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celestie0 · 8 months ago

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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

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+, fem reader, 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. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ 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!!

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ 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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loserlvrss · 4 months ago

Text

face yoon jeonghan (윤정한)

authors note // this story isn't supposed to be very heavy !! something light with an eventual happy ending c: ive been sitting with this idea for literal years, so i hope its good. a full playlist will eventually be made, but kr&b is what i listened to while writing it (along with the chapter songs i link at the beginning)

chapter theme warnings // language, angst, unplanned pregnancy, implied suicidal thoughts, topics of pregnancy & babies in general

word count // 2.3k

prologue: face: songs: 1 2 3 4

You kissed your child’s head, ruffling the short chestnut locks. Your kid’s hair was slightly different than yours—Texture wise—also lightening or darkening further in various settings. However, you only realized that because you were his mother, and it was basically your job to know everything about your son.

There was laughter and quieted screams meeting your ears; other children and childcare workers who were playing in the background as you were just finishing dropping him off.

“I’ll see you after work, Jae. I'll bring you the cupcake you like, okay?”

Jae grabbed your face with soft hands, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek and then bringing you into a hug. You stood up and watched as he skipped off, joining a group who he’s expressed (with the confirmation of the childcare workers) are his best friends.

You were always beyond proud of your son for being able to spread so much love to the world, despite not having the smoothest upbringing—or frankly, an example of unconditional love (despite yours for him). You wanted to feel proud of yourself, but knew that it was all Jae’s interpretation of the world around him. He loved everyone and everything; in the purest form, he found beauty. He was the best kid you’ve ever met, but maybe you were just biased.

“He’s truly a beautiful kid, looks just like you.” You met eyes with the woman who worked the sign-in and out desk. “Laughs and smiles all the time; Gets along with everyone… Even the kids that people don’t seem to gravitate towards. He hates to see them left out. Good job with him, miss y/n.”

“Thank you.” You replied, forcing a smile to surface. You couldn’t help the bittersweet feeling that left a lump in your throat. You knew exactly why it always bothered you though; he looks just like you. But nobody knew he looked almost uncanny to his father at this age. He didn’t have your eyes, nor mouth, nor cheekbones. All Jae had, in your eyes, was part of your personality and nose.

You tried time and time again, staring at your son as he’d nap, to find what people would point-out. But you never did, and that seemed to bother you more than you’d like to admit. So, what should’ve been a compliment was always hard for you to swallow.

“I’ll see you at five-thirty!”

She nodded behind the desk. “He’ll be all ready for you.”

You let the door swing behind you, a slight shake to your hands as you found your keys. It was beginning to look and feel like spring, and soon the cherry blossoms would bloom, meaning you’d have your annual outing with Jae to see them before they fell. You’d take a day off work and keep him home from preschool, taking him out for lunch and ice cream, letting him play at the nearby park after until his little heart's contempt.

You loved that day, and you looked forward to it all year round. It was peace of mind, and there seemed like little responsibility when it was just you two enjoying life.

The days seemed to pass slowly nowadays, and maybe that was because now that you were getting older, you were repeating the same routine like clockwork. It was a never-ending Groundhog’s Day, where you could only hope to find the escape to the time-loop.

The car came to a stop, and you put it in park quickly after. Your head fell atop your chilled hands that gripped the steering wheel still. You let out a sigh, a breath that forever seemed to be stuck in your lungs. As you collected yourself, you also collected your purse from the passenger seat, taking your keys and clenching them tightly.

The beep of a car locking was familiar to you as it met your ears, causing you to turn and look. Meeting your sights was the black vehicle that belonged to your coworker, as well as said person, who hadn’t noticed you yet.

“Wonwoo?” You asked, slightly confused as to why he was scheduled at the same time as you on a Monday, rather than a Friday or Wednesday; like usual, however, your shifts overlapped quite often.

His sharp, cat-like features were on full display, glasses within his forefinger and thumb as he cleaned the lenses. He was wearing dark-washed, wide leg jeans, and a white T-shirt—One that looked as if he had bought it recently—His hair was falling effortlessly, only moving slightly with the gentle gusts of wind.

You always thought he looked like the lead of a drama, a sought after actor that attended fashion shows and got awards, not someone who worked at a bakery, like you.

You had started working before him, right after you had dropped out of Seoul University, 7 weeks into your pregnancy with Jae. You were a confused, hormonal, soon-to-be mother who had no one to rely on. But you always thought that Wonwoo deserved more than what he was left with, and sometimes you regretted not being that comfort for him, as he always was for you.

He’d run to the convenience store, mid-shift, just because you kept talking about triangle kimbap or a watermelon bar. He’d cover for you when you’d get ill and run to the bathroom with a hand slapped over your face. And when your due date got closer, he’d walk you to your car just to help you get in comfortably.

You two weren’t even far off in age, and maybe that’s why you knew deep down it was because he pitied your circumstance: Single, pregnant, and borderline suicidal. All your plans had been thrown out like trash the moment you took the test, the moment you fought with your ex, breaking up after 4 years together.

Every single promise for a better life—A happy life—Was washed away with the rain. And even if you weren’t technically alone, you felt as if the world had shut you out. Now it’s been 4 years, and you’ve gotten used to the feeling of uncertainty. You lived for Jae, and that always should’ve been enough. However, you felt guilty for thinking of a time when he didn’t exist, when he wasn’t even a thought in the back of your mind. If you could go back in time, you were sure you wouldn’t change anything, because Jae was your lifeline, the one thing in this world that kept you going. But, the tears that streamed down your face on particularly painful nights told a different side to you, one that mirrored the 22 year old who got shattered and left to become nothing but dust.

You couldn’t help but think that life would’ve been easier if you were prepared for it. If you had Jae when you were 26 or 27 like you had planned on. If you had finished your business degree and opened your own company with your boyfriend. Life would’ve been smooth sailing. But instead, you were left with barely enough money to keep the lights on, and many cupcakes to keep a smile on your son’s face after long shifts.

