his mouth, his lips pressing lightly against it. 
“I’m not scared of you,” murmured Eddie, lips moving over your forearm, along your bicep, featherlight ticklish kisses, as much pressure as his mouth could handle. “I’m scared of hurting you. I’m scared of not being the kind of man you deserve. I’m scared of losing you, of what I would become if you left, of what I would do to keep you.”
“You won’t hurt me,” you managed, struggling when those lips reached your neck, fingers skimming over the skin just above your waistband. “I’m not scared of you. I’ve never been scared of you. I know you won’t hurt me.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping it, whimpering when his tongue ran up the column of your throat. “You do deserve me. You’re more than I deserve, my real life superhero.” Your body trembled when that tongue slid up to your ear, teeth catching your earlobe. “And you’re not going to lose me. I’m yours, hopelessly and completely yours.”
“Princess, those are very dangerous words,” he growled against your ear, that hand trailing ever higher until he grazed the underside of your breast. “Because I’ve never had anything that was truly mine.”
“Well, I am,” you whimpered when his thumb ran over the hardened peak of your nipple. 
Eddie leaned forward, his body pressing into you, forcing you onto your back on the couch. His hands came to either side of your head, that face, so beautiful even bruised and bloody, hovering just inches from yours. Brown eyes, dark with something dangerous and promising burned into you, setting your entire body ablaze, turning you into a pile of ash. 
“You’re sure you want that?” he challenged, fingers working at the button on your shorts, hand slipping under your waistband, cupping your heat. “Because if you’re mine, I am never letting you go.” He pushed your panties to the side, two thick fingers pressing into you, your entire body clenching around him. “Fuck. If you’re mine, you’re only mine. I don’t like to share, sweetheart. Never been good at it. You are everything I never thought I could have.” Those fingers curled within you, your back arching, fighting through the haze of pleasure to focus on his words. “You’re everything that I want. You’re the first thing that has made me truly happy in…forever.” His thumb brushed over your clit and you bit down on your lip, hips rocking up to meet his hand. “I won’t give that up easily. I would burn this fucking world to the ground before I lose you.”
“Yes…fuck yes. I want that. I want you,” you groaned, each word a gasp. His words and his touch worked in tandem to send you flying toward the edge, teetering as you looked down at the vast drop before you that was inevitable. 
“Thank fuck,” he rasped, “because I want you. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life. You mine, baby?”
“Yes. Yours. I’m yours…” you whined, thighs trembling, toes at the edge, rocks tumbling down, the wind pushing at your back. 
“Good. That’s my girl. Now come for me, baby.”
And with those words, a softly spoken command, you tumbled over the side, plunging into the unknown. You cried out, fingers digging into the muscles of his back, your body arching into him as your orgasm took over your body. Every inch of you shook with the force of it while Eddie worked you through it. 
“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, nuzzling your face gently. “Mine. My girl.”
“Yours,” you mumbled in agreement, your body ice cream that was melting into the sidewalk on a warm sunny day, incapable of rearranging itself into a formed shape again as you sunk into the couch. “I love you.”
He grinned, wide and goofy, the skin on his lip pulling. “Son of a bitch. I love hearing you say those words. Say it again.”
“I love you,” you repeated with a giggle.
“Again.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” you yelled.
“I love you,” he said back and then you were both grinning like the lovestruck idiots that you were.
“So, while I am happier than a fox in a henhouse to hear you two yelling how much you love each other,” came a voice from the other side of the door, “I am back and I am going to open the door in about two minutes. So, if any clothing needs putting back on, consider this fair warning so none of us got to be embarrassed about anything.”
Your eyes widened as you looked up at Eddie, both of them breaking into fits of giggles as you struggled to get your shorts back on before Uncle Wayne came barging through the door. The door opened just as you were sitting up on the couch, Eddie’s arm slung casually around your shoulder, feigning an innocence you didn’t have.
Wayne raised an eyebrow, looking at them both, “Don’t you both have homes you could be doing all the naked stuff in? I thought my days of walking in on Eddie’s bare ass were long gone.”
Eddie leaned to the side, tilting his ass toward you as he looked down at it and then back at his uncle, “My ass is fully covered, thank you.”
“Mmmhmm, and I am sure all clothing was in its proper place before I walked in.”
Eddie shrugged, “I mean…no promises but seriously. How often did you ever walk in on me and a girl?”
“You didn’t need no girl to be naked, boy. I walked in on you playing guitar in your birthday suit one time. You seemed to be allergic to clothing. That boy would strip down whenever he could. Just sitting at the kitchen table, stark nude, munching on a bowl of Honeycomb. Argued with me because he wanted to sleep naked. Not in my house, he wasn’t.”
You pressed your lips together in amusement, “Really?”
“I mean, look, sometimes it’s just nice to feel a breeze down there, you know? The Scottish have the right idea with those kilts. Little Eddie doesn’t like confinement. It’s like girls with bras.”
“I don’t think you can compare a bra with basic pants and underwear,” you teased. 
“So, I am assuming, based on what I heard and what I can surmise happened in here, that this girl was able to talk some sense into you?”
“She might have,” Eddie smirked. “She’s a bit stubborn like that.”
Wayne scoffed, “Hmm. Well, then you are two peas in a pod. Ain’t nobody more stubborn than you.”
“Oh come off it, old man. Says the guy who refuses to go to the doctor for anything.”
“I don’t need to pay some quack for the common cold.”
“It was pneumonia!” Eddie argued. 
“Whatever. Now, don’t you two have a house you could choose that isn’t mine? Not that I don’t appreciate the visit but I would be mighty grateful for my chair and some quiet time to watch my programs. It’s Saturday night, you know.”
“Oh shit. We’re interrupting his Walker, Texas Ranger. That’s a sin in this place.”
You grinned, “Sorry Wayne. We’ll get out of your hair, okay?”
“What hair?” snorted Eddie.
“Boy, you ain’t too old for me to put across my knee,” warned Wayne. “Don’t you be insulting my hair just because you have a beehive on that head.”
Eddie gasped, his hands coming up to his dark locks, “Beehive? This is no beehive. This is a majestic mane that deserves respect.”
You snorted, earning an offended glare from Eddie. Laughing, you took his hand in yours, “Enjoy your show, Wayne.”
“Thank you.”
As they headed out of the trailer, you asked, “Your place or mine?”
“I don’t care as long as you’re there with me.”
And your heart fluttered because you felt the same exact way. You didn’t care where you were as long as this man was next to you. 
Chapter 24
Taglist
@tlclick73@bebe07011@eddiesguitarskills@witchwolflea@nailbatanddungeon@emilyslutface@fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes@corrodedcoffincumslut@mmunson86@josephquinnsfreckles@katethetank @cannibalsforbreakfast @cheesewritings @bellalillyrose @seatbacksandtraytables
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soundbluster · 2 months
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One Shall Rise, Epilogue, Part 13
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kraviolis · 10 months
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whats the longest fanfic you've ever read
i need to know the longest fic y'all have ever read bcus i just saw someone say the longest they read was only 200k and it fucking BAFFLED me
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mariipun · 8 months
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Some Sunny Day
Warnings: N/A, Fluff
Word Count: 1,671
Brief Description: Welcome Home Bakery AU. Wally Darling x GN!Reader. Reader/self-insert. You are learning how to bake, but don’t know where to start. Not wanting to be a nuisance, you’ve begun watching from outside the local bakery café’s window as Wally took notice.
[Characters belong to Clown, aka, partycoffin]
Dedication: @satanic-witchcraft (Inspired by their Bakery AU, although it’s extremely loosely based /I just love the aesthetic/. Just a fanfic I wrote because I dreamt about this scenario lol)
.
.
It first began on a warm Tuesday afternoon.
You stood there outside, writing in a yellow-covered journal as you watched through the window of the bakery café; the blue-haired man glancing up at you every so often as he kneaded the dough. At one point, the both of you had made eye contact and he watched as you smiled. You pointed toward his motions and then pointed at your book with a slight tilt of your head as if asking permission to take notes.
Wally nodded, a smile of his own forming on his lips in return before going back to work on evenly distributing the dough. You continued to take notes, sometimes carefully mimicking some of his movements in the air as if committing to memory the way the dough needed to be handled. You’d be there for about an hour before placing your journal into your satchel, tucking the pencil behind your ear, and waving goodbye. Wally simply grinned, nodding in reply as you walked away.
This continued every week for the next three months.
Like clockwork, you were there every Tuesday afternoon as the café side bustled with life; customers shuffling in or out with pastries, coffees, or teas. Wally had become accustomed to your presence, albeit through the bakery’s window. He wondered why you simply didn’t come in to ask him questions about his work... or why you never seemed to come into the establishment during this time.
The other workers happened to take notice as well, but he assured them it was not an issue, and he didn’t want anyone to pry. He assumed you were wanting to learn how to bake, perhaps even explore new culinary skills. He may not know the extent of your situation, but he was always happy to teach, as you had always been enthusiastic to learn.
You’d watch, you’d write, and then you’d both exchange goodbyes. He didn’t realize when he’d stop working on whatever he was doing to simply watch you walk away to whatever destination you were headed to next.  
.
.
Every Tuesday afternoon, he began anticipating your return.
He didn’t quite show how excited he was, maintaining his cool demeanor, yet mindlessly fiddling with the strings of his apron. As the clock ticked closer to the predetermined time, he would prepare his area, having a different recipe or lesson at the ready.
You had even started noticing the little things he did, perking with curiosity. Some days there would be a recipe for whatever he was making during that time, laid out in front of your view; a list of ingredients meticulously written out in what you assumed was his handwriting.
Was he sharing his trade secrets with you?
You would read through the list of items, jotting them down quickly before watching as he began creating the batch of goods. Whenever Wally shared one of his recipes though, he’d patiently wait until you were done writing before showing you how to measure and make.
On other days he’d start showing off, tossing dough in the air, or elaborately packaging whole loaves of bread for orders. Sometimes he’d get a bit carried away, getting flour in his hair, or accidentally dropping an egg on the floor. He’d shift his eyes toward you to catch a glimpse of your reaction, always earning a giggle or stifling a laugh in your hand before continuing to write away in that yellow journal of yours. His cheeks would dust rouge in embarrassment, but honestly, Wally was glad he had an audience, especially one as devoted as you.
Sometimes, a bittersweet taste would settle on his tongue as the hour would end and you’d retreat into the world while he stayed behind the glass. Your figure would be lost within the crowd of people walking up and down the sidewalk, colors of various shades blending and muting into the background.
He wondered what you did every Tuesday morning before coming to the bakery, and what you did after when your time together would end.
Maybe he’d ask you one of these days, but for now, he enjoyed the wordless company.
.
.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes past your usual arrival time.
You hadn’t shown up yet and the ticking of the clock began to make him restless.
Wally started to wonder if you were no longer available, or maybe, no longer interested in stopping by. A few different scenarios had swirled in his mind from you being at work, maybe school, having gotten hurt, maybe sick? Why was he so concerned about a complete stranger? Neither one of you even knew the other’s name.
Yet… he felt his chest tighten, disappointment prickling at his skin.
Surely, you were just running late today?
He stared at the counter; his mind lost in thought. He didn’t hear the familiar dings of the bell when the front door opened as you stepped inside, yellow journal in hand. He had only looked up when he heard Julie’s voice greet you from the register.
“Finally decided to come inside instead of watching through the window, huh?” Julie chimed.
You laughed in response, the sound filling the bakery with warmth.
Wally’s cheeks lifted as a smile formed on his lips, eyes falling on you. Feelings of elation and relief both washed over him in waves.
He stood still. The world around him seemed to burst into vibrant hues of light. Soft yellows, pinks, and mellow blues dance around you. He continued to watch you in adoration as you placed a drink order and made your way to one of the small tables near the corner of the café.
“It’s not polite to stare you know,” Poppy spoke up from behind him, causing him to turn and stutter in response. She smiled at him and shook her head. “Why not just say hello?” She encouraged, earning a defeated sigh from the man.
Wally took off his apron, hanging it up. “You’re right…” he mused, dusting himself off. “I’m going to take a break…”
“Take all the time you need dear,” Poppy replied, taking over the kitchen.
He carefully made his way over.
.
.
You were comfortably seated in the corner, reading through your writings as you sipped your drink. Setting the cup down, you looked over to the man making his way to you. You gave him a smile as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Mind if I join you for a bit?” he asked, a bit hesitant.
“I don’t mind at all.” You spoke sweetly, gesturing for him to sit.
Wally pulled out the chair across from you, settling down as well. Eyes panning down to your journal, he pointed a finger in its direction. “May I?”
“Oh! Of course.” You chuckled, moving the journal toward him. He began turning through the pages in awe of the detailed notes, scribbles, and even sketches of the baked goods he shared with you.
“Wow, this is incredible.” He breathed, “You even captured some of the techniques I use when I bake…”
“Yeah, I really wanted to make sure I got it right, ya know?” You confessed before clicking your tongue, “…But… whenever I try to bake something myself, it doesn’t seem to turn out right…” You mulled over the words, leaning forward to rest your arms on the table as you watched him read.
After a moment, he looked up at you in understanding before setting the journal back on the table. “Well, if you are interested, I’d be more than happy to teach you one-on-one here in the bakery, so you aren’t just watching from outside.”
“Really?” You squeaked, a bit more loudly than intended, earning a few looks your way. You gave him a sheepish grin, nodding. “Thank you… I would absolutely love that, but…”
“But?” He looked at you quizzically.
“I don’t have much money to really afford private lessons or anything…” You said sadly, reaching over to take the journal back. “I’ve usually just come by to watch you work, which is why I took notes. I tried doing the same with a few other bakeries, but they brushed me off. You were the only one that didn’t really seem to mind…” Sighing, you closed the journal and tucked it away, “I just didn’t want to bother you with it, so I’m just fine watching from the window…”
Wally pondered this for a moment, humming thoughtfully before nodding at you. “Then how about this? I’ll teach you ways you can improve your skills, and in return, you help me organize my recipes. That sound fair?”
