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celestie0 · 2 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

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

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)

a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha

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

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere.

Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him.

One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.

The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.

You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.

He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”

“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.

“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.”

“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already.

His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”

You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.

“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”

You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.

“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”

He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”

You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”

You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.

The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it.

The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead.

You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”

“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”

“Yeah.”

“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”

“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.

“So definite no to hang out?”

“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”

You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”

“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says.

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.

You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.

“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”

You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.

“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”

You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.”

She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”

You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.”

She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”

You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”

Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”

Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest.

“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.”

You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.

But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings.

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”

Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”

Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”

She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”

–

The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you.

It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them.

Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed.

You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.

“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”

You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately.

Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.

“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible.

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.

There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.

Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.

“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”

Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before.

“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks.

“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”

There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.

“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”

“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.

Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”

For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.

“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”

You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.”

Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.

The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.

“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase.

He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”

There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”

The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”

You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby.

The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.

Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.

“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.

The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.

“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.

You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”

The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”

“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”

She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.

She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you.

You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”

She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”

“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”

“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.

You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”

“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you.

“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.

You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.

“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”

The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.

You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.

“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”

The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.

The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”

“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”

“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”

You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.

“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.

“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”

The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you.

“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.

He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”

“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.

“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”

He’s waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.

You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.

You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.

“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”

Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”

He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.

“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long.

“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”

He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”

“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.

He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”

Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.

“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.

He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.

You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing.

This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before.

“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.

“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.” His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.

“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.

You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door.

It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously.

When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.

“What?” you ask.

“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”

You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm.

You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?”

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”

“Your problem,” you say.

“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.

“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”

“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.

You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.

“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.

Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.

He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”

The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.

He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.

It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.

“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”

“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”

“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.

He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”

He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands?

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious.

You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.

“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.

He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.

You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how.

Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.

“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.

“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”

You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”

“Reasons.”

“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”

He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”

You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.

He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.

He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.

“Hey–”

“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.

“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”

When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters.

“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.

“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”

“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.

“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.

You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly.

He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.

He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.

You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.

“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.”

You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.

It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.

You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been.

You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.

“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”

“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”

He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”

You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”

He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”

“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”

You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.

“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly.

“Mhm, makes sense.”

His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.

You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”

“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too.

“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”

He nods. “You do.”

There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.

“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”

“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”

“I asked him for it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”

“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”

There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”

You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”

He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”

“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”

“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”

“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.

You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you.

“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”

“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.

“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”

His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.

“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.

“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck.

Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.

–

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.

Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.

You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.

The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area.

It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.

Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”

You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.”

You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.

“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.

Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.

“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.

“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.

Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”

All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.

“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”

With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.

“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.

You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”

“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?”

“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.

He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”

“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.

He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”

“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.

“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.

“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.”

You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”

He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”

You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”

“Yup.”

“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.

“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”

You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”

He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”

You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”

The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.

“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”

“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”

“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”

“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”

He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”

You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”

He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”

He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.”

Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”

He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.

“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.

The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.

UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.

The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.

“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”

Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”

Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.

“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.

You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.

There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.

“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.

He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him.

And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.

When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.

“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.

He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.

“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”

You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.

“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”

“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”

“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.

“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.

He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”

He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”

He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.

The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back.

You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear.

You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake.

Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.

|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera

|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way

The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there

a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though. by the way! i'm starting a choso x reader zombie au series, if you'd like to read more about it and/or be added to the taglist, you can reply to this post here also if you want to be added to taglist in general, i'd recommend making sure your tags are on!! since i've noticed a lot of people have them off

➸ take me to chapter nine!

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

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upsidedownwithsteve · 9 months

Text

Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went.

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street.

None came.

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift.

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something.

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time.

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen.

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door.

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back.

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem.

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too.

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him.

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink.

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down.

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring.

“What?” Eddie was staring back.

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you.

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it.

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have.

It was becoming harder to lie.

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles.

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed.

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before.

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead.

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond.

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise.

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief.

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say.

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.”

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you.

You told it to shut up.

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it. “We’re friends, huh?”

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing.

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own.

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had. “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face.

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips.

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly.

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing.

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering.

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy.

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly.

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too.

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb.

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair.

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his.

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie.

Your forehead touched his.

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more.

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans.

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim.

Touching. Still touching.

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft.

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high.

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it.

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?”

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners.

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘‘cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely.

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night.

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head.

You wondered if you should’ve said something.

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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exhaslo · 15 days

Text

Corruption Ch18 (End)

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12, Ch13, Ch14, Ch15, Ch16, Ch17

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship? SMUT, public sex, creampie, breeding kink

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

D-Day

The weather was chilly as the first heavy snow of the season finally started to flutter. Your eyes sparkled as you watched from Miguel's office window, adoring the view of the city. The city of Nueva York was beautiful before you.

Shivering slightly as you touched the window, you started to wonder if you were going to be okay for tonight. You had found out that Miguel was now Spider-Man. He secretly enhanced himself somehow and was doing who knows what.

"Yet he says I can't be a hero," You said with a soft pout.

Returning to your seat on Miguel's desk, you started to tap away on your tablet. A whimper escaping your throat as you rubbed your legs together. Miguel had been consuming both your body and mind and it was showing.

Trying to focus back on your work, you started to think about how Miguel was at home. He was such a romantic. Always taking care of you, pleasuring you and treating you like a queen. It felt so strange from someone who loved to torture people.

"(Y/N), I have another meeting in a half hour, correct?" Miguel asked as he quickly entered his office.

You snapped out of your dazed state and checked the tablet. Agreeing to his comment, you watched as Miguel cussed lowly and grabbed a drink from his fridge. Jumping off the desk, you approached Miguel and stroked his cheek,

"Are you okay? Do your eyes bother you?" You asked out of concern.

"Hah, still so worried about me," Miguel said with a smirk, "You need to start focusing on yourself."

"Mhm, it's pretty cold today," You cooed softly.

Miguel stroked your cheek before grabbing your hand. He had you follow him to the lab that was destroyed from the explosion a while back. It was being rebuilt rather quickly. To your surprise, Miguel had Lyla activate a tablet that was locked away.

"Until I set up a second location for a secret lab, this will be where I conduct my experiments for our Spider powers," Miguel said in a whisper and showed you the tablet, "Starting with a suit for you that generates warmth."

"Oh! Miguel!" You smiled brightly, hugging your boyfriend, "How long have you been designing this?"

"Since I found out," Miguel said honestly as he pulled out the suit, "You're going to need it for tonight."

You jumped in glee, pecking Miguel's cheek as you went to observe your new suit. It had some subtle changes, but nothing that you truly worried about. Miguel made you this suit and you were going to happily wear it.

-------

Miguel just smirked as he watched you get all giddy with joy. Yes, he included a heating element so you could swing in peace, but he also added so much more. That suit was to represent to the city that you were no longer a hero to them.

You were Miguel's.

"Now, I have a meeting to get to. Why don't you finish reviewing the paperwork of the restorations?"

"Okay~"

The more obedient you became, the more Miguel craved you. It started to become unhealthy and Miguel noticed, but he didn't care. As long as Miguel still got what he wanted, then he believed he was allowed to have everything.

Parting ways with you for the moment, Miguel kept a calm composure. He was debating on telling his idiot father about his new found powers. The reason? To take control of Alchemax and the shareholders.

Miguel had big plans for both the company and the city.

Everything was going to belong to him.

Everything.

---------

Your smile stretched from ear to ear as you wore your new suit. It fit you perfectly. Standing on top of the Alchemax building, you inhaled deeply. The cold weather wasn't bothering you thanks to your new suit. It was great!

"Enjoying the suit?" Miguel asked, appearing in his suit. You gasped, approaching him,

"Wow! I didn't get a good look last night, but you look amazing in that suit!"

It was hard to tell if Miguel was smiling at the compliment due to his mask. His attire was different from yours, but also quite nice. It made you wonder how long he was working on this. Giggling at the thought, you hugged Miguel,

"This is so cool. We can work together~"

"About that-" Miguel stopped you, grabbing your chin, "This will be your last night as a hero."

"Wha-"

You were at a loss for words. Miguel's fingers stroked your thumb, unmoving from his comment. You were no longer going to play a hero? There was no way Miguel could take on the role. You were hoping to guide him.

"But-"

"What did I say?"

You gave a small pout, "To do as you say," You said and gasped as Miguel pulled you into his embrace.

"Good girl," Miguel chuckled darkly, "Besides, I'll take over. I'll make sure this city is taken care of."

"Mhm....but....You've never fought before," You whispered, melting against his touch.

"Neither did you when you first started."

Touché. Miguel got you there. Agreeing to his decision, you gently tugged on his suit, wanting to go for a swing across the city. This would be your last time doing so.

--------

Miguel was holding back from laughing. How far you've come from trying to change him, to being his obedient good girl. There was something about tainting you that brought chills up his spine. Miguel enjoyed breaking you.

"Come on~" You cooed, falling off the building.

Like instinct, Miguel went to reach for you. He withdrew as you laughed and started to swing. He let out a soft sigh and followed you, making sure that you didn't go far. There was one last lesson that Miguel needed to teach.

Swinging above some reporters, Miguel just chuckled darkly. He hurried towards you, wrapping his arm around your waist before swinging you onto of the nearest building. You whined softly but stopped as Miguel started to rub against your clit.

"M-Miguel...n-not here...a-anyone could watch," You tried to protest. Miguel just found you cute,

"They won't know it's you. All they will see is Spider-Man giving Spider-Woman the time of her life."

"Mhm~ B-But-" You gasped as Miguel rubbed your clothed clit harder.

Miguel just chuckled as he looked down at the reporters. They were trying their best to get a shot of the two of you. Turning you around, Miguel undid the bottom of your suit. You were already dripping in anticipation for him.

What a good girl.

Miguel held your hips as his suit disappeared only around his dick. With a simple thrust, Miguel had you under his spell. You were gripped the edge of the building, moaning as he slapped his cock deep within you.

"Not so shy now, huh? Did you want those reports to watch me breed you? To have them watch the once hero, Spider-Woman get fucked stupid?" Miguel taunted.

"N-No~" You cried out. Miguel hummed as your pussy fluttered around his cock,

"Could have fooled me."

Miguel grunted as he held you in place. All those reporters could see was Spider-Woman getting railed by Spider-Man. This showed them who was in charge. To show them that there were no more heroes left in his city.

"Mhm~!" Miguel covered your mouth as you moaned, wanting to make sure you didn't say his name.

"I hope you're ready to answer some questions." Miguel said with a wicked smirk.

You just raised your hips and whined as Miguel fucked through your orgasm. With a few more thrusts, Miguel gave you his first load. Unamused by the amount, Miguel made sure to fill you up before your interview.

"Now, you're ready."

--------

You leaned over the building, panting heavily from Miguel's quick sex session. Your mind felt dizzy. Miguel was so mean. Fixing your suit, you shuddered as your body felt full. You were going to get pregnant at this rate.

"Come on,"

Wrapping your arms around Miguel, you hummed as he swung you over to the reporters. You couldn't think straight. All you wanted to do was behave for Miguel.

"S-Spider-Man....W-What...What are you doing here?" One of the reported asked, terrified, "A-And what have you done with Spider-Woman?"

"Hm? She seems fine, don't you?" Miguel said, motioning towards you.

"Mhm, I'm fine," You replied.

"H-How long have...have you two been together?" Another reporter asked. Miguel's hand wrapped around your waist,

"What do you think?" Miguel held you close as he snatched a microphone away from one of the reporters, "Since I have you all here, time to lay down some ground rules."

Everyone could only gasp.

"There are no more heroes left to save you. If anyone dares to confront me, they will perish. Nueva York is my city now and soon the world. Spider-Woman and I shall bring forth a new breed of advance humans to rule over you tiny incest's-"

"There's no way she would agree to this!"