“Are you okay?” The voice broke you from the painful thoughts that plagued your subconscious. “Y/n? Is it Jae, is he okay?”

You nodded in an unconstant pattern, slowly moving your head up to level your eyes. Your eyebrows creased slightly, but that was only because you were having a hard time pushing your mind in the right direction.

“Yeah, he’s fine.”

“Are you?” He approached you as you leaned against the driver’s door. “Did something happen?”

His concern would’ve seemed out of character if you didn’t know him, but turned down lips and straight faces were only surface level. He might’ve looked cold, but you’ve never met anyone warmer.

“Just tired, that’s all.” You replied, crossing your arms. Your bag hung against your front and you wondered the time. You weren’t running late after dropping Jae off, but even if you were, your manager for the night was standing in front of you—And, Wonwoo would never write you up. “Been thinking a lot recently… Well, we should go in and help Minjoon before she scolds us.”

He laughed. “She is a terrifying highschooler.”

“Scariest I've ever met.” You mimicked a shiver, pushing off the metal and awaiting Wonwoo to join you. “I can already see her glare.”

He did promptly, holding the glass door open for you. You brushed past him, viewing the many people lined up and a seething highschool girl at the register; Whether it was because you were technically 3 minutes late or because of a customer was up for interpretation.

You apologized silently as you made eye-contact with the girl, walking around the open corner of the front desk and to the back to put your stuff away. There were various lockers, each having a name for the employees of the bakery—Not that there were that many to begin with.

You opened the one with your whiteboard-markered name, and put your purse on the shelf. Inside there was a picture of you and Jae as well as an old note from Minjoon that read I hope all is well, but I'm going to kill you, because you were late, much like today. However that day it was because Jae was sick and whining about everything; His babysitter had given him the flu earlier that week.

Of course though, Wonwoo covered for you when you called in tears. And after he even brought some food to your apartment, which was across town from his own, and let you vent in your dimly-lit kitchen until way too late. He even took your shift when you caught the virus from your son sneezing in your face.

You sighed again, shutting the door closed with the quiet bang of metal on metal. Your hand clutched where your heart would be if it wasn’t scared out of your chest.

On the other side was Minjoon, who was leisurely propped against her own locker. “You two came in together. You’re both late… Together?”

She eyed you as you tried to explain, “We met in the parking lot.” And even though it was the truth, she made you feel as if it wasn’t. Her arms were crossed, looking awfully like your mother would have if she was still around. “We just walked in together, don’t get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, why would I?” She voiced, nose turned to the ceiling. “It definitely wouldn’t be because you two are always together, and Wonwoo would do literally anything for you. No, that would be ridiculous to think.” You deadpanned, knowing it was true, but a misunderstanding. You didn’t like Wonwoo, you don’t see how you could, considering your situation. “If I didn’t know you two I would think Jae was his.”

Your heart sank, and maybe it was the insinuation of people making assumptions that hurt you. Did Jae need a father to be valid in other people’s eyes? That’s probably not what she meant, but nonetheless it’s where your head went.

“It’s not a bad thing, but if you two start dating, please don’t let me catch you guys making out in here. I’d have to bill you for therapy, and then quit.”

You mimicked her lean. “God forbid you don’t have any money to buy albums. What would you do without your Jungkook photocards?”

“Die.” She replied simply. “I’d die.”

Before you had a chance to call her dramatic, Wonwoo popped through the door.

“Could you guys help me? It’s about to be time for our morning rush.”

You jumped off the locker, hustling out the door to assist your manager with the heaps of business men and women on their commute to work, or influencers looking for a pretty picture. You rarely had the in between, but sometimes on a blue moon, you’d get the random straggler who just wanted a sweet treat.

“I rest my case!” You heard being shouted as you let the door close behind you. “It would just be a crazy thought, wouldn’t it!”

You met his side, taking the filled cup from his hand and putting a lid on it. “Sorry.” You took over the last of the three drinks, thankful it was simply just a black coffee.

“Gonna have to start writing you up for being so distracting, y/n.” He joked, grabbing a croissant and placing it within a brown wax bag. You smiled apologetically. “I’ll go do the register.”

“Are you sure? I could get Minjoon to do it again.”

You nodded, placing a comforting hand against his arm. “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it, it’ll distract me from my thoughts.”

Wonwoo reluctantly agreed, because he may technically be your boss but you rarely listened to him, and he knew it was no use arguing if it was only going to lead to you doing it anyway. You appreciated his sentiment, and his eagerness to make sure you were comfortable, however it was almost always at his or someone else’s expense.

You were an adult—A big girl—Who should be able to handle a little bit of stress. But maybe Wonwoo knew you were just a ticking time-bomb, awaiting that last second before you exploded. He seemingly knew you well enough after four years. Everything might’ve been getting a little too much recently, and yes, maybe you felt lost sometimes, but you, in reality, had no will to give up. Not when it was Jae at risk—He already didn’t have a father, why would you leave him motherless as well? He was just as big a priority to you a little over 4 years ago, as he is today. You’d sacrifice everything for your child. And, truthfully, you didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

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lalacliffthorne · 1 year ago

Text

💜 starshine pt. III 💜

Rhysand x Reader

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI

notes: literally no summary possible without intense spoilers. you´ll probably be able to guess what this chapter entails by just like the first few sentences (btw, it's been ages since I read the books, so I'm working on a lot of creative freedom with this one lol). fair warning: this one's angsty. like I already mentioned, it's also insanely long. so. have fun? I guess?

______________________________________________________________

Slipping through the wards felt like a tingle of ice on my skin. My breath hitched, and for a second, I expected the mountain to cave in on me, squash me as it realized someone had breached the magic binding so many to its halls.

But nothing happened.