“More than fair… That’s just way too generous.” You counter, hands coming up in defense.
“I suppose, but I do need some help with organizing my own notes. And it’d be a great help if you could assist with that, especially with all the ideas and experiments I have in mind... Sometimes I lose track.” He chuckled, gently scratching his cheek. This offer was more of an excuse to get to know you better anyhow. “So, what do you say?”
“Y-Yes…. I say yes, absolutely. Thank you so much, Mr.—"
“Darling”, he interjects, extending a hand for you to take. “My name’s Wally Darling. But please, call me Wally.”
You slowly take his hand in your own, heat emitting from your cheeks as you gave him your name in return. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance… Wally.”
For the rest of his break, the two of you talked, laughed, and talked some more until his attention was pulled away back to work.
You said your farewells, but before leaving, Wally gifted you a small box of pastries filled with new flavors he was working on; contemplating whether they would be good to sell or not. He asked you to try them and write in detail what you thought about each one. You were happy to do so, saying goodbye once more as you left the bakery.
You were both looking forward to next Tuesday.
.
.
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gingerbloof · 3 months
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Glimpse of Us (An Ascended!Astarion x Spawn Fem!Tav Ongoing Series)
summary: When Tav helps Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension, she realizes that he is no longer the man she had fallen in love with. However, she does her best to make her true love happy. But will the cost of her self worth and identity prove too much to pay for the price of love? contents: 18+, blood/blood drinking, hurt/no comfort, tragedy, manipulation, abusive relationship, anxiety, panic attacks, eventual smut, major character death chapter word count: 1,019
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chapter 1: The Day of the Ascension
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“Ecce dominus, Has animas offero in sacrificio, Nunc volo protestatum quam pollicitus es mihi!”
Tav listened to the foreign, dark words that left Astarion’s lips as the blinding red light surrounded him. His arms thrown out and his eyes glowing a terrifying hue. She watched as all his siblings’ bodies burst apart, their blood pooling down towards him.
Her eyes were wide with bewilderment. She was so proud of him… Everything he ever wished for was coming true, and that’s all she ever wanted for her love. So why did she feel like something terrible was happening?
She briefly heard Shadowheart shout, trying to stop him. A low growl left him as he stared at her angrily. “Don’t you dare,” He said, his eyes glowing ever brighter. “I can feel their power flowing into me!”
Cazador was the last one to burst. He let out a deafening scream as he did, his blood flowing to the sigil that Astarion stood upon. Soon enough, the light dimmed down and Astarion let out a sigh of relief. “I… I can’t feel it,” He muttered breathlessly. “The hunger, it’s gone! I’m free!” The smile on his face could bring light to the darkest day. Tav had never seen him so happy, and she was happy for him.
“You did it! You really did it!” She smiled wide and ran to give Astarion a big hug. He smirked devilishly as she did, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “I did… We did.” He said, placing a soft kiss on her head. As she let go and turned around, she saw all the disapproving faces on her other companion’s faces. Shadowheart looked undeniably hurt, and Gale shook his head as he looked at her with furrowed brows. But she didn’t care what they thought. As long as her love was safe and happy, she would do anything for him.
Astarion holds his hands in front of him, that devilish smirk still pinned to his face. “This is it…” He said triumphantly. “The hopeless dream dreamt by all my kind… I am the greatest vampire to ever walk this land!” He grinned a fang filled grin. Tav smiled back at him, getting ever so lost in his happiness. “You are magnificent,” Tav said in a whisper. It was true, though he looked the same there was something very different about his stature, the way he held himself. He had more confidence than she had ever seen in anyone. He deserved to feel this way, he always had.
“I felt so very little, for so long…” He said, his voice starting to twinge with sadness. “My edges dulled over the numb years rotting in the boudoir and kennels,” It was true. For so long, too long, Astarion was only ever made to be consumed and to consume. He never had any ounce of self worth these last 200 years, and now he was finally, truly free from it. 
“Now…” He began, a growl in his voice. “I can hear it at last… See it at least. How all the lowly creatures of this plane are begging to serve. How to call upon them.” These words made Tav’s heart drop. Lowly creatures? Serve? Maybe he was still chasing the adrenaline high from achieving his goal… This wasn’t Astarion at all. 
“Scurrying footpads in their safe-houses, rats below our feet in their filthy holes, the crows in the night above! They will… Obey.”
Tav’s face began to grow with worry. What in the hells was Astarion talking about?
His eyes met hers for the first time since the Rite began. His eyes grew with hunger and demand. “In you, too,” He said, pointing at her. “I can tell… Your heartbeat races. You go quiet when I speak… You await my command… The world will stir with fear.”
Tav started to slowly back away from her love, her heart aching at his words. He was so different… Too different.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she spoke, slow and wary. “Star… You’re starting to scare me…” She expected him to stop this dramatic, power hungry speech when she said this. She expected him to realize what he was saying, but unfortunately he didn’t. He continued, not even batting an eye to the fact that he was striking fear into the one he loved most. “Our lives will never be the same again. Everything will be our’s. Everything. I can already hear the world whispering in sweet surrender. And I feel alive!” He chuckled darkly, closing his eyes and basking in his new found power. It was as if he was the only one in the room. He paid no mind to show concern when Tav began to shake with fear at the sight of her lover, completely reborn. He was unrecognizable.
She let out a nervous chuckle, trying her best to not overthink about what her love was saying. “I’m just happy you’re happy, Star…” She said with a sad smile on her face. “You deserve nothing more than to be free.” Astarion smiled and walked toward her, placing a searing kiss on her lips. She kissed back reluctantly, getting lost in him. He pulled her in by her waist with one hand and cupped her face gently with the other. He broke the kiss quickly, staring into her eyes hungrily. “My treasure,” He said, the new pet name surprising Tav. “You are going to be wonderfully obedient.” 
He let her go and started to leave the palace, leaving Tav and his other companions behind, still acting like he was the only one who was there. The way he let her go was almost like batting a fly away. Dismissive, and crude. Tav felt her heart crack and splinter a bit at his words and the way he let her go. It felt as if he only acknowledged her when it benefited him.
As the rest of the party slowly left Cazador’s palace,Tav stood there silently, looking back at the gruesome scene behind her. There was only one thought drifting through Tav’s mind…
What have I done?
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authors note: trying out a chapter by chapter series :') it's my first one and i'm so excited to see how it turns out! i have also decided to make a special playlist for this fic series! each chapter is going to have a song from the play list associated with it, and i will link it with each chapter that i post! i am planning on releasing a new chapter every friday, but if that falters i do apologize. i hope you all enjoy! reblogs and comments are much appreciated
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lunar-years · 8 months
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜
💖 thanks for sending!!
nothing is burning here, my father would laugh: post Man City Jamie-centric, vaguely pre-ot3 episode tag. Never have I felt more compelled to write fanfic than after watching that damn hug!! Also this was my first Ted Lasso fanfiction so it is dear to me :)
Waterfalls: Jamie/Roy focused canon-divergent ot3 between s1 & s2. I'm just really proud of myself for finishing that one because it sat in my drafts half complete for over a year. And then I successfully came back to it and figured out where to take it and got it finished!! Which is big for me.
all your cracked perfection: gen Jamie-centric childhood->canon timeline coming-of-age fic. I like this a little less now that we've met Georgie, because a lot of the fic features Jamie's relationship with his mum but I wrote it before we knew her!! so it isn't totally canon-compliant, but I think most of it still works with canon nonetheless. Mostly this was just really fun to write even though the topic was heavy and I also liked playing around with different POVs in it. I wrote it mid-season in a ravenous Jamie Tartt-induced haze after the Amsterdam episode emotionally wrecked me.
Still, Sometimes,: My latest! Ot3 established relationship, post s3 future fic! This was a behemoth to write and is kind of my manifesto on future royjamiekeeley and how I imagine them maneuvering through life's hurdles together, so I feel very passionate about it!! i also challenged myself by writing the whole thing from Keeley's POV because I find her the hardest to write of the 3 :)
Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of: This is a Stranger Things Jonathan/Nancy soulmates AU! Nobody seems to read fanfic for this pairing so it has like 2 views (/s) but I adore them and had so much fun writing this!! I pretty much never write the classic, trope-y fanfiction AUs, but the opportunity with their canonical matching scars was simply too good to pass up. It was a big challenge but a fun journey.
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ladylovesloki · 8 months
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Something Real: Chapter Twenty
Pairings: Loki X Reader
Warnings: None
Summary: Home.
A/N: Remember when I said the next chapter would be the last one? Yea me too...I swear after this one there is only one left. Thank you for still reading 💚
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Loki and Frigga walk through first, transporting into y/n’s hospital room directly. The boys were fast asleep on the bed the healer set up for them. Loki instantly regretting not having them taken back home until this was resolved. Before Loki could make a move to the door to ask the guard to take the children to a different room Frigga was already in motion towards them. Unable to fight the urge to see her grandchildren, she quickly cast a sleeping spell on both of them to ensure they do not wake during their visit. Knowing they were both in a deep sleep she brushed her fingers through their hair, a sweet smile on her face. Loki was so entranced by the image of his mother with his children he did not hear Thor and his other self come through the time door themselves. 
Past Loki notices his mother fondly looking over the two boys and immediately notices that their features are very close to his own. He looks over to Thor, “are those my children?”.
Thor hesitates to answer and looks over to the variant he now considers his brother who immediately reacts to the question being asked, “no, they are my children.”
“Right…and where is this salvation of ours?”, Past Loki takes a look around the room and sees a young woman lying in a bed. Frigga separates herself from the boys and walks over to the bed and takes in the young girl who looked so pale and fragile. Frigga looks at the soul forge and studies your vitals, convincing her that this poor girl was indeed cursed. She looks over her shoulder, to the son from her time and sees his gaze focused on the young girl.
“My son, come closer.”, she holds out her hand to him.
Meanwhile, Thor walks over to present Loki and places his hand on his shoulder, “this will be over soon brother.”
Loki nods but doesn’t show any other sign of acknowledgment, all of his attention is on you and his variant.
Past Loki takes Frigga’s hand and gets closer to the bed, he looks down and takes in your form. “She’s so….small.”, he turns to look at his other self, “this is who you are so desperate for me to save?”. Present Loki’s body tenses, sensing that his past self is about to cause some unnecessary mischief. “Yes, what of it?”.
Past Loki shrugs his shoulders and looks back at you, “well…she’s not exactly the type of creature we tend to fall for is she?…”
“Be careful variant..”, Present Loki growls.
“Alright..enough.”, Frigga steps in and looks to her younger son, “Loki…please. The longer we take the more damage we can cause. If you will not do this for me then do it for your future children.”, as she mentions the two boys she looks over to them. Past Loki follows her gaze and when he sees the two sleeping miniatures of himself he takes a deep breath. He knows that if he wants a chance at having this life he has to follow what his mother says. He takes another look at the boys and then looks back to you, he brushes the hair from your forehead and lightly caresses it with his thumb. He then leans in and places a light kiss on your brow and then places another one on your lips.
Nothing.
Present Loki rushes over to the bed, “is it working?”.
Frigga looks at you, the soul forge and then her son, “I’m not sure. Maybe she needs more time.”
“Or maybe you were all wrong and this was a huge waste of time.”, Past Loki can’t help but chime in with some snark.
“Maybe you should kiss her again?”, Thor suggests.
Past Loki shrugs and he moves to lean in to give you another kiss but Present Loki stops him by placing a hand on his chest, “give her another moment…”
Past Loki looks to his other self, “jealous of yourself?”
Present Loki was about to respond when he heard the sound he has been waiting for for a week, “Loki?…”
His gaze shoots from his variant to you and relief immediately floods through him, he shoves his other self behind him and moves to be sure he was in your line of sight. “Darling?”, he starts to softly rub your forehead to try and help you come back. Your eyes were slowly opening and closing, you groan lightly from moving your stiff limbs but when you finally open your eyes again you have the strength to keep them open. You see Loki above you and your eyes start to fill with tears. “Am I back? Is this real?”, you ask him.
Loki nods his head and carts his fingers through your hair, “yes my love, you’re here. I have you.”. He leans in and kisses you and you only break apart when you hear a sniffle come from the foot of the bed. When you look to the sound you see a beautiful woman, you look back to Loki with a look on your face that probably showed your confusion.
Loki takes your hand, “my love, this is my mother, Frigga. Mother, this is y/n.”
You brow furrows in confusion, “your mother? But…how?”.
“Later darling, I will explain all of this to you later.”, Loki interrupts your questioning.
“Ahem…”.
Present Loki rolls his eyes and turns around to see his younger self with a mischievous smile on his face. “What? Do I not get an introduction? I was the charming prince to save the day after all.”
“What’s going on?”, you ask. Even more confused now because you are definitely seeing two Loki’s instead of one.
Present Loki turns to you, “my heart, I promise I will explain everything to you….”
“Mommy?…”, everyone looks over to the interrupting voice. They see Narfi sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He takes a look around and he sees his mother awake, his dad standing by her side and a woman he did not recognize at first. He then looks over and see his uncle and his dad…wait…the boy does a double take and then looks over to the bed again. “Dad?…”
Present Loki walks over to Narfi, quickly looking over to Vali who was still sound asleep. Narfi’s abilities possibly combating the sleeping spell Frigga had placed on them. “Narfi…”, he smiles at his son who is getting so much stronger with each passing day. “As I said to your mother, I will explain everything later. For now I’m afraid we must say goodbye to our guests.”
Narfi looks over Loki’s shoulder to look at the younger looking version of his dad and the unknown woman. He quickly stands and runs to his mothers side, grateful to see you awake but still confused.
“Mommy…you’re awake.”, he throws his arms around your neck and you can feel his tense little body relax around you.
“I am baby. I love you so much.”, you close your eyes and embrace Narfi in your arms. When you open your eyes you see the younger version of Loki staring at you.
“Well…this is what I have to look forward to then? A loving family..how touching.”, Past Loki says aloud while keeping eye contact with you.