"Oh? Well, what do you think, my dear?" Miguel whispered in your ear, causing you to shiver.

"I belong to him, so I will do as he says," You cooed, trembling as Miguel whispered, 'Good Girl', in your ear.

"As you can see, I have already corrupted your hero."

Humming lowly as Miguel pulled you close, you smiled as he kept speaking to the public.

"Listen to me, and you'll be fine."

A simple ask. Miguel treated you like a queen and all you had to do was listen and do what he says. Nothing crazy. Feeling yourself being lifted, you wrapped your arms around Miguel's neck as he swung away from the terrified reporters.

"Best make do on my promise."

"Yes, Miggy~"

What was once a dream of being a hero and saving both the city and Miguel, turned into nightmare.

The hero was corrupted by the villain and didn't even know it.

But, you weren't complaining. You just stayed as Miguel's good girl...

Forever

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

WOO-HOO!!! I hope you all enjoyed this story!!!! I, for one, will miss it truly!

I didn't hesitate to start my next story, haha! I PRESENT:

Over-Time

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @safixiovi @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly @marlyharper @jadeloverxd @daddyfroglegs @shoukanjo @cicithemess @babyprofessorsharkpalace

#spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader

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doriana-gray-games · 5 months

Note

What bad happened?

Why don't they just explain to Sherlock what's the deal instead of shouting at them? -,- Sherlock can't apologize if they don't know what they did wrong.

It’s not so much that what happened is the cause of L yelling at MC in ch5, in fact—it’s not. I’d put that more on MC being in the wrong place at the wrong time (while being who they are to L).

What happened, I won’t say, yet. Though some people already know to some extent. But what happened is sort of the reason MC and L were never closer before the start of the game, and why L have some complex feelings about Mc.

L does not hate or resent MC for what happened. And they know logically what happened is not on MC. But that doesn’t mean that MC isn’t somehow intertwined with certain hurt and bad feelings L have had, and still have. While L may admire and even care for Mc, or be romantically drawn to them, there’s also some resentment and jealousy and self doubt that they’ve yet to fully deal with. Some of these feelings are to do with the thing that happened and some with their work life and feelings of inadequacy.

(This is not an excuse at all. For L or MCs who may have acted badly. It’s simply the facts.)

#<3

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skunaskitten · 16 days

Text

Yakuza Husband ch5

Paring: sukuna x femreader

Contains: smut, oral, soft sukuna, introducing gojo and pissing off sukuna

summary: You and sukuna are trying to fight the feelings for each other but it didn't last long, soon you realize you fell for him. You end up telling sukuna how you feel, for the moment you will just enhoy your life with him.

chapter4 ch5 chapter6

Over the next few days after that night of fully having sex with sukuna and when he asked if you wanted him, you got more comfortable around him, to a point where you would nuzzle against him on the couch when watching a movie or eating dinner. He still waited patiently for your answer if you wanted to fully commit to the relationship but you were still unsure.

Were you really ready to commit a life of crime with him? Your thoughts ran with all the possibilities of what could go wrong but also you had what could go right with sukuna.

He is protective, sweet, charming, and sexy. But he is also dangerous, a killer and won't hesitate on doing what he wants.

Being lost in thought as you sat there at work petting one of the dogs, you slowly started to hear your name being called when you snapped out of thought. You looked over to see one of your friends you work with stare at you with a smile and say "hey y/n you listening?"

You gave her a smile then looked back at the dog laying beside you. "Oh yea I am fine, sorry just thinking."

She smirked and walked over saying "thinking about who."

You have a shy smile.

"A guy I've been seeing. It's complicated. And I am not sure if I want to be in a relationship with him because of who he is."

She sat down beside you and looked at you saying "is it about sukuna?"

You sighed and looked away. "Yes it's about him."

"Is he good to you? Like does he make you feel butterflies and bring you gifts. I mean you bought a cat for him that is more than just friends."

You looked at her thinking.

"I mean he made me feel like a type of butterflies."

She giggled then said "did you two get in bed?"

She whispered as you blushed a little and held up two fingers looking at the dog who started to get up and walk away. Her eyes went wide and said "what you did it twice?! Woman just go out with the man already. You are already passed the friend zone."

On the way home you kept thinking about everything happening between you and sukuna and from what your friend told you. You thought it over and over again and when you got to your door you took a deep breath already making up your mind and having your answer for him.

When you walked through the door sukuna was standing there with a bag of trash in one hand and yuji in the other while a smirk formed on his face. You stared at his bare torso, he always has a habit of not wearing shirts.

"Hey sukuna."

"Hello sweetheart."

You closed the door and walked past him as he placed the bag down by the door and followed you. He can tell something is off about you.

"What is wrong with you?"

You just smiled and went into the kitchen going through the fridge seeing what to have for dinner as you responded to him. "Nothing is wrong, I am just hungry. What are you in the mood for?"

Sukuna walked over to you and slid his body between you and the fridge then held yuji to you. "You better tell me what is wrong or I will force it out of you. Did someone hurt you? Is someone following closely? Tell me."

You took the kitten into your arms petting him and let out a sigh, "sukuna we need to talk."

He didn't like the sound of that, watching you walk over to the couch sitting down then he went over to sit next to you.

"Am I finally being thrown out?"

A smile formed on your face at his comment as yuji jumped out of your lap and ran around the couch. You took a deep breath and turned to face sukuna as he stared at you with a calm but alert expression.

"Sukuna. I am attracted to you. And I've been thinking about us and what you do and who you are."

You played with your hands squeezing them together as you looked away from his gaze as he sat listening closely and not saying a word.

"I thought about it all day being with you and having a relationship. If my mother can do it, so can I."

You looked back to him with a slight smile. "Sukuna, I will be your lover. But there are rules I am going to set."

He smirked and leaned in closer to you saying "I don't follow rules darling. But for you I will make an exception."

You crossed your arms. "One I don't not want to see anyone be killed around me, and I do not want to be involved in any killing. Two, no other women, I might break my first rule if I see women flirt with you or touch you, I am very possessive. Three, Just love me for who I am. And we have normal dates as well."

He moved closer to you and raised a hand to hold your chin between his fingers with a smirk on his face. "You are hot when you boss others around. I will accept your terms."

You couldn't help but to stare into his eyes and have a light blush on your cheeks.

Sukuna leaned in closer and pressed his lips to yours giving a soft but sensual kiss as if you just made a deal with the devil.

After the talk you helped sukuna make dinner while yuji stood on his shoulder watching.

"Hey sukuna do you always cook?"

He looked over to you then back to the pan cooking the meat.

"I cook when I feel like it. My family takes turns making dinner so we all know how to. I just do more portions for myself. I am not much of one to cook for a whole group of people."

You smiled while kneading the dough and asked "is that why you always cook for me?"

He chuckled looking at the dough saying "well if I don't cook you will starve. I see what you eat. All those packages of ramen and instant meals. Now that I am here you are going to eat right."

A wide smile formed on your face then moved closer to him nuzzling your cheek against his arm. He looked over at you raising an eyebrow and felt you place a kiss on his bicep. Sukuna could help the smile on his face and look away as you noticed him getting a slight blush.

"Kuna~. You're blushing."

"No I am not woman, you are just seeing things."

Yuji mowed and placed a paw across Sukuna's face, making you laugh.

He always made amazing dinner and it was just the two of you in the kitchen as he showed you how to wrap the bun shape around the pork. Sukuna made it look way too easy as you tried but it kept falling open. He just chuckled while helping you and placed kisses to your cheek.

When you both finished dinner you cuddled against sukuna on the couch wrapped in a blanket. He let you rest your head on his chest while laying back across the couch with a movie playing. He wasn't really paying attention, mainly he was staring at you and talking on the phone. He smiled seeing how peaceful you looked laying on top of him.

But what concerned sukuna was what gojo had told him over the phone they had been stalking the alley way trying to look for any signs. After the phone call you looked over at sukuna seeing his face filled with a bit of worry and anger.

“Sukuna you alright?”

He let out a sigh and looked at you then held your face in his hands.

“Sweetheart that alleyway where you found me, please do not walk down that way. Our enemies have been stalking the area. They are starting to realize that I was taken and still alive. Just stay away from that area, do you hear me?”

You gave him a nod and leaned up on him to press your lips to his then pulled away to give him a smile. “I promise I will stay away, I will just take the bus. All the way to the end of the street.”

He smirked and held your chin looking at you with a smirk plastered on his face. “Good girl.”

When going to bed sukuna stayed out on the couch to give you space but you had a hard time sleeping. You tossed and turned and kept checking the time every thirty minutes trying to get yourself to be tired, though your heart wanted to finally have someone by your side. Since you and sukuna are official, your mind starts to mess with your heart. Letting out a sigh you finally gave in as you got out of bed and wrapped a fuzzy blanket around you then walked out your room to sukuna. When you saw him already asleep on the couch. You gave a slight pout, you didn't want to wake him, so you turned around and about to walk away until you heard his voice.

“Sweetheart, you need something?”

You froze in place and turned around to see him facing you with a tiered look on his face.

“I just….it feels lonely and cold in my room.”

Sukuna slid his legs off the couch and stood up, as he gave a tiered smile.. He walked over to you and wrapped an arm around you pulling you against him.

“Well shall we go to your room then.”

A blush filled your cheeks while feeling your body pressed against sukuna. The soft blanket felt warm against your skin and was the only thing between you and sukuna. His smirk widened as he looked at the blanket around you.

“Are you naked underneath that?”

His question made your cheeks warm up and you looked away to see his healing wound now becoming a scar.

“Maybe..”

Sukuna lets out a chuckle grabbing the edge of your blanket then pulls it from you enough to take a peek under it.

You gasped at the sudden cool air across your skin. Sukuna then walked away, looking at you with the corner of his eye with a smirk while he said “well come on darling.”

He disappeared into your room as you stood there and finally snapped out of your trance to follow him into your room. Yuji was already in your bed and got up to meow. You watched the yakuza boss flop down onto your bed and looked at you, waiting for you to join him.

You didn't know why you felt so nervous. It wasn't the first time you slept with him in both ways, this should be just like the other times. You placed a small blanket on the bed for yuji to curl up into while Sukuna's eyes gazed at your body seeing your nipples hard from the cool air, your panties that fitted nicely around your rear and all you saw was the smirk on his face growing.

As soon as you got into bed with him, his arms were thrown around you and pulled you closer against his chest.

“Do you feel warmer now?” He asked, his voice sounded deep and raspy from his previous sleep.

You hummed and nuzzled against him, closing your eyes but the peace didn't last long until Sukuna went to place his face in the crook of your neck.

Your heart begins to race and flutter when you feel his lips press against the sensitive spot of your neck just below your ear. One arm snaked under your body and the other roamed his hand across your hip, giving it a squeeze then he sucked on your neck.

“You are so beautiful and so delicious.”

Your body heats up just from the feeling of him on your skin.

“Sukuna we need to sleep.”

He ignored you and continued to kiss your neck and trailed down over your collar bone and to your chest.

His lips placed soft kisses to your plump breast as you started to move onto your back as he slowly moved on top of you to continue sliding down your body leaving trails of soft kisses down your body.

“Sukuna…stop teasing please. What are you doing?”

He looked up at you and smirked saying “we have to celebrate our first night together as a couple.”

You didn't get to have a word when he went back to place a kiss to your hip but gave a light bite instead and made you gasp out from the feeling. You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second and whatever he had planned hasn't fully started. Sukuna's hands moved to your hips and slipped his fingers under the hem of your panties and started to pull them down.

A whimper escaped your lips and shifted your hips to let him pull them off.

While the two of you were distracted with each other, a meow could be heard beside you. Both of you looked over and saw yuji watching the two of you. Sukuna let out a sigh looking at the kitten then moved away from you to take yuji into his arms and placed him in the bathroom to give you both some privacy.

“Sukuna at least put some toys in there for him.”

You looked at him with a smile and he picked up some of the little plush mice and threw them in the bathroom with yuji then closed the door.