The servant fae's dress slipped up my thighs when I slid into the dark corridors. I had caught her when she had lingered too close to the wards, golden whisps of magic seeping through the bounds and engulfing her, catching her when she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. I had swapped our clothes before hiding her floating body behind a glamour and slipping into the dark mountain.

Something closed around my throat lightly as I moved through the shadows, stilling every time I heard a sound.

Fifty years.

Fifty years of chipping away at the wards guarding the mountain, little by little so no one would notice the small growing hole in the thickly woven magic. Fifty years of trying to be everywhere at once, moving through the courts, healing those in need before slipping away before anyone could notice. Fifty years of faeries slaughtered in numbers becoming bigger and bigger, causing rage to grow slowly in my chest.

Fifty years of dreaming of violet eyes like night skies.

I remembered the day Amarantha had caught them all like it was yesterday.

I had been staying in the Day Court, and from one second to the next, the warm summer night had turned ice cold. A darkness had placed itself over the world, the faeries in the garden had disappeared and the glow of the flowers had dimmed. An icy shiver had run down my spine, and like instinct, I had reached out for Rhys, for that familiar feeling that was always not far from the bounds of my mind, the sharp claws that tickled my soul before the deep, rich voice echoed through my head, even when their owner was on the other side of Prythian.

But there had been nothing. No presence, not even when I had called out to him. Instead, there was a harsh wall, like something, or someone, was blocking him.

I had started looking for him the day after.

☆

Following the halls deeper into the mountain, I simply listened to the tug in my chest that pulled me forward, guiding me towards the hum of power. My own responded, slithering angrily under my skin, and I pushed it down, barricading it behind walls as high as the sky.

I had learned to hide the thrum of power flooding through me a long time ago. It was what kept me hidden in the courts, allowed me to exist without anyone bothering me.

Strangely enough, it had never kept Rhys from finding me, like even the way my powers were hidden was distinct enough for him to track me down. When I had brought it up once, he had just grinned so widely, his cheeks had creased as he replied: “Starshine, I would be able to find you on nothing but instinct even if you were galaxies away.”

Back then, it had made something skip softly against my ribs as I had thrown a pillow at his head.

Now, just the memory of his voice caused a strange ache in my chest.

Amarantha had taken Rhys away from his family, his home. And I was sure that the only reason he was playing her game, bowing to her, was to protect them.

If there was one thing I had learned about him in the past century, it was that his friends, his family and his home were everything to him. And that he would do anything to keep them safe.

Even give himself up.

The tight feeling in my chest shifted, like for a second, something scratched the surface, a familiar presence growing closer, and I breathed out soundlessly.

There was no way I was going to let her break him.

Not him.

☆

The whispers from Under the Mountain had been vague, but with time, they had started to paint a picture, blurred and hazy, but clear enough to know that Amarantha had a fable for lavish nights with wine and entertainment.

I had expected that entertainment to be cruel. I had spent the last fifty years trying to protect the faeries, for Amarantha seemed to have developed a taste for keeping them like animals, all while hearing rumors about the Fae trapped Under the Mountain, forced to bow to her will.

But what was awaiting me when I slipped through the doors into the huge cavernous hall, the stench of spirits hitting me and the air pressed from my lungs – was so much worse.

There were Fae everywhere, dressed in a way that left little to the imagination. Their gazes ranged from empty to forcingly amused to petrified, but their bodies moved like they were in a trance, not their own will causing them to dance, grind on each other and do more, in plain sight for all to see.

It felt like a sick, twisted stage play, orchestrated for nothing but the embarassement and torture of the courts and one single person's amusement, one person who loomed on a dais at the back wall, sitting on a throne, dressed from head to toe in blood red.

My eyes zeroed in, and my powers surged against the walls caging them in.

Amarantha had tipped her head to the side, her golden crown glittering in the light of the torches as she watched the spectacle at the foot of the dais. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders, her long nails tapping against the armrests. There was a light amused curve to her lips, but her eyes were cold and calculating.

Somehow reigning in the magic raging under my skin, I pressed my lips together and followed her piercing gaze, down to the steps leading up to the dais -

The wind got knocked out of my lungs.

The noises, the hall around me faded as something pulsed slowly against my ribs, my heart beating like the wings of a butterfly caught in time, trying to escape from my chest as my gaze narrowed in until it was centered on the male at the foot of the dais, a picture of lazy feline confidence so familiar, I had to fight for air.

Rhys.

Suddenly, fifty years caught up with me. Fifty years of his face burned into my mind, his smile and the way his violet eyes twinkled like a glittering night sky.

Only it was gone now. The spark in his iris, the vibrancy of his eyes. His dark hair, though still impeccably styled, had lost its shine, his sunkissed skin was pale and sallow, and his smile –

Something tightened so harshly in my chest, I held my breath.

Gone was the cheeky curve of his lips, the mischievous turn of his grin and that stupidly beautiful smile. It had been replaced by a light smirk, one that was cold and cruel and –

Didn't reach his eyes.

His smile had always reached his eyes. Even when it promised violence and bloodshed and broken bones, it always translated to the way his eyes looked, to the spark in his iris, angry or furious.

Only it didn't anymore.

I tried to swallow, fight against the way something closed around my throat when I stared at Rhys and his eyes, dull and unmoving as he gazed down onto the heap at his feet, a heap -

My breath stilled, and the grip around my throat changed to vice.

It was a sprite boy. A moonwing, with feathery white hair caked with dirt, milky pale skin torn and bloody over too-thin limbs, and his wings –

His wings.

A sound built at the bottom of my throat, a strangled whimper that was swallowed by the harsh noises around me. Something clawed at my chest, a pain so heavy I almost went to my knees as I stared at what used to be thin-as-lace wings, their white membranes hanging in bloody shreds over a whipmarked back.

Quickly clamping a shaking hand over my mouth to smother the heaving sob breaking from my throat, I almost sank into the wall, my body beginning to shake. I felt something hot run over my cheek as I stared at the faerie, swaying as he tried to get to his feet without the support of his wings. His pain was mine, his despair gripping me like an iron fist, my breath trembling as my vision blurred and I whimpered.

