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celestie0 · 2 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

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

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

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

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

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

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

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

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LCD.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

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

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feelings about what?”

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

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

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

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

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

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

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

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

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

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

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

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

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

“Go back where?”

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

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

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

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

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

“I beg your finest pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-Distraction?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could have a concussion.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

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

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck was that—”

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together.

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

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

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

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

“Alright cool, will do.”

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

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

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

“Tell me what?” you prod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I do.”

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

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

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

➸ you're all caught up!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

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

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

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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

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CH10. Cheque, Please! | The Menu [2.2K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

ONE YEAR LATER

The diner was packed.

Tables were full, the large room a buzz of chatter and music, the speakers playing an old sixties bop. It was a familiar sight, one that happened more often than not since Jim sold the diner. The new owner ripped the place apart, down to its old bones before he put his life savings into it.

New floors, new tables and chairs, artwork on the walls that were signed by Argyle, a photo of the whole staff taken and framed by Jonathan, Jim Hopper at the forefront, a wide smile on his face on the last day before his retirement. The bulbs in the neon sign outside had been replaced so it no longer flickered, the green and blue glow of it now announcing the diner’s new name, proud and bright for everyone to see.

Eddie’s Slice Of Chicago.

“Door! Behind!” You yelled out as you entered the kitchen empty plates piled high in your arms and Jonathan took them from you with practised ease.

Steve was on the grill, still hesitant and not as fast as Argyle, but he was flipping burgers quicker than he had last week. His chef whites were brand new, his name badge shiny and his front of house position taken over by Nancy. Everyone was in new uniforms, freshly pressed and a sage green, aprons still without stains and a pocketful of pens that didn’t run out of ink too quickly. Robin was taking orders, laughing with a family from out of town, letting their toddler grab at her finger as she promised them to return soon with their pizzas and shakes. Dustin was helping Max run a large order to a table of backpackers, a border collie under the table at their feet, getting its ears scratched by the new start, Mike.

There was a sign on the staff notice board, up beside the employee of the month, a piece of ripped paper with the words “SIXTY FOUR DAYS SINCE THE LAST FREEZER BREAKDOWN.” The rest of the space was filled with staff photos, polaroids and prints of the group at a fourth of July picnic, a barbecue at Jim’s in the summer, huddled around the kitchens countertops in the winter, drinking from mugs filled with Argyle’s homemade horchata, the frame that held Billy’s scrawled termination letter, an old napkin that held a small conversation in pen.

It felt more like home than ever. Even when Eddie wasn’t there.

Everyone answered to you in his absence, unofficially in charge when the boss wasn’t here. It had taken some getting used to, hell, you’d even tried to pawn off the responsibility to Nancy, or Steve, anyone who’d been at the grill longer than you had. But Nancy was part time, back at college during the week, taking Robin on dates in the evenings and Steve was too busy being trained as a new prep chef to worry about invoices and deliveries.

So you stepped into the role cautiously, softening to the idea when Eddie kissed you something fierce and told you that there wasn’t anyone else he trusted to do the job. His acceptance letter had come the month after taking over the diner. A thick, white envelope that lay heavy on your doormat because he’d finally moved in, sharing your small apartment with you like he did everything else.

Clothes. Jewellery. Books. Records. Food. Kisses.

Vincennes University offered Eddie the chance to do what he hadn’t been able to before. Refining his craft, learning new skills, working in a state of the art kitchen with equipment he’d come home and gush to you about. The diner was doing well enough that tuition wasn’t a worry anymore and suddenly, the long commute into Indianapolis for classes four days a week seemed worth it. Eddie was passing with flying colours, receiving accolades and opportunities at every given moment and when he came home, exhausted but happy, he came home to you.

Bone tired, he’d slip into the apartment, socked feet padding gently over the floorboards, Tupperware full of something delicious to be stacked in the fridge. He’d find you curled up somewhere, a black cat called Basil in the nook of your bent legs. He’d kiss you sweet, he’d kiss you soft, warming you up to a simmer until you forgot how much you’d missed him that day.

It was all worth it.

“Table eighteen wants extra hash browns and booth six needs two pepperoni’s and the Hawkins special, chefs,” you called to Steve as you slapped the orders onto the bar.

“Got it,” Steve and Argyle called back, one a little more nervously than the other but it was okay, ‘cause Eddie was home soon.

Eddie was home soon.

He’d called from a pay phone outside of the school, voice buzzing with excitement, with pride, and yours mirrored his back. He’d be on the train soon, he’d meet you at the apartment, if you could get away early. So you handed your keys to Nancy and she grinned, knowing there was a cause for celebration waiting at home for you. You drove Eddie’s van back along the road, coming into town on the familiar stretch, passing Wayne’s, the trailer park you both visited every Sunday for dinner.

The apartment door was unlocked, dimly lit in the early fall gloom, already smelling like garlic and tomatoes, like fresh bread and the scent of Eddie cologne that lingered on his jacket that hung in the hallway. Eddie’s records were in the shelves by your books, his guitar hanging from a hook in the tiny office room, his shoes on the bench by the door. He’d transformed your kitchen when he’d moved in, a decision that had been all too easy to make. There were pots and pans hanging from the rack, shiny, sharp knives that he was scared of you using without him there, jars and tubs of ingredients stacked high in the fridge and the pantry. There were fresh herbs in planters on the window sill. The radio always played.

The kitchen always felt like the heart of the home.

That’s where you found Eddie, sweater sleeves rolled up and grinning at you from the stove top, a large spoon in hand as he mixed in some fresh rosemary to the pot of sauce. He greeted you with a glass of wine, the cheap stuff that you liked best, catching you in a kiss before you could bring the cup to your lips.

He kissed you soft, kissed you sweet, humming when you laughed into his mouth, his free hand slipping inside of your shirt to ghost his fingers over your ribs.

“Hi,” you whispered. You’d never tire of this. This warmth, this kind of greeting, this feeling of coming home. “Good day?”

Eddie nodded, stealing another kiss, catching the corner of your mouth. He gazed at you, eyes shining with excitement and you could practically feel the buzz in his bones for what he was about to say.

“I got it.”

You blinked, once, before your smile turned into a grin and it stretched wide. You barely had the common sense to place your wine on the countertop before you launched yourself at the boy, your arms wound round his neck as your crushed your face into his curls. Eddie whooped, a joyful thing as he lifted you off your feet and grinned against your throat.

“You got it,” you whispered back to him, everything in you frilled with awe and pride.

“I got it,” he repeated again. His voice sounded thick.

The internship with Chef Emmelie was something that everyone in Eddie’s class was vying for. Eddie had spent an insane amount of time on his application, using you as his own personal taste tester in both work and home. New recipes were concocted, old dishes were reworked and it had all paid off. Eddie had been hand picked to work alongside one of the country’s greats, assisting in setting up a new restaurant, a fine dining establishment that promised to deliver nothing but the best cuisine to the masses. Eddie would help create the menu, and hopefully, maybe, eventually, take over as head chef.

It was another level of surreal.

“I knew you would,” you mumbled into his neck, pulling back only to crush Eddie’s cheeks in the palms of your hands and give him a kiss that ducked his breath away. His lips tasted salty, but perhaps that was your own tears you could taste. Eddie just held onto you tighter, his stew mix bubbling away without any attention. “Where is it? Have they told you where you’re setting up?”

You’d held Eddie’s hand as he clutched his application letter and promised him that no matter where they sent him, you’d follow. The only thing that tied you to Hawkins, was the boy and Basil was easy enough to smuggle into a cat carrier, once you could catch him. Wayne had squashed any hesitancy from Eddie immediately, waving him off and saying that there would be private jets for each of you once he hit the big time as the new celebrity chef. And of course, there was the diner.

Eddie laughed then, a breathy, disbelieving thing and he finally shuffled to settle you onto the small dining table that sat in the corner of the kitchen. He nudged his way in between your legs, sniffling when Basil appeared to wind around his own ankles and the only sounds were the purring of the cat and the simmering of dinner. You held your breath, brows raised, expectant.

London? Dubai? Paris? Los Angeles?

“They wanna set up in Chicago.”

—————

Going back to the city you left was a lot less daunting with Eddie by your side.

Wayne moved out of the trailer park and into your apartment, something that made leaving a little easier for Eddie. He still owned the diner, and promised to stop by at least a few times a month if scheduling around the new restaurant would allow. He’d found a new manager, a woman from town called Joyce who loved to bake and knew enough about taxes and accounting that she didn’t fuck up order and invoices. She loved the place like Eddie did, promised she’d do it proud.

(She met Jim on Sunday in summer and after she served him her famous cherry cheesecake, one date in the park had turned into three, into five and now they were inseparable. They spent most of their time walking around town, visiting farmers and Jim enjoyed his retirement by helping Joyce create new desserts for the diner.)

Eddie’s internship came with an apartment in the suburbs, a small townhouse that was far enough from the hustle of the city that you felt more at home than before. It was less bright, less loud and Basil had a garden to roam in, a bench beside a vegetable patch he could bathe in the sun from.

It had a pantry and old oak floors, a huge window that looked out onto the street that was lined with cherry trees, and a nook in the living room that you liked to read in. You found a job, pretty easily, a vintage bookstore on the edge of town that smelled like coffee and cinnamon, old pages and older stories. It was owned by an old man who let his dog sleep under the front desk, who brought in pastries for breakfast and made you sweet tea in the summer.

The restaurant opened in the spring. Hit headlines the following day, praising the special on the menu made by newcomer chef, Edward Munson. By the summer, the heat was climbing and so was Eddie’s popularity. He was running the restaurant, got to create a new menu every six weeks and the waitlist was booked out until Christmas. He told you he loved you every time you paid him a visit, on your lunch break, a whisper between a kiss hello and goodbye in the kitchen, coy whistles from his staff that he burned pink at.

And when you both drove back to Hawkins for long weekends and holiday stays, you crammed yourselves and Basil into your old apartment with Wayne, packed his freezer full of food and tried to convince him to take in one (maybe two) of the strays from the trailer park to keep him company.