While he was busy with that you slipped off your panties all the way and when he turned around you threw them at him watching It hit his chest and landed in front of him.

Sukuna took a step over them and slowly walked over to you, his eyes trailed over your naked body looking like a full meal to him. A smirk plastered on his face and he untied his gray sleep pants then let them drop to the floor. He crawled back over on top then smashed his lips to yours. Giving you a deep passionate kiss, his tongue licked your lip and slid into your mouth when you let him.

You hummed at the taste of him and closed your eyes letting your tongue lick his own. When he pulled away you tried to chase his lips but he moved away down your body again then pressed his lips to your breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple. You moaned and whimpered. Your hands went into his fluffy pink hair and slightly pulled on it between your fingers making him groan against your breast.

He gave attention to the other breast then started to trail down your body again, but this time he gave light bites to your skin. Bites on your breast, ribs, stomach and your hips. You couldn't help but to spread your thighs letting him settle between your legs with his body and let him have a full view of your needy soaked cunt.

“Look at you kitten, so wet for me already.” He said with a chuckle. Feeling him press his lips to your inner thigh. He was purposely avoiding the place where you wanted him most.

Your hand went onto his hair and gripped it as you tried to push his face down.

“Woman, you are so inpatient.”

Sukuna moved forward and stuck his tongue out pressing it to your clit as he spread your thighs wider.

A moan escaped you and already you tried to push your hips to him wanting him to go harder.

His eyes gazed to you all you could see his lustful red chocolate eyes and the smirk on his face. His tongue licked between your folds up to your clit and swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud.

Your back arched and gripped your pillow feeling him making out with your lower lips.

His tongue slid up and down and his lips sucked on your clit making you squirm and moan his name. Your body had a mind of its own and let itself go to sukuna. Closing your eyes, feeling his tongue slide inside of you. You opened your eyes and looked at him, face flush and looked right into his eyes as you felt the warm muscle wiggle inside of you. He gave you a wink and closed his eyes again to eat you like a starving man.

His tongue moved from inside you then continued to swirl around your clit and felt him slide his middle finger inside you, curling it until he reached that good spot. You could feel how close you were as your back arched and felt your womb tighten.

“Sukuna….I am so close….don't stop.”

He pulled his mouth away for a moment to speak. “Don't hold back then let it out.”

He went on your clit again, swirling and sucking on it while pumping his fingers.you couldn't hold it and your back arched creaming his fingers as you yell his name.

“Sukuna!”

After tasting all of you, Ryomen sat back up looking at you with a smirk on his face as he pulled down his pants to let his hardened shaft spring out. You looked at his fat cock seeing it leak at the tip. The pretty color of his skin and pulsing veins had your eyes glued to him.

You got up and crawled over to him and gave him a flirtatious smile as he watched you. When he felt you grab his shaft giving a few pumps he let out a groan then felt your thumb slick over his tip. What he didn't expect was for you to lean forward sticking out your tongue to give a lick on his tip.

His eyes widened, blown with lust, watching you open your mouth and look up at him with innocent eyes. He let out a deep moan feeling your mouth wrap around him while he laid his head back and his hand in your hair. You tasted the slight salty sweet of his cum dripping from his tip onto your tongue. You couldn't fit all of him into your mouth so you swirl your tongue around the tip, sucking while you pumped the rest of him. He slowly started to buck his hips wanting to get deeper into your mouth feeling how close he was to his release.

Just to tease the yakuza boss you pulled your mouth away and gave him a smile as he looked at you with an annoyed look. “Did I say for you to stop?” He said as a warning but you just giggled at him and said “I wanted you to release in me.”

He smirked and grabbed your chin and said “I was going to release in you. Down your throat and watched you take me whole.”

You gave him a smile and moved your lips to give a suck to his thumb then pulled away “I want it in my womb. I want you to fuck me sukuna.”

Sukuna let out a growl and hooked an arm around you and whispered in your ear “turn around and get on your hands and knees.”

You felt your heart race as you did what you were told and hearing sukuna shifted behind you, feeling his weight on the bed. What you didn't expect is him laying a smack of his open hand on the right cheek of your rear. You let out a sudden yelp and looked back at him feeling his hand sooth the tingling pain.

“Sorry kitten, you needed to be punished.” He chuckled then lined himself up behind you. You could feel his cock between your legs and slide across your folds with every slow movement of his hips teasing you.

A whimper escaped from you, his tip at your entrance still teasing then push himself inside. You moaned his name and pushed back, getting him deeper inside you and just wanting him to fill you up. “Sukuna please thrust.”

He smirked, saying “whatever my kitten wants.”

He thrusted at a normal slow pace but you wanted more of him so you started to push back harder to meet his thrust encouraging him to go faster. “Sukuna please..” you moaned out gripping the pillow as sukuna gripped your hips tightly and started to slam himself behind you. With every slam of his hips was bringing him closer to his release.

“Sukuna keep going”

His hand trailed up your back and grabbed the back of your neck then pushed your head down with your cheek against your pillow showing a dominant side and hearing him let out a groan and thrust into you getting deeper, hitting that good spot over and over.

When you finally felt that snap. You raised up onto your hands again and yelled his name while your breast bounced with every powerful thrust from him.

“Sukuna!”

Hearing you scream his name and felt your warm gummy walls squeezing his cock, he let out a husky deep moan and creamed the inside of you as he leaned forward pressing his body down on your back and hooked his arm around your neck letting go it rest against the bend of his arm and collapsed onto the bed letting him lay on top of you. He gave slow movements of his hips thrusting out your orgasm.

Sukuna rolled off your back pulling out of you then laid onto his side with his arm still under your neck as you took deep breaths and leaned against him, hugging his arm and started to trace your fingers over his tattoos on his forearm that made his skin tingle.

“Sukuna….I love you..”

Ryomen froze hearing those words come out of your mouth, he didn't know what to do or say. He thought if he should say it back.

You noticed his silence and hid your face into his arm saying “sorry..I shouldn't have said that. It's just, I actually feel happy you are here minus what is going outside with you.”

He pulled you closer to him and gave light kisses to your neck and to your ear. “Darling those are dangerous words to say to me. You are the first woman that I slept with to say I love you.”

You turned around in his arms to face him and ran a hand along his jaw and gave him a soft smile. “Kuna..you are a dangerous beautiful man.”

Sukuna formed a smile on his face and chuckled as he leaned in closer to your face.

“I never had someone call me beautiful, it's usually sexy, hot, or yes boss.”

You giggled and nuzzled against his body and rested your head on his chest as his arms stayed wrapped around you.

“So you had women in bed call you boss.” You asked looking up at him and he let out a sigh saying “yes but just know these women were nothing special to me like you are.”

You couldn't help but to smile then hear yuji meow through the bathroom door.

Sukuna untangled his arms from around you and removed himself off the bed then picked up a shirt to cover himself in the front. You giggled with a smile gazing at his bare backside when he walked away to get yuji. Your eyes scanned over his back and muscles while biting your lip.

“Darling you should not do that around me.”

Sukuna dropped the shirt and placed yuji on the bed as he got into the bed as well, finding his place behind your body and held you close to him. Yuji let out a loud meow and nuzzled against your neck.

You could feel your heart swell. Feeling the love in the room made you feel like you have a family now. A moment like this with sukuna and the kitten, it's why you said you love him. You don't want these moments to end.

You didn't remember when you fell asleep but you woke up in the morning with sukuna laying beside you. The kitten is running around on the bed, walking all over sukuna, making you giggle.

“How long have you been up?” You asked him as he looked over at you saying “for an hour I think. I didn't want to wake you but since you are awake, do you want a shower with me?”

You gave him a flirty smile and leaned up, pressing your lips to his then pulled away saying “yes I will love to.”

Sukuna got out of bed as you did the same but wrapped a blanket around your naked body while yuji still stayed in bed asleep. “I will go get a towel for you.”

He smirked and went to start the shower while you walked out of your room to the hallway closet. Standing up on your toes you raised an arm to reach one of the towels as part of the blanket fell from the side of you exposing you.

“Well good morning.”

You froze, dropping the towel from your hand when hearing another voice in your home. When you looked over you saw the same white haired man that you ran into wearing his sunglasses. This had to be gojo one of sukuna's people but you couldn't help but to let out a scream from being startled. Your scream caught sukuna's attention as he ran out holding your blanket around his bare lower half and his gun ready.

Until he saw satoru sitting on the couch with a smirk on his face.

“Fuck what are you doing here?”

You looked between them as sukuna looked to you and went over to your side and helped hid you from his friends eyes. “I am sorry sweetheart. Why don't you go back into the room I started the shower. I will be there in a minute.” Ryomen told you in a husky low tone then pressed a kiss to your cheek and you gave him a nod and before you left giving gojo a glare and a middle finger.

Gojo smiled and laughed watching you walk away as he said “well sukuna I can see why you are smitten by her. She is feisty and the body on her is not bad.”

Sukuna growled and stepped closer his way “I advise you not to disrespect my woman”, his voice laced with venom and threats. Satoru chuckled and waved his hand saying “oh behave we are in her home, why don't you go back and continue with her fun while I wait. I have things to discuss with you.”

Sukuna snarled at him and walked back into your room, tossing the blanket onto your bed and walked into the shower seeing you waiting for him with a smile. His eyes roamed over your body making a blush deepen on your face. Both of you stepped into the small shower feeling the water cover your body as you felt yourself pressed against his body since it was a small space. You moved to grab your soap and lathered your hands with it then pressed your soapy hands to his chest. You could hear his chuckle and felt it through your hands as you attempted to wash him down but it was just an excuse to touch him. Sukuna took your soap and grabbed your hip with his other hand to turn you around, keeping your back to him.

There was no words exchanged between each other but your bodies said it all. He squeezed the soap into his hands then his arms went around you to press the palm of his hand to your breast. Feeling him gently massage them with the soft silky feeling of the soap as he pressed his lips to the side of your neck. You leaned back against him with a moan, feeling his soapy hands trail down your stomach and over your hip making its way to your plum rear giving it a squeeze as you giggled.

Sukuna smirked against your skin and gave a light bite to your neck. “Let me do your hair next, stay still.”

As soon as you felt him lather your hair with soap he started to run his finger gently through it. The feeling of him running his fingers through your hair you had to let out a light moan and lean back against him. He quickly pulled his hands away and brought you under the water with him to rinse the soap off both your bodies.

Sukuna wanted to do a little more than just take a shower. A hand trailed down the front of you as his other squeezed your breast. “Sukuna. We can't, we have a guest here.”

He let out a growl against your ear, his fingers snaked over your mound and started to rub your aching clit. “I don't care he can go fuck off. This is what he gets for interrupting our time.”

You let out a moan feeling his fingers toy with your bud and slip a thick long finger inside you. His hand let go of your breast to turn off the water as your moans started to fill the bathroom.

Sounds of your slick wetness and moans echo off the shower wall while his lips sucked on the side of your neck. “Good girl, be as loud as you want.” His praise got you to moan his name louder feeling close to orgasm, he could feel your walls starting to tighten around his finger and hips buck, then he added another. His thumb made hard fast circles on your clit, feeling your hips buck against his hand more wanting him to get deeper. When you spread your legs wider and pushed back against him you felt his hard cock. You felt dizzy and drunk off pleasure you didn't care if his right hand man was out in the living room you needed sukuna.

“Kuna please fuck me on the bed I need you in me. I want your thick cock in me.”

All you got was a deep lustful chuckle mixed with a growl and felt him remove his fingers from you. “Little kitten didn't get enough last night.”

He quickly scooped you up into his arms and walked out of the bathroom. You looked up at him seeing his hair wet and partly down in a spikey way in front of his forehead. He suddenly dropped you on the bed as you rolled over onto your stomach then raised your rear up to him and laid onto your forearms. He got a full view you spread open and dripping just for him. “Oh darling you know just how to get what you want.”