No.

Rhysand stilled. I could see his shoulders shift. Then his head rose, eyes tearing away from the moonwing to swiftly move over the crowd, and for nothing more than a second, a fraction of a heartbeat, something flashed through his eyes, something that was buried so deep, it was nearly impossible to make out.

Like somehow, he felt my anguish, could sense a presence in the crowd that didn't belong -

The guards at the edge of the dais moved, and Rhys blinked. Then his eyes moved away from the crowd, and his back straightened when a male stepped forward, staring hungrily at the moonwing.

There was a bloody whip hanging from his hand.

My heart tightened, lips parting as nausea washed over me like a tidal wave.

But before the male could take another step, Rhys moved. His motions were quick and smooth as always when he took a step forward and picked the moonwing up by his neck, and I could see the fairie's iridescent eyes flaring with panic as he started to struggle.

Then Rhys' hand closed around his jaw.

My heart stopped and my breath stilled when the crack of bones snapping whipped through the hall.

The moonwing's body went limp, head rolling to the side.

A muscle in Rhys' cheek twitched, his face unmoving as he let the faerie slip to the ground and raised his head, turning around. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the moonwing's lifeless body as the other male moved towards him with a scowl, gripping one of the fairie's shredded wings before he turned to drag him away from the dais and into the shadows, leaving behind a pool of blood on the stone floor.

Something hot streamed over my cheeks as I fought to breathe, and magic started to push against my skin, slowly growing until I had to keep all my focus on keeping it subdued.

My eyes rose, and a cold fist closed around my heart when Rhys sat down next to Amarantha. Her hand drifted towards him, her fingernails dragging lightly over his skin, and I could see the second his eyes clouded over like he had dragged up walls, high, high, higher as Amarantha whispered something with a smile like a viper.

Rhysand nodded once, eyes trained onto the crowd like it could hide the way his shoulders shifted like his body fought to move away.

It was all I needed to straighten my spine and breathe, something beginning to burn under my skin.

☆

I had slinked into the shadows when Amarantha had risen from her throne, Rhys following suit, though there was something in the way his eyes seemed to dull even more when he moved after her.

I lost them in the maze of halls a few times, but something, like a small tug in my chest, kept pulling me back onto the right path, like the golden whisps of magic swirling under my skin had latched onto Rhys, guiding me.

Slipping around a corner, I just caught a glimpse at a door closing. Waiting for a few moments, just to make sure, I slowly started to move, avoiding lanterns and melting into the shadows as I soundlessly slid down the hall until I could disappear into the alcoven right next to the door.

Pressing my back against the cold stone walls, I leaned my temple against the wall and focused on the noises slipping from the room.

For a second, my mind was slow, struggling to place the muffled sounds that seemed to be a female's, harsh and strangely drawn –

My heart stilled.

I could feel my breath, ragged as I stared at the wall ahead, something suddenly filling my throat like the urge to be sick, to stagger away from that door and what was behind it.

I was already half pushing away from the wall when the wave of emotion hit me like a brick. Like someone inside that room had slipped up, had lost control of what kept their feelings locked deep, deep down, because what they were doing right now was a struggle in itself, a struggle like having a hand around your throat that kept you from breathing.

I didn't know how I knew it was him. I just knew that the way his emotions vibrated under my skin, causing my knees to give out and my body to silently slide down the wall to collapse to the ground as I fought for air, was uniquely his.

Rhys was drowning.

I could feel it, feel the way his sense of self and his will to fight dwindled like they were slowly dragged under water. Overrun and fought to their knees by pain.

Pain that felt like ghostly fingernails running over his skin, like actions that broke apart pieces of him and caused guilt to drown him without his limbs fighting.

It was humiliation, and repulsion, and numbness. And fear.

Fear, so overwhelming and all-consuming, it wrapped around my throat like a rope, pulling tighter and tighter as I crouched frozen at the wall, tears streaming down my cheeks and something in my chest shattering silently as I squeezed my eyes shut.

I didn't know how I long I was sitting in the shadows, nor could I place the moment when Rhys' emotions slipped away like he had found the gap in his armor and patched it back up. But the remnants of them still clung to my chest, joining into a heaviness when I could hear movements behind the door.

Quickly and with shaking hands, I pulled myself to my feet, slipping back down the hall and into the shadows at the corner to the next, tear tracks cool against my cheeks when I watched the door open.

My heart stilled as I watched Amarantha appear in the hall, slipping her dress over her legs with a satisfied smile.

Something started swirling under my skin, growing with every second. Power, golden light that raged like fire, roaring and threatening to break free, to unleash and make the mountain collapse into itself as golden light wrapped around Amarantha's throat –

Swallowing, I forced it down with trembling hands.

Not like this.

It had taken years to gather enough information, barely any whispers trickling out of the mountain. Years to figure out that she had the High Lords under her control, chained to the mountain, all while her guards wreaked havoc on the lands outside. Courts withering, faeries dying.

The children from Winter had been the last straw.

I had to find a way to free the High Lords, get back their powers. Attacking Amarantha would just risk something happening to those caught down here, or outside.

Sinking back into the shadows, I watched Amarantha disappear into the other direction. I waited until she was gone, waited some more, just to make sure. Then I slipped down the hall.

The door creaked a little when I pushed it open, and cringing lightly, I hastily slipped through, closing it behind me carefully before raising my head, and my heart skyrocketed.

Rhys was standing at the opposite wall, his bare back towards me and shoulders shifting as he tensed, going rigid. He didn't turn around when he mumbled: “Anything else?”

His deep voice took away my breath, something tightening harshly in my chest at it's roughness.

He sounded defeated.

His name tumbled from my lips before I could stop it, quiet and hoarse and a little shaky.

“Rhys.”

He froze.