You spent the Fourth of July with the diner crew, in the backyard of Jim and Joyce’s new home, sharing Polaroids and newspaper clippings of the restaurant, of your new home, Eddie’s menu. Steve was in awe but nothing could beat the look of pride on your boyfriend’s face when Steve told him he’d mastered a French omelette. Argyle was running the kitchen, Nancy had been promoted to assistant manager, part time or not, and Robin had helped Jonathan in running a Sunday morning coffee club, where Hawkins residents got to taste test new bean flavours over a pastry breakfast and some town gossip.

Eddie didn’t scowl much, not anymore.

And when you next bumped into Chrissy, you waved at her from under the tuck of Eddie’s arm, diamond ring glinting on your left hand in the sun. She didn’t have much to say to you, not after that.

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

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exhaslo · 25 days

Text

Corruption Ch16

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

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

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship? SMUT, so much goddamn smut like I need help, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation

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

"Fangs that secrete enough venom to paralyze whomever I bite, could be useful but also disgusting to get close to others. Hm, no change to body from producing said venom. Fascinating."

It had been two days since the incident. Miguel had reassured you that he was fine, but then proceeded to lock himself in his own lab to run tests on himself.

"Talons on both hands and feet, allowing me to climb walls. Not the exact same way as (Y/N), this is far more violent since my talons could be used as weapons."

Miguel slashed against his desk.

"Wood nor metal can stop me. Not to mention, physical body mass has increased. Height increased, muscles strengthen and-"

Miguel stopped as he looked down. Withholding a chuckle, he returned to typing down his findings. Miguel stood in front of a mirror, taking in his now stronger appearance. He could lift over ten tons his weight, much like you.

"Side effect, eyes have become a red color and are sensitive to light. Senses have also increased, allowing me to hear, feel and even sense what others are thinking. Needs to be trained and nourished more to use in field."

"Miguel? Can I come in, please?" You asked, knocking against his door. Miguel threw on his lab coat, hiding his information,

"Yes,"

Planting himself on his seat, Miguel watched as you entered his lab. That bright smile on your face as you saw him. Miguel covered his mouth, smirking towards your blush towards his chest. Hopefully you won't tempt him too much.

"Are you sure you're alright? You've been cooped up in here for two days. I brought you some food," You said, holding up your cute little lunch bag, "I can put it aside if your not-"

"I'll eat it. I skipped breakfast," Miguel motioned you over.

He watched as you skipped over, opening your bag. He hid his smirk as you stared at his broken desk before continuing to get the lunch out. As you did, Miguel tensed as a new and strange scent caught his nose.

"(Y/N), are you wearing a new perfume?" Miguel asked. You tilted your head,

"No? Do I smell?"

"No, no," Miguel furrowed his brows finding the scent sweet, "Why don't you feed me? I'm starved."

Miguel resisted a groan as you took your place on his lap. The scent was getting stronger as you fed him. Miguel couldn't even focus on the food. Staring into your eyes, Miguel felt something almost primal in him act up.

"(Y/N), come to my place tonight."

"Okay," You agreed so easily.

It was difficult, but Miguel held back and behaved himself. He couldn't help but feel around your waist, needing to touch you. This had to be his Spider instincts kicking in. It had to be, what other reason would Miguel have the strong urge to fuck you?

"Miguel, you sure you're okay? I worry,"

"I'm fine. Just come to my place tonight and wear something that will excite me."

Leaving you with a peck, Miguel returned to his studies of himself. Now that he was a superior human like you, he could begin his plans for domination. To begin his plans to expand his rule of superior humans.

"Now, to test my stamina."

----------

You were on cloud nine. Was tonight finally going to be the night? Miguel just told you to wear something that would excite him! The amount of sexy new panties you had were going to finally be put to use!

Nearly squealing in joy, you hurried to your office to finalize some work before heading home. As you made your way to your office, you stopped in front of Aaron's shrine that some of the workers put together.

It was a shame. Aaron seemed like such a nice guy. To think that he was the one who caused the explosion and almost hurt Miguel. Miguel had told you everything about the incident so that you wouldn't worry.

At least Miguel was safe and sound.

Shaking the thought away, you hurried to finish you work. All that mattered was that Miguel was okay. Although, you were worried since he locked himself inside his lab. You wondered what he found that had him cooped up in there.

Recalling his strange behavior recently, you tried to think if anything in the explosion could have affected him. It sucked since you weren't as smart as half of the people in this building.

"I wonder...if I should wear perfume?"

---------

Miguel sat on his couch, waiting for you to arrive. He had done all the testing he needed in order to know that it was time. Miguel was going to make sure you didn't leave his apartment until you were pregnant. He didn't care how many hours it would take.

You belonged to him.

Catching that familiar scent in the air, Miguel stood and hurriedly opened his door. There you were, standing there with a shy look on your face; your scent oh so sweet. The dress you had on was tight, exposing your breasts ever so slightly.

"I'm not taking you to dinner," Miguel told you as he pulled you inside, "But good job on listening to me."

"O-Of course," You nearly stuttered as you fell against his chest, "Um, Miguel...have you been working out?"

Ah, so you finally noticed. Miguel just smiled as he grabbed your hand, gently biting your fingers. You scent getting stronger, causing Miguel to act more rashly. Thoughts of breeding you began to cloud his judgement.

"(Y/N), you'll do anything for me...right?"

"Yes,"

"Good girl,"

---------

You weren't sure what was coming over Miguel. He was acting a little strange, but it wasn't like you were going to question him. Miguel's hands were all over you as he brought you to his couch. You couldn't help but grow excited as you thought of what was to come.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled as Miguel kissed you. His hands were firmly on your waist. Each kiss grew more and more aggressive and hungry. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, exploring everywhere as he pinned you to the couch.

"Irresistibly sweet." Miguel groaned, his hands stroking up your thighs, "Unable...to think straight."

"Mhm, Miguel?" You muttered between kisses.

You gasped as Miguel picked you up and carried you to his room. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, feeling your panties get damp. This was escalating to an exciting point. Once in the room, you yelped as Miguel threw you on the bed.

"I don't care if you cry, I'm not stopping."

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. If your pussy could talk, it would be swoon right now. You took off your dress as Miguel removed his shirt. Sitting before Miguel in your underwear and bra, you were waiting for his orders.

"I've had you wait long enough. Lay down and spread."

You bit your lower lip and did what Miguel said. You were a little embarrassed since you knew your panties were soaked. You gasped as Miguel hovered over you, kissing you again as he took off your remaining clothes.

You arched your back, moaning into the kiss as Miguel started to rub your clit. His pace grew faster the wetter you got. Your body was getting hot and needy. Miguel's mouth was all over your neck, sucking and biting, leaving as many marks as he could.

"Hah~ Ah, M-Miguel~" You cried out, trembling in pleasure.

"Who do you belong too?"

"Ah~ Ah~ Y-You, You, Miguel!" You whimpered.

Miguel's fingers had dipped into your cunt, pumping inside of you at a fast pace. Tears had started to form, feeling the knot in your stomach about to burst. Right when you felt yourself about to cum, Miguel removed his fingers.

"M-Miggy! P-Please!" You begged.

You whimpered as you watched Miguel lick his fingers for the first time. His pupils were dilated and filled with lust. This was a first and new look. Miguel grunted as he took his pants off, revealing his dick, which seemed bigger than before.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

Miguel grabbed your legs, throwing them over his shoulder as he positioned himself. His breathing was irregular along with yours. Miguel's dick poking right at your entrance, begging to be let in. Begging to fuck you.

"Fuck, say it again." Miguel demanded, pinching your clit. You arched your back, squirming slightly,

"Miggy~"

With a sharp cry, Miguel slapped his hips into yours. Your body shivered as you cam from insertion. His dick slamming right inside you, stretching your gummy walls out. His tip smashed against your cervix.

Miguel grunted as he gave you no time to rest from your climax. His hips were rough as he slapped himself into you. His dick bullying your cunt with no remorse. You flung your head back, crying out in pleasure as Miguel's dick rammed into you.

"Miggy~ M-Miggy~"

---------

Miguel felt sweat roll down his forehead as he held your hips. Why did he have to wait so long for this? You were made for him. Your pussy was sucking his dick so well. The sloshing sounds it made as you cried his name. Everything was perfect.

Groaning lowly as you cam again, Miguel felt you squeeze around him so much. Webbing your hands to the bed post, Miguel kept focus on what he was doing to you. The rim of his dick around forming a white ring from your orgasms.

"Made just for me. My perfect match." Miguel grunted, fastening his pace as he felt his high coming, "Sucking my dick so well. You just want my child, don't you?"

"Yesh~ Y-Yes~" You cried.

Miguel felt his eye twitch as he slammed his hips into you, finally releasing his first load. After months of waiting, Miguel was finally breeding you. Slowly removing his dick just to admire his first work, Miguel cussed lowly.

"Perfect, but so wasteful. Do you want to disappoint me?" Miguel hissed, watching his cum drip out of you.

"N-No,"

"Then drink every last drop."

--------

You cried and whimpered as Miguel pinned you into mating position, fucking you relentlessly. His dick hitting your cervix, causing you to gasp and twitch with every thrust. Your cunt unable to stop wanting Miguel as he made his dick at home inside of you.

Your vision was starting to blur as your mind grew fuzzy. This was only something you could only dream of. Miguel's dick bullying your cunt. It felt so good. So right.

"Drink up."

"Mhm~"

Shivering, you moaned as you felt Miguel cum inside you once more. It was so hot. Taking a moment to catch your breathe, you slowly regained your vision as you looked up at Miguel. He had a wicked smirk as he looked down at you.

"M...Miggy~" You whispered tiredly. Miguel just chuckled,

"Awe, tired already? We've only just begun."

--------

Your face was pressed into the bedsheet as Miguel fucked you from behind. You could barely feel your body anymore since it was so sensitive. Each thrust made your body shiver and your pussy clench. You were so fucked out that you couldn't even think.