Sukuna grabbed his shaft and gave it a few pumps before he positioned himself behind you and began to tease, sliding his tip back and forth across your folds. “Sukuna, please don't tease me.”

Each time his tip brushed and pushed over your clit you felt a jolt through you.

“Kuna please just stick it in.”

“As you wish my love.”

Sukuna finally in one motion of his hips, you felt him pierce your entrance and filled you up to the length of him. A loud moan escaped from you as you pushed back wanting him as deep as he could possibly go. His hands gripped your hips almost tight enough to leave fingerprint bruising on your skin. Snapping his hips at a fast hard pace as you clutched your bedding and let him pound into you from behind.

“Sukuna! Sukuna!”

You yelled his name already yourself about to snap. He let out a deep grunt feeling your walls tighten around his cock with every thrust he made.

“Fuck darling you are so tight.”

You could hold it any more. Feeling orgasm hit you, sending you in a blissful pleasure as you yelled out his name making your back arched as you pushed back into him.

The feeling of you creaming around his cock he let out a groan while thrusting out your orgasm as he let go of your hips then grabbed your arms to force you down onto the bed. With a few more movements of his hips, you felt him lean onto your back and press his lips to your ear.

“You want me to fill you up baby.”

His deep lustful voice just made you whimper in response. He got the answer and thrusted a few more pumps into you and gripped your wrist as he spilt his load inside you painting your walls white.

“Ryomen!”

“Fuck!”

He kept himself laid on your back feeling you pulse around him as he twitched inside of you and both breathing heavily.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel good. You think he is still here?”

“He is a perv. I know he still is listening to us.”

Sukuna kissed your shoulder then pulled your face closer to his and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. You smiled at his kind gesture and slowly got himself out of you then ran his hands slowly across your back and said “you take a minute to relax and come out when you are ready. I am going to go see my idiot of a family.”

Sukuna got off from your back and placed on his clothes then walked out of your room closing the door then headed to the living room to see gojo with a wide smirk on his face.

“What?” Sukuna said with a grumble in his voice.

“oh ryomen. Sukuna. Fuck.” Gojo teased with a female voice and started to laugh.

Sukuna crossed with his arm and snarled at him. “Shut up.”

Satoru placed his arm up on the couch and looked to his boss with a smile. “I didn't expect you to be so whipped by a woman before.” Sukuna stepped closer to him with threatening eyes and was about to tell him off but then stopped when hearing your door open then looked over to see you.

You gave them a shy smile as sukuna smiled lovingly at you while gojo watched the interaction between you both.

“Hello. So you are the one that has been stalking me like a creep. How is the knife slash? You shouldn't have been such an easy target. I could have been the enemy.”

They both looked at you stunned, then sukuna started to laugh out loud and said “that is my girl!” You smiled and giggled then walked over to nuzzle against him. Satoru then moved and held up yuji in his hands saying “this little thing was laying on my lap the whole time. I am surprised you named him yuji.” Sukuna crossed his arms and said “it was her idea.”

“No it wasn't Kuna, you told me I should name him that and even the kitten agrees” you said looking at him as he looked at you. Gojo started snickering and said “you guys are already acting like a married couple.” Yuji pushed himself out of satoru's arms and walked on top of the couch and raised up his paws to sukuna with a meow. Sukuna smiled and picked up the kitten letting him crawl up onto his shoulders to sit on it.

Satoru smiled and leaned forward onto the back of the couch, his arms hanging off the back of it. You looked at him and crossed your arms and said “how did you even get in here?”

“Oh you left the window unlocked so I just crawled in.”

You looked over to sukuna crossing your arms, giving him a look. He cleared his throat and said “I might have forgotten to check everything before I came into bed with you.” Gojo smiled and looked at the blanket on the couch and smirked saying “you are still sleeping on the couch. So she got you out here. Man you must be whipped.”

Sukuna sent daggers to satoru as you looked between them. Then you walked over to sukuna wrapping your arms around his midsection as he lifted his arms looking at you confused.

“For your information gojo. The reason why the blanket is out is probably best for you not to hear. Sukuna sleeps in my bed like a king should.” Sukuna could have sworn he felt his heart combust. Instead of pushing him down saying the truth you instead built him up. He wished satoru would leave now so he can carry you back to bed and rail you in every position then call you his queen.

Sukuna looked at you and smirked saying “am I making breakfast or are you?”

You smiled up at him while hugging him tight saying “I like it better when you cook.”

“Then I will make breakfast, any request?”

“Just some eggs for me.”

You both just stood there holding and staring at each other until gojo cleared his throat and said “why don't you both get married already.” Sukuna pulled away from you and walked over to the kitchen pulling out things to start cooking. Satoru smiled and raised his hand saying “I will take pancakes.” Sukuna grunted and said “you can go starve for all I care or even better you should leave.” You just giggled and walked over to pull yuji off of sukuna and walked over to sit with gojo, just wanting to have a conversation with him.

“So gojo. What do you do in the family of curses?” You petted yuji as the cat curled in a ball resting on your lap. Satoru smirked and leaned back against the couch. “My job is to annoy your man and to also keep track on anyone. To know that person's entire life.” You smiled looking to yuji saying “so stalker material.”

Sukuna started to chuckle and set up the plates and placed the food onto it “food is done brats.”

You got up along with gojo and went to take a seat at the table sitting across from sukuna. The whole conversation between the three of you was gojo talking about the younger days of sukuna. How he got his ass beat by the old boss. You giggled while eating as sukuna just sat there annoyed and pouting poking around at his food. He also mentioned that sometimes the wolves that belonged to another member would sometimes bites sukuna. Sukuna grunted, poking his eggs saying “I am a cat person.” Satoru chuckled saying “that is why you get so much pussy.”

You quickly looked at him feeling a little embarrassed but then gojo went on about some of the women sukuna had encountered.

“Hey sukuna, you remember the girl we brought who danced on you. Or the one that you body slammed onto the pool.” Gojo laughed as you just stared at your food he noticed this and said “oh no need to be jealous he didn't care for any of them.”

Sukuna moved his hand quickly and smacked satoru up the back of his head and said “shut the hell up.” He just laughed then looked at sukuna and said “so is she coming home with us or are you leaving her here?”

You looked at him not saying a word and the realization that after his wound is healed he will have to go back. He will leave you and who knows how many times you will get to see him after he is gone.

“I am going to go to my room and let you two talk. Excuse me.” You got up and walked away leaving them alone. Sukuna looked over at gojo and growled out a “get out.”

Satoru shrugged with a smirk and got up out of his seat. “Well she had to find out sooner or later, better now then to have her deeply in love with you then watch you break her heart.”

“Get out!”

Gojo gave a pout and walked to the door saying goodbye then walked out of the apartment. Sukuna quickly went to your room seeing you laying in bed wrapped with the blankets and your back to him. “Y/n?”

He has never been so worried over someone like this. He never cared for what people think of him or when they cry. “Darling? Don't ignore me. Please.”

You finally looked over to him moving the blankets from you and his heart stopped seeing the tears in your eyes. He didn't like to see them in your eyes and that fact he said the word please, that word was not something he used. It was like weeks ago when he threatened your life seeing you cry but now he is here begging for you to speak to him.

“Are you really going to leave me?”

The thought of you even thinking that he was going to leave you behind makes him chuckle.

“oh my silly girl. You are not going anywhere without me. You are coming with me wherever I go.”

His hands softly cupped your face sitting down on your bed and wiped your tears away with his thumbs.

As you sucked in a breath you looked at him in the eyes seeing the mixture of concern and worry in them. It melted your heart to see how someone like him can be so worried about your well being. “Sukuna, I really care about you.” he softly smiled and leaned in closer to your face pressing his lips to yours. “I care about you more.”

The rest of the night you watched a movie with sukuna, the movie you were watching was his little brothers favorite to watch. Yuji was even sitting on your lap staring at the movie. You smiled and nuzzled against sukuna while he held you close to him. When going to bed, you were pressed to sukuna's chest with your back against him and the kitten in your arms trying not to think of what gojo had mentioned.

The worries of sukuna raced through you mind that one day he may just leave you and never want to see you again. Or him just using you for one thing.

You just want to enjoy your time with him but only with time will show how he truly feels.

gojo loves to annoy sukuna and its getting spicy more.

chatper4 chatper6

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #yakuza sukuna #yakuza husband #yakuza sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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acescorazon · 4 months

Text

Title: Changes

Chapter: 11/?

Word count: 5875

Warnings: Crocodile, panic attacks, and Buggy's back to thinking his suicidal thoughts.

Chapter except:

Buggy has honestly never met a more infuriating man in his life. Crocodile is so cryptic and hard to please at times, and Buggy just… Whatever. He doesn’t care. He’d just be wasting his time if he gets annoyed by Crocodile. He finishes what little work he has left and then sighs in content afterwards, “Okay, i’m all done.” He announces to Crocodile who for some reason looks slightly disappointed…? Is that the right way to describe his face right now? It doesn’t matter, he asks Crocodile if there’s anything else he wants Buggy to do while he’s still around, and Crocodile shakes his head in response. “...No, that’s it…Thank you.” Thank you? Did Crocodile just say…

Buggy glances over at Crocodile, and he’s unsure of how he’s even supposed to respond at a time like this, “...What…?” He asks.

“....Thank you…” Crocodile repeats quietly.

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|Ch10|

Contrary to popular belief, Buggy is actually a leader and has a crew of men to oversee. He can't afford to spend his entire day organizing and cleaning up Crocodile's mess from the past couple of weeks, and yet, that's the exact situation Buggy finds himself in. Instead of letting Buggy run his island like he should be doing right now, Crocodile keeps him holed up in the meeting room all morning and well into the afternoon.

It's awkward and stressful, and Buggy hasn't been able to relax for even a minute. Every little move or sound Crocodile makes causes that feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach to grow worse, and every part of him is telling him to get the hell out of the meeting room, and fast before Crocodile’s mood can turn sour, and he ends up hurting him again.

And yet, Buggy remains seated uncomfortably close to Crocodile. He wants to leave more than anything in this world, but he can’t muster up the courage to do so. They sit in silence for the most part, with the occasional sounds of Crocodile yawning or lighting up yet another cigar and exhaling deeply, but Buggy didn’t expect to chat and gossip all day with Crocodile. He’s actually glad things are somewhat still normal between the two. Crocodile seems less hostile, sure, but that’s probably because he’s just exhausted.

It’s not enough for Buggy to simply put away all the documents and folders on the table, no, Crocodile wants things organized into three separate categories: Business plans, contracts, and intel, and anything else can be considered miscellaneous and can be properly organized later. On top of that, he wants all the documents in the boxes on the floor looked through and properly sorted as well, and he even wants all the boxes properly labeled. It’s a lot, and Buggy still doesn’t know how Crocodile managed to clutter up the meeting room in such a short amount of time, but he doesn’t question it, he simply gets to work, starting with organizing all of the data and information Crocodile has somehow managed to compile over the course of god knows how many days, weeks, months, or even years.

To make matters worse, occasionally Galdino stops by even though Crocodile said that Galdino had other important things to do and that he couldn’t get him to do his bullshit tasks for him instead, and whenever he does, he’s always overly nice, and extremely dedicated to Crocodile as always. He brings him frequent cups of coffee, but never offers Buggy anything, hell, he doesn’t even look in Buggy’s direction, and part of Buggy wants to call Galdino out again, but it’s pointless.

So much for being friends.

It’s around three in the afternoon when Crocodile finally breaks the silence between them, “Hey… why don’t you go get lunch?” He suggests quietly. It’s a little late for lunch, but Buggy’s sure that he could get a couple of his men to fix him something up. He is a little hungry, and he’s so damn tired of looking at papers. He’s been organizing Crocodile’s crap all day, and he’s hardly made any progress, but he thinks he’s gotten at least the intel part of his filing done, or at least he hopes he does. Crocodile didn’t ask for any, but Buggy really thinks they need to invest in some file cabinets. He didn’t think they’d need any before, but after seeing just how many documents Crocodile has, he thinks they definitely need them now.