I watched as his shoulders straightened. He looked like he was holding his breath, his hands closing so tightly around the shirt in his hands, his knuckles turned white as he stared at the wall ahead, and for a second, I thought I could see a tremble run over his spine.

I took a step forward, whispering: “Rhys?”

His head turned ever so slightly, like he was forcing himself not to turn around but couldn't fully control his body, and I saw the moment he caught onto my scent.

His nose flared, and his limbs went utterly and fully still, like for a second, he even stopped breathing. Then he looked over his shoulder, and I stared at him, felt something surge high in my chest when his gaze found mine.

Rhys blinked, and my bottom lip trembled when his eyes became glossy, one corner of his lips curving slowly. Then he whispered, rough voice broken: “You're not real.”

My heart clenched violently, and I swallowed, staring at him through the haze of pain. Then I moved towards him, slowly but steadily, and I could feel Rhys fight the closer I got, like the instinct to reach out and the fear of reaching right through me were battling in his chest.

Halting a few inches away, stopping to keep myself from moving even though every part of me screamed at me to get closer, I swallowed before carefully reaching out a hand.

When my fingers brushed over his arm, something rippled through Rhys' body. His eyes snapped up from where he had watched my hand almost fearfully, flying to meet mine as his glossed over ones grew wide and his lips parted.

I sniffled, nose crunching as I sent him a smile, wobbly and uneven.

“Not getting rid off me that easily, remember?”, I whispered, and Rhys' hand closed around my wrist to yank me forward, into his arms.

My heart stopped when my chest collided with his.

It felt like I was thrown into one of the dreams that had haunted me for fifty years, dreams in which he'd been there, had grinned at me and teased me and been his gloriously annoying self, dreams I had woken from with a weight on my chest pressing me down, because I could feel the memory of his presence slip through my fingers.

Only now, I didn't wake up, and there was no pressing knowledge somewhere buried in the depth of my mind that it was nothing but a dream.

No, Rhys was there, tall and solid as he wrapped himself around me, clinging to me like I could be ripped away from him any second, and my breath hitched when I could feel the way his body started to tremble.

Something small in my chest shattered silently, and barely suppressing a soft whimper as pressure rose in my throat, I hastily wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held onto him. Held onto him, his skin cool under my mine, muscles taut as a bowstring when my fingers dug into the back of his shoulders and I clung to him, and Rhys laughed, wet and desperate and causing my chest to tighten so harshly, I hiccuped. His hands grabbed at my back, my dress, one finding its way into my hair, and I fought the heavy weight on my chest and the way my voice thickened when I whispered: “Hello.”

Rhys whimpered, his trembling fingers tightening their hold like he tried to drag me closer, like I wasn't already pressed into his chest, his breath shaking like the rest of him when he buried his face in the crook of my neck, and I could feel the second his walls broke. His chest started heaving, and something warm and wet pooled on my skin.

“It's okay.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I held onto him, feeling tears roll over my cheek as the ache in my chest spread, and my voice broke a little when I whispered: “I'm real.”

A shaking sob broke from Rhys' throat, and his fingers dug into my skin when he breathed out with a shudder that shook his body. Then he pulled back, nose pressing into my hair for a second, and when I raised my head, his hand slipped up to curl around the back of my neck, and Rhys pressed his forehead against mine. His quick, unsteady breaths made my heart skip, and I forced open my eyes, staring at him and his scrunched eyebrows and the tears silently rolling over his cheeks as he fought for air.

Quickly, I slid my hands down to press them against his sides, feeling my voice crack a little when I whispered: “Breathe.”

Rhys' eyes flew open, and the world staggered when his violet iris met mine, shimmering with tears and everything shining through them, like a dam inside of him had broken. He stared at me like I was the night sky he hadn't seen for fifty years, his fingers curling into my hair.

His eyes tracked the dried tears on my cheeks, and then his body went awfully still.

For a second, Rhys gazed down at me, his throat working as he swallowed harshly and his grip slackened a little. His eyes flickered over mine, and his voice, rough and fragile, broke a little when he mumbled: “How long have you been outside?”

I tried to breathe against the heaviness in my chest as I stared up at him, losing the fight against the way my throat closed as my vision blurred and my bottom lip wobbled.

My silence was answer enough.

Rhys' fingers twitched, and I could feel him freeze, pulling back, but I dug my fingers into his bare skin and swallowed harshly, a tear running over my cheek when I whispered, voice shaking: “I'm going to kill her.”

Rhys' eyes followed the tear, widening slightly, and suddenly, he looked panicked.

“You have to leave.”

“Rhys –“

“You have to get out of here, if she finds you with me –“ His breath quickened, his wide eyes causing something to squeeze my heart harshly.

In over a hundred years, I had never seen him like this, so utterly and completely afraid; fear, sheer frantic panic rolling off him in waves, completely ungarded -

“Indeed.”

I could feel the way Rhys froze under my hands when my eyes flew over to the door.

Could feel the wave of his unbridled dread crash over me when the female in the door smiled, her eyes flashing and blood-red hair glimmering in the candle light.

“Now look at that…”

☆

My knees dragged over the stone floors as the guards hauled me into the great, cavernous hall, Amarantha sauntering after us, Rhys behind her as he struggled against the males containing him, his teeth bared even as I could feel, smell the panic rolling off of him.

I tried to reach him, but the powers raging under my skin were slowly slipping out of my control, roaring at the way I could feel him struggle.

“Drop her.” Amarantha waved her hand casually, raising her brows as the guards dumped me to the ground in the middle of the hall and turning towards Rhys.

“You know, I really thought you'd have better taste.” Her tone was mocking, her smile amused. “A servant… and a faerie no less.”

Rhys fought against the guards holding him, but I could see the way his movements were restrained, like she was containing him. He looked like he was vibrating with unbridled fury, but there was something burning under the surface as I forced myself to my feet, something that made my heart tighten harshly.

Amarantha tutted softly, smiling widely. Her eyes raked over Rhys' face, and they sharpened. Then she raised a brow.