"My stamina outranks yours by a mile. It's only been an hour and you're tapping out already? Hm, I suppose I did go overboard for your first time," Miguel muttered.

"Mhpm~ Ah~" You moaned, cumming hard as Miguel slapped his dick into you a bit harsher.

"My mating instincts have finally passed as well. Just don't expect any rest any time soon. You will be caring my child. The future of humanity."

You just babbled nothing but nonsense as Miguel gave you one last load. Unable to keep yourself awake, you felt yourself knock out.

---------

Miguel sighed as you fell asleep. He turned you around, watching the mess of a work he did. He definatly went overboard, but you had to get pregnant. Fixing you on the bed, Miguel lifted your hips and legs up against the bed frame, wanting to make sure his cum stayed inside of you.

"Lyla, keep track on (Y/N)'s health. I want any updates of bodily changes."

"Yes sir, also your suit is ready."

"Hm, I suppose tonight is a great night to start my reign of terror. While I'm out, I want you to start transferring all of (Y/N)'s information and paperwork to this address."

"You haven't told her that she will be living here,"

"(Y/N) will agree...and if she doesn't, I'll just fuck the idea into her."

"Understood."

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Next Chapter

@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

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

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mrghostrat · 2 months

Note

Halp

I don't understand what makes Aziraphale an unreliable narrator in that chapter??

I know it's like explaining a joke, but pretty please could you help me understand?

you’re fine!! 💛 spoilers for BNF chapter 11:

the big one was him COMPLETELY misinterpreting crowley’s ��Do you wanna have dinner with me tonight?” as a casual “alright, let’s eat” instead of the date crowley meant it as

there are a couple of other extremely subtle ones that i don’t mind if people miss, because they’re not integral to understanding the plot or the characters. but they’re still fun, and commenters have figured some of them out already 💪

“Ah.” He frowned. “Uhh… Ngk— Anything’s fine,” he supplied unhelpfully. “S’your turn.”

he’s not grumpy aziraphale’s picking dinner, he’s gutted his question was misinterpreted (and annoyed at himself for fucking that up)

“Nah, that’s just…” He licked his lips in thought, head still bowed low, eyes wandering over their hands. “Aesthetic appreciation.” (CH10)

he isn’t looking at their hands, he’s ogling aziraphale’s arms. i was soooo happy when a commenter pointed this out 😈

“I never thought I’d get to hear about a real book the way we plan our Bang. I’ll miss this,” that seemed to tug Crowley back down to reality and take a meandering look around the park. (CH11)

that is not a meandering look, he’s turned away to collect himself

Crowley snickered at his overzealous descriptions, but couldn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale as he drank. (CH11)

mm. specifically watching aziraphale’s mouth. just assume that any time crowley is staring at aziraphale while he drinks or licks his lips or talks too much, he’s looking at his mouth.

there’s way more but these are the few fresh in my mind ✨

#bnf au #ask a rat #rat writes

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matty-bear · 1 month

Text

XI. Out [N.S]

type: The Influencer series FINALE

pairing: nick sturniolo x male!oc

warnings: sfw, tooth-rotting fluff, implications of sex (NO SMUT !!)

summary: in which Finn and Nick come clean about their relationship to the fans on the Cut The Camera Podcast

notes: oh em geeee the influencer is done :000 I’m so grateful for all the support you guys have given me while Ive been working on this series <3 I could have never finished this series without you guy;s love and support fr fr . I might re write this after I write a bit more but I’m happy with how this series is right now ! hopefully you guys are fed with this but if youre not, don't fret there will be more finn and nick content in the near future ^^ thank you again for joining me on this ride and i hope to see you guys on my future works ! <3 p.s., hope you guys dont mind this extra long chapter ;3

WC: 8033

CH10

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

“My love~” The sound of Finn's voice echoing from their dimly lit shared bathroom causes Nick to abruptly lift his head from the pillow he’s laying on.

“Yes?” Nick replies as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. The soft sound of footsteps pattering against the floorboards sounds through the male's ears as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“I should've done my skincare last night.” Nick didn’t need to lift his head to know that Finn was frowning. His tone sounded nothing but upset and Nick's claim seems to be correct when he lifts his head to be met with his boyfriend slightly pouting.

“What makes you say that? Did you break out or something?” Nick instinctively grasps Finn's hips to pull him in between his legs. He watches as his boyfriend slowly nods and removes his hand from the left side of his face to reveal a small, baby blue star patch.

“I got a pimple.” Finn raises a finger to point at the covered pimple, his frown not faltering. Before Nick gets the chance to add to the conversation, Finn sighs deeply and takes a seat on his boyfriend’s leg. “I envy you and your clear skin.”

“Do you now?” Finn rapidly nods his head as he rests his chin on Nick's semi-clothed shoulder.

“Yeah. You rarely break out. And when you do, it doesn’t take you very long to get rid of the pimples of whatever pops up on your skin.”

Nick simply hums softly and begins to drag his fingertips against Finn’s clothes back. “Baby, I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

“I was talking with Matt and Chris last night about us coming clean about our relationship to the fans. They both made some pretty good points and I wanted to know if you were okay with coming to join us for a podcast so we can, you know, properly come out and I can introduce you to everyone as my boyfriend. It was either that or doing it in a car video but I feel like fans would want to know more about you, especially if they don’t follow you on social media, so they can get to know how wonderful you are from you from the podcast. What do you say? we’ll be filming the episode later today so you practically have all day to think about it.”

The faint sound of Finn humming runs through Nick's ears for a moment, followed by the soft vibrations of his chest against his arm. “I'm down.”

Nick's eyes light up as he leans back slightly to peer down at Finn. “really?”

The taller hums again with a small smile as he gets up from his spot on Nick's leg. “As long as I get to sit next to you in the studio and if Chris and Matt aren’t gonna tease us the entire time.”

“Well, I can't promise you that, but I'll talk to them later. Anyways, where are you going? Come back.”

“I need to change!” A small laugh escapes Finn’s lips as he excuses himself to go to the closet. Upon opening the door and letting himself inside the small space, Nick quickly gets up from his spot on the bed and rushes over to the male. The moment he steps foot inside his closet, his eyes narrow as he watches his boyfriend shift through his rack of sweatshirts.

“What are you doing?” Nick asks, his arms crossing over his chest.

Finn momentarily shifts his gaze from the hangers in front of him to look over at his boyfriend who’s leaning against the doorframe. He sends the male a soft smile and returns to shifting through the hangers before he replies, “Finding a sweatshirt to wear.”

“In my closet?”

“Yeah.” Nick rolls his eyes as Finn finally settles on a clothing item. The redhead can practically see the happiness and excitement radiating off his boyfriend as he slips a black sweatshirt with large gray stars off a hanger. He watches as Finn quickly flips the item around to allow Nick to see it, a cheesy smile clear as day on his lips.

“This is what you bought on our first date.” Finn says, his arms quickly getting to work on getting the sweatshirt over his head.

“First date?” Nick asks, a single eyebrow raising as he watches his boyfriend’s head pop out of the top of the sweater.

Finn lets out a small sigh as the familiar smell of vanilla runs through his senses. “Yeah, first date. Well, I considered it to be a little date, a blind one in a sense if you get what I mean.”

“You know, we haven’t gone out on a proper date in a while.” At Nick's statement, Finn can't help but smile widely. As he approaches the redhead, he slowly wraps his arms around the shorter’s waist and peers down at him.

“Is that a way of telling me that you want to go on a proper date?” Finn asks, his smile not faltering as he watches Nick’s facial expressions carefully.

“Obviously, yes. I’ve actually been planning a little date for a few days now.” Nick smiles as he watches Finn’s eyes mimic those of a child being surprised on Christmas day. “Before you say anything, that’s all I'm telling you.”

Finn’s excited expression drops and is quickly replaced with a small frown. “Oh come on~” The male whines as he begins to sway himself and Nick back and forth. “Just another hint, please?”

“Nope. You're just gonna have to wait.” As Nick slips out of Finn’s hold and exits the closet, the latter gasps dramatically and quickly follows him.

“Come on, please?”

“Nope.” Finn lets out a small whine as he follows Nick downstairs. He quickly turns the corner when the male enters the kitchen and he immediately leans against the counter closest to Nick with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, good morning you two.” Matt greets as he passes the kitchen upon exiting his bedroom, his mop of messy and fluffy chocolate brown hair being a sign of his good night’s rest.

Finn quickly turns his head around to face the younger male. “Oh hey.” Matt shares a quick smile with Finn as he walks towards the fridge.

“So…” The brunette starts as he grabs a bottle of root beer off the top shelf. “Are we having a guest join us for the podcast today?”

At Matt’s straightforward question, Nick quickly shifts his gaze from the small ceramic bowl in his hands to Finn who’s next to him. The redhead shares a quick look with his boyfriend before the taller smiles softly and looks over at Matt who’s taking small sips of the beverage in his hand.

“I believe so, yes.” Finn replies with a small head nod. Matt lets out an excited shout before he makes his way over to the couple on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“Did it take a lot of convincing?” Matt diverts his question to Nick who’s busy stirring a serving of dry cereal in the milk in his bowl. He waits for the older to take a quick bite and swallow the contents before he replies, “Not really no. I just gave him a quick rundown of what happened last night and he agreed to join us today.”

After seeing Matt look over at him, Finn gently nods his head with a small smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re joining us today, Finn.” Matt says as he takes another quick sip of his root beer. “Should I start prepping questions with Chris then?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. When you guys are done, send me the list.” Nick replies with a small head nod.

“Alright, I'll go do that then. See you guys later.” Matt sends a quick wave goodbye to Nick and Finn as he excuses himself to go back to his bedroom. After ensuring that the male shuts the door behind him, Finn immediately wraps his arms around Nick’s waist and pulls him flush against his chest.