Buggy finally stands up again after sitting for hours and hours without hardly moving. His back hurts slightly, but he doesn’t dare complain to Crocodile, he just wants to get the hell out of here, and is about to do just that when Crocodile speaks up again, “And come back after lunch, okay?” He orders.

Jeez, can’t they just call it a day? Buggy still has other things he has to do, most of which are for Crocodile himself, he really doesn’t want to have to come back here and do more filing. He holds back a groan and gives Crocodile a small nod, “Sure thing…” He mutters, and after that, he makes his leave.

“Be back in thirty minutes, Cl… Buggy!” Crocodile calls out to him just before he can get too far away, and Buggy cringes slightly now that he’s out of Crocodile’s view.

Well, there goes his appetite.

This sucks. Thirty minutes isn’t enough time away from Crocodile. Usually, he only spends an hour, maybe two hours tops with Crocodile during meetings and afterwards he has all day to recover. Yet today he’s just supposed to stay all day with him or most of the day with him and only get a thirty-minute break to mentally recover? God, what did he do in his past life to deserve this?

Buggy decides to skip lunch altogether. He hates to admit it, but Crocodile’s right. The crew have been living more or less off Sea King these past couple of weeks, and Buggy isn’t in the mood to have any today, or really eat in general anymore, so instead he takes a walk around the island in an attempt to clear his mind a little bit.

He greets and waves at various members of his crew as he walks by them, and every time he sees one of his men sitting around or goofing off, Buggy once again wonders why Crocodile couldn’t have one of them do his dirty work. Buggy’s sure, no, he’s positive that any one of his men would eagerly organize and file all of Crocodile’s important documents, but nooo, of course, Buggy has to be the one to do it.

It just doesn’t make any sense… But whatever.

As he continues his little stroll, eventually he ends up running into Alvida, who grabs him by his elbow and pulls him to the side. “Hey! What was going on last night with you and Hawkeye?” She asks, and Buggy can see the curiosity shining brightly in her big brown eyes. She looks around before leaning forward and lowering her voice slightly, “Are you two… you know?” Are they what? Buggy thinks, frowning.

“No, I don’t know. Just what exactly are you asking right now?”

“You know…”

“No, I don’t know!”

Alvida sighs loudly. She looks around again, almost as if the two of them are discussing something they shouldn’t be right now before whispering to Buggy again, “Dating, or maybe hooking up?” she asks in a tiny voice, chuckling afterwards. “C’mon, you can tell me, I won’t tell a soul.”

Buggy’s eyes damn near pop out of his skull and, despite his devil fruit powers, those are some of the only things that are supposed to remain attached to Buggy at all times. Buggy repeats the question in his head once, twice, and then a third time. Are he and Mihawk dating or hooking up…?

Ew.

“No! Why would you even think that?!” Buggy screams horrified and slightly appalled at the mere suggestion of Buggy being romantically involved with Dracule Mihawk of all people. He loves Alvida dearly. She’s like a younger sister to him, really, but at this moment he just wants to throttle her. How in the hell could she possibly think that Mihawk and Buggy were an item?!

“Buggy,” Alvida calls out. She places her hands on his shoulder and looks into his eyes, “You can tell me the truth, I won’t judge you.”

“Alvida. Look, I don’t know what you thought you saw, but–”

“I saw Mihawk making heart eyes at you, Buggy The Clown.”

The hell is she even talking about right now? Mihawk must have been with someone else named Buggy The Clown last night because he sure as hell wasn’t looking at him with heart eyes or anything like that. Not that Buggy was looking at Mihawk, though, because he tried to avoid eye contact with him at all costs, but he just knows Mihawk, he’d never be interested in Buggy like that. In fact, Buggy’s still surprised Mihawk wants to be his friend or whatever."

Buggy exhales a loud sigh of his own, “Vida, look me and Mihawk don’t have that kind of relationship, and you know it.”

“I don’t know,” Alvida replies, dragging her words out and sounding almost playful as she talks to Buggy, “You two look like you’ve made up quite a lot.” They haven’t. Buggy still hates the guy! He’s… he’s just tolerating him more or less at this point!

Buggy shakes his head. He looks down and checks his watch, then groans when he sees what time it is. “Look, I don’t have time for this, i have to get back to the meeting room and help organize Crocodile’s mess.”

Alvida raises an eyebrow, “Why are you helping him?” She asks. What does she mean, why is he helping him? He has to! He’s in debt to him, and when Buggy explains that to her, she gives him another strange look, “...But Galdino and I offered to help him clean the meeting room up earlier, and he said he didn’t need any help, and told us to go away…”

Huh? Buggy thinks, confused yet again, this time by the sudden revelation. “I don’t know, Alvida. He just called me in early this morning and told me to help him, so that’s what I’m doing. Look, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He gives her a quick hug before hurrying back to the meeting room but swears he hears her mutter something along the lines of, “Hm…interesting.” while he’s still within hearing distance, but Buggy has no idea what that could even mean or if that’s what she actually said in the first place.

If that’s what she actually said, what’s so interesting about Crocodile ordering Buggy to do some work? Crocodile’s been bossing him around since the moment he stepped foot on Emptee Bluffs Island, what’s different and interesting about that now? Whatever, Buggy doesn’t get it, and he definitely doesn’t get why she suddenly thinks Mihawk and him are seeing each other, but he doesn’t want to get any of it either.

Buggy makes it back to the meeting room a little early and finds Crocodile resting his head down on the meeting room table, perhaps sleeping quietly. Buggy isn’t quite sure if the other man is asleep or not, but he hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should leave or if he should continue to work like Crocodile instructed him to. In the end, though, he decides to quietly turn back and just leave, but before he gets the chance to do so, he hears a deep voice call out to him from behind, “You’re back already?” Crocodile asks, sounding a little dazed.

Buggy spins around on his heels and forces a smile onto his face, “Yeah, I decided to come back a little early...” He tells Crocodile in a hushed voice, and then after that he quickly takes his seat at the meeting table again, still avoiding eye contact with the exhausted man.

Crocodile slowly raises his head and runs his large hand over his face, “By the way, after you get done, can you ask Hawkeye to drop by and see me?” He asks. What the hell? Why can’t Crocodile just… Ugh, whatever. Buggy is just going to stop questioning Crocodile and focus on his work instead.

Buggy nods silently in response. He doesn’t ask any of the questions that are lingering in his mind, instead, he resumes his work from earlier, moving on to sorting through all of Crocodile’s business plans, and, boy, does he have a lot of them. He really thought this whole Cross Guild thing out, and it looks like Crocodile is serious about their little organization (not that Buggy ever doubted him.) and he has long-term plans for it for the next five, maybe even ten years.

God, will Buggy even be alive in five years? Maybe and the thought of having to spend the next five years with Crocodile is just… awful. He hates Cross Guild so much and finds himself once again regretting that he even borrowed money from Crocodile in the first place. Five years, maybe ten, or even twenty years of his life potentially down the drain all because he borrowed some money from Crocodile after the war. Man, he fucked up.

The room falls silent yet again as Buggy tries to hurry up and get his work done for Crocodile, but it almost feels like Crocodile is actively making his workload grow. He constantly hands him more papers or documents that need to be put away, and Buggy is equal parts tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed. How is he supposed to get any work done around here?! And how is he supposed to do all those other things Crocodile wants him to do, if he can’t even finish this one extremely tedious task?! Also, is Buggy Crocodile’s damn secretary now? Because he feels like Galdino would be much better suited for the job...

The hours slowly drag on and on, and on, but eventually dinner time approaches and Buggy finally gets the courage to look up at Crocodile, “Hey… Uh, can I finish the rest tomorrow?” He asks, hoping, praying, even that Crocodile won’t suddenly grow furious with him and lunge at him. He’s almost done sorting through all of Crocodile’s business plans and ideas for the future; ones that still include taking over various desert lands like stupid Prickly Pear Island, as well as various boats he wants designed, and hideouts he wants built for them.

Crocodile takes a moment to think before finally replying, “No... I need this done today, but you can take another break if you want.” Why does he need all this done today?! He has weeks, maybe even months of paperwork and plans cluttering up the meeting room, and he really expects Buggy to be able to get it all put away by tonight?! But why? Crocodile’s serious about this Cross Guild shit, and they’re going to be doing it for a very long time, so why does everything need to be organized and ready now?!

“But…”

“You’re almost done anyways, you might as well finish what you started.” Crocodile states simply without so much as looking up at Buggy. That’s… That’s beside the point! Buggy’s been stuck in this cramped meeting room that smells like Crocodile and his damn cigars for the past nine hours and it’s driving him crazy! Nine hours! He’s been here for nine hours and there’s still more crap to go through, it’s ridiculous!

Buggy bites the inside of his cheek. He feels absolutely frustrated yet defeated right now and all he can do is sigh quietly, “Yeah… you’re right.” He agrees, or at least he pretends to agree with Crocodile. In reality, he’s so annoyed that Crocodile forced him to waste his day, but still, he doesn’t say anything to annoy or anger Crocodile. And he’s actually a little relieved when Crocodile dismisses him for dinner.

He no longer feels flashy or like a leader, and that’s all because of Crocodile. He feels like he’s at the bottom of the hierarchy when the truth of the matter is he’s at the very top, but you wouldn’t know that by the way Crocodile treats him. You’d think Crocodile was the ‘leader’ of Cross Guild and one of the four emperors, and not Buggy, but whatever, it doesn’t matter… It just sucks. Man, what the hell happened to him?

Tonight Cabaji, Mohji, and of course, Richie, all join him for dinner as they sit in Buggy’s main tent and have supper, and as usual, Mohji and Cabaji are overly worried about Buggy. “How are you, captain?” Mohji whispers to Buggy, keeping his voice down, ”Is he being a dick to you again?” he asks. Well, Crocodile’s been a pain in the ass, but he hasn’t yelled or even threatened to beat the shit out of Buggy all day, so that has to count for something.

Buggy shakes his head, stabbing at the asparagus on his plate with his fork. Truth be told, he’s feeling a little uninterested in the vegetable and even the meal in front of him, but like always, Cabaji and Mohji insist he eats a little because ‘he needs all the energy he can get to lead their great and powerful crew’ or something like that. “Nah, I think he’s tired or something, he hasn’t even really talked to me today.” He tells them, “We’ve just both been kinda doing our own thing…”

Cabaji and Mohji both heave a sigh of relief, “Good, good.” Mohji replies, and Cabaji follows suit, “Good. That’s good, maybe he finally realized he should be a little nicer to you.” He suggests and a moment later everyone at the table laughs as they mock Crocodile in secrecy. That’s a funny idea. Crocodile? Finally, realizing that he’s done something wrong and being man enough to admit it and try to change his behavior? Yeah, that would be the day.

“But just in case he starts getting impatient, do you want us to come help you out?” Mohji asks.

Buggy considers the thought briefly as he gives Richie the rest of his food and strokes his mane gently a few times. In the end, he shakes his head again, “Nah, I can handle it.” He insists. He could have used the help earlier, but at this point, he’s got a system and can handle his workload on his own. Plus, he doesn’t want to hear Crocodile bitch and moan about Cabaji and Mohji helping him out and saying something rude and snarky like: ‘What? You couldn’t file a couple of documents on your own? Fucking useless clown.’

Yeah, Buggy’s useless… Yeah, he knows. Maybe that’s actually why Crocodile wanted Buggy to do his organizing for him. Maybe this is all part of some convoluted scheme to get Buggy to mess up on a trivial task, so Crocodile can degrade him more and once again point out how useless Buggy is.

Buggy knows he’s useless though! He knows he’s useless and pathetic and unworthy of living… He doesn’t constantly have to be reminded of all that. He knows Crocodile has made sure to make that fact abundantly clear on several occasions.