“Oh.”

Something skipped high and harsh against my ribs, and one corner of her lips quirked.

“Now that's interesting. Is it possible…” She tipped her head to the side, and Rhys grew rigid.

“You care for her. Oh now, now.” Amarantha laughed, and it rung through the air. “How quaint.” She smiled widely, and it sent a shiver down my spine as her eyes danced.

“The mighty High Lord and the faerie. I wonder…” Sauntering towards me, she reached out, her nails lightly raking over my jaw to tip it up, and I hissed at her, causing her to chuckle.

“Well, she is feisty. Still.” Her head tipped to the side, considering me like prized piece of cattle, and Rhys' struggle grew as she slowly started to smile and raised her brows mildly as she turned to look at him.

“I think you need a reminder who you belong to.”

Moving back, she lightly dipped her head, and someone kicked the back of my legs, causing them to buckle.

Sharp pain shot through my knees when I crashed to the floor, and I could feel my dress shift. Then rough hands pushed me forward and the fabric was ripped open, slipping down my back.

My heart skipped high into my throat, and I tried to reach out on instinct to cover myself, but my wrists were seized, forced away from my body.

I could hear the sound of a struggle, and when my eyes rose, Rhys was trying to tear himself away from the guards holding him, a terrifying snarl on his face. But Amarantha just smiled and placed a finger on her lips.

Iron shackles closed around my wrists, dragging my arms apart until I was kneeling, and my fingers started shaking as I tried to contain the magic brimming under the surface, the golden light trying to break out to rage around me. I forced up my head, and Amarantha raised a brow.

There was movement at the corner of my eye. Then something struck my back with such force, my body was thrown forward.

Burning pain seared over my skin, and a scream forced its way from my throat.

My back arched, trying to twist away, pain pulsing through my body and leaving my muscles trembling, and Rhys roared.

With one mighty rip, he broke away from the guards trying to contain him, but before he could make it even a few feet, Amarantha struck, and Rhys crumbled to the ground.

“No!” I struggled against the iron chains, magic surging under my skin as pressure build behind my eyes and an angry sound ripped from my throat.

“How precious.” Amarantha sounded bored and a little disdainful, waving her hand as she turned away, and two guards grabbed Rhys' arms, dragging him up until he was kneeling, forcing his head up.

He was bleeding, his brow cut, but it was nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes as they found mine, wild and desperate.

Fighting against the tug in my chest, I squeezed my burning eyes shut for a second before opening them again, staring at him as my body trembled.

“I,”, my voice broke with strain, “can take it.”

Amarantha chuckled. “Oh dear.”

Another hit struck my back, the whip slashing the air and through my skin, and a low scream tore from my throat. Tears brimmed at the corner of my eyes, my breath trembling at the pain pulsing through my back and into my body, and from holding onto the whirling storm in my chest.

“I doubt it.” Amarantha's eyes were glimmering with wicked delight, and as the next lash hit my back, I forced my head up, my body shaking as I gritted my teeth and fought the tears pooling from my eyes as they found the male behind her.

My heart stilled.

Went silent in my chest at the way he stared at me, head pulled back by his hair as the guards forced him to watch, his eyes wide, body rigid like he was gripped in an iron fist. There was something swirling in his gaze, not just anguish; pure torment, and intertwined with it was something else, something that reached so deep, I lost my breath.

No more.

The words seemed to whisper through my mind, through the fog and the pain, growing stronger as the air around me started to flimmer.

No more.

My eyes pierced into Rhys', a tremble going through my body. Then something settled in my chest.

No more.

Golden light bloomed around me as I let go. Allowed the whispers of magic to swarm me, flittering over my back, their whispering touch gentle, and I could feel the wounds close, leaving nothing behind but even skin.

The hum seemed to grow still, until I could feel the power in every inch of my body, pulsing and whirling, and Amarantha's voice reached me, sharp as she called to her guards: “Stop her, now -“

A wave of golden light erupted from my body.

Amarantha and the guards holding me got ripped off their feet, flung through the air, the males crashing into the walls as Amarantha slammed into the steps of the dais.

And as the ground started to tremble, the mountain itself rumbling like thunder, the shackles fell of my wrists and I pushed myself to my feet, golden swirls of magic building around me like a hurricane as rage carried me.

The doors flew open as guards streamed in, dozens and dozens more, barking orders as they took position and advanced, and power surged through my body.

The ground shook, then thick vines bursted from the stone floors. They slithered through the air, wrapping themselves around the guards and flinging them through the room, wrapping them up tight and engulfing them, their screams drowned as they turned into giant trees. Weapons turned into slithering branches, closing around their owner's arms and throats, armor grew green moss like treebark as I dodged a sword blow in a swift movement. Arrows flying at me turned into bursts of petals as I dove and slipped the guard's sword out of his hand, slashing it over his throat in one precise movement, and another wave of magic pulsed through my body, sending a wave that tore the remaining guards off their feet, swords and armor clattering when they crashed into the walls and onto the floors.

Raising my head, I felt the light around me flimmer, illuminating the sword in my hand for another moment as I slowly straightened, power surging through my body as the golden whisps began to disperse and I felt my breath again, quick and heavy. Something flickered in my chest when my gaze darted over the throne room, trees growing from stone floors, their branches stretching high up the cavernous ceiling, petals drifting over the ground and unconcious guards strewn across the floor.

The rage in my chest slowly washed away, a deep exhale leaving me, and looking over my shoulder, I felt something rise in my chest.

Rhys was still kneeling on the ground, having caught himself as the guards holding him had been torn across the room. His eyes were wide as his gaze darted over the hall, then they found mine, and something skipped so harshly into my throat, I lost my breath.

Rhys was staring at me like I had ripped open the mountain to show him the stars.

Something rose in my chest, fluttering like a hurricane, and turning around, I quickly stepped over a guard's legs and held out a hand, pulling him to his feet.