“Loki, we must go back now.”, Frigga implores. 
Past Loki looks at his mother and nods, Present Loki walks over to the other side of your bed and places a kiss on your forehead. “Thor and I will escort them back, we will be back shortly.”
“Hurry back please.”, you beg breathlessly.
“As fast as the Bifrost my love.”, he walks over to Narfi who is still sitting on your bed wrapped up in your arms. “Watch over your mother and brother, I’ll be back soon.”, with a kiss to Narfi’s head he looks to Thor and his younger self and motions them to move to the other side of the room.
Frigga walks over to you and takes your hand, “thank you my dear. You have brought much joy to my son’s life. Take care of yourself and these precious ones.”
You give her a sweet smile and tighten your hold on her hand, “I will. Thank you.”
Frigga looks to Narfi and brushes her hand through his hair, “goodbye sweet boy, I trust you will look after your mother while your father is away.”
Narfi gives a small nod, “yes ma’am.”
Frigga smiles at them one last time, walks over to Vali who is still asleep and gives him a sweet kiss on his brow. She gives her grandchildren one final look and then walks over to her sons, ready to go back to her time. Present Loki activates the tempad and the familiar orange doorway appears, Past Loki and Frigga walk through first hand in hand with Present Loki and Thor following close behind them. When they entered Frigga’s rooms Present Loki closes the time door and looks to his mother and younger self. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Frigga holds her hands out to take his in hers, “of course my son. No matter when or where, we are a family. I love you. Both of you.”, reaching out for Thor’s hand as well.
Present Loki looks over to Past Loki, he walks over and holds out his hand. “Thank you. I promise you, saving her was the best decision you could’ve made for our future.”
“Hmm..we shall see..”, Past Loki says cryptically. 
Present Loki gives him one last look, almost wanting to tell his past self everything that is in store for him to save him all of the heartache that he had endured throughout the years after he found out his true heritage. 
No.
He won’t risk losing you or his sons. 
His past self will have to walk down to same broken road.
He nods at his past self and walks over to his mother and brother, he brings Frigga into his arms for an embrace. “I love you so much mother.”
“I love you too my son.”, she pulls away from him and cradles his face in her hands, “be good. Both of you.”
“Pff..I’m always good.”, Thor says under his breath.
Loki pulls away from Frigga, gives her one last look and once again activates the tempad. Hopefully for the last time. He looks to Thor and they walk through the time door to get back to their time. When they walk through Loki is filled with immediate relief when he sees you wide awake with Narfi still in your arms but now Vali has joined them both on your hospital bed. As soon as he sees his family he feels so much love and joy he could feel the tears already forming in his eyes.
“Daddy!”, Vali says excitedly. 
“My boys. Taking care of mommy for me?”, he asks with a smile and tears in his eyes.
Narfi nods, “can we go home?”
“I will ask a healer brother.”, Thor pats him on the back and leaves the room.
Loki walks over to his family, “how are you feeling?”, he asks you.
You nod, “good. Better than I though I would to be honest. I do want to go home though. I want our bed.”
“Hopefully Thor will return with good news.”. As if they summoned him, Thor entered the room with a healer who quickly started to check your vitals.
Loki and the boys waited patiently while the healers checked you over but Narfi couldn’t wait to ask his dad about what had happened. “Dad…was that you?
Loki looks down at his son, “I will explain everything once we get your mother home and comfortable. Alright?”
Narfi nods and watched the healers work on you.
While the healers were working Val and Sylvie quickly enter the room and stop in their tracks when they see you awake.
“It worked then?”, Sylvie asks Loki who responds with a nod. Loki removes Sylvie’s tempad from his wrist and practically shoves it in her hand, not wanting to have it attached to him any longer. Hopefully never having to ask to use it ever again.
“Maza?”, he asks her.
“In a cell, we’ll figure out what to do with her later. Just focus on your family right now Loki.”, Val answers. 
A healer walks up to them and addresses Loki, “My Prince, I will asses the soul forge and if all looks well you may take Lady y/n home.”
Loki nods at the healer, “yes, thank you. We are most anxious to get her home.”
She smiles, “of course. It will only take a moment.”
As she is looking at the soul forge, Kelly bursts in the room. “Y/n!”. Loki makes room for your friend to stand by your bed. “Oh my god you’re awake!”, she looks up at the soul forge, “everything looks normal!”, she exclaims happily but then looks over to the elder healer who was also evaluating your vitals. “Right? Everything is normal?”, she asks to be sure. Kelly along with the other humans who lives on New Asgard was still getting used to Asgardian technology and learning how to read and understand the soul forge was a skill in itself. But thankfully the healer smiles and nods, “yes, everything looks normal. Lady y/n is free to go home.”
“Yay!!”, the boys exclaim. So happy that this nightmare is coming to an end.
Loki looks down at you and smiles, “are you ready to go home darling?”
You smile, “yes please.” You look over at Kelly and healer who are quietly watching your interaction with your family. “Thank you all so much.”
Kelly smiles and walks back over to the head of the bed, she takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “You don’t need to thank us. Go home and be with your family, we’ll talk soon.”. With a quick kiss to your forehead, Kelly hugs the boys, says her goodbyes and leaves the room with the elder healer closely following her out the door to give you some privacy to get ready to go home.
Loki takes his original position back by the head of the bed and looks at you with a sweet smile, “ready?”.
You let out a deep exhale, “yes, please. I want my bed.”
Val and Sylvie say their goodbyes, both planning on having a nice quiet evening themselves. With Maza being in a cell they didn’t have anything to worry about or stay on guard for. Thor on the other hand is oddly quiet which Loki can’t help but address. “Brother? Are you alright?”.
Thor nods, “yes brother, I just….I…it’s no matter. Go home and be with your family.”.
Before Loki or you could respond to him, Narfi slips off of the bed and walks over to his uncle taking his enormous hand in his little one.
“You can come home with us Uncle…you don’t have to feel alone.”, he says sweetly.
Thor’s eyes fill with tears, secretly he was dreading going home when this awful situation had come to a close. With Sylvie spending most of her time with Val, Thor spent a lot of time alone in his big home. The silence often swallowing him whole, he was always used to being around people and crowds. In Asgard he would usually have Sif and the Warriors Three by his side and in New Asgard he would always find himself in the presence of you and his nephews but with his brother’s return he has been feeling like he intrudes on their family more often than not.
Loki notices his brothers hesitation and reaction to his sons words. “Brother.”
Thor looks over to Loki and Loki can’t help but feel a twinge of heartbreak for his brother. He never considered what it has been like for him. Thor truly lost everything, his mother, father, brother and home. And here Loki was, seemingly getting everything he has ever prayed for without having to go through the losses that his brother had endured. Loki takes a deep breath, looks down at you and smiles. You smile back knowing exactly what he is thinking and you nod your head in acceptance. Loki looks back to his broken brother, “come home with us brother. Please. Our family should be together.”
Thor’s face breaks out into the widest smile, the tears he was trying to hold back finally fall down his face. “You’re sure brother? I do not wish to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding Thor”, you respond. “I want to be around my family right now and you are most definitely part of this family. Will you come home with us?”
Vali hops off of the bed and runs over to his uncle, “will you please come home with us Uncle Thor? Please! Please?”.
Thor lets out a loud laugh and lifts both boys in his arms, “I would love nothing more.”
With that Loki conjures a portal home, picks you up and you all walk through together. When you hear the portal snap close behind you, you let out a breath of comfort. Nothing beats being home with your boys. Loki places you down on the couch and places a blanket over your legs, the boys immediately sit on either side of you both of them taking one of your hands in theirs. Loki looks at his family and smiles, “do you need anything? Hungry? Thirsty?”.
You shake your head and smile, all you wanted was to be with your family and you were getting just that. 
“Ahem….”, everyone looks over to Thor. “I am all of those things brother.”
Loki rolls his eyes but conjures a small spread for his family to eat, he knew that once the excitement of their mother being home wears off they will probably be hungry as well. These last few days have been draining and he knew his children will only last so long without needed food and sleep. As soon as they saw the food they immediately dove in, the living room isn’t the place they normally share meals but Loki wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. Once the boys…and Thor…were full Narfi finally couldn’t wait anymore for answers and to be honest neither could you.
“Daddy?”
“Yes Narfi?”, Loki smiles at his inquisitive child.
“What exactly happened? You said you would explain later.”, Narfi asks shyly.
Loki nods, “I certainly did.” He looks over to you and Vali making sure they are both listening as well. “Ok…so you know that the evil lady placed a horrible curse on mommy and after some questioning we found out how to break the curse but we needed someone very specific to break it.”
“Who?!”, Vali asks.
“Well..me.”, Loki was starting to feel like the explanation he originally planned out might not be the best one for his sons. But he didn’t want to lie to them, he promised he would tell them everything. He sees the confusion on their little faces and recognizes that his children are not normal children. They are his children and they have already seen and experienced some extraordinary things, so the truth shouldn’t be to hard for them to digest.
“You see the curse Maza placed on your mother could only be broken by your mother receiving a kiss from her one true love.”
“Like Sleeping Beauty?!”, Narfi says excitedly. 
Loki not knowing what he was referencing looked to your for help, you giggle at his confusion and brush your hand through Narfi’s hair. “Yes baby, just like Sleeping Beauty.”. Narfi smiles and looks back to his father, anxious for him to continue.
“But if that was all she needed, why didn’t it work when you kissed mommy?”, Vali asks.
Loki takes a deep breath, they already knew that he was a Loki from a different timeline and this situation was just a painful reminder that he was not their true father. “Well, as you both know I am not from this time so technically speaking I am not the version of Loki that your mother met all those years ago.”
Loki takes a moment and looks down at his hands that he has been obsessively picking at since he started his explanation. He doesn’t notice you lean forward and place your hand over his stopping his nervous habit. He looks up at you and smiles, your reassuring gaze giving him the strength to continue. “Your Aunt Sylvie…she is also from a different time and she has a device that gives her the ability to travel to any time in the multiverse. So your Uncle Thor and I traveled through time and convinced my younger self to come to our present time and wake your mother.”
“So the younger version of you I saw..that was our real…”, Narfi stops himself before he finishes. Feeling the small cracks forming on Loki’s heart before he was even able to complete his line of questioning. Not wanting his dad to feel sad he removes himself from your side and throws his arms around Loki’s neck, giving him a strong hug. He removes his little arms from around Loki’s neck and places has hands on his face, “you are ours. You belong here.”
Loki closes his eyes and absorbs his sons words, “thank you Narfi.” He places Narfi on his knee and continues.
“Well I believe you all know the rest, the past version of the Loki from this time was able to wake your mother and as soon as she was awake he was sent back to his time.” 
“Who was the lady that was with him?”, Narfi asks.
“That was your grandmother, Queen Frigga.”, Loki responds sadly.
“Oh..”, Narfi responds, again feeling a twinge of sadness in Loki’s heart.
“Well, it’s all over now. I’m awake and everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be.”, you try to direct the conversation to something more positive.
Loki looks at you and smiles, “yes, we are all together. That’s all that matters.”
“What’s going to happen to the bad lady?”, Vali asks.
“Don’t you worry about that boys, your Aunt Val is going to make sure she never gets near your mother ever again.”, Thor responds.
“Good.”, Vali lets out a long yawn. 
You run your fingers through his hair, “tired baby?”. Vali nods and you look over to Narfi who is still in Loki’s arms and see that he is also starting to show signs of sleepiness. “I think I’m ready for bed too.”, you admit.
“Can we sleep in your bed with you and daddy mommy?”, Narfi asks.
You smile, “of course you can baby. Daddy might have to conjure a bigger bed for us though.”
“That sounds like a perfect way to end this ordeal. Thor, you will be staying in the guest room yes?”, Loki wanted to be perfectly clear that his brother was welcome to stay. In fact it was Loki’s preference that he did.
Thor again looks slightly unsure, “if you’re sure I am not intruding…”
Loki rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to respond. He stands with an almost asleep Narfi in his arms, “come on boys, lets brush our teeth and get to bed.”
He places Narfi down when he sees he’s a little more awake to make it to his bathroom without passing out on the way, Vali following close behind. Loki looks to you and picks you up from the couch, “I think I can walk you know.”, you say with a giggle.
“I’m sure you can darling.”. He doesn’t move to place you down, he never wanted to let you go ever again. He takes you to the bathroom where he gives you your privacy to get ready for bed as he conjures a bed big enough for the four of you. You look in the mirror and for the first time in weeks feel a sense of peace and safety. You knew that Maza was locked away and wouldn’t be able to hurt you or your family any longer. You finish brushing your teeth and by the time you exit your bathroom into your bedroom you see your boys already getting comfortable under the covers. Loki sees you exit the bathroom and immediately walks over to, he holds out his arm to keep you steady even though you aren’t feeling any weakness. You give him another sweet smile and crawl into bed next to Narfi while Loki lays down next to Vali, making sure the boys are between you both. It didn’t take long for the boys to fall asleep and you can feel your eyelids getting heavier and heavier but you didn’t want to stop looking at your boys. This whole scenario feels like a dream and you were terrified you would wake up and still be stuck in that limbo Maza trapped you in.
Loki sees you fighting your sleep, “darling, you are exhausted. You must rest.”
“I’m afraid to go to sleep. I’m afraid when I wake all of you will be gone.”, you admit sadly.
“My love, I promise you. This isn’t a dream, this isn’t an illusion. You’re home. Feel your sons sleeping next to you.”. He takes your hand that was laying on Narfi’s little chest and places it on his own cheek. “Feel me. We’re here. You’re here. This is real.”
You nod, knowing that he is right but can’t help the fear creeping in your heart. Suddenly you feel that very fear start to slowly dissipate and the blooming feeling of love and happiness takes its place. You look down and see Narfi’s little hand on your wrist, even in his sleep his magic reaches out to calm his mother’s troubled soul. And as if the lights went out you finally fall into a deep sleep with nothing but love and happiness in your heart.
To be continued..