At the sudden movement, the redhead lets out a small noise of surprise and removes the spool full of cereal from his mouth before it spills. After setting the utensil down in the nearly empty bowl, Nick turns his head to be met with a smiley Finn who’s resting his head on his shoulder.

“Can we go back to bed please?” Finn asks, his speech slightly muffled due to his mouth being inches away from the exposed skin on Nick’s shoulder.

“Baby, it’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon.” Nick starts, his eyes momentarily shifting over to the microwave nearby to double-check the time. “I don't think it’s a good idea to go to bed right now. Besides, if you want to cuddle, we can do it in the living room.”

“Fine.” Finn huffs slightly, his grip on Nick’s waist tightening ever so slightly. “Hurry up. You're taking too long.”

“Calm down Mr. Eager. I'm almost done.” Finn impatiently watches as Nick picks up his spoon and scoops up a few pieces of cereal and some milk. At the sight of the male slowly risking the utensil to his slightly opened mouth, Finn groans and drops his head to his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“You hate me.” Nick can’t help but chuckle at the taller’s statement and quickly stuffs the food in his mouth before going for another portion.

“Glad you're aware of the fact so I don’t have to verbally say it.” Nick bites back a laugh when he hears Finn gasp dramatically. He watches from the corner of his eye as the male stands upright, his mouth wide open in shock drawing a small chuckle from him.

“That's so disrespectful.” Finn waits for Nick to eat the contents from his spoon before he lands a poke on his side. The redhead flinches at the small touch and quickly whips around to narrow his eyes at the taller.

“No, it’s not.” Nick defends as he points the tip of his spoon at the male.

“Yes, it is.” Finn frowns, “Hurry up and finish your cereal.”

“You’re the one that interrupted me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up please I’m getting cold.”

“Baby, you have a whole-ass sweater on. The only person here that should be cold is me.” Nick gestures to the white tank top hugging his torso before he turns around to face his bowl again.

“Hey, you’re the one that decided to change out of your shirt to put this on.” Finn starts, his pointer finger hooking underneath the strap on Nick’s tank top. “You could’ve left it on.”

“Okay true,” Nick mumbles, his speech slightly muffled due to the food in his mouth. Finn simply hums as he watches the redhead walk over to the skin to wash his dish.

After turning off the tap and wiping his hands dry, Nick makes his way over to Finn and wordlessly grabs his hand to guide the two of them to the living room. The shorter momentarily releases his hand from Finn’s to sit down as as he reaches over to grab a pillow, the taller’s eyes stay glued to Nick’s arms which slightly flex as he reaches over.

“I can feel you starting. Well, see you staring as well.” Nick states, his eyes momentarily shifting up to see his boyfriend before he fixes it back onto the pillow in his hand.

“Are you sure you haven’t been working out?” Finn asks, a single hand resting on his hip as the other points at Nick. The latter quickly raises his head at his boyfriend’s question and chuckles softly before reaching forward to grab his waist.

“Finn, we've been around each other almost every single day. I think you would know if I was working out.” Nick guides Finn to sit in his lap before he continues, “Besides, you know damn well I'm not about that physical activity shit.”

Finn can’t help but giggle at Nick's last statement. “Oh trust me, I know. But I'm just saying that you got a little muscle building up.”

Nick raises an eyebrow at the taller tucking his head in the crook of his neck. “I heavily beg to differ but whatever you say.”

“Look, I'm not lying!” Finn quickly removes himself from his spot in Nick’s neck to grab into his arm. His hand quickly shifts up to the male’s bicep and the moment he squeezes the area, he feels the shorter tense underneath his fingers. “You definitely have some muscles here. Look, just flex a little.”

“Finn, I am not flexing.”

“Come on, why not.”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Nick lets out a small sigh and looks over at Finn, the sight of his puppy eyes causing his heart to ache. “Alright, enough of that.” He gently sets his hand on the taller’s face to push him away. “If I flex my arm will you paint your nails with me?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Now flex, cmon!” Nick sighs yet again and waits for Finn to remove his hand from his bicep before he quickly flexes his arm. At the excited shout escaping his boyfriend’s mouth, Nick instinctively hides his face behind his hand. “You do have muscles you fucking liar!”

Nick doesn’t say anything and instead shakes his head in response. Finn playfully rolls his eyes at the male before he grabs the hand covering his face and slowly pries it away. “Why are you so flustered?” Finn teases, a large smile appearing on his lips at the sight of his boyfriend’s flushed face.

“Shut it,” Nick mumbles as he leans forward to hide in Finn’s chest. The latter giggles at his boyfriend and cards a hand through his dark red locks before landing a small peck on the crown of his head.

_____

“Baby, you know you don’t have to do a full face of makeup right? It’s not like we’re going out in public.” Nick says as he steps into his bathroom, his fingers getting to work on zipping up a purple sweater that’s loosely hung on his shoulders.

“It’s just guy-liner I swear.” Finn defends, his tall frame leaning back from the mirror to look over at the male standing next to him. He gives his boyfriend a small smile before lifting the eyeliner underneath his eye again. Nick sighs softly and shakes his head as he lifts himself on the counter. He wastes no time in grabbing Finn’s free hand and fiddling with the few rings hugging his fingers. The latter, noticing the male’s change in behavior, momentarily stops what he’s doing to look over at him. “My love?”

Nick quickly lifts his head to meet Finn’s worried gaze. “Yeah?”

“You’re nervous. What’s wrong?”

“Nervous? Pshh. I’m not nervous.” Finn exhales deeply through his nose before turning his body so he’s fully facing Nick. He sends the male a knowing look before saying, “You don’t think I noticed that you play with my rings when you're nervous?”

Nick forces his lips into a straight line and allows his gaze to fall back down to Finn’s hand which is still in his gasp. “Okay, maybe I am a little nervous.”

A small frown makes its way onto Finn’s lips before he takes a step close to Nick and sets his free hand on his clothed thigh. “Why?”

“Don’t know.”

“Nick…” As Finn cups the latter’s face with a single hand, Nick sighs softly and looks up at him. “Is it because this is gonna be the first video that’s gonna be posted of us being together?” Nick slowly nods his head. “Oh baby, you don’t need to be nervous about this. Just think about it like this; When this podcast gets uploaded, we can finally be open to doing whatever we want. You want us to be free with this, right?” Nick nods again. “Okay, then let’s get this done and we can do that.”

Finn lands a quick peck on the younger’s forehead before returning to his space in front of the mirror. As he touches up his slightly smudged eyeliner, the faint sound of the door opening alerts Nick and causes his head to quickly lift and turn towards the sound.

“You guys getting ready to go on the catwalk or what? The hell's taking so long?” The annoyed voice of Chris echoes in the bedroom as the male steps inside and makes a beeline for the open bathroom. The male sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest when his eyes land on Nick and Finn who have both stopped what they’re doing. Finn slowly turns his head around to meet eyes with Chris, the hand that’s holding his eyeliner still inches away from his eye.

“Just give us five more minutes,” Finn says with a soft huff.

“Can you knock, please? You have no manners.” Nick mumbles as he lightly shoves Chris’s shoulder to push him out of the bathroom.

“Whatever. Just hurry up please.” Chris rolls his eyes with a small sigh before he exits the room and gently shuts the door behind him.

“You done?” Nick asks, turning his head to look over at his boyfriend who’s ruffling his hair.

“Yeah, I'm done,” Finn replies as he shakes his head, his slightly curly bangs flopping down neatly over his forehead. “Wait, do you wanna wear something of mine before we head to the studio?”

“Wear something of yours?” Nick repeats, a single eyebrow-raising.

“Yeah.” Finn hums and guides the shorter out of the bathroom. “Since I'm wearing your sweater, you could wear the one I wore here. The fans would see that we’re wearing each other's clothes and they would freak out about it.”

Nick softly hums as he watches Finn walk over to the stack of neatly folded clothes sitting on his desk. “I’m down.” As the redhead unzips his sweater and shrugs it off his body, Finn slips a hoodie with dark green and black stripes out from his pile of clothes. He walks over to Nick, the item in his right hand, and gives his boyfriend a small smile before handing it to him. “Will it fit me?”

Finn’s smile immediately drops and he narrows his eyes at his boyfriend who gently slips the hoodie out of his hand. “Nick, are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I’m clearly larger than you and have never worn your clothes before so.”

“Nick… You act like you're two sizes larger than I am. You’ll be fine, baby. Just put it on.” Nick glances up at Finn and sends him an anxious expression before hesitantly slipping the hoodie over his head.

He swiftly pulls his arms through the sleeves and pulls down the end of the clothing item once it’s fully on him. Nick takes a moment to stare down at his torso and examine the hoodie loosely hugging his torso before he looks up and gives a small smile to Finn.

“See? It fits you!” Finn beams with a wide smile. He walks closer to Nick and begins to fix his hair which was messed up while he was putting his hoodie on. As he begins to card his slim fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, the redhead hums softly and subconsciously leans into the touch.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” Nick hums softly. “I think we should go to the studio before Chris beats our ass.”

“I think so too. Let’s go, c'mon.” Finn takes Nick’s hand in his and intertwines their fingers before he pulls him to the door. The moment they both step out of the room, they enter the brightly lit podcast studio.

At the sound of a door softly shutting, Matt perks his head up and looks over at Nick and Finn who are walking towards the pink and white booth he’s sitting in.

“Finally.” Matt sighs as he shuts his phone off and tucks it under his leg. “Was starting to think that you two would never show up.”

“Okay, calm down. We’re here, are we not?” Nick says, shooting a glare toward the younger. The male steps aside when he reaches the booth to allow Finn to take a seat first. After his boyfriend settles in front of a mic at the edge of the table, Nick slips into his usual spot in the booth as well.

“Everyone good with their spots?” Chris asks, mainly asking his question to Finn. As he gently sets his hands on both sides of his mic, Finn abruptly lifts his head to meet Chris’ gaze. After locking eyes with the boy, he gently nods his head and shoots the male a small smile.

“The cameras are on right?” Nick asks, his eyes drifting from the various cameras tucked in the corners of the room.