Slowly straightening, Rhys stared down at me, and his eyes began to shine in a way that made my breath catch.

There was a light flash of silver from the corner of my eye. I turned my head, and for a moment, time slowed.

Without thinking, I moved, the sword slipping from my hand and clattering to the ground as my fingers closed around Rhys' elbows and dragged him with me as I turned, turned until he was facing the dais and I was in the way, the way of –

Sharp pain struck my back.

I could feel my eyes widen, how time staggered just like my heart when hot, all consuming pain slowly spread from a point somewhere right beneath my shoulder blades. Then my eyes found Rhys', and the way he stared at me, his eyes growing wide, made time fall back into place.

My knees toppled lightly when pain crashed over me like a tidal wave, and Rhys dove forward to catch me. His pupils were blown wide as a wave of panic washed over me that wasn't my own, terrifying and mindnumbing as his hands frantically moved over my body, gripping my hips, pushing up my chin.

The pulsing pain from my back seemed to slowly consume my body, and my heart stuttered.

“No.” Rhys' voice ripped its on wound through my chest, disbelieving, hollow and horrified. His eyes darted over my face, all the color draining from his features, but he looked a bit blurred, like he was drifting away from me. I tried to grab at his chest, my movements strangely slow.

“Go.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears, but I forced myself to focus on Rhys' face, trying to fight past the pain the look on his face caused in my chest. His brows twitched as his eyes, panicked and frantic, darted over my face, and I pressed: “Get. Her.”

Rhys stared at me. Then something shifted in his eyes, beginning to glow, and his head rose, a terrifying growl rumbling from his chest.

“You.”

His hands slipped away from my arms and I could feel him move past me, something skipping high in my chest as I staggered lightly, dropping to my knees.

Forcing myself to straighten, I tried to suppress a whimper when I reached my hand up my back, twisting and feeling a rough sound built in my throat at the pain the movement sent cursing through my body.

My fingers slipped over something cold, and with a pressed sound, I pulled the blade out of my body. It clattered onto the stone, and the floor swayed under my knees when for a second, all I could see were black spots dancing before my eyes as something hot ran over my pulsing back.

Behind me, I heard the sound of fighting, snarls that made the hairs at the back of my neck rise, and I forced my head up to look over my shoulder. My vision swam, and my breath stilled when I heard the sound of a body hitting the ground heavily, heart rising into my throat as my eyes focused.

Rhys was kneeling on the ground before Amarantha, a sword pressed against the back of his neck as she snarled at him, hands curled into his hair, forcing his head back. I could see the fight in the strain in his shoulders, like he was battling her in his mind, but his body was trembling.

“Oh, I do like you on your knees.” Amarantha bared her teeth, and something shifted in my chest, blooming into a soundless roar as I pushed myself to my feet.

My fingers closed around the hilt of the sword I had dropped, the heavy blade beginning to glow in my grip, and Amarantha raised her head and scoffed.

“Don't be ridiculous.” She snarled as she stepped away, Rhys caught frozen, limbs trembling in a vain effort to free himself. “I posses the powers of all the High Lords of Prythian. No iron, no steel can defeat me, not even your powers. I have killed Fae for centuries.” Her eyes flickered over me, her lips curling. “You're no match for me, little faerie.”

Golden whisps of magic began to rise around me, the branches of the trees growing out of the stone rustling with a harsh wind, the vines creaking as they slithered, bowing into my direction as I walked towards Amarantha, magic beginning to grow under my skin until I could feel it glow.

I deflected the first blow of Amarantha's sword as it came crashing down, the force making the mountain rumble. Then I swerved to the right, blade slashing through the air as the space around us started to vibrate with power and my sword began to shine brighter and brighter.

“Give up!” Amarantha's voice shook the hall like thunder. “You'll never defeat me, you're a faerie, you'll just -”

My heart rose, and the mountain sang.

When my next blow came crashing down, it splintered Amarantha's sword in two with a blast of golden power. She dropped the useless hilt, eyes growing wide as her head whipped up, and my sword sank into her chest, deeper and deeper until we were face to face.

"I'm not just any faerie,”, I whispered.

A surge of power rippled through the air when I pulled the sword from Amarantha's chest, and I could feel the wards trembling. Then they shattered, the whole mountain groaning as I whirled around and swung the sword, the blade whizzing through the air and cleanly cutting off Amarantha's head.

Blood spattered, and with a thud, the female's lifeless body dropped to the ground.

Breathing heavily, I straightened, and my sword clattered as it hit the floor. The golden shimmer around me pulled back into my body, and suddenly, the world tilted.

My knees gave out, and I would have crashed down the steps if I hadn't been caught, arms wrapping around me and a familiar scent washing over me, causing my heart to jump weakly against my ribs.

I thought I heard a voice, deep and familiar and utterly panicked, calling my name as a warm hand closed around the side of my face, shaking me. But my lids were suddenly heavy, blinking becoming harder with the second. My body felt a bit like it was beginning to float; no more pain, only a strange, calm feeling, my limbs too heavy to move.

Through the fog, I heard the voice, thick and trembling, words not quite reaching me. Then something warm pressed against my temple, nudging my cheek.

“Stay with me.”

☆

Stay with me.

My eyes opened with a flutter, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

My gaze was blurry at first, but I thought I saw a high ceiling, far above me, the branches of trees, and felt arms holding me, propping me up against a warm, solid body that suddenly grew rigid.

Blinking, I breathed out before letting my head slowly roll to the side, and my eyes met another pair.

My heart skipped softly against my ribs at the sight of violet, mixed with starlight in eyes gleaming with tears, widening when they found mine as their owner became completely still.

I blinked, feeling slowly seeping back into my body, and a small sound broke from the back of my throat.

“Ow,”, I mumbled softly.