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exquisite-evans · 5 months
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BYLM has been updated! It’s a spicy one. 😉 Enjoy!! More soon.
🍂
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eureka-its-zico · 7 months
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Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 2
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Ongoing Series
Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention. 
Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader
Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut
Words: 6k+
A/N: For this chapter, I played with the idea of having Zoro’s POV. It felt necessary for the story progression that I had in mind. This chapter was a tad fun to write, and I hope that translated well into the story. Originally it was going to be longer, but I realized I wanted to save the dinner to go with all the action to end the Episode 3-4 story arc. Thank you guys so much for the love you’ve given this little story. I hope it continues to be one you enjoy 🖤 Much Love, Jenn
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This place is a maze. 
That thought rang true with every hallway you entered and the endless number of rooms within. With every step you took inside Kaya’s large estate, those words kept echoing through your head. How many guest suites could one house possibly hold? But also, why would you ever need so many?
You’d been wandering the halls for what felt like an eternity. Your head poked into each room after a brief knock. Yes, a brief knock before plunging head-first into someone’s private space wasn’t much of a warning but at least you were knocking. 
And all of this just to find Zoro who may or may not help you expose whatever metaphorical skeletons this butler had stuffed in his metaphorical closet. Or an actual closet. The possibilities felt endless. 
You weren’t even sure how you were going to explain to him exactly why you were searching for him without sounding like a creep. You would just have to cross that bridge when you came to it. 
You were about to give up trying to locate him because you were pretty sure you’d just passed that same exact clock for the second time in a row. You let out a raspberry as you placed your hands on your hips. Was it plausible you were lost? Inside a ginormous house like this? Yes, it sure as shit was. Maybe you should’ve been dropping breadcrumbs to find your way back to your own room when this was over. 
Rolling your tongue around your mouth, you looked down to your right and realized there were only two more doors left. What could it hurt just to look? You were already down here anyway. 
With a shrug, you moved towards the second to last door near the end of the hall. You weren’t in a rush to check what was behind either one, but you were also not leaving any stone unturned and all that. If your earlier dozen room checks were any indication of what to expect, you were willing to bet that you were going to find absolutely nothing waiting for you. The joy of joys. 
You were just a few feet from the door when you heard the lock click. The sound caused you to stop dead center, facing the door like an absolutely terrified rabbit caught in the headlights. What were the chances that whoever opened that door was going to be Zoro? And what were the chances that he would be willing to listen to what you had to say? 
The possibility of your questions being answered ebbed the panic in your chest down just a tad. Enough that when the door finally opened and Zoro was, in fact, standing before you, you silently thanked the universe for your suddenly award-winning luck. 
That was until you realized he was just standing there. In a robe. A silk robe with his swords slung over his shoulder and because of his current hold on his swords, said robe in question was flashing a peak of his chest. You immediately wanted to take back your previous thank you letter to the universe. 
This should be illegal. 
The worst part? You were pretty positive from the way Zoro was staring at you - his eyes taking you in from top to bottom lord HELP you - he did not seem as impressed with you as you were of him. Why in the hell couldn’t you say a word? Yes, he was attractive - stupidly so - but he was also just another guy. 
A guy in a thin silk robe and hair still damp from a bath. 
You watched as Zoro’s body began to relax, or relax as much as someone like him could. It was when he let out a sigh as if your very presence was keeping him from something important, that you felt your feet remove themselves from their spot in the carpet and spring you forward. 
There was a split second when Zoro’s eyes registered your movement. His eyebrows raised up in surprise as the almond shape of his eyes widened just a tad before he braced for whatever you were about to do. Zoro was planning on an attack and his body was primed to force you back. Instead of violence, he was met with your hands shoving him back inside his room with your foot kicking the door swiftly closed behind you. 
Once you knew you were both securely back inside the room, you stopped shoving him. You waited for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the room before you looked around. It would be embarrassing if you’d done this and someone else - Nami or Luffy or anyone else really - had been inside with him. The only thing you noticed, however, was his previous clothes strewn across the room. 
When your eyes ventured back to Zoro you found his earlier shock replaced by what you could only guess was his usual stonewall expression. 
“Look,” he began the timber of his voice causing you to jump. “You seem nice and all, if not a little disturbed, but I’m not interested.” 
You looked up at him with your confusion knitting your brow together. 
“Not interested?”
You weren’t sure why it took you that long to realize what he meant, but it was dawning on you at warp speed and your confusion was quickly replaced with horror. 
“Oh my god! No, no! I was not trying to like, do anything to you like that.”
The disbelief in his eyes told you plainly he didn’t believe you, and by the tick in his jaw something was bothering him about your statement. 
Shit! He thinks I’m a perv 
You wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and die there. You followed his eyes as they trailed down his chest to find your hands were very much still attached to him, practically groping him. 
“Then why are your hands still on my chest?”
A small squeak of surprise left you as you dropped your hands down to your sides and shook them like it would be enough to get rid of the feeling of cupping his very pronounced…chest. You took a step back from him in hopes that giving him space would save the entire interaction. 
“Sorry about all the ugh…touching,” you mumbled. “But I did come here to speak to you about something.” 
“This is going to be good. Is it to convince me you weren’t trying to grope me?”
“God, you aren’t going to let it go, are you?” 
Closing your eyes you took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. When you finished, you opened your eyes again and gave him the best smile you could muster. 
“Okay, let’s start this again. I,” you motioned towards yourself, “have come to ask you if you noticed anything weird.” 
Zoro cocked an eyebrow at you. His arms moved to lock his arms across his chest somehow exposing the peek of flesh from the robe even more. 
“You mean weirder than right now?”
You purse your lips together tightly as you try to exhale all the annoyance from gathering in your body. 
“Let’s just move on from this moment, ok,” you began. “I came to talk to you about the butler.”
Without warning, Zoro rolled his eyes and dropped his arms from his chest. His swords clanging against his leg reminding you that he wasn’t making any move to set them down anytime soon. 
“Here we go again about the butler,” he groaned, and the very sound shouldn’t have sounded as enticing as it did.
Focus! 
“Oh, save it!” You snapped. “I saw you, okay? The way you looked at Klahadore before you followed your friends inside. You looked at him like you recognized him. Like you’d seen him before somewhere.” 
Zoro regarded you coolly. The hardness that had disappeared while he’d teased you earlier slid back into place until he was as unreadable as stone. 
“I’ve never seen that butler before in my entire life.” 
“Why are you lying?” 
You couldn’t keep the exasperation from your voice or how your desperation was starting to creep back in. Could you have been wrong about Zoro this whole time? Did you just see what you wanted to see?
No. You know what you saw and you were not going to be called crazy. You took a step towards him and weren’t surprised when he didn’t move back. Instead, he tilted his chin, his full pouty lips still very much pouting, as his eyes carefully watched you. 
“You know, that I know, that you looked at that guy and went, ‘hmph, something’s not right there’.” 
Yeah, that felt like a solid argument. 
You waited under Zoro’s cool gaze for him to reply. For him to show any sign of anything, really. He was literally the most unmoving person you’d ever meet, and you were starting to wonder if he was even real. The shitty part about waiting in silence, besides the uneasy commentary your brain was beginning to make, was the smell of the vanilla and sandalwood that wafted off him in mini waves that assaulted your senses. 
You were so intently transfixed by trying to match his unblinking gaze that when he finally moved his head down to be eye level with you, you’d almost jumped out of your skin. 
“Is everything okay with you? Do you suffer from any brain damage?” 
You wish you could say you handled the next few seconds with grace and poise. Things that all upstanding future doctors did when faced with adversity. However, that was most definitely not you, and you weren’t able to keep an exacerbated yell of frustration from cairning past your lips. 
“Oh! You are literally the most infuriating man I have ever met!”
“And you are the most perverted woman I have ever met,” Zoro shot back, this time taking a step towards you. 
If he was trying to intimidate you, he should’ve tried back when you weren’t ready to tear him limb from limb. 
“I beg your pardon?!”
“Who just pushes a semi-naked man into a room so they can grope him?”
“I wasn’t trying to grope you! I was trying to interrogate you for information!”
God, that sounded so much worse. 
“That sounds a lot worse, actually.”
Of course, Zoro would state the obvious, and was he - was he smirking? Your eyes rapidly blinked as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing because as fast as you’d noticed it, that devilish smirk had disappeared. Now Zoro once again looked as serious as before. You began to move back towards the door with your hands up in mock surrender. 
“You know what - fine! If you don’t want to help me, that’s your choice, but you know I’m right. And I’m going to prove that something is wrong here with or without your help.”
You shot one last look in his direction before turning on your heel and giving him your back. You were at the door, your hand on the doorknob when Zoro surprised you with a question of his own. 
“Why ask me to help you?”
Glancing over your shoulder, you expected to see that smug smirk on his face or to get the cold shoulder. What you found instead were eyes so intent on you - waiting for your response - that it caused your lungs to collapse. A million replies played over through your mind, but only one of them mattered. 
“Because out of everyone here, I thought you would believe me the most.” 
It didn’t matter if it was the answer he’d been looking for or the one you thought would win him over. You meant what you said and you hoped he’d felt your admission genuinely. If Usopp didn’t want to believe you, and if Zoro, who you still believed knew or at least felt something was off here, wasn’t going to be able to help you, you would just have to do it yourself. 
Did you know what that entailed? Hell no, but Naan didn’t raise a quitter, and you weren’t going to roll over and just give up just because it was hard. Not when someone’s very life depended on you. 
——————
After your incredible failure of finding a co-conspirator to help you on your quest for answers failed with flying colors, you weren’t exactly sure what to do with yourself. Usopp no doubt must have snuck in by now to see Kaya - sans your “gift” - and the others were probably in the ridiculous closet looking for dinner attire. While you could’ve gone just to socialize with everyone else, Kaya had sent a dress to your room. 
Sham had looked absolutely miserable dropping it off and that was a joy all on its own. 
You considered heading to the closet just to see Luffy again. Luffy radiated optimism like sunshine; at the moment, that sort of unyielding optimism was the mood booster you needed. 
Unfortunately, you knew Zoro must have made his way there by now and you weren’t necessarily ready to face him again. The disappointment was clinging to you and that’s what you hated the most. You didn’t understand why you’d seemingly put all your eggs inside the Zoro basket. Just because he’d looked at Klahadore weird didn't mean he’d sensed something off. 
Shit, Klahadore was weird and deserved every side-eye glance he got. 
All it meant for you was going back to the drawing board for a new plan. One that was going to be able to get you next to Kaya. At least long enough so you could perform some kind of assessment. 
You rounded the corner to what you hoped was the hallway your room was down. The earlier thought you’d had about getting lost turned into an accurate one. You’d spent just as much time trying to get back to your room to get ready for dinner as you had searching for Zoro. 
Zoro.
Even just thinking about him made your jaw clench with fresh irritation. What was more infuriating than your most recent conversation was the fact you could still feel the strength of him in the hollows of your palms. The sharpness of his jaw and the high sculpt of his cheeks- 
No! Absolutely not, you chastised yourself. 
It was maddening how little he believed you - mocked you - and yet, here you were acting like some lovestruck teenager. He wasn’t that handsome. 
You were lost in your thoughts to the point you weren’t aware of your body's attempt to warn you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and a sickening feeling began to rot in your gut and made sure all the imaginary - very imaginary - butterflies disappeared. 
The goosebumps that rose along your exposed skin informed you that the grand hallway, filled with all its riches and fine cherry woods was as ice cold as the dead. Has it always been this cold and you just never noticed? Or the eerie silence that made the manor feel more haunted than alive. 
Your feet involuntarily came to a halt in the middle of the hall. You couldn’t explain the panic that was building in your chest, but it felt like you were being watched. Your heart rate sped up until you could practically feel it thundering against your ribs. 
“You are being silly,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s just an old house.” 
“Old houses do have their quirks, don’t they?”
You wish you could say that when Klahadore spoke from behind you, you’d reacted with grace. With dignity. What actually happened was you screamed sharp enough it could raise the dead. 
The whiplash you gave yourself as you turned to face him was dizzying. You wanted to kill the fear that widened your eyes and pressed your brow into your hairline. Your mouth was painfully dry as you took in his presence and the absolute shit-eating grin he wore. 
He enjoyed seeing you afraid. 
“Oh dear, Doc, did I give you a fright?”
Klahadore gently tipped the frame of his glasses with the edge of his palm. You wanted to smack them off his smug face. 
“What do you want, Klahadore?”
You struggled to regain your composure. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you afraid. It was what he wanted after all and didn’t take much to notice. He was already trying to close the few inches your retreat had given you. 
“I was simply wondering why you were wandering around the manor. You’ve been showing highly suspicious behavior ever since you and your friends arrived.” 
Your eyes narrowed in on him and as you held your head high. 
“Have you been following me?”
“Oh, come now, don't be silly. To have someone followed means you’re worried about what they’ll find, and you? You are the last thing I would be worried about.” 
Klahadore dropped his head down until he was eye level with you, but somehow used his size to remain imposing. A thinly veiled threat to remind you exactly what he thought of you; nothing. 
The first time you’d ever received an insult from Klahadore had been just like this. Alone and away from anywhere Kaya could hear him. He’d made sure that Usopp and you were together just so he wouldn’t have to repeat the insult twice. 
“I know you two must feel exceedingly special having Miss Kaya ask for you to come keep her company, but I’m afraid this will be the last time you ever come over unannounced or not. We can’t allow her image to be tarnished from being seen with unwanted children.” “Unwanted?” Usopp had been so confused - he knew he was wanted; wanted by Kaya and you. Klahadore saw in that confusion an opportunity to place doubt in his mind and completely tear him apart.  “Yes - unwanted. So unwanted that your father never returned, and your mother chose death as a final way to be rid of you.” “You son of a bitch!” You’d snarled and snapped. You were only kids.  The world had taught you early on about hardships and fairness; how the world and the people in it could lack kindness. But Naan always made you look for the good in the world, and in the people who sometimes allowed the ugliness of others to warp them into someone they weren’t.  It was a concept child you never understood. Teenage you were barely beginning to grasp it, but when Klahadore spoke those words so full of hate and venom at your best friend: there weren’t enough flames left in hell to cover up your rage.