“Yeah, they’re on. We’re all good to go, kid. Start when you’re ready.” Matt confirms with a small head nod.

Nick lets out a small exhale through his nose before looking over at Finn who’s sitting fairly close to him, however not close to the point they’d be in the same camera frame. The taller looks over at the younger and swiftly takes his hand that’s under the table.

As he begins to trace comforting circles on the back of the redhead’s hand, Nick cracks a smile and averts his attention back to his mic. He looks down at it for a moment and glances over Chris, who gives him an encouraging head nod. Nick nods faintly, more as a reassurance thing for himself, before he looks towards his camera.

“Good morning Campers and welcome back to the Cut The Camera Podcast!” Nick greets, a warm smile immediately taking over his features. “I am Nick Sturniolo and I will be your favorite host for today's episode.”

“Yeah, yeah favorite host my ass.” Matt mumbles, rolling his eyes for a brief moment before he looks at his respective camera. “I’m Matt by the way.”

“And I'm Chris!” The youngest triplets exclaims, a large smile clear as day on his face. The male plays his imaginary air guitar for a moment and mimics the sound of the said instrument before he stops and rests his hands on the table in front of him.

“I’m going to go ahead and do the small introduction for this episode because someone over here is getting nervous.” Matt begins, his eyes shifting over to lock with Nick’s who sends him a warning glare. “Today is a very special episode because we have someone joining us today. You guys might know this person, some of you may not, but I'll allow Nick to introduce this person to you guys. Nick?”

“Thanks Matt,” Nick mumbles, his voice trailing off as he subconsciously begins to fidget with Finn’s fingers under the table.

“Is that sarcasm?”

“That’s up to your interpretation.” Matt shakes his head with a soft sigh as Nick looks over at his boyfriend. The redhead can’t help but smile when the male sends him a small wink and quickly looks away from him to look at his camera. “Today joining us in the studio is my boyfriend, Finn. Would you like to introduce yourself to the viewers and or listeners?”

“I’d love to.” Finn replies with a small smile. He brings his mic closer to his mouth with his free hand before he continues, “Hey guys, I’m Finn as you may know. I am 21 years old and have been dating Nick for almost three months now. I am a full-time Instagram influencer but am close to being a full-time model as well.”

“Wait, you're close to being a full-time model? I thought that was a side job you had.” Chris asks, his head tilting to the side as he looks over at the blue-haired male.

“Yeah, it was a side job but since my manager, shoutout to Kim.” Finn starts, making a small finger heart with his free hand before he continues, “Has been booking me a lot more, I’ve been getting more modeling opportunities. It’s like every other day that I need to go to a shoot so I'd say that I'm very close to modeling full-time.”

“This isn’t a question we have prepped but since we’re on the topic, would you drop Instagram if you did decide to go full-time with modeling? I know that job is a lot, from what I hear from you, and I'm just wondering if it’d be a little difficult to juggle two jobs at once.”

“That’s a very good question hmm..” Finn ponders for a moment, his lips momentarily shifting into a straight line as he thinks. “I don’t think so, no. Instagram means a lot to me considering how much of a following I have on there and everything. Not to mention how I started my entire career there so I think that suddenly dumping Instagram would be a lot. I’ve been healthy balancing that and modeling with no problem right now so keeping up my account shouldn’t be a problem if and when I decide to go full-time with modeling.”

“I see, I see.” Matt hums, “Was it hard making a face for yourself on social media through Instagram? I feel like it’s a lot harder for people to reach popularity through Instagram since there’s so much on there. Also, guys, don’t worry we will get into relationship questions here in a minute.”

Finn chuckles softly at Matt’s last statement, his head dropping for a second before he looks back up and replies, “It was a little difficult, yes but I just kept being constant with posts and stuff. I feel like the key to growing on any base is being consistent so that’s exactly what I did. I did experience some setbacks a few years into gaining popularity but I got over them eventually.”

“When did you start social media? Like age-wise.” Chris asks.

“I wanna say like 16,” Finn replies with a small head nod. “I wanted to start way younger but my parents didn’t let me so.”

“I feel like 16 is a decent age to start this stuff at. I mean we started our YouTube career at 17 and just continued to work towards getting popularity. I was about to say fame but I find that a little corny. Besides, I think fame is too big of a word to describe what we have right now.”

“I completely agree with the fame thing. I would never use that term to describe myself, no matter how big I get. I just feel like that’s more of a celebrity term. You know, singers and actors usually have that term tied to their names.”

“Yes! I completely agree!” Matt exclaims, his voice raising a few octaves as he points a single finger at Finn.

“Great minds think alike,” Finn says with a large smile. The two share a quick handshake before Chris breaks the small silence.

“Nick, I haven't heard from you in a good minute. You doing okay over there?” Chris asks, a teasing smile creeping onto his lips as he glances over at the older who’s staring at his boyfriend.

“Huh?” Nick hums, quickly snapping out of his gaze when Chris’ voice runs through his ears. “Oh, yeah I'm fine.”

“He’s been staring at Finn this whole time. Is the sun shining out of his ass or something?” Matt asks, adding to the teasing as he nudges Nick with his foot.

“Alright, enough of that. I didn’t sign up to sit through an hour of teasing from the two of you.” Nick mumbles, shifting his gaze from Finn to his two brothers. As he seemingly stares daggers at the two, Finn speaks up.

“I can smell the edits now,” Finn says with a small laugh. “Oh my God, the way he looks at him.”

“Not you too,” Nick says, his jaw dropping slightly as he looks over at his boyfriend who’s already gazing down at him.

“I gotta agree with Finn here. I’m gonna see a shit ton of edits of the two of you on my for you page after this episode is out.” Chris chimes in, his speech slightly muffled due to his hands covering and rubbing his face.

“Speaking of which!” Finn exclaims with a small smile, “If you guys make any edits of Nick, tag me in them, please. I need to see every single Nick edit in existence for me to live a happy life, thank you.”

“Baby, I'm literally right here. Why do you need to see edits of me when I'm right next to you?” Nick asks, his eyebrows furring together as a bewildered expression takes over his features. Before he allows Finn to reply, he points at his camera and says, “Do the same with me please but for Finn edits, thanks.”

“Okay, fucking hypocrite. I was just about to defend myself but it seems like we both have the same idea.”

“Okay but in my defense, I rarely see edits of you. I need more in my life, seriously.”

“What the hell is this conversation?” Chris laughs, gaining a small shrug from Matt who’s simply staring at the couple in front of him in disbelief.

“Can we go back to questioning the kid, please? Or you two to be specific?” Matt asks, chucking when Nick and Finn both stop their conversation to look over at him.

“My bad. Go ahead with the questions.” Finn apologizes with a small giggle.

“Alright, first question about you and Nick.” Chris begins, scrolling through his notes for a moment before continuing, “When did you two first meet? Matt and I know what went down but the fans don’t so please enlighten us.”

“Enlighten us is crazy,” Nick mumbles, his statement earning a small chuckle from his boyfriend.

“Do you wanna say it or should I?” Finn asks, adjusting his position on the booth slightly so he can face the male next to him.

“You can,” Nick replies with a small smile.

Finn gently nods his head and clears his throat before he starts explaining, “So the triplets and I were invited to this large influencer party in downtown LA. When I first met Nick, I found him staring at the bottles of liquor like he was seeing colors for the first time. I asked if he needed help and he agreed and let me help him. And before you guys say anything, I made him the least alcoholic beverages possible. Anyways Nick doesn’t know this but I could see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye the whole time I was getting his drinks.”

“YOU COULD?” Nick exclaims, his face flushing in embarrassment as he looks wide-eyed at the male next to him.

“Yeah, I could.” Finn giggles.

“Stop, that's so embarrassing, oh my God.” As Nick hides his face in his hands, collective laughter sounds from the three boys in the studio.

“Hey, I was staring at you too so it’s fine.”

“You were?”

“Absolutely, yes. The second you left the drinking area, I purposely dragged my friends closer to the area you guys were at so I could get a better look at you.”

“I didn’t see you when I was looking for you, though. You must’ve found a good spot.”

“You were looking for me?” Finn smiles widely at Nick as the male’s face heats up and takes on a soft red hue.

Nick sputters for a moment before he voices his reply, “Yeah when we were leaving.”

“Seeing how easily Finn makes Nick all flustered like this is fucking insane to me.” Matt states as he rubs a hand over his chin.

“You guys will definitely see more of this when we get Finn in vlogs and whatnot but this kid literally has Nick wrapped around his pinkie finger. It’s fucking hilarious.” Chris adds with a small laugh.

“Okay, can you two shut up please? Thanks.” Nick says, subtly flipping off the two males before he turns to face Finn again.

“They do have a point, my love. You do get flustered quite easily.” Finn says, his statement earning a hurtful expression to spread across Nick’s face. Before the male gets to retaliate, the taller grabs his face with a single hand and brings him closer to him. Nick’s face darkens a shade or two as his nose brushes against his boyfriend’s and he slowly shrinks in his seat under the male’s strong gaze.

“CLIP THAT! CLIP THAT!” Chris exclaims as he gets out of his seat and points at the two boys a few steps away from him.

“The editors are gonna get a kick out of this episode.” Matt says, his eyes staying fixed onto Nick who’s staring up at Finn with slightly wide eyes.

“Nick editors to be exact.”

“Can yall shut it please.” Nick mutters, his efforts of sounding threading failing when Finn sends him a heart melting smile.

“Finn, you’re gonna kill him.”

“I’m stopping, I'm stopping.”

_______

It’s currently Monday and Nick and Finn are huddled up in the redhead’s bedroom. A random movie they both agreed to watch is playing on the television however neither of the boys are paying any attention to it. Rather, the two are too occupied in being wrapped in each other's arms under a large blanket they stole from Chris. Comfortable silence drifts between the two, the only real sound filling the room being the movie and their synced breaths.

“The podcast episode is being released in ten minutes,” Nick mumbles, his soft voice breaking the small silence in the room.