Rhys stared at me. Stared from shimmering eyes that were blown wide, wet tear tracks on his cheeks. His hand cradling my jaw was trembling, and something shifted gently in my chest at the way he seemed to fight for air. Then he blinked, and the tears in his eyes welled as his lips curved and a sobbed laugh left him, deep and shaking my body as Rhys dropped his head, his arms slipping around me until he was clinging to me, holding me to his chest as he pressed his nose against my temple.

I could feel his shuddering exhale, and how tears began to soak my hair, and something rose in my chest, fluttering wildly as it surged and pressure built behind my eyes, my fingers trembling as I curled them into his arm holding me.

Rhys' grip tightened, then he lightly pulled back his head. His hand slipped to rest against the side of my neck, and my breath hitched, stumbling until it stilled when he slowly started to smile at me. Smiled brighter and brighter, wide and radiant until deep creases formed in his cheeks and his violet eyes twinkled like a sky full of stars, and his voice was quiet and a bit hoarse when Rhys whispered thickly: “Hello, starshine.”

☆

Stepping out into the cool morning air, I breathed in deeply, closing my eyes for a second.

My body was still aching a little, my head thrumming, but it was duller now, like it was slowly ebbing away. The magic under my skin was no longer raging and whirling, instead buzzing softly from the healing I had done in the past few hours, Fae and faeries alike.

The wards had come down, the second Amarantha had died. Shortly after, the doors to the hall had burst open, and Rhys had gripped me tighter when all the High Lords had stormed inside, their newly returned powers thrumming just like the one's of the male holding me.

He had reluctantly left me alone, only after several insurances that I was fine and some mild teasing threats, his swagger returning to him as his mask slipped into place as he had joined the High Lords standing over Amarantha's body, her severed head turned towards the ceiling, her eyes staring lifelessly into the air.

Dropping my shoulders and stretching them slowly, my skin tingled gently right under my shoulder blades, and like instinct, I reached back, twisting my arm until I could brush my fingers over the spot where only a few hours ago, a dagger had nearly, maybe taken my life.

The skin was soft there now, and unblemished, as Rhys had showed me with a quick glimpse into my head.

Like there had never been any wound in the first place.

Letting my arm fall back to my side, I breathed out again before turning, and my heart did a soft skip when my gaze landed on the familiar male a bit away, standing on a ledge, head tipped back as he stared up at the sky that was slowly turning from a pale blue into a soft pink.

My heart skipped, and I hesitated for a second, then I carefully stepped onto the big ledge and softly called: “Rhys?”

My quiet voice carried through the cool air, and when he looked over his shoulder, my chest tightened harshly.

Tears were streaming over his face, his eyes shimmering as they reflected the sky, and I moved, darting towards him and stretching to slip my arms around his shoulders.

Rhys breathed out with a shudder, and his hands closed around my waist, pulling me tightly into his chest. Then he turned his head and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I could feel his tears drip onto my skin as soundless sobs left his body trembling, and my heart tightened harshly as my eyes welled.

Quickly pressing my nose against his shoulder, I let his pain wash over me, my chest aching as tears trickled over my cheeks and I buried my fingers in his hair.

By the time Rhys' sobs had faded away and the tears on my shoulder had dried as he just held me, the sun had started to rise on the horizon.

Carefully pulling back a bit, I looked up at him, finding his eyes already on my face, raw with emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

“Go home,”, I whispered softly, and a shudder went through Rhys' body, his hands tightening their grip around my waist for a moment.

His eyes searched mine, then he blinked.

“Come with me.”

I blinked, feeling my lips part in surprise as I stared up at him. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no doubt, nothing. Just something that looked a bit like a soft, feverish plea.

I blinked, and warmth slowly spread through my body, something closing gently around my throat.

“I can't,”, I mumbled, and Rhys' grip loosened, causing me to quickly curl my fingers into his shirt.

“No, I just,”, I huffed a little, frowning at him, "not yet." Breathing out, I tipped my head to the side and sent him a soft, helpless smile. “There are still so many in there who need my help. High Fae and faeries alike. And in the courts. I can't just –“

Rhys exhaled, and my heart skipped into my throat when he dropped his head to rest his forehead against mine, his hands gently closing around my waist.

“You're awfully inconsistent, you know that?”, he whispered, and his rough voice sent a soft tingle over my skin. “You claim to not like the High Fae, and yet, you're still helping them.”

“I know.” I gently tapped my finger against his chest. “I mean, I constantly help you, what's that all about?"

Rhys huffed, and I grinned lightly before pulling back and mumbling: “They've suffered enough for a while.”

Rhys blinked, and his eyes moved over my face, something beginning to glow gently in his iris.

“Promise that when you're finished, you'll come to Velaris.”

Staring up at him, I felt my heart flutter genly against my ribs. Then I blinked and slowly smiled, soft and cheeky.

“I promise.”

Rhys' eyes flickered over mine, and something tightened in my chest, my heart skipping when I quickly said: “Promise you'll find me if you need me?”

The male's gaze moved over my face, and slowly, one corner of his lips rose, just the tiniest bit.

“Promise,”, he mumbled, his deep voice sending a soft tingle down my spine, and I breathed out, a weight slipping from my shoulders.

For a second, I stared up at him, then, before I could stop myself, I stretched to press my lips onto his cheek.

Rhys' grip around me tightened, and my heart rose into my throat when I allowed myself to linger for just a second. Then I let myself sink back to the ground, and my breath hitched when Rhys dropped his head like he was trying to follow me.

The male blinked and slowly straightened again, staring down at me, a look in his eyes that made my chest squeeze gently.

Slowly, I took a step backwards, sending him a soft, crooked smile as I lightly poked his ribs.

“Go.” Warmth spread through my chest as I raised my brows. “They've been waiting long enough.”

Rhys exhaled, a weight seeming to slip from his shoulders, and I turned around. I could feel his eyes track me as I made my way back towards the entrance in the mountain.

When I looked back before stepping through, he was gone like the night breeze.

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @stayinglow-exploringworlds @tcris2020

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