The memory of that day left a black mark on your soul and you find it replaying at the most inconvenient of times. A harsh reminder of the first time you’d ever considered murder as a means of healing. The world would have to be a better place if someone like Klahadore wasn’t in it. Right? 
Naan, as always, talked you down from doing something rash. From allowing someone like Klahadore to have the last laugh and ruin all the plans you had for your life. 
But Naan wasn’t here to talk you off that ledge or to remind you who she knew you were. Your rage shouldn’t define you. Looking at Klahadore’s retreating back, you weren’t all too sure if it wasn’t you because if he ever showed up needing any form of medical attention, you weren’t so sure if he’d leave on his own two feet. 
A body bag would suit him nicely. 
You watched him until he completely disappeared leaving you alone once more inside the hallway. It felt weird to take those first steps back towards your room. To go inside and see the dress Kaya had sent to your room and know you were going to put it on and share dinner with that man standing in the same room. 
There had to be a way to show everyone here exactly who Klahadore was, and you would spend the whole dinner trying to do just that. 
———————
He’d been searching for a drink since his interaction with you back in his room. Zoro wanted to call you crazy - hell you acted crazy enough, but you’d done something he hadn’t expected. 
You’d surprised him.
He didn’t want to admit it then but he did get a weird vibe from the butler. The minute his eyes landed on Klahadore it had sparked a nagging feeling of a memory he just couldn’t quite place. 
And you’d noticed. 
After you’d left his room, he couldn’t shake the conversation you’d forced him to be a part of. Teasing you had been easy. He’d expected you to be a bleeding heart, but as you’d turned to leave, stomping your feet and spitting back words that stung for just a second, it had been Zoro’s turn to notice something about you. 
It was the fire of your determination that piqued his interest.  
While Zoro wasn’t sure why you held such a stick up your ass exactly about the butler, he was positive you had a reason. Besides the fact he couldn’t seem to pull up a clear memory of why the same butler piqued his own interest, and that was beginning to piss him off. 
What was even more annoying was the fact you’d brought it up enough that he’d asked Nami and Luffy if the butler seemed familiar. He didn’t know why he’d asked. If it had been more for him or for you. 
That pissed him off more. 
You seemed to be good at that. Pissing him off and getting under his skin. 
When he came downstairs, Zoro expected you to be there already. A quick glance around the room informed him you weren’t there, but a row of flutes filled with what he hoped was alcohol most certainly was. 
He carefully set down his strap of swords and moved closer to the drinks. No one else made a move towards them and, for a split second, Zoro was worried maybe the flutes were nonalcoholic. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the delicate crystal and quickly brought it to his lips. 
The smell of the liquor hit him first and his muscles relaxed instantaneously. 
God. This was exactly what he needed. 
“Zoro! You gotta try this!”
Zoro didn’t bother looking because he’d seen the appetizers being served when he came down the stairs. He wasn’t impressed. Plus, if he was going to make it through this evening, he was going to need way more booze than what was inside these little Crystal flutes. 
“I got all I need right here,” he replied and brought the glass up to his lips. 
The first sip erased all the tension that had been binding up his muscles. The next pull from the glass relaxed him completely, and he downed what was left in one giant gulp. He placed the now-empty flute back down on the tray and swiftly grabbed another. 
Zoro was vaguely aware of all the chatting going on around him. The sound of Usopp and Luffy sharing stories and Nami doing whatever it was Nami did during fancy dinner parties. He meant what he said - he did have everything he needed to make it through this dinner inside these glasses. At least, that’s what he thought until the sound of a heel echoing off the step brought his attention to the top of the stairs. 
He was sure the new flute with his latest drink was at his lips. Zoro inhaled the sharp scent of liqueur with every breath he took. He just couldn’t seem to make his elbow bend enough to drop it from his face. 
You were making your way down the staircase, oblivious to the world around you as you came down with a hand carefully placed on the railing. 
The dress you wore was covered in article flowers; all of their small bold colors were bright against the backdrop of black chiffon. The top of the dress left your shoulders exposed, and the style you’d chosen to wear your hair, with beads of pearls intricately placed within each strand, made you seem ethereal. 
You looked like moonlight inside a garden; soft and wild and for the first time Zoro forgot that breathing was important. 
Once you reached the last step, your eyes finally moved up from the safety of your feet. Zoro was vaguely aware the rim of the glass was still resting on his bottom lip, and that he’d yet to take a drink. He felt frozen - helpless - until your eyes found his rooted frame - helplessly waiting - and the smile that curved your lips brightened up the room. 
It was in this second that he realized he was fucked, and the annoyance of that realization was enough for him to finally upend the glass in one large gulp. 
——————
Zoro had looked at you for less than a millisecond before he’d upended the contents of his glass in one large gulp. His disinterest was evident enough throughout his entire body. With one last glance in your direction, he turned back to the waiting tray of glasses. 
Well, that wasn’t the reaction you’d expected. 
The disappointment scraped raw across your chest as you watched Zoro take up another glass. His gaze was steadfast at the wall as he downed whatever was inside. What felt more disappointing was the fact you’d cared. 
For all intents and purposes, Zoro was an asshole. So, it begged the ever-present question: Why did it bother you so much? 
Yes, you’d painstakingly gotten ready around the dress Kaya left inside your suite. Was it your usual taste? You weren’t all that sure, to be honest. It’s not like you’d ever been invited to any fancy dinner parties before. You weren’t sure if this was the proper form of dress or if you’d gone overboard with your hair. 
At least Nami had a feather inside her hair and it looked as if she’d given her blood-orange hair some curls. She looked absolutely gorgeous and you made it your mission to tell her.
“Wow, Doc you look-“ Usopp began. 
You turned beaming towards your friend as you waited for him to acknowledge your hard work. Maybe at least Usopp, of all people, would say something nice. 
“Different.”
You could practically feel your smile deflate at the edges. 
“What did you put in your hair?” Luffy asked around a mouthful of meat. 
“Oh yeah, I was wondering what looked different. It’s the hair,” Usopp confirmed with Luffy. 
The both of them smiled and nodded at one another as if they just solved world hunger. Your tongue rolled around your cheek as you debated on what to say. Maybe you’d expected to much out of a bunch of men. 
“They’re pearls,” you huffed. 
“That’s silly,” Luffy chuckled. “Why would you ever put pearls in your hair?”
“It’s to look nice.”
“I never knew hair needed accessories,” Usopp offered before taking a bit of his appetizer.
“Nami put a feather in her hair,” Luffy offered before taking another bite. “Maybe you guys can talk about putting random stuff in your hair.” 
There was no way this conversation could be real, and yet…
Luffy was still wearing his genuine smile while he and Usopp continued to enjoy the appetizers Sham passed around. This evening was turning out to be the last time you’d ever consider wearing anything like this again. What was even worse was that out of the three of them, Zoro was the only one properly dressed. 
While Usopp went with his usual no shirt underneath his jacket, Luffy was wearing just a petty coat and miraculously found dress slacks that didn’t even reach his ankle. They looked like their usual selves, just dressed in black. 
But Zoro…
No! Absolutely not.
“I’ll go look for Nami so we can discuss…putting things in our hair.”
“That’s great! I’m sure it will make her happy. She seemed frustrated earlier when she asked for help.”
“I can’t imagine why,” you mumbled, as you turned to find Nami speaking to Merry. 
Well, it looked like that was going to be a bust too. Man, she really did look very pretty, though. You were considering what your options were. You weren’t comfortable just injecting yourself into whatever conversation Nami and Merry were having, especially not when she was rubbing his arm like that. 
Luckily for you, the sound of Klahadore announcing Kaya’s entrance kept you from having to go with your final option, which was to get a drink. Next to Zoro. 
You all collectively turned to watch as Klahadore helped Kaya make her way down the stairs. You couldn’t help but smile up at her and her current choice of attire. While she’d made you look like a garden, you could only assume she was the sunshine that hovered above it. The only problem you had with the golden silk material was that it somehow made her sickly pale skin appear paler. 
She must have picked the color in hopes it wouldn’t do that, but all it did was raise the alarm bells in the back of your mind. You’d allowed a pretty dress and a fancy meal to cloud the real reason you’d come in the first place. Instead of being a doctor, you were playing dress-up. 
You were still scolding yourself when Kaya finally made it to the end of the staircase. Her smile was bright and happier than it had been in a long time, as she regarded Nami and the dress she’d chosen. It hadn’t even registered that any of the clothes you currently were wearing belonged to her deceased parents. You made a mental note to make sure to take extra special care not to ruin the dress with any droplets of food. 
“Oh, Doc, I’m so glad I picked this,” Kaya breathed. “You look absolutely magical.” 
You couldn’t help but look down at the dress again. It was an incredibly delicate dress. A work of art to be worn on the body. Maybe that was why you felt like such an imposter wearing it. 
When you looked back at her, you tried to give Kaya a convincing smile. One you could even make yourself believe you felt worthy to have it on. 
“Oh, Kaya you are too nice,” you replied, only for her to shoot you down with a wave of her hand. 
“Nonsense. Usopp is always telling me about all the good you do for everyone. It’s time you let yourself be appreciated.”
Your earlier response to Kaya’s welcoming smile was one of your own, but at the mention of your supposed good deeds, you felt it tighten into a grimace. 
It means nothing if I can’t even help you.
Up close, her color wasn’t pale - it was ashen. The whites of her eyes were devoured with a yellowish tint and - 
Like the parasite he was, Klahadore was there pulling Kaya gently by her elbow to lead her back to the conversation between herself and Merry. Your eyes followed him as he made sure to plant her a few feet in front of you; her back excluding you from following to join. 
Once he made sure she was safely away from you, Klahadore stationed himself a few feet away next to the penguin pillar at the base of the stairs. He thought he was sneaky and that he had stopped your trained eyes from being able to do a quick evaluation.
Unlucky for Klahadore you were quicker than he thought. 
You were getting ready to head over to him when you caught Zoro walking back over to the tray. He was doing his usual of placing down an empty glass only to grab a fresh one, except this time he was talking. To Klahadore. 
What a fucking liar!
You couldn’t think straight as you watched the exchange. The way Klahadore overplayed the flabbergasted victim. You didn’t have to be close to them to know what Zoro was asking him, because just like you’d suspected, he did seem familiar to Zoro. 
It felt like you could breathe fire, you were so pissed. 
At some point, Klahadore ended the conversation by interjecting himself into someone else’s conversation. You didn’t care what it was. They could’ve been discussing flying pigs for all you cared. Your eyes were still honed in on Zoro who regarded you for a split second before he sat back down in the parlor’s middle seat. 
You started making your way towards him when Klahadore called out it was time to eat. You suddenly weren’t hungry. 
Zoro must have sensed you coming for him because in one swift move, he was out of the seat and standing. The strap that held his katana’s back over his shoulder as he followed Sham behind the double doors.
“You son of a-“
“Doc!” Usopp whisper-shouted as he nervously took your hand in his. “Sit next to me. Please.” 
You were still seeing metaphorical red. Your brain firing rapidly on only one main thought and that was to get a hold of Zoro and throttle him. 
It wasn’t Usopp’s fault that Zoro was a dick, and he looked genuinely terrified. Stuffing your current bad mood as far down as you could muster (you were about to see said moss-haired reason for your fowl mood in t-minus two seconds), you planted on a smile and gently took Usopp’s hand. 
“What kind of wingman would I be if I didn’t?”
“Oh, thank god,” he laughed. 
The both of you followed closely behind Merry and the others as you were all escorted inside the dining room. Merry quickly took his seat at the end of the table, and you noticed rather quickly Zoro had claimed the seat closest to the door. 
Without thinking, you took the seat beside him and motioned for Usopp to take the last one. The one directly beside Kaya. For a moment, Usopp looked at you wide-eyed and uncertain. You did your best to make him comfortable. 
“You got this, Usopp,” you whispered. “Don’t overthink it.”
His response came in a small nod that did little to erase the terror that shined in his eyes. You gave his arm a light squeeze for reassurance before you straightened up in the chair. Glancing over, you watched as Zoro poured what looked like a freshly opened bottle of wine into a glass. 
You waited patiently for him to finish and when he went to set the bottle down you made your move. With a slight lean to your right, you swiped your hand out to grab a hold of the glass. Zoro caught the movement too late, but you now had his full attention. His nostrils flaring the only indication that he was irritated by your sudden drink stealing. 
Good. 
“What do you think you’re doing?” He questioned. 
His dark eyes never left your face as he waited for you to answer. 
“Being petty.”
To bring the point home, you tilted the glass in his direction in a silent salute. You made sure he watched as you brought it to your lips and took a sip of the blood-red wine within. 
Zoro’s jaw ticked in irritation as you gave him a devious smirk, and when Sham came by Zoro waved her over. 
“I need a new glass.”
Now the smile that graced your lips was genuine and you made sure Zoro was aware of it. It was time to have a little fun of your own and that included hogging as much of his alcohol as humanly possible. 
------------------------
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celestie0 · 1 month
Text
gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]
kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside
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ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot
ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)
ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)
a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha
nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)
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You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere. 
Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him. 
One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.
The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.
You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.
He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.
“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”
You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”
“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.
“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.
He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.” 
“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already. 
His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”
You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.
“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”
You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”
He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”
You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”
He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.
“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”
“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.
“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”
He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”
You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”
You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.
The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it. 
The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead. 
You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk. 
“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”
“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.
“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.
“Boo, you whore. For what class?”
“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”
“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”
“Yeah.”
“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”
“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.
“So definite no to hang out?” 
“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”
“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”
You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”
“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says. 
You glance at the time. 11:56am. 
“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.
You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.
“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”
You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.
“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”
You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.” 
She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”
You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.” 
She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”
You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”
Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”
Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest. 
“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.” 
You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.