Finn lifts his head from his spot on Nick’s chest. “Really?”

Nick hums in response. “That means you’re gonna have to let me get up so I can upload it.”

Finn chuckles softly and reluctantly removes himself from Nick’s hold to sit up and lean against the headboard. He takes a moment to stretch his sore limbs before he looks over at his boyfriend who hasn’t moved from his position. “Do you want me to get your laptop or are you gonna get up?”

Nick shifts his eyes from the television in front of him to look over at Finn. “Can you get it for me, please? I’m too comfortable.”

“Of course, give me a second.” Nick silently watches as Finn gets out from underneath the covers and slips off the mattress. The male walks a few steps to arrive at Nick's desk and disconnects any wires connected to his laptop before picking it up and returning to bed. “Here you go, my love.”

“Thank you, baby.” Nick sends Finn a warm smile as he hands him his laptop. It was only then that the redhead decided to sit up and lean against the headboard. As he sets his laptop on his lap and turns it on, Finn shuffles closer to the male and leans against his shoulder. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“What? Us coming out as a couple to the public?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I'm glad we’re doing this but I'm still a little nervous.”

“I am too, but don't worry too much. We got this.” Finn sits up a little to nestle his face in the crook of Nick’s neck. The latter can’t help but tense up at the feeling of the taller peppering the side of his neck with soft and tender kisses. Nick opens his mouth to comment on his boyfriend’s behavior but cuts himself off when the male bites down on the skin under his ear.

“Finn,” Nick whines, his eyes shut tightly as he subconsciously tits his neck to the side to give the male more access to his skin.

“Hmm?” Finn hums, his focus staying fixed on the younger’s skin in between his teeth.

“I need to upload this, you’re distracting me.”

“Am I now?”

“Yes you-“ Nick cuts himself off yet again when Finn begins to suck on the same area he was biting moments prior. A low groan slips out of Nick's mouth as he moves his laptop off his lap and grabs his boyfriend’s bicep. “Finn, please.”

The latter bites down on Nick’s tender skin once more before finally stopping and pulling away. Finn eyes the area he marked for a moment and can’t help the proud smile forming on his lips as the sight of a purpling spot under the redhead’s ear. “Might need to cover that up before we go downstairs.” Finn says as he rubs over the area with his index finger.

“You’re helping me.” Nick grumbles as he grabs his laptop and pulls it back on his lap. “I’m getting your aas back for this by the way.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Nick looks over at Finn and takes in his cocky grin. The male can’t help but scoff softly at the sight and returns to uploading the podcast episode. It only takes about five minutes for Nick to upload the video and when he’s done, he softly shuts his laptop and sets it on the nearby nightstand.

“I’d like to try now.”

_____

“Guys the fans are going fucking insane. I swear i’ve never seen so many fan pages edit a video of ours so quick-“ Matt starts as he opens the door to Nick’s room. He quickly shuts his mouth and stares wide-eyed at the two shirtless males on the bed, the only thing covering their lower halves being the blanket they were using earlier. Nick quickly slips off Finn and looks over at Matt who’s standing in the doorway, his face flush in embarrassment.

“Matt! Fucking knock!” Nick exclaims as he pulls the blanket up to his chest.

“My bad. I'm gonna go bleach my eyes now.” Matt sputters, his words mumbling together as he quickly exits the room and loudly shuts the door behind him.

“God, that kid.” As Nick lets out a heavy exhale, he looks over at Finn who’s still lying on his back.

He takes a moment to stare at the male while his eyes are still shut and allows his eyes to wander down to his slightly parted lips which are taking in heavy inhales of air, his chest rapidly rising in the process. Nick’s eyes eventually wander to the taller’s hair, which is a lot messier considering what they were doing before they got interrupted. Before he allows his gaze to wander down to his exposed chest, Nick quickly rips his gaze away when Finn opens his eyes.

“We should do this more often.” Finn breathes out as he blinks up at the male hovering over him.

“Are you sure about that? I don't think you could go for much longer considering how fucked you look right now.”

“Oh, I looked fucked right now?” As Nick hums softly in response, Finn sits up slightly and leans against his arms, the crown of his head inches away from the headboard of the bed. As the taller gazes up at his boyfriend, he can’t help but let his eyes wander down to his chest. “Wait, I just realized you don’t have a shirt on.”

“Oh,” Nick quickly looks down at his torso and peeks into the gap made from the blanket covering the majority of his upper half. “Yeah, I don't.”

As Nick looks back over at Finn, a confused expression overtakes his features at the sight of the taller’s wide smile. “Why are you smiling so hard?”

“Well it’s just that you’ve always been so huge on keeping a shirt on and not allowing anyone to see you shirtless and the fact that you are currently topless is just making me a little happy. You know, because you were comfortable enough to take your tank top off and be bare during what we just did.”

“Oh,” Nick mumbles again, a single arm raising to rub his nape. “Yeah, I do feel quite comfortable with you now. Besides, I feel like if we’re going to have

sex or make out then I can't have my shirt on.”

Finn’s eyebrows furrow at Nick’s last statement and he quickly sits upright. “Love, you know you don’t have to feel obligated to not have a top on when we do this shit right?” Silence falls over the two boys for a moment.

At the sight of Nick forcing his lips together and looking off to the side, Finn heavily sighs and leans his head against the male’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, if we’re going to have sex or shit like that, it is completely okay with me if you want to keep your clothes on. It’s not like I'm going to get upset or anything. I want you to be comfortable, okay?”

“Okay.” When Nick turns his head to look over at Finn, the latter immediately captures his lips with his for a quick kiss. When the taller pulls away, he removes himself from his boyfriend’s shoulder and begins patting the area around him. “What are you doing?” Nick asks, his eyebrows knitting together as he watches the male slip his hand under the blanket.

“I wanna see the feedback from the podcast episode. Matt said the fans are flipping their shit and I wanna see it for myself.” Finn replies, momentarily shifting his gaze to look at Nick before he pulls his phone out from under the blanket. As Nick gently nods his head with a small hum, Finn situates himself back against his shoulder and unlocks his phone. “I’m gonna check Tiktok first.”

Finn spins his thumb around a few times as his eyes scan his lock screen for the said app and when he finally finds it, he clicks it open. It didn’t take a single scroll from the male for a video of himself and Nick to pop up on his feed. Immediately, the room fills with the sound of both boys talking with Daylight by Taylor Swift playing softly in the back.

“I’m just really grateful that I met Nick at that party. At the time, I was struggling mentally, obviously, it wasn’t shown on social media and I tried my best to now show it either, but when I met him I just felt all my worries and shit wash away. He brings me such peace and happiness and seeing him nearly every single day just makes me so fucking happy. Honest to God, I don’t know what I would be doing if I never went to that bar that night.” Finn says, his eyes not breaking away from Nick’s as he looks at the male with a loving and heart-stuck gaze.

“God don’t even get me started with how amazing a boyfriend he is. I swear he knows me better than I know myself. He knows me like the back of his hand and immediately knows if something is up just by looking at me. He’s so caring and sweet and I need to figure out how to repay him because he’s just so fucking amazing.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.” Nick states, his eyes rolling rather playfully before he shifts his eyes up back to Finn’s, “I haven’t really been in a proper relationship before so all this shit is new to me, and still kinda is in a sense, but I appreciate how Finn takes things so slow with me. Like when we first started dating yes we kissed and whatnot but it was slow like how we both agreed on. He didn’t overstep any of my boundaries and constantly asked me if what he was doing was okay with me physical touch wise and always asked if I was comfortable. I couldn’t be more thankful for how patient he was with me. I could go on a whole fucking tangent about how much I care and appreciate this kid but I think I’d need a whole other podcast episode for that.”

“Might as well give you guys another episode to gush about each other,” Chris says with a chuckle.

“Well, the next podcast episode will be a Nick and Finn exclusive guys! Be on the lookout for it.” Matt exclaims as he points at the camera in front of him.

“Okay, don’t put that out there. Doing this shit was anxiety-inducing enough. We’ll feed the people when we feed like feeding them.” Nick says, his statement earning a small head nod from Finn.

“Nick and Finn content soon guys!” Finn exclaims with a wide smile.

The TikTok continues for a little while longer with various clips of the couple being shown as Daylight plays more loudly. Nick and Finn take a moment to scroll through the latter’s for you page, the sight of the support from hundreds of fan pages bringing large smiles to their faces.

“I think this was a success, don’t you think?” Finn asks as he shuts his phone off and reaches over to set it on the nightstand.

“I completely agree,” Nick replies with a small head nod. As Finn returns to his previous spot against the headboard, Nick wordlessly moves the blanket further down his legs to lay down on his lap. “Should we do a photo dump later?”

“If you want, it’s your call.” Nick nods his head and abruptly stops when Finn begins to card his fingers through his hair. The redhead can’t help but the large smile creeping onto his lips as he subconsciously leans into his boyfriend’s hand, his actions drawing a smile from the taller who’s gazing down at him.

“Thank you for being with me.”

“Oh, Nick.” Finn bends down to land a soft kiss on Nick’s temple. “I should be thanking you, to be honest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick mumbles. The male takes a moment to flip onto his stomach and bury his face in Finn’s bare thigh. “Let me be sappy please.”

Finn softly laughs at the male, “Alright, alright.”

As Nick begins to land light kisses on Finn’s thigh, the latter begins to drag his fingertips up and down the younger’s bare back. The moment Nick feels the male’s fingers lightly brush against his skin, he tenses up with a choked giggle.

“Finn…” Nick warns, “Don’t fucking start I swear to God.”

“I’m not doing anything?” Finn asks, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he dips his head down to glance at the male in his lap.

“Finn, you know damn well what you’re doing.”

“Do you want me to stop? I will if you want me to.”

“No, no!” Nick quickly reaches an arm back to grab Finn’s hand when he pulls away. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh or anything, I promise. It just feels really weird.”

“Oh,” Finn mumbles with a small chuckle. “So can I continue?” When Nick nods his head and returns to his spot in Finn’s thigh, the latter continues his previous actions.