“Seriously, Captain… at least let us come sit with you while you work,” Mohji pleads, and Cabaji nods his head eagerly in agreement, “Yeah, even if we don’t do anything, we still want to be there with you in case something happens…” It’s a sweet gesture, and Buggy appreciates it, he really does, but he doesn’t want Cabaji and Mohji to have to witness how Crocodile treats Buggy, not that they don’t already know, but still. Nor does he like the idea of Crocodile getting angry and potentially taking his wrath out on one or both of them, even though Crocodile’s fury has more or less always been directed at Buggy and Buggy alone. He still wants to keep his men safe no matter what.

If someone’s going to take a beating or be humiliated and degraded, it should be Buggy, and Buggy only.

Buggy bids farewell to his beloved men a few minutes later. He gives Cabaji and Mohji both a tight hug and assures them that everything is okay and that they’re just anxious about nothing, and then gives Richie a couple of more pets before he heads back to the meeting room. As soon as he’s away from the others, though, his mood takes a turn for the worst. He feels like a complete failure of a captain. He can’t even comfort his men these days, and if he can’t even do that much anymore, then what good is he? He hates it. Crocodile is right. He’s a good-for-nothing coward who doesn’t deserve to liv–

Okay, he needs to stop thinking about that. He doesn’t even know where all those thoughts came from, Crocodile’s hardly even said a word to him today, and yet… his words from the past are back, and tormenting Buggy for some reason. It’s annoying, he doesn’t want to have those thoughts and tries to force them away, but they just continue to resurface and cause Buggy more anguish.

Worthless coward who can’t do a goddamn thing. Pathetic Crybaby. You aren’t worth keeping around…

Buggy blinks and suddenly finds himself in the meeting room again after another break that goes by way too quickly for his liking, but he doesn’t even remember stepping inside. He shakes away all of his negative thoughts and has a seat at the meeting room table again. Okay, he can do this. He’s going to finish sorting Crocodile’s papers and then go straight to bed, and when he wakes up, he’s going to get started on all those other things Crocodile wanted him to do for him. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle his chaotic mind a little before he gets back to work.

Stupid. Pathetic. Worthless.

“...How was dinner?” Crocodile asks, glancing up at him briefly before looking back down at whatever he’s been working on all day. He successfully startles Buggy out of his thoughts though, and for that Buggy’s kind of glad, Again with the small talk… he thinks, fighting back the urge to groan. There’s no way Crocodile cares how Buggy’s dinner went, so why is he even bothering to ask?! He doesn’t care about him. He hates him and wants him dead, and-–

Still, Buggy gives him a quiet answer, “Fine…Thank you.”

Crocodile looks back up at Buggy, almost seeming like he has something he wants to say, but he shakes his head instead and allows yet another awkward silence to fill the room. Buggy doesn’t question it, the less he has to talk to Crocodile, the better, and he gets back to work. He pretty much has everything sorted and even has all the boxes in the room stacked neatly on top of each other and separated by categories in different parts of the room.

He’s still not done though, but almost, and he’s trying to hang in there despite his constant discomfort while being By Crocodile’s side. Just a few more things, he just has to organize the rest of Crocodile’s junk that didn’t fit into the three specific categories Crocodile mentioned earlier, and that’s it.

Crocodile once again speaks up a little while later while Buggy is going through a pile of what appears to be receipts for weapons that Cross Guild has purchased, “Uh, Buggy…” He calls out, and Buggy freezes for a moment, afraid that Crocodile will give him even more papers to sort through. He looks up and locks eyes with Crocodile, and Crocodile, yes, Crocodile, is the one who actually looks away first, “Never mind.” he mutters a moment later.

…Whatever.

Buggy goes back to what he’s doing after that, only to have Crocodile disrupt him once again a few minutes later, “Look...There’s something I want to say,” He says, but as soon as Buggy looks up to acknowledge him, Crocodile clicks his tongue, “....Forget it.”

What the hell?!

For a moment Buggy is afraid that he’s doing something wrong and that Crocodile is going to start yelling at him, but that never happens. Instead, Crocodile looks away from him again and redirects his attention to the papers in front of him again. It’s fine, it’s fine. Buggy’s made it this far, he can keep on going. There’s only a couple of more folders on the table that need to be put away. He can do it, and after this, he can say that he actually made it through a single day with Crocodile without getting his ass whipped … but then again, maybe he should shut up before he jinxes it.

“Hey, um…” Crocodile mutters.

“...Yes?”

“Nothing.”

Buggy has honestly never met a more infuriating man in his life. Crocodile is so cryptic and hard to please at times, and Buggy just… Whatever. He doesn’t care. He’d just be wasting his time if he gets annoyed by Crocodile. He finishes what little work he has left and then sighs in contentment afterwards, “Okay, I’m all done.” He announces to Crocodile who for some reason looks slightly disappointed…? Is that the right way to describe his face right now? It doesn’t matter, he asks Crocodile if there’s anything else he wants Buggy to do while he’s still around, and Crocodile shakes his head in response. “...No, that’s it…Thank you.” Thank you? Did Crocodile just say…

Buggy glances over at Crocodile, and he’s unsure of how he’s even supposed to respond at a time like this, “...What…?” He asks.

“....Thank you…” Crocodile repeats quietly.

It takes a while before Buggy can actually formulate a response. He’s so caught off guard by Crocodile’s sudden expression of gratitude that he… he just kind of short circuits. “I…” He looks at Crocodile and then down at his lap, “Uh… you’re welcome?” He replies, unsure if he’s still even living in the same dimension as before. Crocodile is actually thanking him for doing something for him, and It’s weird… Really weird. The comment didn’t sound rude or insincere, but there’s no way that Crocodile would genuinely thank Buggy for anything. Maybe he really is dreaming right now because there’s no way an arrogant prick like Crocodile would ever be thanking him. He’s supposed to say something snarky… like… like, ‘Tsk, it took you long enough, clown…’ He’s not supposed to thank him.

Buggy is worthless… He’s pathetic… He doesn’t know how to do anything… He…He fucks everything up, and it’s a damn shame that the World Government made someone like him one of the four emperors. He doesn’t deserve that title, he doesn’t deserve the fame and power he has. He doesn’t deserve anything, actually.

Again Buggy can’t help but wonder what changed…? Mihawk is one thing. Mihawk was there when Buggy was drunk and chewed him out, and he said after that little incident he regretted the way he treated Buggy… Buggy gets that… He’s still struggling with the truth and trying to see his feelings as genuine, but he gets it. Crocodile on the other hand… Why is he being like this?

Buggy doesn’t like this… He feels like there’s something he’s not getting or like there’s something he missed. Buggy’s been away from Crocodile for a couple of weeks, sure, but surely that’s not enough time for Crocodile to have a sudden change of heart … He feels like things are rapidly changing around him, but like he’s stuck in the same place. What changed? Why is Crocodile being nice now? Is this even him being nice? Is Buggy just so used to being mistreated that he doesn’t even know what true kindness looks like from Crocodile?!

“Uh, I’m going to call it a night then,” Buggy announces, getting up from his chair and now extremely desperate to get far away from Crocodile so he can just sit down and think about all that’s been happening these last few weeks. Before he can leave the room though, Crocodile speaks up again, this time sounding like he’s in a bit of a rush, “Um, Buggy wait…!” He orders, and a moment later he finally says it. He says the one simple phrase that just makes something snap inside Buggy.

“Look… I’m sorry.”

He’s… Sorry…?

There’s a long pause as Buggy tries to process the words just said to him. He’s sorry… He said he’s sorry… He… He apologized to Buggy?!... He actually apologized to Buggy. When Buggy’s confused mind finally processes Crocodile’s words, all he can think is: Liar. Fucking liar. He’s not sorry, he can’t be sorry. Buggy knows Crocodile well enough to know that Crocodile has never regretted a single thing in his life. He’s sorry for turning Buggy’s life into a living hell? He’s sorry for scaring Buggy shitless and making him feel like his life is something that can easily be taken away? No. Nah. He’s not. He’s not sorry for that, nor is he sorry for beating or humiliating Buggy. He’s not sorry for making Buggy hate himself or his life and wanting to just end it all instead of having to deal with living another day with Crocodile. He’s not sorry, he’s just a goddamn liar.

Buggy turns around, and he can feel tears running down his face, but doesn’t care. His brain isn’t working anymore, it stopped working the moment Crocodile had the nerve to apologize to Buggy. He’s probably not even being genuine in the first place, but that doesn’t matter. Liar, liar, liar. Crocodile is such a liar, and Buggy can’t stand it. He hates liars. He’d rather Crocodile be blatantly cruel to him and constantly insult him than pretend to be nice to him and pretend that he cares or that he’s regretful for everything he’s put Buggy through.

If Buggy were in the right state of mind, he’d tell himself to take a deep breath and calm down. This is the break he needed. He could accept Crocodile’s apology, he could come up with some bullshit response, he could do anything that would assure his safety, but Buggy just…He can’t think properly anymore. His heart is pounding at an alarming rate, and he feels like none of this is real.

It can’t be real, it just can’t be.

His mouth moves on its own, “Liar.” He says, and Crocodile looks taken aback by the insult, but Buggy keeps going. “Liar, you aren’t sorry.” he tells him, “You can’t be sorry. You’re just fucking with me again.” And as he speaks, the volume of his voice begins to rise, “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m n–”

“Stop fucking lying to me!” Buggy yells. This has to be some cruel joke. Crocodile isn’t sorry, and yet said man starts to argue back with Buggy, but why? They both know he’s nothing but a liar! Why is he even trying to defend himself right now?! Crocodile clicks his tongue, “Will you fucking listen to m–” No! Why should Buggy listen to him?!

“Fucking let me talk!” Crocodile snaps, red in the face now, as he starts angrily yelling back at Buggy. No! Buggy doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t care what Crocodile has to say. He’s lying and even if he weren’t, Buggy would never, ever forgive him. He’s horrible, absolutely horrible, and Buggy has never hated anyone more than he hates Crocodile. “Hawkeye was right!” Crocodile says, still trying to get one phrase in without Buggy interrupting him and calling him a liar. “I fucked up, i shouldn’t have treated you like that. I’m fucking sorry, okay?”

“Liar!” “I’m not lying, okay?! I want us to start over again for the sake of Cross Guild.”

“Fuck Cross Guild!” Oh, words can’t even explain how good it felt to finally say those words. Crocodile and this stupid organization are a bane to Buggy’s existence. He hates them both, and he just wishes he were free of them. He doesn’t care anymore! Crocodile can sell him off or kill him, anything would be better than dealing with this asshole. He’s the absolute worst!

For some reason, Crocodile still tries to insist that he wants to make up with Buggy, though, “No, listen. Just listen to me, I agree with Mihawk, we should treat each other with respect and as equa–”

“Oh, so you’re just saying this shit because Mihawk told you to?!”

“No! Why would i–”

“You aren’t sorry. All you’ve ever done is made my life miserable and threatened to kill me over and over again, and I hate you.”

Crocodile once again looks a little stunned by Buggy’s words. Why’s he acting like this is anything new or as if his good name is being dragged through the mud? It’s the truth! He’s said and done so many things to Buggy, and if Buggy needs to he can list every single thing he’s ever done to hurt him. He. Fucking. Hates. Him. Liar, liar, liar! What a liar!

Crocodile grits his teeth and throws his hands in the air, “You know what? Whatever, I’m not fucking sorry then.” Yeah, Buggy knows! He fucking knows Crocodile isn’t sorry and that he’s just spouting a bunch of lies and nonsense to Buggy! “Just leave. Forget I fucking said anything. This was stupid and fucking pointless.” Crocodile yells.

Yeah, it really was. Buggy has so much more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns around and rushes out of the meeting room and past several people he didn’t know were even around. Galdino, Alvida, Cabaji, and Mohji all watch in confusion and horror as Buggy storms past them, crying again.