But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings. 
“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”
Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”
You sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”
Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”
She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”
The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you. 
It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them. 
Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed. 
You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.  
“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”
You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately. 
Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.
“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible. 
You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.
There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.
Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”
“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.
“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”
“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”
Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before. 
“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks. 
“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”
There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.
“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”
“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks. 
Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”
“What?”
He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”
“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”
“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.
Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”
The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.
“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”
For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.
“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”
You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.” 
Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”
“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”
“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.
The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.
“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase. 
He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.
“Yeah.”
“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”
You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”
There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”
The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”
You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby. 
The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.
Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.
“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.
The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.
“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.
You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”
The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”
“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”
She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”
“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.
She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you. 
You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”
She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”
“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”
“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.
You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”
“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you. 
“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.
“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.
You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”
“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.
“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”
The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.
You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.
“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”
“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”
The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.
The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”
“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.
All three of you look at him dumbfounded. 
“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”
“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”
You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.
“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.
Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.
“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.
“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”
The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you. 
“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.
“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.
He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”
“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.
“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you. 
“Where are we going?” you ask.
“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”
Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.” 
Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”
He was waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.
You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.
“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.
You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.
You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.
“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”
“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”
Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”
He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”
“But–” you start, stopping yourself. 
He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.
“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.
This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long. 
“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”
He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”
“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.
He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.
“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”
He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”
Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”
“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.
“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.
He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Positive?”
“Satoru.”
“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.
You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing. 
This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before. 
“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.
“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.” His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.
“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.
You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”
“I will.” 
“I’m glad.”
“No peeping.”
“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door. 
It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously. 
When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.
“What?” you ask.
“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”
You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm. 
You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?” 
“No. I love it.”
“I’m not following.”
You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”
He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”
“Your problem,” you say.
“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.
“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”
“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.
You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.
“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.
“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.
“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.
“But I usually sleep on the left side.”
You blink at him.
“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.
“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.
Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.
“Are you su-”
“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.
He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”
The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.
He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.
“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.
“Sneak what in?” 
“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”
You swear your heart stills a little in your chest. 
“Before,” is all you say to him.
He sighs. “y/n…”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.
It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.
“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”
“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.
You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”
“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”
“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.
He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”
“That’s it? That’s the reason?”
“Mhm.”
You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”
He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands? 
“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.
“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious. 
You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.
“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.
He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.
You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.
“Yours are just big,” you tell him. 
He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how. 
Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.
“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.
“It’s okay,” you whisper too.
The silence settles for longer.
He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.
“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.
“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”
You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”
“Reasons.”
“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”
He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”
You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.
“Like…guilmon from digimon?
“Mhm.”
“You like digimon?”
“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.
“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it. 
“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.
He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.
He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.
“Hey–”
“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.” 
“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.
“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”
When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters. 
“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.
“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”
“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.
“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.
You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly. 
He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”
You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.
He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.
You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.
“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.” 
You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.
“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.
It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.
You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been. 
You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.
“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”
“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”
He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”
You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”
He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”
“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.
“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”
You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.
“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly. 
“Mhm, makes sense.”
His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.
You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”
He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”
“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”
“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too. 
“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”
He nods. “You do.”
There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.
“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.
“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”
“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”
“I asked him for it.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”
“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”
There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”
You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”
He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”
“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”
“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”
“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.
You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you. 
“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”
“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.
“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”
His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.” 
You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.
“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”
“You’re not bad,” is all he says.
“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”
“y/n,” he says, like a warning.
“I mean it,” you whisper.
“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.
“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”
He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.
“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly. 
Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck. 
Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.
You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.
Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.
You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.
The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area. 
It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.
“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”
You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.
Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”
You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.” 
You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.
“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.
Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.
“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.
“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.
Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”
All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.
“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”
With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.
“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.
You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”
“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?” 
“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.
He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”
“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.
He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”
“When did you graduate?” you ask.
“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says. 
You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”
“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.
“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.
He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”
“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.
“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.
You meet his gaze. “No way.”
“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.” 
You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”
He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”
You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”
“Yup.”
“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.
“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”
You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”
He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”
You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”
The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.
“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”
“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”
“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”
“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”
He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”
You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”
He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”
Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”
He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.” 
Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”
He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”
You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.
“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”
“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.
The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.
UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.
The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.
“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.
“Went fine,” Kai responds.
“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”
Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”
Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.
“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.
You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.
There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.
“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.
“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.
He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?” 
You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him. 
And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.
When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.
“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.
He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”
He doesn’t deny it.
“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.
He sighs. “Yes.”
“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.
“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”
You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.
“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.
“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”
“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”
He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”
“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”
“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”
“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”
“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.
Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.
“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.
He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”
“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”
He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”
There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”
He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”
“Okay.”
He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”
“Mhm. Thanks.”
He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.
The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back. 
You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear. 
You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake. 
Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.
|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera
|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way
The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.
You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.
|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there
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a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though. by the way! i'm starting a choso x reader zombie au series, if you'd like to read more about it and/or be added to the taglist, you can reply to this post here also if you want to be added to taglist in general, i'd recommend making sure your tags are on!! since i've noticed a lot of people have them off
➸ take me to chapter nine!
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taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd (hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)
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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 7 months
Text
Everybody Hurts
Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader
Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.
18+ Only for eventual smut
I am not sure how many chapters this will be. I will be posting a new chapter each Wednesday if you enjoy it and would like to keep reading. 😊
Word Count: 4.4K
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Life was hard. It has been hard for the last week. Hell, it had been hard for the last year. Kind of tragic, actually. Dismal, depressing, somber, grim just like the weather for the past week. Nothing but gloomy skies, dark clouds, and heavy raindrops. It was like the weather had called to check in with your mood and the two decided to be twins because it would be fun. Let’s match outfits while you signs on the dotted line, making your failures all final. The weather had made it feel acceptable to lie in bed, curled up under the covers, hiding from the world. Who would want to do anything else when it was pouring and dark? But finally, today, sunshine was peeking through the clouds.
“It can’t rain all the time,” you whispered to yourself, quoting one of your favorite movies as you pulled your bike out of the garage, adamant that you were going to get some fresh air today, to get out of your rut. You were stuck in a constant loop of negativity that you couldn’t seem to break free from. This morning when you'd been woken by the sun shining in your eyes, you had decided no more. You were determined to claw your way out of this pathetic self pitying hole of despair. 
You pedaled out of the garage, tires splashing through the puddles, onto the roads still slick from the morning rain. There was a fresh and clean feeling to the air. The sky was more vibrant and the colors seemed vibrant after so many dull and drab days in a row. The trees were budding with spring blossoms and the grass was a lush green, the promise of summer on the horizon. 
You sucked down a huge lungful of air, the scent of new life, of cleansing the earth, filling your nostrils. It made you wish it could be that simple for you. That you could just stand out in the rain, arms wide open, letting the droplets wash everything dark and dirty away, leaving a shiny blank canvas ready for new, vivid colors and life to be splashed across it. 
But nothing was ever that easy. Cam had sat across from you two days ago, smirking, smugly satisfied, as his lawyer laid out the terms of your divorce. Everything that you'd eventually agreed to because the asshole was making it as difficult as possible, dragging it out, and you had just wanted it over. You had been dealing with this shit for the last eleven months, a shackle attached to your ankle, dragging y you down until you felt like you could barely walk. You would have agreed to anything if it meant y oucould finally walk away, finally be done for good. 
It was as if someone had hit the pause button on your life, nothing moving forward, you stuck in limbo for far too long. Not since the day you'd walked into your house, Cam’s naked ass thrusting against someone in the bed you shared. Your purse had hit the floor with a loud thud, keys clanging against the wood, alerting him and his friend to your early arrival. And when he’d jumped from the bed and spun around, you had caught sight of the girl beneath him. In that split second, when you thought your life couldn’t get any worse, it was so much worse. Your entire world tilted on its axis, getting knocked from orbit, hurtling through the black expanse of nothingness, cold and dark and dismal. 
That’s where you'd been stuck. Stuck for far too long. You were done letting him have so much power over you, done letting him keep you in stasis, not moving on, not even really living. You'd been having a pity party for your failure of a marriage for too long. It was past time that you took your life back and today was as good a day as any to start. 
You turned onto the main street of the small downtown, pulling up in front of the local coffee shop. Hopping off, you rolled your bike into the rack, not bothering to lock it. There was really no need in this small town. You couldn’t imagine much happened here. Nothing much had happened in your old town either and you could see it through the big glass window from inside anyway. 
Pushing through the door, you paused, inhaling the familiar scent of coffee beans and freshly baked goods, your mouth watering, stomach rumbling in anticipation. How had you been living here for four months and hadn’t visited yet? In your old town, you had been a frequent flier at the local coffee shop. Jan used to have your coffee and donut sitting on the counter every single morning, just waiting for you to grab before you headed into work. 
The thought of Jan caused a small pang, just a tiny hitch in your chest for everything you missed about your old life. Jan’s friendly smile, the easy way she always chatted with you about work and life, the little stories she would tell about her own marriage, the challenges of raising three boys. It had been a small town just like this one. A town where everyone knew each other. A simple coffee run could turn into an hour long chat before you knew it, glancing down at your watch in shock that so much time had passed and now you were running late for work. At least you had moved to another small town, something slightly familiar to you even if everything else was jarringly unfamiliar.
You approached the bakery display, your eyes devouring all of your options within. There were freshly baked breads, muffins, and donuts of all shapes and sizes. There were also mouth-watering cookies, tarts, and brownies. The case was filled with so many tempting treats that it was hard to resist the urge to buy one of everything. The different aromas tempted you to take a bite of each one. 
You tried so hard to eat healthy, to get all the protein like your Tae-Bo obsessed friends at home said you were supposed to, but baked goods were your weakness. Besides, over the past nine months, you'd lost fifteen pounds without even trying. Not the usual way of healthy eating and exercise. No, it was woeful weight loss, weight loss caused from a constant gnawing pain in your stomach. Finding out your husband was a cheating bastard and going through a painful divorce turned out to be a fail-proof way to drop some weight, but you definitely would not recommend it. Zero out of ten in your book. 
“Good morning,” came a lilting voice and you glanced up to see an older woman smiling at you, the smile warm and soft, welcoming. Her face was full of wrinkles but her eyes radiated a sense of joy and kindness. Soft white curls were cut short to her head as if she were haloed by a cloud. Two soft, wrinkled hands, deep blue veins that caught your attention, rested on top of the case. “What can I get for you, honey?”
The sun bounced off a gold band on her left hand, three small diamonds sparkling in the light, hitting you right in the eyes for a moment. You lost herself, wondering how long she’d been married. You imagined it had been years, probably met her husband when they were just teenagers and now, decades later, they were still head over heels for each other. Two people who had been successful at marriage, a woman who had chosen correctly, unlike you. 
“Hey there sweetheart, can I get you something?” the woman asked again when you didn’t answer and you tore your gaze from the ring and back to her face, that warm smile now more concerned than anything, probably thinking you were nuts or at least a bit unstable. 
“Sorry,” you mumbled softly, attempting to laugh it off. “I guess I’m still waking up. I need my caffeine, you know? Can I get a Persian roll and a vanilla latte, please?”
“Of course. Coming right up.”
You smiled and thanked her, silently kicking yourself for your moment of temporary insanity. It had been happening more and more these past months. Your eyes were always drawn to everyone’s left hands, searching for that familiar symbol of commitment. Then your brain would begin working overtime without you even consciously thinking about it. Was it a happy marriage or were they going through the motions? Did they have kids? Was it a recent marriage, newlyweds still in that blissful stage where their spouse could do no wrong? Had they been together for years, happy, soulmates written in the stars? Was it a second marriage? And if it was, were they happier? Did they find the right person this time around? Did someone get another shot at their happily ever after when they chose so poorly the first time around? Or did everyone only get one and if you screwed it up, you were doomed to spend the rest of your life miserable and alone?
“Here you go,” the lady, her name tag reading Millie, said as she handed over a brown paper bag and a paper coffee cup with a green sleeve. She glanced down at the register, hitting a couple of buttons. “That’s three dollars and twenty two cents, honey.”
You pulled out your wallet, giving her a five and tossing the change into the tip jar on the counter. The heat from the coffee was seeping through the paper and the sleeve, warming up your palm pleasantly. The aroma of it was like a comforting hug, instantly lifting your mood and making you feel more alert. The scent of cinnamon and chocolate mingling pleasantly together from your roll caused your stomach to rumble hungrily once again. 
“I haven’t seen you around,” Millie commented casually, tilting her head in interest. “Are you new to town?”
“Kind of.” You lifted one shoulder, shrugging slightly. You'd been living here for four months but besides work, you'd been a hermit, hiding in your house, buried under a blanket. This was the first time you'd ventured downtown besides the one time you'd trekked into Melvald’s to grab some lightbulbs. Of course she wouldn’t have seen you. Your cheeks flushed with shame, realizing how pathetic you were to not have even explored the new town you were living in. “I actually moved here about four months ago.”
“Really? And this is the first time you’re visiting my little coffee shop?” Millie asked, both hands pressing against her chest, clearly aghast at this news. “I would have thought word would have gotten to you sooner than that. How has no one mentioned my shop to you? This is the best place to get your morning caffeine fix. And my baking is the best in this town. Ask anybody. You try that roll and I guarantee you’ll be back.”
You laughed softly, the nostalgia of easy conversation with someone soothing you, “I have no doubt. Trust me, I am sure you will start seeing me frequently. I have a bit of a sweet tooth. It’s a problem, actually.”
Millie scoffed, waving her hand dismissively toward you, “Listen honey, this world is sour as they come. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little sweetness. It’s good for the soul, I say. I’ve been eating my own baking for years and I’m healthy as a horse. All this nonsense about not eating any fat. You know all the diets I’ve seen in my long life? The master cleanse, diet pills, the grapefruit diet, the wine and egg diet. I could go on and on. Are you kidding me? They’re all ridiculous if you ask me. The worst was the cabbage soup diet.” She shuddered. “Talk about torture. I was hungry all the damn time and hungry makes me cranky as hell. Who wants to live like that?”