The two sat there for the remainder of the day, their energy levels boosted up to the max simply by being in each other’s presence. Both boys finally had a weight they’d had on their shoulders for a month lifted off their backs and they couldn’t be happier. They finally felt free to do whatever they wanted couple-wise and knew that the fans would eat up all the content they gave them. They were forever grateful for the fans and made sure they were plenty aware of the fact through a few ‘thank you’ posts made on their public stories.

In all, both Finn and Nick continued to stay happy with one another. They relied on each other constantly and were always there for one another. Nothing was getting in between the couple, their bond was simply unbreakable. Yes, they still had a long way to go in terms of their relationship but they were very content with where they are right now. Considering how the full story of how these two boys met and stole each other's hearts has finally ended on a happy note, most would believe that this would be the end.

But that is not the case for Nick and Finn.

Who says that there will stop being more content just because their series has ended? Their story has just started!

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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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campbyler · 22 days

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okay I collapsed…

Was expecting a masterpiece but thea you really outdid yourself with this one.

I was already freaking out reading the first half of the chapter, but the second half had me floored. Just in case you have the audacity to doubt your excellence, I come with receipts.

to clarify I was lying down the entire time… (this was taken a few mins after i finished the chapter so yes that final jump was in fact cuz of that last part)

i loveeed the car stuff, MIKE TRUSTING WILL WITH THE CAR AND WILL BEING ALL SKXKJSKXIS WHILE ALSO FREAKING OUT LOVEEE THEM

THE PERCY JACKSON MENTION LOWKEY KILLED ME, SO TRUE

the Starry Night Over the Rhône is actually one of my fav Van Goghs as well, got it on my wall at home

I also just maybe happened to wear a comfy oversized Van Gogh hoodie while reading this💀

OKAY BACK TO THE TWO IDIOTS IN LOVE

THE SKETCHES AND POOR JADE, MIKE BEING “JEALOUS” ISTG HE’S INSUFFERABLE.

ALSO I FEEL LIKE HE’S ABOUT TO START GETTING DRAWINGS FROM WILL REGULARLY AFTER THIS.

WILL BYERS IS SO FUCKING DOWN BAD THAT IM GEN SCARED FOR HIS WELL BEING BUT GOOD FOR HIM

NO HIS BRAIN IS GENUINELY NOT FUNCTIONING ANYMORE, BUT IT’S OKAY CUZ NEITHER IS MINE AFTER THIS

SPEAKING OF ME NEVER RECOVERING, THE WAITRESS AND MIDDLE SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS MIKE WHEELER WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

THE PHOTOBOOTH!!!! SOMEONE DRAW THOSE PICS ASAP IT’S A NECESSITY. DEF ONE OF MY FAV PARTS OF THIS CHAPTER

ALSO SOMEONE IS SOOOOO ABOUT TO FIND THOSE PICS

honestly I cant even comment on that last part other than im deceased and a lil bit stressed.

IM KIDDING I CAN COMMENT THEA WTF. WILL AFTER REALIZING HE’S BEEN ON A DATE WITH MIKE WHEELER THIS ENTIRE TIME, YOU’RE A LIL BIT LATE BESTIE BUT ALL FORGIVEN

ALSO HE’S SO IN LOVE I FEEL SO SINGLE LIFE IS CRUEEEEL

*PLAYS BABY BY JUSTIN BIEBER*

OH GOD MIKE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER??? SUNI GOOD LUCK AND SEE YA SOON CANT WAIT

ris this entire thing is INSANE which is a very appropriate energy to have to match the insanity of 9.2 <3 from the heart rate to the VAN GOGH SHIRT (and the great taste of preferring the rhône) this has gone down in history as one of my fave comments we have ever received!!!!!! can't wait for you to see what suni has in store for ch10 (spoiler alert: she is also insane)

#asks #ch09 #acswy spoilers #like i simply can't even reply to every part of this it's just so good

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bg-brainrot · 2 months

Text

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 11: An Interrogation

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, violence, being bound, being imprisoned, angry Astarion

WC: 3.5k words, 11/?? chapters

Summary: You spend the night in vampire prison and have a difficult conversation.

A/N: Did you know that Dalyria has a strength of 16 (as do all of the rest of the spawn siblings)? Because I didn’t until I wrote this. Now imagining Astarion’s strong sister giving him piggyback rides around the underdark… Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Ao3 | [Ch10][Ch12] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

You find yourself in what you can only call vampire jail.

After being discovered by Astarion, you didn’t have a chance to run. Between him and Dal, they apprehended you embarrassingly quickly. From your memories, you’re accustomed to Astarion’s lightning reflexes, but Dal’s sheer strength came as a surprise to you. You were gagged before you could get a single word out– likely because they didn’t want you casting any spells. While you wanted to resist, the worried look on Dalyria’s face stopped you. If I act too rashly, they won't hesitate to kill me.

So you went limp. Your bag was confiscated and you were tied, gagged, blindfolded, and thrown over Dal’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You imagine if Astarion had been any less angry, he might have made a joke about your situation, but he stayed unnervingly silent throughout the whole ordeal.

While you couldn’t see anything, you could feel yourself taken through twists and turns, down steps, behind doors. Eventually you were tossed ungracefully onto the ground, where you lay now. You can feel the cold chill of stone beneath you and something else drains you as you enter this new space, like a deep part of your essence has been sapped away from you.

“Don’t even think about trying to escape,” Astarion says, breaking his silence with an icy tone. “We have sussur bloom set up throughout the entire prison, and the door is guarded night and day. You’ll stay here until we figure out what to do with you.”

You hear him stomp off before Dal speaks, “It’s you, isn’t it? That’s why he’s so angry?”

Despite the blindfold and the gag, you can sense well enough what she means. You nod.

She exhales a shaky sigh and removes your blindfold to take a better look at you. You open your eyes to the blonde woman crouching before you, standing in the doorway of what looks to be a prison cell. Her red eyes dart between yours, trying to see the truth you might be hiding from her. Satisfied with what she sees, she stands back up and says, “I’ll try speaking to him. If you are who you claim to be… thank you. For coming back.”

Without another word, she locks the cell door behind her and walks away.

You’re not sure what to do with her thanks, since you don't feel like you've done a particularly fantastic job thus far. So you just stare through the metal bars of the cell door for a while, trying, desperately, to ignore the ruinous sensation that the sussur bloom infects you with.

After a few minutes, you snap out of your stupor. You manage to get the gag out of your mouth after a few attempts and eventually give up on your wrist bindings after more than a dozen attempts. You suspect that Astarion’s skills with his hands have not deteriorated over the years, given how snugly you’re bound.

Uncomfortable, miserable, and drained of all of your strength, you lay down for your reverie. It’s likely nighttime, you guess. And it’s not like I have anything better to do.

When you’ve finally settled down enough to meditate, you’re pleasantly surprised to find yourself dreaming of the Hero’s Life again. You weren’t sure if you’d be graced with these memories anymore after their untimely demise, but you suppose you have at least a few months left until you reach full maturity.

Your eyes open to a desk full of papers, as your now all-too-familiar hands sift through them. Maybe there's something useful here, you think to yourself.

Despite your scholar’s eyes, the words are written in a language you can't quite make out. It isn't the first time this has happened to you in a dream, but it certainly is more frustrating than usual now that you're desperate for anything that could help. Your body makes some annotations in a code you've caught a few times– using the same quill you saw on Astarion's desk.

The symbols never stay long enough for you to decipher them and new papers replace them a moment later, but you get the sense that they’re nothing new to your former-self. The edges are frayed and they add fresh notes to already existing ones.

They spend hours at the desk, sorting, reading, writing. All the while, they just feel… focused. Their emotions are calm and it calms you in turn. So when a voice calls to you, your head shoots up in alarm.

"Darling?" calls your lover's voice, in a tone completely different from the one you'd heard only hours ago. It's soft, open, unguarded– much like the face that peeks around the doorway to the room you’re in. Your heart clenches in your chest at the love he regards you with.

Now that your body’s looked up, you recognize the room as Astarion’s current-day study, albeit decorated entirely differently. Your past-self smiles at his appearance and asks, “Yes, love?”

“How much longer do you plan on pouring over those papers? I was hoping we might take some time to ourselves today. And I don’t believe you’ve eaten yet, have you?”

As if not realizing how long you’d been sitting for, your body stretches, craning your neck one way then the other. “Gods, you’re right,” you hear yourself say. “Alright, let me just put this away and I’ll be right there.”

Astarion tuts at you, undoubtedly knowing better. “I’m not leaving until I see you get up from that desk,” he says, eyes narrowing at you. Your heart warms, and you’re filled with affection. He cared about you so deeply and it showed in everything he did. Even now, as he crosses his arms and dares you defy his right to take care of your well-being.

So your body sighs, standing from the desk and placing your quill back in its rightful place. “ Fine, you win. But if I come back and forget what I was doing, you’re helping me sort out some of these logistics.”

“Gladly,” Astarion says with a satisfied grin. As you walk toward him, he holds out a hand for you. You take it gladly, and you feel your past-self filled with such devotion as they return his smile.

When you wake, you find yourself in the same cold cell, wrists bound, eyes aching from unshed tears. No one is here for you now and no one seems willing to come deal with you. You wonder if you’ll die here before ever seeing Astarion in person again.

The next person you see isn’t Dal or Astarion. A few hours after waking, a large blonde man comes to your cell, bearing a pitcher of water and a filled glass.

“Drink up, elf,” the man says, gesturing to you to come closer. His tone isn’t overly demanding, nor is he aggressive. It seems like he’s merely fulfilling a duty.

You ignore his gesture. “Please let me talk to Astarion. This is all a misunderstanding,” you say, trying your best to keep the desperation from your voice and failing entirely. Your throat is scratchy and the water is appealing, but your fear of dying in this sussur-induced hell takes precedence.