“Captain…” Cabaji calls out… or maybe it’s Mohji, Buggy doesn’t know, all he knows is he’s ordering whoever’s talking to him to stay back and just leave him alone. He can’t take this anymore. He hurries back to his bedroom, feeling honestly sick to his stomach, and he knows that it’s his own fault for getting himself worked up, but still. He sits down and tries to calm down a little, but as the moments go by he suddenly realizes what he’s just done and who he was talking to and feels so much worse.

He can’t stop crying. His face is covered with snot and tears, and no matter how much he tries to calm himself down, he just can’t. He tells himself that he’s alright and that he’s going to be okay. But he’s not. Nothing is okay, and they haven’t been since Crocodile and Mihawk came to Emptee Bluffs Island.

He wonders what happened to doing what was right for him. What happened to ensuring his own comfort and making sure the beatings and insults from Crocodile and Mihawk stopped? He’s so stupid. So, so stupid. In one night he managed to somehow make everything worse, and it’s all because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. All he had to do was shut up and accept Crocodile’s apology. That’s all he had to do and yet…

He ruined everything.’

His throat feels so tight and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. He hates this. What did he do to deserve all this? Why did things have to get this bad in the first place? Why can’t he do anything right? Why does he always fuck things up?! Why does Crocodile hate him so much?! He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

What if Crocodile tells Mihawk what happened? What if Mihawk thinks that Buggy is a stuck-up prick and changes his mind and decides that he’s going to go back on his word? What if they start their torment again? What if they beat him within an inch of his life daily? What if they continue to insult Buggy and make him feel lower than a worm at the bottom of the earth? Buggy can’t do this He can’t let things continue. He can’t let them get worse. He’d rather…

He’d rather die.

((A/N: LOL. MERRY CHRISTMAS HERE'S A CLIFF HANGER!!!!))

#Cross Guild #Changes #My writing #...whoops.#Me after posting whatever this is: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!#ASDADJAKSDLASDJSLDKJLASSD #also bella if u see this i love you and i want to thank u again for proof reading this for my lazy ass #@BELAA ILY MUAHHHH!!!

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the---hermit · 5 months

Text

end of the year study masterlist

I have made this kind of post a few times in the past. I have lots to keep in mind and although I do have very specific to-do lists in my bullet journal I like to have a big list on here too to make me feel accountable. This helps me having a clear overview of everything I have to do and the progress I am making. I will be crossing things off as I complete tasks, and I will probably add more tasks every once in a while. This is meant to be a sort of preparation for winter exams to do list, I haven't given myself deadlines yet, but the more I get done soon the better. I also want to keep in mind that I am still doing the self care journey 3.0 with my friend @oneardentstudybuddy, so productivity is the goal here but I still need to keep an eye out to avoid burning myself out, and take time in my days to actively take care of myself.

English lit: this whole list has now been deleated because I decided to move my exam from January to April, so I will be working on all this stuff after my winter exam session.

History of enlightment philosophy:

finish attending lectures (and stay on track with fixing my notes everyday)

additional post-holiday lectures 1, 2, 3, 4

finish reading book #2

read book #3 (since it's digital see if I need to write down some notes while reading it)

reread important passages in books (1,2,3)

notes of the main points of each book (1,2,3)

highlight presentation notes

big reread of all notes

list of key words

review out loud (1,2)

practice answering exam questions out loud

Power practices and men theories in the modern era:

reread and highlight lecture notes

fix notes by adding the infos I originally annotated on the texts

read and annotate book (intro, ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9)

write down list of key words

review out loud (1, 2, 3)

make sure to check all the images and pictures that were discussed in the lectures because they could come up during the exam

guest lecture stuff:

brain dump

get back all my thesis diaries and other tumblr posts where I talk about my experiece in detail to see if there's useful elements to talk about

guide lines to have a coherent speech

rehearse or smt idk

#this post will be heavily edited in the next while but it's kinda scary already and i feel like i forgot about smt #but you know what? finally having a good overview of everything makes me feel much calmer and more motivated #the main reason i want a digital list of my to dos here is the satisfaction of crossing everything out but also #since this blog is a sort of journey for me it's nice to be able to look back at what i did etc #wish me luck #winter exams study masterlist #study masterlist #to do list #uni masterlist #studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #univeristy #student life #studying #mine #the---hermit

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

Text

These prompts have snowballed into an ongoing series following the beloved Fem!medic!oc trope (written via 1st person reader with no real descriptors). They're in chronological order, and I've tried to make sure to mention if any earlier works in particular are referenced in each one.

If there is a trigger warning that you are concerned about but want to enjoy the story, please please please reach out! In many instances I can alter snip-its or tone things down, or at least highlight the sections in question so you can avoid them (I could do a vague summary for continuity).

Also, these stories are getting added to Ao3 via Monday updates. I'm not dumping them all at once, but you're welcome to pop on over if you prefer that format - just don't forget to drop a kudos/comment!

Touch Starved - Echo - The new medic catches Echo hiding a strained shoulder and gives him a much needed massage.

Warnings: Pretty mild – some cussing, a bit of angst, otherwise just a lot of comfort via a much needed massage

Round 2 with Echo! - just a soft second massage because I wanted to write it - Warnings: Body dysphmorphia from prosthetic limbs, angst, some anxiety/tension from a thigh massage

TS Ch 2 - Hunter - Doc convinces Hunter to let her help him through a tension headache.

Warnings: Tension headache, no real warnings - just another much needed massage

TS Ch 3 - Wrecker - An innocent request leads Doc to a horrifying discovery that she's quick to remedy.

Warnings: Reference to child neglect/ starvation, star wars cursing

TS Ch 4 – Tech - Left alone on the Marauder while the others retrieve a replacement part, Doc and Tech discuss the local culture while Tech works on mechanical upgrades. The unfortunate side effects of his poor posture prompt Doc to step in with a helping hand.

Warnings: Discussion of cultural/religious differences, joking reference to reverse harem, touch aversion, medical language

TS Ch5 – Crosshair - Fed up with Crosshair's dismissal of her help after a nearly disastrous escape, Doc finally snaps.

Warnings: Maybe light arachnophobia? Cursing, yelling, brief mention of injection

Flinching - OC&TBB - Doc has a dangerous near-encounter while away from the boys. They aren't pleased when they find out.

Warnings: Reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, some cursing, borderline panic attack.

F Ch 2 - OC&Echo - Echo patches Doc up after her attack.

Warnings: Reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, some cursing, wound care, energy crash from excessive bacta use, non-intimate undressing, some self-deprecating thoughts

F Ch 3 - OC&TBB - Doc tries to lighten the mood en route to speaking with her superior officers.

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but still some reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, reference to victim blaming

F Ch 4 - OC&TBB - After the grueling retelling, Doc has a brief talk with Cody regarding her place in the GAR before finally returning to learn that her squad has a surprise for her.

Warnings: Summarized attempted SA, reference to physical assault, reference to victim blaming. The first half is heavy, not gonna lie, but there's nothing explicit.

Muzzled - Crosshair - Crosshair is captured by Separatist forces. Though brief, his time imprisoned left him in need of help.

Warnings: Some light medical jargon and an injection, a bit of cussing, kinda muzzle/gag duo complete with saliva

M Ch 2 - Crosshair - Hiding an injury rarely ever ends well. Luckily, Doc notices something is still wrong.

Warnings: This one's gone some proper medical procedures - gore/blood/injections. Adult language. Good bit of guilt and angst.

TS Ch1.5.5 (because Cross needs more attention) - Crosshair - Nothing's easy with Crosshair, but after a joke goes too far, he and Doc manage to find a deeper trust in each other.

Warnings: More cursing, panic attack

Knife to Throat - OC&TBB - Doc is blindsided by a grief-maddened civilian.

Warnings: Blood and cursing. Kinda flirting with death a bit, and some light fluff that goes with it. Knife wound and subsequent medical procedures.

Soft Words - Hunter - A Separatist outpost sets a cruel trap for Hunter. The Doc tries to keep him sane until rescue comes.

Warnings: Went very heavy in the whump with this one – sound torture, imprisonment, mild language

Secrets Revealed – OC&TBB - An unexpected EMP forces Doc to reveal aspects of their past that could well turn the batch against them. (Censored version for those uncomfortable with heavy gore)

Warnings: Explicit details of severe injury – blood/gore, language, panic attacks, angst, PTSD flashbacks, self-depreciation, offhand reference to minor character death. This one hits a lot of potentially triggering topics pretty intensely and is fueled from a very dark place I was in with my own injury. Be kind to yourself. Healing is a nonlinear process.

Made to Watch - OC&TBB - Doc becomes the subject of torture in an attempt to force intel from Hunter.

Warnings: Get yuh whump here! Fresh, violent whump! Explicit details of torture and physical injuries, blood and minor gore, broken bones, near death, language.

Panic - Echo - A quiet discussion between Doc and Hunter is delayed when Echo has a nightmare. Doc tries to ease him through it, resulting in a fun bit of shared taunts with Crosshair the following morning.

Warnings: Nightmare-induced panic attack. Non-intimate bed sharing. Fictional curses (does that need a warning?), sexual innuendo

No Anesthesia (Extra per request) – OC&TBB – Wrecker’s overzealous efforts to destroy a building lead to Doc getting pinned in a dire situation.

Warnings: Very heavy whump in this one, with a couple moments of descriptive gore and medical procedures, impalement, difficulty breathing, near death, cursing. TW: claustrophobia

Found Footage - OC&TBB – A pleasant moment at 79s is shattered when someone tries to blackmail doc with footage of the crash on Agamar.

Warnings: Huge PTSD warning here. Flashbacks, disassociating, past injury description, blackmail, grief, angst, some alcohol use (social, not abuse), cursing

Difficulty Breathing – Medic OC&Wrecker- During a mission in a cave, Doc realizes she didn't come out of the rubble of that building with only physical scars, but is determined to push through.

Warnings: Big Claustrophobia warning. and Bats. Ptsd, panic attack. That's about it for this one!

DB Ch 2 - OC&Wrecker - Wrecker and Doc face additional challenges in their attempt to reach the surface.

Warnings: Heights, bats, mild gore, drowning, near death, hypothermia

DB Ch 3 - OC&TBB- When Hunter reveals what really prompted the cave beasts to attack, Doc is faced with an impossible decision.

Warnings: hypothermia recovery, thought of mortality (no character deaths), extreme guilt/angst/self doubt. Talked of wartime casualties. Dis one do be pretty tense, sooo prepare yourselves I guess

Fever – Tech - Tension are high after Doc's discussion with Commander Cody, but when Tech is exposed to a certain fungus, she doesn't hesitate to help.

Warnings: Angst, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores.

Fever - Tech Pt 2 - The effects of the spores quickly wear off, rending Tech into a severe withdrawal.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, sense of impeding doom, high fever, vomiting, delirium-induced violence, strangulation, cursing, needles/IV

Fever - Tech Pt 3 - Crosshair and Echo take a moment to remind Doc that she needs to take care of herself, too, as Tech continues fighting through the effects of withdrawal.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, needles/IV, seizures, light angst

Fever - Tech Pt 4 - Hunter and Wrecker each spend time helping Doc tend their brother.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, needles/IV, paranoia induced violence, blood, broken nose, vomiting, dry heaves, mild sexual tension

Fever - Tech Pt 5 - Things get worse before they get better.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, needles/IV, angst, fear of death/decommissioning

Fever - Tech Pt 6 - Finally through the worst of it, everyone is allotted a moment to breathe before returning to Kamino.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, reference to vomiting, delirium induced violence, guilt

More then Skin Deep - Wrecker - Doc notices something about Wrecker while training and offers her help.

Warnings: Light sexual tension, reference to past injury, disabilities and light prejudice from appearance - It's mostly just some softness fluff.

"Not Gonna Believe This" - Doc & Tbb - Chow time on Kamino dissolves into chaos in the wake of thoughtless words.

Warnings: Fighting, broken nose, blood, light medical procedures, mild guilt, bit of sexual tension, reference to bullying

Arrows (Special Request) - Doc - A brief moment of peace precedes a mission doomed to misfortune.