Your lips pressed together in amusement, very much enjoying Millie and her spirited personality, “Yeah, well, I’ve never been great at sticking to any kind of diet.”
Millie’s eyes roamed over your figure, snorting loudly, “Don’t see why you’d need to. You know what?” She ducked down behind the case and when she emerged again, she handed you another paper bag. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried one of my cinnamon rolls.”
“Oh, I really don’t need that and…”
“Please. A little extra sugar is not going to hurt you, sweetie. You look like you could use a little extra sweetness in your life right now. I can just tell,” Millie told you. “It’s on the house, okay?” She winked. “You just enjoy your breakfast.”
“Thank you,” you replied gratefully. “I really do love a good cinnamon roll.”
Millie smirked, one side of her mouth pulling up in amusement, “Well, then I will see you tomorrow morning because trust me, once you’ve tried mine, you’ll be hooked.”
You smiled, thanking her again before making your way over to a small table right by the window. Pulling out both treats, you placed them on top of their paper bags. Your eyes looked out along the main street as you pulled off a small bite of the Persian roll, popping it in your mouth. An audible groan fell from your lips as the combination of cinnamon, chocolate, and the buttery richness of the pastry combined on your tongue. Millie had every right to be as cocky about her baking as she was. You would definitely be back again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that one too. 
It was Saturday, the weekend, and you'd gotten everything done for your class the night before. You had the whole day ahead of you which should be a comforting thought. It was anything but. You had no idea how to fill all of that time but you damn well knew how you wouldn’t. You would not go back to the house. You would not give yourself the opportunity to cocoon yourself back up in blankets and lay on the couch all day, sinking into your feelings of failure as you watched hours of mindless television. No. No more of that. You were going to stay out all day, explore the town, find something to fill your time that had nothing to do with Cam or the divorce or your being a giant failure. 
And then it hit you. The library, that’s where you would go after this. You hadn’t read a book in months and you used to love to read, to escape into someone’s else’s problems, always so much worse than your own. Reading took you into a world of infinite possibilities, portals into realms where you could hide from reality for a while. Words were your passport and every chapter was a door being opened to a new adventure. With the endless number of books in the world, you had to be able to find a story that would make your problems seem like a cakewalk. 
A sense of ease washed over you as a plan began to form in your mind. You would ride over to the library, pick out a couple of books, and then you would head down by the lake. You hadn’t seen it yet but it had been one of the reasons you'd chosen this town, always having loved the water. You could find a nice bench and sit by the water, read for a few hours, lose yourself in someone else’s world for a little while. You could even find somewhere to grab a late lunch or early dinner, maybe go for a nice late afternoon walk through the woods during the warmest part of the day. 
As if the weather was on your side, as if it sensed the change in your mood and decided to go along with it, the sun shone through the clouds, lighting up every building along Main Street with a bright and cheerful glow. Sunlight glared off the glass storefronts of Main Street, welcoming you back to life, opening it’s warm embrace. It was the day beckoning you to come out and enjoy it, reassuring you that everything was going to be okay. 
You finished your breakfast, tossing half the cinnamon roll in the trash, hoping Millie didn’t notice. You really didn’t want to offend her because you definitely planned on coming back. The roll was just as amazing as she’d said it would be but you couldn’t possibly eat another bite. Your body hummed in anticipation of seizing the day, your soul buoyed at the prospect of having a plan for the first time in so long, finally seeing this new place that you were calling home. Grabbing your bike from the rack, you pedaled up Main Street, heading for the library. 
The Hawkins library was pretty small, but you managed to find a couple of books that piqued your interest, a new Stephen King and ‘Along Came a Spider.’ Horror and thriller which were exactly the kind of books you were looking for. No romance, no lost loves, no emotional roller coasters. You didn’t even want to venture into fantasy, which you usually loved, because there was almost always some kind of side romance plotline going on. Nope. You were moving on and the last thing you needed was a reminder of all that you'd lost, all that you might never have again. 
After filling out the paperwork for a library card and chatting for a bit with Marissa, the librarian, you stashed the books in your backpack and pedaled down to the lake. The warmth of the sun was the perfect contrast to the cool breeze that brushed along your skin as you sped along through the woods, enjoying the scenery and the chirping of birds as they celebrated the day too. There were no benches but you managed to find a fallen tree that was perfectly suited to your needs. Propping your bike up against it, you sat down, leaning against a large branch and opened up one of your books. 
It was a perfect spring day, the kind that fills you with giddy anticipation for summer. The sky was a robin’s egg blue, not a cloud in sight now that last night’s storms had passed. You gazed up, the treetops shimmering with afternoon light, the light casting various spots of the forest floor in a brilliant spotlight. It was quiet and peaceful out here. This might just become your new favorite spot. You couldn’t believe your luck that it was deserted on such a beautiful day. Why wasn’t this place swarming with people enjoying this flawless morning?
Relaxing back, you read for a while. The sound of the lake’s waves meeting the sand was a pleasant soundtrack playing subtly in the background as you got lost in the story. The wind brushed over your face, ruffled your hair, warm and welcome after so many months of winter. The leaves in the trees rustled gently, adding to nature’s own symphony of sounds. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this content, this at ease. Maybe the move to this little town, somewhere new and unmarked by painful memories, was going to be exactly what you needed. 
Just as you were getting to the climax of the book, your stomach rumbled, the sweet treats from the morning wearing off. You glanced down at your watch, shocked to see it was already three in the afternoon. Damn, no wonder you were hungry. You'd gotten lost reading for the past four hours. Packing your books back in your bag, you jumped on your bike, pedaling back into town, looking for somewhere to grab a late lunch. 
‘Hawkins Diner’ came into view. Not exactly the most original name but it would do. Slowing up, you slid your bike into the rack on the side of the place and headed inside. It felt like you had stepped back into the fifties, the place eerily seeming frozen in time. Black and white checkered tiles were dizzying under your feet. There was a long counter almost spanning the length of the diner with white and teal stools, chairs that matched around small formica tables scattered throughout the diner. A pie sat in a glass display near the register, a sign announcing that Banana Cream was the pie of the day.
“Hey there, go ahead and sit wherever you’d like. Tammy will be with you shortly,” a girl with red hair called out from behind the counter, sunglasses resting on her face. You found that a little odd but you weren't going to mention it. Maybe the girl was sensitive to the fluorescent lights or something. You found them quite annoying yourself.
“Oh, actually I was just going to place a to go order, if that’s okay?” you asked with a friendly smile. 
“Sure.” She waved you over and handed you a menu. “I’m Max. Take a look and let me know what you want and I’ll have the kitchen whip it up for you quick.”
You glanced over the menu, a bit overwhelmed by all of the options. This place offered just about anything and everything you could want, regardless of the time of day. You wavered between ordering breakfast or lunch but in the end lunch won. You settled on a BLT and fries, letting Max know and hopped up on a stool to wait when she told you it would be about ten minutes. 
The diner wasn’t very busy. It was a bit late for the lunch crowd and a bit early for the dinner crowd. There were a few guys sitting at a table with coffees and what looked like the remains of breakfast food. A young couple shared a milkshake at the other end of the counter, each of them sucking up the creamy sweetness through a straw while gazing moonily at each other. A family with three young kids sat at another table with burgers and fries all around, the two boys using their straws to blow at each other until the mom snatched them away. 
“So, are you new to Hawkins?” asked Max idly as she worked on refilling ketchup bottles. 
“That obvious?” you laughed. 
She shrugged, “It’s a small town. Hard to miss a new face. It’s rare for anyone new to move in.”
“Yeah, I’m new. I mean, fairly new I guess. I moved here four months ago but I haven’t exactly been out and about much until today,” you explained, drumming your fingers on the table. “Just been really busy unpacking and getting settled at my new job.”
“Oh, where are you working?”
“Hawkins Elementary,” you answered. “I’m a third grade teacher. It’s been a bit weird actually. I only ever worked at one school before. I didn’t start at Hawkins until January, after the winter break, and I felt like the new kid. I was so nervous the kids wouldn’t like me.”
“And?”
You chuckled, “Luckily, they seem to like me okay.”
Max nodded slowly, pressing her lips together, “Yeah. The little ones are probably a lot easier. I know I could be a pain in the ass once I hit middle school.”
“Oh god no,” you huffed, shaking your head. “There is no way. I’ve taught kindergarten and they are cute but absolutely exhausting. I’ve taught first, which I loved but then I moved here and third was the only class available. I’m actually loving it. It’s nice because they’re still sweet but not quite as needy. I think third is about as high as I want to go, though.”
“I don’t blame you,” Max agreed, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh! I think your food’s up. Let me grab that for you.” She disappeared for just a moment, reappearing with a large brown bag, grease stains already developing on the outside, handing it over to you. “Here you go.”
“Thanks so much. It was really nice meeting you. I haven’t met too many people yet but I am hoping to remedy that soon. If I’m going to stay here, I probably need to make some friends.”
Max tilted her head, as if contemplating something, “Well, you know, if you want to meet some more people, my friends and I are meeting out at the lake tonight for a bonfire. You are more than welcome to come. You know where Lover’s Lake is?”
“Yeah, actually I do,” you responded with a grin and a nod. “I rode out there this afternoon and hung on the beach for a while. It’s beautiful out there.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged. “When you’ve lived here your whole life, it doesn’t feel that exciting. I mean, I used to live in California so compared to the Pacific Ocean, it’s just okay for me. But this has kind of become a tradition of ours. You know, a way to celebrate winter ending and warm weather finally arriving. It’s also a…well, it doesn’t matter. We’d love to have you.”
“That’s really nice of you but I don’t want to intrude…” you said, uncertainty creeping up. These friends of hers might not be so happy about some girl crashing their little party that they didn’t even know. “I don’t want your friends to be annoyed at you for inviting some new girl.”
Max laughed, “You don’t know my friends. Trust me, they will welcome you with open arms. They’re really good people and they love taking in strays. I mean,” she shrugged, “they took me in years ago when I was the weird, angry new girl.”
You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, considering the offer. It felt weird to gatecrash on someone else’s party but what was your alternative? Sitting at home all night staring at the television the way you'd been doing for months? The very thought just depressed you, an aching dread in the pit of your stomach. You thought about how long it had been since you'd gone out and had a good time. You had been invited out for drinks with some of the teachers when you'd first started there and turned them down. They hadn’t asked you again. Did you really want to make that same mistake twice?
“Alright,” you finally answered. “Thanks. That sounds like fun.”
“Awesome. We’re meeting at seven. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’ll see you at seven.”
“See you at seven. Enjoy your BLT!”
You waved behind you as you headed out of the diner, sliding the brown paper bag into your backpack. For the first time in a long time, you were feeling excited about what was coming next in your life. Maybe it was just a bonfire but it could be the beginning of a whole new chapter and you were more than ready to turn the page on the last one. 
Chapter 2
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soundbluster · 2 months
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One Shall Rise, Epilogue, Part 12
For better or worse, Strika is a shoot first type of 'con, fortunately hor her in this situation. It also helps OP does not particularly care about her, he's just focused on Atlas right now...
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art-outlaw · 2 years
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Private Number # Chapter Twenty
Daniel Ricciardo x Aero Engineer!Reader
Summary: You didn’t like him. That much was clear to both of you. He was cocky and arrogant and totally oblivious to all of the work you and your team did for him. No one else saw him for the egomaniac he was - only you. You were forced to work for him but that didn’t mean you had to fall under the spell he had trapped everyone else under. And you made sure that he knew that.
Chapters: 20/?
Warnings/ Rating: Swearing.
Word Count: 3521
Posted: 9 Sep 2022
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You thought that having a glass of wine would take off the edge of anxiety that had you shaking in your seat, but there you were three glasses later and the tremor in your hands still hadn’t abated. You wouldn’t push your luck with a fourth. It was well past dusk, and if the nod that Daniel had subtly given you in the meeting was any indication, he was coming to your place any minute.
He loved you. He’d told you that he had. In the middle of your office, after receiving some of the most devastating news in your entire career at Red Bull, he’d called himself an idiot and told you that he loved you and that he had for months. And you hadn’t been able to respond at all before Katie walked in, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else to tell you both that you had a meeting that both of you were supposed to be in.
And that engineering meeting had dragged on and on and on and on. At least you had thought that it did. In all honesty, it was probably no longer than the normal meetings you had, but every piece of shit that had piled onto you in the minutes before it started only seemed to exacerbate your impatience. 
When the meeting had finally ended, Daniel had shot up from his seat like his ass was on fire, and had practically sprinted to get away from you. Not exactly the reaction you had been hoping for after giving him the note – you’d honestly expected him to stick around and get more details from you. But you’d only received the curt nod as affirmation to your invite to your place.
And now it was 6:54pm, you had thrown back three glasses of wine with a price tag that should’ve had you sipping politely instead of chugging, and you were waiting on One curly-haired Australian. You’d sat on the couch and scrolled through your emails, you’d prepped your calendar for the next month, begrudgingly responded to a text your Aunt had sent you asking about when you were going to see her – not any time soon – and mindlessly scrolled through the only social media you had. 
He still hadn’t arrived. 
You sighed again and heaved yourself off the couch. The ingredients for a simple pasta dish awaited you in the fridge – it was the only recipe you could do without burning down your house – and it seemed like you were no longer expecting to have company for the meal. 
Maybe another glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. You weren’t drowning your sorrows, just muting them slightly for the evening. The head noise of all your problems could come in the form of a hangover, but tonight… Well, your drinking habits could be future-you’s problem.
As the first splash of your fourth wine fell into the glass, the lightest knock on the door sent your hand tipping too far. The clattering of your glass, the bottle of wine and its contents went spilling across the stone countertop. “Fuck, fuck - hang on a minute! – fuck!”