The man– Petras, you think– shakes his head. “Don’t worry, you’ll talk to him soon. Dal’s making sure of it. And trust me when I say, you’re in there to keep you safe from us.”

Of course, that doesn’t come as much of a surprise to you. You did walk into a vampire's den, got caught almost immediately, and now find yourself entirely powerless to defend yourself. You decide not to dwell on that as you continue to speak to the man. “When will he come by?”

Petras looks at you with something in his eyes akin to pity, before shaking his head. “Not sure, he’s been talking with Dal for hours.” His eyes dart around to make sure no one is listening in as he changes the subject, “Are you really who you say you are?”

You only nod, and shimmy closer at the sound of excitement in Petras’s voice. It’s disappointing that these spawn siblings are more excited to see you than your former lover is, but you won’t waste this opportunity. “I am. I swear it.”

“Then are you going to help–”

The man is cut off by the sound of a door closing down the cell block. “I’ll take it from here, Petras. Leave the water. And stay nearby.” You recognize Astarion’s chilly voice, and wonder what terrifying look he must have given Petras for him to scramble to his feet so quickly.

You hear the door close behind Petras, and Astarion comes into your view. His face is severe, brows furrowed and mouth set in a hard line. He doesn’t say anything when he sees you slumped next to the cell door, your shoulders hunched visibly in defeat at your losing a chance to speak to someone who would believe you.

He leaves your line of sight again, and you hear the scrapping of chair legs on the stone floor. When he returns, he sets a wooden chair in front of your cell and sits down in front of you. Another moment of silence passes between you when he finally clears his throat and crosses his legs. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

You’re shocked by the lack of anger in his voice. Dalyria must have gotten through to him! So you lock with his red eyes between the metal bars and plead like your life depends on it, as it very well might. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean any harm to you, to your siblings. I just… I-I couldn’t leave it like that. I couldn’t let you run away from me.”

Astarion listens to your pleas, tapping a finger casually on his knee as he does so. He has all of the power in this room, and it shows in how his eyes regard you with an open calculation. “I suppose if you did mean to harm us, you would have done so already,” he finally says. You wonder if that was part of Dal’s reasoning. Then, as if you’re having an entirely different conversation, as if you’re not in a cell facing certain death, he asks you, “So, what do you think of the place?”

You blink, mind reeling at the shift. “I suppose it’s… quite nice?”

He smirks at you, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable the question made you. “Isn’t it? You'd be surprised at how much wealth a legion of spawn is capable of accumulating.”

“Yes, you have immaculate taste,” you say, hoping that that’s what he wants to hear.

The man ignores your comment, evidently not caring for your praise. “The real problem of course is that some things can't be bought. Like blood– especially in vast enough quantities for a horde of vampires. As I’m sure you’re aware, vampires have a sanguine hunger that simply cannot be satisfied."

"Are you going to eat me?" Your eyes go wide, wondering if that’s why he changed the tune of your talk.

He laughs at you, drinking in your fear like a tyrant on a throne as he leans back in the chair. "Oh I certainly wanted to,” he responds, after his laughter dies down. “Dal has convinced me that it would be… a bad idea."

Thank the gods for Dal. "Then… why are you telling me about the problem with, erm, sourcing blood?"

He looks at you for a long moment, as if expecting something to happen, but you’re not sure what. You wrack your brain, hoping for a memory, anything to come to it. When clearly nothing will, the man sighs and says, "I suppose just to complain. We can only source so much blood naturally without putting a target on our back. It gets tiresome."

You feel like you've missed something, a chance, and it frustrates you to no end to be expected to continue to converse normally and move past it. It's time for you to start grasping at what you do know. "In my memories the spawn lived in a smaller fortress, in a different part of the Underdark. It seemed dangerous. Is it at least safer here?"

His red eyes appraise you for a beat before he answers, "Yes, I suppose blood is a far lesser concern than those we used to have." He leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees to stare at you more intently. “It’s still dangerous, naturally. Over 6000 spawn attract a lot of unwanted attention, and not everyone agrees that we have a right to life– or unlife, as they see it.”

“6000? I thought you were closer to 7000?"

“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know, even if you are who you claim to be.” He looks down angrily, massaging his forehead with a few fingers. “We’ve lost a lot of spawn to hunters. To heroes, and to the natural dangers of the Underdark.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say to that, but you do feel a pang deep in your chest. A pain that would likely reach your very soul if it could.

“Well, now that you know all of that, I guess I should ignore Dal's advice and kill you!” He says it cheerily, and you gulp. Was that his plan all along?

“What if I could convince you not to kill me?” you ask, inching your body forward as you grasp the bars with your tied hands.

Astarion seems to think about it, but it’s plainly an act. “Hmm, how about… not a chance.”

“What if I were truly the reincarnation of your former love? Would you really send their soul back to Arvandor?” you ask, staring up at him through the bars desperately.

You think you hear his breath hitch. He only says, “I would not.” His face is still, tone giving nothing away, but you can tell that the idea of it doesn’t sit well with him.

“So what will it take for you to believe me?” you ask, gripping the bars of your cell as tightly as you can to hold yourself closer, knowing that this may be your only way to survive this.

“I don’t know,” he says, and his eyes are so distant that you know he means it. There may not be a magic word for this. He may never truly believe you, even if you hand him memory after memory. Astarion’s pain may run too deep for you to be able to navigate.

You reach through the bars for the glass of water and take a shaky sip as you think. If your current-self is too ill-equipped, you decide to think like your past-self. What would I have done? I would have been straightforward. I would make sure he didn’t run away from difficult conversations. If he didn’t want to see reason, I would have made him see reason. Can I even do that?

Anything is doable when your life is on the line. So you swallow the water and begin talking, “Dal believed me. Halsin believed me. Hells, even Petras, who I barely met, seemed to believe me. Even if you don’t– or simply won’t– you should consider that sometimes giving a stranger the benefit of the doubt won’t be the end of the world. But if you’re wrong, it sounds like it may very well be the end of your world.”

Maybe it's because of the newfound strength in your words or maybe Astarion just wants to see something familiar in you, but he watches you as you speak, hung on your every word. When you’re done, he only stares at you as he weighs your words.

After more than a minute of silence, you’re not sure if he’s going to speak unprompted again. You decide to hazard a question, “Knowing that, do you still want to kill me?”

“No,” he answers curtly, eyes narrowing at you as if he’s mad that you’ve convinced him. He sits back in the chair again and points a finger at you sternly. “But if you so much as breathe near this colony again, I will kill you on the spot, do you understand?”

A step forward, you think, breathing a little easier now that your safety is more secure. However, it doesn’t resolve the matter of who you are. “What if you want to keep me around? After all, I was your love in a past life.”

"Fine,” he says, and his tone is casual again. “Let’s say you are who you say you are. Why did you come to see me?"

Again, you think back to the candid confidence of your former self. Let’s do that again. "Because for as long as I can remember, you have been all I think about. You've been in all of my waking and sleeping thoughts. I don't know what my life is without you in it." Your voice comes out strong, honesty ringing in each statement.

Astarion seems unmoved. He clicks his tongue and leans toward you, and you get vague recognition of when he’s preparing himself for a killing blow. "That's all well and good, romantic even. But it doesn't get to the heart of the matter. What do you hope to accomplish?"

Your brows furrow, and the confidence falters with your confusion. "I… guess I thought…"

“Thought what?" he asks, leaning a bit further.

“I guess I thought… perhaps we could pick up where we left off?” Your suggestion comes out like a question. Of course it’s a question, this is unprecedented territory. In fact, precedented territory was constantly telling you what a bad idea this was, practically laughing in your face at the ludicrous endeavor– Rekindle with a love from a former life? Hah, who do you think you are?

Astarion also laughs in your face. It's not cruel, it's not silly. It's utterly devoid of humor, as if he hasn’t laughed with genuine mirth in years. His words hit you like a sucker punch, “And why would I want to do that?”

The insecurities from before start to bubble backup. You think of how he spoke of you to Dalyria, of how you pale in comparison to your former self, and you feel like sobbing. But you hold yourself together, clutching at the bars like a lifeline. You say the only words you know to in this situation, the words that have given you comfort, the ones that set you on this journey in the first place, “In one of my memories, you said you would love me in every lifetime. Don't you remember?”

His response is immediate and bitter. The killing blow he’s been waiting to deliver. “The man who said that was a fool who believed in love.”

You've taken a lot of harsh words from Astarion so far, weathered them and persisted. But with that single sentence, your heart shatters. The grand illusion of your journey is dispelled. The reason you made your way here is based on a man who no longer exists, all that remains is this embittered facsimile. The Astarion that held you when you worried, that took care of you when you were ill, that loved you– this is a mere shadow of him.

You’re not certain how words come out of your mouth, but they do. Your voice sounds distant and faint, like a light breeze could scatter it, "In that case. Could you let me go? I'm afraid I've made a big mistake.” Astarion may be laughing at you, he may be angry, but you find it difficult to read his expression as tears begin to well in your eyes.

The man doesn’t comment on anything you’ve said, only issues a quick instruction for you, “Your bag is hanging near the door. Petras should be ready to escort you out.” He unlocks the door to your cell without another word. His voice sounds as distant as your own did.

You scramble to your feet as the tears begin to spill– you've tried so hard to keep from crying in front of Astarion, you certainly don’t want him to see you crying now. You’ve shown him enough vulnerability for a lifetime, you decide.

So you begin to leave, not noticing when he reaches out to untie your hands, nor when he seems to be on the verge of saying something. You certainly don’t catch the way he places a hand on his chest, as if only now realizing that part of his body could still feel pain.

You grab your bag at the end of the hall and wipe some of your tears with your sleeve. Before you leave the prison, you take a deep breath and call to him your parting words, “Even if you don’t want another life with me, please consider moving on. I saw your house, all of those lingering memories. You don’t need to mourn for another 150 years. I didn’t want that in my past life and I don’t want that now. Goodbye, Astarion.”

As you close the door behind you, you meet his eyes one last time. The only emotion you catch before the door shuts is fear.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

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