Warnings: Bone/joint injury, some PTSD, brief insect creature, mild sexual tension (when isn't there with these guys)

Arrows - Doc Pt 2 - Rapid medical care is given, but it offered little reprieve.

Warnings: Bone/joint injury, profanity, vomiting, heavy whump, medical procedures, needles

Arrows - Doc Pt 3 - Medication offers some relief before the team splits up to retrieve a cure.

Warnings: This one's pretty mild - descriptions of pain, some guilt... I think that's about it

Arrows - Doc Pt 4 - Doc continues to decline as the others race to get back with the cure.

Warnings: Near death, vague drowning (kinda?), reference to light medical procedures, some guilt and profanity

Breaking Point - Doc - Sent to Devaron under the guise of a med-leave, Doc and the boys get a chance to relax, and Doc learns a disturbing truth of Crosshair’s specialty.

Warnings: Vague, cryptic warnings, moral dilemma over assassination, mild tension

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 2 - The squad enjoys the remainder of that day on the lake before finally fulfilling the real reason they were sent there.

Warnings: Sexual tension galore, mild brotherly bullying, profanity, mild body dismorphia regarding prosthetics, assassination, minor character death, blood, guilt, angst, horrors of war

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 3 - Doc struggles with the aftermath of Crosshair's mission.

Warnings: Intense descriptions of grief and guilt. Heavy angst.

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 4 (Explicit) - Doc and Crosshair find an escape in each other. (Click Here for the Censored Version)

Warnings: Guys. It's smut (unless you opt for the censored version, then it's steamy kisses and implied sex). In fact, it's inappropriate use of sex to cope with grief. See tag for explicit version's detailed warnings, profanity, and dread/guilt

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 5 - Before she can deal with the ramifications of her actions, Doc seeks out Crosshair for answers.

Warnings: Non-explicit sex scene, profanity, and dread/guilt - might offer an explicit chapter later, but it wasn't important to the scene, so I didn't go into it this time

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 6 - Tensions are high about the squad as they struggle to accept changing dynamics.

Warnings: Vague reference to sex/ sexual innuendoes, profanity, and more dread/guilt

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 1 - Tensions are still high as the squad attempts to prepare for their next mission.

Warnings: Lots of heavy emotions in this one - angst, guilt, angry, blame, got some profanity in there, and reference to child soldiers kinda

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 2 - A brief distraction from Crosshair offers little comfort once the mission actually starts.

Warnings: Some sexual tension, mild making out, severe anxiety, profanity, war typical violence, and some gory killing

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 3 - Doc shows just how far she's willing to go to save her men.

Warnings: It dark. Ye be warned. Torture. Blood. Broken/dislocated bones. Disassociation. Stabbing. Big profanity warning. Murder.

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 4 - They escape the planet before Doc's actions finally catch up with her.

Warnings: Reference to bone trauma, blood, vomit, disassociation, medical procedures, guilt, angst, needles

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 5 - Doc has a couple conversations that have been held off for too long.

Warnings: Nightmares, guilt, reference to torture/gore, reference to murder/assassination, profanity

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 6 - Doc has the chance to reconnect with most of her squad before plans change.

Warnings: Mild PTSF, guilt, reference to torture/gore, profanity, heated kissing

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Xtra Scene - Crosshair and Echo have a chat.

Warnings: Just some standard guilt, angst, and regret, along with a little sprinkling of profanity.

Identity - Doc Pt 1 - Awkward goodbyes precede the beginning to Doc's secretive mission.

Warnings: Nothing serious - some cursing, a bit of sexual tension/heavy kissing, and some tension in general. Well, lots of tension in general

Identity - Doc Pt 2 - Doc reconnects with her old squad.

Warnings: Brotherly fighting, talk of hunting, nightmares with reference to gore/torture, heavy tension, profanity

Identity - Doc Pt 3 - After a final chat with the 104th, Doc enters the gala.

Warnings: Brotherly bullying, varying degrees of dread, unwanted advances (between two women, though I want to be clear: the 'unwanted' aspect is not due to gender), profanity, brief descriptions of gore and burns, needles, brief description of dead bodies

Identity - Doc Pt 4 - The gala starts of well enough...

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

Identity - Doc Pt 5 - Her old squad struggles in the aftermath of the gala.

Warnings: Minor flashbacks/PTSD, reference to torture, loads of guilt and tension, otherwise mostly just fluff and angst

Identity - 99 & 104th Pt 6 - Crosshair demands answers from the remaining members of the 104th.

Warnings: Big emotions in this - rage, guilt, blame, and the like. There do be a bit of fighting, but it's not gory. Brief description of water torture. Profanity

Identity - Doc Pt 7 - The debrief with Cody doesn't go well.

Warnings: Flashbacks/PTSD, description of torture, loads of angst, reference to gore, profanity, self-deprecating thoughts

Identity - Doc Pt 7 - After composing herself, Doc finally returns to her squad.

Warnings: Honestly, aside from the standard guilt and regret, this chapter is mostly fluff

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 1 - The squad is sent on a mission with the sole intent of being granted a moment of peace.

Warnings: This arc will mostly be fluffy stuff, but there will be references to past torture here and there. This one has some flashbacks, profanity, and loads of emotions like guilt, fear, anger, and general angst, as well some brief mention of wanting to die (not SI - with relation to ending torture), and I supposed some dependency

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 2 - A soft morning precedes an important chat.

Warnings: Kissing in bed with some light sexual tension if you squint, then right back into the good ol' hard emotions: self blame, guilt, anxiety; reference to torture, Crosshair being Crosshair, I think there's some light profanity, too

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 3 - The squad lands on Alderaan.

Warnings: sexual tension, mild ptsd

Warnings: none really - just has a fluffy kiss

Flowers - Doc x Crosshair - Fluffy prompt for Clone x Reader Bingo (set a couple arcs ahead of Breaking Point)

I Missed You, Too - Doc x Crosshair - Another fluff fic for Clone x Reader Bingo (a couple arcs after You'll Have to Go Through Me)

Warnings: Crosshair being Crosshair, but he's really a softy. Snuggling in bed. Probably one of the least Warning-heavy things I've written

Doc's Tales with the 104th

Recommended reading Found Footage first though these will take place before Doc joins CF99.

First Impressions - The wolf pack get their first real meeting with Doc.

Warnings: vague bugs

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 11 months

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Part 4 of First Times with Larissa please :)

Hey there @tahliama !! Of course, how could I refuse 😉

First Times Ch 4: We Interrupt this Program… ~Larissa Weems xFem Student!Sorceress!Reader

Here’s First Times Part 4! This chapter highlights how checking in with your partner is important, also talking about labels 💞 Smut to come in future chapters, but this one is mainly angst and fluff! PSA: it’s ok to have anxiety about things related to sex, especially if you’re a virgin. Not professional advice: but it’s always good to talk to someone, like your partner or a close person you trust ♥️

Link to Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch5

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!, masturbation, anxiety, implied anxiety attacks, overwhelmed!reader, angst, little fluff, implied mommy kink, mistress kink, pet names, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

After your soothing bath with Larissa, you returned to your room. Your mind was still spinning at your situation. It was surreal.

Who would have thought that you would be with Larissa Weems…??

Everything was everywhere all at once… To be clear, you weren’t against a relationship with Larissa, after all you were of age. But she was a stunning goddes… and you were an inexperienced teenager… it was all fucking crazy.

And then there was the fact of your apparent mommy kink…?!?

~~~

“Baby, be a good girl and take off mommy’s knickers for her…” Larissa moaned out in need, stopping you in the middle of you teasing her thighs.

Your breath hitched. Larissa’s eyes widened at her slip of the tongue.

“Yes… mommy…” you whispered, hooking your knickers with your teeth and taking them off.

~~~

You knew that Larissa hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it just felt so natural…

You winced to yourself at the embarrassing idea of Larissa discussing that at your next rendezvous.

But the same puzzling thought ruminates in your mind the rest of the day…

Why would Larissa pick you…?

~~~

The entire week, your mind was working in overdrive around Larissa and your relationship. It was all you could think about.

Passing glances in the hallway with the blonde principal seemed like way more than they used to…

Little comments sent your mind further down the gutter…

Light touches sent your body into aching heat…

An aching heat which you would rush back to your dorm to relieve with your own shaky hands. You’d slam your dorm room door shut, not bothering to lock it, simply collapsing against it and snaking your hand past your knickers and into your soaked cunt.

God, that woman had such an effect on you…

You’d slam your head against the door in pleasure as you came around your fingers at the thought of the tall blonde. You’d then take a few moments to catch your breath, and then it was back to your daily schedule of classes.

Your week ended with an especially challenging Friday, leaving you worn out and even more anxious over the upcoming rendezvous tomorrow with the one and only Larissa Weems. You couldn’t wait any longer. Not even one night.

And that’s how you found yourself, knocking on Larissa’s office doors at 9:43pm on that Friday…

You entered her office with her word and took a deep breath. Larissa looked up from her work and her face lit up.

“Oh Darling…! What a pleasant surprise!” Her silky voice exclaimed.

You closed the door, while she indicated for you to sit. You did so. It didn’t take long for Larissa to notice your off demeanor and for her face to change quite quickly.

“What’s the matter, love?” She gently asked.

Your head rushed with anxious ramblings and your face went bright red.

“I… What are we…?” You spoke in a whisper.

Larissa pursed her lips.

“What do you want us to be…?”

You finally looked up to meet her gaze. Her eyes glistened with vulnerability.

“I— I don’t know…”

“Is this about the ‘mommy’ thing, Darling…? Because I sincerely apologized if that made you uncomfortable…” Larissa gently asked you.

“Yes—No… not really. It didn’t feel wrong, but it also didn’t feel right. It just got me thinking… And I can’t stop. I need to know what we are…”

“I understand that. Labels can provide safety and understanding in any relationship.”

You nodded, looking back at the ground.

“What would you like to be…?” She repeated.

You looked up once more, your feelings caught in yo ur throat.

“Yours…” you whispered.

Larissa gulped.

“Perhaps you’d be interested in a mistress/servant relationship…?” She gently offered, deflecting your vulnerable admittance.

“What is that…?”

“I’d be your mistress and you’d do what I tell you. It’s a type of power dynamic. Would that be the label your comfortable with?” She explained and asked.

Your eyes lit up with some hope at her words. You bit your lip and nodded.

“Yes… that sounds good, thank you.” You whimpered.

“Thank you, mistress…” Larissa lightly teased, making you giggle lightly.

Larissa then got up from her chair and came over to you, cupping your face and pressing a light kiss to your lips.

“Would you prefer to skip tomorrow, Darling…?” She asked, searching your eyes for any hesitancy.

You sighed, feeling like you were able for the first time this whole week.

“No, mistress. But maybe we can do something a little less intense…?”

“Of course, Sweet girl…” Larissa purred, “Now go get some sleep, you look exhausted, Darling…”

One final peck on your lips and you were off to bed for the night. And that night, you slept better than you had in weeks.

~~~

Ch 5 with new experiences… linked here 🤭

Larissa Weems Masterlist

Tag list: @snakeskins-world @friskyfisher @just-your-casual-nerd @scream-queenlover @bobia13 @justcallmelittleone @dopenightmaretyphoon @killer-quill @im-a-carnivorous-plant @larissaoftarthweems @what-a-violet-world @a-queen-and-her-throne @liliweems @ant0weems @principal-weems09 @larissaweemsgf @shyladyfan @leonorasbabygirl @simpsforwomen @psychopathicnightmare17 @walkethisway @wifeymaterialsstuff @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kimiinou @enchantressb @sicklygrlsicklygrl @larissa-weems-chokehold @teenybean @lucky1fancy4wolf @sapphicsbeloved @dingdongthetail @lovelyy-moonlight @thesamesweetie @wheresmyboo @dvrkhcld @tahliama

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celestie0 · 3 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

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

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

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

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

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