Like you were in a cartoon, your eyes flicked between the wine slowly dripping onto the floor, towards your front door, and back again. Over and over, you couldn’t decide what to get first. It could only be Daniel at the front door, and it would be rude to keep him waiting, but at the same time you didn’t want him to walk into shattered glass and red wine everywhere.
Fuck it, the man had seen you naked after all, seeing your kitchen in complete disarray would honestly be a step down in terms of intimacy levels. You hastened to the front door and threw it open, yelling over your shoulder to a dumbstruck-looking Daniel to come on in, before you sprinted back into the kitchen, bare feet padding across the floor.
“Sorry, I just broke a glass so be careful not to step on– oh my fucking–” And then you let out a high pitch cry. The glass you had so fortuitously warned him about not stepping on, was now lodged firmly into the sole of your foot. A litany of swears escape you, and the tears rise unbidden to your eyes as the sharp pain radiates up the arch of your foot.
You hop to one of the seats at the kitchen bench, and plop onto it. Taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself, you glance down to see blood pouring out of the open wound, the inky redness of it slowly mixing with the red of the wine. Bile rises in your throat. The gash wasn’t big and by no means serious, but the shard of glass still sticking out of it, combined with the three wines you’d already had and the nervousness of Daniel coming over – it would’ve been enough to send someone with a weaker stomach over the edge.
“You okay in there?” Daniel’s voice calls out from the hallway. The worry in his voice wrapping around his accent, and your stomach flips again. He was here, and you’d just stepped on glass and definitely put a dampener on the plans you’d had in mind. “I hear a lot of swearing, and I don’t want to be stabbed. You never specified why you wanted me to come over, and if it was just to murder me, I am gonna have to decline and go.”
“No, no! No murder plans just yet.” You call back to him, looking up at the ceiling and hissing out a breath as you try to grasp one of the larger shards imbedded into the soft skin. “I just broke a glass, and stepped in it like a dumbass –”
Daniel rounds the corner, and immediately gasps your name as he takes in the scene in front of him. In the few seconds since letting him in till now, your kitchen had transformed from a humble heart of the home into a crime scene. You grin at him, and give him a bloodied two fingered salute. 
“Welcome to my place?” you say sheepishly. 
He snorts and makes his way towards you, waving off your protests about stepping on glass and wine. “I’m wearing shoes, dumbass. Unlike you–” he gently grabs at your ankle to twist your foot towards him better. Your heart jumps to your throat at the casual move. “-- when someone warns me about broken glass, I don’t go running towards it barefoot.”
“I’ll deal with this, you go hang out in the lounge room or something. I’ll just be a minute.” You grasp at his shoulders with your un-bloodied hand to gently push him away. “I’d offer you a wine, but I just smashed what I think might be the last bottle in my house.”
You glance up from your foot, to see Daniel rolling his eyes at you. When he meets your gaze, the amber burn of them traps you in place. His voice drops an octave. “Let me help you.”
“It’s okay, I don’t need it.” It feels like deja vu all over again, the echo of your conversation earlier that day.
“I know you don’t need it, but you’re gonna accept it anyway. Where’s your first aid stuff?”
You quietly direct him around your kitchen, trying not to cringe as the tinkle of glass breaking underneath his boots breaks the silence. You pull your foot up into your lap, and survey the damage closely. “It won’t need stitches, but it definitely still has glass in it.” You say absentmindedly, as you poke around the wound.
“Stop touching it, and let me be the judge of that. I’m still debating whether I should be taking you to the hospital for this or not.” Daniel’s voice is closer again, and you recognise the warmth radiating off of him. You finally take notice of what he’s wearing. Basic black jeans, a white crew neck shirt and a well-fitting leather jacket, the perfect match to the boots on his feet. He looks… fucking hot. 
Vaguely, as your brain gets lost in the thoughts around Daniel’s profile and how good he looks in that jacket, you recognise he’s still talking. You take in the shape of his mouth as he speaks, letting the words wash over you totally unheard, and appreciate that whoever was in charge of the universe must’ve taken their time when crafting the image of the man in front of you. And then he pulls out a shard of glass with a pair of tweezers, and you can’t help but smack him in retaliation.
“Ow, fuck! Warning would’ve been nice!” You gasp out. 
Daniel rubs at his shoulder, with a grumble. “I did warn you! I literally counted down from three, how did you not hear me?”
And you were too busy staring at him to hear the warning. “Sorry,” you mumble back. “I’m ready now.”
And slowly, with a slew of tears, profanity and a whole lot of coaxing murmurs from Daniel, all of the glass – every tiny shard of it – was tweezed out. You marvel at Daniel’s gentleness, and the gracefulness of his hands as he gently manipulates your foot around as he cleans it. His fingers are lean and long, longer than you would’ve thought for him. And the veins across the backs of his hands twist up his wrist and onto his forearms. 
You drink in the sight of them as he works. The pain of your foot dulled just by the sight of him in your kitchen, with glass still scattered everywhere and his brow furrowed in concentration. 
He gently shushes the small whimpers you let out as he wraps a bandage around your foot – where he’d even found it in the mess of your meagre first aid kit was a mystery to you. But when he’d finally tied off the bandage, he didn’t make any indication he planned on moving any further away from you. You could still feel the warmth radiating off of him, and smell the intoxicating musk rolling off of him. The leather jacket only added to the crisp, petrichor scent of him. 
“I think you’re all fixed up now,” He said quietly, the coolness of his breath blowing over your shoulder, sending shivers cascading down your spine. “Won’t even scar.”
“Have you got a doctorate since I last saw you?” You hated the way your voice was breathy as you spoke. A telltale sign that you were more than slightly affected by his closeness.
“No, but I have a body covered in scars from childhood scrapes and a mother who’s first aid advice was to rub spit on it. Trust me, honey, you’ll be fine.”
Honey. God, you were turning into a sap. A simple pet name and you were putty in his hands.
“There goes my plans of cooking us dinner,” You look around the kitchen helplessly, knowing the second you put pressure back down onto your foot you’d be crying again. “I’m sorry, Dan, I had this whole plan to cook us dinner and talk, and now I can’t even freakin’ stand and–”
And then he was kissing you. And murmuring against your mouth to shut up. You bit his bottom lip, and his laugh floated across your lips. You couldn’t help but join him, eyes closed and drinking in the taste of him. Your hands wound themselves into his hair and dragged him further down to you, until it felt like he surrounded you.
Everything around you was overcome by Daniel – everything you saw, you smelt and felt. All of it was him. Nothing else, in that moment, mattered more than how it felt to have your cheeks trapped by his hands, the caress of his bottom lip against yours, and loosening in your bones like you were coming home.
Eventually he pulled back, his hands effectively holding you back from chasing after him. He didn’t move far, only just far enough to speak to you. Your eyes were still closed, and you couldn’t bring yourself to open them. Not if it broke the small bubble that had already enclosed over this moment. But they fluttered open anyway, as the soft timbre of his whispered voice washed over you.
“Not only do I know your foot won’t scar, but I also come from an Italian family. If you think I don’t know how to cook the meanest pasta of your life, you’d be dead wrong.” And then he ducks down, and presses the chastest of kisses back to your lips. You can’t help the small giggle that escapes you. 
“How did you know I was going to make us pasta? I don’t even have any of the ingredients out.” You try to make the accusation in your voice strong, but even your own indignation was no match to the sudden warmth spreading through your veins. Pure liquid happiness, injected straight into your bloodstream just from his presence.
His thumb brushed across your cheek, swiping gently under your eye. You leaned into his palm, letting him take the weight of your head. “No offense to you – you know I think you’re brilliant – but I kind of assumed that the only thing you might be able to cook is a pasta dish.”
Even with your cheeks squished in his hands, you glared up at his accusingly and pouted. “And what could possibly have led you to make that assumption?”
Daniel raised his eyebrows at you, but his answering grin was mischievous. He ducked another kiss to your lips, lightning fast. “You said you grew up in a boarding school and then spent years studying your degrees, and then you’ve spent the last few years eating at hotels and restaurants nine months out of the year during the race season. Doesn’t leave a lot of time to develop any sort of chef skills, hmm?”
You didn’t say anything back, but your silence was enough of an answer for him. That, and your glare. You could only watch him in open appreciation as he tipped his head back to laugh, and watch the bob of his Adam's apple in the thick line of his throat. A primal urge to bite the thick muscle on the side of his neck overwhelmed you briefly. 
“Okay, so you might be right about that, but I don’t like being typecast.” You finally relent, the ‘fire’ of your fake outrage burning out too quickly to maintain. Daniel only threw his head back with a barking laugh that echoed off of the stark walls of your place. Only a few framed photos, and a couple of artworks adorned your walls – you hadn’t spent long enough in the humble abode for a continued amount of time for you to worry about making it particularly homely. But now, with Daniel standing in it like a personified sunshine, the cold emptiness of it rang loudly in your heart.
“Well, little Miss ‘I won’t be stereotyped’, you sit there and look pretty and I’ll cook us dinner. Sound okay to you?”
And just like that, your own personified sunshine started moving about the kitchen – at your direction – to cook you dinner. And your heart fucking melted. It had been so goddamn long since someone had taken care of you, properly taken care of you that you couldn’t help but feel the fissures of age-old fractures in your heart healing as he chatted away to you by the stove.
Half an hour later, Daniel was placing a steaming bowl of the most decadent smelling pasta dish of your life in front of you. You could only sit and stare at it in gobsmacked silence. You weren’t sure where he had pulled this dish from, but you weren’t entirely sure that you had even had the ingredients to make what was now sitting on the bench in front of you.
“Bon appetit,” he said, the smug grin he’d been sporting for the last few minutes fading into a shyer one. Daniel’s hands twisted in front of him as you picked up your fork to twirl a piece of spaghetti around the tines. You shovelled the piece in with less grace than you honestly should have, but the second the flavours burst across your tongue, there was no holding back the moan that escaped you.
“Oh my, God, where on Earth did you learn to cook like this?” The words come out garbled from your mouth, having already pushed another forkful of the pasta in. You roll your eyes into the back of your head and you can’t help but moan your delight again. When you’ve finally swallowed the food, you finish with, “And can you please teach me?” 
Daniel’s head was thrown back, and you again appreciate the thick line of his throat and the bark of his laughter. Momentarily, you forget about the pasta sitting in front of you, the view across the island bench suddenly much more enrapturing than the food. Only he could have you wrapped so tightly around his finger. You weren’t sure any other person alive could hold a candle to the wild flame of his presence in your life.
And then Daniel told you exactly where he learned to cook like that – his parents were Italian, what did she expect? – and so much more. For the longest time, until time meant nothing anymore, you and Daniel sat across from one another and finally, after all of these months, spent the uninterrupted moment getting to know one another. You already knew everything you needed to know, just like you figured he knew everything he needed to know about you, but filling in the blanks and answering any unspoken questions that had built between you over time.
It was…extraordinary.
And when the plates had been cleared away and the kitchen tidied – again, Daniel insisting you remain where you were with your bandaged foot – and another bottle of wine had been and gone, the conversation came to where it was supposed to be. The reason he had come to your house in the first place.
In the dimmed lighting of your kitchen, when the laughter had faded out and the atmosphere had become more weighted, and the sharp tang of wine tannins lingering across your tongue, you finally asked him what had been sitting at the forefront of your mind for the last eight hours. 
“Did you mean it? What you said in my office today? That you–” You cut yourself off. You couldn’t repeat his words exactly. Not on the off chance that he took them back right now. You weren’t sure whether you could handle that.
But he didn’t leave the question lingering in the air. His response was immediate and full of conviction, and it sent a rush of butterflies through your chest, fluttering and palpitation inducing. “I love you. And I should’ve told you when I first realised it, and not waited until the worst possible moment. But I’ve made a point in my life to take opportunities where they come, and I won’t let this one slip by. I love you, and I want – I need – you to tell me that you feel the same because I don’t think I could stand another minute pretending like I hate you when I know that it's a lie.”
You swallow loudly. The words hang like a dead weight in the air, and you feel like if you reached a hand up right now, you could physically pull them into existence. But you can’t find the words to speak, and your tongue feels leaden in your mouth.
Instead, you stand slowly and cringe slightly at the sharp squealing drag of the kitchen stool dragging over the floor. And then, hobbling slightly, you round the corner of the bench to the side where Daniel sits, his eyes transfixed on you, and stand before him. Even sitting, he only needed to tilt his head slightly upwards to keep his gaze on yours.
And then your hands fist their way into his hair and grip tightly, before your lips fall harshly against his. It’s not a pretty kiss, and not the first of the evening, but you were damn sure going to make it the first one of the rest of your lives. Because you loved this man with every fibre of your being as much as you hated him. 
Pulling back, you watch his eyes flicker until the amber brown is all that you can see. You’re drowning in pools of whiskey, and the words leave you without any thought. “You’re so goddamn lucky I love you, because if I didn’t you can be damn sure that I would hate you with every bit of me that I have to give. There’s a fine line between love and hate, Daniel Ricciardo, and you toyed with that line for too long and now you’re stuck with me.”
A shaky exhale of a laugh escapes him. “Is that a promise?”
“I wrote it down for you, and you’re still questioning me? You are an idiot, Daniel, but you’re now my idiot.”
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Hi guys, I know it has been a couple of months since the last update but I promise it has been for a good reason. Life got hectic for a minute there: I finished my degree and finally graduated, I resigned from my job of five years, had a couple health issues and finally, I might’ve fallen in love (I’ll keep you posted on that one).
But, as promised, here is another update of PN. This story likely only has a few chapters left to it, so emotionally prepare yourselves to say goodbye (eventually!). 
As always, thank you for reading, and any love, comments, criticisms and general sort of interaction is greatly appreciated. XX
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Speaking of vampires, wrote a big long thing (that is also the first in a series) of Garashir vampire AU, inspired by @lgbtqiads9's gorgeous Vampire Julian art and with a lot of brainstorming and beta reading from @ectogeo-rebubbles! Enjoy this worldlier, darker Julian Bashir as he contemplates whether to turn his crush into a vampire too. I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out and can't wait to write more in this fictional universe!
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